#but its like one of the first things i noticed when watching

[lechrts]

Hiiiii! i was so obsessed with your lando cooking one but i have another idea kinda where’s its a little similar but reader is his private chef or something ??? Plz i love you’re writing so much 🥰

Stay With Me. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Privatechef!reader

Summary: When he finally musters the courage to talk to his private chef and eventually invite her to stay for dinner.

Word Count: 2.3k

Disclaimer/s: flufffff :3 meet cute ,, ish??? and forced proximity almost (not at all) Just Squint idk

Vera’s Voice! LOVE THIS REQUEST AYYEEE , hope u enjoy!!!! thank u for reading my fics!!! mwaaahhh

Lando never thought he’d end up with a private chef.

The idea sounded unnecessarily extravagant when his management first proposed it. He wasn’t a picky eater, and takeout worked just fine. But after months of rigorous travel, racing every other weekend, and well… his need to somehow always mention the disgusting food pile in his pantry on live streams… his team insisted on the idea.

It wasn’t about luxury, they claimed—it was about nutrition, recovery, and convenience. Lando reluctantly agreed, figuring it would be just another stranger in his house.

And that’s exactly what you were.

The first time you arrived, Lando only caught a glimpse of you—a short, polite nod as you introduced yourself by name.

You didn’t linger. No small talk, no unnecessary pleasantries. You brought bags of fresh groceries, prepared everything with quiet efficiency, and left him with neatly plated meals stored in his fridge.

And this routine went on for weeks.

Lando grew used to hearing the door click open mid-afternoon, a soft shuffle of feet in his kitchen as you unpacked your things.

He kept his distance, a little unsure of how to approach you. You worked so intently that he didn’t want to interrupt, and honestly, he didn’t know what to say.

So, he settled for his usual routine: nodding, mumbling a quick thanks, and letting you go about your work.

But as the weeks passed, he found himself oddly intrigued.

He noticed how precise your movements were—the way you diced vegetables or measured out spices. He caught whiffs of garlic and herbs wafting through the house, making his mouth water.

Once, he saw you pause by the stove to taste a sauce, your face lighting up with the faintest hint of a smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to pique his curiosity.

He wanted to know more about you.

It wasn’t until a quiet Tuesday afternoon that Lando finally mustered the courage to do something about it.

You’d just arrived, placing your bags on the kitchen counter and rolling up your sleeves. Lando was sitting on the couch, his laptop open in front of him, pretending to be preoccupied.

But he wasn’t working.

He was watching you out of the corner of his eye, nervously tapping his fingers against the keyboard.

Finally, he took a deep breath, stood up, and walked over.

“Hey,” He said, voice a little shaky.

You turned, startled. “Oh. Hi.”

Your voice was soft but firm, and your eyes quickly darted back to the chopping board as if you didn’t want to intrude.

Lando scratched the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of himself. “I was, uh, wondering…” He hesitated. “Do you ever get to eat what you make?”

You blinked, genuinely surprised by the question. “Not usually,” You admitted. “I just cook for you.”

“Oh.” He shifted on his feet, feeling a bit awkward. “Well, that doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

You tilted your head slightly, your lips curving into the faintest smile. “I don’t mind.”

Lando cleared his throat. “Still, you’ve been cooking for me for weeks, and I don’t even know if you think it tastes good.”

You laughed at that, a quiet, melodic sound that made Lando’s chest feel a little lighter. “I taste as I go. You haven’t complained, so I assumed all was fine.”

“It’s more than fine,” He said quickly, then winced, realizing how eager he sounded. “I mean, it’s really good. Like… amazing.”

“Thank you.” Your cheeks flushed a faint pink, glancing back down at the cutting board to hide your sudden blush.

Lando watched you for a moment, then blurted, “Can I help?”

You froze, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You want to help?”

“Yeah,” He said, trying to sound casual. “I feel bad just sitting around while you do all the work.”

Your lips twitched, almost as if you were holding back a laugh. “Well that’s technically what I get paid for…so..”

“Well, I don’t mind lending a hand..” He stepped closer.

“Um.. Alright,” You said slowly. “But I don’t think I can trust you near a stove from what your management told me, so how about slicing and dicing?“

“Sounds good.” He flashed a smile, quickly coming to your aid.

And Lando wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to help, but you quickly realized he was hopeless in the kitchen.

He now stood next to you, an apron tied loosely around his waist (as he insisted to feel official), struggling to peel a carrot. His grip was awkward, and the peels kept getting stuck in the blade.

“Like this,” You said, stepping closer and wrapping your hand around his to guide him.

Lando froze at the contact, his pulse quickening. Your hand was warm against his, and for a moment, all he could focus on was the soft scent of your vanilla shampoo and the gentle lilt of your voice as you explained the technique.

“There,” You said, releasing his hand. “Try now.”

He nodded, a little dazed, and attempted to mimic your movements. The carrot peeled more smoothly this time, though not without a few mishaps.

“You’re a pro.” You complimented, earning a wide smile from him as he continued.

Lando watched you, his confidence growing with each little laugh he managed to pull from you.

The atmosphere felt easy now, the awkwardness from before fading into something warmer. He grabbed another carrot and set to work, determined to keep up with you.

As the meal came together, the smells filling the kitchen made his stomach growl audibly.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” He admitted.

You flashed him a smile before you mindlessly tidied around the kitchen, thankfully washing dishes as you cooked. You made sure to plate his food, sliding a portion toward him as usual.

But before you could reach for your bag and finish cleaning up, Lando hesitated, leaning against the counter.

“Wait,” He said suddenly.

You paused, glancing at him. “Hm?”

“Stay with me.” Lando said almost too eagerly, quickly catching himself before stuttering. “Like stay for dinner.”

You felt your eyes widen at the offer, your heart skipping a beat. “Oh, I don’t usually—” Your voice started, but he cut you off, his words tumbling out in a rush.

“I insist.” He smiled before shifting on his feet, suddenly shy. “You’re always here, making these amazing meals, but you never eat them. It feels wrong. Like… you deserve to enjoy this too.”

You hesitated.

The idea of sitting down to dinner with him felt… different. But there was something in the way he looked at you—hopeful, genuine—that made it impossible to say no.

“Um.. Okay,” You said softly, nodding as you set your bag back down.

Lando’s face lit up, and he immediately set about pulling plates from the cabinet, his excitement almost contagious.

And it was… nice.

You sat across from each other at the small dining table, sharing the meal you’d just prepared—a hearty steak, (opposed to the salmon you were incredible at making but you were instructed to never prepare him seafood), roasted vegetables, and a side of creamy mash. It wasn’t anything overly fancy, but it was perfect, and Lando couldn’t stop himself from saying so.

“You’re too kind,” You said, your tone teasing.

“I’m serious!” He insisted. “I don’t know how you make the vegetables taste this good. It’s like magic or something.”

You laughed again, a little less reserved this time. “No magic. Just practice.”

You talked as you ate, the conversation flowing easier than Lando expected. He learned that you’d gone to culinary school, that you loved experimenting with new recipes, and that you preferred baking to cooking.

And to his surprise, you were extremely funny, with a dry sense of humor that caught him off guard.

“I’ll need to try your pastries one day then?” He said with a quirked brow as you shook your head.

“Unfortunately, not on the nutrition plan your management gave me.” You bit down a laugh.

“One cheat day won’t hurt…” He pushed for it.

You sheepishly shrugged. “I’ll consider.” Another laugh escaping your lips as he let out a stupid groan with a roll in his eyes.

And, for the first time, Lando felt like he really saw you—not just as the chef who came and went, but as someone he genuinely wanted to know.

When the meal was finally over, you started to stand, reaching for the dishes, but Lando stopped you.

“I’ll take care of it,” He said.

Your brow furrowed. “But—”

“You cooked. I’ll clean. That’s the deal now.”

You hesitated, then nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Okay… Thanks.”

Soon, you grabbed your bag to leave, Lando walking you to the door, feeling an odd pang of disappointment as you stepped outside.

“Same time tomorrow then?” You asked, glancing back at him.

Lando grinned. “Only if you’re eating with me again.”

Your smile widened, and for the first time, you didn’t look like you were in a hurry to leave.

“Deal,” You tried to hide your excitement.

“Goodnight.” He smiled.

“Goodnight.”

And as you walked off while he closed the door, Lando was already looking forward to tomorrow.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!! ^_^ and please lmk if you wanna be apart of my permanent tags list :D

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress @iovepoem @piastri-fvx

[summervb]

𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐭 | thanos (player 230) × fem!reader

summary | Thanos constantly harasses you until you stand up to him

warnings | strong language, drug use, physical confrontation, kissing

word count | 1.6 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me thanks ᡣ𐭩

It all started with a look—one of those glances people give you when they underestimate you. Of course, you were used to it. Here, no one expected much from a girl like you: small, quick, and quiet. And Player 230, whom everyone called Thanos, was no exception.

From day one, that jerk had decided you were his personal entertainment. He provoked you whenever he could, shoving you as he passed, making sarcastic remarks about how "weak" you looked, and making it clear that if he ever had the chance, he wouldn’t hesitate to crush you.

You put up with it because there wasn’t much choice. In this place, showing weakness was a death sentence, and an open confrontation with someone like him could be just as dangerous. But today, something inside you snapped.

It was the fifth game, a test of endurance and precision. Everyone was tense, including the guards patrolling the room. You focused on your strategy, ignoring the murmurs and stares. Then, as always, he showed up.

“Look who’s here, our little rat. Ready to run away when things get tough?”

His voice echoed behind you, and you could hear the smug grin in his tone. You didn’t bother turning around.

“Don’t you have anything better to do, 230?” you replied, trying to stay calm.

He let out a laugh. “No, not really. Watching you fail is the only entertaining thing here.”

He placed a hand on your shoulder, a gesture that was anything but friendly. You swatted it away, turning to face him.

“You know what? That’s enough. I’m sick of your crap.”

His eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he quickly recovered his mocking expression. “Well, well. The little rat has claws.”

Your heart was pounding, but you weren’t going to back down. Not this time.

“And what about you? What do you have? Besides a big mouth and a small brain?”

A murmur rippled through the room. The other players were watching the scene unfold with interest, some even smirking. It was rare for anyone to stand up to Thanos, let alone in public.

For a moment, you thought he was going to hit you. He stepped closer, and you could feel his heavy breath, mixed with the unmistakable stench of something chemical. Drugs. You’d noticed it before—his dilated pupils, his slightly clumsy movements.

“You know what’s funny?” he said, leaning toward you. His voice, usually loud and commanding, sounded almost… confused. Like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh at you or with you.

“What?” you snapped, not breaking eye contact.

“I like your attitude.” The grin on his face widened, but this time it didn’t seem mocking. It was different, disoriented.

What happened next took you completely by surprise. Before you could react, his hands grabbed your arms—not forcefully. He looked at you as if he were seeing something new, something he didn’t fully understand, and then… he kissed you.

It was quick, clumsy, and so unexpected that for a moment, you didn’t know how to react. Your brain took a few seconds to process what was happening, but when it did, you shoved him away with all the strength you had.

“What the hell are you doing?” you yelled, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

He stumbled back, a satisfied smile plastered across his face.

“You’re sexy when you’re angry, you know?”

Your blood boiled. The air in the room seemed to freeze. The other players stared at you—some horrified, others trying to stifle their laughter. The guards, as always, did nothing, letting the chaos unfold on its own.

“You’re insane,” you said, not bothering to lower your voice.

He took a step toward you, but this time, you stepped forward first.

“No. I’m warning you—don’t come any closer.”

Something in your tone must have reached him because he stopped. He blinked a couple of times, as if trying to process your words, and then let out a low, almost raspy laugh.

“You know, I think I like you more than I thought.”

You couldn’t believe it. This idiot was definitely high and didn’t seem to have any idea how inappropriate his behavior was. But instead of feeling intimidated, a wave of fury surged through you.

“If you ever touch me again,” you said, pointing a finger at him, “I swear you won’t walk out of the next game.”

For a moment, he just stared at you. And then, to your surprise, he nodded.

“Fine, little rat. But don’t be surprised if you change your mind someday.”

[p0orbaby]

Request😍: y/n and alessia or leah (you decide! find your tumblr side and aaalll the stories of them. It leads to jealous alessia/leah bc of y/n being with other girls (like getting jealous when your partner cheats in your dream). Reader has to handle the situation and in the end manages to make less/leah focus on all the fluffy/spicy stuff there is about them. If you want to make it smutty (what we all love hehe): they eventually get inspired by tumblr and choose another story (you can decide which of all the good alessia/leah x reader smut on here) to reenact. Thank you!!! (If you dont want to write this feel free to repost for another writer, also you can switch the roles who is jealous, i dont care:)

i amended this a little, pls don’t hate me

it would be harsh to call this a crack fic but i honestly giggled the whole time writing it 🤭

-

You find Alessia on the sofa, her face illuminated by the blue glow of her phone screen. At first, you think she’s watching one of those oddly specific TikToks she loves—something about cats playing table tennis or an American teenager ranking their favourite crisps. But then you notice the furrow in her brow, the way her teeth tug at her bottom lip. Her expression is equal parts confusion, disbelief, and mild offence.

“Everything alright?” you ask, setting your keys on the counter.

She doesn’t answer immediately, which is a bad sign. Alessia always greets you the moment you walk through the door, even if it’s just to ask what you’ve brought for dinner. Instead, she tilts the phone slightly so you can see the screen.

“Do you know about this?” she asks, voice clipped.

You lean over, squinting at the screen. The webpage is clunky, its layout straight out of 2012, and the title reads something absurd like ‘Sunlit Smiles and Shadowed Hearts’. Your name is prominently featured in the summary, alongside a few other recognisable ones.

“It’s fanfiction,” she says, answering the question you haven’t asked yet. “About you”

You blink. “About me?”

“And other people,” she adds, her tone sharp now, like the edge of a too-clean knife.

The penny drops. “Wait—what?”

She sits up straighter, turning the phone to face you fully. “Look. This one has you with… God, Tooney. And this one—oh, this is just brilliant—you’re married to Ona. Married! Like we’re just some passing fling”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, which, given her expression, would be a tactical error. Alessia doesn’t do jealousy often, but when she does, it’s like an overdramatic romcom villain plotting their revenge.

“Well,” you say carefully, “at least they’ve got good taste?”

“Good taste?” she repeats, incredulous. “One of these has you sneaking off with Mary behind my back during a post-match interview!”

“Creative, though,” you offer.

She glares at you, tossing the phone onto the cushion beside her. “This isn’t funny”

“It’s a little funny,” you say, sitting down next to her.

“It’s not,” she insists, crossing her arms. “Do you know how many of these there are? And how many don’t have me in them at all? Like I’m just some side character in your life?”

You try to suppress the grin tugging at your lips, but it’s no use. “Less, you do realise this is all made up, right? None of it’s real”

She huffs, her cheeks pink now. “I know that. But still. It’s insulting”

You reach for her hand, gently uncrossing her arms. “Alright, let’s look at it this way. I’m obviously very popular. Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Not when you’re popular with everyone except me”

“Oh, come on,” you tease, squeezing her hand. “I’m pretty sure there’s stuff about us too. The fluffy, romantic, borderline inappropriate kind”

Alessia hesitates, her gaze flicking to the phone. “You think so?”

“I know so,” you say confidently. “Because we’re the superior couple. Clearly”

That earns a small smile, though she tries to hide it. “You’re an idiot”

“And yet, here I am, fully committed to proving my devotion,” you say, reaching for her phone. You type in a search, scrolling through pages until you find what you’re looking for. “See? Right here. This one’s about us”

She leans over, peering at the screen. Her eyes scan the words, and slowly, her frown starts to fade.

“This is… cute,” she admits reluctantly.

“Exactly,” you say, draping an arm around her shoulders. “So, no more being jealous of fictional versions of me, okay? They don’t get to go home with you. I do”

She turns to look at you, her expression softening further. “Fine. But I’m still not over the Mary thing”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Noted. I’ll make it up to you”

“You better,” she mumbles, but there’s no real bite to her words anymore.

It’s only later, as you’re cooking dinner together, that you catch her sneaking glances at her phone again, her lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile. If she’s reading more of those stories, you don’t mention it. Some battles are better left unpicked.

[pbaz7]

AGAINST THE TIDE: PART EIGHT

paige x azzi

word count: 3.5k

A/N: I’m sorry 😔 it’s necessary for the plot. It’s also kinda all the other writers fault because they broke my heart too many times with their updates recently so I was being a masochist. Leave some live reactions and I’ll make it up to you before the weekend is over.

—————————————————————————

September 2022

It had been a whirlwind of a few months for Paige. Between tearing her ACL during a pickup game in August and spending weeks avoiding everyone—including Azzi—things had been rough. At first, Paige couldn’t stand to be around anyone, the weight of her injury crushing her spirit. She didn’t understand why this kept happening to her. The most she could manage was sitting silently on FaceTime with Azzi, who didn’t push, didn’t prod—just sat there on the other end, offering quiet support.

Eventually, Paige started to miss her. Not just the quiet presence on the phone, but Azzi herself. She missed her laugh, her teasing comments, and the way she always seemed to know when Paige needed someone to hold her together. She knew she wouldn’t get better by sulking, so she started physical therapy. Azzi, of course, was by her side every step of the way, cheering her on through the grueling sessions and sneaking in snacks when she thought the trainers weren’t looking. One day Paige even pointed out that Azzi didn’t have to sneak her snacks, she could just give them to her and Azzi shushed her saying it was no fun that way.

The connection between them was undeniable, and as soon as they were back to spending every moment together in person, they fell right back into their old habits—flirting, teasing, and, inevitably, sleeping together. They had been doing that a lot since that night in the Jeep.

Now, their situationship was as confusing as ever. Best friends, friends with benefits, something more—they didn’t bother defining it. What mattered to Azzi was that they were together in some way, even if it wasn’t official.

The team’s popularity had skyrocketed since their championship run, with Paige’s popularity growing right along with it. It seemed like every time they went out, someone stopped her for pictures or autographs. Paige always said yes, her natural charisma making her a magnet for attention. Azzi usually found it amusing—until recently.

She’d never considered herself a jealous person before, but watching people fawn over Paige had started to get under her skin in ways she didn’t want to admit. Paige always teased her about it when they got back to their room, whispering in her ear about how she only had eyes for Azzi. Those moments usually ended with clothes scattered across the floor and all frustration Azzi had prior completely gone.

Tonight, the team was at Ted’s, their usual hangout spot. Paige, still on crutches, sat at their table while Azzi headed to the bar to grab them drinks. Insisting that she didn’t want Paige hobbling across the crowded room.

While waiting for the bartender, Azzi glanced back toward the team’s table—and froze. Three random girls had surrounded Paige, their body language a little too friendly for her liking.

One of them leaned in, her hand brushing against Paige’s forearm as she laughed at something the blonde said. Another one tossed her hair over her shoulder, clearly trying to get Paige’s attention. The third girl just stood there, starry-eyed, hanging on Paige’s every word, though Paige wasn’t saying much.

Paige just smiled and nodded as they spoke, her natural charm working its magic even though she wasn’t meaning for it to.

Paige’s gaze suddenly shifted, locking with Azzi’s from across the room. A slow, knowing smirk spread across her face as if she could feel the possessiveness simmering behind Azzi’s dark eyes. She winked, and Azzi’s jaw clenched.

Azzi grabbed their drinks from the bar, her grip tight around the glasses as she made her way back. When she reached the table, one of the girls noticed her approach and immediately lit up.

“Oh my god, you’re Azzi, right? Paige’s teammate?” she asked, her tone overly friendly.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, placing the drinks down. “Yeah. Teammate,” she replied coolly, slipping into the seat next to Paige—closer than necessary, her shoulder brushing Paige’s.

Paige looked over, biting back a smile at Azzi’s obvious claim of space. “Thanks, Az,” she said lightly, reaching for her drink.

The girls, undeterred, continued talking over one another, their eagerness to capture Paige’s attention almost comical. Paige didn’t lean into it, but she didn’t shut it down either, her polite demeanor keeping the conversation going.

“So, Paige,” one of the girls said, a playful edge to her voice. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Before Paige could respond, Azzi froze beside her, her grip on her drink a little tight.

“No,” Paige said simply, her tone casual.

Azzi scoffed, the sound loud enough to draw Paige’s attention. Paige glanced at her briefly, her expression unreadable, before turning back to the girls. “Not really looking, though,” she added.

Azzi opened her mouth, ready to make a smart comment, but before she could, one of the girls leaned in closer to Paige. In her attempt to get Paige’s attention, the girl bumped Paige’s injured knee.

Paige winced, her hand immediately going to her leg. The sharp intake of breath she let out wasn’t loud, but it was enough to make Azzi snap.

“You need to be careful,” Azzi said, her voice a little tight, cutting through the noise around them.

The girls all froze, surprised by the sudden shift in Azzi’s tone. She glared at them, her usual calm replaced by an edge of irritation. “I think you guys should go,” she said, her voice low and laced with a little venom.

The three exchanged glances, murmuring awkward excuses and apologies to Paige as they shuffled away, leaving Paige and Azzi alone at the table.

“You didn’t have to scare them off,” Paige said, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice as she reached for her drink.

Azzi turned to her, her gaze softening as it dropped to Paige’s knee. “You okay?”

Paige nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’m fine. Didn’t know you were so protective.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. “Someone has to be, considering how much you clearly love the attention.”

Paige chuckled, leaning toward her. “Only yours,” she whispered, her voice teasing.

Azzi’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile, her earlier anger melting away as Paige’s words settled between them.

…

The night continued with its usual buzz, but Paige and Azzi remained in their corner, the tension between them slowly dissolving as they sipped their drinks. They’d fallen into their familiar rhythm, laughing and leaning close as they talked about everything and nothing all at the same time.

That was, until another woman approached their table, her sights set squarely on Paige. Azzi noticed her immediately—the confident stride, the deliberate way she positioned herself in Paige’s line of sight, and the overly friendly smile she flashed.

“Hi,” the woman said, her voice smooth as she directed her attention toward Paige, completely ignoring Azzi. “I just wanted to say I’m a huge fan. You’re incredible on the court.”

Paige, immersed in her conversation with Azzi, looked up, her expression polite but distant. “Thank you,” she said, her tone kind but not inviting.

The woman didn’t take the hint, shifting closer as she spoke again. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but if you ever have time, I’d love to pick your brain about basketball. Maybe over some dinner sometime?”

Azzi’s jaw tightened, and Paige caught the subtle shift in her posture. Without missing a beat, Paige reached for her drink, her free hand brushing against Azzi’s under the table.

“Sorry, but I’m not really looking for anything these days,” Paige replied smoothly, her eyes flicking briefly to Azzi before settling back on the woman. “But I appreciate the support.”

The woman hesitated, clearly not expecting the polite rejection, before finally backing off with a forced smile. Once she was out of earshot, Paige let out a soft sigh and turned to Azzi.

“Alright, I think that’s our cue to call it a night,” Paige said, standing carefully and grabbing her crutches.

Azzi stood as well, her expression still unreadable, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward. “Yeah, before I have to fend off another one.”

Paige laughed, leaning on her crutches as they made their way out of Ted’s. The cool night air greeted them as they stepped outside, and Azzi stayed close, her hand lightly brushing Paige’s arm every so often as they walked to the car.

When they got back to Paige’s apartment, the teasing smile was back on her lips as she closed the door behind them. She turned to Azzi, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You know,” Paige began, her voice low and playful, “I think it’s cute how jealous you always get.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the slight blush creeping up her neck betrayed her. “I wasn’t jealous,” she said, her tone defensive but unconvincing.

Paige grinned, stepping closer until they were nearly chest to chest. “Really? Because it definitely felt like it when you tensed up anytime somebody looked at me.”

Azzi crossed her arms, though her resolve was clearly slipping. “I was just protecting my teammates space,” she said, though the way her eyes softened as she looked at Paige said otherwise.

Paige leaned in, her lips brushing Azzi’s ear as she whispered, “I can show you why you don’t need to worry about nobody else.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, her arms falling to her sides as she looked at Paige, her expression caught between exasperation and anticipation.

“Fine,” she muttered, her voice barely audible. “But you better make it convincing.”

Paige smirked, her eyes darkening as she pulled Azzi closer. “Oh, I will.”

…

The next morning Paige stood in Azzi's room, leaning on the edge of the dresser as she pulled on her shirt. The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric. She glanced at Azzi, who was seated on the bed scrolling through her phone, and decided to fill the silence with something she had been thinking about.

“I was thinking we could check out this spot downtown,” Paige began casually. “It’s got these cozy booths, good food—kinda intimate but not over the top. I think you’d like it.”

Azzi’s head looked up, her brow furrowing. “That sounds like a date, Paige.”

Paige shrugged as if the words didn’t sting. “Nah it doesn’t have to be a big deal. We can just grab some food.”

Azzi set her phone down, her voice a little firm. “Just because we don’t call it a date doesn’t mean it won’t feel like one.”

Paige’s jaw tightened, the easygoing front she tried to maintain cracking. “Is it the worst thing in the world for us to go on a date, Azzi?”

“Yes,” Azzi said immediately, her tone leaving no room for doubt. “Considering we aren’t dating.”

Paige let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Here we go with this again. So what is this then?” she asked, gesturing between them.

“It’s...complicated,” Azzi said, sighing as she ran a hand through her hair. “I really don’t want to argue about this today Paige.”

“No,” Paige said sharply, her voice rising. “It’s not complicated. We make it complicated. You make it complicated. God, Azzi, we spend every night together. You let me whisper all kinds of shit in your ear, you let me touch you—hell, you beg me to touch you—but you won’t let me take you to dinner? What the hell is that about?”

Azzi frowned, her frustration building. “You never get it, Paige. This isn’t just about us. I’ve told you that.”

“Then explain it to me,” Paige demanded, stepping away from the dresser, her crutches clacking against the hardwood floor.

Azzi sighed heavily, clearly reluctant to have this conversation. “You’ve already made a name for yourself. You could never play another game, and you’d still be drafted. Me? I’m still proving myself. I can’t afford distractions like that.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed, her voice tinged with anger. “Oh, so I’m a distraction now? Is that all I am to you?”

“That’s not what I said and you know it,” Azzi snapped.

“Then what are you saying, Azzi? Because honestly I’m getting a little sick of this half-in, half-out bullshit!” Paige’s voice was rising now, her emotions spilling over.

Azzi stood, pacing the room as she tried to collect her thoughts. “I’m saying this...this thing between us could complicate everything. The team, our careers—”

“So what, we'll just keep sneaking around forever in your mind?” Paige cuts her off, her tone incredulous as she says things she knows aren't true. “I’m good enough to sleep with but not good enough for you to actually be with. Is that what it is?”

“That’s not fair,” Azzi said, her voice tight.

“No, what’s not fair is what we’ve been doing!” Paige shot back. “You’ll scream my name all fucking night, let me do whatever I want to you, but God forbid I want hold your hand in public or call this what it is. Do you even hear yourself?”

Azzi stopped pacing, her face hardening. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like, Azzi?” Paige pressed, her voice cracking. “Because from where I’ve been standing, it looks like I don’t mean that much to you.”

Azzi’s expression softened for a moment, guilt flickering across her face. “You mean the world to me, Paige. You know that.”

Paige let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Do I? Because it sure doesn’t feel like it when you won’t even agree to a simple date with me.”

Azzi threw her hands up in frustration. “I’m not dating my fucking teammate, Paige! I’ve told you that so many times. It’s too messy, and it’s not worth the risk.”

“Not worth the risk?” Paige repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. She grabbed her crutches, her movements sharp. “You’re unbelievable.”

Azzi stepped toward her, her voice softening. “Paige, don’t—”

“No,” Paige interrupted, her voice rising again. “You don’t want me to leave? Then stop treating me like I’m just some convenience for you. Because I’m not doing this anymore, Azzi. I’m not just some fuck toy for you to play with when it’s convenient. Find somebody else to fuck you if that’s all you want from me.”

“You know that’s not all I want!” Azzi protested, her voice desperate now.

“Then what the hell do you want, Azzi?” Paige asked, her voice a little raw.

“I don’t know!” Azzi yelled, the words hanging in the air.

Paige hesitated, her chest rising and falling as she fought against the lump in her throat. Finally, she looked Azzi in the eye, her voice quiet but trembling. “I love you, Azzi.”

The words hung in the air, heavy. Azzi froze, her expression unreadable as she stared at Paige not expecting her to say that in this moment. For a few agonizing seconds, she said nothing, and then softly, “Paige...I–”

The silence was all it took. Paige’s face hardened, her jaw tightening as she turned away. “Forget it,” she muttered, grabbing her crutches and heading for the door.

Azzi reached out, panic flashing across her face. “Paige, wait—it’s wet outside. Your crutches…You shouldn’t—”

“I really don’t want to look at you right now,” Paige cut her off, her voice icy. “I’ll be fine.”

With that, she walked out, the sound of the door slamming behind her echoing in the room. Azzi stood there, staring at the empty doorway, her chest tight as the weight of their argument settled over her. Azzi realized just how much she just fucked up and she didn’t know if she could fix it this time.

…

Azzi tried to give Paige some time to calm down so she left her alone for the rest of the day. But the next day after their fight, Azzi couldn’t stop thinking about her. She stared at her phone, her fingers flying across the screen as she sent text after text.

💗: Paige I’m sorry about yesterday, Can we please talk?

💗: I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never want to hurt you P.

💗: You mean everything to me, P.

💗: Please just let me fix this

💗: Paige, please…Just answer me

💗: Are you okay?

💗: How was physical therapy? Who took you?

💗: I thought about going but I figured you didn’t want me to.

💗: I hate how we left things

💗: I miss you P

💗: I know I messed up, please don’t shut me out.

By midday she had sent at least twenty messages and about a dozen phone calls to Paige, each one unanswered. She was about to give up for the day when her phone buzzed.

P 💗: ok.

That was it. Just two letters, but it was enough to send Azzi flying out the door.

Now Azzi was sitting in Paige’s room, the tension between them so suffocating it felt like the walls were closing in. They’d been talking for some time, exchanging quiet apologies for some of the harsh words they had thrown at each other the night before. But the heart of the issue still lingered, unspoken.

Azzi broke the silence, her voice soft but insistent. “I do love you, Paige.”

Paige’s breath caught for a moment before she exhaled slowly, shaking her head. “No, Az. You don’t.”

Azzi frowned, her expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “How can you say that? You don’t know how I feel.”

Paige met her gaze, her voice steady but tinged with sadness. “Because if you loved me—really loved me—we wouldn’t be in this situation. You’d want to be with me, Az. Not just here, not just like this, but completely.”

Azzi’s eyes softened, her hands clasping together tightly in her lap. “Paige, it’s not that simple.”

“It is to me,” Paige said quietly, her voice breaking just slightly. “I love you Azzi. I love you so much I’d give up anything for you. Do you understand that? I’d leave this team, this school, all of our friends, my dream of winning a championship here... I’d walk away from all of it, because none of it matters to me as much as you do.”

Azzi’s eyes began to glisten, but she stayed silent, the weight of Paige’s words settling over her.

“I’m not saying you have to do that to prove you love me,” Paige continued, her tone soft but firm. “But I know you don’t love me the way I love you. Not yet. Not even if you won’t let us try to be together.”

Azzi blinked, a tear slipping down her cheek. “That’s not fair, Paige. Just because I’m scared doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

Paige’s lips pressed into a thin line, her jaw tightening as she held back her own tears. “You might love the idea of me. Of us. Of what we have when no one else is looking. But love—real love—it’s more than that, Az and you know it. It’s being willing to take the risk, even when it’s scary. Even when it’s complicated.”

Azzi’s voice was a whisper. “It’s not just fear Paige I’ve told you that. You’ve already made a name for yourself. You could never play again and still be drafted. But me? I’m not there yet. I can’t afford to let anything get in the way of what I’ve been trying to build since I was a kid.”

Paige nodded slowly, her heart breaking even as she forced herself to stay composed. “I get it Az. I do. And I promise I’m not mad at you for it. I’ll keep supporting you But I can’t keep doing what we’re doing, Az. I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with having only part of you when I want so much more.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, her tears now falling freely. “So that’s it? We’re just... done?”

Paige hesitated, her voice trembling as she spoke. “Yeah I think we have to be.”

Azzi reached out, her hand holding Paige’s as their fingers intertwined. “I love you so much, Paige. Maybe not the way you want me to yet, but I promise I do.”

Paige closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek as she shook her head. “I can’t do ‘maybe,’ Az. Not with you. Not right now”

The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging between them. After a moment, Azzi stood, her movements slow and reluctant.

At the door, she paused, glancing back at Paige. Her voice was barely audible. “You’re still my best friend, right?”

Paige gave her a small, sad smile. “Always, Azzi.”

Azzi nodded, her expression filled with sorrow as she whispered, “I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want yet P.”

Before she stepped out, Azzi turned back one last time, her heart heavy with everything she felt like she couldn’t explain to the girl she loved more than anything. She moved toward Paige and, without a word, pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, her lips touching one of Paige’s tears, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. Her lips whispered against her skin as she pulled away, her voice barely a breath.

“I promise this isn’t the end of our story P. I just need time.”

Paige’s breath caught in her throat, but Azzi was already turning to leave. The door clicked shut behind her with a finality that echoed in Paige’s heart. Alone now, she let out a shaky breath, her hands covering her face as she laid back and the tears finally came.

[copilot-crashout]

Oh em gee I love ur writing so much it physically cleanses me sjsjjsjsj

Anyhoo, I was wondering if I could politely request Mouthwashing x reader (separate) where reader writes them “anonymous” love letters. Reader thinks they are being sneaky but the crew have known from the first letter its them and just chose to keep quiet^^? Idk I am kinda crazy about dorky!reader..

Ps #1(If u don’t wanna do all the characters, that fine!)

Pairing: Tulpar crew x gn!reader

Content Warning: None! [except I gave up on proofreading.. ( ᐡ๐ ·̫ ๐)〣]

[A/N]: You're so sweet! Thank you, lovely anon!! (°´˘`°) I default to all the characters, so don't worry! I don't want to leave anyone's favourites out! I wonder if you can tell who my favourite is from my work... ( ⩌⩊⩌)✧

CAPTAIN CURLY:

-> What a charming admirer he has! He grins when he notices you nervously looking around before entering his room, only to find the cutest little letter in his room professing their love to him.

-> He keeps hold of all of them. They're worth more than gold anyway. He doesn't have the heart to tell you right away, not when he sees your chest puffed out with pride when you place another letter in his room, a mission successful in your eyes. Instead, he focuses on noticing the little details he'd never seemed to pick up on initially. You had it bad for him, huh?

-> Curly teases you about it. He never mentions them directly, but he will often exaggerate his behaviours to the most recent letter he read. You mentioned how tall he was. He's sure to flaunt it off more.

Since when were things in this kitchen placed so high?

You sighed to yourself, stretching to try and grab some simple condiment packets you swore were placed on the countertop the last time you saw them. Luckily for you, Curly walks in at the perfect moment. When you ask for help, he gives a confident grin as he nods, stepping towards you. As expected of him.

What you didn't expect was the warm hand he placed on your hip or the way his chest pressed into your back as he grabbed exactly what you were asking for, the steady thrum of his heartbeat only making yours speed up. You're left red-faced and stuttering, nervous hands taking the packets out of his larger one.

"You're all red. If you're not feeling well, you should take a visit to Anya. I can walk you there."

JIMMY:

-> He loves it. End of. They boost his confidence in ways he didn't even know was possible. The idea of you watching him when he didn't notice was one he found sickly sweet, prideful that someone loved him as much as he deserved.

-> He was initially planning to tell you he knew after the first letter. He had dreamed about the way he'd hold your letter back to you, a sly grin as he watched you scramble for an answer, flustered before ultimately coming clean about your attempts to court him. Once he sees the second letter, however, his mindset changes.

-> It's simply too cute. The way you sneak around to keep it anonymous and the way you wear your heart on your sleeve. He's delighted by how much of your mind he occupies. It excites him to think about how much you try to learn about him. Do you know his routine by heart? What about his likes and dislikes? Better yet, were you trying to mould yourself into the perfect partner for him (although this seems more of a dream on his part than a genuine question...)? He gets a sick kick out of it.

-> He finds himself re-reading the letters in the middle of the night, the ones that point out the smallest parts of himself that you talked about so affectionately. It made him nauseous. Words so tender weren't something he came by so easily, nor was it something he believed he deserved. He's used to one-night stands, a cheap fuck, nothing so... romantic. Perhaps he could get used to this.

-> He's not going to be soft, though, as he teases you about it. Offhandedly mentions the letter and if you knew who could leave such a thing in his room and grins when you instantly deny it and make a show of him believing you. He gets incredibly touchy, too. His hands linger for a fraction longer than they need to. He stands as close to you as he can, looming over you whenever he has the time. Have you noticed the way the atmosphere changes when it's just the two of you alone? He'll look forward to your next letter. Maybe you wrote about it.

-> He could try playing the long game for once. The reward feels so much sweeter that way.

ANYA:

-> Anya is perceptive first and foremost. Rather than catching her admirer mid-delivery, she uncovers your identity through your handwriting.

-> The letters cheer her up endlessly. They're a sweet reminder of how someone adores her, even when she's overwhelmed. It's hard on board, but your letters become a routine that she looks forward to. I think she's one of the only characters who would tell you she knows, feeling guilty about leaving you in the dark about something that could embarrass you. However, she'd never ask you to stop. Anya gushes about how much she appreciates every single letter, keeping them and re-reading them when she can and she tells you how she figured it out, giggling when you stare at her like you're begging for the floor to swallow you whole.

-> Anya makes it a priority to keep you happy. Your letters do so much for her, she only wants you to feel the same. You'll find her lingering around you more, offering hugs or a shoulder to lean on whenever possible. If you're especially tired, she'll help finish your work with you. Another set of hands would always help.

-> She begins to write small compliments on her Post-it notes, leaving them in places you frequent. If you have tools you use, she places a note talking about how hardworking you are on there. Otherwise, you begin to find small notes in your room. It becomes a ritual between the both of you, sending each other letters when you can. She just wants you to know how loved you are.

DAISUKE:

-> For him!? Really!?

-> He's kicking his feet and giggling, rolling around in his bed, head buried into his pillows. If you thought you were dorky, then he's 100 times worse.

-> He's attached to your hip. You thought he was helpful and sweet? Well, he'll help you with your work! Fun to be around? In his free time, he's running to you for another round of board games or to play on his Game Boy.

-> He wouldn't know subtle if it slapped him in his face. It's unfortunate for the rest of the crew, who have to watch two love-sick adults pine for each other as if they're not reciprocated.

-> Whenever he feels especially sad, he re-reads the letters. Even if he might feel useless at times, that he doesn't have a plan for his future, he does have the assurance that you'll be there by his side. You're a great person. If you can find all these amazing things about him then... He's sure he can make something great of himself.

SWANSEA:

"Jesus, this kids got it rough."

-> That's his first thought before it slowly dissolves into a fond affection. He's a bit too old for this lovey-dovey yearning shtick, right? Initially, he finds himself sighing at the letters, wondering when and how would be the best way to stop this little game of yours. He feels undeserving of it. You have so much going for you. You simply don't deserve someone like him. He wants to push you away, but the letters mean too much to him. Instead, he becomes charmed by it all, awaiting every letter with bated breath.

-> You do know how to make him feel young again. Each letter leaves his heart pounding, feeling like a young schoolboy rather than a washed-out mechanic.

-> He keeps every single one. If you place them in little envelopes or place small gifts like stickers in them, you'll be glad to know he keeps it all in his bedside drawer.

-> He's one to return the favour, too. He's picked up a few skills with his work. Blue-collar jobs like this have enough transferable skills to help in the creative department. He hopes you're not too surprised if you find your broken items repaired or a small figure of your favourite animal made out of scraps in your room.

-> Perhaps... He's the one who's got it bad.

[societyfolklore]

Plus One - The Aftermath

Title: Plus One - The Aftermath Pairing: Loki x SHEILD Agent!Female Reader

Summary:  The new year had brought a return to routine, but the memory of the Christmas party lingered like a ghost, haunting you in the quiet moments when your mind wandered. But unfortunately secrets never stayed buried for long.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, smut, Oral sex (F receiving), fingering. No beta read.  

A/N: My first part two! Part One (Yes, there will be  part 3)

It began with Natasha, whose observational skills were as unerring as her aim. You had barely taken the first sip of your second coffee when she slid into the seat opposite you in the breakroom. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes gleamed with a curiosity that set your nerves on edge. “So,” she began, drawing out the word with a sharp lilt. “Anything interesting happen at the Christmas party?”

“Not really.” You frowned, adopting an air of innocence. “Tony went all out, as usual.”

Natasha’s smirk hinted at the arsenal of information she already possessed. “Right. And what about the part where you and Loki conveniently disappeared at the same time?”

Your heart stuttered in its rhythm, but your resolve held firm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, don’t insult me,” she replied, her tone light but her words cutting. “The way he was watching you all night wasn’t exactly subtle. And then you both vanish? Please.”

You opened your mouth to refute her claims, but Natasha raised a hand to halt you. “Relax. I’m not here to pry. Just… be careful. Loki is, well, Loki.”

Her words followed you long after she left, planting seeds of doubt that you had carefully avoided. Who else had noticed? How much had they seen?

By mid-afternoon, her warning replayed itself on an endless loop in your head, blending with every glance or half-smile Loki had sent your way that night. Had you really been that obvious? You tried to remember if there had been a moment when anyone might have noticed you both slipping away. Natasha’s insight wasn’t the kind born of rumour-it was sharp, precise, a weapon honed from years of observation.

When you bumped into Steve later that day, his polite smile faltered for a fraction of a second before settling back into its usual warmth. "You doing okay?" he asked, his voice steady, though there was an undertone of curiosity.

"Fine," you replied too quickly, brushing past him without making eye contact. The encounter left you unsettled. If Steve had noticed anything, you wouldn’t hear it from him directly-his tact was ironclad-but his lingering look as you walked away felt heavier than usual.

By the evening, the paranoia Natasha had sown was blossoming into a tangled mess. You found yourself overanalysing every interaction, every seemingly innocent glance from your colleagues. The walls of SHIELD felt closer, more suffocating than ever, and Loki’s shadow loomed in every corner, his presence as inescapable as the doubts now trailing you. You resolved to confront him soon-not just for answers, but for your own sanity.

By the week’s end, the rumours had evolved from quiet whispers to pointed remarks. Clint, during a sparring match, dropped a casual comment about 'making new friends' accompanied by a smirk that made you falter mid-strike. His words lingered, distracting you enough to earn a jab to the ribs that left you wincing. “Focus,” he teased, though his grin made it clear he enjoyed having unsettled you. "Unless you got someone- thing else on your mind?"  You feel heat hit your cheeks that wasn't just from the physical exertions before getting grouchy and throwing another strike. 

Tony, as expected, was less subtle. He cornered you in the lab, his grin predatory as he tapped a wrench against the workbench with mock gravity. “So, you and Asgard’s Emo Lord,” he began, the words heavy with amusement. “What’s that about?”

You groaned, feigning exasperation. “Nothing. There’s nothing going on.”

Tony arched a brow, unconvinced. “Right. Because the way he looked at you at the party screamed nothing. You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

“Maybe you’re just imagining things,” you shot back, hoping to derail him. It was futile.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Tony leaned in, his smirk widening. “You know, if you’re looking for tips on how to handle moody divas, I’ve got experience.”

You turned back to your work with a frustrated sigh, but Tony’s knowing laugh followed you like a shadow, his taunts replaying in your mind long after he left. Every attempt at avoidance seemed only to feed the fire. Clint brought it up again over dinner, making an offhand remark about  'fraternizing with the enemy' that earned him a glare from Natasha and an apologetic shrug in your direction.

Even Bruce, ever the diplomat, offered a hesitant observation as you passed him in the corridor. “You seem… distracted lately. Everything okay?” His concern was genuine, and that made it worse. The weight of their collective scrutiny pressed down on you, fraying your nerves and leaving your defences ragged and ineffective. "I'm fine." It felt as if the walls were closing in, each rumour and teasing remark amplifying the tension that already simmered beneath the surface.

When you finally crossed paths with Loki in the library, your resolve was a fragile thread, pulled taut. He lounged in a chair, the picture of unbothered elegance, a book balanced between his long fingers. His smirk when he noticed you sent a flush of irritation through you.

“We need to talk,” you said, folding your arms in a feeble attempt to keep your composure intact.

“Ah,” Loki drawled, closing the book with deliberate care, “my darling has finally come to her senses. Here to beg for more, are you?” His gaze swept over you, a languid appreciation that made your skin prickle.

“Stop,” you snapped, your tone sharp, though it didn’t seem to faze him. “The comments, the teasing-it ends now.”

Loki stood, his movements slow, deliberate, as if to savour your growing frustration. “Why?” he asked, his voice dropping into a husky, velvety timbre. “Because it frightens you? Or because you’re afraid of how much you enjoy it?”

You bristled, taking a step back as he advanced, the air between you electric. “Whatever happened at the party-it was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

“A mistake,” he repeated, the corner of his mouth lifting into a sardonic grin. “Then why are you still thinking about it? About me?”

His words struck like a blow, but before you could muster a retort, he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “You want this,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low purr. “I can feel it. You want me.”

Your breath caught, your defences wavering as his hand brushed against yours, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re wrong,” you managed, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

“Am I?” Loki asked, his lips curving into a knowing smile. “Tell me, then. Look me in the eye and say you feel nothing. That you don’t think of my hands on you, my lips against yours. About me inside you.” How did he manage to get a purr like that in his voice.  “Say it, and I’ll leave you be.”

You opened your mouth, the words on the tip of your tongue, but they refused to come. The memory of his touch, his heat, burned too brightly in your mind. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting against your ear. “I thought so.”

You jerked back, your heart pounding. “This isn’t a game, Loki.”

“No,” he agreed, his voice softening, his gaze intense. “It’s not. But neither is it something to fear.”

“I don’t trust you,” you admitted, your voice trembling under the weight of your honesty.

“Trust me?” His finger grazed your cheek, his touch featherlight but searing. "You trusted me at the party. Trusted me with your body, with your pleasure." His voice was lower now, rich with seduction.

You sucked in a breath, trying to summon a rebuttal, but he pressed on. “Shall I remind you of the way you clung to me, of how my name fell from those lips of yours.”

Heat flushed your cheeks, and you averted your gaze, but Loki wasn’t about to let you off so easily. His fingers tipped your chin upward, forcing your eyes to meet his. “There’s no shame in desire, pet. Not when yours is something so delicious," he purred, his thumb lightly stroking your jawline. "Why hide from it?”

 Before you could formulate a response, his lips descended upon yours, brushing softly at first, testing, teasing. The touch was maddeningly light, and when he pulled back slightly, your shaky exhale betrayed you as you leant back into him, seeking more.  All you felt a  a smug, knowing curve of his mouth as it pulled into a predatory smile. "There it is," he murmured. "Sweet surrender."

His mouth claiming yours with a hunger that made your knees weak. His hand slipped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the heat between your bodies threatened to burn through the layers of fabric that separated you. His other hand found its way into your hair, his fingers tangling as he angled your head to take more, to consume.

You didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly your back hit the bookshelf with a soft thud. Books shifted and fell forgotten to the floor as Loki pressed against you, his body a firm and unyielding presence. The kiss turned frantic, urgent, as though he were staking his claim, demanding a response that your body was all too eager to give. His hands roamed freely now-one sliding down to grip your hip, the other trailing along your spine in a slow, deliberate caress.

"And I suspect," he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough, "that other parts of you taste even sweeter." His lips trailed from your mouth to the sensitive curve of your jaw, then down to the delicate line of your neck. The sensation was electric, each kiss leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When his teeth grazed your skin, a soft gasp escaped you, and you felt his lips curl into a smile against your throat.

Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as you struggled to form coherent thoughts. Loki’s proximity, his touch, his voice-it was overwhelming, intoxicating. Your hands, seemingly of their own accord, found their way to his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He hummed low in his throat, the sound vibrating under your palm. “Good girl,” he murmured, his words a decadent tease, his eyes locked on yours with a predatory gleam.

Before you could react, his hands moved, deliberate and confident, sliding down to the hem of your skirt. His fingers brushed against your thighs, leaving trails of heat in their wake as he slowly, almost reverently, pushed the fabric upward.

"Such a pretty thing," Loki murmured, his voice thick with desire as his hands caressed the soft skin of your legs. The soft cotton beneath his fingertips only emphasized the heat radiating from you. He eased down to his knees, his movements unhurried, his focus entirely on you. His gaze burned as he looked up, his hands gently urging your thighs apart, his thumbs brushing over sensitive skin, drawing a tremble from you that he savored. "I’ve been thinking about this," he admitted, his tone laced with hunger. "About how utterly exquisite you’d look surrendering to me like this, completely at my mercy."

The ache between your legs grew more insistent under his touch, every deliberate stroke of his hands sending waves of heat through you. You tried to stifle the soft gasp that escaped your lips, but Loki caught it, his smirk deepening as his fingers slid higher, tracing a teasing path along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "Ah," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, "you can’t hide this from me, darling. Your body is far more honest than you are darling."

Your breath hitched as he pressed a kiss just above your knee, his lips soft but deliberate, trailing a path upward, leaving your skin tingling and your resolve crumbling as needy noise leaving you.  "Such eagerness," he purred, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin. "Do you feel it? This need simmering between us? You’re burning for me, aren’t you?"

His fingers traced patterns along the inside of your thighs, featherlight yet electrifying. You could feel the wet need pooling between your legs  "Do you know what it does to me, seeing you like this? Watching you try so hard to resist when we both know you’ve already given in?" He leant in, casually breathing in the scent of you like he was sampling wine. 

You shivered under his touch, every nerve in your body alight as his lips followed the path his fingers had drawn, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. "You're going to give me what I want aren't you?" he purred, his breath ghosting over your skin. "When fall apart on my tongue," 

Your voice caught in your throat, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze and the fire his touch ignited within you. Loki’s smirk deepened, a dark, knowing curve of his lips. "Your going to make all those wonderful noises again like you did in the hallway aren't you?" he murmured, his hands gripping your thighs more firmly before his face drew closer to where that thin piece cotton that hid you away from him. Teasing he leant closer, his nose running along the fabric of your underwear. Loki’s nose bumping into your clit, letting out a strangled noise as your throat closed as pleasure shot up your spine. "I told you, I want to hear you." His tongue teased along the fabric, Loki finger ran up your leg curling around the sides of your underwear pulling them down. The cool air danced across your skin, heightening the sensitivity, you knew you were unable to hide your reaction to him now. You could feel his warm breath whispering against your wet folds, teasing you with promises of what was to come. "Look at that.” His tongue ran along the seam of you, tasting the nectar you were offering. “Is this what you need? My mouth on you." The words you spoke next were barely more than a whisper, but they carried the weight of your surrender. “Please..” His fingers, now free from the task of removing your underwear, gripped your thigh, lifting one leg to rest on his shoulder. “So polite now aren’t you pet?” His tongue slide against you again before he pushed it between fold mouth closed over you, the warmth and wetness enveloping your sensitive flesh.

“Arh-ah.” The noise came from in a desperate pant as you felt his tongue swirl over your clit like a wet snake.  His tongue, a masterful instrument, danced and swirled, coaxing sounds from you that you couldn't contain.

"Oh, God," you moaned, your hands grasping for something, anything, to hold onto as the world spun around. Loki's tongue probed deeper, his mouth sucking gently, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. "So sweet," his voice muffled against your skin. "A crime that I have deprived myself for this long..” His hands tilted your hips allowing him better access before you felt his tongue slide up inside you, both of you moaning loudly. He feasted on you now, his tongue reaching up higher into you as his nose pushing into the nub or nerves at the apex, building heat in your blood.

As his tongue slid back to your slit, you felt a rush of sensation, your body arching towards him, your hips bucking upwards. "Ahh...oh God, yes," your voice cracking as his tongue slid across your clit. You didn’t notice one had leaving you thigh, until you felt Loki’s finger slid up inside you, slick velvet walls clenching around them, trying to hold him in place as his tongue continued to dance across your clit.

"Mmm...so tight," he murmured, his voice vibrating against your core "I can feel you squeezing."

Your response was a series of desperate pants, your body straining towards him as his fingers slid in and out of you. "More...please, more," you begged, your voice hoarse with desire.

Loki's tongue slid back to your clit, his mouth closing over you once again suckling. His fingers curl inside you, hitting a spot that made you cry out in pleasure. "Ahh...yes, right there," you moaned, your body shuddering with pleasure. His own moans merging with yours.

As his fingers continued to slide in and out of you, his tongue swirled around your clit, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You felt yourself building towards that perfect end, your body straining towards him, your muscles tensing with anticipation.

"Oh...God, Loki, Loki I'm going to...," you stuttered, your voice trailing off as your body gave in to the pleasure your hands going from the shelf to grip at his hair.

Loki's response was a low, rumbling growl, his tongue and fingers working in tandem to push you over the edge, urging you forward. Your body answered his call, arching towards him, your muscles tensing as the orgasm built, and then, in a rush of heat and sensation. “Loki, Loki.. Loki fuck!” You were coming, your body shuddering violently as waves of ecstasy coursed through you, your voice rising in an unrestrained scream of his name, "Loki!" The sound of your climax seemed to echo in the dim library, blending with the rhythm of your ragged breaths. Your fingers tangled deeper in his dark hair, pulling him closer, as though you could tether yourself to him amidst the chaos of pleasure consuming you.

The world around you faded, melting into a haze of white noise and raw sensation, leaving only the heat of Loki's mouth and the overwhelming force of your release. Every nerve in your body seemed to hum with satisfaction, a symphony of euphoria that left you trembling, barely able to hold yourself upright against the unyielding shelf behind you. Slowly, Loki pulled back, his movements deliberate and unhurried. His hands slid down to your thighs, carefully guiding one leg off his shoulder as he stood to his full height. The sight of him-his disheveled hair, his lips glistening with evidence of your pleasure-sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly.

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth with an almost casual grace, his smirk curling into something devastatingly smug. "You taste even sweeter than I imagined," he purred, his voice thick with satisfaction and unmasked pride. "A feast worthy of a god."

You could only manage a shaky breath, your body still trembling in the aftermath of his ministrations. Loki leaned closer, one hand braced against the shelf beside your head, his proximity stealing what little composure you’d managed to regain. "Tell me," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive rumble, "did that satisfy the craving?" "I- I..." You were still struggling to form words, your lips trembling as you tried to summon even the smallest shred of coherence. The lingering sensation of his touch, his mouth, his overwhelming presence left you raw, exposed, and utterly undone.

"Let me know," Loki said, his voice silk and steel, "when you decide to give me the chance to be what you need." His words hung in the air like a tantalizing promise, equal parts command and plea.

With a fluid, almost predatory grace, Loki bent down, tugging your skirt back into place. The brush of his knuckles against your skin sent an involuntary shiver racing up your spine. His hand found your discarded underwear, his fingers hooking around the delicate fabric as he lifted it, holding it out to you with an almost theatrical flourish. "But if you want more, if you want me," he murmured, his gaze locking with yours, "you need only ask."

Your shaking hand reached out, trembling as you took them from him, the contact sparking like a live wire. Loki inclined his head, his expression inscrutable, though his eyes gleamed with something dark and tantalizing-triumph, desire, or perhaps both. "Take all the time you need." he said softly, his voice a quiet yet firm promise. "But know this-I am not going anywhere."

He stepped back slowly, his movements measured, deliberate, his piercing gaze lingering on you as though he were memorizing every detail. The intensity of his presence was almost suffocating, and yet, as he finally turned and walked away, the sudden void left you bereft. The soft sound of his footsteps receded into the distance, but his words, his touch, his very essence lingered, etched into your skin and seared into your soul.

Your knees threatened to buckle as the reality of what had just transpired washed over you. The trembling in your hands betrayed the tumult raging inside, a maelstrom of longing, confusion, and undeniable need. Loki had made himself clear-he wasn’t going anywhere. And as you leaned against the bookshelf, still shaking from the force of your release and the storm he had stirred within you, you realized with startling clarity that neither were you.

[cosmicstrawberrycake]

sevika x dovehybrid!reader!! ♡₊˚🕊️・₊✧

gelstar's note: i've been thinking about the "gazing lovingly at his gigantic angry wife" birds and i think that's veryyyyy sevika and reader core :3 i also searched up dove mating habits and maybe im just strange but i think its cute :3 (its a mix of hcs and drabble bc im weirdddd)

kinda fem coded reader, but mostly gn!! no descriptions of the body :3

sevika met you a week after she'd lost her arm.

since she had 1. narrowly escaped death and 2. received a new and confusing arm, she had gotten the month off. it might've also been the fact that silco had magically adopted a child, and needed to learn about the basics of childcare.

she saw you walking the streets one night, right across from her game of cards.

the way your wings were spread so elegantly- it was hypnotizing. you were hypnotizing. though, no woman was worth leaving this game for. not with the amount of money at stake.

OR SO SHE THOUGHT

so, i guess you could say sevika met you three weeks after she lost her arm. because she didn't say shit to you the first time.

the second time she saw you, she almost shit her pants. mainly because the lighting made you look heavenly.

you were standing by silco's docks, painting with the kid.

the sight filled her with a strange feeling- a warm one- a feeling she thought she'd never be able to feel.

jinx looked up, spotting sevika at the far end of the docks. as her dull blue eyes landed on her, a heavy sigh escaped sevika's lips. oh god.

the little girl waved manically, an incredibly silly grin slapped onto her face.

sevika begrudgingly made her way over to your side of the dock, not bothering to try and hide her grimace...

she couldn't even lie to herself. you were even more breathtaking up close. she could barely hear jinx as she tried to explain the things that were on the canvas.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

it was clear to sevika that she was in love.

it was clear through her heart beating faster around you, her eyes always searching for you in a crowd, her whole body perking up when your name was mentioned.

and she was absolutely SICK OF IT. (note that she was not sick of you- she felt like she couldn't ever be.)

having to be at the same bar as you while you were smiling and laughing with jinx was pure torture- but it was also the best thing she'd seen in her life.

lately she was waking up in the middle of the night from dreams of you. not that it was the worst thing in the world to wake up from, but the dreams stuck with her for weeks on end.

so she finally decided to bite the bullet and tell you how she felt. it'd suck ass to have to talk about feelings, but at least she wouldn't have to imagine holding you close and kissing you softly every night.

which brings her to where she is now.

in a dark corner of the last drop, watching you say goodnight to jinx. you clearly didn't notice her- which sevika definitely should've taken into account.

this resulted in you being heavily startled by the hand on your shoulder, making you turn around and kick the woman behind you in the stomach.

sevika groaned loudly, doubling over in pain. you gasped, scared shitless about what you'd just done.

it was extremely confusing when she started chuckling, shakily regaining her balance.

you heard her murmur something about not having to defend you after all before sighing, apologizing guiltily.

she slung an arm over your shoulders, grinning at you wolfishly.

a warm feeling erupted in your stomach.

the two of you started making you way towards her apartment, sevika's brain fogged from the warmth your body gave hers.

as you arrived, she started to panic. this was the only night she decided she would have the confidence to confess- it would take months to gather up the strength again!

just as you waved goodbye, she lunged forward and grabbed your wrist, making you look back.

her silver eyes sparkled as she tried to find her words, your feathers ruffling in the slight breeze coming through the street.

finally, she found what she wanted to say. or at least her brain did- because word vomit began to spill out of her mouth.

part of her tuned it out, but she remembers the "most beautiful thing i've ever seen" and "i'd kill for you if you wanted me to".

eventually she stopped, expression hopeful and her entire body leaning towards yours.

you just giggled, kissed her cheek, and gave her a big hug.

the way your wings wrapped around her too was nice.

...she was really glad she didn't avoid her feelings this time.

headcanon time!!!!

once she finally bags her winged s/o, she is fucking HYPED

until you guys sleep in the same bed for the first time...

she tried 2 spoon you, but ur big fluffy wings got in the way 💔💔💔

the way you hug her with your wings while you guys hug makes her feel so safe its ridiculous. she loves it!!

constantly helping u with ur clothes when she can. will take u to every tailor she can just so you can get the clothing you really want while still being comfortable!!

loves indulging in ur weird little bird habits. like preening your feathers before bed- RUNNING HER HANDS THROUGH YOUR FEATHERS TO CALM YOU DOWN AAAA

once woke up to what she thought was incredibly soft snoring- it was you subconsciously cooing in your sleep

brings you little accessories to put on your wings that match ur jewelry or clothes!!

in general, she loves bringing you little trinkets! it was absolutely fucking hilarious when you found out she was imitating the behavior of a male bird.

(male doves bring materials to female doves in order for them to make a nest and have baby birds)

(very subtle way of launching your breeding kink, sevika)

i have an idea for smut lolz :3 sevika being obsessed with the way your wings flutter during sex >.<

if u want, lmk how this was!! been a while since i've written, so i rlly don't know how shitty this was...

[banananutmuffin28]

Hi, I loved your se-mi x reader and was wondering if you could do a no-eul one where the fem reader is a player and she kind of tries to protect them during the games?

Yesss! We NEED more fics about our favorite murderous guard :D

Warnings: Mildly Obsessive No-eul

Guard No-eul x FEM! Player Reader

No-eul has always felt a protective pull towards you. It stemmed from when she saw you in the very first game, a type of feeling that curled around her heart and blazed fiercely in her chest.

After all, you were such a pretty little thing.

She couldn't stand watching you suffer through the games as you fought to survive. Whenever she noticed your shaky legs, or the way your lips twisted as you held back a cry, she would always tighten her fists and snarl into her mask.

You didn't deserve any of this.

 No, no, no, you shouldn't have to fight at all. No-eul should just be allowed to whisk you away to somewhere safe. She didn't give a shit about the prize money; all that mattered was having you sheltered in her arms.

No-eul only wanted what was best for you, after all.

But...that couldn't happen. Aside from the task of rescuing you being infeasible in its own right, she would also have to plan an escape and have some mode of transportation to leave the hidden island and return to the sturdy shore.

And besides, the risk of you getting hurt was all too high. It wasn't worth it.

So, instead, No-eul decided to give you gentle nudges in the games.

They weren't much, usually just stemming from her overlooking a small, crucial error, but it was enough to ensure your survival.

Until she found another plan, that would have to do.

—

You tried not to cry as you stumbled along the steady rhythm of the doll’s voice. The metallic stench of blood invaded your nostrils, and you swore you could even taste it on your lips. 

Even now, you could still remember Mi-na’s lifeless corpse on the floor, and the others that followed.

Gi-hun’s reminder rang clear in your mind, repeating over and over again until you thought your brain would burst. 

“If you move; you die!”

At first, you thought he was just some crazed lunatic too high on some unknown drug. But, even then, the way his eyes glared at everyone told some small part of you that he was being serious.

And then Mi-na died. A crisp, clear gunshot rang right next to you before she folded onto the ground. The noise had shocked you, seeing as you were right next to her and really didn’t fucking expect someonr to actually die in Red Light Green Light of all games. You remember stumbling back—it was just a miniscule amount of movement, but still enough to be noticeable.

The other players stared at you, wide eyed. And, you knew by the way sympathy had sparked in their irises, that you were done for.

You had closed your eyes, chin trembling as the first of tears fell from your face, and waited for a bullet that would shoot through your skull.

 But…it never came. 

A few moments had passed, and you were still unharmed. 

An unsteady gasp fell from your lips as you felt a fragile, flighty sense of hope bloom in your heart. Were you really going to be spared? Did that movement not really count?

The next time the doll sang, it sounded like the heavenly voices of angels.

The next few rounds passed by achingly slowly. By now, you had decided to stop just seconds before the doll would turn its gaze to you, as an extra precautionary measure.

You didn’t want another close call like that again.

All around you, people of all ages fell down like flies. Even the slightest of movements got them shot, and you watched as one by one the life slowly faded from their eyes.

And, all the while, your mind was racing with one singular thought: Why were you spared?

–

As the timer reached zero, No-eul smirked. She squinted into the day scope, fingers dancing along the trigger. 

She couldn’t believe it. Not only had you survived, but she got away with not shooting you too.

“011, what’s gotten you so happy?”

No-eul turned around, startled. Her fingers slipped, accidentally sending a stray bullet whirring past the intended target. The man screamed, tears spilling from his eyes as he begged for mercy.

How annoying.

Another triangle masked guard sat beside her. He chuckled, looking up from his gun lazily as he propped one elbow on his lap. When No-eul didn’t respond, the man made a flicking motion, urging her to speak.

“Come on, 011, whenever you’re on sniping duty for Red Light Green Light you’re always huffing and shit. Always so serious. So, why are you chuckling today?”

No-eul sighed, though she still couldn’t stop the blush that appeared on her cheeks.

“It was nothing, 013. Stop pestering me and go back to work,” She deadpanned at last. Before he could respond and fire back with a creatively stupid insult, No-eul gazed back into the magnifying scope and started shooting.

No-eul didn’t want anyone else focusing on you. You were hers and hers alone.

—

As the games passed by one by one, you grew more and more concerned. Really, you shouldn’t even be alive right now.

You laid in your bed, a frown on your lips. During each and every one of the games, you had done something that should’ve gotten you disqualified. In Gonggi, you had accidentally dropped a Jack at the very last second, but instead of making you start all over again, the guard posted at your side made an O.

Hell, you could’ve sworn the guard’s eyes were on you the entire time. There was no chance they didn’t see your slip up.

So why did they still let you go?

And then, it happened again in Mingle. During the last round, you were unable to find a partner in time on the carousel. In your fit of desperation, you had run into one of the rooms, only to find a very traumatized player already sitting inside. 

And, what was even stranger was that no matter how hard someone pounded at your room, it wouldn’t budge. It was almost as if the door had locked itself before the timer ran out.

What the hell was going on? Do you really have a secret guardian angel protecting you, or were the game creators just that careless?

You paused, then punted the last part of that thought to the stratosphere. 

If that were true, it wouldn’t align with the actions of the soldiers when it came to other players. 

You remembered how stingy they were with the rules, and how a guard even disqualified a team’s toss because one of the men had accidentally stepped a little further than the boundary line.

Maybe your guardian angel would help you with your next game too and just hand your victory to you on a silver platter.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as a heavy sigh escaped you.

Fuck, all of this thinking was making your head hurt.

In truth, you knew you really shouldn’t be so ungrateful at how you survived for this long. Hell, you were even willing to bet your entire life savings that most of the players would kill to have the luck you possessed now.

 But… the fact that you’re still alive unnerved you. And at times, you even felt like you were being watched.

After a few more minutes of fruitlessly twisting and turning in your bed, you sighed.

You needed to go to the bathroom to freshen up.

Awkwardly, you pulled your blankets aside and climbed down your bunk bed. The room was deathly quiet, and you couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through your body as you stared into the inky abyss surrounding you.

For fuck’s sake, get a grip! You’ve already survived literal death games; a little bit of darkness shouldn’t scare you, You chided yourself.

Shaking your head, you spread your arms out and slowly walked over to the bathroom.

The triangle guard on the other side stared at you blankly when you asked them to open the door. You blushed, running a hand along your neck as you started spouting out some nonsense on how your stomach hurt and you really needed to go.

When you had almost considered giving up, the door slid open.

“A-ah. Thank you!” You squeaked, and hurried in.

The guard froze, their shoulders stilling. Then, they nodded, before turning back to their station.

The second you entered the bathrooms, it almost felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders.

Signing for what felt like the umpteenth time, you walked over to the sink and splashed water onto your face. 

The cold liquid was like a blessing to your sweaty face. 

You smiled into your reflection. 

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

And then you heard footsteps approaching.

—

After making sure no one was watching her, No-eul strided into the bathroom, a confident smirk on her face. In the still quiet of the room, she could hear her own heartbeat reverberating around her eardrums.

Finally, she was able to be alone with you.

When she opened the door, it took all her willpower not to pounce at you.

You looked so…adorable in there alone, with water still clinging to your chin. Oh, No-eul just wanted to gobble you up.

You backed away, and No-eul could see the familiar look of fear on your face. You were scared. Of her.

She tsked. She would not let that stand.

“Why are you looking so scared, honey?” No-eul purred. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

 Her hand retrieved a key from her pocket, and she used it to lock the door.

You swallowed, arms instinctively crossed around your chest.

“F-forgive me, miss, but that is a little hard to believe when you just locked the door. So that it’s just us. Alone.” 

That last part was barely audible, even in the quiet night.

No-eul’s smirk grew wider.

“Awwwe, would me taking my mask off help with that, love?” 

Your cheeks turned a dark auburn at the mere suggestion, and you doubled back. As she reached for her mask, you tried to stop her.

“Isn’t that against the rules? Won’t you…get in trouble?” You ask, genuine concern lacing your words.

No-eul laughed softly, shaking her head.

“I’ve already broken the rules by just talking to you, baby,” She tilted her head, closing the distance between you two. “What’s one more?”

Your throat bobbed up and down. You looked like you were about to argue, but didn’t.

“If that’s what you want, miss,” You mumbled at last, gaze turning to the floor.

No-eul laughed again.

 She knew she made the right choice in sparing you.

She unclasped the straps to her mask.

—

Fuck.

Fuck.

The guard in front of you was taking her mask off. And she looked so fucking hot.

She already had a hot enough voice. Her face card was enough to kill you.

You know what, maybe you didn’t mind dying if this was her face. You would be leaving the Earth with your little gay heart doing backflips.

Unconsciously, you took a hesitant step forward.

The woman smiled, and extended her hand.

“Do you like what you see, love?”

You nodded, unable to speak.

She hummed approvingly, reaching to caress your face gently with her hand. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do this, baby. Fuck, you look so precious like this, I could just eat you up.”

The way she enunciated her words made you whimper uncontrollably. This close, you could see every little detail in her face. There was a fresh cut on her cheek, and pretty little dimples littering her mouth. Her lips were plump, but a little chapped.

You wondered how sweet her mouth would taste.

Wait, what?

For fuck’s sake, you literally just met the woman! And she was a guard! You couldn’t possibly be swooning at her already!

But, as you looked at her again, your mind couldn’t help but wander. Would she pin you to the wall and kiss you roughly? Or would she be gentler in her approaches?

“Were you the one who was watching me?” You asked at last, turning to meet her gaze.

Something flashed in her eyes. Something predatory.

“My, my, did you catch on at last?” The guard cooed, hands moving to wrap themselves around your waist. “I supposed the truth would have to get out eventually.”

She pushed you so that your face landed on her chest. Her scent filled your nostrils, comforting you in such a way that made you feel boneless.

Slowly, she leaned in, her breath tickling your ear as she whispered, “Did you realize I was protecting you too?”

As soon as you registered those words, you gasped. 

In your surprise, you broke out of her embrace and gaped at her.

Already, you were beginning to miss her touch.

The guard pouted at you when you left her arms, but made no move to pull you back in.

“It was you?” You blurted out, still in shock.

A Cheshire grin danced on her lips.

“Of course, love. I was the one who didn’t shoot you in Red Light Green Light, I approved of your Gonggi performance, and I jammed that door for you.”

You freeze, not quite sure what to think. On one hand, the idea of a pink soldier protecting a player was so outlandish! A part of you didn’t believe her.

But…on the other hand, what she said lined up with the unusualness following you. It made sense that, if they chose to, a guard sparing you could be the difference between life and death.

All that left you was one, burning question.

“Why?”

The woman’s nostrils flared, and an unreadable expression adorned her face. She stepped towards you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s because I couldn’t let you die, love.”

She paused.

“Do you remember how you looked during the first game? You were so scared, so small. I wanted to protect you.”

Her eyes grew feverish.

“I only want what’s best for you, baby.”

Your heart thundered.

What the hell?

“But, we don’t know each other! I’ve never met you in my life—“

“Oh, but that doesn’t matter, sweetie,” The guard purred, running a finger along your cheek. “We can take our time getting to know each other later. When you’re safe from the games.”

Blood was roaring in your ears. You knew you were supposed to feel scared at her reaction, but something primal inside you relished in it. 

Seemingly noticing your shift in demeanor, the woman leaned in close and kissed you chastely on the forehead.

Obsessively, she hugged you once again, though this time her embrace was tighter. 

“Would you like that baby? Be taken care of by me? You wouldn’t have to ever be worried again.”

She said the word in between kisses, peppering your face but never touching your lips.

“We would be so happy together.”

Her hands wandered, one pressing against the back of your head while the other rested on your waist.

Despite yourself, you leaned into her touch and wrapped your arms around her. You soaked in her attention, in how desperate she seemed to want to protect you.

You liked the feeling of being loved.

The next time she leaned down to kiss you, you purposefully angled your face so that your lips connected.

The guard gasped softly, but didn’t pull away.

In fact, she deepened the kiss.

You moan softly, opening your mouth and letting her tongue explore it. 

Mindlessly, she lifted you up and you wrapped your legs around her waist.

When the two of you parted for air, a string of spit connected your lips.

Mesmerized, you brought a finger to your face. 

“I guess you really are my guardian angel,” You mumbled.

The woman only smiled again, and pinched your cheek.

“The name’s No-eul, by the way.”

A/N: Hahaha I stayed up so late writing this ;__:. There actually will be a part two to this! I was planning on writing it all today but I genuinely don’t think I can get it all out without it being utter trash 😭

Please let me know if you liked it! I live for your comments.

[Im going to collapse onto my bed now]

[tortillamastersblog]

Back To You - Part 9 | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: When Sam left after turning eighteen, you were devastated. You’d been in love with her since you were kids and her leaving meant you never got to tell her how you truly felt.

Fast forward a couple of years, Tara gets attacked and Sam returns. . .

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

_______________________________________________

“You didn’t!” Tara laughs happily and continues unwrapping the gift I got her which is a vintage video camera.

I figured she’d like it because she wants to be a film major and judging by her reaction, she does.

She woke me a couple of minutes ago by literally sitting on me, wishing me a Merry Christmas before shoving a present for me in my face.

I haven’t opened it yet because I wanted to see her reaction to my present first, and also because I want Sam to be there when I open it because it’s from both of them.

Tara finishes unwrapping and takes the camera out of its box, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “This is so cool.”

She inspects it from all angles and turns it on while I watch, happy that she likes it.

“You guys started without me?”

Sam’s voice makes me look over my shoulder and when I see her standing in the doorway of her room with a pout and sleep mussed hair, I smile and get up, stretching.

“Tara did, but don’t worry. You haven’t missed much so far.”

Sam huffs, but I can tell she’s not really annoyed. She makes her way over to us and plops down on the couch, running her fingers through her tangled hair in an attempt to tame it a little.

It looks like she’s still half asleep and I can’t help but think how adorable she looks like this, wearing faded gray sweatpants and an oversized black shirt.

The memory of her putting a blanket over me last night is still fresh in my mind, and I make a mental note to finally talk to her once we’re alone.

Tara fumbles around with the camera and moves to her sister’s side to show her what I got her. Sam seems impressed and she asks Tara to try and film something and while the two of them are busy figuring out how the camera works I pull off my hoodie.

I’ve been hot since I woke up, but I haven’t had a chance to take it off until now.

“Damn, Y/N,” Tara comments.

I raise an eyebrow as I pull my shirt, which rode up, back down over my stomach. “Huh?”

The camera momentarily forgotten in her hands, Tara wiggles her eyebrows suggestively while gesturing at me. “Someone’s been working out.”

My eyes widen in surprise before embarrassment washes over me.

It’s true, I’ve been working out like crazy since getting back on my feet, and I’m in better shape than I’ve ever been now that playing hockey is my literal job, but I usually don’t like to show it off and I really didn’t mean to expose myself like that just now.

“I mean, do they feed you steroids in Boston, or what?” Tara teases with a smirk.

“No they don’t, shut up,” I fire back weakly, tossing the hoodie at her face.

She catches it in time before it hits her and puts it down next to her, her smirk still present. “I’m just sayin’.”

I roll my eyes and scratch the back of my neck, hoping my cheeks aren’t all too red. “Yeah, whatever. Thanks.”

Tara chuckles and I go to take a seat on the couch next to her when I notice the way Sam’s uncharacteristically quiet.

I glance at her, worried that something might be wrong, but what I see makes my heart swoop in my chest instead.

Her eyes are trained on her fumbling hands in her lap, the tips of her ears are red, and she keeps swallowing thickly. In short, she’s flustered and the fact that it’s because my shirt rode up makes my heart beat faster and makes me feel like it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Not wanting to embarrass her though, I don’t comment on it and take a seat, gesturing for Tara to hand me the other gift on top of my bag.

“This one’s for you,” I say to Sam once Tara has given it to me and the way Sam’s brown eyes widen in surprise makes me chuckle softly. “What? You thought I wouldn’t get you anything?”

“N-No, I just— That’s not,” she stammers, clearing her throat and looking down for a moment before looking back up with a small smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I hand it to her and try not to let it show that a shiver runs up my spine when her finger brush against mine.

Tara puts her camera down and together we watch Sam unwrap the flat, palm-sized box. She shoots me a questioning look, realizing it’s a black jewlery box, but I don’t say anything. I just smile and encourage her to open it with a wave of my hand.

Tara looks at me with a knowing smile and I smile back, loving the way Sam gasps in disbelief when her eyes land on the gold necklace on display inside the box.

“Do you like it?” I ask and the way Sam’s eyes shine when she looks up is answer enough.

Even so, she nods vigorously, her eyes darting back and forth between me and the necklace. “I love it, b-but how did you—?”

I shrug, feigning ignorance, and Tara does her best to hide her smile by busying herself with her camera again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say. “I just saw this and thought you’d like it.”

Sam chuckles incredulously and a, “Liar” slips past her lips, but she doesn’t ask how I knew about it again. Instead she looks back at the necklace, her finger brushing over the sun symbol engraved in the round pendant before taking it out and turning to me with a vulnerable expression. “Put it on me?”

I nod timidly, suddenly feeling shy and doing my best to ignore the questioning look Tara shoots at me before taking the necklace from Sam.

She shifts on the couch so her back is turned to me, and gathers her hair in a ponytail, exposing her neck to me.

I force myself to breathe normally at the sight, wanting nothing more than to press a kiss to it, and put the necklace around her neck.

“Thank you.” Sam lets go of her hair again and turns back around, touching the pendant for a moment before hugging me.

I hug her back and this time I don’t stop myself from pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. It makes her tighten her arms around my neck before pulling back.

“Okay, now it’s your turn,” Tara says, grabbing my present and throwing it in my lap.

I chuckle and shoot Sam one last smile, getting to work on unwrapping my own present.

It’s turns out to be a jewelry box as well, but it’s smaller than Sam’s and when I open it and see what’s inside, I immediately feel tears prick my eyes.

It’s a gold bracelet with my parents’ initials engraved in it in their handwriting.

I swallow thickly and look up to find Sam and Tara watching me hopefully.

“Guys. . . This is—“ I clear my throat and blink my tears away, “—This is beautiful. Thank you.”

The two sisters exhale, relieved, and Tara is quick to climb over Sam to put the bracelet on my wrist.

“There. . . Now you’ll always have a part of your parents with you,” she says, adding, “It was Sam’s idea.”

I rub my eyes to get rid of any more tears and kiss the top of her head before looking at Sam over her shoulder. “Thank you. Really. It means a lot to me.”

I love it. I absolutely love it, but the fact that it was Sam’s idea makes it extra special.

The two of them really are my family, and I just know that if my parents could see us now they’d be glad that we all found our way back to each other.

“So, how are Liam and Paige?” Tara asks over breakfast.

After we exchanged a few more presents we all got ready for the day and made breakfast together. Sam did most of the cooking since she decided we were having pancakes, but Tara and I l cut some fruits, made coffee, and set the table.

“Good.” I say after swallowing the sip of coffee I just took. “Liam just moved to New York and Paige moved to Portland, but they’re both here for the holidays to visit their parents.”

“Paige moved to Portland?” Tara asks with a raised eyebrow. “Why not New York, like Liam?”

Sam hums in agreement and I take another bite of my pancakes before answering, “Because her girlfriend lives in Portland. They’ve been doing long distance for over two years and they were sick of never seeing each other, so they decided to move in together.”

“Hmm, alright. Makes sense,” Tara says, ready to move on, but Sam snorts and stabs a piece of strawberry with her fork, saying, “Yeah, good for them. . . I’d never do long distance.”

I freeze, but no one notices and Sam goes on, unfazed. “I mean, only being able to see each other five or six times a year, maybe even less? Yeah, no thank you.”

Tara shrugs, obviously not caring, but I stay still, feeling like the rug’s just been pulled out from under me.

I live in Boston and Sam lives here. . . Even if she had feelings for me, she’d never want to be in a relationship with me. She just made that perfectly clear.

The realization feels like a punch to my stomach and I no longer feel like eating, completely drowning out Tara’s voice when she changes the subject.

Sam will never be with me, so it doesn’t matter how she feels about me. It doesn’t matter how I feel about her.

I set down my fork and get up, feeling like I’m in a trance.

Tara and Sam stop talking at the abruptness of my movement, their eyebrows furrowing, and before they can ask what I’m doing I mumble, “I’m going to take a shower, I’m a little cold.“

I’m neither cold, nor do I need a shower, but I need a moment to control my emotions and hide how much what Sam just said hurt me, so I go to my bag to grab a fresh set of clothes.

“Y/N. . .?” Tara asks hesitantly, but I don’t answer. I just go to the bathroom, lock the door behind me and get into the shower.

Sam doesn’t owe me anything. I know that, but what she said hurt and made me realize that the hope I had of ever being with her was futile.

All along, it was futile. We’ll never be together and she’ll never see me the way I see her.

Maybe I should try to move on. . .

A tear rolls down my cheek and I don’t bother wiping it away because the stream of the shower washes it away a moment later.

When I get out of the bathroom, the apartment is quiet and at first I think no one’s home, but then I sport Tara on the couch, figuring out how to work her new camera.

Sam is nowhere to be seen, but the table has been cleared and the dishwasher is running so she can’t be far.

“Hey, Sprout,” I say quietly, taking a seat next to her. “You good?”

Tara looks up and the way her eyes soften at the sight of me makes me wonder if my inner turmoil is really that obvious.

“Sam went out to get some snacks for when Mindy and Chad come over,” she says which makes me frown.

“I. . . didn’t ask,” I say tentatively, not wanting to offend her.

Tara just sighs and puts the camera down, turning to me with her lips pulled into a frown. “No, you didn’t, but I know you.”

That makes me smile nervously. “What are you talking about?”

Tara’s shoulders sag and she wordlessly moves to my side, resting her head on my shoulder and hugging my arm to her chest. “I know you like Sam, Y/N. I’ve known since the day she left. You weren’t just sad because your best friend left. . . You were heartbroken.”

I swallow thickly. I’ve always made it a point not to lie to Tara, so I’m not going to start now by denying anything. I don’t know what to say though, so I stay silent and sink back into the couch, letting my cheek rest against the top of her head.

“I know what she said about the whole long distance thing really bummed you out, but I don’t think she even realizes what it meant to you when she said it,” Tara whispers. “She can be a little. . . insensitive sometimes, but. . . I see the way she looks at you, Y/N, and all I can ask of you is that you don’t give up on her just yet.”

I sigh and nudge Tara’s knee with my own. “Easier said than done, Sprout.”

Tara sighs as well and squeezes my arm. “I know.”

Silence settles over us for a couple of moments until I remember something I’ve been meaning to tell Tara for a while now.

“Tara?”

“Yeah?”

“While we’re being honest I just want to say I’m sorry for how things turned out with you and Amber. I know you liked her.”

Like me, she doesn’t deny anything. She just holds my arm tighter and plays with the fabric of my sleeve.

_______________________________________________

Very short chapter, but it was necessary before we dive into the plot of the sixth movie next chapter.

Hope you all enjoyed it!

Next chapter is definitely going to be longer, I promise, but it’s going to take some time to write.

Tag list: @bella423 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @canyonyodeler @quadofthec @pussyydestroyer @rqizzu @pithod @morganismspam23

[threadbearsweater]

one warm day is all i really need | arthur morgan

When you find yourself taken in by a gang of outlaws, the last thing you expect is to grow sweet on one of them- and have the feelings reciprocated. Arthur Morgan doesn't have time for romantic nonsense, but a few memebers of the gang want to make sure that he gets to indulge in his obvious affection toward you. Tags: 3.9k words, an unlikely romance, meddling gang members (with the purest of intentions, one might suppose); female reader, alcohol use, smoking, emotional smut. A repost from a (regretfully) deactivated blog.

Arthur first notices your eyes on him one evening around the campfire at Shady Belle. He won’t accuse you of staring– Lord knows he’s been known to look at you with the same foolish grin you’re wearing now– but he tips his hat to acknowledge you. The heat in your cheeks is suddenly warmer than what the fire has already provided; your grin only grows until your teeth are showing, and you duck your head into your shoulder to hide. Arthur takes a long swig from his whiskey bottle and grimaces as it goes down. He hasn't had a drop of anything in days, and the burn takes a little while to grow numb to now.

“Think she's sweet on you, Morgan,” Sean says in his Irish lilt, giving Arthur an elbow in the ribs.

“Naw, she's lookin’ at you,” Arthur deflects, though he hopes he's wrong. He thinks he knows.

“She told me last week to keep my eyes on my own work,” Sean continues. “I really don't think it's me she wants, Arthur.”

You turn to whisper something to Sadie, who laughs out loud with her face tilted toward the stars. You dare a glance back at Arthur, who is, in fact, looking at you.

Maybe there's some truth to what Mary Beth told you yesterday.

“Arthur's been awful quiet lately.”

The sun shines through the trees and dapples the table where you're seated with bright spots of pale yellow. It's your third round of dominoes with Mary-Beth, and she's whooping your ass, as usual. You don't know how she does it, but each game you play, you're a little more privy to her prowess.

“You think so? I don't know him as well as you.” You hope it isn't obvious that your heart started beating a little faster at the mention of his name. It leaves you breathless.

“Oh yeah,” Mary-Beth continues. “He's been scratchin’ away in that journal of his a lot more, too.” She leans closer, conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling with the gossip she's about to share. “Karen said he went to town twice last week to have a hot bath. If you knew Arthur like I know Arthur, why…you'd know that's highly out of character for him.”

“But you said he'd been quiet. Is that unusual for him, too?”

She hums and purses her lips. “Well you see, Arthur isn't usually a man of many words on a good day. But it's been real bad lately. He don't even give John a hard time like usual.”

You ponder the dominoes for a moment and then make your move. It doesn't earn you any points, but at least you didn't have to draw. “What do you think the problem is?” you ask, nonchalant as possible.

Mary-Beth smiles. Big and bright and sparkling. “Oh, it's not a problem at all.” She lowers her voice and cups her hand to her mouth. “Arthur's in love.”

You gasp, then giggle behind your hand, and Mary-Beth follows suit. Hosea looks on and shakes his head, so you quiet down, reaching across to grab Mary-Beth's hands. “Who do you think it is?”

Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she looks around to make sure there aren't any ears to hear. Word travels fast around camp if one isn't prudent. “I think it's you.”

A thunderstorm rips through Shady Belle a little over a week later. Your little tent that you share with Sadie is ripped straight off its supports in a terrible gust of wind, and you and the others hightail it inside the house to take cover just as it begins to hail. There's quite a ruckus as everyone huddles inside, windblown and rain-soaked. A few of the men hold up lanterns to illuminate the darkness while you watch the lightning and feel the thunder shake the old bones of the house.

“Everyone just calm down,” Dutch calls, descending the stairs, wearing some ridiculous robe with his arms spread wide. “Are we really gonna let a little old thunderstorm keep us from getting a good night's sleep?”

“Says the man with a bed inside the house,” Arthur bites, rounding the corner from what used to be the kitchen, holding a lantern up high in front of him. “Dutch, you better allow these ladies to take cover in here for tonight, or I'll–”

“Or you'll what, Mister Morgan? Pray tell, what kind of man do you take me for?” Dutch's eyes are fiery as he stares Arthur down; a display of dominance. A veritable cockfight.

Arthur's jaw twitches, but he doesn't back down. “The kind of man I should hope would have some goddamn respect for his family.”

There's a tense moment or two where everyone is quiet, then Dutch relents. “Fine, fine! But I expect everyone out there pitching in to clean up in the morning.” He points at Arthur and raises his voice again. “That includes the other man with a bed inside the house,” he sneers.

Arthur shakes his head, then looks away only to catch sight of you, shivering in your wet undergarments, huddled close to Mary-Beth for what little warmth the two of you can share. For a minute, he forgets to breathe, then composes himself enough to cross the room.

“Come on in here. Get yourself warm and dry by the fire.” His hand on your elbow is rough but warm as he leads you toward the fireplace. You nod and look back at Mary-Beth, who shoos you away with a flick of her wrist and a wink; you notice that her teeth are chattering. Despite the humidity that hangs heavy in the air, the temperature has turned chilly with the storm.

Arms crossed over your bosom to preserve any shred of modesty you might have left, you allow yourself to be led away by Arthur. Dutch and some of the others head upstairs while Charles and Javier keep watch from the front porch.

“You alright?” Arthur asks. He covers your shoulders with one of his heavy winter coats, and you pull it around you, grateful for the weight and warmth of it. Another clap of thunder shakes the house and you jump. Arthur chuckles.

“You laughin’ at me?” you quip, placing your palms flat in the direction of the fireplace. You don't even bother to hide the grin you feel curling on your lips.

“No madam, I am not,” Arthur says earnestly, taking a seat beside you on the old wooden crate he's set up as a makeshift bench.

“Then just what do you find so funny, Mister Morgan?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking into the flames. “Aw, I dunno. I'm sorry. It's just that you're…”

You bump him with your hip, unable to stop the giggles that bubble up from your chest. “I'm what?” you pry.

There's a clatter of something falling on the front porch, and Arthur uses it as a good excuse to get out of this hole he's dug for himself. “I better go see what's going on out there. Charles might need my help.”

“I'm what, Arthur?!” you call, to no avail. He's gone before he can see the proverbial hearts in your eyes.

The saloon in Rhodes is a little nicer than the ones you visited in Valentine, though it's a far cry from the ones you used to frequent in Saint Denis. Still, when Sadie and the other girls decide that it's high time you have a little fun in town, you throw on your best dress and let Karen curl your hair and even apply a little of the makeup you snagged from a homestead up north. For the first time in months, you feel like a proper woman. There isn't time to be melancholy about the past, though, when the boys start whistling and cat-calling upon the sight of you and the other girls.

“Aw, knock it off!” Sadie hollers. She's decided to dress up a little tonight, too, much to everyone's surprise. But she hikes up her skirts to hop into the wagon, calling for the rest of you all to hurry it up. “I've got a bottle of rum with my name on it that's waiting for me to come drink her all down!”

You catch the sunset on the way to town. It's dazzling over the meadows, all golden light and warm, blazing oranges and reds that settle into a brilliant pink by the time your reach the main road into Rhodes. You wish you could see Arthur's eyes, but he's got a handle on the reins next to Charles in the front of the wagon. You've seen him watching the sunset before; he always looks so peaceful those evenings at camp, and you often wonder what he thinks about in those few minutes before the horizon is painted in pastel hues.

Karen starts singing a song that everyone eventually joins, and before you know it, you're pulling up in front of the Rhodes Parlour House. You can already hear the piano and a few voices from outside; the sound of it stirs something in your soul that makes you long for the familiarity of home, but you quickly shove it aside in favor of the company of your new family.

“Madam.” Arthur's voice brings you out of your thoughts and back into the present, where he waits at the back of the wagon with his hand extended to you. You beam at him, and he feels dizzy. And when your soft hand fits into his, he straightens his knees so they don't buckle and betray him.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirts to step out onto the dirt road.

Arthur leans in, dangerously close to your ear. You can smell the whisky and cigarettes on his breath, along with the faint tang of gunpowder and hair pomade. “You sure do look nice in that dress.”

You demure and fan yourself with your hand. “Just how much have you had to drink already tonight?” you giggle.

“Ahh, just a little nip to take the edge off.”

“Mm-hm. Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say.”

The night starts off relatively calm, as most nights do. You and the other girls find an empty table to sit and pick up on the town gossip, and the men start a hand of poker. It grows loud and crowded sometime around midnight, and it's hard to have a conversation without shouting over the din of voices, the clink of glass bottles, and the slow drag ragtime music from the piano. The ambiance is charming and lighthearted, and there are even a few couples drunkenly dancing on the porch.

You push back in your chair and find that when you stand, you're a little more wobbly than you thought you would be. The alcohol has loosened you more than you realize, and you grip the table for support until you feel a firm arm around your waist. “Whoa there.”

It's Arthur, who has won the last round of poker and has come to check in on you and the other ladies. You're pulled tight against his chest for one fleeting moment, and you look up into his eyes. He, too, seems drunk, with his eyes gleaming and drooping at the corners, his smile easy and his cheeks flushed.

“My knight in shining armor,” you slur, pretending to faint in his embrace. He only pulls you tighter against him, both of his broad hands splayed across your back. You laugh, and he smiles.

“You weren't getting another drink, were ya?” he questions with a raise of his brow.

“‘m thirsty,” you whine, lifting your empty glass entirely too close to his face. It knocks against his nose, which sends you into another fit of laughter.

Arthur takes your wrist– gentle but firm– and lowers the glass away. “Think you need to drink something that's not whiskey,” he drawls. You can't help but watch the way his lips form around the words; the slip of his tongue between his teeth, the way his mouth turns up into the hint of a smile when you pout. Before you can think too long and hard about it, you lunge forward and kiss him. Hard and clumsy and impulsive. You don't give him time to react. You're far too involved in the kiss to notice, but the girls at the table behind you have all gone silent. Arthur slides his hand along the side of your face and presses his fingers upon the nape of your neck, kissing you back like he really means it. (He really does.)

You pull back suddenly, breathless and reeling, swiping the back of your hand over your mouth. You're still held firm in his embrace, but the playfulness in his gaze has been replaced with an intensity that makes your knees weak all over again.

“What'd ya do that for?” he asks.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, you started it.”

“And you finished it.”

“Oh, I ain't finished with you, yet.”

“That a promise or a threat?” Your pulse is thumping wildly in your ears.

“Ya know, they got rooms upstairs for that!” Sadie shouts. There's a ripple of laughter across the table. Arthur's hand on your cheek feels like a brand, his arm about your waist an anchor. The rest of the room comes back to you in a woozy blur, and you look around, a little lovestruck and a whole lot drunk. Arthur's lips at your temple make your eyes flutter shut, and the room fades to black as tIt'weight of you slumps against him. He staggers only slightly, but holds you firm, chuckling softly.

“It's a promise,” he whispers.

You come to some hours later. Your mouth is dry as the desert, your head feels like lead, your skin broken out in a cold, uncomfortable sweat. At some point, it seems you were covered with a downy soft blanket, and the pillow at your head is much more fluffy than the makeshift one you made out of a bedroll at camp. At first, you think you're dreaming. Then, you wonder very briefly if you're back at your childhood home in Saint Denis. You almost call out to your mother when you hear a soft snore from the other side of your bed.

The room spins when you turn your head, and you rub your eyes until Arthur comes into focus. He's sprawled in an armchair a few feet away. His arms are crossed over his chest while his chin is tucked into his chest. Off to the side, you spy his boots; his big toe pokes through a hole in his sock and you smile at how vulnerable he looks.

“Arthur,” you whisper, shifting slightly as you pull the blanket up around your chin.

He grunts and lifts his head slowly. He frowns a little at first, but when he focuses on you lying there, so close he could reach out and kiss you again like he did last night, there's a slow, easy smile that spreads across his face.

“Hey there, party girl. You feeling alright?”

You could kick yourself for all the giggling you've done around him lately, but you can't help it. He brings out something giddy and downright foolish inside you, so you toss a pillow at him and bury your face in the sheets.

“Aw, come on now. I'm just messin’ with ya.” He leans forward and rubs your head affectionately. “I'd say you were feeling pretty good last night.”

It's in that moment a white-hot jolt of sheer panic shoots down your spine. Quickly, you check to make sure you're still wearing clothes. Aside from your breasts being a little lopsided in the confines of your bodice, you're relieved to find that your dress is still intact and– more importantly– on your body. You dare another peek at Arthur and notice that his shirt is unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and he's discarded his vest somewhere, but he, too, is fully clothed. Thank the good Lord above.

You must've said that last part aloud, because Arthur laughs. “Don't worry, nothing happened. Though it weren't for lack of tryin’ on your part,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought I was gonna have to lock you in here like some feral cat till you settled down.”

Oh. Oh Lord. You try to recall what happened that led you to this room, but all that comes to mind is a lot of loud conversation, some dancing, a spilled drink across Sadie's lap, and Arthur's hand on the side of your cheek. “Oh…”

Now you remember it in vivid detail.

“Didn't know you cared for me like that,” he says. It's earnest and tender, a few shades less intense than the kiss you now recall, the one where it felt like he wanted to eat you alive right there in the middle of the saloon. Now, he thumbs your cheek and looks at you so fondly you swear your heart jumps right up in your throat. “I mean, I'd been hoping. Wasn't sure you was looking for a romance.” He huffs a short sigh, frustrated with himself. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? ‘Course you weren't. You're just looking to survive, just like the rest of us, and here I–”

“Shut up,” you say, taking hold of his hand and tugging him closer. He resists until you pull even harder, watching the fire in your eyes blaze to life. “You talk too much, Yankee.”

“I ain't no damn–”

“Kiss me.”

He's over you in an instant; you're pressed flat against the bed, completely and totally at his mercy. This kiss feels different than the drunken one last night. It's sober and honest, if not a little hesitant, as if he's holding himself back from devouring you wholly. The warmth of his body against yours takes your breath away. Or maybe it's the way his tongue laves heavy into your mouth, unashamed of how badly he craves the taste of you. You grip his hair at the roots and tug him down to kiss him harder, lifting your upper body to meet him until he presses down, his chest flush with yours.

Things get heated quickly.

His mouth moves across your cheek, down your neck, and he groans against your skin, rutting his cock against your thigh. You fleetingly wish that he had managed to get you out of that dress before he presumably tucked you into bed and passed out in that chair, because there’s a whole lot of fabric between you and him that really pisses you off right now. Arthur must feel much the same, because he’s bunching your skirts up past your knees while you’re fumbling with his belt buckle, desperate to feel him against you, inside you. It’s clumsy and crazed, rushed and rough, but you manage somehow to shuck off every last bit of your clothes and his until you’re breathless and so, so eager beneath him.

“Need you now,” you whine. You feel insane. Dizzy and dehydrated, impossibly turned on, every nerve ending on fire when his callused hands grip the fat of your thighs and open you to him.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?” One of his hands slips between your legs to find you wet and swollen. He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and pushes a finger inside you; the sound you make nearly has him finishing there on the sheets, so he wastes no time in getting himself as close to you as humanly possible.

“Never wanted something so bad,” he murmurs into the dip of your shoulder. He wants all of you– all at once– wants to fuse his hands against your skin and sink himself into you so deep that it would be impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. The heat from his body takes away what little breath you have left, his mouth on each part of your body building the buzz in your chest until you feel like you might just burst open. You grabbed at each other like it was the first and last time you might have this opportunity, as if you wanted more than what the other of you was able to give.

Considering the kind of life you’ve both led so far, it’s a good possibility that you might never get to do this again.

“Give it to me,” you plead, opening yourself further to him, fingers wrapped firm around the base of his cock. “Please.”

Arthur Morgan is a man of incredible strength and self restraint, except when it comes to a woman like you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he takes you. It’s primal, sweaty, filthy, rough. Arthur pushes as far inside you as he can go, then pushes further when you beg for more. He cups your knees with slick palms and presses you open as far as you can bend; you tug roughly at his hair and bite down on his shoulder when the pleasure builds to a blinding ferocity. The wooden bedframe knocks angrily against the wall with each thrust, but you can’t bring yourself to care if anyone hears. You can’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of him filling you with every stroke of his cock, of the taut, corded muscle in his back and shoulders as you grapple to hang on as tight as you can. Your orgasm hits your hard and fast, and he encourages you through it, taking his time to give you long, controlled strokes. It’s as pleasurable for him as it is for you. “‘Atta girl,” he rasps, lips moving against your ear. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle your cries, but he pulls it away and threads his fingers with yours, pressing it onto the pillow. “I wanna hear it.”

Your moans are what drive him over the edge.

He buries his face against the side of your neck, panting heavily as he comes, driving into you so hard that you can almost feel the mattress beneath you begin to sag under the weight. You cradle his head in your hands and link your legs around his waist, boneless and languid in the aftermath of your own pleasure. When he moves, you move with him, riding out the waves together until you’re both too tired to move another muscle.

Neither of you speak for a while. He lies on his back with an arm around your shoulders while you curl against him, tuned into his heartbeat and swirling little patterns into the hair on his chest. It’s comforting to feel him next to you, to watch his chest rise and fall as he steadies his breathing, to soak up the warmth of his skin against yours.

You’re the first to break the silence. “Did everyone else go back to camp last night?”

Arthur nods slowly. “Something tells me they planned all this.”

“Planned it? You mean…” You lift your arm slowly and flick your wrist to acknowledge the room you’re laying in. “This?” You lift your chin and grin at him. “Or getting us together?”

“Room was paid for before I even had a chance to ask if they had one,” he explains. “Think it was Mrs. Adler.”

You vaguely recall her shouting something about a room after you kissed Arthur last night, and you shake your head. “You complaining?”

He turns to his side, draping an arm across your hip. “Me? Never.” You’re suddenly pressed beneath him once again; from the looks of it, you won’t be getting out of this bed anytime soon. “Specially when I’ve got you here to help me keep warm.”

[kira-fluff]

More sharing the same bed hcs pls. those are really fun

of course, there's only one bed | fem!reader x osamu miya

a/n: i, too, indulge. 💕 I hope you like it. just realized this was one of my first fics. i love! sorry it's taken me so long to write this lol. it's been in my drafts for a MINUTE. also, i just decided to do osamu because it was getting too long to be more than just him lmao. i love him. i like to think he's a little bit of a smartass like his brother when he's really crushing on someone. a little sweet, but also plenty spicy. pairing: osamu miya x fem!reader tw: a lil' spicy mwah 💋 oh and language bc i can't not not say fuck you’re in love with him, but he doesn’t know that. then, of course, just because life hates you, you get stuck in a hotel room together on a group trip with him due to some “mix up”. and there’s only one bed. one. *sigh*… length: 2.5k pt 1

it was finally time for you to get some much needed rest. after you received your keycard from your class rep, you trudged languidly to the elevator with your luggage. at last you arrived at your door (you triple-checked to make sure it was, indeed, room 208). your card beeped, the door sensor's light turning green. sighing, you opened the door, expecting a room shrouded in darkness. instead, you are welcomed with the sight of osamu's broad, toned back, fresh out of the shower. naked. well, half-naked since he was wearing sweatpants (though you couldn't help but notice his boxers peeking slightly above his pants that lay low on his hips). your eyes grew wider as you watched the droplets of water drip down his spine. a big, veiny hand moved a towel through his dark hair. you swallowed. he turned around at the sound your presence. looking at you in a mixture of confusion and maybe, was that amusement? "lookin' for somethin'?" he questioned with an eyebrow raised. "ah, um. my room--" his brows furrowed, taking slow steps toward you. you backed away when he met your eyes, his chest centimeters away from pressing up against you. in your embarrassment, you missed a little smirk tip up his mouth. "lemme see it." you stared at him for a moment, processing his unbelievable propostion. "um, what?"

he breathed out a laugh. "yer keycard." you blinked, feeling foolish. flushing, you fumbled with the pocket of your jeans, at last presenting him with your keycard and its small envelope with the numbers "208" clearly written on the inside. "huh." was all he said, nodding to himself. "what do we do?" you asked nervously. you glanced toward the other side of the room, and indeed there was only one bed. one. you continued, "i mean... we can't share, can we? but this is supposed to be a fun trip so we won't get any sleep if one of us sleeps on the floor and there's not enough room in a different room and i think it's too late to wake someone up anyway and--" he stopped you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. "listen. don't worry 'bout it, 'kay?" gazing up at him, your quivering lip calmed, and you were able to take a small breath. your next breath caught in your throat, however, when you began collecting his things, grabbing his clothes, and stuffing them back in his bag. "osamu, what are you doing?" he looked at you incredulously, as if the answer was obvious. "'m packin' up my stuff. figure i can kick 'tsumu out of his room if i have to." "no, no, no! don't do that!" your voice growing louder, you rushed over to him, inadvertently placing your hand over his. "that's... you don't have to do that!!" his eyes met yours and remained there a moment longer than was probably necessary. then, he stood up, his hand brushing against yours. softly, he said, "well, 'm not gonna fight you on it." your heaving breaths calmed. "ok. ok. good. 'cause you don't need to do that." he laughed. "yer pretty scary when you're upset." "i'm not upset! i'm just... frazzled." his mouth quirked. "'frazzled?'" "well, i wasn't expecting a buff, naked guy to be in my hotel room!" nodding, he let out a hum of approval. "so you think i'm buff." you looked away. "that's-- anyway! where are we supposed to sleep?!" he thought for a moment. "hmm... probably on the bed. i think that's what they're used for." your gasped, "obviously! but, like, you're a man and i'm, you know..." "a woman?" he finished for you. "yes, and when men and women sleep together..." he held a hand up. "wait a minute. when you say 'sleep together', what exactly are ya thinkin' i'm gonna be doin'?" you, perhaps a little too aggressively, smack him on his annoyingly rock hard bicep. "normal sleeping, just normal sleeping! not--not whatever it is you're thinking right now." "'kay, then what's the problem?" you stare at him, exasperated. "because-- you know what? i'm just-- i'm gonna go shower." "alright. i'll be sure 't be ready fer ya." you think you might've choked on your spit a little. "shut up."

-

teasing you was just too goddamn fun, he thought. well, it was fun until you stepped out of the bathroom. your hair wet, dripping down your shoulders. and you were wearing those fuckin' shorts that lifted up a bit at the sides, leaving your legs and most of your thighs bare. to make it all worse, you were wearing a shirt much too big for you, and when you moved your arms down to your sides, the shirt covered your shorts completely. you looked like you were naked behind that shirt, and... fuck. fuck. you leaned down to grab something from your bag, and the size of your shirt made the collar hang much to low, exposing him to the fact that you were not wearing a bra. is it gettin' hotter in here? shit. this was a terrible idea. he swallowed as you walked back to the bathroom, completely unaware of his horrifyingly lustful thoughts. as soon as you walked from eyesight, he jumped from his spot in the bed, no longer feeling smug. rushing toward the desk, he slammed his palms down onto the wood. dammit. breathe, man. breathe, he huffed in and out. the mirror above the desk reflected his expression: face flushed, chest rising and falling raggedly, pupils black as night. why you of all people? the girl he's had it bad for since, what, first year of junior high school? he refused to be the kind of guy that uses this sort of situation to his advantage. more than anything, he was fighting off a boner that he feared was most certain to come to your attention the moment you both lay down. "what are you doing?" you interrupted.

-

osamu's head swiveled toward you. he honestly looked like he was in pain. did he hurt himself during the five seconds you spent brushing your hair? "'s nothin'." he replied, shaking his head. walking closer, you put a hand on his shoulder, realizing that while you were in the shower he'd put a shirt on. thankfully. "you look sick. are you okay?" "'m fine." he mumbled. your brows bent in concern. "you don't look fine." he looked deeply into your eyes, looking almost delirious. "don' worry 'bout it." his accent was becoming noticably thicker. you pouted, taking him by the hand. "come on, let's get you in bed." he sucked in a breath as you led him to large mattress, pushing him into a sitting position with your hands on his shoulders. he let out a strange, groaning noise when you pushed him further onto the plush cushion on the bleach-white sheets. "that's it, 'samu. just like that, now close your eyes." his breath shuddered when you placed your cold palm on his eyes, willing him to sleep away his apparent sickness. "'m not sick." you shushed him. "yes you are. look, you're sweating." you brushed his hair away from his forehead. suddenly, he grabbed your wrist, sitting up. his eyes met yours, blazing with a message you couldn't quite make out. "are ya tryin' to drive me crazy?" "what do you mean?" "i'm really tryin' 't hold back here." "hold back what?" he stared at you, no reply. then, he simply sighed, shook his head and laid down. his head turned away from you. you got the message. he was mad at you. you pressed your lips together. it was late anyway. you should just try to get some sleep and forget about the fact that the man you've loved for years is right next to you and he's upset.

-

after turning off the light, you slipped under the covers, sighing when at last your head hit the pillow. you both lay in silence for a moment before osamu spoke. "'m sorry." "you didn't do anything wrong. you're mad at me because i was too pushy. i get it." "nah. it's my bad. i just... ya kinda make me lose control sometimes." through the darkness you saw him run his fingers through his dark locks. you turned your body toward his, propping your head up with a hand. "when you say that -- you lose control -- what do you mean?" he breathed out a laugh. "i don't think ya wanna know, sweetheart." your heart jumped at the affectionate nickname. leaning closer to him, you whispered, "but what if i do wanna know?" you could see even at night that his eyes were screwed shut, like he was in agony. "yer gonna regret it. trust me." leaning closer, so close your faces were mere inches apart, you said softly, "but what if i don't?" his throat worked, looking at you lying above him, shrouded in darkness only illuminated by the moon that shown through the cracks of the drawn curtains. "then, i guess i'd just hope ya wouldn't hate me." you opened your mouth to reply but instead let out a quiet gasp as his palm made its way to your cheek, caressing it with his thumb. you closed your eyes, and realizing you were holding your breath, you sighed breathily. "i dont..." you said as his thumb trailed down you cheek to your jawline. "i don't think i could ever hate you." you were completely frozen. stuck in this moment of time. your faces so close if you moved just a little bit, your lips would meet. his thumb wandered from your jawline to your bottom lip. when he rubbed his thumb across your soft, inviting lips, he let out a gutteral moan. you fought the urge to rub your legs together. "i really shouldn't be doing this." he said suddenly. and yet he didn't draw his hand away. not that you would've let him. realizing your disadvantage, you lifted your fingers, tracing the muscles of his neck. it is only fair that i get to touch you, too. his breath grew more rapid at your touch, as you made your way from his neck to his torso. feeling a bit bolder, you at last replied: "maybe i want you to."

instantly, his hands grasped at your waist, lifting you onto him until your thighs hugged either side of him. from this position, you could not only see his eyes more clearly, but you could feel him. "do ya see what i mean? 's fuckin' insane, i know. 'm sorry." you turned your gaze away from him. if he was insane, then that made two of you. "i don't think this feels all too bad, though?" you said, leaning down and blantantly feeling your hands around his chest. you were keenly aware of what you were also rubbing against in the process. osamu hissed through his teeth. "don't say that." "mmm, why not?" you asked, fighting a smile. "'cause it's the exact kinda shit 'm sayin' is makin' me go crazy." your hands skirted from his chest to either side of his torso, squeezing. "but i kinda like it when you're like this." "'m tryna be a gentleman. yer not playin' fair." he said, grunting. you moved closer, your mouth just above the shell of his ear. "are you really the only one who's holding back?" swallowing, he pushed you back away from his face. surprised, you looked down in embarrassment, your courage leaving you. that is, until you felt the heated touch of his palms on your arms, and you were flipped onto the bed sheets. his body lay above you, his breath coming out in short pants. it was like you both came to the same conclusion simultaneously. and with it, came your signed agreement in the form of his lips crashing against yours. it was in no way a kiss of a gentleman. he leaned impossibly closer as he pressed his mouth further onto yours, deeper. he licked your lips, coaxing them open and tasting you, letting out a little "huh", like he'd discovered the answer to something that had long since piqued his curiosity. you didn't dare to speak; whenever your lips parted you could only gasp a breath before he pulled your face back to meet his lips. somewhere along the way his hands had trailed down to your hips, lifting you up until you were both in a sitting position, you in his lap. it was like you were a feast, and he was fucking starving. it wasn't enough. he wanted more. though, if you were being honest, you did, too.

you moved to straddle him, and with it sliding your hips against him with purpose. he gasped against your mouth, one hand squeezing your waist, the other lost in the mess of your hair. immediately he responded to your movements with a hand trailing down to grab at your ass, earning a gasp of your own. at last he pulled away (for longer than 2 seconds), a complete mess. eyes blown wide. lips swollen. hair tosled. "'ve wanted ya like this for so long. so fuckin' perfect. better than i pictured it." you threw your arms around his neck, resting your head against his chest. "I've wanted you too. like this. and, well, other stuff." he laughed. "betcha haven't had as many dreams." "maybe not, but i've imagined it plenty of times while awake." he let out a defeated huff. "why 'm i always losin' to ya." you played with the hairs at the nape of his neck, humming. "maybe cuz i'm just that good." "fuck yeah ya are." he said, resting his palm against your back and gently laying you back down onto the soft bed. "and 'm gonna prove it to ya." "oh?" his hands found the waistband of your shorts. meeting your eyes once again, you nodded in approval. that was all he needed to take you. touch you. show you just how good you make him feel. how lovely, how beautiful, how perfect you are.

-

you hissed at the sunlight that obviously didn't understand that the purpose of the curtains being drawn was to keep it out of view. an arm wrapped securely over your chest pushed you deeper against his body. you briefly thought of pretending to be asleep, just to embrace the peaceful morning for a little while longer...when you felt a hand begin to explore your body. you lifted your eyes, finding his expression dull as if still in a deep slumber. but his fingers were rubbing up and down your boob, so you were fairly certain he was completely awake. probably. though, maybe his body was moving out of muscle-memory at this point. you did spend all night getting fucked into next week. you moved to get up, but his arm chained up down, pushing you further against him with a frustrated groan. something very warm and very big and very hard was pushing against your ass. "'samu--" you started before he groaned again, louder. he rubbed his face into the crook of your neck. "not yet. just wanna feel ya a little bit longer." it's not like you could argue with him, right? "'mkay. just a little bit longer."

a/n: screaming crying throwing up i was like "oh i'll just write a little nice thing and it turned into this. bruh. also to me at least i think osamu gets reaaaally flirty with a girl he likes but is simultaneously trying sooo hard to be understanding and i love him so much

[ang3ltine]

𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 + 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐜 𐙚🧸ྀི

ft. No eul (guard 11) + Se mi (player 380) separately

warnings: suggestive themes but overall fluff

author's notes: thank you guys for the support!! I'm not even a good writer, but I'm glad you guys enjoy my work ♡

𝐍𝐨 𝐞𝐮𝐥 ִֶָ࣪☾.

{Sfw}

𐙚 No eul was hesitant to date you at first, not that there was anything wrong with you specifically. She just didn't want to disappoint you as she has trouble expressing herself. But you reassured her that it was ok to open up to you. It took a while but she eventually did and you two couldn't be happier.

𐙚 You guys obviously met at the amusement park that she used worked at duh. At the time you worked as a kinder garden teacher , bringing the kids to watch the parade. You had lost one of the kids and No eul had found him for you, he was a crying mess but safe nonetheless. Wanting to repay her you suggested to take her out to lunch the next day. She refused at first but soon agreed after you kept on insisting.

𐙚 No eul is pretty protective over you, not that you need it but she feels content on keeping you by her side. Always looking out for you ,if any creepy guy tried flirting with you she'd give them a stern glare and tell them to f off. If they still persisted, que No eul dragging his ass to a dark alleyway to beat him up.

" You didn't have to go that far," you say as you frantically looked around to see if there were any witnesses. "I know , but he deserved it," she simply stated while she headed towards the direction of your shared apartment to blow off some steam.

𐙚 pda isn't really her thing unless she's really pissed at someone flirting with you that she loses her cool and would dead ass look the person in the eyes while kissing you. Other than that she likes holding your hand and giving you small pecks on your cheek/forehead throughout the day.

𐙚 Dating spots/ideas: libraries, your apartment rooftop, cute cafes or sometimes you guys would travel to the countryside.

{Nsfw}

𐙚 oh boy, she's rough and assertive during intimacy. This is mostly due to her personality but she also likes your cute reactions whenever she goes down at you. She's open to anything as long as your OK with it. Lots of bandage and maybe gunplay if she has one. But if you just wanted to go slow and gentle then she will do so.

𝐒𝐞 𝐦𝐢 ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶

{Sfw}

𐙚 Let's be honest , you fell for her first, but she fell for you harder. Se mi's the one who asked you out first cause she found you cute and endearing, something that she's needs in her dull life.

𐙚 A group of gangsters who tried stealing from you which Se mi had noticed when she went by with her motorbike (yes she owns one its canon yall). She stepped in to save you and they ended up in a dumpster. That day was the day you felt a small spark between you both and Se mi felt it too.

𐙚 Omg you guys would definitely go to the nearest animal shelter and adopt a black female kitty. Her name would be Noir cause why not, also she reminds you so much of Se mi. The way the both act and look so similar baffled you but you didn't complain.

𐙚 Se mi would occasionally bring you bouquets of your favourite flowers and would gift you small presents/trinkets that remind her of you. One time she bought you her perfume that she wears so you would smell of her while she was away. Or you'd just steal her clothes (she smells of cherries/smoke).

𐙚 Big fan of pda, she'd have her hands all over you. Whether it was holding your waist/hand or resting her arm over your shoulder, bringing you into her chest. Totally would be smug about it whenever she'd see how flustered you were. If you didn't like pda then she would respect your opinion and stick with just holding your hand.

Dating spots/ideas: motorbike rides. I repeat motorbike ridess. Y'all would deffo be freaky on the bike but you didn't hear that from me. Beach dates, music festivals/concerts, funfairs and rides around the city. If Se mi wasn't broke then she'd take you to fancy restaurants, because you deserve all her love.

{Nsfw}

𐙚 Lordd, she's amazing in bed. Literally knows how to make you come undone with just her tongue and fingers. Would definitely lock eyes with you the whole time she's eating you out. She'd make you have eye contact with hers the whole time otherwise she won't let you cum. Has all sorts of toys to test on you and a special black dildo just for you. Shes never really gotten to this point with other partners so consider yourself lucky. Omg the piercing would just turn you on even more like hello?? She'd use it to her advantage.

"You slut, look at me not the ceiling" she'd drawled, making you whine and forced yourself to look back down at her. She had that damn smirk on her lips while she trusted her fingers into you hitting the right spot , making you squirt all over her face.

Ps. Let me if you guys want more hc's and send more requests if you like my work <3 also like, reblog or follow if you like my content ♡

[w0menaresuperi0r]

Yours to Protect

Draco Malfoy x reader

Words: 1,309

Warnings: bullying. Slight angst but it goes fluffy don’t worry.

This is kind of short, I need to prioritize a longer story for you guys to read, but I fear I am lazy and get writers block very often. BUT I will make time to make longer stories.

Draco Malfoy had never been fond of Hufflepuffs. He considered them overly sentimental, soft, and, frankly, beneath his notice. Yet there he was, sneering at a particular Hufflepuff girl who had the audacity to sit quietly in the library when he'd decided the corner was his for brooding.

"Are you deaf? I said you're in my spot," Draco snapped, crossing his arms as he loomed over her.

The girl looked up from her book, her calm demeanor throwing him off. Her warm brown eyes studied him briefly before she blinked and simply… shifted her gaze back to her page. She didn’t argue, didn’t retort, didn’t even acknowledge his rudeness.

It grated on him.

“Did you not hear me?” he pressed, leaning closer. “I don’t think you belong here.”

This time, she glanced at him again. Quietly, she closed her book, her hands trembling slightly as she stood up. Without a word, she gathered her things and walked away, her head slightly bowed.

Something in Draco’s chest tightened uncomfortably as he watched her retreating figure. That hadn’t felt satisfying. Not in the way it normally did.

Over the next few weeks, Draco found himself noticing her more and more. She was quiet in class, always keeping her head down, but her eyes shone with a certain brightness when she listened. She rarely spoke at meals, and when she did, it was in whispers with other Hufflepuffs.

He didn’t know why it bugged him.

When he caught her humming softly to herself in the greenhouse, something inside him shifted. It wasn’t just the melody—it was the way she relaxed when she thought no one was watching, the way her voice seemed to belong to a brighter, more colorful world.

She wasn’t shy, he realized. She just didn’t trust Hogwarts to be kind to her.

And for the first time, he wanted to be kind.

Draco’s first attempt at apologizing was clumsy. He approached her after Potions, clearing his throat as she packed up her bag.

“Uh, listen…” He trailed off when she blinked up at him, her brow slightly furrowed. “I was a prat in the library.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “You… were.”

He bristled but quickly caught himself. “Right. Well. Sorry about that.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. For a moment, Draco thought she might just ignore him again, but then she smiled—a small, soft smile that made his heart trip over itself.

“Thank you,” she said simply, and then she walked away.

And Merlin, he was doomed.

The more time he spent trying to make amends, the more he realized how much he liked being around her. She wasn’t quiet when she was comfortable—far from it. Once he earned her trust, she talked to him about everything: the books she was reading, the places she wanted to travel, her favorite sweets from Honeydukes.

Draco found himself hanging onto every word.

When she mentioned liking certain flowers, he made sure they mysteriously appeared on her desk in Herbology. When she admired a particular quill in Diagon Alley, it found its way into her bag. He held doors open, waited for her outside her classes, and, once, he even hexed a Gryffindor who laughed at her shoes.

He didn’t just want to protect her; he wanted to show her she was worth protecting.

The first time Draco saw her cry was after a group of Ravenclaws cornered her in the corridor.

“Pathetic,” one sneered. “You think Malfoy actually cares about you? You’re just a game to him. A phase.”

“Bet he drops her the second something better comes along,” another added with a cruel laugh.

Draco arrived just in time to see them walk away. He hurried to her side, his heart sinking when he saw the tears streaming down her face.

“Ignore them,” he said quickly, but she shook her head, covering her face with her hands.

“It’s not that easy,” she whispered. “What if they’re right?”

Draco didn’t know what to say at first. So, he did the only thing he could think of—he gently pulled her into his arms.

“They’re bloody wrong,” he said fiercely. “They don’t know anything. They don’t know the way I feel about you. And they never will because they’ll never be us.”

She sobbed against his chest, and he held her tighter, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

“I love you,” he whispered. “And nothing they say will ever change that.”

The trip to Hogsmeade the next weekend was his way of making it up to her. He took her to every store, insisting on buying her whatever caught her eye. She protested, of course, but Draco simply smirked and handed over the Galleons.

When they returned to Hogwarts, he offered to walk her to her common room, but to his surprise, she hesitated.

“Could I… stay with you for a while?”

Draco blinked but quickly nodded. “Of course.”

In his dorm, she curled up beside him, her head resting on his chest as she traced patterns on his shirt.

“You make me feel safe,” she murmured. “Like I’m worth something. I love you, Draco.”

His heart swelled as he tilted her chin up and kissed her, soft and slow.

“You’re everything to me,” he said, his lips brushing her jaw, her neck. “And no one—no one—can take you away from me.”

For the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy felt whole.

[writingforstraykids]

Lucky

Pairing: Minsung

Word Count: 1138

Summary: Minho can't help but marvel at Jisung sometimes and realize how lucky he is to have the younger by his side.

Tags/Warnings: fluff, minho's a lovesick fool, minho centered

A/N: I wish you a rather belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. I can't promise my brain will get its shit together with everything that's been going on lately but I'll try my best to be more present again🖤I hope you enjoy this little piece🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Minho shifted on the floor, the smooth wood cool against the back of his thighs as he perched near the edge of the stage. The crowd’s energy buzzed around him, a living, breathing entity all its own. Thousands of faces blurred into one collective glow of adoration and excitement, their voices rising in a crescendo that never failed to send a ripple of something akin to awe through his chest. He tilted his mic up slightly, catching his breath as he surveyed the sea of lightsticks swaying like stars in rhythm to the beat of the song.

He could feel the sweat trickling down the back of his neck, his bangs clinging to his forehead. The harsh stage lights framed the world in sharp contrast - the blinding white and neon blues above versus the endless expanse of shadows beneath. Yet, despite the intensity, there was something grounding about being here.

This was home, in a way few things were.

He adjusted the mic, steadying it just as the instrumental swelled. The familiar chord progression cued the next part of the song. Minho’s head turned slightly, just enough to catch the soft inhale Jisung always took before his verse.

And then, like clockwork, Jisung’s voice poured into the space, rich and resonant, weaving through the air with a distinct kind of magic only he possessed.

Minho’s gaze lifted almost instinctively toward the massive screen towering above the stage. There Jisung was, caught in breathtaking clarity - every nuance of his expression laid bare for the crowd. His eyes glimmered, filled with a depth that made every word feel like it was meant for someone specific.

Minho’s chest tightened.

He watched the way Jisung leaned into his performance, head tilting slightly as he let the music carry him. It was mesmerizing—the way the younger could lose himself so completely, like nothing else in the world mattered.

And Minho thought, not for the first time, how incredibly lucky he was.

The thought hit him with surprising force, though it wasn’t new. It had been there for years now, tucked into quiet moments backstage or whispered in the late-night silence of their dorms. Jisung had always been a constant, a gravitational pull that Minho had never fully understood but had come to rely on.

There was a time when Minho wouldn’t have let himself feel this - when the idea of depending on anyone felt like handing them a weapon with which they could hurt him. But Jisung had a way of slipping past defenses, not by force but by simply being himself.

Minho’s lips quirked upward faintly, his usual mask melting for a brief moment as he continued to watch. Jisung didn’t just sing; he communicated. His voice reached out, grabbing hold of every person in the audience and pulling them into the story.

And Minho wasn’t immune.

He barely noticed the way his own grip on the mic slackened, his posture softening as his gaze lingered. He didn’t register the way his foot tapped lightly in time with the beat or the way his head tilted, almost imperceptibly, as if drawn closer by an invisible thread.

All he could think about was Jisung - the way he made the impossible seem effortless.

The realization settled somewhere deep inside him, warm and steady. He’d always been thankful for the team, for the bond they’d built through years of shared dreams and struggles. But Jisung? Jisung was different.

There was a time when Minho thought he’d lose him. Arguments and misunderstandings had threatened to drive a wedge between them more than once. But Jisung had stayed. Even when Minho had pushed, Jisung had refused to budge, his stubbornness matched only by his unwavering belief in their connection.

“Why do you always have to make things so difficult?” Jisung had once asked him, exasperation evident in his tone.

And Minho had shrugged, unable to put into words the fear he carried - the fear of being left behind.

But Jisung had seen through him, as he always did. “I’m not going anywhere, you idiot,” he’d said, his voice softer but no less firm.

Minho hadn’t believed him then, not fully. But he did now.

The crowd roared as Jisung’s voice reached the peak of his verse, his tone climbing effortlessly before dipping back into a soft, almost conversational cadence. The moment should have brought Minho back to the present, but it didn’t.

Instead, he found himself thinking about all the times Jisung had been there for him - in the quiet, unseen ways that mattered most. The way he always knew when Minho needed space and when he needed someone to drag him out of his own head. The way he’d sit with him in silence, no words necessary, just a steady presence that reminded Minho he wasn’t alone.

Jisung was his safety net, the one person Minho trusted to catch him when he fell.

And maybe that’s why he didn’t notice the way Jisung was looking at him.

Up on the screen, Jisung’s gaze shifted, his eyes finding Minho with an ease that spoke of familiarity and something unspoken. His lips moved fluidly, shaping each word with practiced precision, but there was something in his expression - something softer, more deliberate.

He was singing to the crowd, yes. But in that moment, it was as if he were singing to Minho alone.

The intensity of Jisung’s gaze should have been obvious, even startling. But Minho didn’t see it, too caught up in his own thoughts to realize he was the center of someone else’s focus.

If he had looked, he might have noticed the way Jisung’s voice softened ever so slightly, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners like they always did when he was holding back a smile.

But Minho didn’t look.

Instead, he let his own expression soften further, the corners of his mouth curving upward in a smile that wasn’t meant for anyone else to see.

For all his sharp edges and guarded walls, Minho knew this to be true: He was incredibly, undeniably lucky.

Lucky to be here. Lucky to have this.

Lucky to have Jisung.

The song ended, the final notes ringing out as the crowd erupted into thunderous applause. The moment passed, fleeting but no less significant, like so many others they’d shared.

Minho finally blinked, his focus shifting back to the present as he straightened on the floor. Jisung crouched next to him, a playful grin spreading across his face as he said something that was undoubtedly teasing.

Minho rolled his eyes, shoving at Jisung’s shoulder with just enough force to elicit a dramatic stumble.

“Stop being annoying,” Minho muttered, though the fondness in his tone betrayed him.

Jisung only laughed, the sound bright and full of life.

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And Minho thought, not for the last time, how lucky he was.

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[peleksstuff]

escape V. l rafe cameron x pogue!reader

*gifs not mine*

ive been gone so long hope you didnt forget that last chapter cause i do but heres an update so sorry for the long wait

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“You’re not useless, Rafe. You’re more than what he says. You just… need to stop trying to be what he wants you to be.”

Rafe’s gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged, heavy with something unspoken.

_______

Rafe’s heart raced as he roared down the dark, empty road on his motorcycle. The wind whipped against his face, but it did nothing to cool the burning anger, frustration, and heartbreak bubbling up inside him. The sound of his father’s voice still echoed in his ears, cruel and sharp.

“Useless. You’re a disappointment, Rafe. You’re not my son.”

His father had saved him tonight—paid off Barry to cover his debt after Rafe's reckless run with drugs and poor decisions had spiraled out of control.

But Ward Cameron hadn’t just stopped there. He disowned him, severing whatever thread of connection Rafe had desperately clung to for so long.

The validation he’d craved from his father had been ripped away, leaving him feeling hollow, unwanted.

He squeezed the handlebars harder, his knuckles white. He wanted to cry—hell, he needed to—but something inside him wouldn’t let the tears fall.

Instead, he felt stuck in the numbness, trapped in the anger that swirled with his sorrow.

Where was he even going? He didn’t know. He just needed to escape, to run from the weight of his father’s rejection. He’d always been good at running.

Before he knew it, the familiar neon glow of the diner lights cut through the dark. Kiara’s family diner. Your workplace. Without thinking, Rafe pulled into the parking lot, the motorcycle’s engine cutting off as he came to a stop.

He was exhausted, emotionally drained, and he didn’t have the energy to go anywhere else. Something about seeing you right now felt like the only thing that might tether him to reality.

As he pushed the door open and stepped inside, the bell above the entrance jingled softly. You were behind the counter, wiping down the tables, unaware of his presence at first.

The diner was mostly empty at this hour, just a few late-night regulars scattered around. When you finally looked up and spotted him, your eyes widened in surprise. You stared at him for a moment, caught off guard by his presence.

He made his way to a booth near the window, sitting down heavily. You caught his eyes briefly as he stared out into the night, lost.

There was an intensity in his sadness that you hadn’t seen before, and it unnerved you. Rafe Cameron wasn’t supposed to look like that.

You wiped your hands on your apron and walked over to him, keeping your voice steady as you asked, “Can I get you anything?”

He looked up at you, and for a moment, there was something so open, so broken in his expression that you almost wanted to sit beside him.

He held your gaze, his voice low and a little hoarse when he spoke. “You.”

You blinked, not expecting that. “Rafe—”

“I just… need someone to talk to,” he said, his words barely above a whisper.

His eyes were glassy, like he was on the verge of tears but refusing to let them fall. “And it’s you. I don’t know why, but I need you.”

The honesty in his voice caught you off guard. Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to admit weakness, especially not to someone like you—a Pogue. But there was something so genuine in his sadness that you found yourself nodding before you could think better of it.

“My shift’s over in fifteen minutes,” you said softly. “I can talk to you then.”

As you turned to head back to the counter, you noticed Kiara leaning against the kitchen door, her arms crossed as she watched the exchange.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she took in the sight of Rafe in the diner.

“Rafe, huh?” Kiara said, her tone carrying a hint of suspicion. “That’s… unexpected.”

You shrugged. "Its not like that."

Kiara let out a soft laugh, her eyes narrowing in playful disbelief. "You know he’s bad news, right?”

There was an edge to her voice that told you it wasn’t just casual gossip. Kiara had seen what Rafe was like, how he treated her friends—Pogues. Her warning wasn’t out of jealousy or teasing. It was genuine concern.

Rafe had a reputation, and it wasn’t a good one. But the Rafe sitting in that booth looked nothing like the guy who was always stirring up trouble.

He looked… lost. And something in you couldn’t walk away from that, not after everything he did for you.

“I’ll be careful,” you promised, offering Kiara a smile.

After the clock finally struck the end of your shift, you pulled off your apron and approached Rafe’s booth. He glanced up at you, still looking like a storm was brewing inside him.

“Come on,” you said softly, nodding toward the back exit. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.”

The two of you stepped outside, the night air cool against your skin. You led him to a small bench behind the diner, away from prying eyes.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Rafe just sat there, staring down at his hands, lost in thought. You weren’t sure how to start, so you waited for him.

Eventually, he broke the silence. “I fucked up. Again."

Rafe took a long, shaky breath, rubbing a hand across his face. “My dad… he’s done with me.”

His voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw the raw pain behind his eyes. “He paid off my debt tonight—saved my ass from Barry—but then he told me I was a disappointment. That I wasn’t his son anymore.”

“I just… I don’t get it,” he continued, his voice growing more frustrated.

“No matter what I do, it’s never enough for him. I’m never enough.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a pain so deep it made your chest ache.

“I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve been trying so hard to prove myself, but… maybe he’s right. Maybe I am useless.”

“Don’t say that,” you said firmly, your hand resting on his arm.

“You’re not useless, Rafe. You’re more than what he says. You just… need to stop trying to be what he wants you to be.”

Rafe’s gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged, heavy with something unspoken.

His eyes searched yours, and you could see the vulnerability in them, the desperation for someone—anyone—to believe in him.

“You really think that?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with disbelief.

“I do,” you said softly. “You don’t have to be perfect, Rafe."

Something shifted in his expression then, a flicker of hope or maybe relief, and before you could process what was happening, Rafe leaned in.

His lips brushed yours, soft at first, like he wasn’t sure if you’d pull away. But when you didn’t, he deepened the kiss, his hand gently cupping your face.

The world around you seemed to fade, the only thing you could focus on was the warmth of his lips against yours, the way his hand gently cupped your face as if he was afraid to break you.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath shaky.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice rough.

“Don’t apologize,” you interrupted softly, your fingers brushing the side of his face.

Rafe didn’t need to say anything more, and neither did you. All you knew was that in this moment, Rafe needed someone—and for some reason, he had chosen you.

[yourlocalchronicdaydreamer]

@maraudersgirlsprompts • day 1: rose • marylily • 761 words

There is a rose on Mary’s vanity in their room.

It is the first thing Lily sees when she walks in: her eyes are drawn to it, as if they already knew it was there.

Of course, she can’t say she’s surprised to see it: it’s Valentine’s Day after all, and who wouldn’t expect Mary McDonald to collect a bouquet of roses from her many admirers? Really, Lily should have expected to see this earlier.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting any less though.

Stupidly, Lily wonders how Mary would react if the rose on that vanity had been from her. Would Mary blush, eyes slowly taking in every petal, before turning to Lily and telling her that she was the only person she wanted to receive a rose from? Would she move towards her, soft and hesitant, and caress her face before allowing their lips to meet? Or would she drop it in distaste, because why would Lily possibly think that she could ever want anything more than friendship from a girl?

Okay, she probably wouldn’t say it like that. For one, Mary is the kindest person Lily knows; but she was also nothing but accepting when Lily came out as bi, or Marls came out as a lesbian. But the insecure voice at the back of Lily’s mind is very fond of reminding her that being supportive and having to deal with it firsthand are two very different things. That Lily would lose the best friendship she has if Mary were to find out how she felt.

If Lily wants to keep her feelings hidden from the world, she probably needs to stop staring at this rose as if it’s a car crash she can’t look away from. But she doesn’t, and that’s how Mary finds her when she enters their dorm to grab the tie she left.

Lily sees her reflection in the mirror first, and sheepishly turns around so they’re face to face. “Someone gave you a rose,” she says stupidly, as if it isn’t practically screaming its existence to the world.

“Actually,” Mary says quietly, “I bought that. I was going to give it to someone. Today.”

“Oh,” Lily chokes out. Somehow, this is worse. She has always mourned the fact that she is only one of many people in this castle to fancy herself in love with Mary McDonald. But knowing that one of those people is lucky enough to be wanted by Mary as well? That is much, much worse. But I’m her best friend, Lily wants to scream. You don’t know anything about her! You don’t know that her favourite colour is the pink of the sunset, or that she always cries when a character dies in books, or that she claims her favourite sweets are sugar mice to fit in with wizards but they’re actually muggle cola bottles! But she doesn’t, because people are not supposed to be jealous of their best friends that way. They are supposed to be excited when their friends have a crush. So that’s what she does.

“Who are they then?” Lily asks, as if the idea of Mary wanting to kiss someone that isn’t her makes her want to squeal, not punch something. “Do I know them?”

Mary nods, moving slowly towards her, towards the rose. “Yeah. Yeah, you do.” Mary picks it up slowly, turning it in her hands, gazing at the petals while avoiding Lily’s eyes. Then she looks up, and Lily’s heart forgets how to beat. “Have you ever gotten a rose for Valentine’s Day?”

Lily frowns. “Yeah, fourth year, from Walters. And the singing thing from Jones in fifth. Plus … everything Potter used to do. You were there for all that.”

“Yes, but have you ever gotten one that matters?” Mary is watching her very intently now, and it makes part of Lily want to blurt out the whole truth: that none of those mattered at all, because they weren’t her. 

“No,” is all Lily says, and then suddenly she’s feeling the press of thorns on her palm. Not daring to look down, she brings her fingers up, allowing them to brush against what can only be petals: feather-light and, she’s willing to bet, as red as the lips of the girl who gave it to her. She feels her eyes drift to those lips now, and when she moves them up, she notices Mary’s eyes doing the same thing.

“You have now,” Mary whispers, and then their lips are touching and Lily stops noticing much of anything else at all.