#i barely tolerate STEAM.

[solsticehymns]

liar, liar: oneshot

james potter x f!reader / fluff / romcom vibes / truth serum shenanigans

summary: James Potter doesn’t mean to confess his feelings. Or overshare. Or humiliate himself in front of the girl he’s in love with. But when a truth-telling potion takes hold, he doesn’t really have a choice.

a/n: recently rewatched liar liar. EXCELLENT MOVIE. even though jim carrey’s face makes me irrationally angry, the plot is so good and heartwarming. this fic was heavily inspired by those vibes, and kinda just that 90s romcom vibe in general! really hope you love it <333 xoxo, sunny ☀️🌻💞

wc: 3963

"You know," Sirius began, his voice thick with scrambled eggs, "if they can't manage to cook bacon properly, they really shouldn’t be serving it at all. It’s practically criminal."

Remus, barely glancing up from the Daily Prophet, replied with practiced indifference, "You say that every morning."

"And every morning, I’m still right," Sirius said, stabbing at a charred piece of bacon with melodramatic flair.

James Potter, seated between them, was only marginally involved in the conversation. The bulk of his attention—an alarming, disproportionate amount—was focused a few seats down the Gryffindor table, where you were nestled beside Lily Evans with a steaming cup of tea cradled between your hands. You laughed at something she said, a sound so soft and clear that it reached him easily over the low hum of breakfast chatter. James didn’t even hear the joke. The moment you smiled, his brain short-circuited—something sparked, overloaded, and went still.

He lifted his goblet of pumpkin juice, took a slow sip, and set it back down carefully. A droplet slid down the rim, clinging to his finger. He wiped it away absently, still looking at you.

There was something specific about mornings and you—a quiet kind of softness. Your hair was still slightly tousled from sleep, your oversized jumper hung loosely on your frame, and your hands gripped the mug as if it anchored you to the table. You leaned in, laughing again, and the sound caught in James's chest like a hook.

You weren’t trying to be radiant. That was the worst part. You didn’t angle for attention—you just had that gravitational pull, the kind of beauty that rearranged a room without asking permission. And James was, academically speaking, utterly and irreversibly besotted.

This wasn’t new. It had been happening slowly, over months—maybe even years. A quiet, resigned sort of yearning that made itself at home beneath his ribcage; a second heartbeat. He realized he was in too deep when he stopped fantasizing about declarations and started yearning for the ordinary. Sharing a table in the library. Catching your eye across a hallway. The occasional accidental touch that felt far too meaningful.

He’d made peace with the ache. As long as he got to see you every day, he could live with it.

Peter nudged him with a mouthful of toast. "Did you finish the Transfiguration essay?"

James’s jaw tightened. He was about to deliver a casual, harmless answer. Something that passed as effort.

Instead, what he said was, "Didn't even open the book."

Silence.

James blinked.

What the hell?

He hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t even consciously thought it.

Remus slowly lowered his newspaper. "Come again?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "That’s not the James Potter we know and grudgingly tolerate."

James felt a prickling heat crawl up his neck. He tried again.

"I meant to, but I got distracted. By a leaf. Or a bird. Something shiny. I don’t know."

The words tumbled out uncontrollably. He slapped both hands over his mouth, a feeble attempt at containing the damage. His cheeks were already burning, and his eyes darted around as if he could chase the words down and pull them back.

Don’t speak. Don’t even breathe, he warned himself.

Sirius grinned, delighted. "Did you just involuntarily confess to procrastinating?"

James whispered, horrified, "I didn’t mean to. It just—happened. Like my mouth’s operating on its own."

Remus's smile faltered. He looked mildly concerned now.

Before anyone could respond, your voice cut through the moment.

"Did you hit your head this morning, Potter?"

You were looking at him, bemused, your head tilted slightly. You were clearly unaware that James was in the middle of a full-blown crisis.

He turned toward you with the intention of brushing it off—something witty, something safe.

His brain screamed: Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it—

"You're the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen and I think about your smile at least three times an hour."

Dead silence.

Your eyes widened.

James felt as if someone had suddenly electrocuted his nervous system. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

You blinked, once, then twice, and let out a breathy, incredulous laugh. "Right. You definitely hit your head."

You stood, tucked your book under your arm, and offered him one last look—a half-smile, curious and a little amused. An unknown emotion flickered in your expression before you turned away.

Gone.

James’s hand froze mid-air, toast still suspended as if caught in a still photograph.

His stomach plummeted.

Across the table, Sirius collapsed forward, laughter shaking his shoulders.

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly regretting every decision that had brought him to this moment.

Peter leaned in cautiously. "Mate, what the hell was that?"

James turned to them slowly, wide-eyed and pale. "What did you do?"

Sirius beamed and gestured vaguely to the cluster of goblets in the center of the table. One still held a faint swirl of orange juice.

"This," he said reverently, "is the single best moment of my life."

James’s voice came out sharp and panicked. "Tell me. Now."

Remus hesitated, fidgeting with the edge of his paper. "We might have… accidentally tested something. On you."

James stiffened. "Tested what?"

Sirius leaned back smugly. "The pumpkin juice. We brewed a variant of Veritaserum last night. Just for fun. You drank the one we spiked. Or maybe it was the goblet next to it. Jury’s still out."

"Lucky you," Remus added, not meeting James’s eyes.

James dropped his toast. It landed butter-side down with a soft, tragic thud.

He didn’t blink.

"Oh," he said flatly. "Fuck."

James spent the subsequent hours engaging in a masterclass of avoidance tactics. He deliberately skipped lunch, took unnecessarily long routes between classes, and at one point, concealed himself behind a seventh-floor tapestry for seventeen excruciating minutes while you stood just a few feet away, engrossed in conversation with Dorcas Meadowes.

It was not dignified. But then again, dignity had abandoned him somewhere between blurting out "you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen" and letting his toast fall like a tragic Victorian heroine succumbing to fate.

Remus assured him that the potion’s effects would wear off by mid-afternoon. James clung to that prediction like a drowning man to driftwood, crafting mental versions of the day in which he might make it through without hemorrhaging any further fragments of pride. Yet with each step he took toward the next class, doubt clawed at him—what if the potion lingered just long enough to obliterate his remaining social capital? The uncertainty scratched under his skin, carrying a similar feeling to an irreversible hex.

Sirius, on the other hand, made it his personal mission to test the serum’s potency every fifteen minutes.

"Prongs, mate, how do you really feel about Filch?"

"He smells like cabbage and despair, and I once dreamt he chased me with a ladle."

Sirius erupted into delighted laughter.

James groaned into his hands. "This is it. I’m going to die of Veritaserum-induced emotional exposure."

"You’ll survive," Remus said, although his tone suggested he was still conducting the risk assessment in real time.

They scraped through Herbology with minimal disaster. James uttered only one vaguely mortifying remark—"She hugged me once and I still think about how she smelled"—which he managed to reframe as a Weird Sisters lyric. Barely.

But Transfiguration? That was a catastrophe waiting in slow motion.

With exams approaching, McGonagall had declared the day a review session, which in practice meant organized chaos. Students clustered at scattered tables, muttering incantations under their breath, cross-referencing spellwork, and trying not to Vanish their self-respect alongside practice objects. James sat toward the back. You were near the front, half-turned toward your group so that he could see the slope of your shoulder and the line of your smile when you laughed.

You were surrounded by Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene—quills scratching, parchment rustling, the occasional gasp of horror as someone’s Vanishing Spell rendered an entire desk legless. James was meant to be revising. Instead, his hand trembled and his heart pounded like it had something to prove.

His notes were illegible. The phrase "turn to smoke???" appeared multiple times, alongside a sketch of a teacup that looked suspiciously like it was weeping. His quill tapped an erratic beat against the parchment.

Across from him, Sirius arched an eyebrow, already grinning.

"So," he said, low and gleeful, just loud enough, "how exactly do you feel about her again?"

James didn’t even look up. The words left him instinctively.

"She’s a walking daydream, and I’ve got about four essays overdue because of her face."

It echoed.

Not quietly. Not subtly. It was loud enough to carry over to three tables in the vicinity

Heads turned. Someone choked on a cough. Sirius bit his fist, shaking with the effort not to fall off his chair.

James froze.

His entire body went rigid—quill suspended mid-air, lungs locked in his chest. It was as if the very fabric of time had paused to acknowledge his downfall.

Then—movement.

You paused mid-sentence. Lily tapped your shoulder with subtle urgency. Dorcas leaned in, her expression intrigued. Marlene glanced over her shoulder with the kind of grin reserved for front-row seats to emotional train wrecks.

You listened. Blinked slowly.

Then—deliberately—you turned.

The entire table held its collective breath.

Your gaze found James’s like a targeting spell—brows raised, eyes wide. Not offended. Not amused. Just... intrigued. Like you'd heard something strange and didn’t know what to do with it yet—but wanted to.

James wanted the floor to open beneath him and deliver him mercifully into the void. He briefly entertained the idea of self-immolation.

But then—you smiled.

A small one. Tentative. Surprised, maybe. But not dismissive. Not cruel.

You turned back around, and chaos resumed. Lily covered her mouth. Dorcas said something that made Marlene snort into her sleeve. Whatever it was, it was very clearly about James.

James stared at the back of your head, wondering if it might offer a second chance if he looked hard enough.

Sirius was wheezing. Remus had buried his face in his hands. Peter knocked over his inkpot in the ensuing shockwave.

James slumped forward with a groan that seemed to exit his soul before his body.

He was, by every available metric, completely and irrevocably screwed.

He had barely taken ten steps from the classroom when a voice behind him called out.

"Potter."

He turned too quickly—jerky and obvious—and almost collided with you as you stepped directly into his path.

You didn’t flinch. You simply stood there, arms folded loosely, head tilted, gaze calm and inquisitive. The corridor had mostly emptied by now, the background noise reduced to the distant echo of footsteps and muffled voices behind heavy wooden doors.

James’s heart performed a complicated sequence of flips before lodging itself somewhere uncomfortably near his throat.

You met his eyes with an unreadable expression—curious, composed, lightly amused. Like you’d opened a door and were standing on the threshold, waiting to see if he’d walk through it.

"Quick question," you said, tone airy but precise. "Was that... about me?"

His mouth opened. Instinct surged to the front of his mind—sarcasm, a joke, maybe even a clumsy attempt at denial. But his thoughts lagged just behind his reflexes, and before he could intercept them, the words had already spilled out.

"Yeah," he said plainly. "And by the way, you’re absurdly pretty. Like—genuinely hard to function around. Painfully so."

Silence fell with the weight of a dropped textbook.

You blinked. Once. Then again.

James stood frozen, every synapse in his body firing off simultaneously, as though his nervous system couldn’t decide between fight, flight, or faint. His ears were burning. His hands twitched at his sides, completely useless.

Finally, you let out a soft laugh. It wasn’t cruel, or mocking. Just surprised. Genuine.

"You’re strange, Potter."

James flailed—just barely—before shoving his hands into his pockets like it might prevent further disaster.

"No—I mean, not in a creepy way. Or, alright, maybe slightly weird, but not bad-weird. I just think you’re... brilliant. And kind. And I notice when you wear that jumper with the rip in the sleeve because it makes you look comfortable. And I should probably stop talking now."

You looked at him for a moment that stretched longer than it should have. Not unkind. Not amused. Something else—curious, thoughtful. As if you were seeing him clearly for the first time and hadn't yet decided what to make of it.

Your lips curled slightly.

You tilted your head. Evaluating. Deciding.

Then, finally, you smiled.

It was mischievous and warm, soft-edged and self-assured—the kind of smile that could level a person without trying.

"See you in Charms, heartthrob."

You turned and walked away with unhurried confidence, like you knew exactly the mess you were leaving in your wake.

James remained rooted in place, too stunned to move, like the rest of his body hadn’t caught up with what had just happened.

Crunch.

Sirius appeared beside him, seemingly conjured out of thin air, munching loudly on an apple with the casual demeanor of someone watching a soap opera.

"You’re done for, mate," he said cheerfully. "She’s gonna marry you."

James emitted a sound that hovered somewhere between a gasp and a wheeze.

Sirius thumped him on the back with unearned confidence. "Better start writing your vows."

Charms was an unmitigated disaster.

James had spent the walk to class muttering desperate prayers to any higher power that might take pity on him. Maybe Flitwick would assign partners alphabetically. Or by wand length. Or perhaps he’d adopt some arbitrary sorting system blessed by divine chance—anything to keep James from sitting next to you.

No such luck.

The universe, as it turned out, had a cruel sense of humor.

You slid into the seat beside him, entirely casual, like his whole nervous system hadn’t just tried to exit his body at the sight of you.

“Hi,” you said simply.

“Hi,” he replied, voice cracking like a prepubescent banshee. He cleared his throat. “Hi.”

You tilted your head slightly. “You doing alright?”

He gave a thumbs-up. Then immediately regretted it. Who does that?

Sirius, two rows back, made eye contact and mimed a halo over his head.

Flitwick launched into a lecture on the Cheering Charm, but James only caught every fifth word. Something about “light-hearted energy” and “proper wand movement,” none of which applied to the doom currently devouring his insides. His palms were damp. His quill was trembling slightly. His knee wouldn’t stop bouncing under the desk.

You leaned closer, one elbow resting casually on the table as you peered at his parchment.

“Is that supposed to be a diagram of a wand or a tree?”

James blinked at the mess of lines he’d drawn. “It’s—neither. Abstract art.”

You grinned, wide and easy, and he felt it as a punch to the sternum. His heart lurched so hard it practically knocked the air out of him. You had no idea what that smile did to him—how it short-circuited whatever logic he had left.

You turned your attention back to your notes, but your voice was light. Curious. Teasing.

“Do you always talk like this to girls, or just me?”

James didn’t even have time to panic.

“It’s just you. Always been you.”

The words hit the air like a dropped pin in an empty room.

You blinked.

He stared at the table, mortified. His ears burned. He could feel Sirius’s psychic scream of glee from two rows away. He’d said it. Out loud. He’d said it out loud.

But you didn’t laugh, tease, or mock, as he had feared.

You only looked at him. Really looked at him.

Your expression held something quiet. Not surprise. Not pity. Something gentler—measured and soft. A flicker of understanding that warmed rather than burned.

James’s breath snagged in his throat. His fingers curled slightly around the base of his quill as he struggled to keep himself grounded. For one agonizing, wonderful moment, he thought he might cry—out of embarrassment, yes, but also because the moment was real.

And then—

You turned back to your wand.

Said nothing.

Your cheeks were slightly pink, your smile just barely visible as you bent over your parchment again. But you didn’t move away. You didn’t laugh it off. You stayed close, like the moment didn’t scare you the way it terrified him.

James blinked in the echo of it—your kindness, your quiet acceptance—completely undone.

He didn’t hear a word Flitwick said for the rest of class.

After class, James moved quickly—too quickly—trying to pack his things before reality caught up with him. If he kept his head down, avoided eye contact, and exited fast enough, maybe he could outrun the emotional catastrophe he’d spent all day teetering on.

But you didn’t leave.

“James.”

His name stopped him cold. Charms book half-shoved into his bag, his spine went rigid.

Your voice was quiet—not sarcastic, not amused. Measured. Sincere.

He turned slowly, bracing for the worst. You were standing a few feet away, arms loosely crossed, your bag hanging off one shoulder. There was nothing smug about your posture. If anything, your presence felt... gentle. And somehow, that made it harder to bear.

Your expression was hard to read, but it held no sharp edges. There was a softness in your eyes, something patient and open, like you were holding back the question that had been building all class.

“Are you okay?”

The simplicity of it landed with an almost disproportionate weight.

Because you meant it.

James blinked, unprepared. His brain scrambled to summon a joke, a quip—something light enough to float him out of this moment.

But the truth arrived first.

"No," he said. "Not even remotely."

The honesty stunned him. It left his mouth before he could restrain it, like the words had slipped from a part of him he couldn't control. He winced as soon as it was out.

Desperate to recover, he backpedaled.

“I mean—I’m not sick or dying or anything. Just…” He gestured vaguely at himself. “Emotionally compromised. Mildly feral. Truthfully unwell."

He offered a crooked smile. It held, barely.

Your brows lifted. Not out of judgment, but consideration. You looked at him like his words were puzzle pieces you were quietly fitting together.

“Truthfully, hm?”

James looked away. Embarrassment bloomed hot across his face.

It was absurd how much weight that single word carried. He fiddled with the zipper of his bag as if the act could insulate him from further exposure.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me today,” he muttered. “My filter’s gone. I think something and then—I say it. And somehow, it’s always when you’re standing nearby.”

Still, you didn’t laugh. You didn’t mock. You didn’t flinch.

Instead, you took one small step closer.

And then, without saying anything else, you reached forward and gave the sleeve of his robes the gentlest tug. Just once. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t performative. But it said everything: I see you. I’m still here.

James swallowed hard. His throat tightened, but this time not with panic. Something else. Something quiet. Something close to relief.

You turned and walked away, unhurried, the last rays of afternoon light catching in your hair as you rounded the corner.

The classroom was silent now.

James stood motionless for several seconds before lowering himself into the nearest chair like someone had been holding him upright all day and finally let go. His bag hung off one shoulder, forgotten. His hair fell into his eyes.

He tipped his head back and groaned—long, dramatic, utterly defeated: “I am so fucking doomed.”

The Gryffindor common room was silent—eerily so.

James had barely stepped through the portrait hole when he sensed it. The stillness felt curated, like a scene hastily arranged moments before he entered.

He pivoted to leave, but Sirius materialized in his path, smiling with far too much innocence to be trusted.

“Where are you off to, Prongs?”

James squinted. “Nowhere. Anywhere. Just—not here.”

“Perfect,” Sirius chirped. “Come sit.”

Before James could object, Sirius ushered him toward the fireplace with the gentle coercion of someone leading a lamb to slaughter.

That’s when James saw you.

You were already seated on the sofa, legs folded beneath you, a forgotten book resting in your lap. The firelight danced across your features, softening the angles of your face in a golden glow.

James froze. "You planned this."

Sirius thumped him on the back. "Me? Never. Just a wildly convenient coincidence, right?"

You raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Well, would you look at that,” Sirius said, clutching his chest like he was moved to tears. “Two of my dearest friends. Alone. In the same room. Under the same roof. By sheer happenstance.” He turned to you. “Don’t mind me—I’ll just be over here, not spying and definitely not listening in.”

He took a single, dramatic step back.

“Actually, no. I should go. Destiny awaits.”

James whipped around. “Sirius—”

“Good luck!” Sirius called over his shoulder, already ascending the stairs. “Also, feel free to profess undying love! Or don’t. But you probably should.”

The portrait hole sealed behind him.

James turned to face you. You had closed your book.

“That wasn’t subtle,” you said.

James exhaled and dragged a hand through his hair. “Not even a little.”

You rose, slow and deliberate. Arms folded—not defensive, but inquisitive.

“One question,” you said. “Why?”

James blinked. “Why...?”

You softened your tone. “Why have you been acting so strange today?”

That was all it took.

“I was dosed with a homemade version of Veritaserum,” James admitted, words tumbling out. “Sirius and Remus spiked my pumpkin juice this morning. For fun. That’s why I’ve been blurting things I’d normally take to the grave. Especially around you.”

He hesitated. Took a breath.

“Even so—I meant every word.”

You didn’t interrupt.

James’s voice quieted, like he was running out of room in his own chest.

“I don’t think I’ve ever outright lied to you, not really. It’s more that I’ve been pretending. Like saying 'morning' without letting it mean anything. Sitting near you and pretending I wasn’t waiting for you to notice.”

He let that hang between you.

“I can’t believe it took a bloody potion for me to admit I’m in love with you. I think I’ve known for ages. Maybe since third year, when you lent me your notes and smiled like I hadn’t just failed spectacularly. Or maybe fifth year, when you hexed Mulciber for picking on that first-year and shrugged it off like it was nothing. I’ve carried it for so long it stopped feeling urgent. It just became part of me.”

The fire crackled. James stared into it, hoping he would vanish.

“I didn’t plan to say that either,” he murmured under his breath.

You studied him.

Then, voice barely above a whisper: “You’re in love with me?”

He nodded, completely genuine. “Madly.”

And when you kissed him—softly, surely, like you’d already decided—James forgot how to stand still. One hand found your waist like it had always known where to go; the other hovered, then gently cupped your cheek, as though the moment might dissolve if he wasn’t careful.

Your lips were warm and real, and James felt his entire body lit with quiet flame.

You kissed him like it hadn’t scared you off. Like maybe it had pulled you closer.

When you broke apart—just enough to breathe—your forehead pressed against his.

“You really are strange, Potter,” you said.

James let out a shaky laugh. “You kissed me anyway.”

You smiled. “I suppose I like strange.”

And for once, James Potter didn’t need to speak. But if he had to, he’d spend the rest of his life figuring out the right words for you.

By morning, Remus and Sirius had double-checked the potion’s timeline. It had likely worn off sometime around Charms.

Everything after that? All James.

☀️🌻 masterlist

[pandapetals]

Sunlight & Sawdust

Chapter One: Marigolds & Measuring Tapes | next chapter

Summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter. But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop. For free. Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

Pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

Content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, angst and eventual smut, joel is bad at feelings, sarah mentioned

A/N: divider by @saradika-graphics.

Joel pushed open the glass door to the run-down diner, the bell above it jingling in protest. His eyes immediately found Tommy, already settled in one of the front booths, grinning like he had no place better to be. Tommy had insisted they get lunch—something about "brother time." Whatever the hell that meant, Joel wasn’t sure—it sounded like an excuse for Tommy to talk his ear off.

Still, Joel trudged over, sliding onto the worn leather seat across from him. He barely had a second to get comfortable before his stomach twisted—because, of course, you were here.

Standing at the counter, you leaned forward slightly as you spoke to the waitress, your voice too soft for Joel to hear over the hum of the diner. But he didn’t need to. He knew how you sounded—warm, patient, like everything that made his skin itch.

Tommy was your friend, though Joel never understood why. You doted on him like he was some kind of damn prince, always checking in, always making sure he was taken care of. It was ridiculous. You weren’t his wife. Hell, you weren’t even his girlfriend, but you looked at him like he hung the damn moon. And the worst part? Tommy let you.

Joel hated it.

He hated how you laughed at Tommy’s stupid jokes, the way your hand would rest on his arm absentmindedly. Hated how you never showed that same effortless affection toward him. No, with Joel, it was different. More careful. More…guarded.

A shadow passed over the table as you approached, carrying a plate and two steaming mugs.

"Got you some coffee and pancakes," you said, setting them down in front of Tommy with a smile that could warm an entire room. Your touch lingered for a second, fingers grazing the edge of the plate like you cared whether he ate enough. Then, your eyes flickered to Joel—briefly, uncertain—before darting away like you hadn’t looked at all.

"Coffee, just how you like it," you added, softer this time. And then, after a moment’s hesitation, "Mind if I sit?"

Tommy beamed, already scooting over to make space. "Course you can. Joel and I were just catching up—having some brother time."

Joel grunted, his gaze locked on you. You knew, didn’t you? Knew damn well that he didn’t like you, didn’t want you here. And yet, you smiled anyway, sliding into the booth beside Tommy like it didn’t bother you in the slightest. Like he didn’t bother you.

"That’s good," you said, reaching for your coffee. You didn’t look at Joel or acknowledge him when you spoke.

It shouldn’t have annoyed him.

Tommy threw an arm around your shoulders, grinning. "So, how’s business?"

Joel clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around his coffee cup. The heat bled through the ceramic, grounding him, but it wasn’t enough to stop the irritation from creeping in.

It was one thing to tolerate you. One thing to see you in passing, to nod stiffly when social politeness forced him to.

But sitting here, watching you smile at Tommy and lean into him like he was the only person in the world worth your warmth—that was something else entirely.

"It’s been good, actually." You traced the rim of your coffee mug, voice light but edged with something quieter. "Didn’t think the flower shop would ever take off."

Your eyes flickered to Tommy, soft with appreciation, but there was hesitation there, too, like you weren’t entirely sure you believed in your own success.

Tommy, ever the optimist, gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "C’mon now, you do a real good job running that place. ‘Course it was gonna be successful."

Joel curled his fingers into a fist under the table, nails pressing into his palm. The whole exchange—it was too much. Too easy. Too natural. How Tommy touched you, like it was second nature, the way you let him. The way you looked at him.

His irritation boiled over before he could stop it. "Do you two always gotta be so goddamn buddy-buddy?" The words came out sharper than he intended, a growl low in his throat.

Your head snapped up, a faint scowl replacing the warmth on your face. "Tommy’s a good friend to me."

Joel huffed, eyes narrowing. "Oh, really?" His voice dripped with doubt, the kind that crawled under his skin and stuck.

You frowned, glancing at Tommy as if he might have an answer for Joel’s problem. "We’ve been friends for… two years now?"

Tommy nodded. "Something like that."

Joel leaned back against the booth, arms crossed over his chest, his stare heavy on you. "Y’all hang out a lot?"

There was something in his tone, something pointed—but you couldn’t tell what. Suspicion? Judgment? Something else entirely?

"Whenever we can." You lifted your coffee to your lips, pausing before adding, "Usually, we grab lunch or go to a bar..." Your voice trailed off, confusion creeping in.

Why did it feel like an interrogation? Why did Joel always act like you were the problem? And despite the sharp edge in his voice, why did it seem like he was daring you to push back?

Joel scoffed, shifting in his seat like he was settling in for a fight. "Oh, I see." His arms folded tightly across his chest, muscles taut beneath the worn fabric of his flannel. "You two are just best of friends, then." The words dripped with something bitter, something he barely bothered to mask.

You exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around your coffee mug. Without thinking, your eyes flicked to Tommy, silently pleading for him to smooth over whatever this was.

Tommy sighed, setting his fork down with a clatter. He’d known Joel all his life—stubbornness was in his damn blood—but this? This thing he had against you? It never made sense.

"Joel," Tommy said, voice edged with exasperation. "Stop bein’ so damn rude to her. She’s my friend."

Joel’s jaw ticked.

You stayed quiet, watching the tension stretch across the table like a rope about to snap. Tommy was trying to keep things light, to brush past Joel’s temper like it could be ignored. But you weren’t stupid—you could see how Tommy’s shoulders squared, and Joel’s fingers drummed against the table like he was holding something back.

Joel wasn’t just being difficult. He was being deliberate.

His gaze flickered between you and Tommy, unreadable. "Why should I?" he shot back, low and cutting. His knuckles pressed against the table, a restless energy rolling off him in waves. "I’m not obligated to play nice, y’know."

Joel couldn’t understand what made you so damn special. Why Tommy liked you so much?

What did he even see in you?

You were a pain in Joel’s ass, all sunshine and softness in a way that rubbed him the wrong way—too warm, too open, too damn much. Why couldn’t Tommy see that?

But before Joel could snap out something sharp, you spoke first.

"Joel’s right."

The words came easily and calmly. No bite, no sarcasm. Just simple, matter-of-fact acceptance.

It caught all three of you off guard.

Tommy’s brows shot up. Joel blinked once, slow, like he hadn’t heard you right.

"He doesn’t have to play nice just for my sake," you added, lifting your coffee to your lips like his attitude didn’t touch you at all.

The silence at the table stretched thick and unmoving.

You exhaled softly, carefully setting your mug down before turning to Tommy. "I should go anyway."

Joel expected sarcasm, a little sting in your tone—hell, a glare at the very least. But instead, you smiled at Tommy, warm and genuine, like this wasn’t anything new. Like you weren’t the least bit bothered.

And that somehow irritated him more than anything you could’ve said.

"No, stay," Tommy insisted, cutting in before Joel could protest.

Joel’s jaw flexed, something unspoken brewing behind his eyes. His patience was already thin, but now his damn eye was twitching as he scrambled for a response—anything to regain some kind of ground. But for once, he had nothing.

You stood anyway, smoothing out the wrinkles in your sweater. "It’s okay," you assured Tommy, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I gotta get to the flower shop."

Then, just to twist the knife a little deeper, you reached down and patted Tommy’s cheek, all affectionate and casual, like it was something you’d done a hundred times before.

Joel’s stomach tightened with the feeling he refused to name.

"Enjoy the pancakes," you said, flashing Tommy one last smile before turning on your heel and heading for the door.

Joel watched you go, watched the way the early afternoon light spilled through the diner windows as you stepped outside.

The door shut behind you, the bell chiming softly.

Tommy shook his head with a low chuckle, reaching for his coffee. "Y’know, for someone who claims to hate her, you sure as hell stare a lot."

Joel gritted his teeth, reaching for his coffee like it might wash away the irritation or whatever the hell else was creeping in.

"Shut up, Tommy."

Joel’s eyes stayed locked on the door, his fingers absently tightening around his coffee cup. He told himself he was just zoning out—but his damn gaze lingered like he was waiting.

Waiting for you to walk back in.

Waiting for another glance, another soft word, something he wouldn’t name.

Tommy watched him, unimpressed. "Stop pulling my leg," he said flatly, his stare pressing into Joel like a weight.

Joel grunted in response, ripping his gaze away from the door and taking a slow sip of coffee. He avoided Tommy’s glare but could feel it—heavy, expectant like Tommy was waiting, too.

"What the hell’s your problem with her, anyway?" Tommy finally asked voice edged with irritation. "Why do you even care if she’s my friend?"

Joel scowled, his grip tightening around the ceramic mug. "I don’t care."

His voice was too sharp, too quick. Even he could hear the lie in it.

Tommy snorted, shaking his head. "Bullshit."

Joel exhaled sharply, pushing Tommy’s plate away as the pancakes had personally offended him. "She’s your friend, not mine," he shot back, the words coming out harder than he had meant them to.

Tommy leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes narrowed. "She is my friend. That’s why I care. You’re bein’ a goddamn asshole to her for no reason."

Joel scoffed, rolling his shoulders like he could shake off the conversation. "I don’t have to play nice with her just ‘cause you do, Tommy." His voice was low and tight, but something else was creeping in—something defensive.

Tommy let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Jesus, Joel."

Joel ignored him. "She’s annoying and stubborn, and I—" He stopped himself, jaw clenching before forcing the words out. "I don’t like her."

They felt wrong the second they left his mouth, as if he was trying to convince himself more than Tommy.

Tommy stared at him, unimpressed. His expression slowly morphed from frustration to something closer to realization.

"You are so full of shit."

Joel bristled. "I’m full of shit?"

Tommy huffed out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "You do like her. You just don’t know what the hell to do with it."

Joel shot Tommy a warning glare, but his brother wasn’t backing down. If anything, he looked more pissed off by the second.

"She ain’t stubborn or annoying," Tommy said, voice edged with frustration. "She’s the most kind-hearted person I’ve ever met."

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers curling into a fist beneath the table. Of course, Tommy would say that. Of course, he’d defend you like you were the damn saint of this town. It only made Joel’s irritation settle deeper, hot and restless in his chest.

He scoffed. "Sure she is," he muttered, rolling his eyes. The words were dry and dismissive, meant to push Tommy off his back.

But even as he said them, something about them didn’t sit right.

Tommy shook his head, muttering as he cut into what was left of his pancakes. Joel tried to ignore how his brother glared at him like he was some lost cause.

The diner felt too warm, too small.

Joel shifted in his seat, fingers drumming against the table, trying to shake the uncomfortable feeling gnawing at him. It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

Because, sure, you were annoying. Always so damn nice, always doting on Tommy like he was something special. And that smile of yours? That soft, warm, inviting smile? It pissed him off for reasons he couldn’t explain.

His scowl deepened. You were just some irritating… too-kind… beautiful—

Joel cut the thought off before it could go any further, clearing his throat like it might scrub the idea from his brain.

He didn’t like you.

He didn’t.

But then why did it feel like every conversation with you left him stuck in this goddamn cycle—him pushing, you barely reacting, just meeting him with that quiet, knowing patience that somehow made him more irritated?

Why, even now, long after you’d left, was he still thinking about you?

[lazysoulwriter]

sweat & purple rain - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you. ♡ content: NSFW, explicit shower sex, oral f receiving, unprotected sex, hair pulling, spanking, praise & slight teasing kink, Pedro being annoying and hot, fluff and humor, domesticity, singing Pedro lol

----

You hear the door before you see him. Then the heavy thud of his gym bag hitting the floor, followed by—

“Mi amoooorrrrr,” Pedro calls out, still out of breath, “I almost DIED doing squats today, where’s my reward?”

You barely have time to look up from the couch before he’s on you — shirt soaked through, arms wrapped around you, lips smacking against your cheek over and over.

“Pedro!” You shove at his damp chest, squealing. “You’re all sweaty! Get off!”

“Let me love you,” he whines dramatically, breath hot on your neck. “I’m weak. My muscles hurt. I need comfort.”

“You need a shower,” you laugh, trying not to breathe in his delightfully gross gym smell, “and a damn exorcism.”

He pulls back just enough to grin, cheeks flushed, curls damp. “C’mon. Shower with me?”

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

“Yeah,” he smirks, tugging you up by the hand, “but you love it.”

The second the water hits, he’s humming.

Then singing. Loudly.

“I never meant to cause you any sorrow—”

“Pedro,” you groan, “please—"

“I never meant to cause you any pain—”

You reach for the shampoo with a snort as he presses his chest to your back, water cascading down your bodies. His hands stay on your hips, thumb rubbing circles.

“I only wanted one time to see you laughing…” he croons, completely off-key.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, lathering your hands.

“I only want to see you laughing…” He turns you around with a dramatic flourish. “In the purple rain!”

You burst out laughing, shoving shampoo-slick fingers into his curls. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he says, suddenly softer. His eyes stay locked on yours while you gently wash his hair, massage his scalp. “You spoil me.”

“I tolerate you,” you mutter, but your thumbs brush along his temples lovingly.

He leans into it like a cat, all smug and warm. “You love me.”

You rinse his hair, trying not to smile. “I do. But I liked you better when you weren’t so—”

His mouth crashes onto yours before you can finish. You gasp, hands sliding down his chest, soap slick between you.

“You were saying?” he whispers.

You don’t answer — you just kiss him harder.

Hands wander. Hips press. His palm slaps against the wall beside your head and you moan into his mouth.

“Turn around,” he rasps.

You do. Water runs down your back as he kisses your neck, your shoulder, his hand slipping between your thighs.

“You want it?” he asks, voice husky, fingers stroking slowly.

You nod, grinding back into his hand.

He grabs your hip with one hand, the other guiding his cock to your entrance. You’re already wet — hot and ready for him — and he slides in with a low groan.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants. “So tight for me.”

You brace yourself against the tiles, gasping as he sets a steady rhythm, hips slapping into yours.

He doesn’t rush. Just drags it out — deep and slow and filthy. His hands roam, groping your tits, tugging your hair, smacking your ass just hard enough to make you yelp.

“This what you needed?” he growls. “Me ruining you in the shower like a fuckin’ animal?”

You whimper, pushing back onto him. “Y-Yeah.”

He leans in, biting your shoulder gently. “Say it.”

“Needed you,” you gasp, “missed your cock, fuck—Pedro—”

You come with a cry, legs shaking, water washing the sweat and sin from your skin.

He follows not long after, moaning your name like it’s a hymn.

Afterward, you’re breathless, sagging against him in the misty steam. He pulls you close, presses a soft kiss to your temple.

“Still think I need an exorcism?” he murmurs, voice smug.

You swat his ass. “Still think you need a muzzle.”

He laughs. “Fair.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[hard-core-super-star]

push me on the counter, call me princess [W.Maximoff; N.Romanoff]

pairing: dom!wanda maximoff x sub!reader x dom!natasha romanoff

summary: you and wanda develop a connection you definitely shouldn't have with someone in a relationship. unbeknowst to you, it's all part of their plan.

warnings: PURE SMUT, MINORS DO NO INTERACT -> mentions of cheating! [no actual cheating, though! wandanat have an agreement, R doesn't know about it until things get spicy]; mommy + daddy kink; nipple play; impact play; wanda using her powers to hold R down; fingering [R receiving]; oral [Nat receiving]; twinges of humiliation; degradation + praise; nat's a little mean but we love her for it; use of the term 'slut'; probably more but i forgot

wordcount: 3.3k

a/n: so...i'm technically not doing anything official for kinktober this year because school is kicking my butt already BUT i have a few ideas for some very filthy smut fics so i'll be posting them this month. i haven't written for wandanat in a minute so i hope i did them justice. please let me know your thoughts, i hope you enjoy <3

[part two | part three]

* * * * * * *

It was supposed to be a one time thing.

That's what you told Wanda when she pushed you against the farthest wall in some dingy, badly-lit, New York bar.

The two of you had come back from a long, draining, mission and, instead of staying at the Compound and actually resting, you decided to go out and get drunk to let off some steam. The mission had technically been a success, but it had also been a pain in the ass...and in the shoulder, thanks to the knife wound you'd received.

So, yeah, maybe going out wasn't the best idea in the first place.

In your defense, it was borderline impossible to say no to the witch. Mainly because she was very convincing when she wanted to be, but also because of your massive, and borderline ridiculous, crush on her.

To make matters worse, Wanda was pissed off at Natasha for...something and you ended up taking the place of a supportive partner.

It would have been fine had the drinks in your system not made your inhibitions lower significantly, which rendered you helpless against the green-eyed woman of your dreams. Then again, it's not like you were particularly against that idea in the first place.

Maybe that made you a horrible person.

Maybe that made Wanda a monster.

But how could she be one when she whispered the sweetest words in your ear while taking you over the edge and destroying you in the most pleasurable of ways? How could there be anything wrong about her soft caresses and gentle smiles?

A part of you knows the answer. It's wrong because the witch's heart isn't yours. Or worse, because someone else's heart belongs to the witch.

Because for all their problems and arguments, Wanda and Natasha love each other. At the very least, they tolerate each other enough to stay together.

And you don't fit into their relationship.

You shouldn't.

But Wanda isn't a person you can just ignore.

She makes that perfectly clear no less than a week after your little "mistake".

You're in the kitchen at the Compound, eating some leftovers and scrolling through your phone to keep yourself occupied, when Wanda walks in. You don't need to look at her to know she's pissed off. Her energy is way too heavy to mean anything else.

"Hey, Wands," you say, barely looking up from your phone out of fear of falling under her spell once more.

She walks over to you, leaning against the counter and silently watching you for a second. Her silence honestly scares you, but you don't question her yet. You know better than that.

"You've been avoiding me," she says, her voice soft yet not gentle. "Why is that?"

A shiver runs down your spine at the question. 

You know you can't lie to her, she's a freaking mind reader, but you can't exactly tell her the truth. You've both been trying to ignore it since the morning you woke up tangled together in her bed.

A bed she shares with someone who isn't you.

"I've been busy," you reply with a shrug. "Kate's been forcing me to train every day."

Clearly, that's the wrong answer, considering the tilt of her head.

Yup. You're fucked now.

"Is that so? I didn't realize you two were such good...friends."

Wanda pushes herself off the counter, taking slow, calculated, steps until she's standing behind you. If you weren't so focused on keeping your voice steady, you might have been able to guess what her plan in.

"Well, we both love annoying Clint and making Yelena mad."

She hums in response as her arms wrap themselves around you, pulling you back until you're firmly pressed against her. 

The action almost makes you fall off your stool. You somehow stay put, though, even as every fiber of your being tells you to leave. The harsh truth is that you don't want to leave.

You want her so badly that the consequences don't seem to matter.

Nothing matters but her.

Which is exactly what she wants.

"You should be careful with the little archer," she says, her hands not so subtly caressing your sides. "You know she's just going to use you then throw you away when she's bored."

The irony in her words isn't lost on you.

You open your mouth to let her know that when her hands move up and brush against your chest. It takes all your willpower to stop yourself from gasping.

"Wanda," you hiss. "We're in the middle of the kitchen."

"Relax, detka," she whispers into your ear, your body instantly obeying her words. "You know I won't let anyone see."

"Do I?" you reply. "Because it seems exactly like something you'd enjoy."

The witch chuckles despite herself. "That's true but you're not the only trying to keep things a secret."

You know her words should make you feel worse about this whole thing but right now, they only serve to turn you on. As messed up as it is, there's something exciting about the situation. 

About how much Wanda wants you.

So, even though you know you should push her away, you lean back against her, allowing her hands to explore your body however she wishes.

Your obedience (if you can even call it that) is instantly rewarded by the other woman. Her hands sneak their way under your shirt, her fingers drawing teasing shapes on your warm skin as she makes the journey upward.

"You're such a good girl for me, baby," she mumbles almost absent-mindedly. "Letting me use you like this. Letting me play with you whenever I want."

A part of you wants to put up a fight. To show her you have a bigger backbone than she realizes. That you're able to switch the tables on her whenever you want.

Unfortunately, that part of you goes quiet the second her fingers find your nipples. "Look at you, all ready for me, huh?"

"Shut up," you mumble as your cheeks heat up.

Your words of defiance earn you a sharp pinch to your already sensitive nipples. "Watch your mouth, sweetheart."

It's impossible to stop your back from arching as the leftover sting rushes through your system. You'd learned the hard way that Wanda could either be the sweetest or the most unforgivable lover. In a way, it made being with her all the more exciting...and unpredictable.

Then again, you can't pretend you don't like it. If you didn't, you would have never gotten mixed up with her in the first place.

"Sorry," you whisper, not sounding particularly sincere.

If Wanda notices, she doesn't point it out and instead goes right back to playing with your chest, squeezing and pinching your nipples as she pleases.

Her actions only serve to make you more and more desperate for her. It's almost embarrassing how good she is at reading you. At knowing exactly what buttons to push to turn you into a shaking, pleading mess.

A part of you knows it's thanks to her powers that she can read your desires so well, but you ignore the thought for now. You could beat yourself up over all this later, right now, you had a very important task ahead of you.

"You're eager today," she teases, her eyes zeroing in on the slight movement of your hips. "Did you miss me that much?"

You're not sure why you're in such a defiant mood today but your mouth moves way faster than your thoughts. "Yeah, Kate was too busy today."

You don't see the scarlet that begins to overtake her eyes since you have your back to her. You miss the warning signs until she uses her magic to bend you over the counter, keeping your hands behind your back.

"You're going to regret talking to me like that," she says, holding you down easily thanks to her magic.

It's obvious you should apologize and yet you remain as composed as you possibly can given the situation. As stupid as it is, you're still mad at her for putting you in this situation.

Out of the two of you, she was the one who was in the wrong. She was the one fucking up her relationship just because she was upset with her girlfriend. And she had the audacity to pull you down with her.

To make you like it.

You couldn't place all the blame on her and yet you did it anyway. As if that would somehow fix the entire situation.

Her hand comes down on your ass before you can make your predicament worse. The sudden sensation makes you jump, the leftover sting taking over your mind.

"Wanda." Your attempt to sound mad falls completely flat since your voice is far too breathless for it to be convincing.

She spanks you again. Once. Twice. Each time striking both harder and faster.

"Try again, detka," she tells you, her voice unforgiving. "And then maybe, I'll go easy on you."

She won't.

You know she won't. But the idea that she could is more than tantalizing enough.

Although, then again, it wasn't like you didn't enjoy calling her by her beloved title.

"Mommy," you whisper, your voice sounding way too loud in the empty kitchen.

You don't need to be looking at her to see the proud grin that takes over her features.

This is the real reason why she wants you. Why she likes being with you. Because she doesn't need to fight you to get you to submit to her every whim.

"Good girl." Wanda's hands toy with the waistband of your pants. "Tell me what you want."

You allow the silence to drag on for a second longer than necessary. You both know you won't deny her, you can't, but that doesn't mean you can't keep her guessing. 

Maybe then she'll grow tired of you and stop using you so carelessly.

"Want you to touch me...please, mommy."

You half expect her to drag the moment out until you can't hold yourself back from begging for more. For her.

She doesn't, though, because unbeknownst to you, she's playing a different kind of game with you today.

Wanda uses her powers to undress you, barely giving you a second to register just how vulnerable she's leaving you. You know no one will walk in on you two, she promised you that much, but that doesn't make it any less scary...and thrilling.

"Look at you," she coos, her fingers spreading your slick folds. "So wet and I've barely even touched you. Such a needy thing, aren't you, sweetheart?"

It's embarrassing how hard your walls clench around pure air from the mere tone of her voice. It's that intoxicating mix between degrading and sweet that you want everything she's willing to give you.

"Yes, mommy," you whimper.

"Oh, I know," she says, pushing the tip of her index finger into your tight cunt. "She's such a good girl, isn't she?"

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but her powers hold you down and stop you from turning to look at her. Your question is answered before you can even ask it, though, as a certain pair of black boots make their way into your field of vision.

"I'm not sure." The sound of Natasha's voice sends a shiver down her spine. "She looks like a desperate slut to me."

Wanda stops you from answering, thanks to her powers. "Oh, come on, Nat, don't be mean. Look how eager she is to be played with."

The redhead rolls her eyes. "That just proves my point."

The witch laughs, taking the moment to sink her finger deeper into your pussy, relishing the wet sounds that fill the kitchen. You're more than a little humiliated, but there's nothing you can do to stop it. Worse, there's nothing you can do to deny how wet the situation is making you.

How desperate you are for more.

Wanda knows. Of course, she knows. It's partly because of her powers and partly because she knows your body far too well. And because she knows you so well, she gives you a chance to call the whole thing off before it even truly starts.

"What's your color, y/n?"

It would be so easy to say "red" and stop everything. You know there would be zero judgement. That despite whatever agreement they've come to, they'd both take a step back and make sure you were okay.

And yet...you can't seem to form the word.

Because, as much as you don't want to admit it...you want this.

"Green..." you whisper.

Wanda leans in, taking your mind off of Natasha's eyes on you, and peppers soft kisses across your back. The softness of her lips is a stark contrast to her previous demeanor and it helps calm down your speeding nerves.

The Russian steps forward, her hand cupping your face and gently tilting it backward until your eyes meet. "You want this, don't you, darling?"

You don't want to admit it but you can't bring yourself to lie to her. "Yes...I want this."

The sharpness in her eyes fades away slightly. There's still an edge of annoyance in her features but she looks almost as turned on as you feel. "Good girl."

Your walls clench around Wanda's finger and she chuckles before starting to move in and out of your tight heat. "I think she likes you, Nat."

"Shut up."

Wanda adds another finger into the mix, expertly stretching you out and drawing out a long moan from your parted lips. "That's it, just give in, sweetheart. Doesn't it feel better when you stop thinking so much?"

It's startling how right she is.

She doesn't wait for an answer this time, though, she simply speeds up her movements, curling her fingers in the way that drives you crazy. The pleasure slowly overwhelms your mind, removing all other thoughts until all you can focus on is how good it all feels. How much you like submitting to them like this.

"Mommy..." You whine, watching the way Natasha's eyes darken in response to your sounds. "Please...need more."

"Aw, are two fingers not enough for you, baby?" The fake pity in her tone turns you on more than it should. "Does your greedy pussy need more?"

You nod desperately, ignoring the humiliation that lingers in your every move.

All that earns you is another laugh from Wanda and an eye roll from Natasha.

The redhead steps back from you, causing you to whimper, before her hands move to her belt. Her eyes remain on yours as she starts removing her garments, slowly revealing the red strap-on resting between her legs.

Your lips part almost instantly once you catch sight of the full size of it and just how incredibly dominant it makes Natasha look. You shouldn't be surprised considering what everyone, including Wanda, always say about her. Then again, seeing is believing.

"So fucking eager, aren't you?" You know the Russian is technically making fun of you, but you can't help feeling a bit proud of yourself for the grin on her face.

She steps forward, her hands coming up to tangle in your hair and guide you forward. There's something weirdly soft about her movements, about the way she takes her time with you. Maybe, just maybe, she likes you more than she's let on.

You wrap your lips around the head of the dildo, your eyes glued to Natasha's face. You can see the flecks of pleasure spreading across her features, the way she clenches her jaw to stop herself from vocalizing it. It's like you're stuck in a far too arousing competition with her. Each of you trying your damn harderst to break the other.

Unfortunately for you, you also have Wanda working behind you, her fingers restlessly pumping in and out of your soaked entrance. She knows exactly how to wind you up. 

Exactly how to keep you on your toes yet wanting more.

Natasha guides you further down her cock, working the length deeper into your mouth. "You look so much better like this, malyshka."

"I told you," Wanda pipes up, choosing that exact moment to work another finger into your tight heat. "You just wanted to be a party pooper."

"Keep talking like that and you'll be next, Maximoff."

"You're no fun."

You've never heard Wanda like this. So pouty and borderline bratty. It's a stark contrast to the dominant woman you've grown so attached to. To the one that turns your brain to putty with just a few words.

"Don't get any ideas, sweetheart. Mommy's still in charge here."

You moan in response, the sound muffled by the dildo currently stuffing your mouth.

"If you're Mommy," Natasha says, starting to thrust into your mouth. "Does that make me Daddy?"

You try to voice your approval for the title but neither of the women pay attention to you. They just keep talking like you're not even there, like all you are is a toy for them to play with.

"I thought you didn't like being called that."

The redhead shrugs in response. "I don't but now I'm curious."

"I think our good girl would like it."

You wait for Natasha to complain and say something about how you aren't theirs. Maybe make fun of you again for even thinking they'd ever entertain that idea.

She doesn't, though.

All she does is double her efforts as she keeps thrusting into your mouth. 

The kitchen fills with the sounds of your pleasure as they both play with your needy holes.

You feel yourself growing closer and closer to the edge, the coil in your stomach getting tighter with each one of their well-timed thrusts. You're completely at their mercy and you love every second of their never-ending show of dominance.

Of control over you.

Wanda's movements speed up and you do your best to ask for permission to cum, knowing all too well the consequences that would await you if you forgot. It's practically impossible to speak, though, considering the way Natasha is still thrusting into your mouth, her hips grinding against the base of the dildo each time she slips the length back inside.

"I know, baby," the witch reassures you. "You want to cum so bad, don't you?"

All she gets is a muffled whine in response, your body jerking forward when her thumb teases your swollen clit.

"Go ahead, darling," Natasha speaks up, her voice practically a low growl. "Cum all over Mommy's fingers for me."

You're not used to receiving such a command from the redhead and yet your body reacts immediatly to her tone. Your whole body seems to come alive as you fall over the edge, Wanda's fingers never ceasing in their movements. She expertly draws out your pleasure until you're left shaking and panting. 

The ringing in your ears doesn't allow you to hear the string of moans that leave Natasha's mouth as she watches the scene. The sight of you coming undone so violently causes her to fall apart, her fingers tightening in your hair until you're sputtering for air.

Thankfully, Wanda knows your limits well.

No words are exchanged as she uses her magic on you again. You're barely coherent, your mind still too muddled by pure pleasure and the cotton-filled haze of submission.

She gently sets you down on the couch, wiping down your soaked skin with a wet cloth, making sure to look you over in case their rough movements bruised you up.

"You okay, darling?" The witch asks as she settles down next to you.

You nod in response, shifting a little until your head rests in her lap. "Yeah...just tired."

"You should get some rest, detka. We have a lot to talk about."

Her words make you laugh. "That's an understament, Wands."

"Whatever." She moves her hand down to run her fingers through your hair, gently scratching your scalp as sleep overcomes you.

There's a lot you don't understand, a lot you really figure out, but you feel safe with the knowledge that you haven't ruined anything. That you're not an intruder in their relationship. If anything, you're a welcome addition.

[beloveds-embrace]

Noona i NEED to yap about this thought I had about the angst Dukedom au so my brain worms will let me sleep. I Imagine a people's princess duchess who spends time with others to fill in for the lack of emotional connection between her and John and people just do not understand why she is out of the house so much. Tea with the ladies? She's there. Charity event for struggling orphans? Duchess is there to help! Church in the middle of the afternoon on a random day? She's in the pew. The house is taken care of, her parties are enjoyable, but why is she gone so often? Duchess just gives a pained smile and says that her husband does not mind her being gone because neither the staff nor him want her there. Why ask her husband for love when he clearly just needed someone to run the duchy?

Hope your sleep went well <3 i nees these men to suffer tbh

The house runs itself.

At least, that is what you tell yourself. The schedules are in place, the staff well-trained, the estate thriving. You have done your duty as Duchess of Price, managing affairs with grace, ensuring that the duchy’s name remains untarnished, that the books are balanced, and the tenants are provided for. You have even done more than what was expected, expanding the duchy’s charitable reach, establishing new programs for the less fortunate, and ensuring the nobility sees the Price name attached to every act of generosity.

And yet, despite all your efforts, there is no warmth in your home.

The staff keep their distance. There are no hushed greetings in the morning, no inquiry into your health when you sit at the long dining table, staring at your untouched, cold meals that are a stark contrast to the others’ steaming dishes.

They serve you as required, but do not linger. They do not ask if you would like another cup of tea, if your shawl is warm enough, if the flowers in your room are to your liking. You don’t need them to do it, but- it’s the emphasized loneliness that hurts the most.

John is no different.

You see him at dinners, always seated across from you, his gaze never lingering, his words few and functional. He speaks to Kyle more than he speaks to you. He shares glances with Simon that you have never been privy to, and when Johnny appears with a dish in hand, John’s expression softens in a way it never does for you.

Meanwhile, you are… tolerated.

And so, you leave.

Your absence from the manor goes unnoticed at first.

The city welcomes you in ways your home never has. Tea with the noble ladies? You never miss an afternoon, sipping floral blends as you listen to idle gossip, smiling where appropriate. A charity event for struggling orphans? You are the first to arrive, personally distributing warm coats and new shoes to children who look at you with something you rarely receive- gratitude.

Church in the middle of the afternoon? You kneel in silent prayer, hands clasped, seeking answers from a God who offers none. And yet the statues and pews are still not as cold towards you as your own husband.

“Duchess, you do so much,” Lady Bethany remarks one afternoon over luncheon, her fan flicking open with an appreciative snap. She’s a pretty thing, recently wed and already draped in the pretty glow of pregnancy. “I swear, I see you more than your own husband must.”

You laugh softly, demure and mindful. “The duchy has many responsibilities.”

“And yet you make time for everything but your home?” Another lady muses, curiosity laced in her tone.

You lower your gaze to your plate, the question hanging in the air. You have learned to navigate this tightrope of expectations, of unspoken truths wrapped in silk and civility.

With a practiced, pained smile, you say: “My husband does not mind my absence.”

You let the words settle before adding, voice barely above a whisper, “Neither he nor the staff particularly miss me.”

The silence that follows is thick.

Lady Bethany’s fan stills, her eyes softening towards you. Another woman fidgets with her gloves. No one speaks, and you take a sip of your tea, the bitterness sharp on your tongue.

Why ask for love when your husband only needed someone to run the duchy?

And the house remains indifferent to your absence- at first.

The staff continue their duties as usual, the butlers maintaining the schedule, the maids ensuring the rooms remain pristine. No one spares a thought for why you are always gone, only that it makes their jobs easier.

Until, one evening, Kyle pauses in the study, glancing at the untouched tea left on a side table. The Duchess usually ensures the staff are well taken care of, he realizes. Who had reminded them today?

No one.

In the kitchens, Johnny frowns when he notices the ledger left open, the list of requested ingredients unusually long. You had always been meticulous, approving the finest quality for the household, ensuring every item was fresh and of the best stock. The kitchen had run smoothly for months, never wanting for anything.

Now, it was as if no one had noticed the difference until the fruits arrived bruised and the meat not quite up to the usual standard.

Simon notices, too. The events you planned, the invitations you managed, the way you always ensured John’s name was spoken with admiration at every gathering- without you, the social scene seemed… quieter. The duchy’s presence less prominent.

And John notices most of all.

At first, he does not think much of it. His wife was always attending some function or another. That was her role, wasn’t it? To manage the estate, to see to the duchy’s reputation?

But then, he starts seeing the effects of your absence the longer you continue to keep to the people and not the duchy.

The reports come in slower. The meetings with city officials, once neatly arranged for his convenience, are now scattered, delayed. The letters from the nobility are fewer, the invitations sparser. The charitable events- ones that bore the Price name- have dwindled in number.

And the house itself… feels empty.

John returns from meetings to silence. Dinners are quiet, even when the others join him. There is no soft rustling of skirts as you pass through the halls, no gentle murmur of your voice as you speak to the staff.

One evening, he enters his study to find a stack of correspondence on his desk- letters you had handled, decisions you had made.

You had been doing so much.

Too much.

And no one had noticed.

When he finally seeks you out, it is not in your chambers.

John finds you in the drawing room, seated by the window, your hands resting idly in your lap. Your gaze is distant, unfocused, the usual light in your eyes dimmed. Winter was drawing nearer, and so gatherings dwindled in number and as a result, you had to spend more time in this cold, unfeeling house.

For the first time in months, he hesitates.

“…You’ve been busy.” He says at last.

You turn your head slightly, but you do not smile. Or at least, put no effort in making your smile appear genuine. “As have you, my lord.”

He swallows, uncertain. “You have done a fine job with the duchy, wife. The duchy is in good standing.”

You inhale, waiting for the unspoken ‘but.’

“But…” He hesitates. “Some matters are not quite as well-managed as before.”

Your lips curl in a faint, humorless smile. “Did it take you long to notice?”

John exhales slowly. He had not noticed, not until things started slipping. But now, looking at you- at the exhaustion in your frame, the emptiness in your eyes- he realizes you had been holding up far more than he had ever given you credit for.

“… You aren’t here anymore much.” His voice is quiet now, almost careful. As if he is speaking to an animal that will bite him if he misspeaks.

You laugh softly, but there is no joy in it. “Would you want to spend your days in a house where you are not wanted? That aside, I assumed you would prefer not to see me at all.

“I never said you weren’t wanted. Nor have I told you I’d prefer it if you were away.”

“You didn’t need to.”

The realization strikes down much like a hammer, and all that’s left in its wake is silence.

John had always assumed you knew- knew that your marriage was one of convenience, that his affections lay elsewhere, that you were never meant to be part of the life he had built with his men.

But looking at you now, he realizes he had mistaken your silence for understanding. Had mistaken your silence for acceptance, for agreement that you were complete fine with this cruel treatmeant.

He had thought you accepted it, that you preferred the distance.

But had you?

Or had you simply endured it because… there was nothing else to do?

You sigh, bowing your head to avoid his gaze. Your voice is quiet when you speak next, bereft of any hope, any warmth.

“…I shall return to my duties in the morning, and I will keep out of everyone’s way, my lord. Goodnight.”

[targaryenluvs]

— ALL GROWN UP

pairings: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

summary: you were always tigris's annoying rich friend to coriolanus, but once he returns from 12 you seem to be irresistible, not only to him.

warnings: normal coryo in all honesty, jealousy, flirting, p in v, oral (m), choking, kinda subby coryo - for a bit, time gap he spent a year in 12 (i got lazy this is short and basically just porn with slight plot)

a/n: hehehehe first fic of 2024 kiddos besides the klaus one!

your laughter was the last thing coriolanus wanted to hear, ever. it was still annoying when he was here, and it was still once he returned.

"there's no way!" tigris giggled a loud as you joined in.

"tigris?" he called out to her, waiting. "coryo!" tigris yelled as she ran to him, his arms open for her. "it's so good to see you, you’ve been so busy." you laughed, "your hair, it's worse in person." would you shut up? who were you to interrupt a family-

your night dress was black, short, barely below your crotch. lace details, messy hair, you were nothing short a of a dream, and it was messing with his head. he was so use to hating you, your stupid gorgeous face and here he was, dumbstruck. “y/n?” you nodded with a sweet smile, “how are you coriolanus?”

he sighed, “exhausted, between the university and dr gaul, it seems i’m stretched thin these days.” you nodded along, “it seems you’re well on your way to success.” he inhaled, not use to your kind words, “thank you.”

apparently you were staying with the snow’s for a week or so, much to coriolanus’s elation. surprisingly, in the time he’d been away you’d become, tolerable. it sure as hell had nothing to do with the sway in your walk, your sweet eyes looking up at him and your new found confidence, no he just felt nice.

he was itching to get a taste.

he’d seen you out and about, talking with almost all the people around. a kind smile aimed at quite literally everyone. almost every guy in the restaurant seemed to know you, and he couldn’t help but feel annoyed.

didn’t they know you came for lunch with him?

shouldn’t they know better?

you weren’t his, yet.

it was late at night, you needed something to drink.

grandma’ams tea isn’t exactly the most refreshing. you were in the midst of scouring the kitchen for a teabag of actual flavour when you’d heard him behind you.

“looking for this?” he held the jar in his hands, “actually, yes.” you walked over to grab it and he only held it higher, “coryo, please.” he grinned, “coryo huh?” you placed your hands on your hips, annoyed, “yes, now if you don’t mind.” the jar clattered on the counter and you quickly swiped it away. “would you like some?”

in the reflection of the glass cabinet, you saw him shake his head, “i’m in the mood for something else.” you giggled at his vagueness, “oh? and what might that be mr snow?” his smirk was all you needed to know what he was hinting at. “you’re playing a dangerous game here coryo,” he feigned confusion, “am i now?” you smiled, “yes you are.” he was behind you now, breath heavy and hot on your shoulder, “i might be, question is, are you willing to play?”

his lips were on your neck, light as ever, open mouthed kisses all the way up to your cheek. “cory” he gathered your hair, swinging it over your shoulder, “cory? that’s new.” you smiled, “i know. i’m going to take a shower, wanna join? to conserve water of course.” as if they need to, they had more than enough money now.

“to conserve, of course.”

the hot water rose steam, surrounding you as coryo watched from outside. the fog covered up all the parts he wanted to see, and his night pants seemed smaller. soap running all over you, soft hands trailing down. “i think you’ll get a much better view from in here.”

he ripped his clothes off, practically stumbling around in the soft glow of the guest room lamp. he’d been waiting for so long. ten minutes. his hands massaged your scalp, washing it off remaining shampoo and conditioner. ridding your body of any soap, your shoulders, your stomach, your thighs.

and soon enough he pressed you against the wall, imprints of hands staining the glass. you were both unbearably needy, messy kisses and desperate touches. you revelled in his grasp, you felt as if your skin was on fire. “y/n, please.” he whined. you giggled at his begging, “please what coryo?” you stroked his dick as he groaned out, “suck me off. now.” you laughed at his words, “pretty bossy for someone who was whining like a little bitch two seconds ago.” he was about to protest but your warm mouth on him seemed to shut up all forms of protest.

“oh god.” he leaned his head back on the wall as you dug your nails into the back of his thighs. the water pouring down on the two of you made coryo glisten, his abs looking especially sweet. droplets of water fell down from his hair onto you.

as if you weren’t enough the view of you on your knees, your tuts on display was more than enough for him to explode down your throat. “fuck, when did you learn to do this slut? you been practicing f’me?” his attempt at regaining control had you suppressing your laughter.

but his hand in your hair tugging you to your feet, crazy eyes and a very attractive smirk? “only for you cory.” you wrapped your arms around his neck and gently kissed him, “all for me.”

“please, cory. i need you.” you leaned your head against his as he directed his cock to entrance, teasing you. “you want it?” you nodded your head vehemently, “god just please, fuck me.” he kissed your cheek before pushing in, “anything you say baby.” you moaned out at the feeling of him in you, filling you to the brim. you felt unbearably hot, between the running water and coryo rutting into you it felt like heaven.

you can feel the wetness dripping down your thigh, mixing in with the water, “messy girl, aren’t you?” your hands dug into his shoulders almost painfully, “jump up.” wrapping your legs around of his waist, his hands cupped your ass. his pace is unbelievably brutal, “such a bitch to me, making me look weak.”

you shook your head, “didn’t mean to, didn’t mean to i swear.” you mewl, hot tears streaming down your cheeks, as coryo lets out throaty groans.

“stop crying.”

“i can’t, you feel so good!”

“stop crying or i’m not gonna let you cum.” his hand tightened around your throat, cutting off your airway. the dizziness paired with his thrusts inside of you was absolutely delicious. he let up only to mark you before returning to it.

“not yet," his grip around your throat tightened as coryo continued thrusted into you, obviously chasing his own high. "you'll cum when i do.” please cum. you thought, please please please.

his hips slowed down as he groaned, “fuck, all for me yeah? all grown up, aren’t you baby?” your nails marked up his back as he grunted, the hot water seemed to make the fresh marks hurt all the more. coriolanus loved the stinging, almost as much as he loved your cunt.

“cum, cum for me.” you weren’t sure if your release came before or after, but all you felt was unwavering pleasure and relief. you rested your head in the crook of his neck, you were so exhausted. “you did good, so good y/n.” coryo praised you as he pressed kisses to your forehead.

“let’s get you cleaned up yeah?”

[writingpandagoth]

Summary:

After the war, Severus Snape expects nothing but silence and solitude—until you. Gentle, unafraid, and quietly unwavering, you don’t try to fix him… you simply stay.   (Inspired by the song Ordinary by Alex warren.)

Ordinary

They say, 'The holy water's watered down  And this town's lost its faith   Our colors will fade eventually  

The castle was quieter now. Not in the absence-of-students sort of way, but in the way a place becomes after too much grief has soaked into the stone. Even the portraits had fallen into a gentler hush, as if they too were mourning something long gone.

Severus Snape walked the corridors like a man suspended between realities—alive, yet not truly living. His robes trailed behind him in silence, his gaze fixed just above the heads of anyone who passed. He rarely spoke unless forced to. Rarely ate. He wasn’t so much present as tolerated—by the castle, by the staff, by himself.

They had let him come back, astonishingly. Perhaps because he had survived. Perhaps because no one else knew what to do with him. Perhaps because Albus would’ve wanted it.

In the dim light of the staffroom, he poured himself tea without tasting it. The clink of his spoon was the loudest sound in the room. That was, until you entered.

You didn’t announce yourself. Didn’t even seem to notice the way every space you stepped into subtly shifted. You simply moved quietly, confidently, like someone who didn’t need to fill the silence to be seen.

He didn't speak. He never did. But you smiled at him anyway.

Not out of politeness. Not in pity. Just… a smile. Like the kind someone might give a bird perched on a snowy windowsill. Quiet recognition. A softness untouched by expectation.

He held your gaze for a moment too long—and then returned to his tea.

You sat across the room, a book in your hands and a blanket draped over your knees. You said nothing. Made no effort to engage him.

Yet somehow, Severus felt less alone than he had in months.

The book in your hands was old—he could tell by the fraying spine, the way you thumbed its edge like it was an old friend. Not many people handled books like that anymore. He wondered briefly what you were reading, but the question never made it to his lips.

Instead, he watched you out of the corner of his eye. Observed the ease with which you breathed in the silence, unbothered by it. You didn’t fidget. Didn’t glance around in search of company or conversation. You simply… were.

It made something restless in his chest still for the first time in days.

A small group of students passed the doorway, laughter trailing in like the last breeze of summer. He tensed instinctively, but they didn’t notice him. Of course they didn’t. Most of them had stopped seeing him the way people stop noticing the cobwebs in a forgotten corner—there, but untouched.

“Professor Snape,” one younger student murmured respectfully as he passed. No sneer. No fear. Just a name.

He gave a barely perceptible nod in return.

You looked up briefly, your eyes following the boy’s retreating steps before shifting back to your book. Still, you said nothing.

But Severus felt your attention linger like a brush of warmth across cold skin.

It unsettled him.

He stood abruptly and moved to the window, the steam from his teacup rising in thin curls. The sky was heavy with clouds. Somewhere, far away, he thought he heard thunder. Or maybe it was just the wind pressing against the old glass.

Behind him, the chair creaked as you shifted—stretching, maybe, or curling deeper into your seat.

“I didn’t expect to love the quiet this much,” you said softly, voice low, not meant to intrude.

He didn’t respond.

You didn’t expect him to.

There was something strange about it. Your presence. It wasn’t light exactly—you didn’t sparkle or glow or fill a room with false cheer. But you made the silence feel like something you could rest in. Something alive, instead of empty.

And that… bothered him. Because for the first time in a very long while, Severus Snape wasn’t sure if he wanted to be alone.

 

So if our time is runnin' out Day after day  We'll make the mundane our masterpiece

 

it started with tea, a week later.

Not conversation, not glances—just tea.

Every morning, the staff room held the same quiet ritual. Steam rising from mismatched cups, the faint rustle of the Daily Prophet, the soft clink of spoons stirring sugar. And every morning, you were there. Not in his space. Not demanding. Just present.

Sometimes you brought a biscuit or a slice of spiced bread, always set neatly beside your own tea without offering. You never asked if he wanted one, never forced politeness. But once, when he arrived earlier than usual, there were two biscuits on your napkin.

He took one.

You didn’t look up from your book.

That was how it began.

Over the next few days, you passed like ships in a fog—soft glances, occasional nods. Nothing direct. Nothing verbal.

But you sat near him now, not across the room. Close enough that he could hear the page turns of your book, the tiny hum in your throat when you were deep in thought. Some days you would knit or write with your legs curled under you, like you had always belonged in that chair.

You never asked him questions.

You never filled the air with noise.

You just sat. With him. Like he wasn’t a monster. Like his silence wasn’t something to be solved.

It wasn’t until one particularly dreary Thursday that he realized how much he had come to expect your presence.

He entered the room, slightly damp from the drizzle outside, and felt something strange tighten in his chest when your chair was empty.

No blanket. No book. No quiet smile.

He stood there, teacup in hand, unsure why the room suddenly felt colder.

He was halfway through steeping his tea when the door creaked open and you slipped in, cheeks flushed from wind, hair damp with mist.

“Morning,” you said softly, already moving to your usual chair.

He didn’t answer.

But when he sat beside you, he placed a second biscuit on your napkin.

You blinked down at it in surprise, then looked at him with something unreadable in your expression—warm, perhaps. Or maybe… grateful.

You said nothing.

Neither did he.

But the silence between you no longer felt empty.

It felt like a masterpiece in the making.

 

Oh my, my  Oh my, my love  I take one look at you

 

it was a few weeks later when he saw it.

Severus didn’t mean to look.

It wasn’t an intentional thing—just a glance as he walked past an open classroom door. But what he saw made him pause in the corridor, just beyond the line of sight.

You were kneeling beside a small first-year, your voice low, hands still. Not touching, not pushing—just present. The boy’s lip trembled, wand clutched too tightly in his grip. Whatever had happened, he looked on the verge of tears. But you didn’t crowd him. You waited. Let him breathe.

And then you smiled.

Not the polite smile you offered the staff. Not the knowing one you sometimes gave Severus when your eyes met across the staff room. This was something different—bright and warm and completely unguarded. Like sunlight through a frosted window.

The boy let out a shaky breath and nodded. You whispered something Severus couldn’t hear, and the boy smiled back before scurrying off with a slightly steadier step.

You stood slowly, brushing off your robes, and looked toward the hallway.

He moved before you could see him.

Back into the shadows, away from the vulnerability curling in his chest like smoke.

Later, you joined him in the staff room. Tea. Blanket. Book.

As always.

You didn’t speak, but your presence wrapped around him like a memory he couldn’t quite chase away.

He glanced over without thinking.

Your hair was tucked behind one ear, fingers curled lightly around your teacup. Your lips moved silently as you read—soft, careful enunciations. You had a small ink smudge near your thumb, and the edge of your boot tapped absently against the chair leg.

You were… unremarkable. Ordinary.

And he couldn’t stop looking.

For the first time in so long, he noticed the way his heart felt in his chest. The way it pulled just slightly toward you, like gravity, like instinct. And he hated that it felt fragile. Exposed.

You looked up suddenly, and your eyes met.

You didn’t speak. Just smiled.

That same, quiet smile you’d always given him.

But this time, it felt different. Not like politeness. Not like recognition.

This time, it felt like invitation.

He looked away first.

But not before you saw it—the flicker of something he hadn't let show before.

And for the first time since the war, something bloomed in Severus’s chest that wasn’t sorrow.

 

You're takin' me out of the ordinary  I want you layin' me down 'til we're dead and buried

 

Only after a few days he was starting to sit closer.

It wasn’t intentional—at least, that’s what he told himself. The staffroom was small, after all. Your usual seat was by the fire, and there weren’t many chairs near it. It only made sense to sit beside you.

That’s what he told himself the first day.

And the next.

And the day after that.

But he never sat anywhere else now.

You never commented on it. Never shifted away. If you noticed, you gave no sign. Only poured your tea, opened your book, and let him be.

But the distance between you had shrunk, and Severus could feel it.

He felt it in the brush of your sleeves when you reached for the teapot at the same time. In the way your knee nearly touched his when you crossed your legs in the chair. In the faint scent of lavender and parchment that clung to your robes.

It was maddening.

Not because it was loud or invasive. Quite the opposite.

It was quiet. Soft. Like a whisper he couldn't unhear.

In the library one evening, he found you sitting on the floor in a corner alcove—legs tucked under you, parchment spread out around your knees, ink smudged on your finger again. You looked up when you saw him. Smiled.

He said nothing, but paused.

You looked back down, returning to your notes. No invitation, no expectation.

Still, his feet moved before his mind gave permission.

He sat down beside you.

The stone was cold against his legs, the air sharp with winter’s early breath, but your presence warmed the space between you.

You didn’t speak, and neither did he. But when your hand reached out to pass him a spare roll of parchment, your fingers touched.

Just barely.

Barely—but it was enough to send a current down his spine.

He didn’t pull away.

Neither did you.

And when you went back to your scribbling, your shoulder nearly brushed his.

It should have been uncomfortable.

Instead, it felt like a quiet kind of gravity.

He left before you did. Didn’t say goodbye.

But that night, for the first time in years, Severus Snape lay in bed and imagined the sound of someone breathing beside him.

Not in lust. Not in fantasy.

In peace.

 

On the edge of your knife, stayin' drunk on your vine The angels up in the clouds are jealous, knowin' we found

 

It was raining.

The kind of steady, rhythmic drizzle that made the castle feel wrapped in cotton—soft, muffled, private. The fireplaces were glowing brighter now. The stone walls had a chill to them that clung to skin and sank into bones.

He found you in the courtyard.

Why you were out there in the cold, he didn’t know. Your cloak was drawn tight, your hair damp with mist, your fingers curled around a steaming mug. You were standing beneath the arched overhang, watching the drops fall into the stone basin at the center of the courtyard garden.

You didn’t flinch when he approached.

Didn’t speak. Just lifted your mug in greeting, then looked back toward the rain.

He stood beside you.

Close.

Closer than usual.

The silence stretched—comfortable, then weighted, then thick. The kind of quiet that rang with everything unsaid.

“You always find the still places,” he murmured before he could stop himself.

You looked at him. Not startled. Not surprised.

Just… seen.

“Maybe I just recognize stillness when I see it,” you said softly, voice warm as the mug in your hands.

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

You turned your gaze back to the water, and he allowed himself—just briefly—to look at you. Really look.

You weren’t beautiful in a way that demanded attention. You weren’t gilded or painted or wrapped in honeyed charm.

But there was something in your stillness that undid him.

Something sacred.

Something dangerous.

His fingers curled into his palm.

You turned again—slowly—and met his eyes.

The tension between you was delicate, fragile. Like the surface of a bubble catching sunlight. One wrong move and it would burst.

But you didn’t reach for him. Didn’t ask.

You just stood there.

Near enough for him to feel the heat radiating from your skin. Near enough to kiss you, if he wanted to.

And Merlin help him… he wanted to.

Instead, he stepped back.

Barely. Just enough for the cold to settle between you again.

You didn’t follow.

Didn’t flinch.

Just smiled. Softly. Almost sadly.

And he hated himself for the part of him that wanted you to reach for him anyway.

That night, he dreamt of you again.

Not in a way that left him breathless or shamed.

Just… quiet. Your fingers tangled with his. Your breath on his chest. The silence between you.

He woke with your name on the tip of his tongue and a yearning that felt like it might hollow him out.

 

Somethin' so out of the ordinary You got me kissin' the ground of your sanctuary

 

The castle was asleep.

Even the portraits had gone still, their snores muffled by thick stone and years of dust. Moonlight streamed through narrow windows, casting long shadows across the hallway floors.

He wasn’t sure what woke him.

A sound. A memory. A ghost.

The dreams had returned—fragments of screams, of blood, of choices he couldn’t take back. They clung to him like fog, cold and choking, and when he sat upright in bed, his chest ached with the weight of things unsaid.

He didn’t scream. He never did.

He just… broke, silently.

Like he always had.

You were awake when he found you.

In the tiny corner of the library you often claimed after curfew—wrapped in a blanket, knees drawn to your chest, a half-empty cup of tea forgotten at your side.

You didn’t look surprised to see him.

You didn’t ask why he was there.

Just shifted wordlessly, making room beside you on the bench.

Severus stood frozen for a moment, breath still uneven, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles ached. The part of him that wanted to walk away—the old voice, sharp and bitter and defensive—was screaming.

But you didn’t speak.

You just… waited.

Like you always had.

So he sat.

The bench was narrow, and your sides pressed together, shoulder to thigh. You didn’t pull away.

And when his hands began to tremble—just barely—you reached out and laced your fingers with his.

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

You didn’t say it’s okay or you’re safe. You didn’t ask questions or offer pity.

You simply leaned your head against his shoulder and held on.

As if he was worth holding.

As if you’d do it again.

And again.

And again.

His breath hitched once—just once—and then he exhaled. Slowly. Raggedly.

Then, hesitantly, he leaned into you.

Not fully. Not yet.

But enough.

Enough that you could feel the way he clung—not with arms, but with need.

You stayed that way for a long time. Long enough for the nightmare to fade. Long enough for his pulse to settle.

Long enough for him to begin to believe—maybe—that this could be something holy.

That you were something holy.

And he had found sanctuary.

 

Shatter me with your touch, oh Lord, return me to dust The angels up in the clouds are jealous, knowin' we found

 

The next days that followed were almost like a blur.

He didn’t expect it to feel like this.

The weight of your hand against his—gentle, calm, human—shouldn’t have left such a mark. But now he noticed everything. The shape of your presence. The way you moved, quiet and certain. The warmth of your body when you sat beside him, the scent of vanilla in your hair.

And the worst part—the best part—was that you never tried to force closeness. You never chased. You never asked.

You just waited.

Always near. Always open.

And somehow, that was what broke him.

It happened in the corridor.

A group of students had passed you, laughing too loudly, running to dinner. One brushed too close, bumping your shoulder and nearly knocking the books from your arms.

You stumbled slightly.

Before he even realized what he was doing, his hand was on your waist, steadying you.

You looked up.

And something in his chest cracked wide open.

Because your face was close—too close. And you were looking at him like you knew. Like you had always known. And you didn’t pull away.

Neither did he.

His fingers lingered. Your breath hitched.

Then slowly, your hand came up, brushing against the back of his.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t grand.

But it was enough to make his heart slam against his ribs.

Enough to shatter him.

That night, he sat in his quarters with a half-full cup of tea growing cold in his hand.

He stared into the fire, but all he could see was you.

The look in your eyes. The way your fingers had brushed his, like a whisper meant only for him. Like your touch had been stitched together by every quiet moment you’d shared. Every time you hadn’t walked away.

He pressed his hand to his chest, as if he could hold the memory there—where it might be safe.

And maybe—just maybe—if you touched him again, he wouldn’t turn to dust.

He’d turn into something new.

 

Hopeless hallelujah  On this side of Heaven's gate  

He wasn’t sure what drew him to your office that night.

The door was open, as it often was in the late evenings. A soft candle glowed on your desk, casting long shadows over the walls. The fire flickered low, and the room smelled faintly of dried herbs and vanilla.

You were seated in your usual chair, legs tucked beneath you, a book resting on one thigh. You didn’t startle when he stepped in. You didn’t speak.

You simply lifted your eyes… and waited.

That was what undid him.

He stepped inside, slow and unsure, as if each step might break him. He didn’t know what he meant to say—not really. Only that something inside him ached, and it had nowhere else to go.

You closed the book without a sound and patted the armchair across from you.

He sat.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The fire cracked. A clock ticked somewhere beyond the bookshelf.

Then quietly—like it cost him something—he said:

“I am the reason she is dead.”

The words fell like ash between you.

Still, you said nothing. Didn’t ask who. Didn’t press. You only looked at him—really looked—and waited.

“And when I became a spy I told myself it was for the greater good. That it was war. That I was playing a role.” He swallowed, jaw tight. “But I...After Dumbledore...”

His hands were clenched in his lap, pale and trembling.

“I’ve spent every moment since trying to earn back something I never had the right to claim.”

He didn’t cry. He never did.

But the silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was heavy with breath, with the unsaid, with the ache of truth finally spoken.

And then—then—you moved.

Not with words. Not with platitudes.

Just quietly rose, stepped around the desk, and sat on the floor in front of him. You reached for his hands. Took them gently, as if you were holding something sacred.

He didn’t pull away.

He couldn’t.

“It's not about what you chose,” you whispered. “It's about what you carried. And how you kept walking despite believing you are not worthy of it. That's what I care about. Why I care so deeply about you.”

His breath caught.

You didn’t kiss him. Didn’t lean forward.

You just held his hands and let him breathe.

And in that quiet, something in him settled.

Not forgiven.

Not erased.

But… held.

Later, you would fall asleep in the armchair beside him, knees drawn up, your head tipped against the cushion.

He watched you in the firelight, and for the first time in years, Severus Snape looked at someone and thought:

Maybe I won’t be alone forever.

Oh, my life, how do ya Breathe and take my breath away?

 

You were laughing.

Not loud, not wild—just the quiet, breathless kind that slipped past your lips like wind through trees. It happened while you were walking with a group of third-years through the courtyard, one of them animatedly retelling a story that was clearly exaggerated, complete with wild hand gestures and dramatic sighs.

And you were laughing.

Severus hadn’t meant to watch. He’d only been walking past the upper hallway window, heading toward his classroom, tea cooling in his hand. But he stopped.

Just for a moment.

Just long enough to see.

Your head was tilted back slightly, eyes warm, lips parted. Your hand was pressed gently over your chest, like you were trying to contain the feeling and couldn’t. The students around you smiled too—at you, not just with you.

And Severus Snape, who had spent years trying to quiet his own heartbeat, suddenly forgot how to breathe.

Later, in the staff room, he sat beside you as always. You didn’t speak much. He liked it that way. But this time, you noticed his eyes lingering.

He didn’t look away fast enough.

“What?” you asked, quiet and amused, setting your book aside.

His mouth opened—and then closed again. He shook his head.

You tilted yours slightly, a soft smile curving at the corner of your mouth.

“You look like someone who’s about to say something,” you teased gently.

“I don’t… often watch people,” he said, more honest than he meant to be. “But you—” He paused, throat tight. “You make it difficult not to.”

You blinked once.

Then twice.

And instead of laughing or brushing it off, you reached out and nudged the edge of his tea mug with your finger—lightly, almost absently.

“I like being watched by you. You have so much warmth in your eyes” you murmured, so quietly he almost didn’t catch it. “It makes me feel safe.”

And just like that—without moving, without touching, without anything but that one, quiet truth—

Severus forgot how to breathe again.

You returned to your book as if nothing had been said. But your foot bumped gently against his under the table, and when he didn’t pull away, you left it there.

And for the rest of the afternoon, the silence between you pulsed like a heartbeat.

At your altar, I will pray You're the sculptor, I'm the clay

 

It was nearly midnight.

The halls were empty, the world wrapped in stillness. Severus stood outside your office door, unmoving, hand poised to knock—and yet he didn’t.

The door was slightly ajar. The soft glow of candlelight spilled into the hallway like a silent invitation.

He didn’t knock.

He stepped inside.

You were curled on the couch, a blanket around your shoulders, bare feet tucked beneath you. A book lay closed on the cushion beside you, your gaze already lifted toward him.

You didn’t look startled.

Only expectant.

Only calm.

He closed the door behind him. The latch clicked, loud in the quiet.

You sat up slightly, your blanket slipping down to your elbows.

He didn’t know where to start.

So you waited. Of course you did.

“You’ve…” He paused, jaw clenching. “You’ve changed something in me.”

A soft hum in your throat. You didn’t interrupt.

He took a breath.

“I’ve spent most of my life… folding myself into corners. Into shadows. And even after the war, when the world stopped needing me to vanish—I still did. Until you.”

Your brows furrowed faintly.

“You don’t ask me to be anything,” he continued, voice low, rough. “You don’t expect… apologies. Confessions. Explanations.”

Your lips parted, but you still didn’t speak.

“You see me,” he said. “And for some reason… that doesn’t terrify me anymore.”

You moved then—slowly, carefully—as if not to startle him. Your hand reached out, fingers brushing lightly against his sleeve. A touch that asked permission, not possession.

He didn’t flinch.

“I see you,” you said softly, “because I want to. And I stay because you let me.”

His heart was pounding—too loud in his chest, in his ears, in the spaces between you.

“I don’t know what to do with that,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you replied, your thumb now brushing the inside of his wrist. “You just have to be.”

Silence.

A breath.

Then his hand lifted—tentative, trembling—and he cupped your cheek.

You leaned into it. Without hesitation. Without fear.

And when he bent his head toward you, when his lips met yours for the first time, it was not a claiming.

It was a prayer.

Soft. Trembling. Sacred.

The kind that didn’t ask for answers.

Only peace.

Only presence.

Only you.

And when you pulled apart, your forehead resting against his, he whispered:

“You are the only thing I’ve ever wanted to worship.”

 

Oh my, my You're takin' me out of the ordinary I want you layin' me down 'til we're dead and buried

 

The world didn’t shift.

There were no fireworks. No triumphant orchestral swell.

But when you opened your doorOnly two days later and found him standing there—wet from rain, hair clinging to his cheeks, eyes dark with something deeper than longing—you didn’t need anything else.

You stepped aside. Let him in. Closed the door behind you.

He didn’t speak.

He just looked at you. Like he was memorizing your face all over again.

Like this moment was the one he’d return to if everything else fell apart.

And then he moved—slowly, reverently—and kissed you again.

Not soft, not this time.

This kiss held weight. Want. Worship.

It was a promise sealed with breath.

You held onto him like you’d always meant to—fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, grounding him.

He touched you like you were something he wasn’t sure he deserved but refused to let go of now that he had you. His hands found your waist, your back, the curve of your neck. Everything sacred. Everything yours.

And when you moved to the bedroom—fingers trembling, hearts racing—there was no rush.

Just time.

Time to feel.

Time to stay.

Time to let himself be loved without fear of it slipping through his fingers.

Later, the rain still whispered against the windows, but inside… there was only quiet.

You lay beside him, one hand against his chest, your breath steady.

And Severus stared at the ceiling like he’d never seen it before.

“Tell me this is real,” he whispered, the words foreign on his tongue.

You shifted, kissed his jaw gently.

“It’s real,” you murmured. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

He turned then—propped on one elbow, eyes locked to yours.

“If this is what forever feels like,” he said, voice low and hoarse, “I want it. All of it. With you.”

No hesitation.

No fear.

Only you.

Only always.

 

On the edge of your knife, stayin' drunk on your vine The angels up in the clouds are jealous, knowin' we found

 

Severus had never known quiet like this.

Not the kind filled with solitude, or grief, or shadow—but a silence that wrapped itself around his bones like warmth. Like safety. Like belonging.

You lay across his chest, one hand drawing lazy patterns over his ribs, breath steady. The fire across the room crackled softly, casting gold over your skin. And he… watched.

He couldn’t help it.

There was something in the way you existed when you thought he wasn’t watching. The way your lips parted slightly when you were sleepy. The way you hummed when you were content. The way your fingers always sought out skin—even in sleep.

You were a thousand quiet moments that stitched themselves into his soul.

And he was utterly drunk on you.

You didn’t speak much that day.

You didn’t need to.

You moved through the castle together in perfect rhythm—his coat brushing yours as you walked, hands grazing but not always holding, glances shared like secrets.

You made tea. He reached around you to grab mugs. Your bodies touched in the smallest ways—in the kitchen, on the couch, beside the window—and every time it happened, it lit something in him that made it hard to breathe.

That night, you read by the fire. He sat beside you, his hand resting on your knee, fingers idle.

You looked up at him, catching him mid-thought.

“What?” you whispered, voice dipped in candlelight.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he leaned forward—resting his forehead against yours.

“You’ve undone me,” he murmured.

You smiled gently. “Good.”

And then—so softly he almost missed it—you added:

“I want you like this. Always. Messy. Unfiltered. Yours.”

His breath caught.

And then he kissed you again. Slow. Deep.

Like a man starved for something only you could give.

And when he pulled back, eyes still closed, he whispered:

“Thank you.”

 

Somethin' so out (out) of the ordinary (ordinary) You got me kissin' the ground (ground) of your sanctuary (sanctuary)

 

It was a letter that came nearly a year later.

Severus had returned from a late afternoon class, shoulders tight with tension, robes damp from the rain that had rolled in out of nowhere. The castle was dim, lit only by wall sconces and the dusky blue-grey of early evening.

He didn’t expect to find you waiting in his quarters.

You were seated on the edge of the armchair, hands folded, face calm—but there was something about your stillness that made him pause in the doorway.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice lower than usual.

You looked up at him—steady, quiet.

“There’s been an inquiry,” you said softly. “About you.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve. He stiffened. Cold.

“Who—?”

“I don’t know. An outside board. Political. It sounds like someone wants to dig up the past again.” Your voice was careful. Gentle. “But I took care of it.”

He blinked.

“What do you mean, you took care of it?”

You stood, walking slowly toward him. Not defensive. Not triumphant. Just… open.

“I gave a written statement,” you said. “Told them what you’ve done since the war. What you’ve been to this school. To the students. To me.”

He stared at you.

“You gave them your name?” he asked, breath caught between fury and fear.

“I gave them my truth, Severus,” you said, gently but firmly. “I told them you saved more than lives during the war. You’ve saved hearts after it.”

You reached for his hand. Took it. Pressed it between both of yours.

“I didn’t do it to protect you,” you said. “You don’t need protecting.”

His throat was tight. His pulse unsteady.

“I did it because I love you. And I’ll tell the whole bloody world if that’s what it takes.”

He didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

He just looked at you—at the softness of you, the strength, the choice you made so willingly.

And then, slowly, he dropped to his knees.

Not in shame.

Not in weakness.

But in reverence.

You gasped softly, reaching for him—but he just wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head against your stomach. Holding on.

And for the first time, he let it show. All of it. The fear. The awe. The love.

Your arms wrapped around him.

Held him like he was something worth holding.

And in that moment, Severus Snape loved you not in silence. Not in shadow.

But in full, aching surrender.

His sanctuary.

His everything.

 

Shatter me with your touch, oh Lord, return me to dust The angels up in the clouds are jealous, knowin' we found

 

The fire was low.

Not crackling—just glowing. Like a heart still beating after a long, aching day.

You reached for him first this time.

Your fingers brushing the side of his neck, tracing the line of his jaw, resting over the pulse that fluttered just beneath his skin.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

Because when he looked at you now, it wasn’t with hunger or hesitation.

It was with reverence.

And when he kissed you, it was slow. So slow.

Not because he was unsure—but because he wanted to remember everything. The taste of your breath. The tremble of your fingers. The way you exhaled like he was something holy.

You undressed him gently.

Not like you were removing armor.

Like you were freeing him.

And he let you.

Let you trace the scars. The old ones. The new ones. The ones no one else had ever dared to touch.

And when you kissed the curve of his shoulder, the hollow beneath his collarbone, the place just over his heart—

He broke.

No sound. No cry.

Just the slow, shattering realization that he had never, in all his years, been touched like this.

Like he was cherished.

Your bodies moved together in silence. No demands. No desperation.

Only a rhythm that felt like breath.

Like life.

Like home.

You held his face as he trembled above you. Whispered his name like a prayer.

And when he buried his face into your neck, gasping, lost, found—you wrapped your arms around him like a vow.

“I love you,” you whispered.

No question. No hesitation.

And for once… he believed it.

For once… he let it in.

Afterward, you lay tangled in sheets and each other, skin to skin, soul to soul.

He was quiet. But not the haunted quiet.

The kind that comes after a storm when the world is washed clean.

Your fingers ran through his hair, slow and steady.

And when he finally spoke, it was a whisper:

“Whatever is left of me… it’s yours. I love you”

 

Somethin' so heavenly, higher than ecstasy Whenever you're next to me, oh my, my

 

Sunlight filtered through the window, warm and golden and impossibly kind.

It bathed the room in soft light, catching on the folds of the blanket pulled halfway down your back, the way your hair spilled across the pillow, the curve of your shoulder beneath his arm.

Severus had never lingered like this before.

This was something else entirely.

He was still here.

And so were you.

You stirred slowly, as though waking up in a dream, and blinked up at him with sleepy eyes and the faintest smile.

“Good morning,” you said, your voice rough with sleep.

He could have sworn his heart ached at the sound.

“Is it?” he murmured.

You stretched, your foot brushing against his beneath the covers.

“It is now.”

You didn’t leave bed for hours.

You stole the blanket. He grumbled and stole it back. You laughed—really laughed—and he couldn't stop staring. Your laughter wasn’t loud or wild. It was soft, breathy, like honey and fresh air.

“You’re staring again,” you teased, cheeks pink, hair a perfect storm.

“I’m allowed,” he said. “You’re mine.”

You blinked at that—slow, stunned—and then reached for his hand under the sheets, lacing your fingers.

“I’ve been yours since the first time you screamed at me with silence.”

He huffed. “Romantic.”

“The most.”

Later, when you finally dragged yourselves into the kitchen, you made food while he leaned against the doorframe watching you. Hair messy. His shirt on still half-buttoned. Eyes filled with warmth.

You looked like forever.

And when you turned to ask him what tea he wanted, he caught your wrist and pulled you into him.

Kissed your forehead.

Then your cheek.

Then your mouth—slow and warm and impossibly whole.

You smiled against his lips.

“Hi.”

He breathed out a laugh. “Hi.”

And for the first time in a very long time, Severus Snape wasn’t waiting for the moment to end.

Because this—this—was heaven.

 

World was in black and white until I saw your light I thought you had to die to find

 

He watched you from the window.

You were sitting in the courtyard, surrounded by late-blooming flowers and golden leaves. A stack of parchment was balanced on your knees, quill tapping absently at your chin. The sun caught in your hair, weaving through it like firelight.

And for the first time in his life, Severus Snape thought the world looked alive.

Not sharp. Not grey. Not something to survive.

Just… beautiful.

He remembered a time when everything had felt faded. Like the world had lost its magic and the silence in his chest was just the cost of breathing.

He had lived like that for years—ghost-walking through corridors, sipping bitter tea, speaking only when spoken to. Not quite dead, not quite living. A relic of a war no one wanted to talk about.

And then you came.

With your soft voice. Your presence. Your infuriating patience.

You never asked him to smile. Never asked him to speak. You just stayed.

And that was how you saved him.

Not with spells.

Not with speeches.

Just by being there.

He found you later in the staff room. Your chair by the fire, legs curled up, a blanket around your shoulders. A mug of tea sat untouched on the table beside you, steam long since faded.

You looked up when he entered.

Smiled.

And something inside him just… broke open.

He crossed the room slowly. Sat beside you. Took your hand in his without a word.

“You alright?” you asked softly, brushing your thumb over his knuckles.

He nodded once.

And then whispered, “The world used to be...cold.”

You looked at him, head tilted gently. Waiting.

“And then you came,” he said. “And everything… changed.”

You didn’t say anything.

Just leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Slow. Lingering.

He closed his eyes.

And in that moment, he knew—

He hadn’t had to die to find peace.

He just had to find you.

 

Somethin' so out of the ordinary  I want you layin' me down 'til we're dead and buried  On the edge of your knife, stayin' drunk on your vine  The angels up in the clouds are jealous, knowin' we found

 

It was late.

The stars hung low in the sky, like someone had pulled them closer just for the two of you.

You were sitting on the Astronomy Tower—blankets beneath you, shoulders pressed close, a flask of tea passed back and forth. The castle below was quiet, breathing in the night like a lullaby.

You were tracing constellations in the sky, naming them lazily.

He wasn't really listening.

He was looking at you.

And thinking about how you’d made a home out of him.

“Do you believe in fate?” he asked suddenly, voice barely more than breath.

You smiled faintly. “Sometimes. But I believe more in… choices.”

He nodded.

Then, slowly, reached into his pocket.

You didn’t notice at first—not until he gently took your hand and pressed something small and warm into your palm.

A ring.

Simple. Silver. Understated.

Just like him.

You looked down at it, then up at him—eyes wide, breath caught.

“No kneeling,” he said, quiet. “No speeches. Just this.”

He turned your hand over and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

“I want to grow old with you,” he whispered. “I want to share silences and storms and whatever else this life has left to give. I want you… until we’re dead and buried.”

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t need to.

You just leaned forward and kissed him.

Not urgently.

Not dramatically.

Just like someone saying yes with their whole heart.

And when you finally pulled apart, you slid the ring onto your own finger and whispered:

“Forever’s always been yours.”

He let out a breath like a man exhaling every weight he’d ever carried.

And the stars above you pulsed just a little brighter.

As if they were cheering.

 

Somethin' so out (out) of the ordinary (ordinary)  You got me kissin' the ground (ground) of your sanctuary (sanctuary)

 

The music was soft.

Vinyl cracked gently in the background, old jazz filling the cottage with warmth. The fire was low, casting amber flickers across the walls. Outside, snow kissed the garden, blanketing it in silence.

And inside, Severus held you in his arms.

You weren’t dancing the way you used to—no grand spins, no rhythm. Just slow steps. Rocking gently in the center of the living room. Your cheek resting against his chest, his hand warm against your back.

You sighed. Not tired. Just content.

He kissed your temple.

“You’re still my favorite silence,” he murmured.

You smiled against his chest.

“And you’re still my safest place.”

Your home was small, tucked into the woods beyond Hogsmeade. A little crooked. A little drafty.

But it was yours.

Photos lined the mantle—of you, of old students who still wrote letters, of gardens that had bloomed and quiet winters you’d weathered.

Severus never thought he’d see this version of his life.

He thought he’d burn out. Be forgotten. Fade like a ghost in some forgotten hall.

But here he was.

Older. Softer. Held.

And still—always—yours.

You looked up at him as the song slowed.

Lines around your eyes, silver in your hair, your ring catching the firelight.

And he thought—I have never loved anything this way. Not even once. Not even close.

“You’re staring again,” you whispered.

He smiled—really smiled.

“Of course I am. You're mine.”

You leaned up, kissed his jaw.

And you kept dancing.

Not toward an ending.

But into everything you'd built.

Everything you'd become.

Two ordinary souls.

With an extraordinary love.

 

Shatter me with your touch, oh Lord, return me to dust The angels up in the clouds are jealous, knowin' we found

[wannaeatramyeon]

DG x Reader: Bodyguard

G/N. Cracky. You, the bodyguard. DG, the 'helpless' idol. Masterlists

When the rest of DG's senior team insisted he get a bodyguard, he thought it was a joke.

What sort of idiot would attack James Lee.

Then he remembered he's not James Lee, at least not to the general public. He's Diego Kang, CEO of PTJ Entertainment, an idol with amazing moves and an ass that won't quit but no fighting experience.

Right. Right. 

He supposes that makes sense. It would've been suspicious to say no, especially with his legions of stans and stalker, and his prior history.

.

.

You're not exactly who he would have picked.

Bodyguards are usually monstrous, huge, intimidating men. You're not really any of the above.

In fact, you're kinda cute. And apparently your resume is also impressive enough too.

"Perfect candidate." 

"Extensive training." 

"Unmatched awareness." 

-were chirped into his ear before he gave you his nod of approval.

Besides, DG thinks it might work to his advantage to employ someone so unassuming.

.

.

"No upskirt pictures!" You yell at the paparazzi, parting them to make way for the pink-haired idol, and pointing accusingly.

DG, in a moment of complete confusion, peers down to his own legs in case he really did wear a skirt.

No. He's in his pants, of course he is. His clothing is supplied as part of his sponsorship deal. Why would he be wearing a skirt?

"What was that?" He asks, when you're piled into his minivan. Brows knitted together instead of his usual cold, impassive expression.

You give him a shrug, "Just in case."

"In case of?"

"Just in case," you repeat, tapping your nose and nodding knowingly at him.

.

.

Now, he remembers.

During one of his many many boring meetings, when you were officially under his employment and before you started, he had been warned you might be like this.

.

.

“No pictures today!” you holler and the paparazzi groan.

Someone brave enough shouts back why.

“DG lost all five MAMA noms and he’s in a terrible mood. He might ask me to kill you if you take any pictures,” you say back solemnly and without humour.

DG feels bitter but not that bitter. Upon hearing your words, he stifles a laugh into his sleeve and disguises it as a cough.

.

. 

To sum it up, you're an oddball. 

Still, DG tolerates you because of your flashes of brilliance and your brutal honesty.

"Here, sir." You offer up a steaming hot drink and DG raises an eyebrow. "Honey and lemon. For your throat."

When DG doesn't take it, you finally explain. "Your singing sounded awful, sir. Thought you might need it."

Ah.

He did think he sounded off but the yes-men at the studio told him otherwise. He should have trusted his own instincts and makes a mental note to replace them.

DG chuckles to himself before taking the first sip.

.

.

"No touching please," you jump in just as a fan is starting to get handsy.

"Excuse me?!"

You turn away from them, letting their indignant outrage slide off you and usher DG on to the next group to interact with.

DG gives you a nod of thanks and you give him a subtle wink back.

.

.

"You best not be zooming in on his tits," you snarl at another paparazzi. "No under boob, side boobs, any boobs!"

DG glances down at his chest. Fully concealed in a mock neck jumper. There's no bare skin on show at all.

"Can you explain?" He asks, once you climb in the minivan after him and slide the door close.

"You know." You say, handing over another honey and lemon drink.

"I don't, actually."

"You know," you repeat, eyes signalling towards his chest area and hand gesticulating at your own. "And, y'know." 

You nod at his hot drink and pull a face, indicating that he was pitchy as hell in the last rehearsal.

DG shakes his head at your antics but takes a sip regardless.

.

.

"For you, sir." You hold out a brand new baseball cap with both hands and head bowed respectfully.

"I don't want this."

"Yes but you need it."

"..."

"For your bad hair day."

"What?"

"Trust me, sir."

DG narrows his eyes at you. You're rude as hell, no tact at all. He’s not sure if you even have a filter, or you just say whatever thought pops into your mind. 

However.

Somewhere along the way, he finds that you're the only person that tells him the truth.

He takes the cap and thrusts it on his head.

"Much better!" You pipe up with an oblivious grin, adding insult to injury.

.

.

"What are you doing?" DG pulls a face as you wrap your arm around his waist and hurry him on.

"There's someone tailing you," you murmur, "I've been watching them for the last five minutes."

There is? How on earth did this person get past his radar?

As if answering his thoughts, you tell him, "They look like a normal ajumma. No-one would have suspected her if I wasn't watching."

You pick up the pace and DG matches you stride for stride.

"Your manager is waiting just up ahead with the car. I'll take care of them." You give DG a salute and a toothy smile as he looks at you in alarm.

In all honesty, you look a bit helpless. Yes, your resume looks great and yes, your recommendations are glowing but DG hasn't actually seen you in action yet. He can't help the way his stomach lurches thinking about you in danger.

And what if this isn’t an untrained, rabid stan, but someone who knows about his other life and is after James Lee?

"I'll be fine, sir!" You turn quickly and sprint off in the opposite direction at breakneck speed.

.

.

A couple hours later, after DG has paced endlessly back and forth, you show up at his office.

Your hair is a little out of place, and your regulation suit is a little dusty but you're otherwise untouched.

"Are you ok?" his eyes snap to yours.

"Of course, sir!" Your beam is as bright as ever.

DG exhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose, relief overwhelming him and he desperately wills his pulse to return to normal.

"Call me James," he sighs when he realises it's not working and his heart seems to beat quicker and louder now you're in sight.

You don't ask any questions like why James, why not Diego. You accept it at face value, no doubt having some secrets of your own.

Your smile is unfaltering as you respond, "Sure thing, James, sir!"

[girrlrage]

sweat and purple rain. - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you. ♡ content: NSFW; explicit shower sex, oral f receiving, unprotected sex, hair pulling, spanking, praise & slight teasing kink, Pedro being annoying and hot, fluff and humor, domesticity, singing Pedro lol

---

You hear the door before you see him. Then the heavy thud of his gym bag hitting the floor, followed by—

“Mi amoooorrrrr,” Pedro calls out, still out of breath, “I almost DIED doing squats today, where’s my reward?”

You barely have time to look up from the couch before he’s on you — shirt soaked through, arms wrapped around you, lips smacking against your cheek over and over.

“Pedro!” You shove at his damp chest, squealing. “You’re all sweaty! Get off!”

“Let me love you,” he whines dramatically, breath hot on your neck. “I’m weak. My muscles hurt. I need comfort.”

“You need a shower,” you laugh, trying not to breathe in his delightfully gross gym smell, “and a damn exorcism.”

He pulls back just enough to grin, cheeks flushed, curls damp. “C’mon. Shower with me?”

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

“Yeah,” he smirks, tugging you up by the hand, “but you love it.”

The second the water hits, he’s humming.

Then singing. Loudly.

“I never meant to cause you any sorrow—”

“Pedro,” you groan, “please—"

“I never meant to cause you any pain—”

You reach for the shampoo with a snort as he presses his chest to your back, water cascading down your bodies. His hands stay on your hips, thumb rubbing circles.

“I only wanted one time to see you laughing…” he croons, completely off-key.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, lathering your hands.

“I only want to see you laughing…” He turns you around with a dramatic flourish. “In the purple rain!”

You burst out laughing, shoving shampoo-slick fingers into his curls. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he says, suddenly softer. His eyes stay locked on yours while you gently wash his hair, massage his scalp. “You spoil me.”

“I tolerate you,” you mutter, but your thumbs brush along his temples lovingly.

He leans into it like a cat, all smug and warm. “You love me.”

You rinse his hair, trying not to smile. “I do. But I liked you better when you weren’t so—”

His mouth crashes onto yours before you can finish. You gasp, hands sliding down his chest, soap slick between you.

“You were saying?” he whispers.

You don’t answer — you just kiss him harder.

Hands wander. Hips press. His palm slaps against the wall beside your head and you moan into his mouth.

“Turn around,” he rasps.

You do. Water runs down your back as he kisses your neck, your shoulder, his hand slipping between your thighs.

“You want it?” he asks, voice husky, fingers stroking slowly.

You nod, grinding back into his hand.

He grabs your hip with one hand, the other guiding his cock to your entrance. You’re already wet — hot and ready for him — and he slides in with a low groan.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants. “So tight for me.”

You brace yourself against the tiles, gasping as he sets a steady rhythm, hips slapping into yours.

He doesn’t rush. Just drags it out — deep and slow and filthy. His hands roam, groping your tits, tugging your hair, smacking your ass just hard enough to make you yelp.

“This what you needed?” he growls. “Me ruining you in the shower like a fuckin’ animal?”

You whimper, pushing back onto him. “Y-Yeah.”

He leans in, biting your shoulder gently. “Say it.”

“Needed you,” you gasp, “missed your cock, fuck—Pedro—”

You come with a cry, legs shaking, water washing the sweat and sin from your skin.

He follows not long after, moaning your name like it’s a hymn.

Afterward, you’re breathless, sagging against him in the misty steam. He pulls you close, presses a soft kiss to your temple.

“Still think I need an exorcism?” he murmurs, voice smug.

You swat his ass. “Still think you need a muzzle.”

He laughs. “Fair.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[jinwoosungs]

10/19/24; 06:53pm

{ drabbles / headcanons }

[ they comfort you while you’re feeling insecure ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel

warnings: dieting is mentioned in sylus’s story. if this is a major trigger for any of you readers, then you don’t need to read this story ♡

it was such a mystery why sylus chose to be with you, of all people.

deep down, you knew he could pick any woman in the entire universe-

so why did he have to settle down with someone as plain as you?

why did you feel like a sack of potatoes while standing next to sylus?

why did the haughty laughter that came from the usual women sylus made business deals with affect you so much?

a particularly bad memory resurfaces, and you bite down harshly at your bottom lip, recalling a time where sylus had invited you to a business dinner with him. while he spoke about plans of expanding onychinus, the mafia boss’ daughter sneered at you, her slender yet curvaceous body made you feel worse about your own self image. you barely picked at your plate of food, knowing that you were far from being slender, and you became increasingly aware of how the curve of your abdomen could be seen from your tight dress.

needless to say, you didn’t have much of an appetite after that meeting.

with the memory of that woman’s sneer still fresh in your mind, you decided to diet a bit while cutting down the amount of foods you ate. you no longer snacked on your favorite sweets and tried to eat more steamed vegetables, avoiding carbs and proteins altogether. you figured since vegetables were like a superfood, then you’d be able to drop down some pounds and obtain a much better figure-

one that was more suited to remain by sylus’s side.

a week into your new diet, you did feel a bit lighter, and as you watched the pounds decrease, you had plans of further decreasing your calorie count-

however, sylus manages to put a hard stop to it. while you were making a simple dinner that consisted of a plain salad, sylus was felt sneaking up from behind you, trapping your form from behind him. you gasp and look up at him, feeling the way his large hand encircles around your wrist.

“s-sylus? what are you doing?” your eyes were wide, watching as he remains silent all while holding your wrist within the palm of his hand.

“you’ve lost some weight.” sylus tells you with his eyebrows furrowed. he takes a hold of your chin and forces you to look at him, “and don’t think for a minute that i haven’t noticed the change in your diet. although steamed vegetables and salads are good for you, they’re not enough to sustain you.”

hearing the concern in his voice makes you break down immediately. the hunger pangs came back to you at full force, making you wince as you land against sylus. “s-sorry, it’s just… i always feel so bad when i stand next to you.”

tears were streaming down your face, and sylus merely hums in response, taking you in his arms while allowing you to vent about your feelings.

“i-i’ve never really been too skinny… because of my appetite. and i guess… it’s just, being next to you and seeing all the women that’s part of your world- it bothers me how i’m not like them, and-“

sylus then silences the rest of your words with a searing kiss. he would not listen or tolerate you speaking down to yourself ever again, and as your lover, it was his responsibility to make sure you felt beautiful every single minute.

once he was certain you had calmed down, he pulls away from the kiss first, resting his forehead against yours while saying your name in an almost exasperated manner.

“there’s a reason why i never wish to be with those women, and that’s because they can never be you. i wish you could see yourself through my eyes and realize just how beautiful you are to me.”

tears began filling your vision, making sylus smile sweetly at you as he gently caresses at your hair, “you don’t need to do anything- to change anything about yourself. what i feel for you is, and always will be, something unconditional. so please, don’t starve yourself and cut out the nutrients you need. you need to eat a thick steak to build your muscles and maintain your energy. pasta and bread can help with filling you up, and i know how much you love sharing ice cream sundaes with me as well.”

feeling so grateful at having such a wonderful boyfriend like sylus, you lean up to press another lingering kiss against his lips, all while telling him, “ah, a steak with some buttered rolls and a salad sounds so good right now.”

sylus lets out a rich chuckle, pressing a kiss against your hair before heading towards the stove all while rolling up his sleeves, “you got it, sweetheart.”

when you woke up this morning, you felt distracted by your reflection, feeling a shudder run down your spine at seeing the various acne that littered your face.

never one to have clear skin, you found yourself pouting at your reflection. as you looked at the new patches of acne settled against your cheek, you frown. it wasn’t like you didn’t take care of your skin. every night, after you showered, you always made sure to wash your face while keeping it moisturized while doing your usual routine-

yet that didn’t seem to be enough, as you always seemed to breakout at the most inopportune times. perhaps today was a bit more meaningful since zayne’s parents were going to stop by the house and have dinner with the both of you.

you had never met zayne’s parents before, and the fact that he invited them over just to finally meet you was both endearing and overwhelming for you. deep down, you were afraid that his parents would reject you, labeling you as beneath their son while harshly telling him that he could do so much better than you.

those self deprecating thoughts kept repeating themselves within your mind, causing you to panic. leaning closer to the mirror, you focused on the patch of acne and tried to pop each and every one of them. it felt like your hands kept clawing at your face, making your eyes water as you tried to get rid of the acne the best way that you knew how to.

you jump slightly upon hearing a knock at the door, hearing zayne’s voice calling out your name before entering the bathroom. he sees the tears in your eyes and how your fingertips were placed against the bumps seen on your cheek.

he frowns, shutting the door from behind him while taking quick strides towards you. “what are you doing?”

your lips began to tremble, giving zayne a defeated expression as you angrily wiped away at your tears. “s-sorry, i just… i feel so mad right now, with my face breaking out like this. and i’m going to see your parents soon, and i look like a mess. i’m terrified that they’re going to compare me to you and say that you deserve so much better-!”

zayne suddenly cuts you off by bringing you into his arms, wrapping you in a tight embrace while drawing comforting circles behind your back. you cling to him like a lifeline, allowing the tears to stain at the front of his shirt.

“don’t ever speak that way about yourself ever again.” zayne tells you in a whisper, pressing a kiss against your temple before framing at your face. he takes a moment to admire your features all while running the pad of his thumb against the patch of acne seen against your skin.

“these… don’t bother me at all. to me, you have always been achingly beautiful in my eyes. and that is never going to change. the whole reason i wanted to invite my parents over was so that they could meet you and know that i am serious about you- about us.”

he smiles down at you, taking in your cute pout before leaning closer to press a chaste kiss against your lips, “now, don’t pick at them anymore. give them some time to heal, and just make sure you wash your face every day to help.”

feeling immensely better now, you throw your arms around zayne, pulling him close as you giggled, allowing him to pick you up as he headed towards the walk in shower, “did you wish to shower together? perhaps then, i could show you just how beautiful you are to me.”

and truly, who were you to deny the love of your life?

to say you were amazed at managing to capture xavier’s heart would be the understatement of the century. in fact, how you both met was under some unorthodox conditions.

you had simply been running errands when an outbreak of wanderers were seen just a few blocks away from you. you had unknowingly stepped into danger, and when you were close to get attacked by one of the monsters-

xavier had appeared before you, slashing away at the wanderer with his weapon. he keeps himself in front of you, not daring to move away from you until the threat has been eliminated. throughout it all, you were in a daze, simply admiring how swift and deadly xavier’s movements were as he dealt with the rest of the wanderers.

only when the coast was clear did he finally meet your gaze. “are you okay?”

you could only manage to give him a nod, ready to thank him when a stern voice breaks through, “xavier, is everything alright on your end?”

you look back to see a stern, but beautiful woman taking quick strides the hunter you assumed was known as xavier. he sheathed his weapon and gives the woman a slight bow. “yes, i’ve dealt with the wanderers here on the eastern part of the city.”

“good. i’ll go ahead and assess the damage with the others.” she runs a hand across her sandy brown hair, leaving you alone with xavier. trying to ignore your own features and how plain you felt in comparison to the woman, you thank xavier for protecting you before telling him you would head home.

the young hunter prevents you from leaving him, gently encircling his hand around your wrist. “wait, let me escort you home, just to be safe.”

seeing the way his sapphire eyes were shining brightly against the sunlight made your knees feel weak for him. giving him a stiff nod, you allow xavier to walk with you back to your apartment complex, convincing yourself that this would be the first and last time you would see him.

so imagine your surprise when he walks with you up to your apartment all while sweetly asking you if you’d like to go out on a date with him sometime. of course, you were filled with shock, remaining flabbergasted as you struggled to find the right words to say.

yet at the end of it all, you accepted his offer for a date. and one date turns into two dates, then three-

and you found yourself remaining together with xavier for close to a year now.

you couldn’t understand what xavier saw in you, since each time you would see xavier work at the association, you became achingly aware of how gorgeous his female coworkers were. this left you feeling a little more than inadequate, wondering why you agreed to be with xavier when he was surrounded by so many girls that were prettier than you.

and such thoughts were enough to render you useless, making you lay in bed for the entirety of the day. as you wallow in your thoughts, you heard your phone go off with your usual text tone. curious as to who was texting you, you look at your screen and freeze, reading xavier’s text:

hey, i got off early. u wanna hang out together? i’m free.

pursing your lips, you leave his text on read, tossing your phone aside before wrapping your blankets tightly around your form. a few seconds later, your phone goes off at least 5 more times, and you were certain it was xavier trying to reach you once more.

you remain in bed, dozing off here and there while wrapped up in your cocoon. you lost track of time, and stiffen when you heard the sound of your front door opening. feeling panicked now, you quickly sit up in bed, hearing footsteps walk into your apartment, revealing xavier just a few moments later with a bag of takeout in his hand.

“hey, i got worried when you didn’t text or call me back, so i figured i’d stop by and check on you.” xavier was frowning slightly, settling the bag of food on top of your desk before sitting on the bed with you.

you run a hand across your tangled locks of hair, “uhm, how did you get in here?”

xavier hums, reaching into the confines of his sweater to pull out your spare key settled on a lanyard. “you gave this to me during our four month anniversary, remember?”

you felt your cheeks heat up in response, leaning forward to gently trace at it. “y-you kept this on you all this time?”

xavier nods, all while gently gripping at your hand, “what’s bothering you.”

“nothing’s bothering me.” you tell xavier a little too quickly, making his frown deepen in response. he ends up tightening his grip on your hand. “that’s not true, and i want you to be honest with me.”

meeting his gaze, you could see the determination shining in them before sighing. “i…i feel really plain in comparison to the women you surround yourself with at the hunters association.”

you watch as xavier’s eyes go wide at your admission, yet still, you continue to explain to him, “i just… i feel like im not pretty enough compared to them. and it- it really is such a mystery why you’re here with me.”

xavier shakes his head for a brief moment before surging forward, giving you a searing kiss as his lips were perfectly slotted against yours. you moan into his kiss, allowing your fingers to delve into his hair as he deepens it.

once he was satisfied with the kiss, xavier pulls away from you, all while flashing you a gentle smile. he frames at your face once more and rests his forehead against yours, “the reason for me being here with you is simple, really, and it’s solely because i love you. you make me so happy, and i love being able to protect you while keeping you in my arms.”

“to me, no other woman can compare to you… and i like you best when you have no makeup on and are in comfortable clothes.” xavier smiles and nuzzles the tip of his nose against yours, “to me, you’re beautiful at all times of the day.”

feeling your heart soar thanks to his honest words alone, you fling your arms around your beloved, holding him close while basking in his kisses. and when he moves his kisses away from your lips and towards your features, you allow xavier to kiss away every insecurity that you felt.

the whole world knew of how beautiful rafayel was-

and that was what sent your thoughts down into a spiral, with you wondering what he even saw in you to begin with.

your first meeting started out as nothing short of romantic. by some twist of fate, you and rafayel happened to frequent at the same café, and as you were scrolling through your phone while taking sips of your coffee, you became aware of a cute boy heading towards you from your periphery.

he smiles at you, amethyst eyes shining with amusement and mirth as he slides a torn piece of sketch paper toward you. on the paper was by far the prettiest rendition of your likeness that you had ever seen. you were honestly impressed by this young man’s talent and asked him if this was how he truly saw you.

he ends up nodding his head in answer to your question. “absolutely. you’re utterly gorgeous, and i knew i had to try and capture your features into my memories somehow. the name’s rafayel, by the way.”

despite your best efforts, you end up grinning widely at him while telling rafayel your own name. the young artist repeats it, as if tasting the syllables on his lips while leaning closer to you. “say, would you like to keep this sketch i made of you?”

“y-yes! i’d love to keep this!” you end up holding the piece of paper close to your chest, earning a rich chuckle from rafayel.

“if that’s the case, then you’ll have to pay for it; and the only payment i’ll accept is if you agree to go on a date with me.”

oh, this guy was a smooth one, and he had caught you-

hook, line, and sinker.

of course, you agreed to go on a date with him-

yet that one date was enough for rafayel to claim you as his girlfriend.

and you’ve been with him ever since.

rafayel was by far the sweetest, and most gorgeous man you had ever dated. sure, you had your bumpy moments-

but the love and happiness you felt with him was something that couldn’t be ignored. he was worth every ounce of your time, (even if he had a tendency to be moody and spoiled).

however, with your growing happiness when it came to being in a relationship with rafayel, there was a lingering sense of doubt as well. for starters, you didn’t look quite as perfect as rafayel did, with you having acne scars scattered throughout your body (mainly on your face and your back).

these lingering scars was what made you shy away from more loose fitting clothes, with you often wearing long sleeved shirts or sweaters to keep your lingering acne and scars hidden.

in fact, you hated them so much that you couldn’t stand to look in the mirror at times.

feeling anxious and unable to keep still, you decide to stop pacing around your shared bedroom, not wishing to distract rafayel as he painted his latest piece. grabbing a plush towel, you head into the bathroom and turn on the faucet of the walk in shower all while shrugging off your clothes in the process.

settling the towel off to the side, once you were bare, you get into the shower and remain beneath the shower spray, basking in the heat. you continue to remain motionless, all while resting your head against the slick shower wall.

you had no idea how long time had passed, and only jumped when you heard rafayel’s voice calling out to you.

“i heard you were in the shower for roughly half an hour now and got concerned, so i’m coming in.”

protests were heard coming from your parted lips, yet rafayel ignored every single one of them, tossing his clothes in a pile before entering the shower with you. his bright eyes remained filled with love for you when he grabs the bottle of body wash and places a significant portion on the sponge. with a hum of your name, rafayel slowly begins lathering the soap all across your form.

“what’s on your mind, princess?” you shiver, feeling your entire body relax as rafayel worked on cleaning your body. taking in a deep breath, you gather your thoughts for a moment before finally admitting to him, “i’m just… feeling really insecure. i keep thinking as to why you’re with me.”

rafayel stops washing your body to let out a scoff. “i’m insulted you feel this way. what do you even mean?”

“i-i mean, look at me, rafayel. i have lingering acne scars on my back, and i don’t have a face that would make people turn their heads to get a better look at me. i’m no ravishing beauty-“

rafayel then presses a lingering kiss at the back of your naked shoulder, making your breath hitch in response. he continues kissing you, trailing his lips softly against your skin as you felt his every touch on your back. as evident from his movements, it was clear that he was kissing at the acne scars that marred your back.

“do you remember the day we first met, and i had given you that sketch?”

you shiver in response, managing to nod in reply to his question. of course you remembered that day, how could you possibly forget what had to have been the happiest day of your life?

“that day, when i first saw you and how you casually sipped at your coffee, i was drawn to the soft and natural beauty you had. i don’t care about models or any other beauty standard that girls tend to follow. what drew me to you was how you seemed to exude a hidden kindness… and just… knew then that i had to capture your features and forever immortalize it in that drawing.”

he places one last kiss against your back before turning you around so that you could face him. tears were seen welling up in your eyes, and you couldn’t stop them from cascading down your face when rafayel frames at them. he caresses at your cheek while telling you, “you have always been the light of my life… and that’s never going to change, because in my eyes, no one would ever be able to compare to you.”

you clench your eyes shut and give him a nod, unable to speak to him due to how much your throat was felt clenching up in response. giving you one last smile, rafayel leans in to quickly give your lips a chaste kiss.

“now, how about we finish this shower, then later on, we’ll order your favorite takeout while watching a movie together.”

more than ready to experience such a fun and relaxing night with him, you give your beloved lemurian a nod before leaning even closer to his touch, allowing him to spoil you as his reverent caresses against your skin makes every insecurity you felt disappear in an instant.

end notes: don’t mind me, i was feeling pretty low about myself and how i looked, and wrote a little something to help with comforting me 🥹 if any of you readers have similar insecurities, then i hope this fic comforted you as well ♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[fixated-cookies]

*get out of your walls* Hi! If you take requests of super epics/epics can I request a Capsaicin cookie headcanons with a tottally opposite reader (male if you can, and like when I say opposite is the COMPLETALLY opposite on everything like he is fire and the reader is ice etc....) if you don't can I request a burning spice x wife!reader? *comes back to your walls*

Thanks for reading! (if you read)

capsaicin cookie? yeahhhhh

He Is loud, brash, and always burning. He's the kind of guy who speaks with his whole chest and moves like he’s got something to prove.

So imagine his SHOCK when he meets you: a man colder than a blizzard, with eyes like winter glass and a voice soft as snowfall.

He’s intrigued. Offended, even. “What—ya think you’re too cool to say hi back?” Cue you blinking once and slowly sipping something cold without answering.

You barely emote. Your whole vibe is "don't melt me." Stoic, dry-humored, and physically chill to the touch. He touches your hand and FLINCHES because— “WHOA! You’re FREEZING!”

Your abilities? Ice-based. Sub-zero blasts. You once froze Capsaicin’s entire lunch mid-rant and said, “You were overheating. I fixed it.”

You have no tolerance for noise... which is 100% of his personality.

Some relationship headcanons hmm..

You’re the definition of still water runs deep. He’s the goddamn volcano it runs beneath.

He calls you things like “Snowflake,” “Cool guy,” or “Chilly buns” to annoy you. You never react. That only makes him do it more.

When he hugs you, he wraps around you twice as tight, because you're so cool his flames naturally start to dim. He doesn't admit it, but he loves the calm you bring.

You cool down his temper. Literally. If he's to excited about something, one single touch from you numbs him—he hates it. Loves it. Needs it.

now NSFW WORK? hehehe

He runs hot. Like skin-sizzling, steam-rising-off-his-body hot. You're ice-cold. The contrast during intimacy? Devastating.

His hands BURN, yours freeze—so when he grips your hips and pulls you onto him, the temperature clash is visible. Steam rises from every touch.

He gets off on your composure breaking. He needs to see you shiver—not from cold, but from him. The one time you moaned his name? He went FERAL for a week straight.

He jokes mid-thrust like, “Hope I’m melting that glacier you call a personality, babe.” You stare him dead in the eye and say, “Barely lukewarm.” He WHINES. He RAMPS IT UP.

Bonus:

He’ll try to “warm you up” by force. Blankets. Cuddles. Tucking you under his cloak. You're visibly annoyed, but secretly love it.

You make him snow cones from scratch. He tries to act cool about it (he fails).

Your kisses? Start cold, end scalding. The temperature always flips midway through. It’s kind of your thing.

---

Before i got into cookie run i used to see this dude EVERYWHERE, he really invoked the himboness I love in men.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Cold Rain

Swamped with school work and pain, sorry for the lack of updates.

Summary: It's raining outside so you and Bucky snuggle in bed.

You really don't like the rain.

It causes the floor to feel like ice, your skin prickling from the chill that sets into your house, and not to mention the howling winds out there make the night seem alive. Your hair stands on end, trying its best to protect you from the cold but it's not enough. You suppose it's partly due to your inability to tolerate the cold for some reason, a mystery you have yet to solve, but that has led to some funny incidents like the time you wore a hoodie out in the hot humid sun because you'd forgotten to take it off, causing Bucky to fret about heatstroke.

"Doll?" Said person appears in the doorway, holding two cups of steaming hot chocolate, the sweet scent wafting through the room. "Would you like one?"

"If I said no? What are you going to do with that other cup?" You peek out from beneath the pile of blankets.

"Drink it, obviously." He smiles, walking over to you and sits on the bed. "I suppose I get to drink both?"

You pout at him, reaching out with a hand and he chuckles, setting both cups on the bedside table. He gently tugs the blanket downwards and props your pillow up, causing you to slide off said pillow and pout further.

"I'm not risking you spilling any hot chocolate on the sheets, doll. Sit up or you're not getting any." He chides you, flicking your forehead with a look of amusement on his face. You huff, annoyed, but sit up anyways, clutching the blanket tightly. Bucky tucks himself in too before retrieving the cups, handing one to you, his hand lingering on yours.

"Wait. Let me sit on the other side." Bucky shifts, taking care to purposely hit you in the leg as he crosses over. You hit him back in the leg once he's settled on your left and he smirks, pressing his cold toes on your bare skin.

"Buck!" You shriek, causing him to burst out laughing. His retribution comes swiftly when you press your own cold toes against his bare skin, causing him to yelp in surprise. You grin, revenge gotten and begin to drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold. Bucky, the ever drama queen, scowls and sinks beneath the blanket, taking care to set his cup of hot chocolate down on the table before doing so.

He presses against you, resting his head on your stomach and you chuckle, knowing exactly what he wants you to do.

"You can always just ask, you know?" You run your fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp.

"But then we wouldn't have the telepathic connection couples have." He pouts, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes you've learnt to become immune to.

"I'm pretty sure we'd have the telepathic connection even if you asked," you snort, rolling your eyes.

"It wouldn't be the same," he huffs, rolling over to bury his face into your shirt. You're warm, and he likes the smell of your detergent.

"I think otherwise." You continue stroking his hair, smiling softly when you know he can't see it. He hums in response, curling up against you. It's days like these where you fully appreciate the fact that Bucky is just like a personal heater, the amount of body heat he emits has never bothered you, even on a hot day, but sometimes it can get a little too much, not that you've ever told him that. You like it when he cuddles with you, his vulnerable side on full display only for you. It makes your heart flutter, knowing that he trusts you with everything and you don't want him to stop.

Having finished your hot chocolate, you slide downwards, finally allowed to lie down on your bed. He grunts, feeling you shift underneath him and moves into a more comfortable position, taking care not to let his metal arm touch you. He knows how vulnerable you are to the cold, and likes being able to keep you warm. His heart soars whenever you tell him how much he's done for you, albeit in a drunk state but he'll take whatever praise he can when you rarely dish them out.

You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer to the other source of warmth in the room and press a kiss to the top of his head, making him smile. You drive away all forms of chill, enveloping him in a cocoon of warmth, forming a protective barrier that keeps the memories of Hydra out of his head, even if it's just for that short while.

"You're so warm," he murmurs, closing his eyes. "Everyone else is so cold."

You blink, then your eyebrows furrow with concern. "Buck? Is it that group of agents again? Do I need to beat them up or would throwing them out of the twentieth storey be better?"

"Doubt you could throw them any further than an inch, doll." His lips quirk up, one ice blue eye cracking open.

"I'll find a way to throw them out of the window," you growl.

"Fury will be pissed at you."

"Let him. Nothing's going to stand in my way of beating up people who talk behind my sugar plum's back.," you growl.

"Your sugar plum," he chuckles. "Never dropping that pet name, are you?"

"James, I'm serious. Do I need to do something about that group of agents?" You give his cheek a poke, ignoring his attempt to change the subject. "Because I really will throw them out of the twentieth storey window if I have to."

"Please don't do something that drastic. You already got into so much trouble when you beat them up." He pushes himself up so that he can press a kiss to your cheek. "I don't want you to get into more trouble because of me."

"You know that I'll do anything for you."

"I know, doll, and I'm grateful for that. But I'd still rather you not get into trouble if you don't have to." He nuzzles into the crook of your neck. "I don't like seeing you in trouble."

"Then next time I'll just not get caught."

"Doll!" He huffs, exasperated and amused. He pulls back, ice blue eyes clouding with sorrow. "I mean it. You shouldn't go too far for me, I'm not worth that much."

Your heart breaks at the sad smile he gives you and suddenly there's an urge to punt everyone who's ever hurt him out of the twentieth storey window, even if they're nothing but corpses now. You'll punt their corpses, bones, whatever is left of them.

"Yeah, that's because you're worth more than that. You're worth more than I can ever give you but that won't stop me from trying." You wonder if you can get your hands on his former handlers and beat them until their skulls cave in, get your hands on the scientists who experimented on him and shove their syringes up their asses, get your hands on the higher ups and watch as they choke to death on paper.

His bottom lip trembles, gaze dropping to stare at the spot of bed between the two of you and you catch a glimpse of tears rolling down his cheeks. You reach out hesitantly, wondering if it's alright for you to hold him when he leans in, pressing against you and sobs, his tears staining your shirt. You take that as your cue to wrap your arms around him, holding him tightly as he cries, your own heart aching with each wail that spill from his lips.

He clutches at you, desperately burrowing into your warmth as you run your fingers through his hair, giving him all the time he needs to let everything out.

"I've got you," you murmur. "I've got you."

He doesn't let go, not even after his cries have dwindled to the occasional sob. He continues to soak in your embrace, trying his hardest not to let you see his tear-stained face and puffy eyes but he can't help but look up at you, desperate to know if there's a look of disgust on your face you're disguising with your actions, if you want no more weakness out of him.

All he sees is the infinite, boundless and unconditional love you have for him.

He presses his face back into your chest, swallowing the lump in his throat and squeezes his eyes shut. He's safe, free from the tendrils of Hydra, free from the freezing snow that chilled him to the bone, free from the cryostasis whose icy touch still haunts him to this day. Even if the nightmares try to convince him otherwise, he knows that when he wakes up, if you're lying there next to him, the cold will never touch him.

The love you have for him wreathes him in a warmth like no other. It's not the same kind of warmth that fire or heaters provide, it feels different in a way he can't quite describe. It's both gentle and ferocious, it curls around him protectively like a shield but is a sword that cuts through all who try to hurt him. You're his special personal heater, providing a different kind of warmth from the one he provides.

You don't stop your ministrations, the rhythmic pattern lulling what remains of his defenses to sleep. You're the only one who can lay him bare like this, the only one he willingly shows his scars to because you're the only one he trusts to this extent.

The rain patters on outside, the wind whistling as it ushers the cold into your room and you press closer against Bucky, tugging the blanket around the both of you tightly. Bucky shifts, letting out a breath and presses a kiss to your collarbone.

"You're so warm." The words slip out before he can stop them and he blushes, the tips of his ears turning red.

"You're warm too," you chuckle, playing with his soft brown locks. "My warm safe haven."

Safe? Haven? Him?

"I'm not a safe haven," he mumbles, face still pressed against your shoulder.

"Says my devoted protector." You flick him in the head. "I distinctly recall a certain someone chiding me over and over again that the only reason I'm still alive is because of you?"

"I'm also the reason you're being targeted," he mumbles sadly. "Being with me makes you a target too, and I don't want to see you hurt."

"Well, good thing I have you as my knight in shining armour then." You smile softly, slipping a hand into his metal hand. "There's no one else I'd rather have."

Bucky's eyes widen but his metal hand gently curls around your flesh hand, fingers intertwined with yours. He looks up at you, searching for permission to close the distance and you give him a small nod. His eyes light up as he leans in, pressing his lips against yours. He kisses you like there's no tomorrow, like you're about to disappear at any moment, and his love crashes into you — wild, fierce, endless.

Maybe the rain isn't so bad after all.

[ankababy]

Also In That Another Universe…

Niragi x reader

Part 2 of In Another Universe bc y’all wanted more of them, so I granted the wish. Started writing a cute bathtub scene and it ended in sex, sorry.

cw. MDNI, unprotected p in v(please use protection y’all), happy sex(? if that’s a thing), bathtub sex, nicknames(“sunshine” and the overuse of “baby” bc they’re corny and in love and cute), loving relationship, reader not shutting the FUCK up because she’s sugar spice and everything nice

Also in that another universe…

The bathroom was fogged over, mirrors blurred with steam. The bathwater was a little too close to boiling, the kind that makes your skin turn pink and your brain go floaty. It was perfect—at least for you.

For Niragi? Not so much.

He was sitting across from you in the tub, long legs bent under the water, arms resting behind him like he was just barely tolerating the situation. His jaw was tense, like he was trying not to say something snarky about the temperature, and the tips of his ears were flushed—not from embarrassment, just from borderline boiling alive. But he didn’t say shit.

Because you liked it this way.

You sat facing him, legs tangled lazily between his, skin glowing and damp, eyes bright even through the haze. Your hair was twisted up in a loose bun, but he liked it more than anything that took you two hours and a YouTube tutorial. You were bare—nothing on but water and heat and that calm little smile that said you were in your element.

“So I started taking those biotin gummies I told you about.” you said, swirling the water absentmindedly with your fingers. “The strawberry ones? They’re amazing. When I was a teenager I ate a whole box in a day but they didn’t have to wash my stomach or anything. Might try to do it again.”

Niragi grunted. It wasn’t anything really, just to tell you that he’s still listening.

“I went out with the girls yesterday.” you said, dipping your hands under the water again, letting them skim up your legs. “We saw this little boutique in the plaza, right next to that coffee shop we sometimes go to. And they had this gorgeous lingerie set in the window. Like, satin, black, sheer, all strappy. I loved it.”

His eyes flicked up, finally interested. “And?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t buy it.”

He squinted. “Why the fuck not?”

You smiled at the way his voice dipped—that mild disbelief that you denied yourself something he would’ve killed to see on you.

“It was expensive.” you said. “And it’s not like I need it. You never care what I wear.”

He blinked. “Yeah, ‘cause I’d fuck you in a paper bag.”

You kicked your foot under the water, hitting his thigh. “You’re such an asshole.”

You were so soft in moments like this. So open. Talking about nothing like it mattered. Because in a way, it did. You didn’t need anything more.

And he liked that.

He liked that you didn’t demand these big, emotional conversations every time you were alone. You didn’t want to dig through his trauma, or beg him to pour his heart out over dinner. You just wanted to be with him. Here. Now. In too hot water, talking about vitamins and lingerie and whatnot.

The water sloshed softly as you moved again, shifting forward a little, your knees brushing his. Your skin glowed in the low light, beads of water catching on your collarbones, the curves of your shoulders, sliding down between your breasts. You didn’t notice. You weren’t trying.

That was the thing, you were never trying. You were just this. Bare and unbothered and golden with affection, talking to him.

His eyes tracked you—always watching, always on you. You talked. He didn’t. Not really. But his knee pressed against yours. His foot slid along your leg. One hand slipped under the water to rest against your thigh, fingers spreading.

It was his body that did the loving. His touch, not his voice.

“Your piercings.” you said, scooting in closer, water rising with the shift. “You ever tell me why you got them?”

His brow lifted. “They’re piercings, not ancient runes.” he said dryly.

“I know.” you said, reaching forward, fingers brushing the silver thing in his eyebrow. “But still. You had to pick this one, right? That’s a choice.”

He tilted his head but didn’t move away. Your touch was featherlight, tracing the metal, the line of his brow bone beneath it. You leaned in, face close to his, studying the way it glinted in the foggy light.

“You look good with it.” you murmured, thumb brushing over the silver. “A little mean.”

“That’s the goal.”

You tapped his cheek gently. “Asshole.” Then your eyes dropped lower. “Tongue.”

He raised an eyebrow at the “ask,” then he opened his mouth and poked his tongue out for you before drawing it back in almost immediately.

“Still there.” he said. “Why?”

You leaned forward, completely unbothered, elbows on your knees now as you stared at his mouth. “No reason. Just… you don’t show it a lot.”

“I don’t do party tricks.”

“You could if you wanted to.” you said. “Bet someone would love to see that silver ball roll across your teeth.”

“You volunteering?” he asked, giving you a look.

You laughed, light and warm, then kicked him gently in the side with your foot under the water. “No.” you said, smiling.

Your fingers trailed down from his brow to the line of his jaw, then under his chin, tilting his face up slightly. You weren’t trying to seduce him. Not really. You were just curious.

“Did it hurt?” you asked softly, fingertips just under his lip now. “When you got it?”

He shrugged. “It’s a needle in your tongue. Hurts like a bitch. Then you can’t eat for two days.”

You smiled, because he was so bad at admitting pain in an actual serious way. Like it made him less. Like softness was poison. But then there he was, letting you touch him this gently, letting your legs tangle with his. And you knew the truth, even if he didn’t say it.

“You’re such a baby.” you said sweetly.

He pinched your thigh under the water—just a little. Enough to make you squeak.

Your hand moved to his chest, tracing the line of his collarbone, the faint scar you always meant to ask about but never did. You let your palm rest there for a moment, flat against the thrum of his heartbeat. Slow. Steady.

“You look tired.” you said quietly.

“I am.”

“You should sleep.”

“I will.”

“When?”

“When you do.”

You didn’t say anything to that. Just slid a little closer in the water, so your knees pressed into his side and your arms hooked around his shoulders.

Your cheek rested against his, warm and wet, and you breathed in the scent of soap and heat and him.

“You’re not so scary.” you whispered.

His hand came up under the water, slid around your waist, fingers splayed on your lower back. Tight. Holding. Still no words. But he didn’t need them. He never did.

Your fingers moved over the side of his neck, brushing damp hair behind his ear. Your touch was slow, casual, familiar—the kind of intimate that didn’t ask permission anymore. He just let you, eyes half-lidded, like you weren’t completely rearranging his chemistry with every soft word and inch you inched closer.

“Your skin’s all flushed.” you murmured, tilting your head. “I knew it. You hate this. You’re dying in here.”

His jaw flexed. “It’s fine.”

“You’re boiling.”

“You like it hot.”

You laughed, leaning in so your chest brushed his, nipples dragging wet and lazy over his skin beneath the water. “Thank you.”

You moved again, water sloshing around your thighs as you straddled him without warning, knees bracketing his hips, the tip of his cock brushing up along your inner thigh where the water shifted. His hands making themselves comfortable around waist out of instinct. One slid down, fingers curling under your ass, dragging you flush against him.

You smiled, pressing your mouth to his jaw. Softly, once. Then again. Then his cheek. His temple. You didn’t rush it. You kissed the side of his mouth next. Then again, slower. This time, he turned his head just enough that your mouths brushed fully. Not quite kissing. Not pulling away, either.

Your hands curled behind his neck, pulling yourself in closer. You shifted your hips just slightly—not to start anything. Just to feel him. The way his cock stiffened under you without effort. The way he held you tighter with that one hand under your ass, gripping into the flesh like he couldn’t help it.

“You always touch me like this.” you murmured, rocking just a little in the water. “Even when you don’t say shit.”

“I am saying shit.” Niragi said lowly, his thumb tracing over your hip. “You just don’t listen.”

You reached for his face again, thumbs brushing over his brows, down his cheeks. You kissed his mouth—longer now, with tongue, wet and deep and slow. His tongue piercing brushed yours, sudden, making you moan into him.

That seemed to hit something. He pulled your hips down harder, chest flush with yours now, water rising against your torsos, sloshing between you as his mouth moved rougher. Still not fast. But more.

Your hands moved to his hair, tugging gently, your knees tightening around his waist. You let your hips grind down on him, not enough to push things over, but enough to make a point. To let him feel it. Your laugh bubbled out of you, sweet, echoing off the tiled walls as his hand slid down your spine, wet fingers splayed low across your back. You let out a little shriek, the delighted kind, as you jolted at the sudden heat of his palm groping lower again.

“Hey!” you giggled, squirming in his lap, the water sloshing up over the edge of the tub. “Don’t grab me like that if you’re not gonna do something about it!”

He smiled, eyes lazy, head tilted against the edge of the tub like he wasn’t being driven crazy by the way you rocked your hips against him, slowly, teasingly, water slipping and sliding between your bodies.

“Keep talking.” he muttered, low and flat, his fingers sinking harder into your ass, pulling you tight against his cock. “Let’s see how long you last.”

“Oh my god.” you laughed again, shoulders shaking as you leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, still riding that line—not quite fucking, not quite innocent. Your body rolled over him in slow, playful waves. “You’re so mean to me. You know that?”

“Yeah.” he said, “And you love it.”

“I do.” you said sweetly, kissing the corner of his mouth again. “I love you so much, you asshole.”

He let you kiss him, let your mouth linger there, and then again on his jaw, his ear, your soft breath warming the side of his face. Your legs tightened around his waist as you rocked your hips again—this time slower, deeper, dragging your slickness over the length of his cock beneath the water. The feeling was muted, wet and warm and perfect, the steam curling around both your bodies as you moved.

You pulled back just enough to look at him again, hair clinging to your shoulders, water dripping off your chin. You looked happy. Really happy. Glowing in that way that had nothing to do with the light or steam—it was you. That deep, real happiness that came from being with him, even when he barely spoke, even when he gave nothing but his hands and the hard weight of his cock under you.

“You feel so good.” you whispered, biting back another breathy laugh as he shifted his hips just slightly, grinding up into you, slipping in a bit. “You’re always so—fuck, shut up.”

He didn’t reply, but the muscle in his jaw twitched. His hand gripped your ass harder. Your eyes fluttered. Water sloshed and spilled over the edge of the tub with every grind of your slick skin on his cock, not even in you yet—just sliding through the wet mess between your thighs, rutting against the underside of you like your body couldn’t wait for more.

One hand slid up to your waist, while the other dipped lower, under the water, rough fingers sliding between your thighs, teasing where you were swollen and soaked for him.

You shrieked—a high, shocked sound of joy—and slapped his chest with a wet smack.

“Asshole!” you giggled, clinging to him, thighs trembling around his waist.

“Mhm.” he replied flatly, dragging his fingers back through your folds, middle one circling slow and firm around your clit now, not teasing anymore.

You whimpered, face buried in his neck, voice trembling between laughter and something rawer, almost crying now from how good it all felt.

Then, he stopped. Grabbed the base of his dick, guiding you up.

“…Oh.” you whispered, still smiling, still panting. “Wait—oh.”

“Sit.” Niragi told you, voice low.

You held his eyes. You could’ve made a joke. Something about being a good girl, or asking please, or teasing him one more time. But you didn’t. You just sank down.

The stretch knocked the air from your lungs.

Your mouth opened in a silent gasp, fingers digging into Niragi’s shoulders, your chest trembling with the sound of it. Your laughter was gone now—not lost, just tucked behind something bigger. You were swallowing him inch by inch, slow and perfect, your eyes fluttering shut as he filled you.

“Holy shit—” you breathed out, head falling forward. “You’re—oh my god—fuck.”

You rocked. Just once. Deep. Slick and hot and full. And then again, hips circling, water rushing between your bodies, both of you soaked in heat and steam and each other.

“I should be asleep right now.” you said, half-laughing, even as your voice shook with the way he filled you. “But no. I’m here. In your lap. Getting fucked stupid. Because I’m so nice.”

“Shut up.”

“And you,” you said, leaning in, kissing his mouth hard, slow, wet. “are in love with me.”

His hips bucked up into you at that—a sharp, involuntary thrust. Your moan caught against his lips.

“Tell me.” you giggled, mouth open against his, voice dissolving into a moan as your pace picked up. “Tell me I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you. That my pussy’s made of—of fucking heaven, and you’re—”

He slapped your ass—hard. You yelped, cried out—the sound turning into a squeal of laughter. Because even when he barely spoke his body was yours. He was yours. And in that bath, soaked and steaming, choking on your own moans, laughter, and his cock—you never felt more loved.

You dropped your forehead to his shoulder for a second, laughing softly into his skin.

“Rude.” you giggled, voice thinner now as your hips started to find a rhythm, not too fast, but deep enough to make your thighs shake a little. “Is this why you won’t talk? You’re scared you’ll say something nice?”

He shifted again—not answering. Just driving you harder onto him with both hands, cock thick and firm and stretching your walls so good.

“I think,” you gasped, barely able to shut your lips, voice breaking into another shriek-laugh as his hand slapped lightly at your thigh under the water. “I think you’re secretly the sweetest man alive and you just don’t know how to deal with it.”

“Jesus.” Niragi muttered. “Shut the fuck up.”

You laughed, a soft whimper mixed in, arms tightening around his shoulders as you buried your face against his neck, rocking harder now. “I wooooon’t.”

He just pulled you tighter, harder, his mouth brushing your shoulder as you sunk down onto him again and again, the sound of your water sloshing echoing through the room as your body worked with his like you were made for this. Your head tipped back, moaning softly, hair stuck to your temples, your smile still breaking through all the pleasure on your face.

You looked like heaven.

Niragi looked like he was losing it.

You giggled again, high and breathless, as his palm smacked lightly against your thigh under the water again—not hard, not even really meant to hurt. Just a little bite. A little warning.

“Hey!” you gasped, grabbing at his wrist. “What the hell was that for?”

He smirked, eyes half-lidded, his other hand squeezing a firm handful of your ass under the water. “You were talking too much.”

You shrieked as you rode him, laughing hard now as you swatted at his chest, water splashing up between you both. “You love when I talk too much!”

He tilted his head, lips twitching—and god, that little twist of a smile was so rare it made your heart squeeze. “Do I?”

“You do.” you grinned, leaning in closer, nose brushing his. “You just like acting like you hate it. Like you’re too cold and serious for this much affection.”

You reached out and flicked his nipple under the water, just because you could, and he flinched back an inch with a scowl.

“Do that again and I’m drowning you in this tub.”

You burst into laughter, full and unrestrained, even as you felt each inch of him slide into you again and again. Your laugh was so happy, so real.

He just leaned forward—the tiniest shift—and kissed you. Hot. Quiet. You moaned into it, giggling again even as your tongue slid against his. You were too soft to be taken seriously, but your hips were still rolling slow and sweet onto his cock.

He groaned under his breath, and you felt it in your belly.

You pulled back from the kiss, breathless and shining, and pinched his cheek just to annoy him.

“Baby.” you said dramatically. “I’m gonna fall in love with you all over again if you keep being this sweet.”

“I literally just slapped you.”

“And it was so hot!” you laughed, pressing your face to his neck, biting gently at the skin there, sucking a small mark that made his fingers clench in your flesh.

“Jesus.” he muttered, but his hands slid over your back anyway, fingers spreading across the curve of your ass and squeezing until you gasped.

You retaliated immediately, slapping his chest—not hard, more like a playful thump with your palm. “You’re such a dick.”

“You’re riding it.” he said, deadpan.

You lost it at that. Giggled so hard you had to drop your forehead to his shoulder again, your entire body shaking as you choked on laughter. “You are so stupid, oh my god—”

He gripped your hips hard, shifting under you so the thick head of his cock dragged right up your walls just perfect.

You froze a little at that, breath catching. Then exhaled slow, eyes fluttering open, mouth parted as your hips rocked forward just once in answer.

“Oh.” you whispered, voice soft, awed. “Oh, fuck.”

You felt high on it. On the heat, the slick grind of his cock trapped between your folds, the sheer weight of him under you, arms holding your ass so tightly, like you’d vanish if he didn’t. Gripping your ass with both hands again as you lifted your hips up, pulling out of you, dragging you forward so your clit rubbed hard over the ridge of his cock, trapped beneath you and rock-fucking-hard. You cried out—not from pain, not even pleasure, but from the sheer shock of it. The friction. The heat. The way your whole body flinched and then melted into his, flushed and frantic and still giggling.

“I hate you.” you gasped, curling your fingers in his hair, tugging just enough to make his head tilt back.

“You wish.”

“No.” you said, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt, breath ragged against his mouth. “I do. I hate you. You’re such a fucking bully.”

“Uh-huh.” His hands were everywhere now—slippery and tight, gripping the backs of your thighs, the curve of your ass, squeezing and slapping and pulling you over him again and again. “That why you’re whining like that every time your pussy rubs up on me?”

You made a noise. Not a word. Just a desperate, shocked moan that fell right into a laugh again, a giggle that shook through your spine as you collapsed against his chest.

“Shut up.” you whined, voice muffled against his shoulder. “You’re so fucking rude.”

He kissed the side of your head.

Quick. Like a reflex. Like it didn’t mean anything. Which meant it probably meant everything.

You pulled back a little, mouth still open with another laugh about to fall out, but he caught it this time. His mouth met yours like he was tired of letting you do all the kissing. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t slow. It was teeth and tongue, his little tongue ball sliding against yours like ice in whiskey. His hand came up to your face and grabbed your jaw—firm, fingers pressing into your cheeks just enough to hold you in place. To make sure you felt every inch of his mouth moving against yours while you felt every inch of his dick slip back into you. And you moaned into it, high and helpless and happy as hell. Because even when he was like this—especially when he was like this—he was yours. Yours to touch, to tease, to climb on top of in the bath and laugh in the middle of sex and kiss until you were dizzy with it.

“You’re gonna make me pass out.” you whispered into the kiss, completely honest.

“Then stop bouncing like a fucking rabbit.”

“I can’t.” you whined dramatically, rolling your hips before continuing the up and down motion just to prove your point. “You feel too good. I’m not built for restraint. I’m built for—ah, fuck—”

He’d shifted his hips again, pushing up into you slow, trapped and pulsing and perfect between your swollen walls. Your whole body jerked with it, hands grabbing at his shoulders, breath cracking apart.

“Fuck, fuck—fuck—”

He felt you clenching around him. Heard it in your voice. The way your moans were getting breathier, shakier. He felt that you were getting close, so he asked, “Just from this?”

You grinned through it, eyes wild and shining. “Yeah, actually. Because you’re fucking perfect and I love you and—oh my god—keep—fuck, just like that—”

Your laugh cracked open mid-moan, breath catching on the way out as your hips stuttered. Water splashed up against the sides of the tub, crashing over, dripping from both of you onto the floor you’d definitely have to mop later—not that you cared. Not now. Not when his cock was buried so deep inside you, stretching you wide, heat pulsing between your thighs like you were made to take him.

You rocked your hips again—not graceful, not teasing anymore. Just needy. Desperate to keep him there. Desperate to feel everything, even if it was too much.

“I can feel you in my stomach.” you breathed out, eyes wide and glassy, voice still warm, high, full of awe. “Jesus Christ.”

Niragi was flushed now—chest pink, neck red, a single drop of water trailing down the side of his face. His hands clutched at your hips. He was still—but barely. His cock throbbed inside you with every shift of your body.

You ground your hips in a slow, deep circle, your mouth parting at the pressure, the perfect stretch of him, your voice falling to a breathless whimper.

He made a sound in his throat—low, strangled. Something he almost swallowed.

You leaned in, mouth brushing his ear, your hair wet and clinging to your back, your tits pressed to his chest, nipples grazing him every time you moved.

You bounced, rocked, deeper, little gasping moans slipping from your lips as the water sloshed high around your torsos, every sound obscene and wet and perfect.

You laughed through a broken little cry. “God, you always try to be so in control, huh?”

His hand smacked your ass again—a slap dulled by the water that made you cry out and laugh, the water rippling from the movement.

“Fuck—” you moaned, panting, clinging to his shoulders. “You really don’t like being talked back to, do you?”

“You like running your mouth when you’re this full.” he muttered—low, tight.

You smiled down at him, breathless, flushed, a little wild. “I like you.”

He looked at you—really looked. Eyes heavy, pretty, mouth parted, cock twitching inside you like he might fall apart any second.

And it was beautiful.

You leaned forward and kissed him, slow and deep, letting your moans melt into his mouth. Your hips never stopped moving—rolling now, tighter, faster, grinding down until the friction was just enough to make your legs shake.

Your body went tighter, your breath shorter. You were trembling.

“Shit—baby—fuck.” you gasped, voice breaking. “I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

He grabbed your hips, slammed you down—once, hard—and held you there, full, stretched, completely pinned. You screamed—a bright, raw sound, halfway between a sob and a laugh as the orgasm hit you like a wave.

Your body snapped, your back arching, hands scrambling across his shoulders, thighs squeezing around him as your whole body trembled with it. You came hard, mouth open in a silent cry, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from how full, how deep, how perfect it felt. You came on him like a sunbeam—laughing into it, gasping, shuddering, clinging as your whole body went tight and flushed and overwhelmed. Your head dropped to his shoulder, voice sweet and broken against his neck.

His hips snapped up, just once, hard and fast.

Your whole body jolted.

“Fucking hell—” Niragi growled, his sweet voice cracking for the first time that night, rough and vulnerable and real.

You barely had time to look up, eyes fluttering, lips parted—before he was pulling you down, fucking up into you in short, brutal thrusts, his hands bruising on your ass now, and every time he bottomed out, you cried out again.

He grabbed your chin with one wet hand, forcing your eyes to his.

“Smile for me.” he said—voice wrecked. “Come on, sunshine.”

You beamed.

And that was it.

He came hard—buried inside you, pulsing deep, his jaw tight, hips stuttering as he emptied everything into you with a low, broken moan that he barely let escape. His arms wrapped around your back, holding you tight, fucking you through it until you were both spent and shaking, tangled together in the fading steam, water lapping at your sides like waves crashing against wreckage.

You stayed there. Still in his lap. Still full.

Still smiling.

Always smiling.

You kissed his cheek, soft and slow, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “Told you I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”

He didn’t answer.

But his arms didn’t let go.

And that was all the confirmation you’d ever need.

~

Steam clung to your skin like silk as you stepped out of the bathroom, warm towel wrapped around your chest, still damp and flushed from everything. The hallway lights caught the shimmer on your legs, your collarbones, the smile that just wouldn’t leave your face no matter how bruised your hips were or how jelly your knees felt.

Niragi followed close behind, towel slung low on his hips, wet hair dripping onto his shoulders, eyes already half-lidded in that post-release haze. He looked a little ruined—and not just because you’d ridden him into the fucking earth. He always looked like that around you, actually. Like having you around was too much and not enough all at once. Like you were messing with the steel trap of his brain just by existing.

His hand landed on your waist like a reflex. A small one, maybe. But it lingered. It always did with him. His knuckles dragged along your side, catching the edge of the towel, fingertips brushing the swell of your ass like it wasn’t even intentional.

You looked up at him, lashes wet, lips bitten pink. Smiling. Always fucking smiling.

“You’re such a boy.” you whispered, giggling under your breath. “Touchy and mean. You gonna let me get dressed or just keep groping me until I melt into the wall?”

He raised a brow. “You wouldn’t complain.”

You kicked him. Soft. Barefoot. Just a little jab to his calf. “Still mean. Even after I made your eyes roll back.”

“Hm.”

“What was that?” you asked, voice syrupy and warm, your arms winding around his neck.

His hand slipped to the back of your thigh. Squeezed. No words.

You grinned. Kissed his cheek. “Yeah. Thought so.”

You pulled away then, the towel barely hanging on as you made your way into the bedroom, humming something tuneless and girly under your breath. You were already moving on—body buzzing, giddy, your head somewhere between love-drunk and just dumb in love. You peeled your towel off and let it drop to the floor, rifling through the drawer he’d long ago cleared for you, even though he still pretended he hated having your “shit everywhere.”

(He didn’t. He liked it. You knew.)

You tugged on a pair of soft, pale panties and one of Niragi’s shirts—oversized, worn, smelled like detergent and him. It hit mid-thigh and practically swallowed your shoulders. You loved it. You always picked the one he’d just worn the day before. It made him insane.

“You’re not gonna wear your own clothes?” he asked from the doorway, now shirtless, towel discarded, sweatpants halfway up his hips.

You turned, all cheek. “You like me like this.”

He said nothing. But his eyes dragged over you—legs bare, hair dripping, soft and sweet and wearing his shirt—and you saw the way his jaw flexed. He came up behind you before you could say something smart, hand landing heavy on your hip again like he couldn’t help it. You were warm. Always warm.

You beamed.

He let you go when you turned to crawl onto the bed, laying back like a little goddess, all glow and legs and bare thighs, kicking your feet in the air like the picture of bliss.

Niragi climbed in after you, already sighing like your presence was going to kill him—like your brightness was both a blessing and a chronic fucking headache. He laid beside you, arm slung over his eyes, pretending to ignore you, but you caught the way his free hand rested just close enough to touch your thigh if he needed to.

You kicked him.

He didn’t move—didn’t open his eyes—but his fingers brushed your thigh once. Soft. Intentional.

You leaned over, kissed his cheek again, voice sweet. “Love you, too.”

Yeah, he was horrible. Closed-off, cold, didn’t like people, didn’t like noise, didn’t like talking unless he absolutely had to—but you were an exception. You were light. You were sugar and bare feet and the smell of soap and the hum of the city outside and your laugh in his ears when everything else felt like a fucking war.

And him? He was just the asshole lucky enough to get all of you.

Plus the sheets were a little wrinkled, the air smelled like his body wash and the faint trace of sex still floating in the steam left over from earlier.

Your feet was bare, hair still wet and curling where it wanted to, his shirt falling off one shoulder and bouncing around the bed like the mattress was your playground. Your legs were tangled in the sheets, your phone was abandoned somewhere near the pillows, and you were kicking at him again—half-hearted, bratty, toeing his thigh until he huffed and finally caught your ankle with a death grip.

“Stop.”

You just grinned. Bit your lip. Tilted your head with that knowing, irritating, irresistible look that made him want to kiss you and strangle you at the same time. “I’m not doing anything.”

He tugged your ankle, dragging you toward him, until you let out a little squeal—high and breathless—falling onto your back with your leg still in his grip, head thrown back against the pillow, laughing.

“You’re holding my leg.” you pointed out, smile splitting your face. “You’re so weird about touching me. Always saying you don’t care, but then your hands are on me.”

He didn’t look up from your leg. But his grip didn’t loosen either. “You’re soft.”

“And you’re emotionally constipated.”

His eyes did flick to you then.

You blinked, sweet as ever. “What? I’m in psych. I can diagnose you with that.”

“Pretty sure that’s not a real disorder.”

“Not officially.” you said with a little shrug, rolling onto your side and propping yourself up on your elbow, the leg he was holding bent slightly at the knee. “But if it was, you’d have it. Classic symptoms, blunt affect, low empathy presentation, defensive sarcasm, obsessive work habits, clearly compensatory. And that’s just what I picked up today.”

He squinted at you.

You smiled wider. “Also you’re mean.”

He smirked at that—barely. “You’re meaner.”

“No.” you said, crawling toward him now, dragging your sheet with you. “I’m good. I’m an angel. Ask literally anyone.”

“No.” he muttered as you finally reached him, straddling his thigh without asking and tossing your arm across his chest like you owned it. You leaned in, rested your chin on his chest, right over his heart.

“You don’t let people in. Because every time you did, they either left, or hurt you. You got used to silence. You got used to fighting your way through everything alone, even if it meant getting kicked around a little. And now that you have someone—someone who loves you soft and silly and stupidly—you don’t know what to do with it.”

His jaw ticked.

You kissed it.

“And that’s okay.” you whispered. “I don’t mind figuring it out with you. I’ve got time.”

He finally looked at you—eyes heavy, jaw tight, guarded in that way that made you ache for the boy he used to be. The one who got picked last. The one who had to get sharp and cold just to survive.

“You’re fucking strange.” he said eventually. Voice low.

You grinned, warm and gentle and annoying. “So are you.”

His hand slid back up your leg, palm dragging over your thigh. You didn’t stop smiling.

You pressed your cheek to his chest, right over where his heart beat a little too fast, and let the silence stretch out—soft and easy now.

You traced circles on his chest.

He rested his hand on the back of your thigh.

You didn’t need to say more.

You already knew.

So yeah, this was your relationship. It didn’t make sense, not on paper. People didn’t really get it when they saw you two together. Not really. You were all softness and warmth, eyes lit up with curiosity about the world, voice like a song even when you rambled about nonsense, which was often. You were the kind of person strangers smiled at on the street. The kind of girl who remembered birthdays, brought snacks to study sessions, stopped to compliment people’s nails and outfits even if you didn’t know them. Kind. Gentle. Smiley. Lovely.

Niragi was horrible. The guy who barely looked up when someone walked in a room, who got irritated just by existing around other people for too long. He was the walking embodiment of don’t talk to me, and half the time he looked like he was one eye twitch away from throwing someone out a window. Hell, even his compliments sounded like complaints.

But then there was you.

And something about you just fit.

It shouldn’t have worked—but it did. Only because of you, honestly. You were the bridge. The reason he learned how to breathe when the world made him feel like he was drowning. It was you who opened the door to his apartment and made it feel like home. You who pulled him out of his own head when the self-loathing got too loud. You gave softness without asking him to be soft, gave love without conditions, gave affection without asking for it back in equal measure—because you knew he didn’t know how to love like that yet. But he was trying. God, he was trying.

And it showed in the quiet ways.

The way he kept your favorite snacks stocked in the kitchen, even though he claimed he didn’t eat junk. The way he always pulled your phone charger closer to your side of the bed before you even realized your battery was low—though that was because his insecure side made him look at your phone at all times—The way his hand never didn’t touch you, even in silence, even when you were arguing, even when he didn’t say a word for hours. There was always a hand on your thigh. An ankle hooked around yours under the sheets. A palm resting on your lower back as he passed behind you in the kitchen.

That was his love. Not big words. Not loud declarations.

Just presence. Just touch.

And you accepted that. You loved him like it wasn’t hard—even though it was. Even though Niragi was frustrating and complicated and built from the ruins of too many years spent hurting in silence. You loved him even when he didn’t love himself. Maybe especially then.

Because you saw it. You saw him.

The kid underneath the scowl. The man who kept the armor on because no one ever made him feel safe enough to take it off.

Until you.

He still didn’t say much. But you didn’t need him to. You’d lie in bed with your head on his chest, rambling about school, or the dream you had, or a TikTok someone sent you, and he’d just listen—quiet and grumpy and pretending not to care—but you’d feel his thumb stroking lazy lines on your shoulder, or his nose nuzzle against your damp hair, and that was all you needed.

You could love for the both of you.

At least, until he learned how.

But sometimes, he surprised you. Like the time he texted you “wear that thing from last week,” out of nowhere, which made you laugh in the middle of your seminar. Or when he leaned into you one night, unprompted, face buried in your neck, and whispered, “Don’t leave.”

He never said shit like that. Never admitted to needing anything. But that night? He said it like it hurt.

You didn’t tease him. You just kissed the side of his head and said, “Not going anywhere,” like it was the easiest promise you’d ever made. Because it was. You weren’t going anywhere. Not when you’d spent all this time peeling him back, cracking open the shell he thought was a fortress and finding the soft, scared, loyal soul underneath. Not when every day with him felt like a victory—a tiny, hard-earned, precious victory.

He was still fucked up. Still stubborn and angry and quiet.

But with you? He was good.

And no one could touch what you two had. No one could understand it. That didn’t matter.

It was strange. Messy. Half broken. And perfect. In your own weird, private, beautiful way.

You ran the tip of your hands along his chest softly, his hand sliding up your thigh automatically, and you let out that soft little hum of contentment he always pretended not to love.

And for a guy who never smiled in photos, never laughed at parties, never liked much of anything—Niragi swore, sometimes, he could feel himself smiling, just under the skin.

Just because you were there.

~

It was early.

Too early for how warm the bed was. You were already dressed—tucked and sweet and ready to take on the day. Your hair was done, lip gloss perfectly glossy, tote bag full of color-coded notebooks and your headphones tucked into the pocket with a little granola bar you didn’t even really want. You were standing at the foot of the bed, adjusting the strap of your bag, and Niragi was half-curled under the blankets, shirtless, hair messy from sleep—that unfair kind of messy that made him look beautiful. He had one hand behind his head, but the other? Gripping your wrist. Firm. Relentless.

“You’re gonna make me late.” you warned gently, not pulling too hard. “C’mon. I have class.”

Niragi didn’t even open his eyes all the way. Just squinted at you. “Skip.”

You scoffed. “I’m not skipping abnormal psych to lay in bed with you all day, you caveman.”

“Your loss.”

You tried to pull away again. His grip tightened.

“Baby.” you whined, a little. You didn’t mean to, but it came out soft and full of air, because you were always weak in the morning. Especially when he touched you like that.

He just dragged your wrist down until you stumbled a little closer to the edge of the bed, until your knees hit the mattress.

You laughed under your breath, leaning on the bed with your free hand to balance yourself. “I’m better than everyone, baby. Can’t let them get ahead now.”

His hand slid from your wrist to your thigh. He squeezed. “Come prove it.”

“You want me to be late and be your whore this early?”

“Exactly.” He reached with his other hand, tugged your bag right off your shoulder and tossed it to the floor. “Stay.”

You bent forward, nose scrunching as you kissed his cheek. “You’re literally the worst.”

He looked smug, all sleepy and stretched out under the blanket, eyes half-open but still devouring you like breakfast, like he’d pull you under the covers and make you forget your own name if you stood there a second longer.

You pulled away, trying to grab your bag. He grabbed your wrist again.

“Baby.” you said, exasperated.

“What.”

“I need to go.”

“No you don’t.”

You made a soft sound, part frustration, part laugh. “You’re just horny and lazy.”

“Mm.” he said, tilting his head. “And you’re better than whatever stupid thing you’re about to learn about.”

“I’m a psych major.”

“Exactly.”

You glared.

He didn’t blink. His thumb stroked your inner wrist.

You leaned down again, lips brushing against his just barely. A sweet kiss. “You’re not keeping me hostage in your bed, sorry.”

“You’re not even sorry.”

You giggled, finally pulling free again, though you had to reach way too far across the floor to grab your bag.

Niragi watched you the whole time. Watched you straighten up, adjust your skirt. Watched the way your necklace shimmered against your throat. Watched your glossed lips pout slightly as you checked your phone. You looked like the epitome of light. Sweet and bright and put together. So girly it was unfair. It was a fucking miracle you ever gave him the time of day.

You turned, standing near the doorway of the room now. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Niragi didn’t say anything. Just leaned back into the pillows, stretched, lifted a hand lazily—and flipped you off.

You blew him a kiss.

That was your relationship.

You, glowing in the sunlight, cheeks pink and bag bouncing on your shoulder, laughing on your way out the door.

And him, grumpy and hard to love, trying to drag you back to bed because he didn’t know any other way to say I miss you already.

And god, did it work.

Because the second the front door clicked behind you and the cold of the hallway touched your skin, you just… stopped. Froze there, blinking at the dead silence beyond the apartment walls. And then, like the dumb, in-love little creature you were, you exhaled something close to a groan, dropped your head back against the door, and turned right the fuck around.

You shoved the door open, tossed your coat somewhere near the wall, your bag thudded against the floor, and your shoes didn’t even make it past the threshold before you were squealing—actually squealing—on your way back down the hall.

“I hate you!” you shouted, all breathless glee, skidding into the bedroom. “I hate you so much, oh my god!”

Niragi’s head lifted from the pillow just enough to see you launch yourself across the room. His lips quirked—just barely—as you jumped back into bed with enough force to bounce the mattress.

“Changed your mind?” he asked, deadpan.

You were already crawling under the covers, the hem of your skirt bunched up around your thighs. “You ruined me! This is your fault!”

“I didn’t do shit.”

“You ruined me!” you repeated, dramatic as fuck, wrapping your arms around his bare chest and smooshing your face into his neck. “I was ready! I was cute! I was gonna be productive!”

He snorted. Full-on this time. Tried to stifle it behind his hand, but you heard it.

“Don’t laugh.” you mumbled against his skin, voice muffled. “You’re toxic. You’re the reason I can’t be normal.”

“Good.” Niragi muttered, rolling to press you deeper into the bed. “Normal girls don’t moan the way you do.”

You let out a scandalized little gasp and kicked him with your knee. He caught your thigh instantly, gripped it and pushed between your legs again like his body was wired to know exactly how to make you stop fighting.

“Baby!”

“What?” he murmured. “You came back. Don’t act like I’m the problem.”

“I am the problem.” you said, like a confession. “I’m obsessed with you. Like sick. Mentally unwell. I literally smelled you on my coat just now and had to come back.“

His hand slid up your back under your shirt. Not urgent. Not impatient. Just there—skin to skin, warm and steady.

“I’m not sorry.” he whispered.

“I know. I hate you.”

“You already said that.”

And he was right—you had. Said it a million times. Said it even now, curled against his bare chest, his hardened cock pressing firm against your thigh through his pants, his hand up your shirt, his mouth brushing your collarbone. You said it all the time, because you knew he didn’t take it to heart.

But the truth was obvious.

You weren’t thinking about your textbooks. You weren’t thinking about your schedule or your attendance record or your meticulously highlighted calendar back at your place.

You were thinking about Niragi.

His piercings. His face. His style. How tall he was. The low hum in his throat as he kissed your shoulder and palmed your ass like he had nothing else to do today but love you the only way he knew how—with his hands, with his body, with his unbearable, addicting, asshole self.

You wiggled closer to him, if that was even possible.

There will food be in the kitchen if you get to that. Warm sheets here. Your charger on the nightstand. Your toothbrush in the bathroom. Your bra on the floor. His shirt on your back.

And Niragi.

That was the whole list.

What else could you possibly need?

You shifted your face on him. “Baby…”

“Hm?”

“Your dick’s poking me.”

“Yeah.” Niragi said, not even pretending to be sorry. “Been poking you.”

You lifted your head. “You’re so annoying! I came back here to cuddle and you’re—baby.”

He blinked, completely unaffected. “Not my fault.”

You dropped your head with a groan, kicking your legs under the covers like a tantrum but still staying wrapped around him like a baby koala.

“It’s like sleeping next to a loaded gun.” you whined, rubbing your face against his collarbone. “I can’t even be sweet to you without getting dicked up.”

“That’s not a complaint.”

“It is a complaint!” you insisted, voice muffled now. “I’m trying to be a good girlfriend. I came back to snuggle you and now I’m thinking about—” You paused. Pouted. “About stuff.”

“That’s all you.” Niragi said simply. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Because you don’t have to. Your dick’s doing all the talking.”

“Good. That one’s smarter than me anyway.”

You snorted so hard you actually slapped his chest, light and playful, which only made him pull you closer, one hand sliding lower to squeeze a handful of your ass as if to prove the point.

“I hate how cocky you are.”

“You don’t. You love it.”

“No, I love you. The cockiness is just, like…” You paused again, scrunching your nose. “…part of the starter pack.”

Niragi’s fingers squeezed your ass again. “That mean you’re gonna take care of it?”

You whined. Slapped him again, this time on the arm. “You’re gross.”

“You’re the one rubbing your thighs together like a slut.”

“Baby!”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Because it wasn’t his fault, really—it was your own. Your fault for being such a sucker for him in the morning. Your fault for wearing this skirt. Your fault for crawling into his arms like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. And now here you were, legs tangled up in his, skin warm, brain stupid, mouth dry.

Still smiling.

Still blushing.

Still so damn sweet, even when he was driving you crazy.

Niragi leaned in suddenly, mouth at your ear, voice low and beautiful. “We don’t have to do anything. I just wanna hold you.”

You melted, instantly, which only made you more annoyed. “Don’t say it like that…”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re sweet now.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, kissed your cheek, and rolled you over so you were flat on your back, tucked beneath him. Not heavy. Not crushing.

“You are sweet, though.” you whispered, breathless again. “Even when you pretend not to be.”

He kissed your shoulder.

Then your collarbone.

Then the underside of your jaw.

“I’m not sweet.” he muttered into your skin, so in the mood. “Just obsessed with you.”

“Oh.” You blinked. Heart thudding. “Well… okay then.”

That was all you could say.

Because yeah. His dick was still poking you.

But his mouth was soft, and his hands were steady, and your world was warm and stupid and safe, right here.

So yeah—you’d come back for that.

You’d always come back for that.

[heartsandhischier]

definitely the annoying little brother

luke hughes x female!reader, jack hughes x platonic!reader

summary - 5.2k words. living in an apartment with your best friend is great, but living in an apartment with your best friend and his brother... not so great

author's note - so... got a little carried away with this one, might write a part 2 idk yet but I love cocky Luke

warnings - mentions of alcohol, swearing, smut (first time writing so hopefully it isn't total shit)

When you first moved to New Jersey, you felt completely lost. Don’t take it the wrong way, it was great—a prestigious college, a change of scenery, and the promise of a fresh start. But your journey took an unexpected turn when you bumber into someone, quite literally crashed into someone, drenching him in your freshly bought coffee.

That someone was Jack, who had also just moved to New Jersey after being drafted by the New Jersey Devils. Like you, he was lost, navigating the unfamiliar terrain of a new beginning. Quickly, you became best friends, each other’s anchor in this new and unfamiliar state. You were each other’s confidants and biggest supporters, always there to lift one another up, no matter the challenge—cheering him on from the stands during his rookie year while he helped you with your schoolwork, or at least tried to…

You supported each other through thick and thin.

When you suddenly found yourself without an apartment, Jack didn’t hesitate to offer you his guest room. What started as a temporary arrangement soon turned into something more permanent, as both of you realized that living together just felt right. What was meant to be a short-term solution naturally evolved into a lasting living situation.

When Luke was drafted, you were perched on the edge of your seat in the apartment, eyes glued to the screen in anticipation as the New Jersey Devils prepared to announce their pick. The moment Luke’s name was called, you jumped up from the couch, overwhelmed with joy. You were thrilled, not just for Luke, but because you knew how much this meant to Jack—being able to play alongside his brother, to grow and improve together on the ice. You watched the screen as Jack sprung from the couch, shaking with excitement. He had told you before, that if Luke was drafted by the Devils, he would move into the apartment. Rather than feeling any apprehension, your strong friendship with Jack made you excited to live with the two brothers.

But here you were, pounding angrily on the shared bathrrom door, “LUKE! Are you fucking kidding me? I’m gonna be late!” The reality of living with Luke was far from pleasant or fun as you had imagined.

Luke was definetely the annoying brother of the three.

Unlike Jack, who was always kidn and considerate, Luke seemed to barely tolerate your presence. He often made snide, witty comments, as if he took some kind of pleasure in getting under your skin.

The apartment had turned into a warzone, filled with incessant arguing, shouting, and tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. In jack’s absence, there was no one to play the peacemaker, no one stopping the two of you from getting at each others throats. Luke was leaving the bathroom a mess, his toiletries scattered everywhere, piling dirty dishes in the sink, not even bothering to put them in the dishwasher, and even taking your clothes out of the dryer and dumping them on the floor so he could use the machine. He even went as far as throwing a party the night before your midterm.You couldn’t hep but feel like he was doing all of this on purpose. You knew he was raised well, with proper manners and common decency—Jack was living proof of that. You knew, you knew he was doing it on purpose. Luke was intentionally firing you up, pushing your buttons. And what bothered you the most, was that it was working.

Luke finally unlocked the bathroom door, and as he swung the it open, a cloud of steam escaped into the hallway. His hair damp, a towel casually wrapped around his waist, showing off his toned muscles. “You don’t need to spend that much time in the bathroom, especially when you end up looking like that,” you snapped, arms crossed in frustration.

“Like what? Incredibly handsome?” Luke shot back, a smug smirk spreading across his face.

“No, like shit,” you fired back, not missing a beat.

“Well, you’re not exactly a sight for sore eyes yourself. So you don’t really need the bathroom before school anyways,” he chuckled, clearly satisfied with his comeback. Annoyed, you rolled your eyes and pushed past him, eager to get on with your day.

-

“Come on Y/N,” Jack whined, his voice dragging, practically on his knees, begging. His team was heading out to celebrate their victory from the night before, and with your schedule finally clear after endless stress, Jack insisted that you’d join them, arguing that you deserved a break. However, his team included a certain someone—Luke. The thought of spending hours into the night, subjected to Luke’s endless barbs and comments, now potentially amplified by alcohol, spelled nothing but trouble in your mind.

“I’ll put you on my tab, if you come,” he offered wiggling his eyebrows, trying to sweeten the deal with the promise of a free night out. You couldn’t help but laugh at his desperation, “Come on, we both know you’d do that anyways,” you teased, narrowing your eyes playfully at him.

“Please, I’ll clean the bathroom for the next three weeks,” he proposed.

“Four weeks.”

“Fine, four weeks. And I’ll make you lunch for those weeks too,” he said, extending his hand in a peace offering.

“Deal. But I’ll skip on the lunch since you barely know how to cook brocolli.”

-

“Aren’t we going to wait for Luke?” you asked, slipping into your boots, a hint of curiousity in your voice. Jack chuckled at your questiong, catching your eyes in the mirror as he straigthened his jacket. “What, have you suddenly become best friend with your ‘enemy’?” he teased. “Absolutely not,” you snorted, “Just wanted to know if I needed to prepare for a battle to get us in the back seat.”

The Uber sped through the bustling streets of New York, skyscrapers flashing by in a blur. Luke had headed out erly with Holtz and Mercer, granting you a rare moment of peace on the drive to the club, free from the usual bickering.

The elevator chimed, announding your arrival at the club’s level. As the doors slid open, you were greeted by a breathtaking panoramic view of New York City—the virbant lights and endless stretched out before you, leaving you momentarily speechless. “Pretty sick, right?” Jack playfully nudged you, his smile infectious, clearly proud of the evening’s choice. The club’s interior buzzed with energy, packed with people moving rhythmically beneath the glow of shimmering lights. The music enveloped the space, so loud and deep that the bass seemed to vibrate through the very floor. With a reassuring grip, jack took your hand and guided you through the crowd, weaving towards the table where his teammates were gathered.

They all excitedly greeted the two of you, ushering you both to join them at the table. You loved Jack’s teammates—they were just as kind and welcoming as him, making everyone feel included and part of the fun. They had a way of making you feel like you belonged, as if you were a part of the team.

And then there was Luke.

He didn’t even glance in your direction when you approached the table, too invested in his conversation with Timo to care—yeah sure.

As soon as you sat down, the drinks were served—Jack with his usual beer, and for you, a Tom Collins, your all-time favourite. You couldn’t help but chuckle, Jack had even gone out of his way to make sure you got your favourite drink.

After a few more drinks and plenty of hearty laughs, Jack pulled you out of your seat and onto the dance floor. The music immediately took over as you started moving, and you found yourself actually enjoying the moment. Dancing with Jack, you felt genuinely happy, grateful that you’d agreed to go out. In that moment, you forgot all about his annoying little brother.

Dancing, completely lost in the ruthm and music, you noticed your glass was empty. Sldiding through the crowd, you made your way to the bar, skillfully navigating the sea of people, all moving to the same infectious beat. The bartenders were a blur of activity, moving with swift precision as they tried to keep up with the endless stream of orders shouted by eager club-goers.

While waiting to be served, you suddenly felt a hand wrap around your waist. Startled, you turned around, meeting the drunken gaze of a stranger. “What are you getting beautiful?” he slurred. He was undeniably handsome, but the whole encounted made you feel uncomfortable. You tried to respond, but only managed to stumble out an incoherent answer.

He leaned in closed, his breath hot against your ear, “Why don’t I buy you a drink, and then we can continue the party at my place?” a shiver ran down your spine, and not the good kind. All you could muster was a sheepish smile, your mind racing for a way out. In a sudden, unwelcome move, he leaned in, clearly aiming for a kiss. You froze, unable to move, instinctively shutting your eyes, bracing for impact.

But the kiss never came. Eyes still closed, you heard commotion.

“Back off. She’s not going anywhere with you.”

Opening your eyes, you found Luke standing between you and the stranger, his body tense as he had pushed the man away, shielding you from his advances.

“You okay?” Luke asked, his voice softening as he lightly brushed your arm, his towering presence offering an unexpected sense of security. You looked up at him, slowly giving a small nod, your mind still racing. What the fuck just happened?

Without missing a beat, Luke turned to signal the bartender, “Two Tom Collins’ please.” The bartender nodded in acknowledgement and swiftly got to work on the drinks.

As he handed you one of the glasses, Luke’s hand gently found its way to the small of your back, guiding you with a suprising tenderness toward the dance floor. The music, once again, enveloped you, its rhythm quickly helping you forget the uncomfortable encounter at the bar.

You found yourself dancing close to Luke, closer than you had ever been before. You felt weirdly comfortable in Luke’s presence, and it seemed he noticed, his hand resting gently on your hips, his voice teasing. “For someone who complains so much about me, you seem pretty okay with standing this close to me.”

His comment took you by surprise, a rush of warmth flooding your cheeks. You quickly retorded, trying to mask your fluster, “Trust me, if the club wasn’t this packed, I’d be standing lightyears away from you.”

Luke smirked, leaning in closer, his breath tickling your ear as he whispered, “Or maybe you’ve just realised how much you actually enjoy my company. All those complaints might just be your way of getting my attention.”

You sturggled to maintain your composure, caught off guard by the unexpected closeness. “Dream on Luke. If I wanted your attention I’d just lock myself in the bathroom with you,” you shot back, trying to sound unfazed.

“Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you,” he replied with that damn smirk—you wished you could just slap it off his face.

What. Was. Happening?

Confused and a bit flustered, you mustered up an excuse and rushed through the lively crowd toward Jack at the table.

“Enjoying youself?” Jack’s voice pulled you back to reality, his tone playful as he nudged you.

“Fine!” You responed, rolling our eyes at him. “I’m having fun. But you didn’t have to make them get my favourite drink,” you laughed, giving into his bright smile.

Jack joined the laughter, but there was in his response that made it seem like he was laughing at you, not with you. He tilted his head, genuinely puzzled as he looked at you. “I didn’t tell anyone to order your favourite drink.”

“Well, who’s in charge of the tab tonight?”

“Luke.”

-

The next few weeks, you did everything you could to avoid Luke. The whole situation at the club… it left you confused. It was so unexpected, yet for some reason, you didn’t mind the closeness that you felt that night. But you couldn’t face him. You started waking up hours earlier than necessary just to avoid the usual bathroom fight, lingering around for extrahours before class or work. It was ruining your sleep schedule, but you convinced yourself it was for the best.

Your eyes were glued to the bright screen of your phone—3 AM. You let out a frustrated sigh. You couldn’t sleep. The room felt like an oven, the early arrival of summer in New Jersey wrapping your bedroom in an unbearable warmth. The stress of upcoming exams weighed heavily on your mind. And the thought of having to get up in just two hours to avoid Luke didn’t help much either.

Defeated, you pushed yourself out of bed, sliding into your fluffy slippers. Glancing at your reflection in the mirror, you sighed—you looked a mess. Hair tied up in a messy bun, and Jack’s New Jersey Devils t-shirt hung loosely around you.

Whatever.

At this ungodly hour, no one would see you anyway.

Carefully, you pushed the door open, trying to minimise the telltale creak. With light steps, you tiptoed down the hallway, heading for the kitchen. The gentle glow from the counter lights greeted you, casting a soft, inviting glow over the room—Jack must’ve left it on. However, the comfort quickly turned into dismay when you spotted the very person you’d been trying to hard to avoid for weeks on end—Luke. His back was turned, his curly messy, and a pair of pajama pants hung loosely around his waist. His back muscles, his shoulders—everything was on display.

The sight of him triggered an immediate fight-or-flight response—you needed to get out of there before he noticed you. You turned your heel, but your slippers betrayed you with a sharp squeak against the floor.

“Going somewhere?”

You cleared your throat, gathering the courage to face him as you slowly turned around. There he was, casually leaning against the kitchen counter, a bowl of cereal cradled in his hands—his midnight snack. “Just needed some water. Didn’t realise I had company,” you managed to say, trying your best to sound nonchalant.

He let out a soft chuckle, the spoon in his bowl making lazy circles. “Can’t sleep either, huh? The kitchen’s open for all, y’know.” He wasn’t wrong. Despite your efforts to keep your distance, you did in fact live together, and spaces like the kitchen were neutral ground, even at 3 AM.

“Yeah, I… I guess I’ll just grab that water then,” you replied, navigating the awkward silence that filled the room. You reached for a glass and made your way to the sink—coincidentally right next to where Luke was enjoying his cereal. His presence towering over you as you filled your glass with water.

“You know, for two people who claim to hate each other, we do end up in the same place a lot,” Luke observed with a smirk that you could feel rather than see.

You scoffed, trying to maintain a façade of indifference. “We live in the same apartment, Luke, and your brother is my best friend. Don’t get it twisted.”

“Well, you’re wearing my t-shirt, so don’t blame me for getting the ‘wrong idea’,” he countered.

“This is Jack’s.”

He chuckled lightly. “I’ve been looking for it for weeks, thought I lost it. But now I know you just wanted to feel like you were sleeping next tome.”

You scoffed, annoyed. “In your dreams, asshole.”

He stepped closer, closing the distance between you to mere inches. “Y’know, you could’ve just asked. I’d gladly let you sleep in bed with me,” he said, the smirk evident in his voice as he towered over you.

Heart racing, your voice caught in your throat at the sudden proximity. In a moment of panic, you retreated, mumbling an incoherent “I have to go,” as you hastily made your escape.

-

The usual calm and comfortable space of your apartment was transformed tonight into lively space buzzing with energy, laughter, and booze. It was Jack’s birthday, and as his best friend, you were determined to throw him the best celebration possible—a surprise party. You pulled all the strings, inviting friends and teammates, and with the off-season granting a rare break, Trevor, Cole, and Alex were able to join the festivities. As you navigated the cluster of people, a glass nestled gently in your grasp, your gaze inadvertently landed on Luke. By his side stood a girl whose laughter harmonised so seamlessly with his, it almost seemed choreographed.

A strange unease began to coil within you at the sight. There was Luke, entiraly absorbed in conversation with whoever this girl was, and something about it unsettled you deeply.

“Seems like Luke’s really hitting it off, huh?” Trevor’s voice cut through the hum of the party, his tone playful yet pointed as he caught your fixed gaze and gave a teasing nudge.

“Yeah, looks like it,” you responded, striving for indifference even as you couldn’t tear your eyes away. You weren’t sure why, but the sight of Luke and that girl, felt like it lodged itself in your chest.

Jack’s laughter soon joined in, bright and unaware of the subtle tension you were feeling. He slapped your shoulder playfully, “Luke’s always been a charmer. Who’s the lucky lady this time?”

You attempted a nonchalant shrug, trying to shake off the knot forming in your stomach. “No idea.”

-

“This is nice isn’t it?”

The sun was shining, pouring its warmth over Jersey City, a gentle breeze complementing the heat perfectly.

As you wandered through the city with Jack, it felt like old times, just the two of you. His excitement was contagious, sparking a lightness that had been missing for too long.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. And we live together!” he joked, playfully nudging you, but you could sense the underlying truth in his words—he genuinely missed these moments together.

And he was right, it had been a while. The efforts you’d put into avoiding Luke had eventually affected Jack as well, since the two of the basically shared the same schedule. You didn’t want to tell him the truth—that you were avoiding Luke and then possibly having to explain why.

“Yeah, I’ve missed this, it’s just that I’ve been drowning in schoolwork lately.” It was a bad excuse, but it was the best and most realistic you could come up with.

Deciding to take advantage of the beautiful day, you suggested heading to one of your favourite cafes. The idea of soaking up some sun while catching up seemed perfect. Once you found a spot in the outdoor seating area, you offered to go in and order for the two of you. By the time you returned with to coffees, the dynamic at your table had unexpectedly changed. Two additional figures were now seated beside Jack, their curls a dead giveawat—you recognised those curls anywhere. A sigh escaped your lips as Jack, beaming with enthusiasm, gestured towards them. “Hey, Y/N! Look who I found!” the two curlyheads turned to face you, John and Luke greeting you with smiles, with Luke’s carrying his signature, teasing smirk.

Reluctantly, you put on a fake smile and settled into the chair next to Jack, doing your best to remain composed, polite, and NOT awkward. The conversation flowed effortlessly around you, but you remained quiet, occasionally offering a nod or a brief reply. Your eyes shifted between John and Jack, deliberately avoiding Luke, as if by ignoring him, you could somehow make the situation less complicated.

Eventually , John and Luke made their casual exit. You managed a tight smile and a polite wave, holding on to your façade of composure until they were out of sight. The moment they were gone, jack’s attention snapped back to you, his brows furrowed in confusion and curiosity. “Why were you acting so weird?”

Suddenly, the café’s cosy outdoor setting felt more like an interrogation room, and you were in the hot seat.

“Wha-what do you mean?” your voice wavered despite the smile you plastered on. “I was not!” you countered, hoping the denial sounded more convincing to his ears than it did to yours.

Jack’s eyes widened in shock, as if he had just cracked the code. The revelation seemed to knock him off balance, almost sending him tumbling off his chair. “Oh my god,” he whispered, a mix of genuine shock and amusement in his voice as a chuckle escaped.

“You’re sleeping with John, aren’t you?”

A wave of relief washed over you at his misinterpretation. It was better than telling him about Luke, right? After all, jack was still Luke’s older brother, and you couldn’t risk jeopardising your friendship with Jack, even if whatever was going on with Luke meant something.

Caught between the fear of losing your best friend and the chaos of the moment, you found yourself nodding along before the word “yes” tumbled out. And now, you possibly just made your situation even messier.

-

Once again, you found yourself at a bar with Jack and his teammates, the night serving as a farewell toast before everyone dispered for the off-season. The bar buzzed with a contagious mix of laughter and the clinking of glasses, everyone savouring each other’s company before the inevitable goodbyes. Throughout the evening, you’d successfully avoided both Luke and john, skillfully navigating the minefield of awkward encounters. You also… may have indulged in a few too many drinks to steady your nerves.

As you found yourself back at the bar for yet another round of liquid courage, you sensed someone approaching. Turning around, it wasn’t Luke’s familiar curls, but John’s. you managed a somewhat forced smile as he settled beside you. “Hey, Y/N, having fun?” he asked with a smile.

You nervously accepted your drink as it arrived, taking a sip that was perhaps a bit too eager. “Yeah, it’s great hanging out with you guys!”

An awkward silence fell between you, filled only by the sound of your silent sipping. John’s laughter suddenly cut through the tension, breaking the ice with ease as he chuckled at the obvious awkwardsness of the situation. “Y’know, Jack’s been chirping me relentlessly tonight. Mentioning something… interesting… about us.” You groaned, mentally facepalming yourself.

With a playful gesture, he pointed his finger between the both of you, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement. “Did… did we sleep together one night and I just forgot?”

“No no no!” you rushed to clarify, flailing your hands around, desperate to clear up the situation. John, is of course, handsome, and after a few too many drinks on a night out, it could’ve happened under different circumstances. The absurdity of it all hit both of you at once, and you burst out laughing, dissolving any lingering awkwardness between the two of you.

John theaterically placed a hand over his heart. “Phew, good. Wouldn’t want Luke getting all jealous on me.” Your laughter echoed his, agreeing wholeheartedly—until his words fully registered. You never mentioned Luke. “What did you say?”

John merely winked and offered you a pat on the shoulder before making his exit, leaving you at the bar, more puzzled than ever.

As the evening unfolded, the flow of drinks seemed never-ending, each one blurring into the next. Suddenly, you found yourself seated in the passengerseat of a car, the lights of New Jersey streaking past you in a dizzyin display. Barely able to keep your eyes open in your drunken state, you looked over to the driver’s seat—Luke. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be driving,” you slurred.

“I was sober tonight, Y/N. and you… you were way too drunk. We’re going home,” Luke responded, his tone lacking its usual lightness, replaced by a firm, blunt edge. The drive was engulfed in silence, a tensions hanging in the air that even your drunken haze couldn’t miss.

“So, cosying up with John?” Luke remarked, a hint of something indefinable in his tone.

Luke had seen you at the bar. His voice carried a weight, one that echoed the same unease you felt when you saw him with that girl at Jack’s birthday.

Words failed you as you tried to respond, a string of incoherent mumbles and half-formed words spilling out of your mouth. You felt like you were burning up, put on the spot, panicking. “Trying to make me jealous?” You blinked in shock at his question. There was no hint of anger in Luke’s voice; instead, he sounded amused. You could feel his smirk.

As you finally mustered up the courage to face him, there it was—that infuriating, captivating smirk. Part of you wanted to punch it off his face, yet another part for inexplicably drawn to it. “I… I wasn’t…” you stuttered, struggling to articulate your thoughts. Luke let out a soft chuckle, one hand leaving the steering wheel, landing comfortably on your thigh.

“I’ll admit it, I got a bit jealous. But I know John wouldn’t do that to me,” he said, giving you thigh a gentle squeeze. You were totally lost. Luke was jealous? Why? You weren’t trying to make him jealous. Your intentions had been the polar opposite—you were trying to avoid him.

And here you were, alone, in the car, with Luke.

“And I know you wouldn’t do that either. You’re too charmed by me, aren’t you?” The car came to a stop; you were outside the apartment. Luke finally turned to meet your gaze. His question hung in the air, leaving you speechless. You weren’t interested in Luke, at all. You were just confused.

Right?

“Is that the reason why you’ve been avoiding me?” His words struck a nerve—he knew. He knew that you had, in fact, been avoiding him. You found yourself locked in his gaze, unable to pry your eyes away. Luke didn’t look away either; it was as if he was uncovering every secret, exploring every inch of you with his eyes.

In a swift, almost breathless moment, he leaned over, his lips finding yours. The kiss caught you by surprise, yet the thought of pulling away never crossed your mind. Instead, you found yourself surrendering—melting into the warmth of his lips. Your hand instinctively found its way to his curls, fingers weaving through them, pulling him closer,deepening the kiss.

You were moving in perfect sync.

His hand reached out, unlatching your seatbelt, freeing your from its restraint. With an ease of urgency, you climbed over the midconsole, never losing the precious contact between the two of you.

His hands found their way to your hips, finger pressing into the soft fabric of your clothes, pulling you even closer. Arching your back at the contact, your clothed core merely inches away from him, only your clothes separating you. Intoxication swept over you, but it wasn’t the alcohol swirling through your veins that left you dizzy – it was Luke. it was the touch of his hands roaming around your body, the feeling of his lips on yours, it was him. And you needed more. Your hands seemed to take on a life of their own, grasping at his shoulders, tugging at his curls, wrapping around his neck – anything to be closer to Luke.

Lost in the moment, straddling Luke in the drivers seat as you deepened the kiss. His hands on your hips, pulling you closer as you grind against him, feeling him harden beneath you. The friction was maddening, and you could feel yourself growing wetter by the second.

You simply couldn’t help yourself.

With a groan, Luke pulls away, leaving you both gasping for air. But the respite is short-lived as you felt Luke’s fingers grazing your inner thigh, sending shivers up your spine. He hooked his fingers under the edge of your panties, pulling them to the side. You bit down on your lip, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to escape as he slips inside, his fingers finding your clit with ease.

But you can’t, you’d been wanting this, needing this, needing him. Needing Luke.

You let out a soft moan, giving yourself over to the feeling of his fingers exploring your most sensitive area. At first, Luke’s fingers moved in small, teasing circles, bareuly brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves, just watching you fall apart on top of him.

In the haze of pleasure, you found yourself drawn to Luke’s eyes. They were dark, intense, however, there was a hint of care, and maybe even love, taking in every moment of your reaction to his touch.

You couldn’t look away if you tried. Trapped in his gaze, the car filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing and whimpers – you didn’t want to escape.

Luke’s eyes never left yours, watching with rapt attention as your breath hitched in your throat. Your face flushed, eyes closed tight, feeling the pressure building inside you. Luke’s fingers sped up, pressing harder against your clit.

Suddenly, your vision faded, the orgasm tearing through you like a wildfire, your body shaking with the force of your release.

Collapsing on top of him, your breath coming in short, sharp, gasp as you tried to catch your breath. Luke pushed away the mess of your hair, gently caressing your chin, tilting your face so you could meet his gaze. He was smiling, not the usual shit eating smirk, but smiling with genuine care and affection.

What just happened?

[pomefioredove]

Hi, there ! :D

I saw the new Christmas event and it got me intrigued so I want to try my shot

If it is not too much trouble, I would like to request:

Can I have a sugar cookie, #4, with marshmallows, whipped cream and powdered sugar ?

Take your time and without pressure. I wish you a happy December and a merry Christmas. Thank you. ཐི✧ཋྀ

tfw azul

order #4, sugar with marshmallows, whipped cream, powdered sugar

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ a reason to quit

summary: azul works in customer service to get closer to his crush. pining ensues tropes: royalty au, coffee shop au, roommates au characters: azul additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is not yuu, reader is prince rielle's sibling

It was quite simple, actually.

If Azul could not impress you, he would die.

Okay. Maybe that's somewhat of an overexaggeration. But that's what it felt like.

If he had known that higher education would be so distracting, perhaps he would have gone right into the private sector!

Of course, his university roommate just had to be the kindest, smartest, most beautiful person he'd ever met. Of course they had to be the elder sibling of the detestable Prince Rielle.

And of course they were entirely uninterested in him.

Oh, how he loathed feeling this way...

At least he could still depend on the tweels, wherever in the world they were, to lend him their eyes and ears and stalking skills, and to find the exact coffee shop you perused every morning.

Someday, Azul thinks, He'll own a whole franchise of these. Then you can have as much overpriced coffee as you want.

Today, though, he's desperate.

"That'll be fifteen thaumarks. Yes, you heard me correctly- that was six pumps of caramel, ma'am- the price accounts for the product, it's quite simple! Wha- a secret menu? I assure you, if there was such a thing, I would have been the first to hear of it!"

Azul steps away from the counter, massaging his temples. It's only six thirty in the morning, and he already has a migraine...

It will be worth it. There's no reward without risk!

The shrill, unpleasant sound of the bells by the door becomes an angelic choir as you pass them. Azul hurries back to the counter. This is the only tolerable part of his shift, after all.

"Pleasant morning," he says to you, smiling as if his manager had just given him the rest of the day off.

You smile back. Good. Very good. You are so very pretty, do you know that? Surely, you do, you must have a line of suitors waiting for your hand. All the more reason for Azul to work hard.

"Ah... up bright and early again, Azul? You must really like this job,"

He grinds his teeth, putting more pressure into his smile. "Just love it. Your usual?"

"I think I'll try something new. Whatever you would recommend,"

"Very well," he beams. You trust his judgment that much? Azul pushes his glasses up his nose and gets to work, not-so-subtly checking you out every few seconds. Why is it so hard to speak to you????

Thank the Sevens for customer service small-talk, he thinks for the first and only time ever.

"How has your morning been?" he asks, again, trying not to seem too eager. "You had an exam quite early, if I remember correctly."

Which he does, of course. He has your schedule memorized down to the minute. As one does.

You look up from your phone. "Ah, you remember that...? It went... well, I think,"

Azul takes off his glasses to wipe the steam from them. He wants to savor being able see you, after all. "You don't sound too confident,"

"I'm sure I passed..." you sigh. "It's just that... well, our father is strict. If he found out I was barely passing-"

"I'll tutor you!" Azul blurts out, the paper cup of coffee nearly slipping from his hands. You blink.

"Ahem- I apologize. I only meant that it would be no trouble for me. And I would do so at a discount, of course."

He puts a lid over the warm confection and stumbles to the other side of the counter, as if this was his first day on land.

"You'd do that for me?" you follow him, eyes wide. Pretty...

Azul almost blushes at that cute look, and lowers his gaze to his trembling fingers, attempting to write your name on the cup, his normally perfect cursive reduced to scribbles.

"...Of course. It would be more convenient than hiring a stranger,"

"Oh..." you say, looking down at his hand as you take the cup from him, your fingers brushing over his. And you smile. "Thank you!"

Azul's heart misses a beat (several, really) and he blushes again (detestable human form!)

You don't seem to notice, but everyone else in line is staring. One older man taps his watch. How he loathes this job.

"It's no trouble at all," Azul says, glancing your way. "I was looking for a reason to quit, anyway."

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 22. Somewhere I Belong

Summary: Dain and Dahlia have a talk, but Dain might have pushed his twin sisters buttons one last time. Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Support Me

I can feel them. Everyone staring at my back as I grab my breakfast. Well an attempt at breakfast. I couldn’t deny I was still shaken by yesterday, my appetite barely there despite not eating since lunch time yesterday. I should have come down and gotten food, but I didn’t want to deal with the stares and whispers that had followed me the rest of the day till classes had ended. Part of me had hoped they would have died off by now, but the hushed whispers of my name, the eyes following me and the wide birth everyone was giving me let me know this was my new normal for a while. Fantastic.

I abandon the plate I’d had clutched in my hands, reaching out and grabbing an apple before walking over to my squad. I doubt I could stomach much else right now, and I had been put on temporary ban on training or challenges till I could control my signet.

As I walk through the tables I can’t help but hear what everyone was saying.

*”She must have the same signet as that second year. Did you hear what happened last year?”

”No, she’s got the classified signet patch now and he doesn’t. Can’t be the same.”*

I glance down at the patch I’d been given after classes. The compass patch. A patch reserved for those with a signet so classified only leadership were allowed to know. A patch no one had seen in a very long time. And now the Quadrant had two of them. And of course the other one belonged to him. My brother Dain.

I slot into my usual spot next to Bodhi, the squad to my right quickly shuffling away. I roll my eyes at them before taking a bite of my apple.

“You’d think you have the plague with how everyone is acting.” Bodhi mutters, keeping his voice low.

”You do remember what happened yesterday right?” I almost snap at him.

Bodhi just smiles at me, knowing there’s nothing personal behind the tone in my voice. “And this is why you don’t skip breakfast or your morning coffee.”

I roll my eyes at him. “I’m fine. I’m not hungry anyway.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but a plate and steaming cup of coffee being placed in front of me has us both turning to face the new addition to our group.

”You’re not leaving till you eat that food.” Garrick says sternly as he sits in front of me, digging into his own plate heaped with a stupid amount of food.

Bodhi just sits there in shock looking between us as I narrow my eyes at him, not even glancing at what he’s placed in front of me.

”I already said I’m not hungry.” I grumble at him.

Garrick raises his eyes to me and points his fork at me. “Trust me, you’ll feel better if you eat. Even if you don’t eat it all, at least drink the coffee. You’re more tolerable when you’ve had coffee.”

I narrow my eyes at him as he returns to his food. He wasn’t wrong though. I was definitely more moody without my morning coffee. I lower my eyes to the plate in front of me, and am shocked to see it filled with what I would normally eat for breakfast. Even down to the sauce I like with my sausages. And as I raise my eyes to the cup of coffee, something tells me it’s going to be made exactly how I like it. I look to Bodhi, raising an eyebrow as if he had something to do with this. He just shakes his head and shrugs at me, almost looking more in shock than I am. To my knowledge, Garrick has never sat with us or near us for breakfast. But as I raise the coffee to my lips, I almost doubt that thought. It’s as if I had made it. Hell it might even be better. I look back up at Garrick, but he’s not paying me any attention as he continues to dig into his food. Most of his plate already empty.

I clear my throat, Garrick looking up to meet my gaze. “Thanks.”

He merely nods before returning to his food, acting as if this was completely normal behaviour. Which it wasn’t. Not for us. How on earth had he gotten my breakfast so spot on? And clearly without the help from Bodhi who looks like he’s seen a damn ghost as he looks at Garrick. Clearly Garrick was already taking my words from yesterday on board.

We eat in silence for the rest of the meal, mainly due to how quiet everyone else around us is. Myself still being the focus of everyone in the hall. I’m glad Bodhi or Garrick don’t try to talk to me, content to leave me eat in peace. And despite not feeling hungry before, I finish off my entire plate of food. I never thought I’d say it, but Garrick was right. I did feel better after eating the food.

I feel a shift in the air, and watch as Garrick raises his eyes, narrowing them at something behind me. Bodhi doing the same as he turns in his seat. I look over my shoulder to see Dain stop behind me.

”To what do I owe this pleasure.” I say sarcastically as I turn my attention back to my coffee.

”Professor Carr sent me to tell you to go see him.” He says gruffly from behind me.

I roll my eyes. I’d been dreading being sent to go see him, but was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. Especially with what happened at challenges. “Noted. I’ll add it to my list of things to do.”

Dain clears his throat, trying to get my attention back to him. I turn my head to look back at him, his eyes shifting to Garrick who leans forward on the table. “He wants to see you now and I’m to take you there.”

”I highly doubt that. I’m capable of walking myself there. You’re dismissed.” I say dismissively as I turn away from him.

I feel him place his hand on my shoulder, Garrick quick to react as he stands up. Despite the table separating him and Dain, I hear Dain take a step back, his hand leaving my shoulder.

Dain scoffs from behind me. “Fine, I need to talk to you then.” He admits.

I know if I don’t oblige he’s just going to try corner me later. And I’d honestly rather deal with Dain at the start of the day than wondering when he’s going to grab me. I sigh before downing the last of my coffee, standing up to face my brother.

I give him a tight lipped smile before waving my hand towards the door. “Lead the way then.”

Dain barges past me, leading the way towards the door as everyone watches us. Once we’re outside Dain continues to lead the way, clearly not wanting anyone to overhear us. Meaning he was probably about to scold me, or attempt to at least. We round the corner into an empty hallway, Dain clearly happy as he turns and faces me.

”I see you finally wish to acknowledge my existence.” Watching as Dain narrows his eyes at me, it was too easy to rile him up.

He scoffs, shaking his head as he folds his arms across his chest. “Please, if anything I should be saying that to you. Especially now you’ve fallen in what that lot.”

His words cause my gaze to harden as I focus on him. “What’s that’s suppose to mean?”

”You know exactly what I mean. Hanging around those marked ones. Eating your meals with them now. Especially the ones close to Riorson. Even your dragon knows it with that relic it’s given you. Branding you like the rest of them.” Nodding towards the arm that adorns the relic.

It was one of the reasons I had kept it hidden, knowing it would start drama between us. “Maybe my dragon knows where I really belong.” I throw back at him, watching has he grimaces at my words.

”How can you utter those words when you know what they’ve done. When you know how reckless they are. It’s doesn’t look good for us.” A warning clear in his tone. Of course he was just worried about our reputation. What it would do for our name. It was all he cared about.

”And as I told you at the start of the year, me being able to put that behind me just shows I can work with anyone under any circumstances which is more than I can say for you.” I snap at him. “You can’t look behind the lies our father tells you about me or about them.”

His eyes darken at my words. “Our father has never lied about anything.”

”You sure? You’ve always just blindly believed everything he’s said without a second thought.” Watching as some cogs in his head turn before he averts his gaze from mine, focusing on the wall behind me.

”You need to learn to live with your actions Dahlia. Need to accept what you’ve done. But you can make things right now by making better choices.” His tone slightly venomous as he addresses me without meeting my gaze.

His words hurt me more than I care to admit. He’s never fully addressed what happened to our mother, but I know his words are directed at the incident. Almost as if he wants me to confess it was all my fault, and I now desperately wanted the approval of him and my father. Which a younger version of me had. I had tried for years to get the approval of my father and brother back. But my efforts were useless. If anything it made it worse. It felt like any choice I had made just made them look down at me more. And now after being here for a few months, I had come to see I did not need their approval. I had come here wanting to prove to them they were wrong about me. That I could do all the things I was told I couldn’t, and would never succeed at due to what had happened all those years ago. To try make them proud. But even after passing the parapet, bonding a dragon and being one of the best in my year, it still wasn’t enough for them. But it was enough for others I had slowly started to let in. Bodhi, Austin and Liz cheering me on with every victory, even with how standoffish I had been at the start. I didn’t need their approval because they liked me for who I was, could see past the lies even though they didn’t know. But they could see past me being an Aetos, and see I was nothing like my brother who stood before me.

I smirk at him, chuckling lightly as his gaze turns back to me. “You’re wrong. I don’t need to make better choices, because I already am. And the best choice I’ve made is taking control of my own life, not trying to get the approval of a family who I will never be good enough for. Because when everything goes to hell, the people who stand by you, they are your family. And I think I might have finally found that after all these years.”

He scoffs at me. “You trying to say those friends of yours are your real family?”

I shake my head. “Sadly I don’t think I will ever know what a proper family is like thanks to you and dad. But at least I feel like I belong for the first time in a long time.”

”Once they find out what happened, what you did, they wont want anything to do with you.” He says almost proudly, as if so sure it would happen.

I know he’s trying to put me down, but I won’t let him. I square my shoulders as I step towards him, causing him to take a step back. “Maybe, maybe not. But I have faith. They aren’t as gullible as you.”

I turn away from him to head over to Carr’s classroom, stopping in my tracks as I take in the sight of Bodhi and Garrick watching us. I can easily tell they haven’t just arrived. They’d heard Dain and I talking. Had heard what he’d said. And now Dain looking past me as he talked to me made sense. He’d seen them. Had said those things to try place doubt in their head. I look over my shoulder back at Dain, watching as he smiles at me as if he’s won. I’d never wanted to wipe a smile off his face more in my life.

After two weeks of countless lessons with Carr, pushing myself to the limit, I’d finally been cleared to participate in training and challenges if Emmetiro was willing to let me. Two weeks of shielding, learning to block out the signet of anyone I touched. Which so far I’d only had Carr to practice on, so I had no idea if I was only adept at blocking him out. I’d wanted to practice on Bodhi but he’d been absent from most of the evening training sessions I had managed to pop my head into. I could have asked Austin and Liz, but I at least knew Bodhi’s signet was safe and I couldn’t cause any harm if it didn’t work. But I couldn’t let doubt get in my way. Not today.

I’d been grateful neither Bodhi or Garrick had mentioned or asked about my conversation with Dain that day. Either they were biding their time to ask me, or were waiting for me to approach them about it. And maybe one day I would. But I was barely scratching the surface of my friendship with them, and I wasn’t even sure I could classify Garrick as a friend. At least not yet. And even then, I doubt I would say anything. Outside of my family, some leadership and the other kids who were there that day, nobody else knew. And I’d honestly hoped I could keep it that way. Was probably the one thing I agreed on with my father. And it had honestly surprised me Dain had referenced it that day. He had technically given nothing away, just placed the seeds of doubt. And for that, I was going to make him pay. And the only place I could do that without getting in trouble was this very room.

The crowd parts easily for me, most cadets still scared to be near me after what happened. Especially after this morning. At formation they had announced the cadet I’d fought in challenges would not be returning to the Quadrant. I’d felt every eye on my as the words loomed in the rotunda. Just what I’d needed after things had somewhat gone back to normal.

Emmetiro looks up as I approach him, raising his eyebrow as he takes in my determined face. “Yes Dahlia?”

”I want to request a challenge now Carr has cleared me for challenges again.” I tell him.

He sighs. “You sure you’re ready though? What happened wa-”

”I’m ready.” I say, cutting him off.

He looks me over for a few seconds before sighing and nodding. “Alright. Who do you want to challenge?”

”Dain Aetos.”

His eyes go wide as he looks down at me. He looks like he wants to question me. But something in the look on my face must tell him all that he needs to know. There was nothing against me challenging my brother. The only people in this room I couldn’t challenge were my own squad. And Dain was not on my squad, or even in the same wing as me. The only thing standing in my way was Emmetiro. But after a few moments of silence he nods at me as the mat next to us opens up. He turns his head scanning the crowd of cadets as his eyes land on Dain.

“Next challenge. Aetos and Aetos.”

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