#a crowd quickly gathered round

[larrylimericks]

30Jun24

Cos the footy match wasn't on view, One festival set made the news: A telly on trolley (Rocks carried by Oli) — Hail the new God of Glasto: our Lou!

[monstersholygrail]

Sometimes as a Puppy Hybrid you get distracted when in public. There’s just so much to look at and explore that you can’t help it when you see something and instantly wanna go check it out. Often without saying anything to your Wolf Hybrid bf.

He’s often joked about putting a leash and collar on you. Just to make sure you don’t wander and get lost. Totally no other reason.

But when these sorta things happen you do eventually realize that you had strayed from your bf’s side and got lost. And he knows by now that your nose is good enough to sniff him out and find him in a matter of minutes. So he usually doesn’t panic too much and when he does you smell him that much stronger and return to comfort him more quickly.

Though as you look for him now through the crowded mall you start to get a bit worried yourself. It’s taking much longer than it usually does to find him. A whimper leaves your throat as you start to worry if he left you. But no, he would never do that to you. He refuses to leave the bed without you let alone a whole mall.

Lifting your nose in the air you search for his scent, your brows furrowing as more whimpers escape. You close your eyes and let your nose guide you, picking up his scent soon as you focus your senses.

And when you finally open your eyes you’re in front of the last store you ever expected to be in front of.

A baby store.

From there on it’s easy to find him, your Wold Hybrid bf with his bulking arms crossed, and his signature scowl on his face. The saleswoman in front of him smiles brightly despite looking a bit nervous. Your first thought is to immediately go save her. Your bf didn’t always do well in social situations.

Rushing over you break their conversation with a light laugh. Immediately both of them turn their attention to you and your bf’s features soften into a warm smile. You curl your body against his, both as a silent claim and as a barrier encase the woman wants to escape his intense stare.

“Heyy, sorry about him! I-I’ve got it from here.”

You give her your best dazzling smile but it falters when she brushes it off telling you that your bfs been a delight. There’s no time to ask what she means as another customer asks for her assistance.

When you turn to your bf he’s looking down at you with amusement. Like he can already read what must be going on in that head of yours.

“What have you been doing, mister?” You ask accusingly.

Wolf Hybrid bf chuckles that raspy laugh that makes you tingle deep inside. He gathers you in his arms and whirls you both around to face what he was hiding behind his frame. You gasp as you see a whole baby crib before you.

A deep rumble moves through your bf’s chest and vibrates into your back. His hands smooth over your frame and the rounded curve of your belly. Already imagining it all swollen and big with his litter.

“Planning for the future,” he responds, nearly growling in your ear. “The very near future.”

Feeling a prick zap through your ear you yelp as he nips at you, tempting you far more than either of you realize. Pulling your cute plump self further into his chest he molds himself to you, nuzzling and rubbing his scent all over you. It leaves you breathless and writhing against him with a building aching need.

“M-maybe we can get started now?” You ask cheekily, laughing as he growls in response.

“I like the way you think, mamas.”

And then he’s dragging you out of the store. But not before calling the saleswoman back to purchase the crib and have it send back to your home pronto.

[starmapz]

colleague!satoru gojo with a reader who often gets spoken over and interrupted. ❦ cw ; gn!reader. pure fluff <33

masterlist

colleague!gojo who’s the talk of the office wherever he goes. he’s the top salesman and for good reason, his numbers outshine those of the rest of the company as he uses his good looks and effortless charm to land deals. he clearly enjoys the attention too, because wherever he goes, the office seems to follow.

still, colleague!gojo notices there’s one face that’s never in the crowd. your pretty face. tucked into the back corner of the office buried in spreadsheets, you excuse your absence from gatherings by being too busy, but don’t think that colleague!gojo hasn’t noticed the truth.

because for all his bravado, he’s more observant than he’d have you think. you’re caught off-guard when you round a corner and spot colleague!gojo speaking with a number of your co-workers in a circle. pulling the earbuds from your ears, you tune in and attempt to offer your insight, only to get drowned out by a louder voice.

colleague!gojo’s heart sinks when you try to chip into the conversation again, but are quickly interrupted. the way you dejectedly cast your gaze to the side and put your earbuds back in before slipping away leaves his sharp blue eyes trailing after you. maybe you aren’t as shy as he’d once thought, just a quieter voice in the crowd.

colleague!gojo finds his way to your desk more often after that. It’s happenstance, he tells you, that clients simply need more numbers these days. proof that the company’s formula works. you don’t question him, you don’t interact with the sales team often and you have no reason to think he’s lying.

colleague!gojo loves the way you grin and giggle when he can’t help but flirt with you. something about the cadence of your voice and the genuine care in your eyes as he talks sales has him aching for more time with you. you may fall into the background to others, but you’re the goddamn star of the office to him.

colleague!gojo who finds you lingering at the edge of conversations more often and when you finally attempt to offer an opinion only to get talked over, he doesn’t let it slide. “what was that?” he queries, speaking over the person who interrupted you. he doesn’t mind the glares he gets in return, his eyes are only on you. meekly, you find your voice and get to say your piece.

colleague!gojo doesn’t miss the way your eyes linger on him, chewing on your lower lip with a grateful expression. from that day forward, he makes a point to include you. coffee meetings and runs no longer miss your office, treats find their way to your office first and any gatherings seem to conveniently move near your little nook.

colleague!gojo’s new favorite place to sit becomes the side of your desk as he inquires about numbers. it may have started out as a lie, but the charts you provide actually do help him land deals.

leaning over your desk to get a glimpse of your screen as you explain something, colleague!gojo quickly notices the way your phrase trails off and you grow quiet. you brush him off when he asks why you got quiet, but he insists that you continue. he may come across as oblivious, but he knows you’re worried you’re talking too much. you’re not, though. and you should trust him, he’s the king of yapping and he knows what qualifies as ‘too much’. besides, he insists, you’re his friend.

friend!gojo who stops asking who in the office wants coffee and just shows up at your office with an expectant look. what starts uncertainly with you insisting you need to focus quickly becomes routine. You grab your coat and join his side.

friend!gojo quickly realizes you’re not as shy at all, you’re just a quieter presence than the rest of the office and you get spoken over a lot. he likes this side of you, the more excitable and chatty one that seems to be reserved for him and he hopes to see it more often.

friend!gojo who travels a lot for work and quickly finds himself coming to the realization that what started as passing thoughts of what you’re up to on the other side of the country has become longing. he misses you like hell.

friend!gojo who realizes just how down bad he is when he finds himself sending your coffee order to the office on the daily on one of his longest trips away. he doesn’t have your number, or hell even your extension, and he’s never felt himself blush quite as hard as he does when he needs to call the receptionist and have her patch him through to you.

friend!gojo didn’t even consider what he would say when he called, he just did it. now, sitting on the line with you, he’s stumbling through words just to ask for a spreadsheet. you giggle, and like music to his ears, you give him the confidence he needs to ask for your number.

sitting in his hotel room late that night, friend!gojo finds it in him to ask you out. he won’t be back until the end of the week and he doesn’t like the idea of not seeing you and hardly even talking to you the whole time he’s away.

friend!gojo pulls out all the stops for your date. he picks you up and even buckles you into the passenger seat, which makes you laugh as you insist it’s too much, and takes you on a drive of the outer city until you reach your destination.

friend!gojo makes his way around the car to open the door, watching the way the fair lights gleam in your eyes as he takes your hand. he keeps you close all night, making every cheesy move you can imagine. that adorable (but way too big) plush cat you point out? it’s yours on his third try (he’s just that good, he insists). the mini donuts you want to share? he would never say no to sweets. the photo booth you eye, unsure if you should say something? good luck hiding your longing stare from him, he’s dragging you inside.

friend!gojo who waits until you’re at the top of the ferris wheel to make a move. his lips are soft and sweet, with a light dusting of cinnamon sugar from the donuts you shared. you can’t help but laugh at just how cheesy the egotistical top salesman really is.

you keep things on the downlow within the company, not rushing to declare your interest in one another to the world and enjoying your time alone together, but you quickly become the talk of the office when a giant bouquet of flowers arrives one morning. no one knows who sent them to you, but they don’t need to ask when the top salesman returns from his outing and bolts to your office to capture your lips. from that moment forward, boyfriend!gojo wastes no expense sending you gifts whenever he’s away.

but most importantly, boyfriend!gojo never lets someone speak over you again.

masterlist

writing & format © starmapz. dividers © adornedwithlight.

[srslyblvck]

── secret santa,, james potter [part one]

pairing: james potter x fem!reader

synopsis: in which you become the secret santa of none other than james potter

genre: fluff

warnings: none

author's note: ik it isn't even december, oh well, i couldn't help myself :)

word count: 1.1k

part two!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ SNOW FLUTTERED GENTLY AGAINST the tall, frosted windows of the Gryffindor common room, casting a soft glow over the cosy space. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, and the air buzzed with anticipation as the Gryffindor gang gathered in a circle on the floor, laughing and sipping on mugs of cocoa.

Sirius, always the self-appointed leader of mischief, stood atop one of the squishy armchairs like he was addressing a crowd of thousands. His dark hair flopped dramatically as he gestured toward the large bowl of folded parchment in his hands.

“Lend me your ears!” Sirius announced with flair. “It is time for the greatest, most legendary Gryffindor tradition—our annual Secret Santa! The only thing that rivals this sacred event is when James hexed Snivellus’—”

“Sirius!” Lily interrupted, fixing him with a sharp glare, though the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement. “If you could manage to keep it PG, that’d be great.”

Sirius sighed dramatically, holding a hand to his chest. “Evans, your lack of faith wounds me. I’m a model of propriety.”

Remus snorted softly from his seat on the arm of the couch. “Sure you are.”

“Can we please get on with it before Sirius bursts into a sonnet about himself?” James chimed in, sprawled out on the floor with his hands behind his head. His untamable hair stuck out in every direction, and his glasses were slightly askew. He was grinning, the kind of grin that could light up an entire room.

“You’re just eager because you’re convinced you’ll get Evans again,” Marlene teased, leaning over to flick James on the shoulder.

James shot her a mock-wounded look. “For your information, I have no such hopes. My heart will graciously accept any gift—except socks. Sirius.”

Sirius gasped. “I would never.”

“You absolutely would,” Dorcas piped up with a smirk, earning a round of laughter from the group.

“Alright, alright!” Sirius cut in, gesturing dramatically toward the bowl in his hands. “The rules are simple: pick a name, don’t tell anyone who you’ve got, and if your gift sucks, prepare to be ruthlessly mocked.”

“Sounds fair,” Peter muttered as he scratched his nose.

One by one, the group leaned forward to pluck a slip of parchment from the bowl. You waited until your turn, your fingers brushing against the cool paper as you grabbed a folded chit. Your heart skipped a beat as you unfolded it and saw the name:

James Potter.

Your eyes instinctively darted toward him. James was mid-laugh, probably at some ridiculous quip Sirius had made, and there was a mischievous sparkle in his hazel eyes. You quickly looked away before anyone could notice the heat rising to your cheeks.

Of all the names you could’ve drawn, it had to be James.

From the moment names were drawn, the common room became a hotbed of shenanigans.

“Oi, love,” James said casually the next evening as you sat near the fire, working on your Potions essay. “You can just tell me who you’ve got, you know. Save yourself the stress.”

You didn’t even look up from your parchment. “Nice try, Potter. Not happening.”

He leaned back in his chair, clutching his chest dramatically. “You wound me! After everything we’ve been through?”

“I’m doing you a favour,” you said with a smirk, finally glancing up. “Imagine the disappointment if I told you someone else got you and not your precious Evans.”

His grin widened, and there was a playful glint in his eyes. “Who says I want Evans?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve only been after her for, what, three years?”

James shrugged, leaning forward on his elbows. “Maybe I’ve had a change of heart. Maybe there’s someone else who’s caught my eye.”

Your cheeks burned, and you quickly ducked your head to pretend you were reading your essay. “Well, whoever they are, I’m sure they pity you.”

He threw his head back with a laugh, and your stomach did an annoying little flip. Merlin, he was impossible.

The chaos only deepened as Christmas approached. James became increasingly annoying in his quest to figure out his Secret Santa, trying to weasel answers out of everyone.

“Wormtail, it’s you, isn’t it?”

“What? No!” Peter said, flustered, clutching his Charms textbook.

“It’s Moony, then,” James decided, turning to Remus.

“I’m not saying anything,” Remus said calmly, flipping a page in his book. “But if you keep pestering me, I’ll make sure whoever has you gets you socks.”

“Traitors, all of you,” James declared, throwing himself onto the couch in defeat.

“I heard Sirius in Honeydukes the other day asking the shopkeeper if they could make a giant chocolate wolf. Like, life-sized.” Marlene whispered, her eyes wide with glee.

You clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were,” Marlene said, grinning. “The poor clerk looked like they didn’t know whether to laugh or run.”

“Are you two gossiping about me?” Sirius asked, turning to narrow his eyes at you and Marlene.

“Always,” Marlene quipped, not missing a beat.

Sirius looked pleased. “As you should.”

You spent hours agonising over James’ gift. He was impossible to shop for—he had everything he needed, and he didn’t seem the type to care much about material things. But you wanted it to be special, something that would show you’d noticed the little things about him.

Finally, inspiration struck.

You bought him a small, leather-bound notebook, the kind with a soft cover and faint golden stars embossed on the front. James was always scribbling something—Quidditch plays, spell ideas, random doodles. It seemed like the perfect fit.

Inside the front cover, you wrote:

For all your brilliant (and slightly ridiculous) ideas. - ♡

You also found a tiny enchanted Snitch pin at a shop in Hogsmeade. It was gold and delicate, and its tiny wings occasionally fluttered when touched. You figured it was subtle enough to wear but still a nod to his love for Quidditch.

The common room glowed with the warmth of fairy lights strung around the tree, and the group had gathered again, this time with a pile of wrapped gifts beneath the branches. Sirius had, naturally, donned a Santa hat and was gleefully handing out presents.

When it was James’ turn, he tore into the wrapping paper with childlike enthusiasm, his grin widening as he pulled out the notebook and pin.

“This is…” He trailed off, turning the notebook over in his hands. His hazel eyes softened as he read the note inside, and a small, genuine smile played on his lips. “This is brilliant.”

He held up the pin, letting it catch the light, and glanced around the room. “Whoever got me this, you’ve officially got better taste than Sirius.”

“Oi!” Sirius protested, though he was laughing.

James’ gaze flickered to you for a brief moment, and your heart stuttered. Did he know? The way his smile lingered made you wonder, but you quickly looked away, your cheeks warm.

For now, you were content with the way his smile lit up the room.

[tranquilreign]

superhuman | series | 18+ | I.

- © tranquilreign - all rights reserved | DO NOT STEAL, TAKE or COPY any of MY WORK without MY PERMISSION.

pairing; jungkook/reader genre: mafia au! dystopian au! tattoo artist au! warnings: alcohol consumption, drug consumption, sexual themes, swearing, death, blood, violence, eyeball stuff (please if you are squeamish take care) word count: 3.3k synopsis: the year 2107, seven years after the first superhuman was confirmed. Though few in numbers, they are dangerous. deadly. as their appearances have become more frequent, you have your identity hidden for your own safety. but the superhumans seem to be one step ahead. notes: please understand that the mafia/tattoo artist au is inspired by wattpad story blood ink by pocketbangtan. nothing else. taglist: @taekrve @taerjin @softhaes

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

The rain poured down heavily, soaking the vibrant streets of Seoul as you weaved through the bustling crowd. After much contemplation and gathering the courage, you were finally on your way to a tattoo studio, hoping to arrive before it closed.

After conducting thorough research and exploring various websites and Instagram pages, you finally found the perfect tattoo studio. Initially, you felt uncertain because the studio only employed male tattoo artists and had a rather hardcore vibe.

That changed once you saw that they welcomed newcomers to tattoos. You followed your map under your umbrella, murmuring quiet 'excuse me's' as you pushed through the crowd.

"Two minutes away," you said to yourself.

As you rounded the last corner, you spotted the studio's sign in the distance. It gleamed in bright neon red, with the letters "BTS" prominently illuminated. Beneath that, the words "Body Tattoo Studio" were displayed. For some reason, you found the name of the place particularly appealing.

You sprinted down the street, closing your umbrella despite the relentless rain. The downpour soaked through to your skin, making you shiver from the sudden cold. When you arrived, you stopped, placing your hand on the wall and heaving to catch your breath.

The sound of a door opening caught your attention, and you looked up. A head was poking out from behind the glass doors of the studio, looking everywhere until it's eyes landed on you.

"Oh! Hello there," the man chirped cheerfully. "Are you alright? You look rather wet."

"I'm-" you gasped, "-I'm fine. Just wanted-" another pause. "Wanted to get here before you closed," you replied, struggling to get the last part of your sentence out.

"Well, come on in! I'll make you something to drink. Do you want coffee? Tea? Perhaps a hot chocolate?"

The door to the studio swung wide open, and you entered without hesitation. You grabbed your arms in a poor attempt to try and warm yourself up.

"Tea, please, if you wouldn't mind," you spoke, taking in your surroundings.

The waiting area was filled with tattoo designs showcasing various styles. You were in awe, wondering how to choose one among so many.

"See one you like?"

The sudden voice made you jump, making you look around for the owner. Your eyes fell upon another man. He was slightly taller than the one who let you in, leaning against the counter, arms folded. His hair was dark, contrasting elegantly with his beauty

"I don't know. There are so many to choose from," you responded honestly. "But they are beautiful," you quickly added.

The man hummed, moving behind the counter and sitting in a computer chair. He didn't have many tattoos, but you took note of the one that ran up his forearm. It looked as though it was a barcode, but with large numbers underneath. 21001031.

At that moment, the man from before returned, holding a cardboard cup of tea. He handed it to you with a smile.

"Thank you," you mumbled, blowing on the hot liquid to cool it quicker. "I'm sorry. I was just speaking with your colleague, and I haven't actually picked one out," you admitted, suddenly growing embarrassed at your lack of preparation.

"That's fine," the man replied. He suddenly gasped. "Please forgive me, I forgot to introduce myself! My name is Mirage."

The man held out his hand, which you gently took with your free one. You smiled, glancing over to the other man who was looking between the two of you.

"It's nice to meet you, Mirage," you smiled. "That's a really unique name." The man laughed.

"Oh no. They're just our artist names. My actual name is Tae-"

The man was cut off by a sudden cough. You both looked in the direction of the man in the chair, who was staring Mirage down. Nervously, he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

"Sorry about him. We keep our names classified. We've had a few customers in the past who have caused us a bit of trouble."

Your eyes widened at his words. What did he mean by trouble? As if Mirage sensed your worry, he suddenly stuttered and waved his hands in front of him frantically.

"I just mean with stalking! We've had a few customers here in the past who have taken a liking to some of our artists. So for our own safety, we started to use fake names."

"Ah," you responded. "Well, I'm Y/n."

There was a silence in the air, tense. You looked at the two men, wondering if you had said anything offensive. Mirage quickly smiled again, putting his hands on his hips.

"Well, I have to head through to the back! I have a client soon. If you need any help, speak to Doc. He'll help you with anything you need."

With that, Mirage scurried away into the back, leaving you alone with the man you now knew as 'Doc.'

"Is there a particular design you have in mind?" he suddenly asked. "Like, are you a fan of flowers, or animals-"

"Animals," you replied quickly. "I like animals."

"It shouldn't be too hard to find one you like, then. We have loads to choose from," Doc explained, getting up from his chair and standing next to you. "Any particular animal?"

You stood for a moment, never having thought about what animals you actually liked. You were never usually picky; you liked them all.

"I suppose, maybe a snake? I quite like the idea of having a cunning animal," you answered.

Doc thought for a moment, processing what you had just said. He then moved back behind the counter and hauled out a large black binder from underneath the tabletop, thumping it down onto the surface.

"When it comes to a cunning animal, foxes are typically what people tend to think of. Snakes are a good option too for that as well, though, so your idea wasn't entirely wrong."

'Wrong?' you thought, scowling slightly at the man's words.

"Sorry, I just meant that when it comes to cunning animals, a snake most likely wouldn't be a first pick," Doc corrected, noticing your frown.

You shrugged, both of you now looking through the binder together at the various animal tattoos. You slammed your hand down onto the page, startling Doc.

"This one," you breathed.

It was a snake, its body wrapping around itself continuously as if it were infinite. The intricate details of the scales mesmerised you, as if the snake were real.

"You sure? This is a pretty big piece, and with it being your first tattoo-"

"How do you know it's my first tattoo?" you asked suddenly, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I can just tell. You have that vibe about you. And no offence, you look clueless," Doc chuckled at your expression.

You huffed.

"Alright, so it's my first tattoo. But I have a high pain tolerance, I know I can handle it."

"Alright," Doc sighed, leaning over to the desk opposite you and grabbing a clipboard. "I'm going to need your details. You are over eighteen, right?"

"Yeah. I'm twenty-three."

"Good. If you just fill this out, I'll get Wraith to come and have a chat with you."

Doc walked away, leaving you to fill out the paperwork in silence. You moved, sitting down at one of the seats against the side wall, throwing your leg over the other.

You filled out the paperwork quickly, letting the clipboard sit in your lap as your leg bounced, your nerves returning now that you were alone. Deciding that sitting was making you more anxious than you needed to be, you stood up, wandering around the room looking at all the designs.

They truly were beautiful, making a mental note of the artist's names in the bottom right corner of each design. You seemed to like their styles most.

You suddenly felt a presence behind you, startling you. You spun on the spot, bouncing back and holding up your fists, ready to defend yourself. The man in front of you eyed you, confused. Seeing that he posed no threat to you, you sighed, letting your hands drop to your sides.

"Sorry, you startled me," you breathed.

"That's quite alright," he replied.

His voice was smooth, alluring. He looked at you with such intensity that it sent shivers down your spine. The man tilted his head, a smile gracing his features as he looked at you.

"You fight?" he asks.

"What?"

"Do you fight? The defensive position you took when you moved away makes it seem like you fight," the man explained.

"Ah," you said. "Yeah, I took taekwondo when I was younger."

"Oh!~" the man mused. "Black belt?"

You nodded, making the man's smile widen. He stepped closer to you, taking your hand in his. You could barely think, your mind growing hazy at his touch. It was like you were being wrapped in a blanket of silk, and you didn't want to leave.

"A pretty woman like you shouldn't be fighting," he mused, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. "Do you not have someone to protect you?"

You were in a daze, chest heaving as desire filled you. The smile on the man's face had turned into a smirk, watching as you fell under what you could only describe as his spell.

In that moment, you bit your lip hard. The pain pulled you out of the drowsiness. You pulled your hand away, taking the man aback.

"I'm afraid I don't need anyone to protect me. I don't want to put that burden on anyone else," you explained, smiling at him.

You had no idea what had just happened, whether it was a moment of confusion or you spaced out, you didn't know. Only now realising just how hard you bit your lip, you winced. An unfamiliar metallic taste sat in your mouth, a clear sign you were bleeding. Gently, you pressed your fingers to your lips.

"Shit," you cursed. "Do you have a tissue?"

The man walked behind the counter in silence, pulling out a packet of wipes and handing one to you. Quickly thanking him, you pressed it against your lip, the chemicals stinging your small wound.

Doc had returned, the man you assumed to be Wraith following close behind him. The two men looked between you and the man in front of you, analysing the situation.

"Siren, what did you do to her?" Doc scolded, moving towards the shorter man and smacking him on the back of the head.

"Ow! I didn't do anything," Siren pouted, rubbing the back of his head.

"Well, you did something. She wasn't bleeding when I left her."

You watched as the two men squabbled, stifling a giggle. Your gaze drifted to Wraith, and your breath hitched as you took in his appearance. He wore a tight, plain black t-shirt that hugged his body perfectly. Black ink adorned his neck and extended down to the sleeve of his right arm. His dark hair matched his eyes, creating an effect as if you were staring into a black hole—dangerous yet utterly mesmerising. Pulling yourself out of yet another trance, you turned your attention back to Siren and Doc.

"I bit my lip, is all," you explained. "I was feeling- well, I don't actually know what I was feeling. Drowsy maybe? I know that sudden pain helps keep you alert, so I bit my lip. Maybe a bit harder than I intended."

Doc looked at Siren for a moment, then back at you, unsure of what to make of what you said. Instead, he chose to ignore it, placing his arm around your shoulder and escorting you over to Wraith.

"What have I told you about smoking inside the studio?" Doc sighed, shaking his head.

Wraith held a cigarette between his lips, hunting for his lighter in his jeans pockets. You eyed him as he moved, unable to stop watching the way his muscles flexed ever so slightly. Doc muttered under his breath, walking away.

"Fuck, must have left it back in the room," Wraith cursed.

Finally, his attention turned to you. He looked you up and down, an eyebrow raised. He removed the cigarette from his mouth, letting his tongue dart across his upper lip.

"So you want a snake?"

"I uh, yes," you fumbled, feeling rather foolish.

You couldn't help but bite your lower lip, drawing more blood from your bite wound. You silently cursed yourself for forgetting and quickly wiped away the blood with the wipe Siren gave you.

"Good. Come with me."

You followed behind him to one of the back rooms in the studio. It was a small room, with only a chair and a table in the centre of the room. Wraith moved to sit down in the chair, making a grab for the lighter.

"Doc showed me the snake design you liked. You chose the best one."

"Oh? I did?" you spoke, smiling.

"Of course. I drew it," Wraith replied with a smug look.

Oh, he's one of those guys.

"I see. Well, I really like your drawing style," you complimented, still standing at the door.

Wraith lit his cigarette and leaned back in his chair. He turned his head to look at you, silently urging you to come closer. You obeyed and moved next to him.

"Sit on the table and I can get you set up."

"Alright," you answered, moving to sit down. "Would you happen to know any good places to get-"

You were silenced when Wraith stood in front of you suddenly, gripping you by the hair, pulling your head back. You had no time to let out a yell, and he pulled his tattoo gun so it was millimetres away from your eye. You stopped breathing, scared the slightest movement would result in having a needle in your eye.

"You are really brave coming here alone, you know," Wraith whispered, his breath fanning against your face.

Wraith pulled the needle away from your eye, pulling you up by your hair to make you stand. You let out a strangled yelp, but it was quickly silenced by a hand covering your mouth.

"I could hardly believe it when Doc came through and said you had walked in. And just after we started planning your capture. How convenient indeed."

You were confused, tears pricking your eyes, at the immense pain in your scalp was in. Wraith leaned down to your level, letting his lips brush over your ear.

"Don't worry, love, we won't kill you. You're simply too valuable to us dead."

Your eyes widened at his words. He grinned, letting go of your hair and stepping back. Wraith's head was tilted, arms open slightly as if inviting you to try to escape.

You quickly moved, suddenly grabbing the chair and holding it in front of you to create a barricade between you. he chuckled. You held the arms of the chair tightly, staring at him with fear and anger.

"And what's this going to do, hm? Even if you get past me, which I doubt you will, six more of us are waiting for you outside this room," Wraith grinned, watching you closely.

You tried not to look away from him to find something to defend yourself with. He would be able to read your every move otherwise. He moved slightly to lean against the wall, waiting for you to react.

"Give it your best shot, love. I do enjoy a challenge."

Everything happened so fast before either of you realised what was happening. You had pretended to push the chair to the left, instead bringing it back and putting your foot on it. You kicked it towards Wraith with such force that the back hit him in the stomach, winding him momentarily.

You jumped over the tattoo bench and flipped it onto its side, moving to hide behind it. This gave you time to look around the room for something to grab. You noticed a towel lying on the floor. You crawled over to it, grabbed it, and stood back up.

Enraged, Wraith grabbed the chair and threw it out of his way, crashing against the wall and breaking the mirror next to it. You flinched at his strength. He moved, quicker than you had ever seen anyone move, and attempted to jab your side.

Using the towel, you wrapped it underneath his wrist and pushed upwards, the blow barely missing you. With his stance now broken, it created an opening for you to land a powerful kick into his side. He stumbled back, watching as you moved into a defensive stance.

"Taekwondo," he breathed out a laugh. "I hate to break it to you, love, but you're not beating me. No one ever has, or ever will."

"Looks like you're doing a pretty shit job then," you taunted.

His eyes burned with rage and excitement at your words. His speed was unlike any other, moving in so close and quickly that you couldn't react this time. Wraith grabbed your wrists and pinned you down to the ground.

Struggling against his iron-like grip, you wriggled underneath him. He chuckled, leaning down so his lips barely grazed your ear. He wasn't out of breath, surprising you when he spoke smoothly.

"Goodnight, love."

He pinned your hands above your head, holding them down with one hand as he moved the other to the back of your neck. Running his hand up your back, you shivered, feeling his fingers gently grip your neck. He pressed hard against your skin, making your body go limp.

to be continued...

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

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[thesunloveschips]

Obsessed - Part 1 (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: In a world of boys, he’s an obsessed billionaire stalker. (Should I write a part 2?)

Warnings: stalker Azriel, lots of smutty fantasies, delusional reader.

Click here for Obsessed (Masterlist)

****

Azriel knew that he was one mad bastard. How else would he have killed his half-brothers, his sperm donor (he refused to refer to that fuckface as a father), and that bitch of a step-mother to take over the one of the largest conglomerates in the world?

He never lost sight of his goals. 

Revenge? Check.

Securing wealth and assets? Check.

Taking care of his mother? Check. 

He’d come a long way from being the illegitimate child tortured when his father and half-brothers had nothing else to do to leading the largest conglomerate in the country. 

He was tactical, ruthless, and currently madly obsessed with a woman dancing in the club like this was her moment.

From his perspective, this was the moment their lives would be irrevocably changed. 

She was like the flame of a candle with a warm glow he was now desperate to covet. She glowed only for those who observed, not for those who simply looked. 

And he was observing. Studying every inch of her like she was his personal research project. 

Her body moved way too mesmerisingly. His cock was aching now. That dress was so nicely fitted on her curves. Such a pretty dress. He noted the dress so that he could fuck her in it in the future in honour of the day their paths crossed. 

Her eyes were closed or half-open for a long time but they were now properly open. Round eyes took in her surroundings as she drew her friend closer with a hand on her waist and looked at another club goer who had invaded their space. The man apologised and moved away. 

While this woman was guarding her friend, said friend was glaring at a man behind her who was getting too close. The friend tapped the man over his woman’s shoulder and was probably screeching at him. 

When the man began frowning and saying something back that did not seem like an apology for invading personal space, Azriel stood up, buttoning his blazer, and walked over. 

The crowd was barely a bother as he immediately reached them. He glared at the man from behind his woman and her friend and the man turned away and quickly moved. 

She looked at her friend and then noticed him standing behind her. He bowed his head and fished out his phone. He quickly typed in his message and showed it to them.

I’ll ensure that he’s removed. Enjoy your night. 

He simply put his phone in his pocket and bowed his head once. Y/n said something that he couldn’t hear but from the way her lips moved, it was most likely a word of gratitude. He nodded and returned to his area on the floor above. He whispered his order to one of his bodyguards and the two women watched as the man was escorted out of the club. 

The women looked at each other and laughed. And then she gathered her hair behind her head and held it there for a few seconds. Probably to let it cool after all the sweat. 

Her neck looked like a canvas. 

His canvas. 

And he’d mark her soon.  

Once he was seated again, he received his iPad from one of his men with a report of his woman. 

Y/n. A very suitable name. He’d moan or groan that name every night. 

Aged twenty four. He was twenty eight. This could definitely work.

A few basic details about her family. Soon, his own name would be added in her biodata under the category of spouse. 

But then he caught sight of another picture with a name and the relation to her as her ex-boyfriend. 

He was now curious. 

Azriel looked at Y/n, happy and dancing with her friend and so beautiful, she made him feel something pleasant. Was this happiness?

And then he looked at his iPad and frowned. He looked at her and then at the iPad again. 

Why would someone so beautiful, perfect, wonderful, intelligent woman, ever date this. . . this. . . whatever this was? 

He sent the name of this ex-boyfriend to his contact for more information and then scrolled. 

Height, weight, medical history, social media, and. . . A notification popped up with the report on the ex-boyfriend. The more he read it, the more he frowned. 

Azriel looked up and found Y/n now joined by a few more people with whom she laughed and drank. She was so. . . he didn’t really know how to articulate his own feelings but even reading her biodata made him feel pleasant. He was calm. 

But then he looked at the report of her ex-boyfriend.

His woman probably had some vision problems because why would this magnificent woman ever date this rat?

The more he read about their connection, the more he felt the familiar black rage rising in his chest like a behemoth. 

So the lowlife had made her cry. Spoken nonsense about her. Spread rumours. And had made her feel like she was less than the woman she was. 

Oh. 

Oh.

Well, well, well. 

Somebody needs to drown in the sewer he originated from. 

He’d take care of that soon.

Y/n’s own report revealed that she was there in the club to celebrate the birthday of her best friend’s youngest sister. 

Her best friend seemed like a reasonable woman. Nesta Archeron, her childhood friend who was more of a sister and also, her dancing companion. He glossed over more details of Nesta and Y/n’s friendship and finally set the iPad next to him. 

Beautiful was probably an understatement to describe his woman. 

Now there were two new details regarding Y/n. 

She was his. 

And he was hers. 

****

Y/n had hauled her luggage out of the apartment and somehow reached the airport. She was anxious and excited for her new semester. Her last wild party was back when Feyre turned twenty one. She danced and drank and enjoyed every bit of it. 

And she had the salivating memory of the sexiest guy she’d ever met. 

Y/n had easily woken up around eight in the morning with no headaches. But a night with alcohol usually made her a little slow the next morning.

Nesta was also awake and they were brushing their teeth. Y/n spat the foam and then turned to her friend. “Remember the guy who just popped and ensured that the creep would be kicked out?”

Nesta hummed, looking as suspicious as she could with a toothbrush in her mouth and a layer of foam on her lips. 

“The ways. . . I would fuck him, Nes. He could ask me to kneel and I’d do that and thank him.”

Nesta spat some foam before speaking. “He was way too hot.”

“Hot is an understatement.” Y/n washed her mouth and then resumed. “He looked like a god.”

“Does he speak though?” Nesta splashed some water on her face before grabbing the bottle of face wash.

“Why is that relevant?” Y/n was already rubbing the face wash on her cheeks. 

“You want him to groan while he fucks you, right? You don’t want a saintly priest silent in the sheets.” Nesta had made a very valid point.

“I would not be opposed to a priest if they were that hot.” Y/n remembered that she’d seen an Instagram reel about a novel where a priest was. . . indulging. She hadn’t read the novel but the reel remained on her mind. 

“Yeah.” Nesta sighed. 

“He was probably an illusion.”

“What?” Nesta nearly shouted. 

“We were drunk and dancing and the lights were all bam! Could’ve hallucinated seeing a guy that hot since it’s been far too long since we got laid.” Y/n sighed.

“Railed. We deserve to be railed, not laid. Laid is for the romantic sweethearts who dream of fluffy blankets and cupcakes. Railed is for people like us.” Nesta was a strong advocate of getting railed and right now, Y/n really wanted to get railed. 

“When you go for that semester exchange.” Nesta began seriously. “And see if there are hot guys there. If you do find them, make sure he has a hot brother or a hot best friend.” This was a mandate. 

“Yes, ma’am." This was what happened when two girl best friends were delusional after reading so many smutty romances.

A man who looked like he’d fuck the life out of her. Y/n always thought those were only fictional men like Dante Russo, Aiden King, or Zade Meadows.

But there he was. She'd met such a man.

And no, Y/n wasn't blessed with the good fortune of being railed by that man whose sex appeal was so high she was beginning to ache by just remembering him.

She knew exactly what all she wanted. 

She wanted to be taken against a wall. To be eaten out. To have her head pushed onto the bed while being fucked from behind. 

She wanted it rough.

To be handled.

And when she was satisfied just enough to make up for months of not having sex, she'd take charge. She’d ride that man so well. 

A sudden impact reminded her that she was still standing in the middle of the airport with her luggage, waiting for an early morning flight, on an empty stomach, simply fantasising about getting so gloriously fucked by the man with whom she’d just collided. . . what?

Y/n looked around and realised that she’d collided into someone who immediately grabbed her to save her from a fall. She also realised that this was a man. A very familiar man from the club. The one she’d been fantasising about. 

With the amount of dirty thoughts that kept popping up, Y/n was sure that an exorcist would fail to get rid of the lust within her. 

In better lighting, Y/n took in his tan skin, thick eyebrows, that huge body, curly black hair, and his powerful gaze.  

This was it.

This was the face. 

This was the face. 

The one that she wanted between her legs.

She’d spread nice and wide for this man. 

“Excuse me? Are you all right?” His voice. His voice! Oh, this deep voice. Perfect. 

The thought of him groaning her name made her stomach tighten. 

Oh gods, she hadn’t had sex in so long and now an insanely attractive man was simply helping her and she was ready to fuck him right there in the middle of the airport. 

“I’m fine.” Y/n responded. “Have we met before?” She definitely sounded desperate. Y/n was ready to be hit by a plane like the pigeons in those old cartoon shows who’d crash into the window of a plane and make a funny face.  

“Yes.” He did not smile but his features definitely softened. The intensity in his gaze turned into something beautiful. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble after that man.”

“No.” She responded, a little shy. “We were fine. We enjoyed the night. Thank you for interfering.” 

****

Azriel had tracked the flight in which she would be travelling for her exchange program and booked himself a ticket. That was seven days after he’d laid eyes on her for the first time. 

Among the many things that he’d discovered about his woman during those seven days, there was nothing that explained why she was standing in the middle of the airport, dazed as if she’d seen something mesmerising. 

Under the airport lighting, he saw her. He’d reached the airport long before she did and had been standing near the row of counters which were catering to the airline they would soon be flying in. 

Azriel saw this woman walk over to the queue. She yawned and looked around. She wore her earphones and looked and smiled like she was stopping herself from laughing. 

He’d noticed that she had long hair but under better lighting, she was her curly hair and how long it was. It seemed like she’d taken good care of her hair.

That was good. 

Hair was very important. And her hair was thick and long. 

He pictured her hair wrapped around his fist while she sucked his cock. He would be sitting and she would be on her knees. 

Another image appeared with her straddling him as he sucked her breast while she rode him. A masterpiece. 

Y/n laughed a little at something else on her phone. 

It was her turn and she submitted her documents, checked in that humongous suitcase that he’d be helping her with once they landed, and received her boarding pass. 

After a while of heading towards the food court, she stopped in the middle of the airport, eyes on some decoration that was not as fascinating as her attention on it made it out to be. 

What was she thinking?

Azriel didn’t like this. 

He hadn’t seen her for seven days and now, she was not even paying him any attention. 

So he decided to take matters into his own hands and pretended to look at his phone as he ‘accidentally’ collided onto her. 

She’d recognised him. 

His woman remembered him.

He was definitely satisfied. Or not. 

Azriel just realised that he hadn’t orchestrated the collision in a manner that would allow her breasts to come in contact with his arm or chest for a second. 

A missed opportunity. 

What a sad life.

“My name is Azriel.” He extended a hand. She took it and shook his hand. Soon, it’d be his cock. Those nails would dig into his arms and back when he fucked her. Patience.  

Azriel was dressed in all black. High neck, trousers, and a blazer he held on his arm which was strategically placed in front of him so as to conceal the crotch area just in case he was aroused. He was. 

“I’m Y/n.” And then she covered her mouth as a yawn escaped her. “I’m sorry. Early morning flights are always tiring.” 

Baby curls were right beneath her ears and she gave him a sleepy smile. And for the first time, he understood how influential Y/n was. Because if he were to see that face first thing in the morning, he’d never leave his bed.

The morning sex would be so glorious. He could wake her up by eating that pussy. Her legs would be trembling on his shoulders while he feasted on her. 

“I understand.” He replied. “A good breakfast helps.”

“Haven’t had any.” She lifted a hand and waved it once. Of course, he knew she hadn’t had breakfast. His men who’d watched her apartment from the one across the street had reported no activity in her kitchen. 

“Do you have some time before boarding? We could have breakfast together.” Okay, now he was just desperate. This was embarrassing. But he wanted to spend time with her. 

“Boarding starts at five twenty. We have. .” She looked at her watch. “Lots of time. Where do you want to eat?” She looked up at him, those eyes eager. 

Azriel looked around. The washrooms came into his view. Since the cleaning staff were not here this early, he easily had fifteen to twenty minutes to eat her. The fire exit was another option. There were a few blindspots there. Or maybe underneath the escalator? 

“That place has some good coffee and spaghetti.” 

Coffee? Spaghetti? Azriel blinked at her and then looked at the places Y/n was pointing at. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

 She was talking about food. 

All right. 

Food. 

“Sure.” He looked at her. She looked a little happier at his agreement. “Shall we?” 

Y/n eagerly nodded and they headed over to that food outlet. 

A nice breakfast included some coffee Azriel’s soul needed, spaghetti, and a very happy albeit sleepy Y/n telling him about her masters program. Details he’d already known but was pleased to hear from her. He would hear more of her voice and understand more about her feelings regarding what was happening in her life. 

“What about you? You don’t look like a student.”

“Correct. I work at Umbra.” He didn’t add that he was the chairman and the controlling shareholder but that was fine. “I’m on a business trip.”

“Oh.” Her mood deflated. 

“What happened?” Umbra was a big name. Wasn’t working there something to show that he was financially secure and didn’t have any debts thereby bringing him closer to the future of being her husband? Wasn’t that enough to convince her that he had enough money so that she wouldn’t have to worry? 

He’d known enough about how Y/n wanted a library of her own in her own home. Sure, the penthouse in the city was not purchased with her in mind but he’d already cleared out a room to be used as a library. 

And the flat he’d purchased in the city they’d be flying to also had a room ready to be her library. He’d give her his card so that she could decorate it to her heart’s content. 

“Nothing.” She looked up at him wide eyed. 

“It’s not nothing.”  He pressed gentler than he’d ever been.

“Well, I really don’t know what career I want to move ahead in.” 

Oh. That was a genuine concern. Of course, he had the money in case Y/n never wanted to work. Or if she wanted to take a break before she started working. 

So they talked. They talked about her field which he had learned as much as he could in seven days and had a discussion that lifted her spirits. But Azriel knew it wouldn't take long before she fretted over it again. 

At least Y/n didn’t have to worry about being alone in that huge pit of despair over careers and futures. He’d be there to support her in any way she needed. 

“I’ll be off to the washroom, hm? Give me a few minutes.” Y/n stood up and walked away with her phone. The rest of her luggage was still at the table with Azriel. 

How nice it was to be trusted with her luggage. All after meeting her for the second time and conversing with her properly only once. 

He frowned. Was Y/n always this easily trusting? This could be dangerous. He should assign someone to follow her so that even if she trusts someone else like this, she wouldn’t be robbed. 

Azriel, having resolved that this was the only woman he’d ever marry and have any kids with, smiled faintly when she returned from the washroom. And the two of them headed over to the boarding gates.

[seulgisqt]

𝐏𝐀𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 — alexia putellas

alexia putellas x golfer!fem!reader

(a/n: had this in the drafts for months whilst uni was taking me out, inspired by literally watching one tournament and I thought of football?? well yes!)

word count: 1559

genre: fluff

summary: their meet-cute begins with a missed golf rule and ends with exchanged numbers and quiet smiles

Alexia wasn’t entirely sure why she said yes.

Well, she knew why. It was for charity. Something about raising awareness for girls’ sports and increasing visibility for women athletes. She was all for it. But as she stood on the edge of the green in all-black casuals, looking vaguely lost with a cold water bottle clutched between both hands, she couldn’t help but think: This isn’t my turf.

She didn’t even like golf.

The silence was unnerving. No roaring crowds. No studs on the grass. Just polite claps, murmurs, and the distant mechanical hum of cameras and golf carts.

Here, your concentration was unwavering.

The sun blazed high in the azure sky above the Marbella golf course, its golden rays bathing the immaculately trimmed fairways in a warm, inviting glow. Despite the heat radiating from the ground, you felt a cool, calmness enveloping you. Your gaze was locked on the bright white dimpled ball nestled in the emerald grass, and your feet planted firmly on the lush turf, a sense of stability grounding you. With each measured breath, you felt the rhythm of the game pulsing through you.

Then came the moment: you executed a flawless swing. The club connected with the ball with a resounding crack, a sound that echoed in the stillness of the course. The ball rocketed off the tee, soaring high into the sky before gliding straight down the fairway, drawing appreciative applause from the onlookers who had gathered to witness your skill.

It was your third tournament win this season. You were on top of your game, and nothing distracted you—not the pressure, not the cameras, not even the occasional celebrity faces appearing along the ropes to watch. 

But today…there was a distraction. Or rather, someone unexpected.

You spotted her near the 12th green. She was impossible to miss, not because she was a household name—though she certainly was—but rather because of the air of uncertainty about her. Clad in a stylish outfit that seemed almost too casual for the prestigious surroundings, she wore oversized sunglasses that suggested she preferred to blend into the crowd. Yet, no amount of disguise could mask her presence. 

It was the way she carried herself that caught your attention. She appeared somewhat lost, her posture a bit too rigid, like a traveller navigating an unfamiliar landscape, searching for a place to belong. 

Alexia Putellas. 

The captain of FC Barcelona Femení. A revered icon of the national team. She was nothing short of football royalty, yet here she was, mingling among the spectators as just another guest of one of the tournament’s sponsors.

As you glanced in her direction, your eyes met for a fleeting moment—a mere accident—and in that instant, she quickly diverted her gaze, a hint of embarrassment flickering across her face, as if she had been caught in a private moment she wasn't meant to share.

That small interaction brought a smile to your lips.

After the exhilarating round of play, with the excitement of interviews and the celebratory flash of trophy photos still fresh in your mind, you strolled back towards the players’ lounge. The atmosphere was alive with chatter and laughter, yet you weren’t expecting to cross paths with her again. As you rounded the corner near the refreshments table—the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air—there she was. 

She stood there, seemingly lost in her own world, a tiny paper cup of steaming espresso cradled delicately in her hands. The rich aroma of the coffee curled around her, but her focus was solely on the glowing screen of her phone, her brow slightly furrowed as if seeking an escape route from the thrumming energy of the crowd. The soft glow illuminated her features, highlighting her intensity and the cascade of hair that framed her face. In that charged moment, the bustling lounge faded away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of possibility, igniting a surge of anticipation within you.

“You look like someone who just googled ‘golf rules for beginners,’” you remarked, noticing her slightly bewildered expression as she studied the course.

Alexia was taken aback for a moment but then a slow smile crept across her face, illuminating her features. “Guilty as charged. I didn’t realise it would be this tranquil out here.”

“There’s not much in the way of crowd noise where we play,” you replied, leaning casually against the edge of a wooden table, which looked like it had seen many rounds of golf discussions. “We’re more about suffering in silence.”

She chuckled softly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “You were amazing, by the way. That last putt you made, was absolutely ice cold.”

You smiled, a little proud of the compliment. “Thanks. You’re not too shabby either, judging from what I’ve seen on the field.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow and smirked playfully. “So, you’ve been watching me play, huh?”

“More than once,” you admitted with a wink. “I’m a fan of Barça.”

As the realisation hit her, a faint blush crept onto her cheeks, contrasting beautifully with her sun-kissed skin. “Oh, I’m sorry! I should’ve introduced myself properly. I’m Alexia.”

“I know, I’m—” you replied, a smile growing on your lips.

“I know who you are. It’s just…” Her grin turned a touch sheepish, and she bit her lip in a lighthearted way. “I might’ve caught a few highlights last night, trying to wrap my head around what I was getting into today.”

Her admission caught you off guard, prompting a genuine laugh. “And? Did that help at all?”

“Not really. I still can’t wrap my head around why there are five distinct types of clubs,” she said, a hint of confusion in her voice.

“Well, I could certainly break it down for you,” you replied, a playful glint in your eye. “But I can't promise that my explanation will be the most thrilling of narratives.”

“Lay it on me,” she challenged, her curiosity piqued.

You found yourself comfortably settled on a rustic wooden bench, positioned on the sun-drenched patio just outside the lounge. The gentle warmth of the breeze playfully caressed your hair, momentarily distracting you as you endeavoured to articulate the nuances of golf's various clubs—hybrids, irons, woods, wedges, and putters—with the precision of an athlete and just the right sprinkling of metaphors to elicit laughter from her. She leaned in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, hanging on your every word. Occasionally, she would interject with thought-provoking questions that compelled you to reconsider the familiar concepts you had long taken for granted.

It was oddly refreshing.

Eventually, your conversation meandered, slipping away from golf and into everything else. Favourite training meals. Worst weather you’ve ever played in. Alexia’s obsession with peanut butter and oat bowls. Your childhood fear of putting in front of strangers. Her tendency to watch motivational videos at 3am before matches. Your inability to sleep before big tournaments.

Then, in a moment of playful teasing, she nudged you gently with her shoulder and asked, “Does this happen every time you win? You charm footballers with golf analogies?”

You raised an inquisitive eyebrow, a grin creeping onto your face. “Only the ones who seem ready to bolt after we reach the fifth hole.” 

“Well, lucky for me, I hung around,” she smiled, brimming with warmth. Before you realised it, the words tumbled out unguarded: “Me too.”

There was a quiet beat between you then. Comfortable. Curious.

Alexia tilted her head. “Hey, can I ask something kind of weird?”

“Sure.”

“What do golfers do when they’re not competing? I mean, are you always training?”

You thought about it. “Not always. Sometimes we try not to be golfers at all. Go for walks. Cook. Watch sports we don’t understand.”

“Football?” she teased.

“Exactly.”

Her grin widened, revealing a hint of excitement. “Well, if you ever want an insider's tour of Camp Nou, count me in. I promise to provide excellent commentary.” 

“Is that so?” you asked, feigning seriousness.

“Oh yes,” the Spaniard asserted with a mock gravitas. “You’ll get the full experience—very professional. Expect plenty of jokes and absolutely zero accuracy in what I say!”

“I’d like that,” you replied, a chuckle escaping your lips.

“Good,” she said, her voice dropping to a soft, inviting tone that wrapped around you like a warm embrace. “Because I’d love to see you again. Away from the golf course. Somewhere with a bit more energy, maybe.”

You feigned deep contemplation, smiling mischievously. “Hmm, but what if my only skill is being effortlessly cool and graceful out on the green?”

“Oh, you can manage to be awkward too,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I promise, I’ll still like you all the same.”

The following morning brought a delightful surprise—a text from her featuring a whimsical picture of a shiny golf ball perched inside a steaming cup of coffee, with the caption: I think I’ve finally figured out what a hole-in-one means.

A broad smile spread across your face as you gazed at the screen, your fingers quickly flying over the keyboard to reply: Keep that up, and I might just consider letting you caddy for me on my next game.

And in that lighthearted exchange, something quietly significant flickered to life between you—perhaps it was unexpected, but it felt precisely right, as if it had fallen into place just when it was meant to.

[marvelmusing]

Crowded Town, Silent Bed

Part One

Pairing: Alpha!Aleksander x Omega!Fem!Reader

Summary: After bumping into you - Aleksander’s childhood neighbour - for the first time in years, he asks you out to dinner for a catch up.

Warnings [18+]: usual omegaverse themes and content, discussion of heats and sexual content, unspecified age gap between Aleksander and the reader.

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist

Aleksander can’t help himself. He isn’t snooping; you had told him to make himself at home while you are in the shower. It’s not his fault your things are everywhere in preparation of your evening. He wants to see who you’ve become in the years he hasn’t seen you.

He eyes the makeup spread across your desk. Some brands he vaguely recognises, whilst others he has no knowledge of. Shimmers and sparkles. Glosses and glitter. Similar looking products from different brands. It’s clear you’ve expanded your repertoire since you last saw one another.

Carefully, he lifts the stopper on your bottle of perfume, bringing it to his nose so that he can breathe in the scent. Always so sweet. It clings in his nostrils, like toffee sticking to the roof of his mouth.

He glances at the bed, pretty floral sheets tossed haphazardly over the mattress, with matching pillows placed askew at the head. It looks like you had assembled it in a hurry this morning.

There’s a basket full of blankets at the foot of your bed - pink and knitted, cream and fluffy - all manner of designs poke out from the container. He can imagine you gathering them together, alongside the cushions currently on your window seat, to build your nest before your heats.

As he’s scanning over your bookcase, he notices his name adorning one of the spines. It seems an odd addition; most of your books are fiction. Aleksander writes relationship and self-help books for both alphas and omegas.

It takes a moment for him to process that you’ve read one of his books. Then he realises which of his books is on your shelf. O for Omega: a brief guide to self-pleasure for omegas. He spots a few other titles by him and his heart skips a beat at the thought of you taking an interest in his work.

When he hears the water shut off, he retreats quietly back into your kitchen, seating himself on one of the barstools. He hears you enter your bedroom, rummage around for several minutes before a long moment of silence. Then you call out to him.

“Aleksander?”

He stands immediately, heading towards your open bedroom door. The apartment you live in is so small it takes a mere few strides before he’s leaning against your door frame. He watches as you style your hair.

“Yes?”

At the sound of his voice, the frown creasing at your brows smoothens out and when you sense his presence you turn away from your reflection to smile at him.

“Where are we actually going for dinner? I don’t want to be too overdressed.”

“It’s a restaurant downtown. The Little Palace.”

He watches your eyes go round, but you quickly smooth over your expression. It’s obvious you recognised the name as one of the best restaurants in Os Alta. He didn’t pick the venue to impress or intimidate you. Money isn’t an issue to Aleksander, he likes the food there, and he wants to treat you.

He loosens the button on his coat, opening it up to reveal his outfit - a dark charcoal suit with a white shirt and a black tie.

“I’m wearing my work wear.”

He notices the sudden flutter of your lashes, your pupils dilating as your gaze sweeps down his form.

“That’s what you wear for work?”

“Not always. Usually I opt for something a little more casual. But it all depends on what kind of session I’m leading. Stubborn omegas tend to respond better to an alpha in a suit.”

“Oh.” Then a frown appears between your brows, your head tilting aside as you think something over. “Really?” He cocks his head, raising a brow at you questioningly which prompts you to elaborate. “I would have thought it’d be the opposite.”

“How so?”

“Wearing a suit often conveys authority. Shy, more reserved omegas like the visual reassurance that someone else is in control of their environment. Whereas such an obvious display of dominance is going to raise the hackles of a more stubborn omega.”

“That’s… very insightful.”

The smile you give him is shy as you lower your gaze to your hands, clasped in your lap.

“Alphas fascinate me.”

“Fascinate?” he repeats, surprise threading its way through the word. You nod.

“The way you can walk into a room, and it instantly becomes your space.”

“Omegas can do that too.”

“I know, but it’s different.”

“How good are you at controlling your pheromones?”

All omegas secrete pheromones during moments of high emotion. Some omegas can use their emotions to produce specific pheromones to gain a reaction from an alpha. They focus on their desire while flirting, or their fear when they want comfort.

“I can do it occasionally,” you admit. “I wouldn’t say I’m very good at it.”

He takes a step forwards, moving towards you as he speaks in a warm, low tone.

“You’re doing rather well now.”

“I think that’s mostly you.”

He tilts his head aside.

“Me?”

You hum weakly in affirmation.

“I don’t feel like I’m in control of anything when I’m around you.”

“You’re in control of everything,” he states. Then he frowns slightly. “Unless you don’t want to be?”

Seemingly overwhelmed by the sudden question put towards you, your gaze drops down to your lap once again.

“I- I don’t know what I want.”

“That’s okay.” He pauses for a moment, looking down at your knees pressed tightly together. “You don’t have to hide from me.” That makes your eyes snap back up to his, round in surprise and confusion as you attempt to decipher the meaning behind his words. “Spread your legs.”

“Aleksander-”

“Omega,” he states firmly. The volume of his voice drops, though the intensity in his tone remains the same, gentle but commanding. “Spread your legs.”

The whimper that writhes in your throat makes sparks dance across his skin, the familiar, delightful feeling of bringing an omega to heel. The fact that it’s you makes it all the more thrilling. He knows you’re going to obey. Not only is it in your nature, but it’s in your temperament too - you never could deny him and that hasn’t changed even after all these years.

“Let me read your scent, hm?” he murmurs encouragingly.

He hears you breathe out a little gasp of agitation, knees squeezing together one last time before your muscles relax, your legs slipping open to reveal your scent to the room.

He hooks a finger beneath your chin, guiding your eyes upwards to meet his.

“Don’t be ashamed.”

Aleksander shifts his stance slightly, parting his legs a little wider so that you can inhale a deep breath of his scent - filled with desire - a mirror of your own. He watches your teeth sink into your lower lip and he has to swallow down a growl of frustration. Instead he says quietly,

“I’ll leave you to get dressed.”

A pale green dress is what you eventually decide on. It’s short and flowy at the bottom, stopping a little beneath the curve of your buttocks - where his gaze most definitely does not linger. The sleeves are long, flared at the wrist, and the mesh-like fabric reveals hints of your skin from between the floral swirls adorning the garment.

The neckline is low, though he isn’t sure whether the addition of a black bralette makes it better or worse. The thought of seeing so much of your bare chest makes his stomach twist, but the lace that clings to the curves of your cleavage is as equally as distracting. When you slip on your boots, the only portion of your legs that remains visible is your thighs and it’s hard not to imagine how it would feel to squeeze them in his hands.

His gaze isn’t subtle, though you seem to misinterpret the reasoning behind it.

“Is this okay?” you ask shyly, fingers playing with the hem of your dress.

“You look beautiful.”

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

“So, you haven’t found yourself an alpha yet?” Aleksander asks as he dips a cut of his steak into the small dish of sauce at the side of his plate.

He breathes out a silent laugh as you pause mid-chew, with a look on your face akin to a deer in headlights. Your expression remains somewhat flustered as you swallow your food, dabbing your lips with a napkin before you answer him.

“No.” He lifts a brow slightly and you fill the pause. “I’ve dated a little over the years, but no one’s really been mate material.”

He can see the question in your eyes, but as you reach for your glass he wonders if you’ll find the courage to ask it. Instead of staring, he lowers his gaze back down to his food. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches you turn your fork over in your hand.

“What about you?” you ask. He looks up in time to see your throat bob nervously. “Have you found an omega?”

He shakes his head slowly, leaning back in his chair slightly.

“No. I haven’t.”

“Really?”

The question is soft, as if it has slipped past your lips without thought, and your eyes go wide when you realise you had spoken it aloud. Aleksander cocks his head slightly in surprise.

“My work keeps me busy. It feels as though the only omegas I interact with these days are my clients.”

The smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth is small, but there’s amusement in your eyes rather than judgement. It’s refreshing. Lots of omegas think at his age he should be more focused on finding someone to start a family with. It’s not that he doesn’t want to have a family - he does, more than anything - it just seems like he can’t find the right omega.

“I read your latest book. I thought it was brilliant.”

His stomach flips at the word ‘brilliant.’ Aleksander has always been a perfectionist, striving to do his very best. His mother had scoffed at his career plan to help omegas, and his father died when he was small. It isn’t often that he gets praise from someone he truly cares for.

“You did?”

“I never thought about having a platonic alpha. It makes sense though.”

“Alphas used to lead packs. It’s in our nature to provide. They would look after everyone in their pack, regardless of their designation, and not just their mate.”

“Packs aren’t very common these days.”

He nods slowly.

“We’re the most isolated we’ve ever been. Pack dynamics are much smaller than they were a century ago. Like you said, some people don’t even form a pack. They exist in a bubble with their mate.”

“It’s understandable though, wanting to be with your mate.”

“Of course it is. Especially during the honeymoon phase of bonding. But afterwards, it’s just as important to be around other people of various designations.”

“Why’s that?”

“If you were dating an alpha, and he told you not to interact with one of your alpha friends, what would you do?”

“What’s the reason? Does the alpha know something about my friend?”

“The reason is that you should do as you’re told.”

Aleksander sees the heaviness your lashes gain for a moment, as you flutter them in response to his words. He suspects that you enjoy doing as you’re told. It takes a few seconds for you to refocus on the conversation and give him your answer.

“I’d tell him I’ll be friends with whoever I want and if that bothers him then he can leave.”

He smiles.

“Good girl.”

His praise flusters you, but he doesn’t regret the words that came to him instinctively. While he knows you enjoy submission, he’s glad you won’t be baring your neck to a bad alpha.

The two of you are quiet as you finish your meal and order some dessert when the server comes to collect your plates. You make idle chatter as you wait, telling Aleksander anecdotes from your work which he listens to with rapt attention. He feels as though he’s missed so much of your life in the years you’ve been apart.

It isn’t long before you’re both tucking into your desserts and Aleksander can’t stop himself from smiling at the sight of you enjoying yourself.

“Can I ask you something?” he says suddenly. When you nod immediately, he feels the need to add, “If you don’t feel comfortable answering, just tell me and I won’t mention it again.”

That makes you pause, thinking for a moment before you nod again, slowly.

“If you don’t currently have an alpha, how do you cope during your heat?”

He sees something shift in your expression - contemplation turning sad for a second before embarrassment takes hold of your features.

“I wouldn’t say I cope particularly well.”

Distress sours your scent as you press your knees together, your fingertips digging into the plush flesh of your inner thigh, and Aleksander wants to make you feel better.

“Come here.”

“What?”

He beckons to you.

“Come sit with me, omega.”

He sees your eyes flicker around nervously, but it isn’t uncommon to see an omega sitting in an alpha’s lap - even in public. Just in Aleksander’s eye-line, he can see two separate couples where the omega is seated on their alpha’s knee. A few tables across from the two of you, there’s even an omega sitting at their alpha’s feet.

When you stand, a little shakily, Aleksander shifts his chair back a little to make room for you. It takes a moment for you both to get comfortable, but he feels the tension in your body ease slightly once you’re seated.

He strokes his fingers across your inner thigh, soothing the glands there. They feel a little swollen, you must be around a week away from your heat. A tiny gasp slips from your lips, your body jerking in surprise at his brazen touch. He presses his lips to your temple.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs in a low tone. “No one here knows we aren’t a couple.” He cups his fingers beneath your jaw, his thumb circling over the apple of your cheek gently. “When they see us, all they will think is that my omega needs some soothing. Don’t you, darling?”

With an unfocused glaze to your eyes, you nod, and Aleksander’s smile widens.

“Would you tell me about your heat?”

“It-” He sees the emotion well up inside you, words sticking in your throat as you struggle to verbalise your natural plight without getting upset.

“It’s okay. Alpha’s here. I’ve got you.”

He watches you fight to keep your eyes from rolling back in response to his gentle display of dominance.

“Al- Aleksander.”

“I’m here. Talk to me. How long does your heat usually last?”

“Around ten days.”

He makes a sympathetic little noise in the back of his throat.

“Longer than average. Are you slick for the entire ten days?”

You nod bashfully. Omegas are nearly always embarrassed by the amount of slick they produce, especially those with a heavy flow. He understands that not being in control of your body can be somewhat mortifying, but as an alpha all he can think of is how much easier it would be to slip his knot into you.

“Sometimes it starts a couple of days pre-heat,” you admit, and Aleksander wants to grind his hips upwards against your body.

“You’re in pre-heat now, aren’t you?”

You nod again.

“It’s about five days before I start. I’m going to make my nest when I get home tonight.”

Aleksander is fighting a losing battle against his cock. The thought of you going home to build your nest after seeing him, the thought of his scent still clinging to you as you gather blankets and pillows, makes him ache painfully. He hopes you don’t notice how the bulge in his trousers is slowly hardening.

“Do you have everything you need?” he asks.

The smile you give him is soft, but there’s a self-depreciating twist at the corner of your mouth.

“Aside from an alpha?”

He grits his teeth to prevent him from offering himself to you. It wouldn’t be the first time he had helped an omega in heat, but with you it feels different. It would feel like more. He knows he would want more from you and it wouldn’t be fair to either of you. So, he offers you the next best thing - his expertise.

“I have a few suggestions for you, if you don’t mind me offering them.”

“Suggestions?”

“There’s lotions, to rub over your glands, to ease the swelling. I could help you find the right toys to sate your needs. And we can work out what scents lower your stress levels, to keep you more relaxed during your heat.”

“That would be nice. Thank you.” There’s a short pause before you ask with a shy smile, “Do I need to make an appointment with you?”

“Not at all,” he responds genuinely. “I can stop by your place after work, sometime before your heat?”

“Tomorrow? It’s my day off.”

“My last appointment should finish at around three in the afternoon. Would that work with you?”

“That would be perfect.”

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

When the two of you leave the restaurant, Aleksander notices you shiver. The thin little blouse you’re wearing over your dress is pretty, but Aleksander doubts it provides any warmth. He shrugs his jacket from his shoulders, wrapping it around your body.

“I’m fine,” you insist, your chin wobbling as you try to stop your teeth from chattering. He hums, unconvinced, and keeps his arm around you while you stand waiting for the valet to bring Aleksander’s car to the entrance.

He sees your eyes slip shut for a moment as you lean your forehead against his chest. Dinner had lasted much longer than either of you had anticipated. Aleksander knows you’ve had a busy day at work too. You must be exhausted. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, and you nuzzle closer into his body, seeking out his warmth. He wonders, as the car pulls up, if you will be able to nap on the way home.

He dismisses the valet with a look, when the woman reaches to open the passenger door for you. He knows it’s irrational, but he allows himself this brief moment of possession. With you in such a sleepy, vulnerable state, he feels the need to protect and provide for you as much as possible.

He guides you towards the car, careful not to break the hazy headspace you’ve fallen into.

“In we go, omega. Watch your head.” He places a hand over the back of your head as you climb into the passenger seat. “Good girl.” Once he has you settled, he buckles your seatbelt and reaches down to your shoes. “Let’s slip these off, okay?”

He unzips the boots, pulling at them both gently before discarding them into the footwell. He rubs your calves soothingly.

“Get comfy, darling. You’ll be home soon.”

You do manage to sleep in the car. Aleksander turns the heated seats on, and keeps the hot air blowing gently, which seems to knock you out completely. He glances over at you regularly, your face turned towards him, cheek smushed against the curve of the seat.

When he pulls up outside your building, Aleksander doesn’t want to wake you. He wishes he could have taken you to his home, scooped you up in his arms, and lowered down into his bed. Instead, he strokes your face gently before nudging at your shoulder.

“Darling, we’re here.”

He breathes out a soft laugh at the adorable sight of you blinking groggily. Aleksander exits the car smoothly, but you take much longer. It seems to take you a moment to reorientate yourself. Then you unbuckle your seatbelt and shove your feet into your boots.

Aleksander opens the door, reaching down to zip up your boots and pick up your purse. Without a word, he offers you his free hand which you accept, and he walks you into the building. Once you reach your front door, he holds your purse open as you rummage for your keys. He wants to drag out his time with you as much as possible.

When you finally get your door open, you rub your eye sleepily, makeup smudging slightly in the corner. Then you seem to remember you’re still wearing his jacket.

“Oh, m’sorry.”

You begin to slip it from your shoulders, but Aleksander reaches out to stop you.

“No, no. Keep it,” he assures you. “For your nest.” He sees your grip tighten on the garment and for a second he hopes you feel as possessive over him as he does for you. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?”

“Okay.”

He leans close, cupping your face between his hands as he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Good night, darling. Sweet dreams.”

“G’night, alpha.”

He sucks in a breath at your mumbled response. It’s clear you’re more than half asleep, but that’s the first time you’ve ever called him alpha. He watches you slip through your door, giving him one last smile before you’re gone. He stands there for a few seconds, hoping to cling to this moment for a little longer. Then he turns away.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

[sunskisser]

hi, my darling!! i love, love, your writing, and just wanted to say that i am obsessed! may i please request scarf (i can't find the emoji) 😭 with our dearest remus? the prompt would be — “is there anything i can say to make this less awkward?”

thank you so much darling! <3 and here’s a scarf for you🧣(found the emoji for you haha 😉)

mistletoe | r.l.

— “Is there anything I can say to make this less awkward?”

remus lupin x reader —★— word count 1.7k

summary: you attend your neighbour, sirius’ christmas party, where remus saves you from a bully before kissing you under the mistletoe :)

cw: fluff, mean bully cormac mclaggen, protective remus <333, reader gets panicky, sirius is a protective + matchmaker friend haha

Your eyes dart around the living room nervously, drink sloshing around the cup in your hand. The music from the speakers is booming, blaring disco lights making it hard to see much. You can’t seem to spot any familiar faces.

Sirius, your next-door neighbour and friend, was throwing a huge Christmas party. All his old friends were there too. You were familiar with them, having seen them quite a bit whenever they went over. And they seemed nice for the most part, if a bit raucous. You think you’d probably feel better around them than stranded in this buzzing, foreign crowd.

You continue taking cautious steps forward, eyes trained on the ground as you push your way through bodies of people dancing and snogging and puking and – fuck.

You don’t even realise that you’ve spilled your drink all over someone until he, not very nicely, alerts you to it.

“Hey!”

It doesn’t occur that he’s calling out to you. Your hearing is all but closed off to the noise of the party.

“Hey – you!” All of a sudden there’s a hand wrapped around your wrist, and you freeze, quickly whipping around to find the source. It feels like your flight or fight mode has been activated, and you’re squirming away before you can even spot his face in the sea of people.

Breaths are loud, deafening in your ears. They might be yours, or maybe they’re those of the crowd starting to gather round. You’re not quite sure.

Your eyes land on him. The buff blonde in front of you, grip tightening around your wrist as he pulls you closer. There’s words coming out of his mouth. Spit landing on your nose. But you can’t seem to make out a thing he’s saying, phrases like stupid girl and bitch slipping through your consciousness and adding fuel to the fire of panic in your throat.

You open your mouth to apologise, though you’re not quite sure what you’ve done. Nothing comes out but a pathetic croak.

The scary man’s voice gets louder and louder. You’ve never quite seen rage in human form, but here he was. Here he was. And he was going to be the death of you, you’re sure of it.

“Hey, man.”

Another voice, getting closer. It’s softer. Gentler. You feel an arm around your waist, and the touch is kind enough to not make you want to pull away.

“Let go of her, please. It was an honest mistake.”

“But this bitch –”

“I said,” you can hear the hint of hardness in the nice man’s voice, “Let go.” Somehow, you know it’s not directed at you. His grip on your waist tightens the slightest bit, but careful not to hurt.

There’s a beat of silence before the harsh hand leaves your wrist. The relief is immediate, the familiar feeling of a come down after a painful high. Your skin doesn’t feel so foreign to you anymore.

“Thank you,” the kind man says from beside you, though he doesn’t sound very grateful. “I’m sure Sirius could spare you one of his shirts, if you’d like.” Once again, there’s no actual apology in his tone.

Without waiting for a reply, you feel yourself being gently steered away. You look around as you walk, spotting expressions of shock and humour and all sorts of funny feelings.

You twist your head to take a look at your saviour, feeling like your heart might stop beating all over again.

Remus Lupin. You liked him more than you knew him.

You’ve seen him a few times at Sirius’ place, spoken to him even fewer. Yet nothing but sweetness came to mind at the thought of him; all softness and pretty scars and kind smiles. You think maybe the word gentleman was made for him. Even Sirius seemed to be lovelier in Remus’ presence, which was saying a lot, because you thought your neighbour really was quite lovely already.

You’d never seen Remus so riled up before. Honestly, you didn’t think he was capable of it. There was a silly little feeling in your tummy, to know that he had gotten so worked up to protect you.

“Sweetheart,” his voice brings you back to the present. And he’s back to normal, back to the soft, calm man you so adored.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiles bemusedly, though his brows are bent with concern. You realise he’s brought you to the kitchen, where there’s fewer people and more air to breathe. The feeling of his thumbs gently rubbing your wrists is almost too much to bear. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m –” you try not to shudder as the thought of the angry man comes back to you, “fine. I’m fine.”

Remus gives your hands a squeeze. “Okay. You’re okay now, yeah? I’m sorry about Cormac. He was a dick in high school too,” he sighs. “Once a dick, always a dick.”

You let out a giggle. “Really?”

He grins, a proper one. “Yeah, really. One time, James — you know James, right? The bespectacled one with the curly hair —” he continues when you nod, “— yeah, so James walked right up to Cormac and —“

“Hey,” Remus is interrupted by Sirius, breathless as he shoves past people, into the kitchen. His brows are pinched together as he pulls you into a half hug. “Hey, babe. Are you good? I heard what happened just now with McLaggen, the asshole.”

“I’m okay, really,” you squeak out as Sirius pulls you even closer. “Sirius —“

You feel your cheeks heating up when you hear Remus chuckling. Sirius lets you go from the hug now, but his grip on your shoulders is vice-like as he looks you over like a concerned mother hen. “Are you sure you’re okay? He didn’t touch you, did he?”

“Well, he did, but —“

“He touched you?” Sirius sounds close to appalled. Remus is snickering now, and you feel like digging yourself a hole and crawling into it. “The bastard! I’m gonna —“

“Sirius!” you hiss, cutting him off. “I’m all good, I swear. Remus got me out of it.”

Sirius flicks his gaze over to Remus. In a split second, you know what’s coming when you see the twinkle in his eyes.

“Sirius. Don’t you dare.”

He flashes you a quick grin before turning to his friend, wiggling his eyebrows. “So, loverboy here saved you, huh?”

Remus quirks an eyebrow at you questioningly. You turn to Sirius with a pleading look; you knew he knew all about your little crush. But of course, he wouldn’t stop there.

“Did he swoop you into his arms? Catch you as you fell?”

“No…“ you mumble shyly, shoulders up to your ears.

“Well,” Sirius smirks, “He can now!”

The only warning you get is a wink, before Sirius’ hand is on your shoulder and he gives you a push.

You let out a yelp as you tumble backwards, straight into Remus.

Embarrassment washes over you as his strong arms immediately come around your waist, swiftly pressing onto your stomach as he steadies you. “Woah, woah, easy there. Are you okay?”

You blink. “I… um… I…”

The feeling of his hands on you is distracting, too much to take. It’s like your legs have turned to jelly, tongue to rubber. Words turn to dust on the tip of it.

Maybe this is how you perish, you think. You’d die of shyness in Remus’ arms; perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.

A loud gasp startles you out of your reverie. Both you and Remus turn to find Sirius staring at you with his hands on his cheeks, eyes dramatically wide and mouth agape.

“Oh. My. God,” he gushes, stepping towards you. “What do we have here?”

You shoot him a glare, hoping it conveys both your desperation and annoyance. Sirius seems, or rather pretends, to understand nothing.

“Would you look at that?” he continues with a grin, chucking his head upwards. You look up to feel your heart drop.

There’s a quiet snort from Remus at the sight. Green leaves, red ribbon adorning it. Mistletoe.

“Mistletoe!” Sirius exclaims, as if it weren’t painfully obvious.

You cringe, immediately hanging your head to stare at your hands. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and hope the red on your cheeks isn’t as obvious as you think it is.

Sirius is annoyingly loud as he continues to yap, but your heartbeat is louder.

Remus clears his throat. You blink, whipping your head upwards to find him looking at you with an apologetic smile. He rubs the nape of his neck bashfully. “Is there anything I can say to make this less awkward?”

A soft huff of laughter escapes you despite yourself. “No, I… I don’t think so.”

He grins. You feel your resolve melting into a puddle. “Kiss me.”

Remus blinks, eyes widening for a split second before his lips quirk upwards. “What?”

“Kiss me,” you breathe, hoping you don’t sound as anxious as you feel. “I mean, not because I want you to or anything —“ you laugh nervously, “— but because it’s mistletoe, and — oh.”

Remus’ lips are on yours in a moment. The squeak you let out dissolves into his mouth, hand gently cupping the back of your head.

You feel his soft hands on your waist and his sweet lips on yours and you feel like you’re falling all over again.

This is what that muggle singer Sirius loved — Elvis Presley — must’ve been feeling, you think, when he wrote Can’t Help Falling in Love. He must’ve been kissing the epitome of love itself, because you seemed to be falling into Remus, melting into his touch. If you were a fool for rushing in, then so be it. You’d be anything to taste his lips again.

Remus lets go all too soon, though you’d probably feel the same way if he let go after a lifetime. He gives you that sweet, sweet smile again, and you can’t help but smile back.

“You know, we don’t always have to be under the mistletoe to kiss.”

“We don’t?”

“No,” Remus grins, “like right now.”

He tugs on your waist, stumbling until your back hits the wall. He kisses you again, and you’re suddenly very grateful for Sirius. You’d have to thank him for three things this Christmas — introducing you to Remus, inviting you to this party, and most importantly — for that song reference.

san’s christmas sleepover

[itneverendshere]

Perhaps Rafe x Shy!Bartender reader at the country club. Maybe she was driven there and was supposed to get picked up, but shit got in the way. And she is far from home. Rafe is there that day for golfing or something and it’s her first day. He is instantly smitten and waits until her shift is over to properly ask her out, and notices she has no car to get home and gets protective

i looooved this and in my head this is EXACTLY how rafe and pogue!reader from this request met. this is the same universe, im making it canon rn

it could be you and me - rafe cameron

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) word count: 3.5k

Rafe slid through the regulars, heading toward the golf course. He had plans to join Topper for a round or two.

Like usual, his presence drew glances—partially because of the rumors that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. Being the epitome of privilege, born into the wealth that afforded him everything, made sure that all eyes were on him, everywhere he went on that stupid fucking town.

But that day, he’d been off his game from the moment he woke up.

He felt out of place, restless and mostly, bored. Every day in this place felt the same to him, the pleasures he used to get from being a kook were burning out, days starting to blend together, the endless cycle of parties, and drink to losing its allure.

Doing the same thing, over and over again. 

Nothing was new or exciting anymore.

He was bored out of his mind. Golf wasn’t exactly his passion, but it was a way to pass the time, pretend like he shouldn’t be in the office finishing whatever paperwork his father had shoved down his throat the night before. 

He needed a drink if he wanted to get through the rest of the day without breaking something or someone's jaw. He approached the clubhouse and noticed a small crowd gathered at the bar. It wasn’t an unusual sight—it was one of the most popular spots in the club—but something, or rather someone, caught his attention.

Behind the counter, there was someone he’d never seen before.

You wore the standard uniform of the club's staff—white blouse, black slacks, hair pulled back into a neat ponytail—but there was something about you that made him stop in his tracks.

You weren’t a kook, that much was clear and you were new. A fresh newbie by the looks of the growing line.

You were busy, pouring drinks, smiling politely at the members, but he could tell you were nervous from the way you overdid it. You were trying to make yourself small for those people. It didn’t help that they treated you like you were invisible, snapping their fingers or raising their voices to get your attention.

Fucking assholes.

He didn’t know why he felt so irritated for you all of the sudden.

He’d done the same thing times and times again, he was no better than any of them, on a good day. But he hated watching it happen to you.

Rafe couldn’t stop staring, feeling like a creep as he listed all the little things he noticed about you. Your hands moved quickly, but delicately, as if you took great care in everything you did.

Eventually, you turned to reach for a bottle on a high shelf and he finally caught a good glimpse of your face—a glimpse that nearly made him drop his golf club on the spot. Your eyes narrowed as you focused on pouring the right amount of alcohol on a drink, your lips pursed ever so slightly as you kept concentrating.

You were beautiful, yes, but it was more than that. He’d seen pretty girls all his life, he made sure he surrounded himself with them. But you were something else. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt a genuine curiosity, to know more about someone in this fucksass place. He didn’t think about hooking up, about asking for your number.

You didn’t belong here and maybe that’s what made you so good.

The shift seemed never-ending, even though it was your first day. Most of the club members hadn’t even bothered to learn your name —either way, you were having a hard time keeping up. 

You hadn’t wanted to take the job, but you didn’t have much of a choice. The country club was the only place hiring that summer, and you needed the money. Your friend had driven you there earlier that morning, promising to pick you up after your shift. But earlier, when you had glanced at your phone during a ten-second break, you saw a text from her saying she’d been held up—something about the car breaking down.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath, shoving your phone back into your pocket as you handed a gin and tonic to a bald asshole who didn’t even bother to thank you.

You were stuck here, away from home, and the last thing you wanted to do was ask one of these people for help. Your nerves had already skyrocketed, between the constant drink orders, the lack of polite smiles, and trying your best not to spill anything or offend any of these spoiled kooks, you were losing your mind.

Being the center of attention wasn’t your forte, and being behind the bar was giving you a migraine as the members kept barking their orders, complaining when their drinks weren’t perfect, barely acknowledging your mere existence.

You could feel their judgmental stupid eyes on you, like you were some sort of animal—a pogue. The buzz in your stomach kept getting stronger with every minute.

You wished you could disappear for an hour, but you needed the job and so, you had no option but to take it like a big girl. By the end of the day, your hands trembled as you reached for another bottle, your muscles aching from trying to keep up with the endless demands.

As you handed yet another whiskey on the rocks to an ungrateful rich cunt, you noticed someone approaching the bar from the corner of your eye. Unlike the others, he didn’t immediately shout his order or snap his fingers.

He just stood there, watching you. It was hard not to recognize him—Rafe Cameron. You’d heard stories about him, of course. Everyone in the Outer Banks had. He was practically royalty, the golden boy of one of the wealthiest families around.

You hated being stared at, it made you feel even more out of place than you already did. You could feel your cheeks turning red just from that alone.

“Can I get you something?” you asked, politely yet barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

Rafe leaned against the counter, his eyes never leaving your face, “What do you recommend?”

He sounded amused, he was genuinely enjoying himself.

He probably didn’t know this was your first day on the job and everything about him screamed Country Club boy. You hadn’t had time to memorize the menu. But you didn’t want to look like a stupid in front of a kook, let alone kook royalty. 

“Uh, well, the mojitos are pretty popular,” you offered, hoping that was true.

He raised a brow, “Mojitos, huh? Alright, I’ll take one.”

You nodded and got to work, ignoring the way your hands were shaking. As you muddled the mint leaves and squeezed the lime, you could feel his eyes on you.

What was his problem with the staring? Was there something on your face? Were you doing this whole thing wrong? It was unnerving.

When you finally handed him the drink, he took it with a nod, but instead of walking away, he stayed there, sipping it in front of you, like some kind of test. 

“You’re new here,” he remarked, more as a statement than a question.

Oh, so he did pay attention to his surroundings.

You swallowed nervously. “Yeah, first day.”

He took another sip, “Not a bad start."

Was he trying to be funny? You gave him a small, tight-lipped smile, not entirely sure if he was mocking you or being genuine.

Before he could say anything else, another customer called for your attention, and you turned away to help them. 

Rafe didn’t move for a solid hour.

Even as you worked, he stayed rooted to his seat, every time you glanced in his direction, he was still there, watching you, not looking the least bit shameful about it.

But eventually, he left. By six thirty, the club was mostly empty, save for a few stragglers lingering at the bar and some late-night golfers finishing their rounds. You wiped down the counter one last time, wondering how the hell you were going to get home.

You’d almost forgotten about the earlier text from your friend, but now your anxiety was back. You didn’t have anyone else to call and walking home alone at night was terrifying, small town or not.

You pulled out your phone and stared at it, praying for another solution to pop into your head.

“Come on, think…” you muttered to yourself, running a hand through your hair. It was a mess after being up in a ponytail the entire day but it was starting to give you a headache, so you took it down, hoping it would help you think clearer. It didn't.

Taking a taxi would cost more than you could afford, especially on your shitty bartender’s salary. You were pacing back and forth behind the bar, wondering how your luck had already gone down the drain on your first day working. 

In your panic, you didn’t notice someone else standing outside the glass doors of the clubhouse, watching you with a keen eye.

Rafe had finished his round of golf earlier and had been hanging around, talking to a few of his father’s friends. He almost laughed at how stressed you looked but took pity on you when you almost broke down into tears right there and then.

He couldn’t have that.

You didn’t see him walk up to the door and push it open. The sound of it swinging shut behind him startled you, and you looked up, your eyes widening as he approached you.

“Hey, you okay?” He didn’t move closer, just stood there by the door, giving you space.

You stared at him, still trying to catch your breath, not exactly hiding how freaked out you were.

“I— I’m fine,” you stammered out, clutching your phone tightly, as if it could somehow find you a safe way home.

Rafe bit his lip, not convinced.

“Y’sure about that? Cause you look like you’re two seconds away from a meltdown.”

His words, though blunt, weren’t meant to be harsh. At least you didn’t think they were, but hearing them out loud made you realize just how close you were to losing it publicly, in your workplace.

You exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to your forehead.

“It’s nothing, I just…uh, I don’t have a ride home,” you admitted reluctantly,. “My friend was supposed to pick me up, but her car broke down, and now I’m stuck here.” The last part came out in a rush, as if saying it faster would somehow make it less true.

On the other hand, this felt like the luckiest day in his life.

“That’s it?” he asked, sounding relieved. “I can take you home, no problem.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the offer. “What? No, I— I don’t want to impose, it’s late, and—”

You were so cute it almost made it impossible to scold you.

“You’re not imposing,” Rafe cut you off, “It’s not safe for you to be out here alone, especially at this hour. Just lemme give you a ride, okay?”

You hadn’t imagined him like this, speaking to you, a pogue so…normally. There was something in his voice, how gently he spoke to you, that made you pause. He wasn’t pushing or demanding.

He was offering help, sounding nothing like the Rafe you’d heard about.

You hesitated, glancing back at your phone again as if you might find a better solution, but you knew deep down you weren’t finding shit.

There was no one else you could call, your sister was busy and no other option made sense. As much as you hated the idea of relying on someone you barely knew, a kook of all people, you didn’t want to sleep on the streets.

“Okay,” you finally agreed, your voice quiet as you looked up at him. You hadn’t expected him to be so tall, “But just this once.”

Rafe’s lips twitched, “Just this once,” he echoed as he gestured toward the door. “C'mon, let’s get you out of here.”

He led you to his car, a sleek, black SUV that practically screamed money. He opened the passenger door for you, and you slid inside, feeling a bit out of place. You’d never been inside such a luxurious vehicle. The plush leather seats were…something. You sat quietly, too scared to break something as he got in on the driver’s side.

The drive started off in silence. You kept your eyes focused on the road, wrapping your head around the fact that you were in Rafe Cameron’s car, being driven home by him.

It sounded delusional. 

After a few minutes, Rafe spoke up.

“So, where do you live?” he asked, glancing over at you.He knew you were a pogue, that was a given. But he’d never seen you around before.

You quickly gave him your address, and he nodded, adjusting the GPS on his dashboard. As he did, you couldn’t help but admire how calm and collected he seemed. It was unsettling how comfortable he was in situations like this—small talk with strangers, a situation that always had you squirming.  

“Thanks, by the way, I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s no big deal.”

Except it was. You were even prettier up close, and your perfume scent was messing with his head, if it wasn’t for the GPS's stupid robotic voice he’d be lost by now.

It was a big deal to you too.

It wasn’t every day that someone like Rafe went out of their way to help someone like you. The fact that he’d done it without a second thought, without expecting anything in return was very, very confusing. 

“First day at the club, huh?” Was he trying to make small talk with you? Oh wow. His tone was so casual, as if this was the most normal conversation in the world, like you two had known each other for years, and weirdly enough, you didn’t mind. “How’d it go?”

You hesitated, not sure how much you should say. Your instinct was to lie and avoid making things awkward.

“Oh, it was great,” your voice raised an octave as it always did when you tried to lie your way out of conversations, “Everyone was really nice!”

Rafe’s eyes didn’t leave the road as he let out a low chuckle.

"Bullshit.”

Your smile faltered. “W-What?”

“C'mon,” he said, still grinning like an idiot, “I watched you get run ragged by those assholes all day. You looked like you wanted to set the bar on fire.”

You opened your mouth to lie again, but the self righteous girl in you decided to take charge. 

“Okay, fine, it was awful. Those people are the worst. They treat everyone like shit and act like they’re God’s gift to the world just because they’ve got money.” Your voice grew louder as you vented, all the frustration from the day spitting out, “I mean, who the fuck do they think they are? Just because they can afford to spend their summers at a country club doesn’t make them better than everyone else.”

Rafe’s laughter broke through your rant, you stopped short, realizing who you were talking to. You turned to look at him, wide-eyed, your heart sinking. 

“Oh my God,” you whispered horrified, hand covering your mouth, “You’re a kook.”

He was laughing so hard that his shoulders shook, his hand gripping the steering wheel as he tried to catch his breath. “Holy shit,” he managed to wheeze out between laughs, “You really hate us, don’t you?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands.

“I didn’t mean you specifically,” you mumbled, face burning, “I just...I don’t know what came over me.”

Rafe shook his head, still chuckling as he pulled up to a stoplight.

“Nah, it’s fine. You’re not wrong about most of them. But, y’know, not all kooks are complete assholes.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, still mortified. “So you’re not an asshole?”

“Oh no, I am,” He snorted, “Just not to you.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, lowering your hands to your lap, “Good.”

You couldn’t stop staring at him. He was different than you’d imagined—more down-to-earth, less of a caricature of the wealthy villain you’d built up in your mind.

“So,” he said after a while, his tone still light, like he was holding back, trying not to scare you off, “What made you take the job at the club? Guessing it wasn’t for the stellar company.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Needed a job for the summer, and they were the only place hiring.”

“Lucky us,” he said, and when you looked at him, he was giving you that same playful smirk. “You might be the only decent person in that place.”

Your cheeks warmed again, having to look away, fiddling with a loose thread on your shirt. “I don’t know about that."

He glanced over, noticing the shy way you avoided his gaze, and his smirk softened. “I do.”

You must’ve hit your head earlier. Was he flirting with you of all people? He was going to send you into cardiac arrest. You didn’t know how to answer, so you stayed quiet, the silence only broken by the the car’s engine and the GPS’s occasional directions.

When Rafe finally pulled up in front of your house, you hesitated before unbuckling your seatbelt. It felt like you had something more to say, but you weren’t sure what.

He seemed to sense it too because he didn’t rush you, just turned off the engine and leaned back in his seat, waiting.

You finally turned to him, “Thanks again, Rafe. For everything. I really appreciate it.”

He nodded, his eyes locking onto yours in a way that made it hard to look away. 

“Anytime. Seriously. If you ever need anything, let me know.”

The offer seemed so sincere, so out of character for the guy you’d heard about, that it left you momentarily speechless. He kept proving you wrong. 

“I will.”

With a final nod, you pushed open the door and stepped out, the cool night air hitting you as you closed the door behind you. You took a few steps toward your house before turning back, catching one last glimpse of him sitting there. 

Rafe's grip on the steering wheel tightened involuntarily when you looked back. He'd offered to drive girls home before—plenty of times, in fact—this was different.

When you waved, he felt like a schoolboy who only got to see his crush at school and spent the entire weekends daydreaming about her. 

Once you walked inside, he leaned back in his seat, exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you sitting in his passenger seat, looking so out of place yet so perfect at the same time. Like you belonged right there, next to him.

There was something so refreshingly genuine about you. You weren’t like the kook girls he knew—the ones who flaunted their wealth, who expected the world to bend over backward for them. You were unpretentious, and honest in a way that made him feel like he could drop the act for once.

He didn’t have to be Rafe Cameron, the reckless, arrogant kook. No, with you, he could just be Rafe. And that was something he hadn’t realized he was missing until tonight. He was done for.

He knew he wasn’t going to stop until you were his.

The thought of anyone else having you, of you smiling at someone else the way you had at him tonight—it made him want to break someone’s teeth. He had a reputation, and he knew that if you heard even half of the stories about him, you’d probably want nothing to do with him after tonight. But he didn’t care.

He could already see it—the two of you, together. He’d give you the world, everything you deserved, and more. He’d make sure you never had to worry about a thing. You were perfect, too perfect for this world, and now that he’d found you, he wasn’t going to let you slip away. 

He’d make sure of it—you were going to be his girl, nothing was going to stop him.

[seospicybin]

TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE.

FINAL ROUND

Lee Know x reader. (s)

Chapters: Round 1 / Round 2

Synopsis: Let's play Two Truths and A Lie, and here goes the first thing about you: Despite you're no longer Kim's roommate, you still want to fuck her boyfriend, Minho. (10,25k words)

Author's note: Apologies for making you guys wait longer for this chapter 🙏🏻

Here we are—the final round of Two Truths and a Lie. By now, you know how the game works, but let me remind you once more: You share three statements about you—two being true and one false, and people must determine which is which. Simple, right? But remember that every lie contains truth, and every truth contains a lie.

-

Here goes statement number one: You try to be a good friend to Kim.

There are countless ways to be a good friend to Kim, and tonight, that means showing up for her performance. She usually reserves a ticket for you at the box office, but this time, you bought one yourself—bundling up in warm layers, bracing against the biting December cold.

On the way, you stop by a florist, carefully selecting only the prettiest flowers. A bouquet of yellow roses feels very fitting—bright, warm, just like Kim.

Outside the arts center, a crowd has already gathered. Some are just chattering, a few take photos of the show’s poster, The Nutcracker written in bold letters at the top. And there she is—Kim—captured mid-arabesque in a flowing purple ballet dress, a silver crown gleaming against her dark hair. She looks stunning. Elegant. The kind of beauty that makes you ache with quiet envy. But that’s nothing new. You’ve always known there are things she has that you don’t.

The cold nips at your fingers, reminding you that the flowers won’t last long in this weather. Quickly, you weave through the people lingering near the entrance and approach the backstage doorway, where a staff member stands watch. He recognizes you instantly, his gaze dropping to the bouquet in your hands.

“For Ms. Kim, right?” His voice is firm, professional, but his smile is polite.

“Yes.” You nod, holding out the flowers. “Can you please give them to her?”

He takes them with a knowing nod. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” you say, offering a small, genuine smile before stepping inside.

The temperature shifts as you enter the theater, the warmth wrapping around you as more people take their seats. You find yours, shrugging off your coat and settling in, absentmindedly flipping through the show’s brochure as you wait for the performance to begin.

As the theater lights dim, a hush settles over the audience, anticipation thick in the air. The orchestra swells, and the red velvet curtain glides open, revealing a winter wonderland brought to life on stage. Dancers move gracefully across the set, their movements precise, delicate—each step telling a story. But your eyes are drawn only to one.

Kim steps into the spotlight as the Sugar Plum Fairy, the soft glow of stage lights catching on the shimmer of her tutu. She moves effortlessly, every motion refined and purposeful, as if she were born for this moment. The way she balances on pointe, the way her arms float as if weightless—it’s mesmerizing. The audience is enchanted, and so are you.

You forget, for a moment, about the cold outside, about the world beyond this theater. You forget everything except the way she owns the stage, her presence commanding yet light as air. She is stunning, radiant in a way that makes your chest ache—not just with admiration, but with something deeper. Something bitter and unspoken.

Then, he appears.

Minho steps onto the stage for the grand pas de deux, dressed in regal white and gold. The moment he enters, the air shifts. His movements are sharp yet fluid, powerful yet controlled. He carries himself with the same elegance Kim does, his body an extension of the music. The chemistry between them is undeniable—the way he lifts her, the way she trusts him completely, the way they move together in perfect harmony.

It’s beautiful. Breathtaking. And it makes you feel sick. Because for all the times Minho has looked at you in secret, for all the fleeting moments you’ve stolen together, this—this is where he belongs. Not with you. Not in the dim corners of a city where guilt and desire blur into one. But here, in the light, with her.

-

The final curtain falls, and the applause is deafening. Even as the theater fills with the hum of voices and shuffling feet, you remain seated for a moment, letting the weight of the performance settle over you.

After most of the attendees have left, you make your way outside to wait for Kim. The crisp night air bites at your skin as the crowd slowly disperses, some lingering to catch a glimpse of the performers. You step aside, tucking your hands into your coat pockets, when a familiar voice calls your name.

“Hey, you!”

Gaspard approaches with an easy smile, still exuding the energy of the stage. “You made it,” he says, pulling you into a brief, warm hug before stepping back. “Another successful night, don’t you think?”

“You were incredible, as always,” you tell him sincerely. “The whole show was.”

He grins. “We try our best. We’re heading out for drinks later—you should come.”

You shake your head with a small smile. “Not tonight. I have work tomorrow.”

Gaspard clicks his tongue in disappointment but doesn’t press. Instead, he stays by your side with an arm drapes around your shoulders, waiting with you.

After a while, the backstage doors finally open, and Kim emerges, no longer in costume but wrapped in a thick coat, her hair still pinned elegantly. She’s instantly surrounded—friends, fans, admirers. She greets them all with practiced grace, stopping to sign programs, take photos, and exchange words of gratitude. You wait patiently, watching as she moves through the crowd, effortlessly holding everyone’s attention.

When Kim finally reaches you, she doesn’t hesitate to pull you into a hug, her arms warm around you. “You came,” she says, a smile in her voice.

“Of course. You were amazing tonight.”

She leans back, her expression pleased. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

“You deserved them.”

Kim laughs lightly. “You should come with us for drinks. Oh, wait, Gaspard must have asked you already.”

Gaspard squeezes your shoulder and glances at you. “I sure did.”

Before you can answer, the crowd stirs again, voices rising with excitement. Your gaze shifts, and there he is.

Minho steps out, and almost instantly, the attention turns to him. Fans call his name, reaching out, cameras flashing. He’s calm, composed—used to this. You stand frozen, watching as he acknowledges the crowd with a polite smile.

For a brief moment, you wonder if he’s going to look your way. You inhale quietly, shifting your focus back to Kim before that can happen. “You were really incredible tonight,” you tell her again, softer this time, as if it’s meant just for her. “You deserve all of this.”

Kim’s eyes soften, and before she can say anything, you step forward, pulling her into another hug. She’s warm, her perfume familiar, and for a second, you let yourself sink into it—into the comfort of her presence, of a friendship untouched by everything else.

Then, as you pull away, you smile. “We’ll celebrate soon,” you promise lightly, adjusting the strap of your bag. “But for now, I should get going.”

Kim pouts but nods in understanding. “Alright. Next time, then.”

“Are you really going?” Gaspard asks with a defeated smile.

“Yes. But you guys should go and have fun. You both deserve it,” you conclude with a sincere smile before stepping away. “Have a great night!”

With one last glance at the lively scene around you, you turn and slipping away before Minho’s eyes can find you, slipping away into the night.

-

The second you step into your apartment, you slip off your coat, letting it drape over the chair, and make your way to the bathroom. The mirror reflects back a tired version of yourself—eyes a little distant, lips pressed together in thought.

You sit at your vanity, the glow of the lamp casting soft shadows across the room as you go through the familiar motions of your nightly routine. A dab of cleanser, a sweep of toner, the cool press of serum against your skin. Your hands move on their own, practiced, but your mind is elsewhere.

Back at the theater. Back to the way Kim and Minho moved together.

You can still see it—the effortless way he lifted her, the trust in the way she leaned into him, the way they fit so perfectly in each other’s arms. A pair. A partnership. A love story told through every precise step, every lingering touch.

Your stomach twists, an ache settling deep in your chest. You envy them. Not just the way they danced, but the ease of it—the way they belonged to each other without question, without hesitation. The way the world looked at them and saw something whole, something complete. And then there’s you. Wanting something that was never yours to begin with.

You pause, staring at your reflection, the weight of that realization sinking in. How wrong it is to want something that belongs to someone else. How wrong it is to want him.

As you’re about to climb onto the bed, a sudden knock at your door catches you off guard. Your heart skips a beat, and for a brief, inexplicable moment, you freeze, unsure if you imagined it. But then it comes again—a soft, steady knock. You glance at the clock on the wall. It’s late, much later than anyone would normally stop by.

For a moment, you debate whether to ignore it. But the curiosity—the need to understand why someone would show up at your door, at this hour—pushes you forward.

You move toward the door slowly, your hand hovering over the doorknob, as if you’re not quite ready to face whoever is on the other side. But the second you open it, there he is. Minho.

He stands in front of you, his eyes searching yours, but you don’t know what to say. The words are caught in your throat, tangled up with everything you’ve been feeling—everything you’ve been trying to bury deep inside. You know what you should do. You’ve already made up your mind to stop seeing him, to stop allowing yourself to slip into something that was never meant to be.

But the ache in your chest makes it hard to breathe. You’ve been pushing down your feelings for so long, trying to bury them under layers of logic, but now, standing face-to-face with Minho, everything feels like it’s on the edge of breaking.

You open your mouth, ready to say the words—to push him away, to make him understand. But before you can speak, Minho steps forward, closing the distance between you. His presence overwhelms you, pulling you in.

Then, without a single word, he reaches for you, his hand gentle on your cheek, and tilts your face up toward his. Your heart skips, your breath catches in your throat, and before you can process anything, he leans down and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is nothing like you expect. It’s not frantic or desperate. It’s soft, lingering, and it sends a shiver down your spine. His lips are warm against yours, his touch tentative at first, like he’s waiting for you to pull away, but you don’t. You can’t. Your body betrays you, and in that moment, you find yourself responding, kissing him back without thinking. The world outside, the promises you’ve made to yourself, all of it fades into the background. All you can feel is him.

But then, just as quickly as it started, Minho’s lips leave yours, but the warmth of his touch lingers, setting every nerve in your body on fire. He pulls back slightly, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you, and his hand remains on your cheek, his thumb absently stroking your skin.

This is your chance to make it right. You should push him away. You should tell him this was a mistake, but you don’t.

Because the moment he kissed you, everything you’d been holding back—the guilt, the restraint, the effort to be a good friend to Kim—crumbled. All that remains is the undeniable truth: you want Minho even more than before.

-

With that, here goes statement number two: That’s a preview to the final chapter of Two Truths and A Lie because honestly, your girl here still needs time to cook 👩🏻‍🍳

So please be patient. Just know that it'll come out soon! 😊

-

Statement number three: This is not an April fool's day post! ☝🏻

-

P.s the third statement is obvs a lie (because it's two truths and a lie, duh!) and I'm sorry, I'm giggling as I type this but also feel horrible for fooling you all. I love you all so pls don't be mad for too long 😭😭😭🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

[bearforcecaptions]

Jack had never liked the beach. The sand, the heat, the noise—it all felt like a sensory overload. But here he was, reluctantly dragged along by his friends who insisted he needed to "loosen up." Clad in a plain navy-blue pair of swim trunks and a baseball cap, he trudged along the shoreline with a towel slung over his shoulder. His lithe frame and reserved demeanor made him look like an outsider among the crowds of carefree beachgoers.

As he walked aimlessly, he noticed a group of men gathered near the water. They were laughing loudly, their voices carrying over the sound of the waves. Jack couldn't help but glance over. They were all older, heavier-set, and covered in thick body hair. Their boisterous energy and camaraderie stood in stark contrast to Jack's solitary mood. He looked away quickly, not wanting to seem rude, but he could feel their eyes on him.

“Hey, buddy!” one of them called out. Jack hesitated, then turned to see a large, bearded man waving him over. His bright red swim trunks and broad, hairy chest made him impossible to ignore. “Come join us!”

“Oh, no, I’m just passing through,” Jack said, raising a hand dismissively.

“Nonsense,” the man insisted, his grin wide and inviting. “You look like you could use a little fun. Come on, we don’t bite.”

Against his better judgment, Jack found himself walking toward them. The group welcomed him warmly, pulling him into their circle. They introduced themselves one by one, their names blending together in Jack’s head. Russ, Greg, Carl…they all seemed so comfortable in their own skin, exuding a confidence Jack couldn’t comprehend.

“So, what brings you here?” Russ, the man who had called him over, asked.

“My friends dragged me out. They said I needed to relax more,” Jack admitted with an awkward chuckle.

“Relaxation is key,” Greg said, his voice deep and soothing. “But you’ve got to do it right. Let go of all that tension. Stop trying to fit into someone else’s idea of who you should be.”

“Exactly,” Carl added. “Happiness comes when you embrace who you really are.”

Before Jack could respond, the group began speaking in unison. Their voices harmonized in a rhythmic chant: “Old, fat, and hairy. Old, fat, and happy. That’s the life worth living.”

Jack’s laugh came out shaky, but the chant grew louder, their words swirling around him like a hypnotic melody. He tried to speak, to protest, but his voice faltered. The words seemed to take root in his mind, growing more insistent. “Old, fat, and hairy. Old, fat, and happy,” he found himself whispering, his voice trembling with confusion.

“Say it with us,” Russ encouraged, his voice smooth and commanding.

Jack’s lips moved involuntarily, his voice faltering at first but gradually gaining strength. “Old… fat… and hairy. Old… fat… and happy.” His speech slowed, each word pronounced with mechanical precision, his voice deepening as if pulled from somewhere far older and wiser.

“That’s it,” Greg said, his hand resting heavily on Jack’s shoulder. “Let it sink in. Let the truth reshape you.”

Jack’s eyes glazed over, his voice steadying into a slow, deep cadence. “Old. Fat. And hairy. Old. Fat. And happy.” Each repetition seemed to reverberate through his body, his tone growing more resonant, more commanding. His breathing slowed, his body relaxing entirely as he surrendered to the rhythm of the chant.

The changes began almost imperceptibly. His stomach churned, and a soft layer of fat began to form, pushing gently against his swim trunks. With each repetition of the mantra, his belly grew heavier and rounder, sagging slightly as it expanded into a massive gut that hung proudly over the waistband of his swim trunks. His chest swelled, the muscle softening and rounding out into thick, heavy slabs. Coarse hair began to sprout across his chest, swirling outward and growing darker and denser until his torso was covered in a forest of wiry hair that shimmered slightly in the sunlight.

“Old. Fat. And hairy,” Jack murmured, his voice now slow and hypnotic. He scratched absently at his chest, feeling the coarse texture of his new hair as it spread to his shoulders and down his back. His arms thickened, the lean muscle giving way to a padded, sturdy frame, and his legs followed suit, their size and strength matching his expanding form. His skin took on a warm, sun-kissed hue, veins vanishing beneath the growing layers of fat.

His face began to change, the sharp angles softening into rounder, more rugged features. His jawline blurred and his cheeks filled out, his face now radiating a confident, mature warmth. A thick beard sprouted almost instantly, salt-and-pepper gray, framing his face perfectly. His dark hair receded slightly at the temples, streaks of silver blending into the black to give him an air of distinguished masculinity.

Jack’s voice grew deeper with each chant, now a rich, resonant bass. “Old. Fat. And hairy. Old. Fat. And happy.” The words rolled off his tongue naturally, as though they had always belonged to him. His swim trunks strained against his expanding thighs and waist before reshaping themselves into a snug pair of bright red shorts, identical to the ones Russ was wearing. His baseball cap tilted slightly, now looking perfectly at home atop his larger, rounder head. A sturdy silver watch materialized on his wrist, glinting in the sunlight. In his hand, flip-flops appeared, their worn soles suggesting years of familiar use.

“Old. Fat. And hairy. Old. Fat. And happy,” he repeated, his voice filled with conviction. His memories of being Jack grew fainter, replaced by vivid recollections of barbecues, road trips, and countless sun-drenched afternoons spent with these men. He remembered being Jim now—a 58-year-old retired contractor with a booming laugh and an unshakable bond with his beach buddies.

“Welcome back, Jim,” Russ said, clapping him on the back.

Jim grinned, his earlier hesitation completely forgotten. He adjusted his red shorts, his massive belly swaying slightly as he moved, and leaned back in his chair. Greg handed him a beer, and he cracked it open with a satisfying hiss. The group erupted into laughter as Carl told a joke, and Jim joined in, his deep, hearty laugh blending seamlessly with theirs.

For hours, they basked in the sun, sharing stories and enjoying each other’s company. Jim felt a profound sense of belonging, a joy he’d never known as Jack.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Jim stretched and let out a contented sigh. But as he gazed at the darkening sky, a strange feeling washed over him. For a fleeting moment, he remembered being someone else—a younger, thinner man with a different name. The thought vanished as quickly as it came, leaving only a faint echo in his mind.

Jim shook his head, chuckling softly. “Must’ve had one beer too many,” he muttered.

“What’s that, Jim?” Russ asked.

“Nothing,” Jim replied, smiling. “Just thinking how lucky I am to have you guys.”

“Right back at ya,” Greg said, raising his beer in a toast.

And with that, Jim settled back into his chair, his huge gut resting comfortably on his lap, the happiest he’d ever been, completely unaware he had ever been anyone else.

[authortelevision]

george, the hockey player: chapter one ₊˚⊹♡

words: 2,747 ✦ .ᐟ

♯┆ george clarke slow burn, university au, hockey george

you start university in bristol as a film student and meet a hockey player who will change your life completely

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The train ride to Bristol had been a mix of nervous excitement and mild existential dread. The city, with its hilly streets and graffiti-covered underpasses, felt like a place where something big could happen. But right now, all that mattered was getting through move-in day without looking like a complete disaster.

You haul your suitcase up the stairs of your new flat, already regretting bringing so many decorations. The shared kitchen is a mess of half-opened suitcases, stacked IKEA crockery, and the awkward small talk of strangers who will, apparently, be your new best friends.

A girl with pink-streaked hair and round glasses glances up from where she’s struggling to assemble a drying rack. “Oh, thank God. Someone else who looks just as lost as I feel.”

You laugh, setting your bags down. “Completely lost. Do you need help with that?”

“Please. It’s like IKEA’s playing a cruel joke on me.” She grins. “I’m Lily, by the way. I do history, unfortunately.”

You introduce yourself just as the front door swings open and two more people walk in, dragging boxes. One of them, a guy with messy brown hair, lets out an exaggerated sigh. “This is it. Our prison for the next year.”

“I hope not.” says a voice from behind him.

The four of you quickly exchange introductions, and you learn that the negative voice is Matt who is studying Economics, and the other is Sam, taking Biology. Within ten minutes, you’re all gathered in the kitchen, swapping stories about where you’re from and who packed the weirdest thing (Matt wins with his five-kilo bag of protein powder). It’s surprisingly easy, the awkwardness fading fast.

Then, Lily claps her hands together. “Okay, so Freshers’ Fair is happening today. We need to go.”

Sam frowns. “That’s the one where all the societies try to recruit you, right?”

“Exactly. It’s essential. Free stuff, maybe a few weird clubs, and we can all pretend we’re super well-rounded people.”

You weren’t sure if you had the energy after lugging all your stuff around, but the idea of seeing what Bristol Uni had to offer was tempting. Plus, it beat sitting in your empty room.

“Alright,” you say, standing up. “Let’s go get bombarded by enthusiastic second-years.”

————

The Student Union building is packed, a sea of students weaving between booths with banners ranging from “Join the Debate Society” to “Quidditch Team Tryouts This Weekend!” Every few steps, someone shoves a flyer into your hands, promising everything from cheap cocktails to life-changing friendships.

Lily gets dragged away almost immediately by a group advertising a Feminist Reading Club. Sam disappears in the direction of the Rugby stall, while Matt, despite his initial complaints, is deep in conversation with a Chess Society rep.

That leaves you wandering alone for a bit, taking it all in. The Hockey Society booth catches your eye, but only cause there’s a crowd gathered around it, and a bunch of sporty-looking guys are chatting with possible members. You consider stopping, but hockey isn’t really your thing.

Instead, you find yourself drawn to a quieter stall tucked between the Art Society and the Drama Club. A banner reads “Photography Society – Capture the Moment”, and a student with a camera slung around their neck waves at you.

“Hey! You interested in photography?”

“I mean… kinda?” You glance at the sign-up sheet. “I do film, so I guess I already mess around with cameras.”

The student grins. “That’s basically half of it. We do sports photography, exhibitions, and the occasional trip. No pressure, though.”

It sounds like exactly the kind of thing to make friends you need. Before you can overthink it, you pick up a pen and sign your name.

By the time you regroup with your flatmates, your bag is full of leaflets and your group decides to escape the chaos and grab something to eat. The campus cafés are packed, so you settle for the Student Union bar, where the tables are sticky, the nachos are cheap, and the music is just a little too loud for a casual conversation.

Matt dumps his bag of free society merch onto the table with a dramatic sigh. “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got.”

He pulls out a ridiculous amount of random freebies like stress balls, lanyards, a frisbee, and even a reusable coffee cup with Bristol Uni Quidditch Team printed on the side. Sam snorts. “Did you even sign up for Quidditch?”

“No, but they were giving out free stuff, and I’m not an idiot.”

Lily rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. She turns to you, seeing your tote bag. “So, what made you go for Photography Society?”

You take a sip of your drink, considering. “I think I just wanted something creative that wasn’t coursework, you know? Something fun, no pressure.”

She nods. “Good call. I was considering the Creative Writing Society, but then I overheard a guy saying they only discuss ‘serious literary work,’ and I feel like I’d get kicked out for writing fanfiction.”

“That sounds insufferable,” you say with a laugh.

“What about you, Sam?” Matt asks. “You looked way too invested in that rugby stall for someone who claimed they definitely weren’t joining a sports team.

Sam shrugs, looking vaguely guilty. “Okay, maybe I’ll go to tryouts. I haven’t played since school, but it might be fun.”

“You just want an excuse to go to the sports socials,” Lily teases.

He smirks. “And what if I do?”

The conversation drifts into plans for the rest of Freshers’ Week—pub crawls, club nights, and the dreaded 9am introductory lectures no one is ready for. It’s strange how quickly everything is falling into place, like the awkwardness of earlier has already faded into something more natural.

Eventually, you all decide to head back to the flat, the evening air crisp as you make your way across campus. Bristol feels alive at night, students spilling out of bars, the hum of conversation echoing down cobbled streets. The streetlights cast long shadows, and for a brief moment, you pause to take it all in.

Lily nudges you. “You alright?”

You nod, smiling. “Yeah. I think I am.”

————

The next morning, you wake to the sound of footsteps in the hallway and the faint clatter of someone making something in the kitchen. For a few seconds, you forget where you are, then the unfamiliar ceiling and the plain white walls bring you back to reality. Your new life at university has officially begun.

After forcing yourself out of bed, you shuffle into the kitchen, where Lily is perched on the counter, eating a bowl of cereal. She’s wearing an oversized hoodie, her pink-streaked hair all over the place. “Morning,” she says between bites.

“Morning,” you mumble, grabbing a mug and searching for the kettle.

Matt wanders in next, still in his pajamas. He blinks at you both. “We should’ve made a pact never to speak before noon.”

Lily laughs. “Good luck with that. We’ve all got a welcome meeting at ten, I’m not sure where yours is but mine is in the Oliver building.”

Right. The dreaded introductory stuff. You groan internally but force yourself to stay optimistic. First years always say it’s useless, but there could always be something important about the university you wouldn’t know about.

After breakfast, you grab your bag and head out with Lily, who insists on walking with you even though the history department is in a completely different building. “Moral support,” she says dramatically as you weave through the crowds of students trying to find their way around.

The film department is tucked inside a modern glass building that looks sleek and intimidating. Inside, the lecture hall is already filling up, the hum of conversation blending with the sound of chairs scraping against the floor. You slide into a seat near the middle and pull out your laptop, trying not to look as awkward as you feel.

A few minutes later, a girl with short curly hair and a nose ring drops into the seat next to you. “Hey, do you mind if I sit here?”

“Not at all.”

“I’m Ava,” she says, setting her laptop down. “Film Studies?”

You nod. “Yeah, first year.”

“Same! What kind of films are you into?”

That kicks off an easy conversation, by the time the lecturer finally arrives and starts their speech about “the power of storytelling in visual media,” you and Ava have already bonded over your mutual love of indie films and your shared distaste for pretentious film bros who only talk about Pulp Fiction.

The lecture itself is mostly introductions—professors explaining what to expect, a few awkward icebreakers with the people sitting nearby, and a long-winded speech about academic integrity. By the time it’s over, your brain is buzzing, and you’re more than ready to escape.

“Wanna grab coffee?” Ava asks as you head out of the building.

“Definitely.”

The two of you make your way to the campus café, where you spot Sam and Matt sitting by the window, deep in conversation. When they see you, Sam waves you over.

“How was your lecture?” Matt asks as you slide into the seat across from him.

“Long.” You take a sip of your coffee. “What about you?”

“Boring. I already regret choosing Economics.”

Ava laughs. “Wow, you’re all so motivated.”

“Oh! This is Ava, by the way, we both do film studies.”

As the conversation continues, it starts to hit you, this is your new life. New friends, new routines, new experiences waiting just around the corner.

————

By the time the sun sets, the nerves of the first day have been replaced with something else entirely: anticipation, excitement, and the lingering feeling from the vodka shots you definitely shouldn’t have taken so quickly.

Your flat has changed into pre-drinks. The tiny kitchen table is covered in half-empty bottles, discarded mixers, and the remnants of an intense game of Ring of Fire. Someone’s put on a ridiculous throwback playlist, and now everyone is shouting the words to Mr. Brightside like it’s a national anthem.

You’re sat on the counter, legs swinging, cradling a drink you don’t need but don’t want to put down. “Okay,” you announce to no one in particular, “I think I might be a tiny bit drunk.”

Lily cackles from where she’s trying to apply eyeliner on a very uncooperative Matt. “No shit. You’ve been swaying for, like, ten minutes.”

You blink, realizing that the floor does seem to be moving slightly. “That’s just because I’m—” You wave your hand in the air, trying to find a reason. “—graceful.”

Sam laughs, throwing an arm around you dramatically. “You’re gone.”

But the night is young, and there’s only one destination in mind—Lola Lo’s. Everyone has been hyping it up since you arrived, promising neon lights, questionable cocktails, and the kind of night you’ll only half remember.

After one final shot (a terrible idea in hindsight), you all spill onto the street, voices loud and laughter echoing down the road. The walk to the club is only fifteen minutes, but your brain seems to have abandoned all sense of coordination.

Somewhere along the way, you trip over nothing and stumble into Lily. “Okay,” she says, catching you, “I think we need a pause.”

You find yourself plopping down onto the curb, the cold pavement grounding you slightly. Sam sits next to you, amused. “You know they’re not gonna let you in like this, right?”

You groan, resting your head on his shoulder dramatically. “I know.”

Matt crouches in front of you, squinting like a concerned doctor. “Alright, what’s the game plan? We can’t have you getting turned away at the door.”

Lily laughs. “We could walk in first and pretend we don’t know them.”

You gasp, offended. “Betrayal.”

Ava, who has been quiet up until now, holds up a bottle of water she somehow smuggled out of the flat. “Here, drink this. Try to look less… like this.” She gestures vaguely at you, which is fair.

You take a sip then make a face. “This isn’t gonna work in time.”

Matt nudges your shoulder. “Alright, let’s problem-solve. How do we make you look sober?”

“Serious face,” you declare, straightening up and attempting your most responsible expression. It lasts about three seconds before Sam bursts out laughing.

Lily wipes away fake tears. “Oh yeah, that’s gonna fool the bouncers.”

You groan, dramatically falling back onto the pavement. “Okay, new plan. I’ll just live here now. The curb is my home.”

Ava rolls her eyes but helps you up anyway. “Nope. We’re getting in that club. You’re gonna drink water, act normal, and stop being a liability.”

You let them half-drag, half-walk you down the street, still giggling. Maybe you won’t get into the club. Maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow with no recollection of this conversation.

Somehow—somehow—you make it past the bouncers.

Lily had given you a very serious pep talk before you reached the front of the queue: “No swaying. No giggling. And for God’s sake, don’t say anything stupid.” You had nodded along, doing your absolute best to channel the energy of someone who had only had one sensible drink and definitely wasn’t clinging to Sam for balance.

Miraculously, the bouncers barely look at you before waving you inside, and suddenly, you’re in.

Lola Lo’s is everything people hyped it up to be, neon lights glow under bamboo decor, the music vibrates in your chest, and the air smells like a mix of fruity cocktails, sweat, and regret. Your flatmates disappear into the crowd, leaving you standing in the middle of the dance floor, still slightly overwhelmed.

But there’s one thing you do know, you need another drink.

Stumbling your way to the bar, you lean against the counter, blinking up at the bartender like focusing really hard will make you seem more sober. “Can I get a—” You pause. What did you want? A cocktail? A vodka and coke? You squint at the menu, as if the words will rearrange themselves into the perfect choice.

Eventually, you just blurt out, “A rum and coke, please,” and slap some cash onto the bar, feeling very responsible.

The bartender hands you your drink, and you turn around. Too fast.

Because the next thing you know, your arm collides with someone, and suddenly, your entire very full drink sloshes forward, spilling straight onto them.

“Oh shit—”

The guy flinches, looking down at his now-soaked shirt. “Oh, for fu—” He cuts himself off, exhaling sharply before looking up at you.

And that’s when you see him properly.

Tall, messy brown hair, sharp features softened by the kind of face that probably gets away with way too much just by smiling. But right now, he’s not smiling, he’s staring at you, stunned, as cold rum and coke drips down his front.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, hands flying to your mouth. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine—”

“No, no, it’s not fine!” You grab a handful of napkins from the bar and start patting at his chest, which is definitely not helping, because now you’re basically rubbing the mess into his already ruined shirt. “I didn’t mean to—oh my God, I’m such an idiot—”

He lets out a breathy laugh, finally grabbing your wrist gently to stop your attempts at fixing the situation. “Hey—hey, it’s fine. Seriously.”

You look up at him, wide-eyed, and suddenly, your brain catches up with what’s happening. You just spilled an entire drink on a very attractive guy and are now borderline manhandling him in a drunken panic.

This is not how the night was supposed to go.

“I’ll buy you a new drink,” you blurt out.

He smirks. “What, for me or for you?”

You open your mouth, then shut it. That was a fair question.

Before you can respond, Lily appears out of nowhere, looking between the two of you with sharp amusement. “What the hell did I miss?”

The guy chuckles, shaking his head. “Your friend just redecorated my shirt.”

Lily glances at you, then at the napkins still clutched in your hand. Then she grins. “Oh, this is fantastic.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Kill me now.”

But when you peek up, the guy is still looking at you, not annoyed, not pissed off, but amused. Like this is the most entertaining thing that’s happened to him all night.

“I’m George” he says, still smiling.

George. You’ll keep that in mind.

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author notes:

hello everyone !! sorry i’ve been gone for so long !! i’ve been very busy with uni life and have kind of abandoned this account !! but i’m back and i’ve decided to bring my uni life into this new slow burn i have !!

I KNOW THAT GEORGE DIDNT GO TO BRISTOL BUT I DIDNT KNOW ENOUGH ABOUT HIS UNI TO WRITE ABOUT THAT ONE !!

much love x

[gunnerfc]

It’s Tradition | Leah Williamson x Arsenal!Reader (18+)

Summary: You have a habit of celebrating a win by hooking up with someone, but now you’re in a new country with a new club where you haven’t had a chance to explore the bar scene. Your teammate offers to keep the tradition going.

Warnings: bottom leah, top reader, oral (leah receiving)

WC: 2k

AN: short fic in honor of her birthday 🤪

You cheered softly once the ref blew the whistle, signally the end of the game. Arsenal came out with a win over United which saw two goals from you to win the game. You had signed with Arsenal recently during the transfer window and to win your first game was exciting. You quickly shook hands with the home side before you were crowded by Kyra and Vic, yelling as they jumped on you.

You laughed at their antics before you were all gathered in a huddle by Jonas who congratulated the team on the win. You tuned out your coach as your eyes locked on Leah, your eyes subtlety scanning her body. Since you joined the team, you and the blonde have had a very flirty relationship. Nothing ever happened between the two of you due to having zero time to push the relationship further. 

As your mind ran with thoughts of the blonde, you remembered you were two roommates during this away fixture. You smirked to yourself about the possibility of exploring a new relationship with the defender but you dropped your smirk when you caught her eye. You sent her a teasing wink before Jonas dismissed the team to thank the traveling supporters. You stuck with Kyra, Alessia, and Vic as you made your rounds, hoping to drag out being close to Leah.

Leah was in a similar position, her thoughts were filled with you and the many teasing comments you’ve made to her since you arrived in London. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious about what it would be like to go further with you. Knowing you two would have a room to yourselves was proving the push you two needed.

After thanking the fans, the team was quick to the locker room to change and head for the team bus, everyone opting to take showers back at the hotel. As you gathered your things, you could feel Leah’s eyes on you, following your every move. When you headed for the door with Alessia, you brushed past Leah, your hand hiting hers lightly as you moved. The small amount of contact left a burning sensation on your skin, and the need for more growing.

You stayed to yourself on the bus, your thoughts full of Leah and how the blonde would sound as she moaned your name. You tried to control your breathing as your imagination took control, hoping that the blonde was not able to see your heaving chest. You sighed to yourself when the bus pulled up to the hotel, happy to finally be off the bus. It took a bit of waiting as the team took the elevators up but you were surprised to find Leah waiting for you by your door instead of going in on her own.

You offered a small smile as she opened the door for you as you both said a quick goodnight to your teammates who were still in the hallway. You groaned when you threw your things down, the roughness of the match starting to hit you. Leah tried her best to ignore the sound that escaped your lips as she sat on the end of her bed to take her shoes off. The blonde tossed them to her pile of things as you moved to get clothes out to take a shower.

The silence between the two of you was thick as neither of you knew exactly what to say. Deciding to make small talk, the blonde broke the silence as she watched you. “So, how did you celebrate a win back in Germany,” she asked, her eyes on your back.

You froze in your spot by your suitcase when you heard her question. You had a particular reputation that certainly followed you around so you knew Leah knew the answer to her question. “Um, sex mainly,” you laughed softly.

Since you’ve moved to London, you haven’t had the time to explore any of the social settings that would have been a great way to meet a one night stand. You liked to celebrate winning with great sex but since you were in a new country, your tradition was going to be broken after your first Arsenal win. You didn’t turn to meet Leah’s gaze at first but you spun around to find her eyes locked on your body.

“How do you plan on keeping your tradition going tonight,” the blonde said quietly, swallowing lightly when your eyes met.

“Not sure, I don’t think I can keep it going,” you shrugged, not really caring about continuing it anymore since you met Leah.

“You can’t break the tradition. What if it’s your good luck charm,” the defender joked, her breathing picking up slightly.

You didn’t speak as you contemplated her words, you weren't sure if she was offering something or not and didn’t want to overstep if she wasn't into it. As you opened your mouth to respond, Leah beat you to it.

“If you need someone to help keep it alive…” she trailed off, hoping you would pick up on what she was saying. 

You raised an eyebrow at her words, a small smirk gracing your features. A red tint coated the blonde’s cheeks under your gaze and at the thought of you fucking her. You sat down the clothes you had picked up, your mind focused on other things rather than a shower. You bit your bottom lip softly as you walked toward the other bed the blonde was sitting on. The defender was leaning back on her hands as her legs dangled off the edge of the bed as you made your way in between her legs. Leah sat up as she looked up at you, your eyes scanning her features as you moved a hand to push her hair behind her ear.

The sounds of heavy breathing from both of you filled the room as you traced your thumb along Leah’s jawline. You moved your thumb to trace against her bottom lip before pushing your finger into her mouth, her lips wrapping around your thumb softly. You didn’t have to tell the blonde what to do as she softly sucked on the finger in her mouth, her eyes still locked with yours.

You pulled your now wet thumb from her mouth, tracing it on her bottom lip once more. The overwhelming urge to kiss her was driving you crazy. You brought both hands to rest on her cheeks, tilting her head back slightly as you leaned down to connect your lips. Your mouths moved against each other deeply, yours easily winning control as your tongue slipped through her lips and explored her mouth. Leah moaned into the kiss and you felt your knees go weak at the sound.

You kept your lips locked with hers for a few moments before you pulled back when air became an issue. You took a step back from the blonde to lift your shirt over your head, tossing it to the other side of the room. Leah got the memo and stood from her bed to strip out of the clothes she changed into back at the stadium. Once you were both naked, you let your eyes linger on every part of her body. 

Your lips were back on hers, this time in a rougher kiss as you guided her back onto the bed and up toward the pillows. It was your turn to moan when you felt her bare chest against your own, both of your hardened nipples hitting each other. You pulled back from her swollen lips, lightly biting her bottom lip and pulling it slightly before your lips landed on her neck.

As much as you wanted to leave hickies all over her skin, you knew if you did so your teammates would have an insane amount of questions in the morning. You weren’t sure what this would do to your relationship with Leah but that was for you two to figure out on your own. You kissed down her neck toward her chest, hoping that that would be an acceptable place to leave dark bruise-like marks. You sucked on her skin here and there, pulling soft gasps from the blonde as you did so.

You made your way to her breasts, leaving small kisses in the valley of her chest before moving your lips to one of her nipples. You sucked the hardened bud into your mouth as Leah’s head fell back against the hotel pillows in pleasure. You stayed in your spot for a few seconds longer before pulling away to give her other nipple the same treatment. Leah’s gasps turned into soft moans as one of her hands tangled in your hair to press closer to her chest. 

You let go of her nipple to continue kissing down her toned stomach, leaving small nips here and there. You left a few kisses along the tops of her thighs before you were right where she needed you. You could tell she was already wet, the blonde didn’t need much to affect her. You blew slightly against her wet cunt, earning a whine from above at the cool sensation. You smirked to yourself before you placed a small kiss on her clit. Leah’s whine got louder at your actions and her hand that wasn’t in your hair shot to cover her mouth. The last thing she wanted was for whoever was on the other side of the wall to hear her. 

Your kisses became longer before you took her sensitive clit in your mouth, sucking and running your tongue over it. Leah moaned loudly into her hand as the grip on your hair became tighter with each flick of your tongue. You kept your lips wrapped around her clit as your hands moved to wrap around her thighs. You moaned softly as you tasted the blonde, the vibrations of your moans sending shockwaves through her.

You pulled back as best as you could considering the way she was pushing you closer to run your tongue through her soaked folds. Leah’s back arched off the bed as her hips rolled slightly to urge you to do it again. You laughed softly to yourself at her eagerness but complied with her requests, licking up slowly to savor the taste of her in your mouth.

You sped up your movements, your tongue dipping into her every so often to tease her. After tasting the defender, you would spend the rest of your life between her thighs if you could. You kept a steady pace as you went down on her, not wanting to rush anything and wanting her to enjoy the pleasure she was feeling. As her hips stuttered in their movements, you could tell Leah was close to coming. 

“F-fuck, please, y/n,” the blonde begged softly, her eyes screwed shut as her chest heaved.

You didn’t hold back as you fucked her with your tongue, catching every last drop of her as her back arched once more. Leah toppled over, her orgasm hitting her hard as you kept up your ministrations to help her ride out her high. You only pulled away when Leah whined at the overstimulation. 

Her hand left your hair and fell to the mattress under her as she kept her eyes closed. You moved up her body before locking lips with her once again, this kiss a bit slower than the previous one. Leah moaned against your lips as she tasted herself on your lips. 

You pulled back with a teasing smirk on your face as you watched her eyes flutter open. “My tradition is alive and well now,” you joked, earning a small laugh from the blonde. 

You let your eyes take in her expression, finding the dazed look from an intense orgasm extremely attractive. 

“But, just as a safety measure, I think we gotta go again,” you spoke with a raised eyebrow. 

One of your hands traced down Leah’s body at a slow speed, slightly teasing her. You spent the rest of the evening making sure your ‘tradition’ stayed intact, pulling orgasm after orgasm from your teammate. Maybe you didn’t need to explore the bar scene to meet people after a win, you had Leah to celebrate with now.

[struggling-with-drivers]

People Watching - Lando Norris

⋗ Pairing - Lando Norris x Reader

⋗ Summary - You've never been in love, at least you don't think you have

⋗ Word count - 2k words, fluff, [Requested by Anon]

⋗ Masterlist - requests are open, this was just a short cute idea I had on my mind after getting a request. Feedback and reblogs are appreciated

You’re enjoying a nice lunch with Lando. He has a lot of things to be doing after, but for now. It’s just the two of you, a set of good friends. Your eyes wander over his face, a soft look of concentration is on his face as he tries to take pictures of you and your lunch. The way his lips are slightly strained, as he keeps fiddling with his camera. Then he rearranges your glasses, and then he puts them back, before rearranging them once more. 

“Do you need help?” You ask, a small laugh bubbling in your throat, as he can’t seem to get the shot he wants.

“No no, just keep sitting there, you look good!” He chirps up, quickly dismissing the thought of you moving from the pose he instructed you into. 

Your laugh finally makes it way past your lips, at the absurdity of the scene, your eyes close as the flash goes off once more. You don’t notice how Lando mutters, got it, nor how he takes a few more just for his enjoyment. 

“Time to dig in.” Lando scrambles to sit down and stuffs his mouth with his slightly cold food. 

You stick a bit to your food, but your gaze falls out onto the crowd of people navigating outside. So many couples are spread across the grid as all the fans gather to get a closer look at the cars. Despite your perspective from above, the thing most glaring to you seems to be all the hands clasped into others. 

“How long do you think they’ve been together?” 

“What?” Lando looks up from his plate of food, trying to follow your gaze, but he gets lost in the crowd of people immediately, not at all being able to figure out where your eyes are looking. 

“The elderly couple.” You say, as though it’s the most obvious thing, as though there aren’t multiple, as though you and Lando didn’t call Max Verstappen and his girlfriend an elderly couple last weekend, despite Max barely being 2.5 years older than Lando and less than 2 years older than you. 

“Three days.” Lando says, voice full of conviction, “They actually met this Tuesday and have had the wildest sex for 3 days straight, before any of their children realise that their parents are missing from the nursery home.” 

You snort loudly, accidentally getting soda into your nose, making Lando laugh with you, as you struggle to breathe. 

After recovering from your soda mishap, you wipe your nose with a napkin, still chuckling. Lando grins mischievously, taking a sip of his drink as he watches you with amusement.

“Smooth move, right?” he teases, referring to his imaginative tale about the elderly couple. “I mean, who wouldn't want a love story like that? Beats the usual 'met in high school and got married' scenario.”

You both share another round of laughter, the casual banter making the lunch even more enjoyable.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in love.” You sigh wistfully as you glance down at the crowd of people once more. “Not seriously. I mean, I’ve had a fling here and there, and a few you don’t know about.”

“Ouch.” Lando mocks being hurt, as he throws a piece of lettuce in your direction. Missing you completely. He’s an excellent driver, but a terrible thrower. You’re suddenly elated that he never became a handball athlete or a basketball player. 

“I just mean, I’ve never had that big grand love moment, you know. Nobody has ever done any big gestures, I’ve never had fireworks go off during a kiss. Never pictured that American suburban picket fence dream, you know?” You rattle off as Lando leans his head to the side. You can see the grin on his face before the words leave his mouth. 

“And here I thought you loved me,” he throws another piece of lettuce in your direction. It lands on your plate, and you cock an eyebrow at him, very unimpressed. “I don’t think I know anyone else that would get up at 3 am just to make the world's worst pancakes, all because it’s some pancake holiday, and I had to be out of the door at 5 am.”

The memory of that early morning springs vividly to your mind, and you can't help but chuckle at the recollection.

The night before Pancake Day, you meticulously planned your pancake surprise for Lando. You envisioned a perfect morning: the smell of freshly made pancakes wafting through the air, the joy on Lando's face as he discovered the delightful breakfast you had prepared just for him. However, the universe had other plans.

At 3 am, you tiptoed into the kitchen, trying your best to be as quiet as a ninja. Armed with a box of pancake mix, a whisk, and an optimistic spirit, you were ready to conquer the culinary world for the sake of surprising your friend.

The kitchen was dimly lit, and you moved with caution, not wanting to wake anyone up. As you began mixing the ingredients, you felt a surge of determination. This was going to be the breakfast surprise of the century. You even hummed a little tune as you worked, believing that love and effort could conquer any culinary challenge.

However, in your sleepy stupor, you made a crucial mistake. The sugar and salt containers looked eerily similar in the low light, and without double-checking, you confidently poured what you thought was sugar into the mix. Little did you know, you had just set the stage for a disastrous flavour profile.

Undeterred, you moved on, mistakenly grabbing the baking powder instead of the baking soda. As you mixed the concoction, the batter started to take on an unusual texture, but you pressed on, convinced that your culinary masterpiece was just a few flips away.

With the batter ready, you heated the pan and poured the first pancake, envisioning its perfect golden-brown finish. However, the sizzle that followed was more like a hiss, and the kitchen started to fill with an unpleasant aroma. You tried to fan away the smoke, hoping that the burnt scent wouldn't reach Lando's bedroom.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans. As the smoke thickened, a piercing sound echoed through the apartment – the unmistakable wail of the smoke detector. Panic set in, and you rushed to open windows, waving a towel at the alarm, and desperately trying to save the surprise.

Meanwhile, Lando stirred in his sleep, disturbed by the cacophony of the smoke detector. He stumbled out of his bedroom, bleary-eyed and disoriented, only to find you amid your culinary chaos, smoke billowing around you.

“Ah, Pancake Day,” you say with a grin. “I thought it would be a fantastic idea to surprise you with a breakfast feast before your busy day. On the other hand, I gave you a free day off from having to sit in on a bunch of meetings.”

“Yeah, because my house nearly burnt down, and a bunch of firefighters showed up.” Lando waves his fork at you. “I doubt a lot of other people would have done that.”

“Tried to burn down your flat?” You mock him, as you flick the piece of lettuce back to his plate. 

He laughs, shaking his head. You’re missing his point, but he’s also not attempting to make it clearer for you. 

“What about when I stay up with you on the phone, because a sale is starting past midnight, but you’re barely holding it together and it’s not even 10 pm? Isn’t that an act of love?” He asks, but he leaves no room for you to answer his question as he goes back to eating. 

Lando can’t see the storm that’s slowly brewing behind your eyes, as you go over memories of your friendship. All the small things you do for each other. All the time you spend together. 

As the memories flood your mind, you find yourself caught in a whirlwind of emotions. The snippets of shared moments and small gestures between you and Lando become a cherished montage.

There's the time when he surprised you with a playlist of your favourite songs on a day when you were feeling down, the carefully curated mix capturing the essence of your friendship. You remember the genuine joy on his face as he handed over the playlist, completely aware of how much music meant to you.

Then, there are the instances when you stayed up late into the night, listening to his racing stories and sharing in his victories and disappointments. You recall the laughter and camaraderie that transcended the distance, making those late-night conversations a treasured part of your connection.

Lando smirks mischievously as he eyes the last bite of your dessert.

"Mind if I grab that last piece? You know I need the extra energy for my thrilling life as a driver."

You narrow your eyes at him, holding the fork protectively. "Oh, please. The only thrill you get is trying to beat me at Mario Kart."

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "I'll have you know that being a Mario Kart champion requires skill and precision. It's practically a training regimen for the racetrack."

You scoff, taking a deliberate bite of the dessert. "Skill and precision? Last time I checked, you kept getting stuck in the void on Rainbow Road."

"That was a strategic move. I needed a better view of the stars," he replies with a grin, trying to swipe the fork again.

You playfully slap his hand away. "Nice try, but you're not getting this last piece. I already had to fight off your trainer once this month, because you keep stealing my food."

Lando feigns offence, placing a hand over his heart. "Are you saying I don't have the physique of a finely tuned athlete?"

"I'm saying you have the physique of someone who eats all the desserts that aren’t meant for finely-tuned athletes," you retort, 

He leans in, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, at least I can burn it off on the track. What's your excuse?"

You raise an eyebrow. "I burn calories, dodging your attempts to steal my food. It's a full-body workout, really."

"Fair enough. But mark my words, next time we play Mario Kart, you won't stand a chance." Lando laughs, shaking his head. 

"Bring it on, slowpoke. I'll be waiting with banana peels and blue shells," you challenge, finishing the dessert triumphantly, savouring the last bite right in front of him. Silence falls as he starts typing on his phone, and your mind gets distracted by what he said earlier.

As Lando mentioned, the nights when he stood by you during stressful sales and business endeavours resurface in your mind. The unwavering support he offered, even when the clock struck midnight and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm you, painted a picture of love in the small actions.

And of course, there are the countless times when he'd spontaneously pop by with your favourite snacks or the coffee blend you adore, just because he remembered. Those little acts of consideration spoke volumes.

Lost in these memories, you realise that love comes in various forms. It's not always grand gestures or sweeping romantic moments. It's found in the everyday kindness, the shared laughter, and the unwavering support that defines your friendship with Lando.

A thought strikes you down.

Do you love Lando?

Lando glances up from his phone, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. He meets your gaze, and there's a silent understanding between you. In that moment, surrounded by the echoes of shared laughter, failed pancake attempts, and genuine care, you realise that love, in its purest form, is already present in the beautiful tapestry of your friendship with Lando.

An even more terrifying thought hits you as he looks at you with that soft smile and those shiny eyes. 

Does Lando love you?

⋗ a/n - thank you for reading this, I had a lot of fun writing this small piece, it was just pure fluff and enjoyment

[zorrasucia]

your life could end up changing (while you're dancing through)

Reader X Fiyero (Wicked)

Rating: Explicit (3k)

Tags: Smut with a little plot, Pre-canon, Fiyero is a whore (affectionate) and Reader is down to fuck, Everyone is 20+ because I say so and because Jonathan Bailey can pass for a 28 year old AT BEST, Fingering, Semi-public sex, Oral (F receiving), Thigh Riding, P in V Sex, Soft Pleasure Dom!Fiyero, Praise Kink

Fiyero Tigelaar had been expelled from school, yet again. The only difference is that it was from your school this time. And though you mourned the fact that you wouldn't see his figure parading down the hallways, you still had to look forward to tonight - a swankified goodbye, one last hurrah, a party to remember.

You fluffed your skirt one last time, checking your face in the mirror and nodding in approval. You walked down the stairs of the dormitory building, waving at a few of your classmates, all dolled up too, sequins and satin glittering in the moonlight. One of your heels got trapped in the cobblestone, making you trip, but a strong arm rounded your waist, steadying you.

"Careful," Fiyero's voice said smoothly.

"Oh! Thank you," you smiled up at him, dazed.

"Usually people trip after they go out drinking," he teased.

You laughed. "Sorry, my shoe got stuck."

"Shall I escort you to the club? Wouldn't want you to trip again," he flirted with ease, it was second nature to him.

"You don't need to," you could see his entourage gathering a few steps away. "I'll be careful."

He started walking, his hand still on the small of your waist, guiding you.

"Don't want to leave you all alone. Hardly chivalrous of me," he said.

"I'm gonna meet my friends there," you replied, leaning into his touch, his chest solid and warm against your side.

"I insist," he didn't need to, not really.

"Alright."

"And I must insist on a dance with you," he said, his eyes meeting yours, making you blush.

"I'm sure your dance card is quite full, Prince," you joked. 

Every girl and boy at the school wanted a moment with him, even if it was fleeting and superficial, you included.

"Yes," he said. "I don't think anyone's claimed the last one yet."

He winked at you, taking your breath away. Surely he wasn't implying... Not on his last night here...

You were resigned to being one of the few students that hadn't spent the night at Fiyero's private suite - there were only so many nights in a semester after all and you had never been part of his inner circle.

"Are you serious?"

"Never. I'm never serious, you should know that," he gave you a mischievous smile. "But I would like to have to spend a while with you."

A while. It was as good an invitation to sleep over as you would get. 

"I would like that too," you said with a wide smile.

"I'll look you up for that last dance," he promised. Without realizing, you two had walked all the way to the club, your friends watching wide eyed as he kissed your hand and ran to catch up with the rest inside the club.

~

The night passed very quickly. You danced and danced, stealing glances at Fiyero every now and then, drinking but not enough to get dizzy, just so you felt a little bubbly and brave.

The crowd started to thin out, the songs got progressively slower, and suddenly he was right behind you.

"Having fun?"

"Yes," you turned to your right, his face inches away, his hands possessive on your waist.

He started swaying you both side to side, his breath tickling your temple.

"You smell delicious. What is it?"

"Strawberries," you sighed, gasping when he used his grasp to twirl you around, guiding your arms around his neck.

"Mmm, my favorite," he kissed your temple, then your jaw, your neck... "Still want to come over tonight?"

You knew he would be fine if you said no. He probably had a line waiting outside the club to throw themselves at him - a part of you relished the fact.

"Yeah," you confirmed. "I really want to."

"Good."

And with that he cupped your face and brought you close for a tender kiss. You parted for a second, his blue eyes shining in the club lights, looking for yours. You smiled and he kissed you again, properly this time, his head tilting and his lips parting slightly. He was a damn good kisser; you melted in his arms, your fingers caressing the hair on his nape. Without you realizing, he had cornered you against the wall, you were surrounded by his warm body. His right hand went underneath your dress, caressing up from your calf all the way to your thigh, leaving goosebumps behind. You moaned into his mouth.

"Here?" you arched your eyebrows. 

Yes, there were fewer students than at the beginning of the night and the corner you had ended up in was pretty dark but you could still be caught.

"Just want to touch you a little. Yeah?" he punctuated his question by cupping your pussy over your clothes. You squeaked in surprise and pleasure.

"Yes," you whispered, biting back a moan as he kissed your neck and caressed you under your skirt.

He knew what he was doing, playing you like an instrument, his nimble fingers moving your underwear to the side and getting you closer and closer to your release.

"Oh! I'm-" was all you could manage, panting lightly.

"I know. Let me feel it, come on, let me feel it," he pleaded, his voice strained. Holding on to his shoulders, you started grinding against his hand, jerky movements followed by breathy sounds as your pussy squeezed the hell out of his fingers. "Yes. That's it."

You ran your fingers over his shoulder blades, slowly coming back to your senses - the soft, blue wool of his coat grounding you.

He casually wiped his fingers with a monogrammed handkerchief.

"Ready to leave?"

You nodded and giggled once he took your hand and dragged you out of the club running.

~

Fiyero had a routine rehearsed, it seemed. Bringing his person of choice for the night to his suite, offering them a drink, sitting and chatting with an arm around them, then kissing them until they were horizontal on the couch. You had no problem following along, especially if it felt as good as this. He had you caged with his strong arms, kissing you thoroughly, grinding a little against you, his expensive cologne clouding your senses.

"Mmm," you hummed against his lips. "Is this what you do with everyone else?"

"Pretty much," he grinned, maneuvering your body where he wanted it, expertly tugging at ribbons and buttons to get you naked, like he knew your dress better than you did. "Like to give them a good time."

"A good time?" you tilted your head in amusement.

"Make them come at least three times before I do," he said simply.

Your eyes widened. "That's ambitious."

"Well, thank you! My teachers keep saying I lack ambition, you know."

You giggled. "And do you?"

His hands were carefully tugging at your pantyhose, running up the sensitive skin on the insides of your thighs and tugging down your underwear, leaving you in a satin slip all bunched up at the hips.  

"Do I what?" he was looking at your pussy like it was a delicious dessert.

"Make them come that many times," you clarified, flushing down to your chest just with the way he was looking at you.

"Oh, yeah," he replied plainly, before burying his face between your legs, long strokes of his tongue making you lift your hips off the couch.

"Oh!"

He smiled devilishly as if saying "see, I told you". Then, he closed his eyes and went on sucking and licking, completely consumed with making you feel good, his arm keeping you pinned for him to devour. His free hand kneaded on your hips then traced a sinuous path down to your pussy. You whined with need.

You opened your legs wider, inviting him closer.

"Would you put your fingers inside me again? Please," you begged.

"Mhmm," he rumbled into you, making you shiver, his simple gesture of approval awakening something within you.

Without much warning, he put one finger inside you then a second, curling slowly as he kept on kissing your pussy. You moaned at the feeling, eyes closed and neck arched in pleasure.

"So good. So damn good," you babbled nonsensically.

Fiyero took your hands, prying them off the cushions you had been squeezing with force, and placed them on his hair, allowing you to direct his mouth. You caressed his scalp sensually, only shifting him slightly as you grew closer and closer.

"Fiyero, I- Ah!" you whined loud, his fingers three knuckles deep and his mouth making sinful noises against you. "Please, don't stop, please. It feels too good, you're so good..."

He groaned right as you came, his grip on you softening somewhat, letting you buck your hips desperately against his face. For a moment everything was bright and white as you pulsed around Fiyero's fingers. He kept groaning into the crease of your thigh. You soothed his scalp, massaging softly, and he practically purred.

"Are you alright?" you asked after a minute when he didn't look up.

"Yeah, sorry," he smiled boyishly. "Had a bit of a mishap. Nothing to worry about."

You frowned, looking in confusion as he got up, rolled down his suspenders and removed his trousers and shirt. He used the handkerchief from before to wipe his lower stomach, the trail of dark hair there sticky with cum, his pretty cock limp between his legs.

"Got a little excited there," he said smoothly. "I'll get us another drink while I can get it up again, yeah?"

You nodded, following his naked figure with your eyes as he left and came back. You took a sip of the drink he offered, a little citrusy and smoky, and leaned against Fiyero as he opened his arm for you.

"That happen often?" you asked finally, encouraged by the easy way he had dealt with it.

"It has happened a couple of times. Maybe they sound very sexy or say the right things while I'm down there," he shrugged. "I get lost in it," his finger traced figures on your shoulder. "It's a compliment, I assure you."

You smiled and settled in silence with him.

"What are the, uh, right things to say?" you asked after a while.

"You know. You said them," he said cryptically, downing his drink. You stared in silence for a moment until he surrendered. "What the hell, it's my last night here, might as well, right? Uh, I like being told that I'm good, that I'm doing a good job, that whatever I'm doing feels right... The things you said."

You nodded pensively. It made sense for him. And it also made sense for you.

"I, uh, I think I like that too," you blushed. "Maybe that's why I said those things... Want me to say them again?"

"When I'm inside you, yes," he smiled, warmer, softer. "Before that I would make a mess of things and I don't know if I have three rounds in me tonight," he laughed easily. "Have a little mercy."

You kissed his shoulder, the manly smell of him making you bold.

"Can I just-?" you hesitated.

"Yes?"

You rolled over, climbing on his lap, delighting in the look of shock he gave you.

He ran his hands up your sides, getting rid of the slip in one smooth movement. He assessed your naked body with wide eyes, his hands squeezing your hips and breasts as he went. You would have been more self conscious if you weren't staring yourself, eyes fixed on his chest and arms, toned and a little hairy.

A single lock of hair fell on his forehead. You touched his face.

"Pretty boy," you said without thinking too much about it. He was older than you and probably fitting more with the description of handsome and roguish. Still, he flushed and smiled wide.

"Yeah?" he tilted his head, mischievous.

"Yeah," you giggled.

"What's pretty about me?"

"Your eyes, your hair, your hands," you interlocked one of them with yours. "Your legs."

"My legs?" he chuckled incredulously.

"Like you don't know how well your thighs and ass look in those beige trousers you wear so much," you teased.

He pursed his lips, containing a smile.

All of a sudden, he lifted you so that you were straddling one of his thighs instead of both, the muscle there pressing invitingly against your pussy. He didn't say anything but he started kissing your breasts and sucking on your nipples, his tongue making you roll your eyes and hips.

"That's it, use me," he encouraged you, his eyes wide as he stared up at you. "Atta girl."

You moaned and moved faster.

"Please," you keened.

"What do you need?" his hands were pressing you against his leg, it still wasn't enough to tip you over the edge and you were getting desperate.

"Need you to say- Please," you begged.

He understood immediately, leaning to whisper.

"You were the prettiest girl tonight, you know that? So beautiful," he moved your hair to the side to see your face properly. "And you're doing so good, look so pretty taking everything you need from me," your pace accelerated. "Cannot wait to be inside you. You sound so perfect when you come..."

And you started moaning, harder now that he told you how much he liked it. You were shaking, soaking his skin, exhaling hard as you looked down. His cock was completely erect again and leaking.

"Want to wait a minute?" he asked, his brazenness dissipating as the night went on. When he looked up at you his expression could only be described as sweet.

"Just a moment," you agreed, leaning to kiss him, all tongue and soft caresses to his face.

"You really were very good just now," he said earnestly when you parted; your pussy squeezed on nothing.

"Thank you," you placed a quick kiss to his cheek and shifted on his lap, to straddle him properly, your arms around his shoulders like when you were dancing earlier that night. He lined up his cock to your entrance, his hands on your hips as you lowered yourself slowly. You winced a little.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly.

"You're big," you giggled, surprised at your own words. "Don't let it get to your head though," you joked but it didn't quite hit since it was followed by a low moan as you took him completely. "Oh! No wonder you're so full of yourself."

It was a backhanded compliment, you knew, but it tickled Fiyero. He smiled wide as he kissed you and caressed your breasts and waist, giving you time to adjust.

"You feel amazing too, if that helps," he teased.

"A little," you admitted, swaying your hips gently, experimentally, getting used to the stretch. You sighed, a slow rhythm building, his cock hitting the depths of you and making you roll your eyes. "Oh... You feel so good, you feel perfect."

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Mhmm," you nodded. "You're gonna make me come four times tonight."

"You did most of the work on the third one," he said with a charming smile, his forehead a little sweaty.

You shook your head. "You said all those nice things," your pussy clenched at the memory of it. "Made me feel so special. You're so good at this, know just what to do..."

Compliments kept pouring out from your lips, each one met with a sharp exhale or a groan. Each roll of your hips was punctuated by one thrust from him, hitting just right, making you see stars. His sounds became louder and more desperate, you tried to quiet them with kisses, talking him through as he neared his peak - the squeaking of his couch as you bounced on it was probably audible from outside.

"Can you do one more?" he asked, breathing labored.

"I don't know. I don't know," you replied, frantic and overstimulated.

"I think you can," he nodded encouragingly, his thumb caressing where your bodies joined. You arched your back with pleasure. "Be good for me. I wanna see you come while I'm inside you."

You nodded, tears in the corners of your eyes. It was too much, too good.

"My good girl..."

Something snapped inside of you and you unraveled in his arms, riding him desperately, squeezing the muscle of his arms, moaning harder than you ever had. He followed you immediately, growling, biting on your breast, spilling inside of you.

"That was perfect. You were perfect" he panted, hands running up and down your back, kissing around the love bite he had made.

You caressed his hair, a complete mess now, soothing as you recovered your breath.

~

Actually sleeping over wasn't a possibility - he had to be packed and ready to go by dawn. Still, he held you for a long while, kissing and caressing the parts of your body you were most insecure about: he could read you like an open book. Though maybe he could read everyone like that.

He helped you get cleaned up and dressed, clever fingers tying the ribbons of your dress. Then, he walked you back to your dormitory.

"Did you have a fun night?" he asked, pieces of the mask he wore daily falling back into place.

"I did. Thank you," you said earnestly, kissing him by the door.

"Thank you," he replied, his charming smile back on.

You were about to close the door when you stopped.

"Fiyero?"

"Hmm?"

"You are good," you said, enunciating slowly. "Yes, in a sexy way but also in a real way. It doesn't have to be just for this. If you let the right person in... Not me. Like, I'm not in love with you or anything-" you stumbled with your words. This was going terribly but you tried again. "What I mean is. You are a good fuck. You could be a good guy too. If you wanted."

He had arched his eyebrows high during your ramble, part of that vulnerability back in show.

"Thanks."

"Okay. Uh, good luck in..."

He chuckled and filled in the blank for you: "Shiz Academy, in Oz, I think."

"Right. Good luck," you said brightly and waved as you closed the door.