#and the way it casts its shadow over the entire just GETS TO ME

[yoomiwrites]

Can you write a thatch or marco with a small female reader? I dont mind the personality but maybe she is a bit witty and cheeky or a bit like ace.

Too small

Summary: Being the smallest member of the Whitebeard Pirates meant constantly fighting to be taken seriously—not that you’d ever admit it bothered you, if Thatch wouldn't add to it.

Note: When I saw that request, I was all hyped up to write for Thatch. In the end, I also didn't know how I wanted to write him...so you had to wait a bit longer, sorry. It's kinda GN-reader? Well, I had fun writing it, so hopefully you have fun reading it!

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The sun hung lazily over the deck of the Moby Dick, its warm rays casting a golden glow over the ocean. It was the perfect time for a nap—or, in your case, a bold display of relaxation. Stretched out on a towel, arms behind your head, you had your tiny frame sprawled in a way that screamed: I belong here, deal with it!

And yet, despite your best efforts, you knew exactly why the others had left you alone. You weren’t oblivious. The teasing, the well-meaning but infuriatingly patronizing head pats, the constant remarks— Oh, Y/N, you’re so tiny! Are you sure you can handle that?—all of it made your blood boil. You weren’t weak. You weren’t some kid. You were a Whitebeard pirate, dammit!

So, when a shadow loomed over you, you cracked one eye open, fully prepared to snap at whoever dared disturb your peaceful sulking. Instead, you were met with the smug grin of Thatch, a plate of pastries in one hand.

“Enjoying some alone time, short stuff?” he teased, kneeling beside you.

Your eye twitched, but before you could protest, he plopped a pastry into your hand.

“Before you bite my head off, at least eat. I made these myself,” he added, waving the plate at you as if it were a peace offering.

You huffed but took a bite anyway, stubbornly ignoring the way the sugary taste melted on your tongue like pure heaven.

Thatch chuckled, watching you with a knowing glint in his eyes. “So… wanna tell me why you’re out here all by yourself?”

“I like being alone,” you shot back immediately, puffing up your chest. “Unlike certain people, I don’t need to be surrounded by a crowd every second of the day.”

“Uh-huh,” he drawled, clearly unconvinced. “Totally not because the others have been getting on your nerves, huh?”

You nearly choked on your pastry. “What? No! I—”

He raised an eyebrow.

You crossed your arms. “I just needed some fresh air.”

Another eyebrow raise.

Your scowl deepened. “And some peace.”

The way he just smiled at you—like he had already figured you out—was infuriating.

“Y’know,” Thatch mused, setting the plate aside, “I get it.”

You blinked. “Get what?”

“The whole ‘proving yourself’ thing.” He leaned back on his hands, looking up at the sky. “People assume stuff about you, and no matter how strong or capable you are, they still treat you like something delicate.”

Your fingers curled slightly around the pastry. That was… painfully accurate.

“But here’s the thing, Y/N.” He turned to you, his expression softer now. “Size doesn’t matter. Not to me, not to Pops, and not to the crew. You’ve already proven yourself just by being here.”

You swallowed hard, looking away. It was stupid how much those words made your chest feel warm. Thatch grinned and—before you could react—ruffled your hair.

Your entire body froze.

“You’re still a pain in the ass, though,” he added with a laugh. “Tiny, but mighty.”

You swatted his hand away, face burning. “Oi! I’m not a kid, stop doing that!”

“But it’s just so easy,” he teased, holding his hands up defensively. “You’re fun-sized.”

“I swear to god, Thatch, I will end you.”

He only laughed harder. “Relax, relax! No matter how small you are, I’ll always take you seriously.”

The words softened the edge of your frustration. Just a little. Not that you’d admit it. Still grumbling, you finished your pastry in a huff, but the corners of your lips twitched despite yourself.

Thatch smirked. “Feeling better?”

You huffed. “…Maybe.”

“Good,” he said, standing up and stretching. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back before Marco eats all my food.”

As he turned to leave, he reached out—and gave you one last pat on the head.

“Thatch!”

He darted away before you could throw the plate at him, laughing the entire time. And though you scowled, your heart felt just a little lighter.

The usual lively buzz of the ship had settled into a more comfortable hum after lunch, laughter and clinking mugs filling the air as the crew enjoyed their evening. You, however, had other plans.

Standing at the entrance to the kitchen, arms crossed and trying very hard to look nonchalant, you found yourself watching Thatch move effortlessly between counters, humming to himself as he cleaned up after dinner. It took a moment to shake yourself out of it. With a huff, you marched inside. “Need some help?”

Thatch barely glanced up as he wiped down a plate, his usual smirk firmly in place. “Oh? You? Volunteering for kitchen duty? Who are you and what have you done with Y/N?”

You scowled, snatching a dish off the counter. “Don’t get used to it. I just don’t like owing people anything. Consider this a thank-you for earlier.”

His eyes flickered with amusement, but to his credit, he didn’t outright call you on your flimsy excuse. “Mm-hm. Sure.”

You ignored the teasing lilt in his voice and got to work, scrubbing dishes with more force than necessary. The quiet between you was… nice, actually. Comfortable. Thatch worked beside you, chatting here and there about whatever crossed his mind, while you mostly grumbled responses—though your lips twitched once or twice at his more ridiculous comments. Eventually, you found yourself tasked with putting away the now-dry dishes. Reaching for a bowl, you turned toward one of the overhead shelves, stretching onto your toes to place it where it belonged.

The problem? The shelf was too damn high.

Not that you’d ever admit that.

Jaw tightening, you stretched just a little further—fingers barely brushing the edge—when suddenly, the plates stacked on the shelf wobbled.

Oh.

Shit.

Before you could react, a warm presence appeared behind you, and in one swift motion, two strong arms reached around you, hands catching the unstable dishes before they could come crashing down. For a second, you just stood there, wide-eyed.

Because holy hell, Thatch was right behind you.

As in, close enough that you could feel the heat of his chest pressing against the top of your head, the solid weight of him warm against your back. And he smelled… good. Like fresh-baked bread, a hint of spice, and honey.

Your grip on the bowl tightened slightly as your heart did an embarrassing little doki-doki against your ribs.

“Well, that could’ve been a disaster,” Thatch mused, his voice right near your ear, far too casual for someone who had you effectively caged between him and the counter. “Y’know, I appreciate the effort, short stack, but maybe leave the high shelves to the professionals, yeah?”

Your brain took a full two seconds to reboot before you sputtered, “I-I could’ve handled it.”

“Oh, no doubt,” he chuckled, still holding the plates steady as he leaned just a little closer. “You were doing great—really had that whole ‘about to be buried under ceramic’ thing going for you.”

You could hear the grin in his voice, the absolute smugness radiating off him, and it only made the warmth in your face worse.

“Shut up,” you grumbled, shoving the bowl onto the counter and stepping very quickly out of his space. To your horror, he ruffled your hair. Again.

“You’re cute when you get flustered.”

Your entire body locked up. Then—purely out of self-defense—you grabbed a dish towel and whipped it at him. “OUT!”

But instead of making a run for it like any sane person would, he simply caught the towel, slinging it over his shoulder with a smirk. “But this is my kitchen,” he reminded you, completely unfazed. “Shouldn’t you be the one leaving?”

You opened your mouth—ready to argue, to tell him to just shut up and let you suffer in peace—but then his smirk softened, just a little.

“Alright, alright,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe I pushed it a bit.”

That threw you off. “Huh?”

His grin turned lopsided. “Didn’t mean to actually upset you.” He leaned against the counter, watching you with something gentler in his gaze now. “I just… I like the way your nose scrunches up when you get mad. The way your cheeks go all pink, and your eyes—” He tilted his head, studying you like you were something rare. “They shine when you’re fired up.”

Your breath caught.

Oh.

That was—that was not fair.

Suddenly, standing still was impossible. You fidgeted, shifting your weight as you fought to keep your expression neutral. “Dumbass,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “You can’t just—say things like that.”

“Why not?” His voice was way too amused, and the warmth in his eyes was making your stomach do something stupid.

You swallowed.

Screw it.

Before you could think better of it, you pushed up onto your toes, gripping the counter for balance as you tried to press a kiss against his smug face—

—only to realize, to your absolute horror, that you were still too damn short.

Thatch blinked. And then, the bastard wheezed.

“Oh my god—” He had to brace himself against the counter, laughter shaking his entire body. “You—you really just—”

Your eye twitched. “Don’t—”

But it was too late. He wiped at his eyes, gasping for breath between chuckles. “That was adorable.”

“I hate you.”

You spun on your heel, fully prepared to stomp out of the kitchen and never look back—

But before you could, a warm hand caught your wrist.

The laughter softened. “Hey,” he murmured, tugging you back. And then, in one smooth motion, he tilted his head down, closing the distance himself. His lips met yours—warm, teasing at first, just the barest brush, like he was still playing around. But then he lingered, pressing a little more firmly, letting you feel the weight of it. It was soft but deliberate, steady in a way that made the breath catch in your throat. His free hand settled at your waist—not holding, just there—while his other fingers traced slow, absentminded circles against your wrist.

It was infuriatingly gentle. Like he had all the time in the world to savor this, to savor you. By the time he pulled away, your heart was practically racing.

He grinned, his breath still warm against your lips. “There. Better?”

You were going to die. Right here. In his damn kitchen.

Scowling, you smacked his chest, ignoring the way your hand lingered just a little too long. “Next time, just bend down in the first place, dumbass.”

His laughter rumbled through you. “Where’s the fun in that?”

[adrift-in-thyme]

HOW IS EPISODE FOUR WORSE THE SECOND TIME AROUND??

[capquinn]

Just thinking about how Quinn said he was on a health kick two summers ago and didn’t drink at all then admitted he was the snappiest guy to be around so imagine how moody bf!quinn must be right now with that split lip, stitches tugging every time he so much as opens his mouth — it's not pretty.

He’d be so quiet, and not in the reserved, introspective way you’re used to, but in a brooding, simmering frustration kind of way that seems to pull the air out of the room. Like he’s retreating into himself because everything hurts. The stitches pulling with every word he says, and bruising that makes even the smallest movement a sore reminder. He's frustrated and just done with the week.

It’s the little things that pile up, the ones that are so routine, so instinctive, that they feel impossible to escape. First world problems, sure, but they grind him down all the same. Like how brushing his teeth feels like a battle — every bristle scraping against raw skin, the sharp sting of mint hitting the split in his lip. Or how he can’t kiss you without the stitches tugging, the area far too tender for any sort of outside contact, forcing him to pull back with a wince.

Smiling is a chore, laughing is unthinkable, and the absence of both casts a shadow over the entire week. He’s stuck in this cycle of discomfort, where even the smallest attempt at normalcy — something as simple as grinning at one of your dumb jokes — turns into a reminder of just how far from normal he feels. It’s maddening, this constant push and pull of wanting to feel like himself but being held back by the pain that seems to weave its way into everything.

Clipped answers become his norm: “yeah,” “no,” and “I don’t mind.” Even a simple, “what do you want for dinner?” gets met with a grumbled, “doesn’t matter,” because he knows whatever it is, it’s going to hurt to eat and he won't be able to finish it anyway. And the thought of wasting more food makes him even angrier at the whole situation.

“This sucks,” he mutters under his breath one night, poking at the soup you made him, the corner of his mouth twitching every time the spoon scrapes the bowl. Not that it actually sucked — it was good soup, great even, but everything else sucked, and the soup was just collateral damage in his war against the universe.

You bite back a smile, brushing your hand over his arm. “Want me to make something else?”

“No,” he mutters, leaning back against the dining chair. His hand drags through his hair in frustration before he props his elbow on the table, cupping his chin in his palm like he's truly defeated. His shoulders sagging as though the weight of the week is pressing down harder than ever. “It’s fine.”

Except it’s not fine. He’s not fine. He hasn’t been since that high stick knocked the wind out of him and it’s bleeding into everything.

Thinking of leaving the apartment? Forget it. Unless it’s absolutely necessary — practice, the gym, or a doctor’s appointment — he’s planted firmly on the couch, arms crossed, brows furrowed like he’s in a standoff with the world. If you try suggesting a walk, maybe some fresh air to help him reset, he just shakes his head, muttering, “don’t feel like it,” voice flat, eyes trained on the TV, and the conversation dies there.

Even in the middle of the night, he's moody. He shifts endlessly in bed, trying to find a position that doesn’t make his mouth throb. He rolls onto his back, then onto his side, then back again, each movement accompanied by a quiet sigh of frustration. When he tries to rest his cheek against your shoulder, seeking comfort in the usual closeness, it only makes the pain worse. He pulls back with a wince, muttering under his breath, his brows furrowing deeper as he resettles with a sharp exhale.

“Are you okay?” you murmur softly in the dark, your voice thick with sleep. “Anything I can do?”

“No,” he mutters, and there’s enough of an edge to it that you can tell he’s at the end of his patience. And then he sighs heavily. “Just… go back to sleep.” His voice softens, but only slightly, the strain still unmistakable. It’s clear he’s trying to hold back the weight of his frustration from spilling over entirely.

You don’t say anything. Instead, you shift closer, your hand brushing over his chest as you nestle into his side, your warmth folding into him like second nature. Half-asleep and instinctive, you press a kiss to his shoulder, the faintest, softest reassurance, as if to say I'm here, and you feel him exhale steadily, the tension in his body easing just just that little bit under your touch. His hand moves to rest on your back, his fingers tracing a slow, absentminded path across the fabric of your shirt, and i’s the kind of gesture he doesn’t even about, but it grounds him all the same, letting him focus on something other than the ache in his mouth or the restless churn of his thoughts.

The worst part? The guilt. It gnaws at him in the quiet moments, filling the spaces where his usual softness should be. Every sharp answer, every impatient huff, every time he brushes you off — it all piles up in the back of his mind, heavy and relentless. He doesn’t mean to take it out on you. You know that, and he knows you know that, but it doesn’t stop the weight of it from pressing down on him, tightening his chest with a frustration that feels as much internal as it does external.

There are times when he hears the bite in his own words before you do, the way they come out too quick, too rough, and the regret is immediate.

“Sorry,” he mumbles after one particularly clipped response earlier in the day, when your only reply is raised eyebrows, the universal look of really? His lips barely move when he says it, like even the act of apologising feels like its own brand of punishment — sharp, stinging, and a little too close to the guilt already swirling in his chest.

Sometimes, there’s no apology at all — just a quiet brush of his fingers over yours, or the weight of his palm resting on your leg when you sit beside him on the couch. His thumb moves in small, absent minded circles on your knee, a silent gesture of contrition and love. It’s not grand, it’s not elaborate, but it’s everything — his way of saying I’m sorry, I love you when the words won’t come, when he feels like his brooding might swallow him whole.

And yet, even in the middle of all of his frustration and discomfort, even when he feels like he’s at his worst, there’s still a part of him that tries. He catches himself before he can say something too sharp, lets his hand linger a little longer when he reaches for yours, or pulls you into his side on the couch even when it’s the last thing he feels like doing. It’s quiet, subtle effort, but it’s there — a reminder that no matter how bad the week has been, no matter how much he’s hurting or how heavy the guilt feels, his love for you is always louder than the noise in his head. It’s in the way his fingers thread through your hair later that evening, gentle and steady, as you rest your head in his lap. He leans down, presses the faintest kiss to your temple, even if it's a struggle, and whispers, “thanks for putting up with me.”

And of course you’re putting up with him. Because no matter how snappy or brooding or quiet he gets, he deserves all the love and patience he can’t quite muster for himself right now. He deserves the steady reassurance of your presence, the way you smooth your hand over his arm, or nuzzle closer into his side, silently reminding him that he’s allowed to have bad days, bad weeks even, and it doesn’t change a thing. But really, it's not about putting up with him; it’s about being there for him — fully, unconditionally, because if the roles were reversed, you know he’d do the same for you without question.

[aisiedaisie]

hiiii ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ i just found your page this morning and read through your entire masterlist and i loveeee your writing! is it possible to get royal poly!marauders at a ball or something and they catch sight of the reader (can be whatever role you wanna give them) and they are like 'damn'

Hello hello~!!!

First of all, thank you so much for patiently waiting for me to get to your request. Life has been pretty hectic on my end, so writing had to take a back seat for a little while. But today, I finally had some time to sit down and write!

Now, let me just say— this idea is absolutely amazing! I’m completely in love with royal and historical AUs, so there’s a good chance I’ll revisit this concept and or turn it into a series of drabbles. (Not that I’m particularly skilled at keeping things short!!!)

I really hope you enjoy my take on your idea 💖

edit: I got a bit carried away-

Royal Flush

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x Fem!Reader WC: 3.7k

The night after the neighboring kingdom’s delegation arrives, the Griffyn Kingdom buzzes with anticipation. To honor their esteemed guests— especially the visiting princess —the King and Queen have announced a grand ball. This celebration is more than an act of hospitality; it is a shining declaration of unity, a glittering prelude to alliances and promises that will shape their shared future.

You find yourself standing in Princess Lily’s chambers, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows against the ornate walls.

 Before you, Lily examines herself in a floor-length mirror, her emerald-green gown a masterpiece of silk and embroidery. You and Mary fuss over the gathered fabric at her hips, smoothing it into place with careful precision.

“I can manage the rest,” Lily murmurs, her voice gentle but decisive. She steps away, gliding toward the gilded jewelry box on her dressing table. Its lid is open, revealing an array of jewels she brought for the journey— diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires glittering alongside an assortment of tiaras.

“You two should get ready as well,” she adds, her tone as light as the shimmering necklace she picks up, its facets catching the firelight.

You pause, caught off guard. “What?” The word escapes before you can stop yourself.

Normally, Marlene would stand guard in her knightly uniform, Mary would accompany Lily throughout the event, and you would remain behind— content to watch the festivities from a quiet corner of the castle, keeping a vigilant eye on the princess’s chambers.

“There’s no need for that tonight,” Mary says, her voice warm with reassurance. She steps forward, deftly fastening the diamond necklace around Lily’s neck. The glittering stones resting perfectly against the princess’s pale freckled skin. “We’re on excellent terms with the Potters. No one here will mean us harm.”

The words hang in the air, both an assurance and an invitation. Tonight is different, you realize. 

A diamond tiara rests atop Lily’s head, its intricate design sparkling like a constellation of stars nestled in her fiery red locks. She adjusts it briefly, her reflection regal and resplendent. “You rarely get a chance to enjoy yourself during visits like this,” she says softly, her tone kind but firm. “Go on, get ready.”

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips, touched by Lily’s thoughtfulness. Her generosity warms you in a way words could never fully express.

With her gentle urging, you retreat to your own room to prepare. A quick bath washes away the lingering weariness of the day, and you do your best to ready yourself for the night ahead.

Despite your efforts, a sense of inadequacy lingers. 

For such grand occasions, it’s expected that the lady's maids and companions are impeccably dressed, each carrying at least one formal gown for travels like these. 

You do have such a dress— a blush colored piece gifted to you by your mother when you first joined the palace as Lily’s lady’s maid.

The fabric clings just a little too tightly at the waist, its once flawless seams now strained from years of careful reuse. The soft blush color, though elegant, has faded slightly with time, its original vibrancy dulled by repeated wear. The bodice is adorned with modest embroidery— delicate vines and blossoms stitched in pale gold thread that catches the light just enough to hint at refinement. The skirt, while gracefully cut, feels heavier than you remember, its weight pulling at your movements as if to remind you of the weight of high society.

It was the best your family could afford when you first came to the palace— a gift from your mother, its fabric chosen to honor both simplicity and a touch of nobility. Back then, it had been a symbol of hope, a token of pride for a baroness’s daughter stepping into the royal household. 

Now, however, standing before the mirror, you can’t help but feel its inadequacy in the face of tonight’s grandeur.

Even so, you smooth the skirt with steady hands, letting your fingers trace the faint ridges of the embroidery. This night, you remind yourself, is not about the richness of your gown, but the confidence you bring and the memories you make. 

Perfection may elude you, but presence—your presence—is more than enough.

When you step back into Lily’s chambers, it’s clear everyone is ready to go. Lily, as expected, looks effortlessly regal in her emerald green dress, the rich color complementing her fiery red hair that cascades down her back in elegant waves. Mary, ever composed, is radiant in a soft yellow gown that perfectly flatters her figure, her dark hair neatly arranged in a low bun at the nape of her neck.

“You look darling,” Lily murmurs, stepping forward to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead. Her touch is as light as her tone, her emerald eyes warm with affection.

You roll your eyes playfully, unable to suppress a grin. “Says the actual goddess standing before me.”

“Truly,” Mary chimes in, her voice sweet as she adjusts the clasp of your necklace, ensuring it sits perfectly centered. “You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

Before you can protest their kind words, a knock at the door interrupts the moment. Marlene peeks her head in, her light blonde hair swept back into a tidy low ponytail. “Ladies,” she announces with a bright grin, “it’s time to head down.”

Excitement ripples through the room as the evening’s promise beckons.

_____

You weren’t quite sure what to do once you stepped onto the crowded ballroom floor. Back home, state balls were familiar territory, their routines and customs etched into your memory. But here, in a foreign kingdom, uncertainty clouded your thoughts. 

Was the etiquette the same? 

Would it be seen as rude to linger by the walls, content to watch the swirl of color and movement before you?

Must you be drawn into the heart of the celebration?

Apparently so.

You stand near one of the grand marble pillars circling the ballroom, the cool stone a comforting anchor amidst the overwhelming splendor. A glass of white wine rests in your hand, a half-hearted shield against your unease. From the corner of your eye, you notice movement—a man approaching with easy confidence. His dark hair is tied into a loose, messy bun, strands slipping free to frame his sharp features. His attire marks him as a knight of the Griffyn Kingdom, though the smirk curling at his lips carries a roguish charm and confidence uncommon in most knights you’ve met.

“You must be part of the delegation,” he says, his voice smooth, his smirk deepening as his gray eyes fix on yours.

You hesitate, biting back the urge to fidget. He’s handsome, undeniably so, but you can’t quite place why he’s chosen to speak to you. With a soft sigh, you nod. “I am.”

“I thought so,” he replies, a playful lilt to his tone. “I remember seeing you earlier, standing just behind the little princess. So, why aren’t you out there, dancing?” He gestures toward the center of the room, where couples spin and sway beneath glittering chandeliers.

“I’m not particularly fond of dancing,” you say, your voice quieter than intended. It’s not entirely true, but you hope the excuse is convincing enough to deter him.

“Nonsense,” he says with a laugh, his hand extending toward you. “Anyone can see you want to. Prove me wrong, if you’d like.”

The invitation lingers between you, daring yet strangely kind.

You hesitate for just a moment, glancing at the glass in your hand before setting it down on the corner of the nearest table. Then, with a small breath of resolve, you place your hand in his. “Don’t get mad if my heels end up on your toes,” you quip, a touch of nervousness slipping into your tone.

“Trust me, I’m quite nimble. Dodging danger is part of the job,” he replies with an easy smirk, already guiding you toward the dance floor with a confidence that leaves little room for argument.

Normally, you might have countered with a quick remark of your own, but your mind is too distracted. The pounding of your heart fills your ears, drowning out coherent thought.

The lull in the music amplifies every other sound—the clack of your heels against the polished marble, the low hum of whispered voices as heads turn to watch you pass. The weight of their gazes burns into your skin, and your hands tremble slightly as the knight clears a path through the crowd, his presence commanding in a way that both unsettles and reassures you.

Other couples filter onto the dance floor as the musicians shuffle their sheet music, preparing for the next song. The murmurs of the room settle, anticipation hanging in the air.

“Well,” you manage, your voice soft as you cling to anything that might distract you from the dozens of eyes still following your every move, “it seems you’re rather popular.”

“What can I say?” he responds, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I am rather handsome.” The smirk that accompanies his words is maddeningly self-assured.

Before you can respond, his hand presses gently against the middle of your back, drawing you closer. His other hand takes yours in a firm yet careful clasp, guiding you into the proper frame with a natural grace that makes it seem effortless. You barely notice the band striking the first notes of the song, your attention fixed on the storm gray eyes studying you with something close to intrigue.

You set your hand clumsily on his shoulder, your fingers brushing the smooth fabric of his maroon jacket. He doesn’t seem to mind your hesitation, his movements assured and steady as he begins to lead you through a simple waltz.

To your relief, the steps come naturally, your body quickly attuning to the rhythm of the music and the gentle guidance of his lead.

“What’s your name?” he asks, his voice soft, nearly lost beneath the rising swell of the orchestra.

You glance up at him, your voice barely above a whisper as you give your name.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady,” he replies smoothly, his lips curving into a charming smile paired with a wink that, despite yourself, pulls a smile to your face.

“And you?” you counter, a touch of playfulness creeping into your tone. “Who might this oh-so-charming knight be standing before me?”

His eyes glint with amusement, their gray depths catching the light like polished steel. “Sirius,” he says simply, the name rolling off his tongue with a quiet confidence.

You nod thoughtfully, letting the music and his lead guide you effortlessly across the floor. “An attention grabbing star for an attention grabbing knight,” you muse aloud, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Seems fitting, I suppose.”

His laugh is low and warm, the sound wrapping around you like the melody. “Well, I do strive to live up to my name.”

“I doubt you have any trouble with that,” you say, a soft smile playing on your lips as you hold his gaze.

The music begins to fade, the elegant notes giving way to the quiet hum of conversations around you. As the dance slows to a stop, you take a small step back, though his presence still lingers like the warmth of the ballroom’s golden glow.

“So much for not being a dancer,” he teases, his smirk as effortless as the steps he led you through.

You turn to him, unable to suppress your grin. “Maybe you were just that good of a lead,” you say sweetly, your voice light with sincerity. But before he can respond, you catch sight of Mary and Lily across the room.

“I ought to check in on my lady,” you add, inclining your head slightly. “Thank you for the dance, Sir Sirius—”

“Sirius,” he interrupts gently, his tone almost playful. “Just Sirius is fine.”

You nod, your smile softening as you take a small step back. “Fine, then. Thank you for the dance, Sirius. It was... unexpected, but I truly enjoyed it.”

With a final glance, you turn and make your way toward Mary and Lily, weaving through the gathered crowd. The warmth of his hand on yours still lingers faintly, and his name echoes in your thoughts like the fading strains of the music— a memory you suspect will stay with you far longer than the evening itself.

_____

James and Remus stepped out of the nearest sitting room, the faint hum of ballroom music echoing down the corridor. Remus, ever meticulous, adjusted James’s slightly askew collar, his fingers deftly hiding the newly formed love bites that marked the prince’s neck—evidence of their brief but heated absence.

“We need to get back before anyone notices,” James murmured, his voice low but tinged with amusement as he fixed his tousled hair.

Remus smirked. “We’re already late. Let’s hope Sirius hasn’t set the place on fire in our absence.”

But as they approached the ballroom’s grand entrance, what they saw made both men falter. There, on the dancefloor, Sirius Black was leading a woman in a waltz.

The sight itself was striking. Her blush colored dress stood out in gentle contrast against the bold, jewel toned gowns of the others swirling around her. The simplicity of her attire only seemed to magnify her elegance, and for once, Sirius appeared utterly focused, his usual roguishness tempered by something softer.

“Sirius never asks a woman to dance,” a sharp voice cut through the hum of the crowd. James and Remus glanced toward a cluster of women, their faces half hidden behind delicate feathered fans. The speaker, a haughty looking noblewoman, tilted her head knowingly, her words drawing murmurs of agreement from those around her.

Remus’s brows knit together. Sirius was notorious for politely but firmly declining the endless stream of invitations to dance he received at events like these. Yet, watching him now, Remus found he could understand why Sirius had sought out this particular partner.

She was... radiant.

“Well, isn’t she a sight to see,” James murmured, his voice just low enough for Remus to hear.

Remus nodded, his hazel eyes tracking the woman’s graceful movements. “If I’m not mistaken, she’s one of Princess Lily’s lady’s maids,” he said, his tone thoughtful.

James’s eyes widened slightly in recognition, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Is that so?” he drawled, the spark of an idea lighting his gaze.

Remus sighed, already sensing trouble. “What are you thinking, James?”

The prince’s grin only grew. “I think,” he said, “we should pay a visit to the princess. Seems like her lady’s maid could use some... royal introductions.”

_____

After reuniting with a gushing Mary and Lily, a server approaches, bowing their head politely before handing you a fresh glass of wine. You thank them quietly, though you can’t help but find their deference a little peculiar. Still, you accept the drink, shifting your attention back to the princess as she launches into a spirited account of your performance on the dance floor.

“You looked absolutely stunning out there,” Lily exclaims, her cheeks slightly flushed from the excitement of the evening—or perhaps the wine.

“She’s right,” Mary agrees with a hum, a bright smile lighting her face. “Everyone was watching. You two were the talk of the room.”

Both women had taken their turns dancing with high-ranking gentlemen throughout the night. Suitors vying for the honor of even a single waltz. Yet, they seemed convinced that your dance was the highlight.

“He’s quite a talented dancer for a knight,” Mary observes, taking a sip from her own glass.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I figured he’d be good, considering how confident he seemed. But he led me effortlessly. I barely had to think about the steps.”

“Well,” Lily interjects with a soft laugh, her hand fluttering to her lips as though trying to stifle her amusement, “that’s hardly surprising. He’s a noble, after all.”

“What?” Both you and Mary turn to her in confusion, the notion catching you both off guard. Nobles rarely became knights, considering the station beneath them. Sirius hardly seemed the exception, yet here you were.

“He’s the son of Duchess Black,” Lily explains with a slight grimace, lowering her voice. “Her sons are far more tolerable than she ever will be.”

“Lily!” Mary scolds, her eyes darting around to ensure no one overheard the princess’s blunt critique. Fortunately, the surrounding hum of conversation seemed to swallow the comment whole.

“But...” you trail off, your brows furrowing as you ask. “Did you not just dance with the heir to the duchy?”

“That would be my younger brother,” a smooth, familiar voice cuts into the conversation, making you turn sharply.

Sirius stands behind you, his easy smirk firmly in place, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in his gray eyes. Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you instinctively dip your head in greeting, murmuring, “Sir Sirius.”

“Sirius,” he corrects lightly, his gaze softening as it lingers on you.

“Sirius,” you murmur, correcting yourself softly.

His smirk softens into something warmer. “You danced with Regulus, Your Highness?”

“Lily,” the princess corrects, her tone mirroring his own.

Sirius chuckles, his attention shifting to her. “Of course, Lily. So, you danced with Reg?”

“As I always do, Sirius,” she replies with a sigh, clearly anticipating where the conversation might lead. Her expression brightens, however, as her gaze lands beyond him. “Oh, James, Remus! A pleasure to see you.”

Both Mary and you instinctively bow your heads, mirroring Lily’s graceful greeting as two men approach.

“Leave the formalities for the elders,” James teases, waving his hand dismissively. “Raise your heads, ladies.”

James Potter is every bit the image of royalty, dressed in a pristine white suit adorned with a red sash. The high collar adds to his regal air, but it’s his confident posture and easy smile —so warm and almost boyish—that truly captivate.

Beside him stands a tall, broad shouldered man with tousled brown hair. The scars that trace his skin catch your eye briefly before you hastily return your attention to the prince, unwilling to appear rude. Yet, the man’s hazel gaze, calm and piercing, seems to notice everything.

“Are you all enjoying the ball?” James asks, his voice warm and smooth as his signature smile graces his lips.

Lily answers first, her response polite and poised as ever. Her agreement prompts Mary and you to nod along.

“Glad to hear it,” James replies, his smile widening. “I know Sirius was enjoying himself not too long ago,” he adds with a teasing lilt, his hand clapping Sirius on the shoulder and lingering there in a way that seems deliberate.

“It was one dance,” Sirius groans, tilting his head toward the prince in exasperation.

“One dance more than usual,” Remus chimes in, his deep, steady voice carrying a hint of humor. His hazel eyes flicker to Sirius, glinting with quiet amusement as he observes his discomfort.

James turns his gaze to you, his teasing grin softening into something gentler. “He didn’t step on your toes, did he, my lady?” he asks, the mock solemnity of his tone bringing a smile to your lips.

You shake your head, your amusement showing clearly. “Of course not.”

James bursts into laughter, the sound rich and full, drawing a few curious glances from those nearby.

“Having women cover for your clumsy footwork now— what a shame,” Remus adds, his tone dripping with mock disappointment as he shakes his head.

Sirius turns to you, lips curling into an exaggerated pout. “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve egged them on.”

You shrug, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Now, why would I do that, Sirius?”

“You’re killing me, doll,” he groans dramatically, prompting laughter to ripple through the small group.

The conversation shifts back to something closer to polite, though the teasing undercurrent remains. Mary moves subtly closer to you, her hand brushing comfortingly over your back. It’s then you notice the weight of the many gazes lingering on your group, a pressure you hadn’t fully realized until now.

Your eyes lower to the polished marble floor as you focus on listening to James and Lily’s easy banter, their words melding with the hum of the ballroom.

“You alright?” Remus’s voice pulls your attention. He steps closer, his question soft, laced with genuine concern.

You nod lightly. “It seems all of a sudden I’ve run out of energy,” you say, a polite fib. The truth is, this entire night has been draining, though you don’t want him to think he’s dull company. “I’m not used to parties like this,” you add quickly to clarify.

Remus’s lips curve into a smile, his expression warm and understanding. “We have lounges on the top floor for guests who need a break. You’d be welcome to rest there if you’d like.”

You shake your head gently. “I really shouldn’t, but thank you for the suggestion–”

“That’s a great idea,” Lily interjects with an encouraging smile. “Let’s rest our feet for a while.”

“I’ll let Marlene know we’re heading upstairs,” Mary offers before slipping away, likely toward one of the food tables where Marlene is undoubtedly stationed.

“We’ll escort you,” Sirius says smoothly, but Lily raises a hand, declining the offer with a polite smile.

“We’ll be fine on our own, but thank you,” she assures him.

“Of course,” James replies, bowing his head slightly.

Mary returns soon after, accompanied by Marlene, who carries a golden plate piled high with delicate finger foods.

“Enjoy your rest,” James says with a gracious nod, his tone sincere though his smile holds a trace of teasing warmth.

The women dip their heads in thanks before retreating upstairs to find a quiet lounge.

_____

As soon as they’re out of earshot, James turns to Sirius with a mischievous smirk. “Well, wasn’t she a sweetheart?” he asks, his teasing tone unmistakable.

“She’s polite but knows how to hold her own. I’d say you’ve chosen well, Sirius,” Remus adds with an approving nod.

“If you two hadn’t left me—” Sirius starts, a hint of irritation coloring his words.

“We did say you could join us,” James cuts in, raising his hand as if to defend himself.

“And you know damn well if all three of us disappeared, people would notice,” Sirius counters, arching an eyebrow.

James shrugs, entirely unbothered. “Your loss.”

“Not entirely,” Sirius says with a wolfish grin. “It just means we can take our time later.”

“No visible marks,” Remus warns, his voice carrying the weight of experience. “We’ll have guests for a while.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, his grin unwavering. “It’ll be fine—it’s never stopped us before.”

Remus sighs, his lips twitching upward despite himself. “Fair enough.”

[heliosunny]

Could we get a Boothill Lucky Egg?

PWEASE?!

-*^* anon

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Boothill x Reader

The first thing you noticed was the heat.

Not the gentle warmth of sunlight or the lingering comfort of blankets, this was heavier, more oppressive, like the thick air before a storm. Then came the scent of gunpowder, worn leather, and metal tinged with something sharp.

Your fingers twitched, brushing against something solid. Not the sheets. Not the mattress.

Your eyes snapped open.

And there he was.

A tall figure, stretched out beside you like he’d been there all along. His hat with star-shaped emblems glinting faintly under the light was tilted just enough to cast a shadow over his face, but not enough to hide the long, white hair streaked with black that spilled over his shoulder.

A red scarf rested loose around his neck, shifting slightly as he breathed, and his jacket was unzipped just enough to reveal the mechanical structure of his torso.

His eyes- grey, rimmed in black like the barrel of a gun, at the center, white reticles marked each pupil, staring back at you like a scope locked on a target.

“Mornin’” he drawled, like this wasn’t the first time he’d woken up next to you.

“What the hell—?!” You scrambled back, pressing yourself against the edge of the bed. “Who...how did you—?!”

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, finally sitting up. His cropped jacket shifted with the motion, exposing more of his mechanical frame, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to explain himself.

Instead, he tipped his hat up slightly, revealing the full, lazy amusement in his gunmetal eyes.

“Hatched” he said.

You froze. “What?”

Boothill rolled a shoulder, fingers brushing over the bullets strapped to his belt. “Same way a chick busts outta an egg—‘cept in this case, reckon it was a lucky draw.”

Your gaze flicked to his gun, to the bullet earring on his ear.

This man was dressed like he’d just walked off the battlefield.

And yet, he looked entirely at ease.

Your hands curled into fists. “That doesn’t explain who you are.”

Boothill exhaled slowly, lifting a hand to his belt—not to draw his gun, just to rest his fingers against it, casual-like.

“Name’s Boothill” he murmured. “And as far as I can tell…”

He leaned in slightly, sharp teeth flashing in a slow, deliberate grin.

“You’re my partner.”

You pushed off the bed, ignoring the way Boothill’s gaze followed your every movement. “Come with me.”

His expression didn’t change, but you caught the slight shift in his posture—relaxed, easy, but never off-guard. Like a man who never let his hand stray too far from his gun.

The place where the Lucky Egg Dispenser had once stood was empty.

No trace of its oversized, ridiculous capsule design. No faint hum of energy. No nothing.

Just bare ground where it had been.

“That’s—” You swallowed. “That’s not possible.”

You had used it. You were sure of it. The egg had been there.

Your head snapped toward Boothill.

He was standing just behind you, hat tilted downward, one hand resting lazily against his belt.

“You know something” you accused.

Boothill let out a quiet chuckle. “Darlin’, I am somethin’.”

You clenched your jaw. “That doesn’t answer anything.”

He hummed, stepping past you, slow and deliberate, boots kicking up dust where the machine had once been. He knelt down, gloved fingers grazing the dirt—then lifted them, rubbing them together like he could feel something you couldn’t.

“Well, ain’t that somethin’” he murmured.

Your patience was wearing thin. “What?”

Boothill stood, dusting off his hands. “No trace. Like it never existed.”

“That’s my point,” you snapped. “I saw it. It was here. It gave me—”

Your throat closed around the words.

It gave me you.

Boothill only smirked, like he’d been waiting for you to connect the dots. “Reckon that means one thing.”

“Which is?”

He tapped two fingers against his temple. “You ain’t dreamin’.” Then, after a beat, “And you ain’t losin’ your mind neither, far as I can tell.”

Morning, Post-Hatching

Waking up with a cowboy that "hatched" from an egg wasn’t exactly how you imagined your week going.

Boothill had spent the rest of the morning settling in like he belonged. He had a way of leaning just close enough to make you aware of his presence without pushing, of watching your reactions like he was taking stock of every little twitch and hesitation.

“So,” you muttered, arms crossed as you leaned against the counter, watching him pick apart a gadget he had found on your desk. “What exactly are you planning to do now that you’re here?”

Boothill gave you a slow glance from under his hat, fingers twirling a tiny metal gear between them. The barest flick of his wrist sent it spinning through the air—he caught it without looking.

“That a real question, or you just makin’ conversation?”

“It’s real.”

“Then I reckon the answer’s simple.” He tilted his head “Gonna be wherever you are, sweetheart.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Boothill leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his palm. His reticle-marked eyes glinted under the light.

“Ain’t it?”

Fine. If he wasn’t going anywhere, he might as well pull his weight.

The world you lived in revolved around dungeon raids. Every fight, every challenge, every victory earned you points—currency to trade for goods, resources, even shelter.

If Boothill was going to stick around, he needed to prove he could handle himself. Which was why you brought him to a Trial Dungeon.

It was a beginner’s test, nothing too difficult. Just enough to see if Boothill could hold his own.

And, well—

He didn’t just pass.

He obliterated it.

The instant the battle began, Boothill moved like a gunshot. One second he was at your side, the next he was gone, boots skidding across the battlefield, bullets flying with terrifying precision.

You barely had time to register what was happening.

His gun spun effortlessly in his grip, taking down targets before they could even charge. He weaved between attacks, moving in impossible patterns.

And when one particularly large beast lunged at him, he stepped forward. The monster’s claws slashed through the air, and Boothill was already inside its reach. The barrel of his gun pressed against its jaw, his reticle-marked gaze never wavering.

BANG.

The creature collapsed instantly.

He casually blew the smoke from his gun, turning back to you like he hadn’t just humiliated the entire dungeon.

“Well?” He tipped his hat. “How’s that for a trial?”

“…Yeah. Okay. You’re good.”

Boothill chuckled, holstering his gun with an easy twirl. “Good?” He shook his head, stepping closer. “Darlin’, I ain’t just good. I’m the best *** partner you could ask for.”

“What? I think there are words I couldn't hear.”

He looked like he was mad, but then he got back to normal. Then, his fingers tapped lightly against your chin—brief, teasing, before he pulled away.

Boothill had proved himself to you. And you're pleased with the result.

The night started simple. A casual gathering, a few drinks with friends, nothing Boothill should’ve had a problem with.

Except Boothill was Boothill.

The moment he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and hat tipped just low enough to shadow his eyes, you knew he wasn’t about to let you drink much.

“Easy there, sugar,” he murmured, tapping the rim of your glass before you could down it. “Ain’t no sense in drownin’ yourself when you can just sip.”

You scoffed, playfully rolling your eyes. “You’re acting like I don’t do this all the time.”

“Exactly,” Boothill said, slow and smooth. He smirked. “And I got the feelin’ you don’t do it well.”

Your friends laughed, and you huffed, but you let him have this win—at least for now.

What he didn’t notice was you sneaking extra drinks while he was distracted.

Or maybe he did notice. Maybe the twitch of his eye meant something when he saw you giggling at your own failed attempt to pour another shot. But he let it slide.

Somewhere between one too many drinks and the warm glow of festival lights, you wandered toward a small shooting game stall.

The rules were simple: hit enough targets, win enough points, trade for a prize.

A giant, soft teddy bear sat on display.

You wanted it.

Boothill, hands in his pockets, watched with vague amusement as you eagerly slapped down the payment and grabbed the fake gun.

Aiming felt harder than it should’ve.

You fired.

And missed.

Then missed again.

Then you hit one, but it didn’t count.

The stall owner, an older man with a thick mustache, laughed a little too smugly. “Tough luck, kid. Wanna go again?”

Your eyes narrowed. The gun’s sights were misaligned. The targets? Weighted.

This game was rigged.

You turned to Boothill, who had already figured it out.

He sighed. “Step aside, sweetheart.”

Boothill dropped a few coins onto the counter and took the gun with an easy, unbothered grip.

The stall owner paled.

Boothill didn’t even need to aim.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Every single target dropped instantly.

The owner hesitated before forcing a nervous grin. “Well, uh—looks like you won! Hah! Pick your prize!”

You pointed at the giant teddy bear with absolutely no shame.

Boothill exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, but took the bear and turned to you. “Happy now?”

You beamed. Then, without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

It was quick, clumsy—drunken, but warm.

Boothill froze.

You didn’t notice. You were already hugging the teddy bear like it was the best thing in the world.

But Boothill stood still for just a second too long. His eyes flickered—something brief. Then, with a slow exhale, he grabbed your wrist.

“A’right, that’s enough trouble for one night” he murmured.

You barely had time to protest before Boothill hauled you up, teddy bear and all, and started dragging you home.

You remembered everything.

The warmth of the festival lights, the distant hum of laughter and chatter, the way the world had spun just a little too much after sneaking those extra drinks. You remembered the shooting game—the way the owner had rigged it, how Boothill had stepped up and effortlessly nailed every shot.

And, most of all, you remembered what you’d done after.

The press of your lips against his cheek.

A reward, you had called it, drunk and pleased with yourself. Boothill had gone still for just a moment, his usual drawl softening, just barely, before he muttered something under his breath and hoisted you up to drag you home.

Now, standing at the entrance of your next dungeon run, you risked a glance at him. He was leaning lazily against the checkpoint wall, arms crossed, hat tilted.

You weren’t sure if he knew that you remembered.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to find out.

But before you could think too much about it, someone else called out.

“Hey—hey, I remember you!”

You turned to see a man approaching, vaguely familiar from that night. He had the easy confidence of someone who thought they had a chance, smiling as he stopped just short of your space. “Didn’t get to talk to you much last time. I was about to ask you out, but you were too drunk.”

Before you could react, Boothill shifted beside you.

It wasn’t obvious at first—just a slow push off the wall, a lazy step forward. Then came the small things. The way his hand hovered just a little too close to the gun at his hip. The way his sharp grin didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That so?” Boothill’s voice was light, almost amused. “Guess it’s a good thing they had company, then.”

The man chuckled, missing the warning entirely. “Yeah, well, no harm done. You don’t seem too hungover today, so what do you say—”

“Y’know,” Boothill cut in smoothly, tapping the side of his gun holster, “interestin’ thing about folks who don’t know when to quit. They tend to learn the hard way.”

The man’s laughter faded, brow furrowing slightly. “What?”

Boothill smiled, all sharp teeth and something just a little too cold. “Nothin’. Just chattin’.”

“Uh…right. Maybe another time.”

You watched him walk away, only realizing in hindsight that the whole exchange had felt off.

“Guess we oughta get goin’, huh?” He tipped his hat up slightly. “Ain’t like the dungeon’s gonna clear itself.”

You hesitated, the weight of that moment still lingering, but eventually nodded. “…Yeah. Let’s go.”

By the time you got home, the tension from earlier had faded—mostly.

You stood in the kitchen, focused on prepping dinner, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables filling the quiet air. The dungeon run had gone well, and despite Boothill’s usual antics, nothing had seemed off, at least, not until that moment at the entrance.

You were lost in thought when you felt it—an arm draping over your shoulder.

“You got a real sneaky way of sayin’ thanks, sugar.”

Your knife almost slipped.

Boothill’s voice was low, just by your ear, his breath warm against your skin. His arms looped around your waist, casual but firm, and when you turned your head slightly, you caught the edges of his sharp grin.

“What—?”

“That little stunt ya pulled at the festival.” His hold tightened just enough to make you pause. “Didn’t think I’d let that slide, did ya?”

“I—”

“You remember, don’tcha?” His voice lilted, slow, knowing.

Your face felt warm, the memory flashing back in perfect clarity—your drunken self, all giddy and bold, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Boothill chuckled, the sound low and pleased. “Ain’t often ya get the drop on me. Had to think on how to pay ya back proper.”

Your hands were still hovering over the cutting board, caught between finishing dinner and escaping this whole conversation. “…So this is revenge?”

“Mm.” His arms tightened slightly, his chin resting against your shoulder. “Somethin’ like that.”

There was a pause, a beat too long, before he added, “Didn’t hate it, y’know.”

Boothill pulled back before you could react, his usual teasing smirk settling back into place. “Food’s gonna burn if ya keep starin’ off like that.”

You turned back to the stove quickly, ears burning. “Shut up.”

Boothill just laughed, stepping back—but not before ruffling your hair, a satisfied glint in his eyes.

You had a feeling this wasn’t the last time he’d bring it up.

Boothill had nailed the last dungeon so cleanly that you barely had to lift a finger. It was impressive—the way he moved, the way he handled things like he was born for it.

It also meant that now, he was getting ideas.

"Don't see much point in draggin' you along, sugar" Boothill said, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. "I got this handled."

You raised a brow. "You're trying to solo now?"

"Wouldn't call it tryin’ when I already did." He tipped his hat back slightly, grey eyes gleaming. "No need to split the points if I go alone. Might as well make things easy."

You clicked your tongue but didn’t argue. He had a point.

So, with Boothill off doing his thing, you had the rest of the day to yourself.

Later that evening, you were at the marketplace, chatting with some friends while picking up a few supplies.

The conversation was light, easy, and one of them had just started to offer you a hand carrying your bags when a familiar presence made itself known.

"Now, that don’t seem necessary."

The drawl slid into the conversation like a well-placed bullet.

One of them hesitated. "Oh, we were just—"

"Helpin’?" Boothill finished, stepping in with an easy, lopsided smile. "Mighty kind of ya, but I got it covered."

Your friend glanced between you two, clearly debating whether to push back. You weren’t sure what it was, maybe something in Boothill’s stance, or the way his fingers idly tapped against the belt of bullets at his hip, but they seemed to think better of it.

"Right. Well, see you around then."

With that, your friends made a polite but quick exit.

You turned to Boothill with an exasperated sigh. "Really?"

He just grinned, stepping closer to take your bags from your hands. "What? Ain't nothin' wrong with givin’ my partner a hand, now is there?"

The words rolled off his tongue like a casual remark, but you caught the weight behind them.

You shook your head, deciding to let it slide for now. "C’mon, let's get home."

Boothill fell into step beside you, his smirk lingering like the promise of trouble yet to come.

You didn’t expect to hear Boothill’s name today—not like this.

When your friend mentioned a fight breaking out near the market, your stomach dropped. They didn’t know the details, just that someone wasn't holding back. And the moment they said white hair, a red scarf, and a revolver that never missed… you knew.

You ran. And now, standing at the edge of an alley, you wish you hadn’t come.

Bodies lay slumped against the walls, some groaning, others too dazed to move. The scent of gunpowder lingers in the air, mixing with the sharp tang of dust and sweat. At the center of it all stands Boothill, unbothered, unhurried. His gun still smokes, his gloved fingers spinning it lazily before holstering it at his hip.

He looks up at you.

“Well now, look who finally showed up.”

His voice is easy, like this is normal, like he wasn’t just standing over men who can’t even pick themselves up.

“Boothill… what the hell did you do?”

His grin stretches. "Handled it."

You take a step forward, fists clenching. “That doesn’t explain anything. Why are they—”

He tilts his head. "Y’know, sugar, you oughta be thankin’ me."

"These fine gentlemen?" Boothill gestures toward the ones still groaning on the ground. "Thought they could get a little too cozy with you. Offer a hand, offer a ride—hell, offer more than that."

His smirk remains, but there’s something colder beneath it.

"Problem is, they were lyin’ to get advantages from you."

Your brows furrow. "Lying? What do you mean?"

Boothill scoffs, tipping his hat back slightly as he watches your face. "Oh, sugar, you really don’t see it, do ya?"

He steps closer, voice dropping just enough that it feels like a secret only meant for you.

"They weren’t bein’ nice. They were testin’ ya." His hand lifts, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Seeing how much they could push. How much they could take."

"They wanted to help me with my things—"

Boothill hums. "Did they now? Or did they wanna use that as an excuse to get you alone?" He tilts his head. "Tell me, sugar. You ever noticed how they only offer when no one else is around?"

Your mouth opens—to argue, to deny it—but then the doubt creeps in.

Had they?

Now that you think about it… one of them had asked you to "drop by his place" after work once. Another kept pushing drinks on you at the party. And another—

Boothill watches the realization flicker across your face, and his smirk deepens.

"Half the things they said were true," he admits, voice smooth. "The other half? Just twisted enough to keep you from seein' the knife behind their backs."

"How do you know all this?"

His eyes gleam under the shadow of his hat. "‘Cause I see things you don’t, sugar."

"And I ain't about to let nobody take advantage of you. Not while I'm around."

He sounds so sure. So convincing.

And you believe him.

You glance at the men still on the ground, groaning but unable to do much else. Your fists unclench, tension slowly bleeding from your shoulders.

Boothill notices. He always does.

His hand extends toward you "Let’s go home, darlin’."

This time, you don’t hesitate.

You place your hand in his.

And just before he turns away, Boothill glances back at the men with a victorious smirk.

A silent message, clear as day—I won.

Then, with your fingers still laced in his, he leads you away.

[n0vazsq]

Beginning of forever | LN4 x Reader

pairing . . . lando norris x gf!reader

summary . . . When Lando took you to celebrate christmas in a ski resort, you never expected what would have happened next

request . . . no!!

word count . . . 1.5k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . KILL ME RN I WANT THIS also ignore how i wrote this on new years eve

. . . The evening was as perfect as it could get. The ski resort in the mountains, nestled among snow covered pines, was glowing with holiday cheer.

The thick, gusts of snowflakes falling from the sky gave the entire landscape an almost ethereal quality, as if you had stepped into a snow globe.

Christmas lights twinkled in vibrant reds, greens, and golds, casting a warm glow across the darkening sky. The cozy, rustic charm of the wooden lodge and its stone fireplaces made the night feel even more magical.

It was everything you had ever dreamed of for a holiday getaway, and yet, tonight, something was different; something special was in the air.

Lando had made sure of that.

You had arrived at the resort just a few days ago, enjoying the slopes, fireside chats, and all the winter activities you loved.

Skiing together had been a blast; Lando’s teasing as he zoomed past you on the slopes, showing off his skills, and your good natured challenge of trying to keep up with him had left you both laughing breathlessly.

It had been nothing short of perfect, but the real surprise was still waiting for you.

You stepped onto the balcony of your cabin, the frosty air biting at your cheeks as you gazed out over the mountains.

The landscape looked like a painting, the distant peaks casting a serene shadow as the snow softly blanketed everything beneath them.

The lodge was just down the hill, its golden glow inviting and warm against the biting cold.

Lando’s voice broke through the calm, low and husky from behind you. "Pretty, isn’t it?"

You turned to find him standing in the doorway, his dark curls mussed by the wind and his face lit up by the soft glow of the holiday lights behind him. His eyes were fixed on you, as they always seemed to be, with that familiar warmth that made your heart race.

"It’s magical," you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth. "Almost like something out of a dream."

Lando walked toward you, a troublesome smile tugging at his lips. He reached out, his hand grazing your back, pulling you into the warmth of his embrace.

You melted into him, the heat of his body a welcome contrast to the chilly night air. His arms enveloped you, the familiar scent of his cologne comforting and grounding you in this moment.

You leaned back slightly to meet his eyes, feeling a nervous flutter in your chest. "What’s on your mind, love? You look like you’re plotting something."

Lando’s smile grew a little softer, his hands gently lifting your chin so that you were looking directly into his eyes. The twinkle in them made your pulse quicken. "Just… appreciating you. And this moment."

You felt your heart skip. His gaze was tender, but there was an intensity in his expression that took you by surprise. His fingers caressed the side of your face, and you closed your eyes for a moment, leaning into his touch.

"You’re everything to me, you know that?" His voice was barely above a whisper, but it resonated deep within your chest. "I don’t know what I’d do without you, angel."

A shiver ran down your spine as his words sank in. You loved him more than anything, but this felt different. The air around you seemed to shift, the weight of the moment heavier than it had been in the days before.

Something was about to happen, something that would change everything, and you couldn’t quite place what it was. But in that moment, you didn’t need to. All you wanted was to be here with him.

"I know, love," you murmured, pressing your forehead to his. "I feel the same way."

Lando pulled back, keeping a gentle hold on your face as he looked at you with such adoration, you thought you might collapse right there. Then, without another word, he slowly reached into his pocket, his gaze never leaving yours.

Your heart stopped.

In his hand, he held a small velvet box, its contents hidden from view but so clearly life-altering. Your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t expected this; not here, not like this.

You had joked with him in the past about your 'dream proposal', but never had you imagined it would be so perfect.

He smiled softly at your stunned silence, the playful glint in his eyes shifting to something deeper, more vulnerable.

"I know we’ve only been together for a few years, angel, but from the moment I met you, I knew you were the one I was supposed to be with. You’ve made my world brighter in a way I never thought was possible. I don’t want to wait any longer to make it official. I want you by my side forever."

You were trembling, trying to breathe, trying to process his words. Tears started welling up in your eyes, but they weren’t from sadness; they were from the pure, overwhelming joy that filled your heart.

"Will you marry me, angel?" Lando asked, his voice shaking ever so slightly, as if he was nervous, though you knew better. "Will you be mine forever?"

The world seemed to pause as you stared at him, at the man who had shown you love in the most unexpected and beautiful ways.

You didn’t need to think about it, didn’t need to second guess anything. He was the one. He always had been. You had built a life together, filled with love, laughter, and a deep, unspoken understanding of each other.

Tears fell down your cheeks now, freely, but they were tears of happiness. Pure, unrestrained joy. You nodded, your voice barely escaping as you whispered, "Yes, Lando. Yes, a thousand times yes."

Lando’s face broke into a grin so wide, it almost seemed to light up the night. He opened the velvet box, revealing a stunning ring; a delicate band with a sparkling diamond that glinted in the light from the cabin behind you.

With trembling hands, he slid the ring onto your finger. The cool metal against your skin only heightened the warmth that spread through your chest.

He cupped your face in his hands once more, pulling you into a kiss that was nothing short of loving. His lips were soft against yours, but the kiss was full of everything; passion, excitement, love, and the promise of forever.

It was everything you had ever dreamed of and more. Every kiss you had shared before felt like practice for this one, and you kissed him back with all the emotion you had kept inside for so long.

Lando pulled away after a moment, his breath shallow, eyes wide with happiness. "I love you, angel," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you so much."

A sob escaped your lips as the gravity of it all finally hit you. You let out a soft laugh, tears streaming down your face. "I love you too, Lando. I’ve loved you for so long, and I will for the rest of my life."

Lando gently wiped away your tears with his thumb, his gaze filled with affection. "You’re everything to me," he murmured again, pressing his forehead to yours. "I don’t want to imagine a single day without you."

You laughed softly, still wrapped in his arms, the world around you fading away as your hearts beat in sync. "You won’t have to, love. We’re in this together."

For a moment, the only sound was the quiet snowfall around you, the occasional crunch of snow beneath your feet. Lando held you tight, and you let yourself relax in his arms, savoring the feeling of his warmth and the love you shared.

But as you stood there, wrapped in his embrace, you realized this was just the beginning.

The future stretched out ahead of you both, full of promise, full of love, and full of endless possibilities. No matter what came, you knew you’d face it together. Forever and always.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. "I’m so happy, Lando," you whispered. "I don’t think I could be happier."

"Then let’s make it even better," he said with that mischievous grin you adored so much. "Let’s have a lifetime of happy moments, starting right now."

You leaned in to kiss him again, your lips finding his as the snow continued to fall, soft and steady, covering the world in a blanket of white.

This Christmas, this moment, was everything you had ever wanted. And with Lando by your side, you knew the best was yet to come.

"I love you," you said softly against his lips, feeling the words travel deep into your soul.

"I love you more," Lando replied, his voice full of certainty.

And in that moment, as you stood together on the balcony of the snow covered cabin, with the world around you filled with holiday magic and love, you knew that this was the beginning of your forever.

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @justaf1girl (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[pandapetals]

Logan's Hair

logan howlett x fem!reader - established relationship, logan's kitten ear hair, cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description

You tease Logan about his hair.

read on Ao3

You had always wondered how—or more importantly, why—Logan’s hair looked the way it did. For months before the two of you got together, you had convinced yourself that his hair had a mind of its own, like some wild animal that refused to be tamed. The way it spiked up into those two distinct points, almost like little kitty ears, seemed so fitting for him—tough, a bit feral, but somehow endearing.

After dating him for a while now, you have come to realize the truth. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t some strange mutation in his hair follicles. No, it was something Logan did on purpose.

You’d caught him early one morning, just before dawn, standing in front of the mirror in the tiny shared bathroom, his broad shoulders hunched over the sink as he carefully applied gel to his thick, dark hair. He didn’t notice you at first as he meticulously shaped the two points on top of his head, squinting at his reflection with the same focus he gave to dangerous missions.

At the time, you had hidden behind the doorway, biting back a grin as you watched him. The fierce, brooding Logan—Wolverine, the man who could take down an entire squad of enemies without breaking a sweat—was spending his precious early morning minutes making sure his hair was just right.

Now, lying in bed beside him, you peeked at his sleeping form, the early morning light streaming in through the curtains, casting soft shadows on his face. His hair, as usual, was spiked up in its signature style, even though he was fast asleep. You couldn’t help but smile, your heart swelling at the sight of him so peaceful and unguarded.

He stirred slightly, the arm draped around your waist tightening as he pulled you a little closer in his sleep. You grinned to yourself, unable to resist teasing him when he woke up.

"How does it do that?" you whispered to yourself, your fingers reaching up to gently poke at one of the spiked points of his hair. "It’s like your hair has superpowers of its own."

Logan let out a low, sleepy grunt, blinking his eyes open as he slowly came to. His face scrunched up in confusion for a moment as he registered your finger poking at his head.

“What the hell are you doin’?” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep, though there was no edge to it.

You bit back a giggle, biting your lip to keep the teasing at bay for a moment longer. “Just... admiring your handiwork,” you replied innocently, your finger poking at his hair again.

Logan’s brow furrowed, still half-asleep but now fully aware of your teasing. “What are you talkin’ about?”

You rolled onto your side to face him, propping yourself up on one elbow, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Your hair,” you said, giving it a playful ruffle. “How long does it take you to get it looking like this every morning?”

Logan blinked at you, clearly not in the mood for teasing this early in the day. “It just does that,” he grumbled, though his tone held no real annoyance. “You messin’ with me this early, darlin’?”

You snickered, your hand still in his hair, gently combing through it now. “Oh, come on. I’ve seen you in front of the mirror, Logan. Don’t pretend like this,” you gave one of his spikes a soft tug, “isn’t on purpose.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly, though the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying his amusement. “It’s called style, sweetheart.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “It looks like you’ve got little cat ears.”

Logan groaned, but you could see the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Cat ears? Really?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, your grin growing wider. “It’s cute. You’re like a big, tough kitten.” You reached out, tapping him lightly on the nose for good measure.

Logan huffed, his voice low and growly, but there was no real bite to it. “Don’t call me cute.”

“Oh, but you are,” you teased, leaning in closer. “Especially when you’re standing in front of the mirror with your little tub of hair gel, making sure every spike is just perfect.”

Logan raised an eyebrow at you, his smirk now fully visible. “You been spyin’ on me?”

“Maybe,” you replied, biting back another giggle. “I just think it’s funny. The Wolverine spends ten minutes every morning making sure his hair is all spiky and feral. What would the others think?”

Logan’s smirk widened into a grin, and he reached out, pulling you into his chest as you let out a playful squeak. “Well, the others don’t get to see me in the morning, do they?”

You blushed, smiling as you snuggled into him, resting your head on his chest. “No, I guess they don’t.”

His hand found your hair, his fingers brushing through it in soft, lazy strokes. “You like it,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep but now teasing.

You let out a soft hum of agreement, your smile widening against his chest. “I do,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “Even if it does look like kitty ears.”

Logan chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest as his arms tightened around you. “I might have to stop stylin’ it like that if you’re gonna keep callin’ me a kitten.”

“Oh, please,” you laughed, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Logan grinned down at you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Yeah? Why not?”

“Because I’d never let you hear the end of it,” you teased, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “And besides, it is kind of sexy. The whole rugged, untamed look.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the compliment. “Sexy, huh?”

“Mhmm,” you mumbled, your lips brushing against his skin. “And just a little bit adorable.”

Logan let out another groan, his hand slipping down to your waist, pulling you closer. “I told you, don’t call me adorable.”

You grinned, nestling against him. “Whatever you say, kitten.”

Logan growled playfully, but his hand on your back was gentle, comforting. “You’re lucky I like you,” he muttered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

You smiled, resting your cheek against his chest, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin. “I know.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the teasing fading into a quiet intimacy. Logan’s fingers continued to thread through your hair, his touch gentle and soothing. The warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it was all so familiar, so comforting.

Eventually, the teasing slipped away entirely, replaced by a peaceful contentment as you lay there together, wrapped in each other’s warmth. Outside, the early morning light continued to grow, casting soft rays of sunlight through the window, but neither of you was in a hurry to get up.

You could spend hours like this, tangled up with him, his presence grounding you in a way that no one else ever could. And even though you loved teasing him, you knew that underneath all the playful banter was something deeper—something solid and real.

Logan, with his spiky hair and gruff exterior, was everything you never expected but everything you needed. And as you lay there in the quiet of the morning, you couldn’t help but think that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[tokkiwrites]

summary: You're caught off guard when Wade calls you 'puppy'. He's even more shocked when he realizes how much it actually affects you in all the right ways. tags: pwp, established relationships, afab reader, pet play themes, degradation, dry humping, choking, cum eating, masturbaton (m receiving). /ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ happy spookytokki kinktober!! my first deadpool fanfic yay!!! its kind of short, only 1.8k words but i hope you enjoy this nonetheless. not betad!

The soft glow of the TV flickers across the living room, casting shadows on the walls as you curl up next to Wade on the couch. The evening is unusually quiet, a break from the chaos that follows him around like a storm, something you'd gotten used to. His arm is draped gently over your shoulders, and your head rests against his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing making you feel safe, even when you know that quiet never lasts long with Wade. he keeps you safeㅡ you just wish he'd keep himself too.

Wade was flipping through channels with a practiced boredom, sighing dramatically every few seconds. “How is there nothing on TV? Hundreds of channels, and I still can’t find anything to keep my superior intellect entertained.”

You roll your eyes, leaning over to steal a piece of popcorn from his bowl. “Maybe because you’ve seen every movie that involves crazy inhuman acts at least ten times.”

“Or,” he says, pointing at you with mock seriousness, “they just don’t make ‘em like they used to. I mean, where’s the drama? The art? The—” He pauses, turning to look at you with a grin. “I’m just kidding. I’m way too distracted by your cute face to care about movies right now.” and you can't help but blush. it felt stupid, but he made you feel like you were a teenager in love all over again.

Wade shifts beside you, stretching his legs across the coffee table with a satisfied groan. “Ah, domestic bliss. You, me, questionable snacks, and the delightful sound of my own voice,” he says, breaking the silence. “Does it get any better than this? No bullets, no explosions… I’m practically a whole new Wade.”

You smile, leaning into his shoulder, the smell of his cologne and a faint trace of gunpowder still clinging to him. “You sure you’re okay with a quiet night in? I mean, I know you’ve got that... thing where you need constant action.”

“I am fully committed to this lifestyle,” Wade declares, patting your leg as if sealing the deal. “I’ve already planned out our entire evening: sit, snuggle, snack, snarky commentary, and then maybe I serenade you with my totally above-average karaoke skills. You’ll swoon, I’ll catch you, and we’ll live happily ever after. It’s like a Hallmark movie, but with better one-liners.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head at his antics. “Swooning’s a big maybe. And since when do you plan things?”

“Since I started dating a woman who demands excellence,” he says, giving you a dramatic, exaggerated wink. “I’m a changed man, baby. No more flying by the seat of my pants… unless those pants are on fire. Which, you know, happens more often than you’d think.”

"Let's just watch the movie, Wade." You whisper softly whilst planting a gentle peck on his lips.

A few minutes later, the credits of some random action movie roll on the screen, and you stretch, deciding to get up and grab a drink from the kitchen. “Do you want anything?” you ask, looking over your shoulder.

Wade leans back into the cushions, folding his arms behind his head. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks, puppy.”

You freeze mid-step, your hand gripping the edge of the counter, the word clinging to you like a spell. puppy? Your heart skips a beat, and you can feel the warmth creeping up your neck to your cheeks. The way it rolled off his tongue, like he didn’t even realize he’d said it, but it hits you harder than you’d like to admit, making your core burn up in an instant.

Turning around slowly, you glance at him, but Wade is staring at the TV, completely unfazed, as if calling you ‘puppy’ is the most normal thing in the world. “what did you just call me?” you ask, your voice coming out quieter than you intended, the heat washes over you.

Wade raises an eyebrow, turning to you with a smirk. “Huh? Oh, puppy? Yeah. What, you don’t like it?” He stretches his legs out a bit more, clearly enjoying the fact that he’s caught you off guard. You feel your face get even warmer, and you stammer, “I—I didn’t say that. It’s just… I didn’tㅡ” you stumble and get tangled in your own words.

His smirk grows, and he tilts his head as if he’s just made the most fascinating discovery. “Oh,” he says, drawing out the word. "you don’t mind it, huh, puppy?" Your stomach flips at the way he says it again, with just enough teasing in his tone to send your nerves into overdrive. You quickly busy yourself with grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen, hoping he won’t notice how flustered you’ve gotten.

But Wade is Wade, and of course, he notices. He’s grinning now, watching you with amused eyes as you awkwardly sip from your glass. It's like he can smell it on you. “You’re so cute when you’re all flustered, you know that?” he adds, still teasing. “Should I call you ‘puppy’ more often?”

You shake your head, trying to will away the blush on your cheeks, but you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “No… I mean, maybe. I don’t knowㅡ I'm sorry, it's weird." he laughs, sitting up and pulling you back down onto the couch beside him. “Too late." he chirps, voice dropping down an octave.

You bury your face in your hands, trying your best to ignore the growing wetness in your panties. "Maybe I'll get you one of those cute collars, with a bell...make you crawl on all fours around the house, hm?" you let out a shaky breath, mumbling a soft 'Wade' as his hands snake around you and up your back, his rugged palm finally in your hair. "You'd want that, huh? be my good little puppy." the ringing in your ears picks up, heart running wildly in your chest as a hursh tug of you locks pulls you off of wade. "Show me."

"Whㅡ?"

"Show me you're a good pet, baby. Show me you deserve to have me as an owner." oh, and how your pussy flutters at his words, eyes wider than before, pupils fully blown out and lips puffy from how much you've bitten them. "You wanna make me proud, right?" you let yourself play his little dirty game, arousal coating your very being. "Y-Yes?"

"Yeah? Get down. On your knees, c'mon." You quickly obliged, not wanting to waste any more moments. the way his eyes scanned you, top to bottom as you kneeled in front of him, as if waiting for a treatㅡ it drove him mad.

"I want you to hump my leg." you choke a bit on your own breath. "Wade whatㅡ?" but he quickly shuts you up with a gentle slap to the mouth with the back of his hand. "Do dogs talk? I don't think so...They take orders and do as they're told." you gulp the knot in your throat, wades dark voice making each hair stand up on your body. something about this was so exciting, so new.

you hesitate at first, but with a few breaths in you scoot yourself over so that your clothed cunt is now directly on top of his foot, the sudden pressure on your swollen bud making you whimper. wade can't help but smile seeing you like this. his hand reaches out to the other end of the couch where a leather belt laid for the past few days. in a few moves the accessory is wrapped snug around your throat, with wade holding one end of it.

"Look so pretty like this, puppy. Go on now." he motions you to move. you slowly start rocking your hips, your knees already aching from the rough carpet underneath you, but the pain hurt so good mixed with the friction and heat from your underwear. the belt tightened as wade pulled on it, earning a soft gasp from you. "Faster, show me you want it."

and show you do. in a few second your speed picks up, breasts bouncing as you chase your high. your eyes are teary, vision blurry and mouth wide open as you gasp for air. the belt was digging into your skin, you knew you'd be bruised for the next few days, but you didn't care. "Open your mouth, pup." You're quick to obey, and the moment your lips part wade leans in closer only to spit right onto your lulled out tongue. "Swallow." he's stern and rough with his words and actions, leaning back as he watches you fuck yourself onto his leg. he enjoyed seeing you like this, nothing behind your eyes, just the thought of pleasing him. "You look so dumb right now, baby." he laughs, tugging harder at the belt. "I thought i needed to get you cockdrunkㅡ turns out i don't even need to give you any dick. there's literally nothing else in that small puppy brain of yours, huh?"

you whine and whimper as you feel your orgasm near, wades words only amplifying that feeling. you couldn’t even form a sentence. you didn’t even try. it felt perfect like this, at his feet. "Keep your tongue out." he commands, as he reaches his hand into the boxer shorts he was wearing and pulling out his erect shaft. the tip was leaking, and you swear it was harder than you've ever seen before. wades hand wraps tightly around the base of it, and gives it a few pumps as he watches you continuously rub yourself onto him. "Poor pussy, baby. probably so needy for this cock, hm?" you mumble a few incoherent 'yes's, fingers gripping tightly at his thighs. "Want me to come on you, pup? make you clean it up after, lick it all up like the good doggy you areㅡ shit." you were so close, you could barely hold your head up anymore.

"Fuckㅡ that's right, pup, earn it. Earn my come." he groans, stroking himself, veins pulsing, hips bucking up into his hand. your moans fill the room, the fuzzy feeling in your brain getting harder to overcome. thats when you feel it ripping through you, that familiar feeling that was pulled in your core now erupting like a million fireworks. your eyes roll back as you mindlessly keep moving your body. you hear wade mutter a harsh 'fuck' before you feel warm drops fall onto your tongue, face and chest, then trickle down. you try your best to swallow whatever you can as you both sit like that, breathless for a few second.

"And I thought I had weird kinksㅡ"

"Wade!"

[queenstarlight2]

Cuddles are best by the Fireplace

word count- 957

Description: Bernard and You finally take a break from work; time to enjoy some much need snuggling!

The North Pole was a wonderland of swirling snow and icy magic, but nothing felt as enchanting as this—the quiet intimacy of being wrapped up in Bernard’s presence, safe and warm by the fire. The flames danced and flickered in the stone hearth, casting long shadows that intertwined with the glimmers of festive lights strung around the room. Everything felt softer in this light, like the whole world had slowed down just for the two of you.

You felt Bernard sigh contentedly against you, his entire body melting into yours as he relaxed. His curls brushed against your chin, tickling slightly, and you couldn’t resist nuzzling into his hair. It smelled like peppermint and pine, mixed with the faintest hint of gingerbread—a scent that was uniquely Bernard, comforting and familiar. You tightened your hold around his waist, pulling him closer, as if you could never get enough of him.

“You’re so warm,” he murmured, his voice muffled as he pressed his cheek against your chest. His words sent a shiver of delight down your spine, and you felt your heart swell with affection. He tilted his head just enough to glance up at you, his dark eyes gleaming with contentment and a touch of mischief. “Do you know how hard it is to find warmth like this up here?” he teased.

You chuckled softly, feeling his laughter vibrate through your chest. “Well, I’m glad I can be your personal heater,” you replied, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. His eyes fluttered closed at the touch, and you felt the smallest smile form against your chest.

Bernard shifted a bit, snuggling deeper into your embrace, his hands sliding up to rest on your shoulders. His fingers brushed along your collarbone, tracing absent patterns as he let himself be held. You could feel the tension slowly leaving his body, each of his breaths growing steadier and deeper. It wasn’t often that he let his guard down like this, but when he did, it was a sight that never failed to make your heart ache in the best way.

Your hand found its way under the edge of his sweater, your fingertips grazing the small of his back, and he shivered, letting out a quiet gasp. His skin was warm and soft beneath your touch, and you stroked gentle circles there, soothing and comforting. Bernard let out a breathy laugh, the sound muffled against your chest, and you could feel his lips curve into a smile.

“Ticklish?” you asked, grinning as you continued to run your fingers over his back.

He wrinkled his nose, giving you a mock glare, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “Maybe,” he admitted, his voice light and playful. “But don’t you dare use that against me, or I’ll never let you be the big spoon again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound echoing in the warm, fire-lit room. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” you said, though your hands continued to wander gently, tracing the dip of his spine and the curves of his muscles. You could feel how strong he was, the years of hard work and dedication he had poured into managing Santa’s workshop, but in this moment, he was soft and pliant under your touch, completely vulnerable.

Bernard’s hands slid up to your neck, and he pulled himself up just enough to press his forehead against yours. His curls tumbled down around his face, brushing against your cheeks, and you could see every detail in his eyes—the flecks of gold, the warmth that seemed endless. You held his gaze, your breath mingling in the small space between you.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “For being here. For... everything.” His words were heavy with emotion, and you knew how much it meant for him to let himself be this open, this unguarded.

Your heart felt impossibly full, and you leaned forward to close the small distance between you, pressing your lips to his. It was a soft, lingering kiss, filled with all the love you had for him, and you felt him smile against your mouth. When you pulled back, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes shining.

“I’d be anywhere you are,” you replied, your voice steady and full of conviction. “You mean everything to me.”

Bernard let out a shaky breath, and his arms wrapped around you even tighter, as if he was afraid to let you go. He settled back against your chest, his head resting beneath your chin, and you cradled him close, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat against your skin. You both stayed like that for a long while, wrapped up in each other, the fire crackling softly beside you.

Your hand drifted to his side, your fingers brushing over his ribs in gentle, soothing motions. He hummed, the sound vibrating through your chest, and you felt him relax even further, his body melting into yours like he was made to fit there. The warmth between you felt like a protective cocoon, shielding you both from the world outside.

“I could stay like this forever,” Bernard whispered, his voice drowsy and full of contentment.

You kissed the top of his head, your lips lingering in his hair. “Me too,” you murmured. “Me too.”

The wind howled outside, but inside, there was only the gentle rise and fall of your breathing, the soft crackle of the fire, and the quiet, unbreakable connection between you and Bernard. It was a moment that felt endless, like time had paused just to let you savor the warmth and love that filled the room.

And as you held him, you knew that this—being with him, loving him, sharing this perfect stillness—was all you needed.

[dailylcy]

A DIFFERENT EQUATION - an anton lee oneshot

이찬영 “ ”the right side of my neck, still smells like you”

⊹₊⟡⋆ pairing. nerd!anton x popular girl!reader MINORS DNI

genre. smut 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀 word count. 1.4k — a/n. first post of best month of the year!! ( bini seokie n toni bday month ) :3 ( also this is my first time writing smut pls forgive if its not that good i tried my best ) playlist i listened to while writing. playlist

synopsis. Anton Lee is a quiet genius, he’s probably more comfortable with equations than people — until the popular girl from his math class asks him for tutoring. What starts as a study session quickly turns into something else, proving that even the shyest nerds know how to take control.

warnings. unprotected sex‎ ( dont!! ), anton got a size kink, fingering in semi public ? tell me if i missed anything

the library was quiet, all you could hear was the faint rustle of pages and the occasional cough echoing through the room. Anton Lee —also known as Lee Chanyoung to those who cared enough — sat next to a table at the back, his nose buried in a thick calculus textbook. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, the part you couldn’t see was beneath the hood of his oversized gray sweatshirt. glasses on his nose, slipping slightly as he scribbled equations in his notebook, his long, slender fingers moving with precision. He wore loose black jeans, the ends brushing against his sneakers, and a faint flush colored his cheeks from the hot air. At 6’2, he towered over most people when standing, but seated like this, he seemed almost normal — a nerd in his natural state .

The faint scent of old books and polished wood filled the space, the late afternoon sun streaming through tall windows and casting golden streaks across the floor. Anton barely even noticed the world around him, lost in numbers and formulas, until a shadow fell over his page. He glanced up, and nearly dropped his pencil. it was you, the popular girl everyone whispered about since you joined — confident, smiley, and completely out of his league. Your hair was styled in loose waves, framing your face, and you wore a fitted crop top that hugged your curves, paired with a short pleated skirt that moved a little everytime you shifted your weight. The faint shimmer of lipgloss caught the light, and your presence always carried a subtle floral scent that cut through the musty library air.

“Hey, Anton” you said, your voice smooth and casual, like you hadn’t just flipped his entire world upside down by knowing his name. You leaned against the table, your hip brushing the edge of it, and he swallowed hard, his eyes darting to where your skirt rode up slightly, revealing some of your thigh. “I heard you’re like, a genius at math. and I’m totallyyyy failing calculus, so I thought I could use some help. You free?”

Anton’s mouth went dry. He pushed his glasses up, stuttering, he said “Uh, y-yeah, I mean, sure. I can help, I will help you.” His gaze lingered on you, your size difference even more apparent now that you were so close — he could see the way your body curved close up, how small you looked compared to him, and it sparked something deep in his chest. It was his kink that he’d never admit out loud, but it was there.

You slid into the chair beside him, scooting close enough that your knee brushed his under the table. “Great” you said, pulling out your textbook and flipping it open. “Let’s start with this chapter. I don’t get any of it!” Your tone was light, but there was something in your eyes that made his stomach twist.

He nodded, trying to focus as he Explained derivatives to you, his voice soft as always. But then your hand rested on his thigh — just a light touch at first, fingers brushing over the fabric of his jeans. He froze mid-sentence, his breath hitching. “Keep going” you whispered, your lips curving into a smirk as your hand slid higher, teasing him slowly. Anton’s heart pounding, his composure cracking as heat flooded his system. He glanced around — nobody was near you two, the stacks of books shielding you both from view — and then back at you, your gaze locked on his, daring him.

His hand trembled as it found your knee, sliding up your bare thigh until his fingers brushed the hem of your skirt. You didn’t flinch, not even once, instead, you parted your legs slightly, like an invitation he couldn’t ignore. “You’re gonna get us caught” he whispered, voice rougher than he intended, but he didn’t stop. His fingers slipped under your skirt, tracing the edge of your panties before pushing them aside. You were already wet, and he bit his lip hard to stifle a groan as he slid one finger inside you, then two, amazed at how tight you felt around him.

Your breath hitched, but you masked it with a cough, leaning forward as if studying the book. Anton’s free hand gripped the table’s edge, his knuckles white, while his other hand worked you slowly, his thumb circling around your clit with a precision that mirrored his math skills. The contrast drove him wild — your small frame squirming against his big one, the way you fit so perfectly around his fingers. “Anton” you whispered, voice shaky, “faster.” He listened immediately, his movements growing more intense, the slick sound barely audible over the library’s hum. Your hand clamped over your mouth as you came, thighs trembling, and he watched your face, mesmerized, as you unraveled for him.

“C’mon” he muttered, pulling his hand back and wiping it discreetly on his jeans. “My dorm. Now.” His tone left no room for argument, the shy nerd was now replaced by something hungrier. You nodded, grabbing your bag, and followed him out, panties full with your own release. the air between you filling with unspoken need.

Anton’s dorm was a small, cluttered space on the third floor of the campus residence hall. Posters of rock bands and a periodic table all over the walls, books stacked neatly on the desk. The bed was unmade, sheets tangled, and the faint scent of his cologne — something woody and clean — He locked the door behind you, turning to face you with a look that made your knees weak. That nerdy boy from your math class was long gone ; this Anton was all sharp with quiet intensity, where was he hiding all this?

He stepped closer, towering over you, and cupped your face with his hands -that you thought were bigger than your head- “You’re so fucking small” he muttered, almost to himself, his thumb brushing your lower lip. Then he kissed you — hard, messy, all teeth and tongue, like he’d been starving for it. You stumbled back toward the bed, and he followed your steps, taking off his sweatshirt to reveal a broad frame, his t-shirt clinging to his biceps.

He pushed you onto the mattress, climbing over you, his weight pressing you down as he yanked your skirt up and panties off in one swift move. “Been thinking about this, for so damn long” he admitted, voice low, undoing his jeans buttons with shaky hands. His cock sprang free—thick, veiny, and intimidatingly long — and you gasped softly, feeding that size kink he couldn’t hide. He didn’t bother with a condom, neither of you cared right then.

Anton lined himself up, the tip brushing your soaked entrance, and started thrusting into you, groaning loud as your pussy clenched around him. “Fuck, you’re so tight for me” he said, hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise. He set a brutal pace, fastening it each time he thrusted into you, the bed creaking under his force. Your legs wrapped around his waist, but he still loomed over you, his broad shoulders and height making you feel tiny, helpless beneath him.

Sweat showed on his forehead as he fucked you stupid — your moans turning into broken gasps, eyes rolling back as he hit every spot inside you. His glasses fogged up, slipping down his nose, and he took them off, tossing them aside without breaking sounds. “So good for me huh?” he panted, one hand sliding up to squeeze your breast through your top, the other pinning your wrist above your head. The room filled with the sounds of his heavy breathing and your whimpers.

He pulled out suddenly, flipping you onto your tummy, and yanked you up before slamming back in. “Look at you” he growled, “taking me like this.” His hand fisted your hair, tugging just enough to make you arch, and the new angle had you seeing stars. Cum dripped down your thighs — his and yours mixing in a sticky mess as he chased his release, fucking you through the overstimulation until he came spilling inside you with a choked moan. Thick ropes of cum coated your walls, some leaking out as he slowed, his chest heaving.

Anton collapsed beside you, both of you breathless, the thick air filled with sweat and sex. He glanced over, a shy smile tugging at his lips despite everything, and he muttered a “Uh… you okay?” The nerd was back, but the glint in his eye said he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

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[hollaforlyla]

Happy late Valentine's day!! could you write for Shadow x reader and they're already in an established relationship but reader is still new to relationships and is also REALLY touchstarved? Have a good day/night!

" LEARNING TO BE LOVED " ── shadow x gn!reader

so like, reader is me fr 🫶🏻 no warnings, i think, very detailed ── maybe too detailed 💀 but i love shadow, i love this concept, so im not complaining 💗 plz enjoy!!

pairing: shadow x reader

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

Being with Shadow was the best thing that had ever happened to you. But even after months of dating, you still struggled with certain aspects of your relationship—mainly, touch.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be close to him. In fact, you craved it. Your entire body longed for warmth, for comfort, for the feeling of being held. But years of going without it had made you hesitant, unsure. The idea of simply taking what you wanted felt foreign, like it was something you hadn’t quite earned.

Shadow had never pressured you. He wasn’t overly affectionate himself, but he was perceptive, and you knew he noticed your hesitations. He always let you take the lead when it came to touch, but that was part of the problem—you didn’t know how to take the lead. You didn’t know how to ask.

Tonight, you were curled up on the couch beside him, a movie playing in the background, though neither of you were truly watching it. The flickering screen cast dim light over the room, making the atmosphere feel warmer, softer. Shadow sat beside you, his usual rigid posture slightly relaxed as he rested one arm on the back of the couch.

Your fingers twitched slightly in your lap, a silent war waging in your mind. You wanted to lean against him. You wanted to feel his warmth. But every time you worked up the courage, doubt would creep in.

Would he think you were being needy? Would he get annoyed?

“…Something wrong?”

Shadow’s voice broke the silence, his tone low but not unkind. You looked up at him, startled. His crimson eyes were focused on you, analyzing, waiting.

“I…” You hesitated, your fingers gripping the hem of your sleeve. “No. I just…”

Shadow’s eyes flicked downward, catching the way your hands clenched. He was silent for a moment before exhaling softly.

“You don’t have to ask,” he said simply.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I can tell you want something,” he continued. “If you need… anything, just say it.”

His voice was calm, patient—so utterly Shadow. The words were simple, but to you, they felt like permission. Like a safety net.

Swallowing hard, you hesitantly inched closer, pressing against his side. You half-expected him to tense up or pull away, but he didn’t. Instead, he adjusted ever so slightly, allowing you to settle comfortably against him. Your heart pounded as you carefully rested your head against his shoulder, his fur soft and warm against your cheek.

And then, slowly—hesitantly—Shadow lifted his arm from the couch and wrapped it around you.

The moment his hand settled against your back, something inside you cracked.

Warmth spread through your chest, overwhelming in its gentleness. You had spent so long aching for this kind of comfort, and now that you had it, it almost felt unreal. Your throat tightened, and before you could stop yourself, you squeezed your eyes shut and gripped the fabric of Shadow’s furred chest, as if afraid he might disappear.

His arm tightened around you in response. Not enough to smother, but enough to ground you.

A shaky breath escaped you.

“…Thank you,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

Shadow didn’t reply right away. He didn’t need to. Instead, his hand moved in slow, careful strokes along your back, his touch firm yet cautious—like he was trying to memorize you just as much as you were memorizing him.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he finally murmured. “You deserve this.”

Your breath hitched.

You had never thought about it that way before. You had always felt like affection was something you had to earn—something fragile that could be taken away if you weren’t careful. But here Shadow was, holding you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like you deserved to be held.

The weight of that realization made your eyes sting, and before you could stop yourself, you nuzzled further into his chest. Shadow let out a small breath—something between a sigh and a chuckle—but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he held you closer.

Neither of you spoke after that. You didn’t need to.

Because in that moment, wrapped in Shadow’s warmth, you finally felt safe.

And for once, you let yourself believe you were worthy of it.

RAAAHHHH IM GOING MENTAL

[aikrus]

darling, can i be your favorite ?

Explicit Content yandere?

There’s a lot that comes with dating shouta aizawa, and a lot of the learning curve was trial and error. When you learned he was like you, not the same, but like you, it was as if the world clicked. It all made sense, because everything that had happened thus far had lead you to that moment- to when you met him for the first time.

Then you learned he would get distracted- his other things calling to him- and you understood. There was a stray dog you met that you fed once and it always seemed to call out to you since, but the thought of walking down some street when you could be here drowning in Shouta was laughable.

It wasn't the same for him. The thought of riding the metro, walking to work, crossing highschool hallways and spending hours with a few hundred people, it was appealing enough to draw him away from you. All the time.

The thought had lead you out of the apartment, a few blocks over, and to some vacant lot where the stray mut laid wagging its tail upon seeing you.

You wished Shouta was with you in your home. It was the only thing you felt.

So, just like the mutt, you'd have to train Shouta to respond to you the way you wished. Hopefully his learning curve will take less than the dogs.

The apartment was too quiet without him. Every ticking second without Shouta felt like a reminder that she wasn’t his priority—that his work, his students, his endless responsibilities always came first. It gnawed at her, the knowledge that she wasn't the most important thing in his life, despite how deeply she wanted to be.

She was his. Entirely. Completely.

But what was she to him?

The answer gnawed at her every time he left their shared space, the click of the door too final as he slipped away to teach, to train, to protect. Tonight was no different. Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms as she waited for the sound of him returning. The jealousy churned in her chest, burning hotter with each moment that passed.

When she finally heard the door creak open, she stood in the dim light of their bedroom, waiting. Shouta entered with his usual tired sigh, his figure casting a long shadow across the room. His eyes, half-lidded with exhaustion, landed on her.

“Long day?” she asked, her voice a little too even, a little too controlled.

He hummed in response, already shedding his capture weapon and boots, not noticing the way her body was tense, on edge. Not yet.

“I missed you,” she continued, moving closer, each step deliberate.

Shouta’s gaze flickered to her then, sharp and assessing. He could always tell when something was simmering beneath the surface, but tonight, it was different. Her need for him felt like a wound that wouldn’t close. It throbbed with every breath.

His voice was low when he spoke, “I know.”

But that wasn’t enough. She needed more than just acknowledgment. She needed to be seen, to be wanted as fiercely as she wanted him. The heat in her chest rose, fueled by the jealousy she had kept bottled for too long.

She reached for his tie, fingers brushing against his throat as she loosened it slowly, pulling him closer. His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t stop her.

“I want you,” she whispered, her lips dangerously close to his ear. “I need you.”

He was still for a moment, as if gauging her intent. His voice dropped, a familiar command threading through it, “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

But she didn’t answer with words. Instead, she pressed herself against him, her body warm and soft against his. Her fingers trailed down his chest, lower, unbuttoning his shirt with purpose. She could feel the shift in him, the way his breath hitched, the way his muscles tensed under her touch.

His control was slipping, just as she had planned.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, his hands finding her hips, holding her in place.

“I need you to remember that I’m yours,” she said, her voice trembling with the weight of her need, her jealousy spilling out. “I need you to see me, Shouta.”

His grip tightened, pulling her closer, his lips brushing against her ear. “You think I don’t see you? That I forget?” His voice was dangerous now, laced with that intoxicating dominance that sent shivers down her spine. “You don’t need to play games like this to get my attention, darling.”

But she wanted to, needed to. She craved the way he responded to her touch, the way he looked at her when she pushed him to the edge. Her fingers slid under the waistband of his pants, tugging slightly, a challenge in her eyes. “Show me, then.”

And that was all it took. The air shifted, thick with tension as Shouta’s control snapped. He grabbed her wrist, pulling it away from his body as he spun her around, pressing her back against the wall with an intensity that made her heart race.

He growled, his breath hot against her neck as his hands pinned her wrists above her head.

Her body trembled under his touch, her mind swimming with the thrill of it all. This was what she wanted—this raw, unfiltered need. The power he held over her, the way he controlled her, dominated her. But even in this, there was trust. She trusted him with everything she had, and he knew it.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He didn’t need more encouragement. His lips crashed against hers, fierce and demanding, as if he were trying to convey everything he couldn’t say with words. His hands roamed her body, possessive, claiming every inch of her as his own.

The tension between them built, a fire that threatened to consume them both. And in the heat of their passion, she knew she had succeeded. She had his full attention, and he wasn’t going to let her forget it.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against her lips, his voice low and dangerous. “Every part of you. And don’t ever forget it.”

Her body ached for him, every touch sending waves of pleasure through her. The dynamic between them was perfect—his control, her submission, the trust that bound them together. She didn’t need to be jealous anymore. Not when he was looking at her like this, as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Her heart raced beneath his hands, every breath she took filled with the electric tension that hummed between them. Shouta's presence loomed over her, his grip firm and unyielding. The weight of his body pressed her harder against the wall, as if he wanted to remind her, forcefully, that there was no one else in his world right now—no students, no hero duties. Just her.

But it still wasn’t enough.

She needed more than his body, more than the rough way he took her lips with his. She needed to be everything to him. To feel like she was his sole focus in the same way he had become hers. Every waking moment, every heartbeat, she ached to be the center of his world, the thing he lived for.

“I want to be the only thing you think about,” she gasped against his mouth, her wrists still pinned above her head. “When you leave... when you're with them... I want you to want me like I want you.”

Shouta froze for a moment, his breath harsh against her cheek, her words sinking in deeper than any touch could. His grip tightened, but it wasn't just out of dominance now—it was a need. His need for her, just as desperate as hers for him. She could feel it in the way his chest heaved, the tension coiling in his muscles, barely held back by the thin thread of control he always wore like armor.

“You think I don’t?” His voice was rough, each word carrying the weight of his frustration. “You think I don’t spend every moment counting down the seconds until I can be with you?”

He lowered his head, his forehead resting against hers as he let out a slow, shaky breath. “You have no idea what you are to me.”

Her body trembled at his words, her heart clenching painfully. She wanted to believe him, but the jealousy still lingered, eating away at her. “I’m not enough. You—” she hesitated, her voice breaking, “You have your students, your work. You belong to the world... and I’m just here, waiting for the moments you give me.”

A small sound, almost like a growl, rumbled in his chest, and in an instant, his lips were on hers again, fierce and unrelenting. His hands, rough from years of combat, roamed down her body, exploring her as if he needed to remind her that every inch of her was his. He released her wrists, and before she could react, his arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her up and carrying her to the bed in a few quick, determined steps.

She landed with a soft gasp, her body sinking into the mattress as he hovered above her, eyes dark with something between desire and anger. His knees pressed into the bed on either side of her hips, trapping her there, as his hands came down to cage her in.

"You think you’re just something I come home to?" Shouta's voice was low, dangerous. "Do you think I wouldn’t give all of that up for you if you asked me to?"

Her breath caught in her throat. The intensity in his gaze shook her to her core.

“Shouta…”

His fingers found the hem of her shirt, pulling it up slowly, torturously, over her head. His hands lingered, gliding down her sides, as if committing her form to memory. There was reverence in his touch, a gentleness that contradicted the raw need burning in his eyes.

“You’re not just some part of my life,” he said, his voice softening, though the rough edge remained. “You are my life. Do you understand that?”

She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears, her voice barely a whisper. “But you never say it. I need to hear it. I need to know.”

He stilled above her, his gaze softening for the first time that night. His hand came up to her face, cupping her cheek as his thumb brushed away a stray tear. “You want to be everything to me? You already are. You’re the only thing that matters to me—more than anything, anyone else.” His voice lowered to a whisper, intimate and raw. “I love my students. I care about what I do. But if you ever asked me to walk away from it all… I would. In a heartbeat.”

Her heart ached, every word sinking into the raw parts of her soul she had been so desperate to soothe. She searched his eyes, looking for any sign of doubt, but there was none. Just that unwavering, steadfast devotion that had always been there, even when she hadn’t seen it.

“But you never—” she started, her voice cracking.

“I don’t say it enough,” he admitted, leaning down to kiss her forehead, his lips soft against her skin. “But you need to understand something. No one, nothing, comes before you. You have me—completely.”

Her body trembled beneath him as his words sank in, her need for him spilling over into something more intense, more desperate. She tugged at his shirt, fingers shaking as she struggled to pull it off. He helped her, throwing it aside before capturing her lips again, his hands everywhere—on her hips, her thighs, pulling her closer, closer, until it was impossible to tell where he ended and she began.

His lips trailed down her neck, leaving a burning trail in their wake, his hands gripping her thighs as he settled between them. Every touch, every kiss, was filled with a promise. His need to reassure her, to give her everything she craved, matched her desperation to feel it.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against her skin, his voice dark and possessive as his hands claimed her, each touch filled with the raw power of his love. “And I’m yours. Nothing will ever change that.”

Her body arched into his, her fingers threading through his hair as she pulled him closer. “Then show me, Shouta. Show me how much I mean to you.”

And he did.

Grabbing her leg and lifting it, Shouta began to rub his cock head along your folds. "I love you," he said as he teased the clit with circular movements varying in pressure. Snaking his other hand across your torso he used his fingers to part the folds, giving clear way to him and letting his palm scratch against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"I love you." He pushed the tip in and felt you squeeze around it, stopping less than and inch in before pulling out and repeating again. His mouth wrapped around your nipple as he began to suck- hot and wet with a heavy tongue.

"I love you," a thin trail of saliva connected the bright pink peak to his lips as he moved further inch by inch, shuddering and brushing the hair from your face.

He bottomed out, grabbing both of your hips and pulling you taunt- the pressure inside of you had never been this grand, this all-consuming. "I love you."

His movements were slow at first, deliberate, every kiss and touch laced with the promise of everything he was giving her. But soon the tension broke, his control slipping, and his hips begging to piston back and forth.

"I love you," he gasped, his lips darting to press wide kisses down your neck before suddenly closing around the muchle of the base and biting- sucking the skin into his mouth where his tongue rapidly massaged it.

His hands, his lips, his body—every part of him spoke the words she had longed to hear, that she was everything to him.

Their connection was more than physical—it was emotional, raw, and unbreakable. With every shuddering breath, with every gasp, she felt it. The intensity of his love, the depth of his devotion. It wasn’t just the heat of the moment—it was the bond they had built, the trust they had nurtured, the way he saw her as his equal, his partner, his everything.

"Gnn, fuck," Shouta rolled the two of you over, now laying on his back, and he used his arm strength to rapidly lift you up and let you fall on his impaling dick.

"Sh-shouta," your voice wobbled with the movement as your hands found your own breasts, trying to stabilize them from the constant falling.

He growled at the sight and used his thumb to work your clit, fast and rough with callous he strung you like a violin.

"Gonna," you tried to speak but felt your tongue lulll past your lips.

"Gonna what?" He teased, huffing a laugh before his face returned to its concentrated desperate expression.

The heat only pilled, tension only raised, until it felt like you would die if this went a moment longer. That's when you fell apart.

"Shouta!" Collapsing onto him your pulsing pressure sent him on his own spiral- pumping hot inside of you as his breath moved you up and down once more in a more soothing, less exciting way.

When they finally collapsed together, spent and breathless, he wrapped his arms around her, his lips brushing against her temple.

“Never doubt me again,” he whispered. “You are my favorite thing in this world.”

And for the first time in a long time, she believed it.

[crushpunky]

rafe and kook!reader take a drunken walk

masterlist | kook!reader masterlist

warning: sexual undertones, but nothing happens lol

The lights and sounds of the party leaked out onto the beach as y/n and Rafe drunkenly stumbled across the sand. Topper and Kelce had gotten involved in a heated game of beer pong, leaving Rafe and y/n to fend for themselves. After small-talking with every drunken Touron and Kook that wandered over to flirt with Rafe, both of them decided it was time for a break.

The two of them giggled as they bumped into each other, Rafe grabbing onto y/n and pulling her into his chest. He lifted her up, spinning her around with a shout, the coolness of his rings digging into the bare skin between her top and the beginning of her skirt.

“Put me down, Rafe!” Y/n squealed, grabbing onto Rafe’s forearms as he tumbled along the sand.

“If I put you down you’re gonna fall on your ass!” Rafe laughed, burying his face into the crook of y/n’s neck. The warmth of his breath fanned across her skin, making her already alcohol ridden brain spin even more.

“I won’t!” Y/n giggled. “Seriously put me down—”

Rafe’s foot sunk into the sand, his knee buckling, sending the two of them falling. Y/n let out a yelp as her back hit the sand, knocking the wind out of her. Rafe fell on top of her, his hands shooting out to catch himself just before he crushed her. Their wide eyes met for a brief second before the two of them collapsed into fits of laughter, Rafe rolling over to lay next to her.

“You dropped me! On my ass, asshole!” Y/n laughed, hitting at Rafe. Rafe’s hands hit at her side, the two of them grappling at each other in the sand.

“If you weren’t moving so damn much I wouldn’t have!” Rafe shot back, delivering a jab to y/n’s side that caused her to squeal with laughter at the cheap shot.

“Well if you wouldn’t have picked me up in the first place,” y/n patted Rafe’s cheek playfully. Rafe grabbed her hand, pulling it away with a groan, his fingers not leaving hers as their hands fell to rest between them.

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry.” Rafe sighed, batting his eyelashes as a drunken grin spread across his face. Y/n rolled her eyes, moving to roll away from him, but Rafe caught her by the hips and pulled her back.

“You’re so annoying, you know that right?” Y/n said.

“What? Me?” Rafe scoffed. “Why don’t you go hang out with that Touron that was flirting with you all night?”

“What?” Y/n shouted exasperatedly, turning to prop herself up on her elbow to look at Rafe. Rafe chuckled, propping himself up to face y/n, his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, the blonde guy. He was practically eye fucking you the entire time.” Rafe said.

“Gross, boy.” Y/n groaned, her face twisting with disgust.

“It’s true. It was… intense.” Rafe raised his eyebrows playfully. Y/n shoved at Rafe’s shoulder, causing him to fall back into the sand. Y/n swung a leg over his torso, moving to straddle him and look down at him, her eyes narrowed. Rafe’s hands fell to rest along y/n’s thighs, his fingers playing with the fabric of her skirt and his gaze flickering down along the curve of her hip. Her bikini top hugged onto her body closely, its bright pink color complimenting her skin perfectly. He found himself staring, and maybe it was because of all the alcohol coursing through his veins, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Rafe?” Y/n’s voice shook him out of his thoughts. Her hair fell around her face, the moonlight casting shadows along her cheeks in a way that— shit. 

Y/n moved her legs, adjusting her knees in the sand, when she felt it. The firm, poking against the inside of her thigh right where—

Rafe shoved her off of him before shooting to his feet. He stumbled, running a hand through his hair. Fuck. How could he have been so stupid, so teenaged, to let himself get so worked up over some friendly roughhousing. They’d done this thousands of time, drunkenly wrestling and joking around, what was his fucking problem? She was probably disgusted with him. No, by the wideness of her eyes she definitely was.

“Hey, it’s fine, don’t—” Y/n struggled to her feet, taking a step towards Rafe, her arms open. Rafe stumbled back, putting as much distance between the two of them as possible. He ran a palm along his face, closing his eyes tightly. He fucked up. This was bad. Like, really bad.

“Rafe, seriously, it’s not that big of a deal.” Y/n placed a hand on his shoulder hesitantly. He flinched before lowering his shoulders with a sigh, his hands still covering his face, but a blush still visible. Y/n didn’t know what to think. Obviously it had been an accident and didn’t mean anything, but yet, why did he seem so disgusted by the idea of seeing her like that? Seeing her in a way that wasn’t just as a friend, in the way that she secretly and almost selfishly wished he would… that really disgusted him that much?

“I didn’t— fuck!” Rafe shouted, causing y/n to jump. She swallowed harshly, gnawing at her lip as the two of them stood in silence.

“Rafe, it’s fine. I… I know you didn’t mean anything.” Y/n whispered.

“I’m sorry.” Rafe said quietly, his gaze still unable to meet hers.

“No, no, you didn’t— it’s fine. Just forget about it.” Y/n shook her head.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry.” Rafe mumbled with a sigh.

“Rafe, I said it’s fine—”

“It’s not fucking fine, y/n. Look at your face, you’re fucking disgusted with me. I’m fucking disgusted with me.” Rafe snapped, running his hands along his jaw, his eyes finally meeting hers.

“I’m… I’m not ‘disgusted’ with you, Rafe. I don’t think I ever could be.” Y/n said gently, her fingers tracing along Rafe’s shoulder lightly, her touch helping slightly to calm his racing mind. There was something about her touch that always seemed to ground him in moments like this, when things seemed to spiral out of control and the thoughts began to become too much. While it certainly was helping his mind, it wasn’t helping the pathetic pang in his chest.

“Ok, ok. Sorry.” Rafe whispered. Y/n’s hand found his own, squeezing it lightly.

“I would give you a hug, but I don’t think Little Cameron would like that.” Y/n said, her lips twisting into a smirk. Rafe groaned, throwing his head back with a small chuckle.

“You’re the worst.” Rafe said, shaking his head before pulling y/n’s hand, the two of them drunkenly stumbling along the shore.

“And I thought you liked me.” Y/n teased, leaning so their shoulders hit against each other with each clumsy step.

“You’re not too bad, I guess.” Rafe grinned.

[genericpuff]

holy crap okay so

I'm two episodes into Kaos

normally I keep my expectations pretty minimal because, let's be real, the Internet - and especially Tumblr - has a tendency to severely overhype new series to be way better than they actually are and it often leaves me sitting there like "that's it? that's what people were freaking out over for weeks?? that was just a bunch of cheap ships and tropes that i've seen 123785902380 times before" LMAO

BUT thankfully compared to other series like Hazbin Hotel and The Amazing Digital Circus, I haven't been worn out on excessive fandom exposure prior to watching Kaos, so I didn't really know what to expect going in besides what folks have told me so far - it's a modern-day Greek epic, and it stars Jeff Goldblum as Zeus (which is, unsurprisingly, peak casting).

That said, I'm very pleased to say that so far, the show is absolutely blowing me away. The set designs, characterizations, weaving of all the players into a central narrative led by a very coy narrator, all of it feels both refreshing and respectful to the source material at the same time.

so uh yeah that LO animated TV show... we have reason to believe now that it's gotten picked up by Amazon Prime, at least according to the showrunner's LinkedIn and posting history from February of this year that seems to imply LO may have been picked up by Amazon-

(but still, nothing's really been confirmed because they're being so tight-lipped about this you'd almost think it's because there isn't a show happening at all cough)

But even then, that means at best we still won't see anything of the LO TV show adaption for another 2-3 years, depending on how production goes.

Why am I talking about LO right now? Well it should be obvious - Kaos double-whammied LO by beating it to the punch at its own game.

I mean, just look at the creative choices alone in the design of the Underworld and its rulers, our beloved Hades and Persephone.

And yes, the entire Underworld is color-graded like this, something so simple and yet effective in communicating the nature of the Underworld and what it stands for - a place where the past lives on through the dead, paused in time, devoid of the vibrant color grading found in Olympus - or "Olympia" as its been named in this retelling - which is, by the way, a visual treat to take in every time it's featured.

(and yes, that is S-tier-companion Billie Piper on the left, but I will not tell you who she's playing, you actually really should go into this show as blind as possible for the thrill of figuring out these characters as they're introduced <3)

That's not even getting into the narrative structure of the plot itself or the phenomenal casting and acting, but again, I don't want to spoil too much as the show is quite new, and I want to actually finish watching the show myself before I get more into the details of its story and how it delivers it (I'm very much hoping I will still be singing this show's praises at the end of its 8 episodes, please for the love of god don't jump the shark, I don't think my heart can take that kind of pain again.)

All that's to say though, Kaos is, so far, exactly what us disappointed fans of LO deserve after all these years, and frankly, I feel like whatever is coming for the LO animated TV show is really gonna have to step up to the plate to both live up to the bar that Kaos has set as well as stand on its own without being affiliated as a cheap Amazon knockoff living in its shadow. Sounds a little familiar and a bit ironic, doesn't it?

[itendtothinkalot]

its me or the ps5 (not literally)

summary: gamer bf beomgyu is in the midst of a lol battle with soobin but all u rly want is his attention :(((

genre: all fluff, no plot

characters: gamer bf!beomgyu x f!reader

words: not too many (i havent counted)

warnings: kinda suggestive but other than its pretty fluffy hehe

It had been hours since he last spoke to you. No, he wasn’t angry. No, he wasn’t upset with you. He was just really into his game.

You lay in bed, the soft glow of the screen casting shadows on his back as he sat at the computer, shouting curses between bursts of laughter. His words, loud and rapid, formed a jumble you could only half understand—it felt like trying to learn a new language, each phrase coming out as broken sentences.

“Something something, I’ll go mid, something something.” You managed to grasp this much.

You craved his attention. Sure, your last date was just three hours ago, but it wasn’t enough. He’d spoil you so much during the date that you’d gotten greedy. You needed him now—his attention, his hands, his words. But there he was, locked in with his favorite thing in the world: his pc.

“He missed me! Dude, he missed me!” Beomgyu yelled into the mic, laughing loudly. His fingers flew across the keyboard, the rapid clicking almost rhythmic. Out of curiosity, you peeked around the corner from your spot on the bed and watched him play. You didn’t really know how to play League, though you’d seen him at it plenty of times and had dabbled a bit when he’d offered to teach you.

Your body inched closer and closer, curiosity pulling you toward the screen. You could see his character zooming across the map, darting from one point to another. From what little you understood, he was doing really well—so well, in fact, that it made you feel even needier than you already did.

As you scooted inch by inch across the bed, you unknowingly reached the very edge. Before you realized it, your body slipped off, sending you tumbling to the floor with a soft thud. You let out a yelp, "AUGH!" The sound echoed through the room, catching your boyfriend’s attention. Beomgyu turned, eyes widening as he saw you sprawled on the floor.

"Baby, what are you doing on the floor?" His voice was laced with concern, though you could tell by the twitch of his lips that he was seconds away from bursting into laughter.

“Nothing.” You said, still on the floor.

He chuckled, standing up and making his way over to you. With a playful grin, he lifted you off the floor and gently placed you back on the bed. Leaning down, he gave you a quick kiss on the lips. “You’re an idiot,” he said, his voice overflowing with affection.

“Yours,” you agreed with a giggle.

“CHOI BEOMGYU!” A muffled voice shouted through his headphones.

“Shit. Coming!” he yelled back, giving you one last quick kiss before rushing back to his chair. As he put his headset on, he shot back, “Shut up. You’re one to talk, you fucking virgin.”

You chuckled, knowing they were probably teasing him about you.

You huffed, puffing out your cheeks in frustration. Falling wasn’t part of the plan, but at least you had his attention for a moment. Was that full minute enough to satiate your needs? No. You wanted him in bed, cuddling you and recounting his day—though you had spent the entire day together.

Your phone buzzed.

Soobin: get ur bf off the pc

You: ???

Soobin: hes annoying wtf

You: youre literally stealing him away from me u asshat

Soobin: hes literally rite beside u

You: men r so dense

Soobin: hes SAYING HES WINNING and telling all his friends that he won over me when he didnt

You: why are u so mad its just a game

Soobin: U SUCK

“Baby, is Soobin’s character dead?” you asked.

Beomgyu glanced over, lifting the left side of his headphones. The faint glow of the computer screen reflected in his eyes. “Did you say something, sweetheart?”

“Is Soobin’s character dead?” you repeated, a teasing smile on your lips.

He nodded, a focused look on his face. “Yeah, why?”

You laughed, turning back to your phone. “Nothing.”

“Is he texting you?” Beomgyu asked, a hint of jealousy creeping into his voice, though you probably didn’t notice.

You nodded, rolling your eyes playfully. “He’s just being annoying.”

“What’d he say?”

You shrugged. “Nothing much. He’s just talking about the game.”

“To you?” Beomgyu’s tone was sharper, and you looked up from your phone to see him fully turned toward you now. A far cry from just two minutes ago when he had been giving you only side glances. His complete attention was on you, a mix of curiosity and something else flickering in his eyes.

This piqued your interest. Was he jealous?

“Yes, Gyu. To me.” You laughed, placing your phone on the bed.

“Gyu?” His brows furrowed slightly, and you could see the shift in his expression. You knew that hit a nerve. He was expecting terms of endearment—baby, my love, sweetheart, darling, angel, daddy—but hearing just his name, the nickname you used when you were still friends, made him twitch.

“Gyu?” he repeated, a slight edge to his voice.

“Is that not your name?” you teased, a playful smile on your lips.

“No. Not to you.” He frowned, his focus shifting entirely away from the game. You watched as he pressed a button on his PC, the lights on his headphones flickering off. He had muted his friends, the sounds of the game fading into silence.

He took off the headphones and set them on the desk, then slowly made his way to the bed, his expression darkened as he approached you.

“Hm, really now?” You grinned, knowing you were reeling him in.

“To you, it’s baby,” he pouted, crossing his arms dramatically. “Why are you calling me by my government name?”

“Gyu is not your government name.” You laughed.

“Yes, it is. Y’know who calls me Gyu? My mother. Are you my mom?”

“No I’m not, Gyu.”

“You did it again!” He gasped, eyes wide with mock horror. “Evil has gotten to you. You’ve been hanging out with Soobin too much.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Baby~” he whined, leaning closer. “Do you still love me?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Aren’t you the one ignoring me for a game?”

“Ignoring you? Baby…” He feigned innocence, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “I stopped my winning streak for you. Now Soobin’s gonna go berserk, posting on every social media that he won. I did this for you.” His expression was a mix of exasperation and affection.

“No. You stopped because you got jealous of your friend.”

“Soobin’s gorgeous. You can’t blame me for being jealous.”

You chuckled, “Soobin’s gorgeous? That’s your defense.”

He nodded aggressively, “Yes! He is. Didn’t you have a crush on him when we were all just becoming friends?”

Now you were confused, “Huh?”

“You had this major crush on him, didn’t you?”

“No. No, I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did!”

“You’re making this up! Are you sure you’re not the one with a crush on him?” You accused.

“Look, he’s gorgeous and all, but… I’m into you. Specifically. If anyone asked me what my preference was, I’d say you. I’d always say you.” Beomgyu sighed, kneeling in front of you, resting his chin between your legs as he gazed up at you with earnest eyes.

You nodded, a satisfied grin spreading across your face. “Looks like I trained you well.” You ran your fingers gently through his hair, feeling the soft strands slip between your fingers.

“Mmf, play with my hair,” he murmured, sighing in contentment.

You always told everyone who asked that your boyfriend resembled a puppy—his big, expressive eyes and playful nature made it impossible not to think so. He loved being pampered, adored the feeling of your fingers massaging his scalp, and thrived any sort of affection you showered him with.

“You sure? You seem like you’re losing,” you pointed out, glancing at the game still unfolding on the screen.

“I don’t care,” he replied, waving a dismissive hand.

“Really now?” You tilted your head, curiosity evident in your expression.

“Mhm.” He nodded confidently. “I’ll let Soobin win.”

“That’s the first.” you said, raising an eyebrow.

He nuzzled his cheeks against your bare thighs, a playful pout forming on his lips. “Please,” he begged, looking up at you through his eyelashes.

“Sure, Gyu.” You teased again, a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Again? Really?” He lifted his head off your legs, feigning exasperation. “Do you want me to start crying?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, trying to keep a straight face.

“Repeat after me. Ba…” He shifted above you, placing his arms on both sides of your legs, propping himself up so you were face-to-face with him. His eyes locked onto yours. His arms held your back, pushing you closer towards him.

You had been dating for years, yet it was almost excruciating how he could still make you feel giddy, even after countless sleepovers. The way he looked at you, the way he kisses you, the playful banter that never seemed to bore you.

“Ba…” You followed, grinning.

“By…” He leaned closer, whispering into your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

“By.”

“Good girl.” He pecked your cheeks lightly, a playful smile spreading across his face. “Now say it all together.” His face was so desperately close to yours, his eyes sparkling with anticipation, begging to hear the words.

“Baby,” you finished, your voice barely above a whisper.

He grinned, his eyes sparkling as he grabbed your chin, pulling you in for a deeper kiss. “Don’t forget that.”

“How could I?” you murmured, breathless under the warmth of his lips, your heart racing.

Lost in the heat of the moment, the two of you spent the next few minutes locked in a deep, passionate kiss. Your bodies pressed together, his hands exploring every inch of you, yet always remaining gentle. The intensity of the connection between you both grew with each second as each kiss grew desperate and needier, you couldn’t help but wish you could see him everyday.

You tapped Beomgyu’s arms as you both slowed down the kiss, exchanging gentle pecks between your playful conversation.

“Baby.” Peck.

“What do—” Peck.

“You think—” Peck.

“About—”

“Mmf, I can’t think right now.” Beomgyu continued, playfully pushing you down onto the bed as he showered you with kisses.

“Baby, this is important.”

“What could be more important than this?” he replied, giving you one final peck before falling beside you, entwining his fingers with yours.

“Well, what do you think about living together?” you asked.

“Hm?” His eyes lit up with curiosity.

“We're already always at each other’s places,” you explained, a hopeful smile playing on your lips.

“You just get smarter each day, don’t you?” he teased, propping his elbows on either side of you as he gazed down, admiration shining in his eyes. “Because I think that’s the smartest thing anyone has ever said. Even Einstein couldn’t figure this out.”

“Baby, it’s a yes or no,” you laughed, enjoying the playful banter.

“As if I’d say no to staying with the world’s most perfect person.” He scoffed in mock disbelief, a grin spreading across his face. “And imagine this: we could stay in bed all day after doing all sorts of things all night.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Gyu…” you looked at him sternly, trying to suppress a smile.

“Again with my government name!” He exclaimed dramatically.

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your affection. “I love you.”

“And I love—” He pressed his lips onto yours, silencing you with a kiss. “You.”

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 7 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇Pairing: Telemachus x fem!reader

୨୧┇note: this one’s also kinda short

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Y/N moved swiftly through the dark, narrow passageways, her bare feet barely making a sound on the cold stone floor. She muttered to herself as she went, swatting at cobwebs that clung stubbornly to her hair and clothes. “He’s so dramatic,” she grumbled, brushing off a spider that had found its way onto her shoulder. “It was just a stupid figurine. It’s not like I burned the whole palace down.” The image of Telemachus’s furious face flashed in her mind, and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Honestly, calling me a maneater. As if I’m the one stomping around like a cornered animal. Little wolf indeed.”

She ducked under a low hanging beam, wincing as her tunic caught on a protruding nail. “And what’s with all the yelling?” she continued, tugging herself free. “I swear, I’ve met warriors on the battlefield with less of a temper. Maybe if he didn’t bottle everything up, he wouldn’t explode every time someone so much as looks at him sideways.”

A faint draft of air signaled she was nearing her own room’s hidden entrance. She sighed in relief, eager to be free of the suffocating darkness. “He should really thank me,” she mused aloud, her voice echoing slightly in the empty corridor. “That little tantrum was probably the most exciting thing that’s happened to him in months.”

She reached the trapdoor that led to her room and pushed it open, stepping into the dimly lit space. Closing the door behind her, Y/n dusted off her hands and plopped onto her bed with a groan.

“Over a stupid ship,” she muttered, flopping onto her back and staring at the ceiling. “What’s next? He’s going to cry if I so much as breathe near his quill collection?” She stretched her arms above her head, a smirk returning to her lips. “Still, it was kind of cute, in a way. All that righteous indignation. I should call him a little lamb next time, see how he likes that.”

Her thoughts lingered on Telemachus’s anger, the way his voice had cracked as he shouted at her. For a moment, something like guilt flickered in her chest, but she quickly pushed it aside.

“He’ll get over it,” she said to herself, closing her eyes. “They always do.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The night was unusually quiet, save for the faint creaks of the old palace and the distant sound of waves brushing against the shore. Y/N lay on her bed, staring at the wooden beams above her, but no matter how much she shifted, sleep wouldn’t come. With a frustrated sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. The air was cool against her skin as she padded barefoot to her door, deciding that a walk might clear her restless thoughts.

The halls were dimly lit by flickering torches, casting long, dancing shadows along the walls. Y/N moved with practiced ease, her footsteps soft on the stone floor. She wasn’t entirely sure where she was going, just letting her instincts guide her through the familiar twists and turns of the palace.

As she approached the main hall, she heard voices. Familiar ones. Her pace slowed, and she stepped lightly, keeping to the shadows.

Antinous’s booming laugh echoed through the corridor. “You’re dreaming! Eurymachus, little N/N? And Telemachus? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard all week!”

Y/n’s brow furrowed. She leaned closer, staying just out of sight as Eurymachus’s voice, smoother and quieter, replied. “Is it, though? Have you seen the way she needles him? She’s practically carved herself into his head. That kind of attention has a way of turning into… other things.”

Antinous scoffed. “Please. Y/N likes to mess with people, that’s all. She’s been like that since we were little kids. Telemachus is no different, he’s just another toy to her.”

“But what if he’s not?” Eurymachus pressed, his tone more serious now. “You never know, Antinous. Telemachus might surprise you. And if he manages to catch her heart, well…that could be a problem for us.” Y/N stiffened, her heart skipping a beat. She wanted to burst in and demand to know what they were talking about, but her curiosity held her back.

Antinous let out another laugh, though there was a sharpness to it this time. “Telemachus? Catch Y/N’s heart? You’re giving him way too much credit. She’s out of his league, and she knows it.”

“Maybe,” Eurymachus said thoughtfully. “But emotions are tricky. Sometimes, the people you least expect to fall for each other do. And you should be careful, Antinous. If Telemachus got her on his side, she could become a real thorn in ours.”

Antinous grunted. “Let me worry about Y/N. She’s my sister, not some wild card. Besides, she’d never take that boy seriously. He’s all bark and no bite.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate him,” Eurymachus added. “And I wouldn’t underestimate her, either. Y/N unpredictable, and unpredictability can be dangerous.”

Antinous chuckled darkly. “Dangerous? Please. The only danger Y/N causes is to my patience.”

Y/N decided she’d heard enough. Turning on her heel, she stalked back the way she came, her mind racing. “Catch my heart?” she muttered under her breath, her lips curling into a sly smile. “As if.”

But as she climbed the stairs back to her room, a small part of her couldn’t shake the idea. What if they’re right? What if I am getting too… entangled? She shook her head, dismissing the thought. “They’re just overthinking things,” she said to herself. “Per usual.”

Still, as she slipped back into her room and climbed into bed, the conversation lingered in her mind longer than she cared to admit.