#its so empty... goofy

[jils-things]

don't you just love a frugal partner 🥺

[corpsentry]

there’s something so epic about hetero chinese period dramas and i think one part of it is that there is absolutely nowhere in the narrative i could exist.

lately i’ve been on a western media detox— i’ve cleaned english language music out of my playlists and have never been able to stomach western dramas anyway, so that part is easy— which might seem funny, because if i’m in singapore and i hate it and i won’t touch american music then what’s left? the answer is the false binarism of chinese period dramas, at least for me. the badly written ones are misogynistic and stupid and the better ones are less of those things, but regardless the world that emerges is clean-cut and easy to parse. there’s someone to root for and someone to hate. there’s a girl and a boy. there’s the comedy and the drama, the sheer thick drama, the music that signals to you precisely how to feel before the scene even starts going

try to jam a fifth culture transnational transgender they/them with 2 mental illness and 1 autoimmune disease into this world and it simply doesn’t work. and that’s kinda epic lolzers! it’s like watching high fantasy, or super hardcore sci-if. it both represents a simulacrum of the real world and is so far from the reality you know that you understand it as a hypothetical universe, one that disincludes you on principle. i exclude myself from the story and in doing so fangfei from moyuyunjian’s steely gaze becomes all the more important. i give so many shits and laugh and yell and spectate. but i am safe from the eyes of its inhabitants. if i entered the story it would break. so i sit outside of it, clapping by myself

in other news, we gave up on mysterious lotus casebook 16 episodes in. there are many character archetypes in these shows that i can no longer stand; the salacious sexy seductive supervillain lady is not necessarily one of them but the way they did miss ‘this man didn’t even Look at me when all men fall at my knees so i hated him’ ‘no one is allowed to steal buttchin from me’ jiao was way up there. surely a woman can have multiple personality traits and yet you would think from this drama that that is not at all true. and the strange harem that grew around li lianhua despite his absolute loser attitude— like i get it, he’s the gintoki of this show, that’s hot, but the way the women who were into him were written made me want to Eat Horse. it bothered me that di feisheng and lianhua’s homo as fuck dynamic was so intriguing and them + fang duobing was a winning trio but all the women in the show were written like complete fucking ass, and one of the big antagonists being a woman, the stakes throughout were not only lost to me but also Pissed Me Off. also, that case about the corpse flowers dragged on forever and all my pocky wilted

I Just Think, women deserve better in these damn stories. make them slutty as hell, sure, but make them other things too and i mean this in the most generous sense. slutty and proud. slutty and weird. slutty and oblivious. literally anything at all so they don’t come out cardboard flat from all angles. this is why i have a personal vendetta against the ditzy clueless female protagonist as well because if everything stems from the fact that she doesn’t know shit it’s like please someone Please tell her shit i’m on my hands and knees begging. give her more to chew on she’s dying of boredom over there

this is why i liked the so called antagonist of blossoms in adversity best (spoilers ahead). he was cruel as hell to huazhi and gu yanxi’s only parental figure. he was paranoid and selfish and lonely and craved a son’s love from the one person he couldn’t hold onto. in the end he is pushed further and further by huazhi, who won’t give in, to isolate yanxi from the people he loves and to lash out at those people as a way of punishing yanxi. and when he dies it’s because of his own distrust, his own negligent parenting, his absent cruelty from decades of insomnia and lack of faith in his people. but he cries for yanxi, and there’s something so human about that. to think of evil not as a first principle but rather an adjective for a verb that is set in motion by other events. to be honest, i haven’t seen such thoughtful writing in any chinese period drama before or after that and i strongly suspect i will never see such writing again in this genre but man, it was so fucking good (spoilers end).

in the meantime, i’ve dragged my mother to moyuyunjian/the double for the return casting of liu xiening and wang xingyue who are Eating so hard. they’ve got wang xingyue done up with the sluttiest makeup and liu xiening is breaking my heart with her pout and her Sassy Mean constitution and this is a revenge story, yes, but it’s a double revenge story. it’s a grief story. and fangfei is carrying more on her shoulders than lingbuyi imo, and doing so with much more grace too. her step mom’s a dick but she’s a smart, 5d chess playing dick who wears hot shades of green so i’m personally interested enough to keep watching (something lotus casebook DID NOT accomplish with their epic female antagonist…. mein gotte). and the princess too. unhinged as hell but god, so charismatic. and beautiful, with scary big eyes and the sweetest head tilt. fun fun fun! that’s fun character writing right there. the comedy might be too straightforward for my tastes but everything else is kind of hot and sexy And after the coming of age ceremony when jiangli appeared amidst the flowers i felt my throat close up even though we saw her for all of one (1) episode). i was like yes. they got me alright. i Care now

really that’s all that matters isn’t it. we want stories about people we care for. we want to give a shit. why else would we listen to the stories of other people. we are looking for us and the people we love in them

oh also moyuyunjian soundtrack goes hard as hell i love a little three step waltz. here’s a pic from the ‘gym’ for ur time. guten night

[crows-of-buckets]

You know, generally I'm kinda like. Eh on the writing of the Inquisitor because a lot of times it can come off as bland and naive but like. GOD I wish there were more scenes like this one specifically. It gives a sense of gloating, cunning, and just a general 'Ive outsmarted you and there's nothing you can do about it' vibe that I just. Wish carried on through the game. Because this is one of the few times where I was like 'yeah this person is leading an organization. I can see why they were chosen, outside the mark on their hand' don't get me wrong I do like inquisiton but man I would have loved for them to lean into why they were made Inquisitor in the first place

[vacalimpia]

despite how mych i wished for the semester to end because of how work heavy it was now that it did I realize that the daily worry of "oh my god I have to get this done or ITS OVER better pack up for another 10 hour stay at college" became essential to my days, suddenly i feel aimless 😭

what do you mean that the things I did for procastination and to ignore my responsabilities are now just normal leisure. what do you mean i do not have work I have to do after this or i die how am i expected to just goof around without the dread of getting work done looming over me /lh

[13eyond13]

.

[starlightsearches]

All Yours

"I'm going to fucking ruin you." / "I won't apologize for marking you up, everyone should know you're taken." / "I don't want anyone else. No one can make me feel like you do."

@somethingvicked tagging you because I accidentally deleted the original ask 😬 just wanted to say thanks for the request and a big, fat SORRY for taking so long. i was scrolling through my drafts the other day and saw this was like a year old and the shame managed to motivate me enough to finish this. Ooops again and I hope you enjoy!! Comments, likes, and reblogs are always cherished 💖

Eddie Munson x F! Reader

AN: 18+ only!!!!!!, car sex, partially-clothed sex, piv, semi-public, titty worship, humping, dacryphilia, unwarranted jealousy, porn with a little plot, eddie's self-depricating at the beginning but he fucks like a god, very possesive! eddie, multiple orgasms, one (1) mention of pregnancy but it's off-hand and mostly unrelated to the sex, unprotected sex, I took the spirit of the prompts more than the literal wording, this is very different for me and maybe rushed? idk you tell me 🙃

Eddie always jokes that you're his second love.

His van—with its stained upholstery, rattling frame and the battery on its last leg—was here first, he says. And despite everything previously mentioned, he treats that car like his baby.

So when he slams his door hard enough to rattle the glass in the window, it wouldn’t take a genius to know something is up.

Eddie sits silently in the half-light, gripping at the steering wheel with both hands and gnawing at his bottom lip until the skin turns white.

"Everything okay?"

He won't even look at you when he shoves the key in the ignition.

"Sure," Eddie says, but there's a bite to his voice, quiet over the roaring grind of the starter, "why wouldn't it be?"

The car does start—despite his abuse to the engine—and you prop your feet up on the dash, raising your brows as he tears out onto the empty street.

"Ohhh-kay. Is this about—"

You don't even get a chance to take a guess.

"It's not about Steve."

Eddie spits Steve's name at the window and the passing trees, their leaves blurring into inky smudges. You watch his jaw tick, eyes flashing from the road to the rear-view mirror, but never to you.

His resolve falters with the press of your hand against his on the gearshift.

"Really? ‘Cause I was going to ask if this was about Patrick Swayze?”

The speedometer ticks up for a quick beat, and then drops, and Eddie squirms in his seat.

He steers off to the right, and the van shakes as the tires bump off the smooth pavement to the gravel edge of the road, little twigs snapping off on the trees outside against the fading paint.

"Fuck," Eddie grumbles, quiet, like he's having a conversation with himself. His fingers catch in his curls when he takes the other hand from the steering wheel. It's dark out here, away from the street lights, but you still catch the shine glazing his lower lashes, the way he blinks to keep any tears from pooling there.

"I mean, it's no big deal," you tell him, petting over his knuckles with your thumb, "I just wish you would have said something."

You're not sure what lies were spread to make sure the goofy little pre-teens didn't show up for movie night and try to break down Steve's door. You just knew that—for once—everybody piled on the couch in the living room was of legal age.

It seemed like an exciting prospect when the night started, but everything was pretty much the same: just more beer, and fewer voices shouting about whatever movie you were gonna watch.

Nancy and Robin were a united front when they pulled out Dirty Dancing, and you joined them, mostly to annoy Steve when he pretended he wasn't interested.

Eddie grumbled about the choice, arm slung around your shoulder, but he came around, eventually. Nobody can resist the allure of Johnny Castle.

However many beers you had may have been one too many, though, because as soon as the credits started rolling, Steve had yanked you from Eddie's grasp and onto your feet as Nancy and Robin were cheering jump jump jump and you ran, stumbling into Steve's arms with a surprisingly powerful leap. Then you were floating, high above the living room with a bird's eye view of the crushed beer cans and Hostess wrappers littered over the carpet for one glorious second.

Until you landed in a giggling heap with Steve groaning beneath you, the room shaking with laughter to the point of tears, until Robin threatened to pee her pants.

Now that you've sobered up a little, you recognize that Eddie hadn't been laughing along.

He lets his head fall back against the headrest, eyes big as saucers, pathetic like a little dog who's about to get yelled at for pissing on the couch, and he twists the hand that's resting beneath yours until your fingers intertwine, gives you a squeeze—a move you recognize as an apology before he's got the words for what he's feeling.

"You know I'm not interested in Steve, right?" you ask, squeezing back.

Eddie nods, but his eyes tell a different story. He carries this thing with him—a kind of self-conscious bewilderment each time you reach for him in a crowd, press your lips to his, call him your boyfriend when there are people around to hear it.

It's kind of funny how much it doesn't make sense to you, how you assumed that, deep down, Eddie knew that you loved him, but also how badly you wanted him. That it wasn't some kind of fluke or coincidence or apathy that kept you here.

Eddie's breath catches in his chest, like he's trying not to cry, and you know you were wrong. You're not doing nearly good enough a job at making Eddie feel half as loved as he is.

You slip your hand from his, resting it just above his knee—an innocent start for your more illicit plans—scooting in your chair until you're almost nose to nose, lower your voice into a whisper.

"I'm serious, honey. You've got nothing to worry about."

Your plan is working already. Eddie swallows hard enough you can see his adam's apple jump in his throat, and his gaze keeps flickering from your eyes to the hand you've got on his thigh, climbing higher with each soothing stroke.

"Yeah, I-I know, baby, it's just—" his breath hitches, but he's fighting to get the words out, wet lips parting with a heavy breath as your fingers travel higher, thumb in the crease between his thigh and his crotch, "it's Steve Harrington."

His voice jumps an octave on Steve’s name, and your quiet laughter comes out in little breaths.

“I don't want to talk about Steve Harrington."

Your words hit his mouth in a puff of hot air, and Eddie gasps into the kiss that follows, moaning a little when your palm meets the zipper of his jeans and his swelling cock beneath. The tip of his nose digs into your cheek, one of his big hands finding your waist, trying to pull you closer, or as close as he can with the center console in the way.

"God, baby. Need you- need you so bad," he huffs, but you’re already breaking from the kiss, lifting your hips from the seat as you crawl into the space between Eddie’s warm chest and the steering wheel.

“Then you can have me,” you tell him, settling your weight in his lap, grasping around for the lever that’ll give you a little extra space. The seat rattles back until it stops with a heavy clunk, and Eddie has to dig his teeth into his bottom lip to keep quiet when your body lurches into his.

He won’t meet your eyes, looking out the blackened windows, checking the car like somebody’s gonna pop out from the back seat.

“What? Uh, I mean—like, here?”

You take Eddie’s face in both your hands, relishing the scratch of the sparse stubble peppering his jaw. Out of habit, his hands come to rest on your thighs, and you hum in approval.

“Whenever–“ you whisper, shifting your hips back just to bring them forward again, the crotch of your jeans meeting the bulge in his, rattling the chains hooked to his belt loops. Eddie’s neck goes taut, head pressed back against the seat.

“Wherever– “ you place your lips at the delicate skin he’s revealed, just brushing along the column of his throat. When you meet his eyes again, Eddie’s pupils are blown wide.

“And however you want me, Eddie. I’m all yours.”

“You’re all mine,” he repeats back to you, and his hands echo the sentiment, his confidence growing as he moves around to grip at your ass cheeks, pulling you more fully against him until he can grind up on you, his lips at your neck now, planting messy kisses at the edge of your throat that have you digging your fingers into his hair just to keep him there.

Your boyfriend's got a big dick—fucking hung like a horse, although he doesn't seem to know it, and he's already throbbing and heavy in his jeans, bucking his hips into you like he's trying to get you pregnant before he’s even inside you.

"Eddie," you sigh his name, just to admire the feeling of it, and he lets out a groan that has you dripping, the damp fabric of your panties sticking to your cunt and dragging over your clit with each shift of his hips.

"Yeah, baby?" he asks, and you hardly notice his hands at the zipper on your jacket, trailing it down, down, down until he can slip it from your shoulders, gripping at your tits through your tank top.

"You feel so—fuck," he's cut you off mid-sentence, pulling the neckline of your top down until your breasts are free, nipples already pebbling in the cool air. Eddie pinches one of them in between two fingers, the metal of his rings biting at the other until you gasp.

"Yeah?" he repeats, harder this time, the word mumbled into your tits. Eddie's smothering himself, licking and kissing and teething his way as he moves to replace one of his hands with his mouth over the dark, stiff peak.

He sucks the bud between his lips, glides his tongue over the sensitive skin there. The sound of your moans fills the car, and suddenly the pressure of his cock isn't enough when there's so much fabric between you. You can't pull away, though, not with how his free arm has circled your waist, forcing the sway of your hips.

"Eddie," you call out again, but he just grunts, onto the other breast now, fucking devouring you in a way only he can.

He's not stopping, teeth scraping at your skin and his lips pursed, sucking the life out of you while his other hand pinches and flicks the other stiff bud, still damp with his spit.

It's almost frightening how close he's gotten you, and just from this—the movement of his hips and his worshiping mouth.

"Eddie."

There must be something different in the way you say it this time, because he listens, finally, snaking his hand down between your bodies, slipping the button on your jeans and shoving his fingers inside until they reach the apex of your aching cunt. Your vision goes foggy, on the verge of tears from the relief of something solid pressed right up against your clit.

And his mouth doesn't stray from your tits, single-minded in a way only somebody like Eddie could be, sucking at your nipples until they both shine.

His fingers curl, perfect, sitting right where you need them as you grind and grind and grind your hips, brain turning to jelly with the way he's making you feel.

You feel Eddie's teeth bite a perfect circle on the inside of your breast, and that's what pulls you under.

You're practically screaming, and Eddie still won't stop, letting you ride out the perfect feeling of him, maybe hoping you'll remember this moment the next time Steve sees you. Just the idea of meeting up with your friends again after this has you flushing so deep you think you might combust right here.

The sparks fade slowly, your pussy still shaking and empty, wet enough you're sure you've soaked Eddie's fingers and he finally relents, his plump, pink lips tracing your collar bones, stopping at the edge of your jaw. He takes the delicate skin their between his teeth and sucks, hard.

That jolts you from your stupor. You press his head back, one hand on his forehead so you can make him look you in the eyes.

"Hey—that's gonna bruise."

You're scolding has no effect; Eddie's on a different plane now, cocky from making you cum so easily and still a little peeved from earlier, pressing past your hold on him until he can reattach himself to your neck.

"Not sorry," he tells you, marking you up between staccato shifts of his hips, "wanna make sure everybody knows you're mine."

It's impenetrable logic—you couldn't argue with him if you wanted to, and you really, really don't want to when he makes his way to your mouth, kissing you, his tongue against yours and his hot, heavy breaths, one hand balled in the fabric of your tank top at the middle of your back.

"Turn around," he tells you, guiding you into compliance with his hands at your waist, and it makes you dizzy, feeling like you'd end up on the ceiling if Eddie didn't keep his grip on you, pulling you tight against him until your back meets his chest.

It’s like he's touching you everywhere, hands on your hips and your tits and pushing your hair up off your neck—looking for more skin that he hasn't painted yet—so you're not prepared when the chair falls back, left breathless and unmoored, staring at the stained upholstery on the roof of Eddie's van.

"You good?" Eddie asks in response to the gasp you let out, urging your hips into the air as he tugs your jeans and your underwear down around your thighs.

You just nod, too desperate for any explanation, to say anything at all. Eddie's turned you stupid, has you whining into his neck when you lean your head back on his shoulder, looking up at his jaw with wild, tear-filled eyes.

"Gonna ruin you for anybody else, sweetheart," he tells you over the sound of his jangling belt, his hot cock pressed against your back. "Gonna make sure you never leave me."

You nod, fucking rabid when he shifts and you can finally feel the fat tip of his dick at your entrance, smearing the first taste of his cum over your lips.

"Nobody else, Eddie," you promise him, "just you."

Eddie takes his cock in his hand, teasing it over your pussy, nudging it against your clit until you jump in his arms. He grips tighter at your waist, holding you just under your tits to keep you still.

"Promise?" he asks.

The tears that slip down your cheeks and onto his neck must be answer enough, because Eddie slides inside you, just the tip, and the relief at even this small feeling of fullness has you crying out.

Eddie's thrusts are methodical and relentless, slow at first, but they build quickly, his hips slamming into you, his grunts from exertion and from pleasure low in your ear. And you're moaning, too, like putty against him, totally enraptured as you watch the muscles in his jaw flex, beads of sweat collecting at his hairline.

He keeps hitting this spot inside you, has you full to the brim, and you're so wet you half-wonder if your pussy juice is soaking into the seat.

It feels like the van is rocking with the force of his thrusts, steam collecting around the edges of the windows from your shared breaths. It’s obscene how in to this you are, how loud it sounds, the wet squelch of your poor cunt echoing around the interior of his van.

"You're gonna cum for me, baby," he tells you, "wanna feel you squeezing my cock."

Four of his fingers meet at the top of your thighs, rubbing steady circles over your clit. You think you might be screaming.

Eddie has you cumming like you're being raptured, twitching in his lap, tits bouncing as he fucks into you, deeper than before until your vision blacks out and you can't see or feel or think of anything but perfect Eddie Munson and his perfect fucking cock.

It's dark when you come to. Maybe he fucked you blind.

Your vision returns, though, just in time. Eddie's chest heaves beneath you, and he pulls out with a grunt, his cum and yours dripping down your thighs in a sight so lurid it's got you flushing down to your neck.

That's definitely going to stain the upholstery.

Eddie doesn't seem to care, stroking his heavy hands over your thighs, pulling your clothes back into place—gentle where they had been rough, his mouth dotting soft kisses against the back of your spine.

Eddie shifts you around in his lap, let's his big eyes find yours. Your fingers twine with his, and he laughs a little when you kiss at his knuckles.

"You know," Eddie says, cheeks pink and a stupid smile on his face, "now that I think about it, Dirty Dancing might be my new favorite movie. I mean, who doesn’t love Patrick Swayze?"

[nouearth]

when the snow settles.

clark kent x male reader.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. clark’s busy spoiling his sick boyfriend with cookies and cuddles—until things heat up when someone decides a kiss (and more) is the real cure for a cold.

𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅 & 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. one-shot [ 6.0k ].

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. male reader 〳 corenswet!clark 〳 established relationship 〳 sick!reader 〳 christmas!au 〳 sexual content: top!clark, bottom!reader, belly-bulging, breeding, rimming (r!receiving), praising, body worship, clark can alter the temp of his body (and dick).

Snow fell softly outside the apartment, blanketing Metropolis in a serene hush that contrasted sharply with the sound of sniffling from the couch. Clark’s living room was cozy, aglow with the golden twinkle of Christmas lights strung up around the windows. The faint scent of pine mingled with the sweet aroma of gingerbread baking in the oven, though the stuffy haze of your cold dulled the sharpness of both.

You sat bundled in a mountain of blankets, a tissue box on one side and a half-empty mug of tea on the other. Despite the misery of a congested head and the scratchy soreness in your throat, you couldn’t help but watch Clark with a mix of amusement and adoration.

In the kitchen, he moved with a carefree confidence, humming along to Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas as it played softly on his phone. He had insisted on baking cookies for the evening, declaring it the perfect way to boost your holiday cheer. Not that you needed much help in that department—his reindeer antler headband, bouncing with every step he took, was doing most of the work.

His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his strong forearms, and his glasses had fogged up slightly from the warmth of the oven. Even with the goofy apron he wore—a red and green monstrosity with “Santa’s Favorite Helper” embroidered across the front—he looked unfairly attractive.

Clark glanced over his shoulder at you, a soft smile spreading across his face as his gaze met yours. “You okay over there?” he asked, his voice gentle. “Need more tea? Another blanket? A better boyfriend?”

You groaned theatrically, flopping back into the throw pillows. “What I need is for my head to stop feeling like it’s stuffed with cotton.”

And stones—your flair for drama only worsened the throbbing ache from the sudden movement.

Setting down a tray of freshly baked cookies, Clark wiped his hands on a dishtowel and made his way over to you. He knelt beside the couch, one hand reaching up to take the temperature from your forehead while the other rested lightly on your knee through the blanket.

His touch was warm, steady, grounding.

“Still running hot. Sorry you’re feeling this way,” he said sincerely, his brow furrowing just a little. “If I could punch a cold in the face, you know I would.”

You laughed, but it quickly dissolved into a coughing fit. Clark was at your side in an instant, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back until the worst of it passed. “It’s so unfair that you never get sick,” you rasped, your voice rough and strained. “You’re just… immune to everything. Meanwhile, I’m over here melting into a Christmas puddle.”

“Wow. This is the thanks I get for baking you cookies? My boyfriend wishing ill on me?” He chuckled, resting his elbows on the edge of the couch to stay level with your gaze. "If it makes you feel better, Krypto would probably be thrilled to drink you up if you were a puddle! Likes his water from the spring... spoiled dog."

His grin was boyish and a little smug, and you rolled your eyes at him, though the corners of your lips twitched upward.

“What I’m saying is… we could’ve been sick together,” you muttered, “But I can’t even enjoy them. Look here.” You picked up one of the gingerbread cookies Clark had carefully decorated earlier, the icing swirls and tiny candy buttons a testament to his painstaking attention to detail.

The cookie felt firm yet inviting in your hand, its edges slightly crisp and still warm from the oven. Breaking off a piece, you popped it into your mouth, hopeful that even through the fog of your cold, some of the sweetness might break through.

Instead, all you got was the texture—a faint crunch that dissolved into a soft crumble on your tongue. The spice you knew should be there, the warm bite of ginger and cinnamon that normally screamed Christmas, was muted to the point of nonexistence.

You frowned, swallowing the flavorless bite with effort. A sharp, scratchy sting flared in your throat, the dry irritation making each swallow feel more uncomfortable than the last. The lack of taste was almost offensive, a cruel reminder of how thoroughly your cold had robbed you of simple joys.

Clark’s eyes flicked over to you, catching your expression as you set the rest of the cookie down with a defeated sigh. “Nothing?” he asked, his voice tinged with sympathy.

“Absolutely nothing,” you muttered, your voice still scratchy. “I might as well be eating cardboard.”

Clark chuckled softly, getting up on his feet to sit beside you. “Guess that means more for me, huh?” He reached for a cookie, his teasing grin faltering when he saw your pout, but his craving persisted nonetheless. “Hey, don’t worry,” he added, nudging your shoulder gently. “Once you’re better, I’ll bake you a whole new batch. Extra ginger, just the way you like it.”

“Yeah…”

Clark bit into a gingerbread cookie with gusto, clearly enjoying his own handiwork as he snuggled beside you on the couch.

“Mmm,” he hummed dramatically, his eyes widening as he made a show of savoring the bite. “Oh, wow. These might be my best yet. Sweet, spicy, perfectly baked—chef’s kiss.” He gestured extravagantly, grinning like he’d just won a baking competition.

“Not saying these aren’t good, but I’m pretty sure the last time you made cookies, Krypto got more excited than I did."

You were about to roll your eyes at his antics when you noticed a speck of icing clinging to the corner of his mouth and a small crumb nestled in the dimple of his cheek. It was such a ridiculously human detail—charming in its imperfection—that you felt a sudden pang of affection bloom in your chest.

“Here,” you said, laughing softly as you reached up and brushed the crumb away with your thumb, your fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. His skin was warm, and the bashful smile that tugged at his lips made your stomach flip.

“Didn't stop you from cleaning out the cookie tray...” he murmured, his cheeks pinking slightly as he quickly licked the icing from the corner of his mouth, completely oblivious to how endearing he looked. "Thanks."

You shook your head, biting back a grin. “You’re a mess,” you teased, but your voice was far softer than usual, betraying just how much the sight of him—unpolished, sweet, and so effortlessly Clark—had utterly disarmed you.

Clark’s smile softened, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. His lips lingered for a moment, warm and impossibly tender against your fevered skin. When he pulled back, he looked at you with that impossibly earnest expression that always made your heart twist.

“It’s nice, though, isn’t it?” Clark murmured, his voice soft and warm, like the glow of the Christmas lights reflecting off his glasses. “The cookies, the Christmas specials, the decorations… being snowed in together. Like a Hallmark movie, but… not terrible?”

You could see the flicker of nostalgia in his eyes as he spoke, his tone carrying a quiet sincerity that made your heart ache in the best way. The soft crackle of the digital fireplace playing on the TV and the distant hum of holiday music only made the moment feel more intimate, as if the world outside had disappeared entirely.

A warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with fever. Clark had this infuriating knack for making everything—even being sick—feel like a kind of blessing, as long as he was beside you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, your voice rough but laced with affection. ��Talking like I’ve got only two months left to live…” You tried for sarcasm, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Clark’s grin softened into something more tender, his gaze unwavering as he watched you. “Yeah,” you admitted quietly, letting out a small sigh. “It’s nice. Really nice.”

The weight of your words hung between you for a moment, and the corners of Clark’s mouth twitched upward again, this time into a bashful little smile. He didn’t say anything more—he didn’t need to.

Instead, his hand found yours beneath the blanket, his thumb brushing softly against your knuckles, as if to say everything he didn’t put into words.

You knew he was the strongest man in the world, but it was these quiet moments—his sincerity, his kindness—that made you feel like you were the one holding something unbreakable.

Clark squeezed your hand gently, his expression melting into something tender and a little uncertain. He studied you for a long moment, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked softly. “I mean, really okay? I know I’m supposed to cheer you up, but I don’t want to push too much—especially if you’re not feeling great.”

You leaned your head back against the cushions, exhaling a soft sigh. “Clark, I’m fine,” you said, your voice still raspy but carrying enough exasperation to make your point. “I mean, yeah, I feel like I’ve been hit by a snowplow, but it’s not like I’m about to collapse.” Your lips quirked into a small, teasing smile as you tilted your head toward him.

“Besides, you’ve already gone above and beyond. The cookies, the mistletoe, the cozy speeches… you’re basically an elf on the shelf who magically transformed into the perfect boyfriend overnight.” You reached over, your other hand settling on Clark's broad shoulders as you gently rubbed them, a silent gesture of appreciation.

Clark chuckled at that, but the faint blush on his cheeks deepened. “Well, I don’t know about perfect…” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck in that adorably bashful way that made your chest tighten.

“Perfect,” you repeated, a little firmer this time, giving his hand a squeeze. “Even in that ridiculous apron.”

He let out a breathy laugh, and the sound sent a flutter through you. The way his smile lingered—soft and boyish, but edged with a quiet intensity—made your stomach flip. His thumb absentmindedly traced circles on the back of your hand, and though the gesture was small, it felt impossibly intimate.

“Clark,” you mumbled, leaning in slightly, the hoarseness of your voice making his name sound heavier, more charged. “Stop worrying so much.”

“I can’t help it,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a low murmur. His eyes flicked to your lips before darting away, a faint flicker of hesitation passing over his features. “You’re sick. I don’t want to… you know… make it worse.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you, though it quickly turned into a cough. Clark’s expression immediately shifted to concern, but you waved him off, catching your breath as you gave him a lopsided grin.

“Clark, I’m not made of glass. And for the record,” you added, your voice softening as you leaned in just a little closer with the support of your elbows, “I think kissing you would make me feel a whole lot better. Best medicine and all that.”

His ears turned an impressive shade of red, and he ducked his head slightly, his grin both shy and disbelieving. “You’re trouble, you know that?” he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of exasperation and fondness.

You shrugged, your grin turning sly. “And yet, you’re still here.”

“I’m still here,” he echoed softly, his voice carrying a weight of affection that made your heart ache in the best way. His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink, the soft glow of the Christmas lights casting him in a golden halo.

Slowly, tentatively, Clark leaned in, his free hand coming up to cup your jaw. “If you wake up tomorrow feeling worse,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours in the barest of touches, “I’m blaming you.”

“Noted,” you whispered back, your breath mingling with his as you tilted your head to close the distance between you.

Strange. You hadn’t noticed the scent of cinnamon when he first brought out the cookies, but now, with your lips inching closer to his—like two cookies spreading and melding into one—you could almost convince yourself you were cured. Almost, if not for the stubborn stuffiness in your nose.

The kiss was gentle at first, as if Clark was afraid you might shatter beneath him. But when you let out a soft, contented sigh and threaded your fingers through his hair, his restraint wavered.

He deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a warmth and intensity that made you forget all about the congestion and sore throat. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his other hand pressed lightly against your waist beneath the blanket.

You tugged him closer still, your lips parting to let him in as the heat between you began to build. Clark’s kisses were like him—steady, powerful, and infused with an overwhelming tenderness that made your head spin. When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you were breathing harder, the warmth of the moment erasing the chill of the winter night.

“Feeling better yet?” he asked, his voice teasing, though the worry flickering in his eyes betrayed him. It wasn’t just concern over your condition—it was something deeper, a quiet struggle to hold himself back. Not when you looked so effortlessly beautiful, your disheveled state a product of his presence.

“Better,” your voice came out in a whisper, your hand resting lightly on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm before traveling around his torso to untie his apron. “But I think I might need a few more rounds just to be sure.”

Clark let out a soft laugh as you tossed the fabric to the floor, his thumb grazing your cheek in a tender gesture. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, but this time the words were thick with affection. His teeth caught his lower lip as your hands lingered at the waistband of his pajama pants, your intentions unmistakable with the gentle tug at his drawstring.

“You sure?” he asked sincerely, large, calloused hands pressing all over your body, but mainly your bare stomach, where he began mapping out heat zones over the plane.You could feel the strength of his abdomen beneath the thickness of his sweater as your hand gently traced his body in admiration. Biting your lip, you reached up to remove his glasses and nodded.

"If you don’t mind taking care of me tonight.”

There was something about the way Clark watched you during moments like these. You couldn’t tell if it was the warmth of his touch or the intensity of his gaze that made you feel so small, so vulnerable. Either way, you savored it—the sensation of being his entire focus, the apple of his eye, and nothing else.

Your stomach sank when he slid his third finger inside of your tight hole, joining his twinned index and middle.

“I can never get tired of this…” you mumbled, unbuttoning the rest of your pajama top when the pressure below heightened your body temperature.

“I’ll say,” Clark hummed, a growing mass forming large in his pants as he was knelt on the bed, gently working you open. The sound of his lubed fingers twisting and curling deep inside of you made his cock jolt, your cheeks reddening as a result of his attraction.

Clark had always been patient, but when it came to having you submit under his touch, he seemed to relish every second. His hands moved slowly, pressing and kneading at just the right spots, his fingers curling deep and slow to the rhythm of your heart while his other hand rubbed small and smooth circles over your stomach.

It wasn’t just about easing your tension—it was about watching you. The way your breath hitched when he found a tender spot, the subtle flutter of your lashes, the way your lips parted with a moan when he spread his three digits—it all captivated him.

He couldn’t help but grin softly as his hands worked their magic, savoring the reactions that only he could coax from you. For Clark, the real reward wasn’t just in soothing your aches—it was in seeing your face completely melt under his touch, your body reacting wantonly because you craved for more.

And with that, Clark went on to give you more. Knowing how sensitive your body’s condition was in the moment, he carefully pushed your legs up, his large hands stabilizing you by the thighs, and replaced the fill of his fingers with his inquisitive tongue.

Like his fingers, he started out slow and deliberate, tracing the swollen ring of muscle to sample the fresh layer of artificially-flavored lube dripping out of your hole. He licked you with a casual ease, but the look in his eyes was anything but.

“Smells like coconut,” you sniffled softly as he lifted his head to press a few kisses to your inner thighs. The warmth of his breath lingered on your skin, but your attention caught on the sticky sheen smeared across his cheek, a glistening trace of slick that made your cock twitch.

“Close… coconut cream pie. More vanilla than I was expecting, if I had to be honest…”

A tender smile curved your lips as your fingers found their way into his hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingertips. You began to pet his head gingerly, your touch slow and soothing, grounding both of you in the moment.

“Love you.”

Clark leaned into your hand instinctively, a low hum of contentment rumbling from his chest. His eyes fluttered shut briefly, the tension in his broad shoulders melting under your touch, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to fade away entirely.

“I love you too, (M/N).”

His gaze flicked to yours, a sudden spark of mischief between the blinds of his eyelashes, before he paused for a moment, letting the anticipation build, and kept a watchful eye on you while he slowly pushed out his spit to drizzle it over your wet hole.

Then, with agonizing precision, he pushed the remainder of the saliva into the center of your opening, the wet, methodical slck of the motion sending a jolt of heat down your spine.

“Fuck…” Your fingers curled into his hair until they were grasping, pushing him and his tongue deeper into you while simultaneously rutting your hips against him.

Clark was a hungry man. He made sure to clean up any traces of his spit and lube with that thick tongue of his, slurping the remnants before adding onto it again with a generous amount of spit. Every time you thought the trail of saliva was dripping dangerously close to the bed sheets, Clark’s intuition was strong enough to blindly guide him to the leak, deftly licking it back up and kissing your flesh in passing.

He would never waste a single drop.

A quiet, satisfied moan escaped him, low and drawn out, as if savoring the sweetness of the lube and your flesh was a private indulgence. His eyes never left yours as his nose rubbed at your taint in midst of his devouring, The smile that curled at his lips—glazed and glistening—was a challenge, a silent dare that made the air between you feel heavy.

Heavier, when he found the right rhythm of flicking his tongue to make your body writhe under him.

“Clark, please…” you whined, one hand massaging your loose balls while the other toyed with your nipple, pleasuring yourself not only to the sight of Clark indulging in the warmth and taste of your flesh, but also his naked torso.

His chest rose and fell steadily, each inhale making his broad shoulders flex, the faint sheen of sweat catching the light. The planes of his abdomen looked carved, every ridge and dip inviting your eyes to linger, compelling your cock to leak out of sheer astonishment.

His arms were just as mesmerizing—thick and powerful, with veins running along his forearms that seemed to pulse with quiet authority, especially so when he’d alternative between working your hole open with his fingers and tongue again.

The strength they promised wasn’t just physical but protective. Those arms of his were built to shield and hold you.

When he finally pulled away, his gaze lingered, watching as you panted breathlessly, your chest rising and falling, desperate for him to finish what he had so teasingly begun. The tension hung there, thick and electric, like the moment itself had slowed just for the two of you.

He took off the remainder of his clothes before sprawling himself over you, his broad frame hovering just above yours while you seized the opportunity to thank him of his service. Between gentle kisses that Clark needed to get out of his system before he would lose himself in your body, you generously applied a glorious amount of lube on his large cock, though not letting Clark’s kisses answer to nobody.

His muscles pressed gently against you, the solid strength of his chest rising and falling with each breath when you took a couple of moments to thoroughly layer him in slick—to silently appreciate him for his efforts in lifting your spirits throughout the week with firm strokes.

The weight of his cock in your hands was satisfying, hefty enough to make you pause and marvel at the sheer size of it. You couldn’t get used to it, nor did you want to.

“You comfortable? Need more pillows? Tell me if your body starts hurting, okay?” Clark asked, suppressing his moans by showering your neck and face in small, lithe kisses.

His hands roamed your body at their own free-will before they began fixating on your arms, where your goosebumps were discernible. His brows furrowed in concern.

“Little cold…” One arm looped around to caress Clark by the nape, holding his forehead flushed to your own, while your other hand continued to stroke him between your collective hip grinds. You shivered again, despite being nestled so close to him, the draft still biting at your skin.

“Give me a moment,” he murmured softly, the heat of his breath brushing your ear.

You looked up at him, puzzled, but before you could ask what he meant, Clark pulled back just slightly, enough to give himself space to move. Without a word, he began to shift, his body warm and powerful as he adjusted his position. A flicker of surprise passed through you when you saw the subtle concentration on his face, but before you could ask again, you felt it when he pressed himself on top of you again, lowering his hips.

Clark’s body temperature seemed to rise—slowly, but steadily, until you could feel a gentle heat radiating off him. It was as if he was adjusting his own internal warmth, shifting it just for you. Your eyes widened in disbelief, but the shiver running through your body eased, the cold gradually melting away as his warmth enveloped you.

“You should be good now,” he said, his voice low and calm while he pulled you back into his arms, his skin now perfectly heated against yours.

You nestled against him again, finally able to relax as the cold left you entirely. “Not even going to ask,” you graced him with a kiss, reaching between your pelvis and his to adjust his cock against your hole and nodded. “I’m good to go.”

“Love you so much…” He took you by the jaw and slotted his lips into yours once more, grounding the wavering of your breath with his protection before he pushed his hips forth.

“It’s so… big, C-Clark—“ you groaned, clenching your eyes shut through the bittersweet tension of his large cock opening you up.

Clark whispered several I know’s over your lips, a strong effort in placating the pain surging beneath you, while taking a few pauses for you to catch your breath, for Clark to catch his because—you were so tight.

"You're so tight..." Clark seemed to have admitted in a whisper without realizing.

You felt yourself swell within seconds, the crown of your insides clenching him and pushing him out all at the same time, but Clark remained resilient, pushing, and pushing, allowing you to feel the slow, deliberate pressure inside of you, until he was finally deeply rooted inside of you to the hilt, earning himself a deep guttural groan from you as a reward.

“You feel so good, baby. So, so good. Taking me so well…” He peppered your whimpers with soft kisses, his words soothing you as his boyish smile remained, warm and comforting, easing you with each gentle touch and praise.

“You’re so warm too…” you muttered into the palm of his hand, kissing him at the calloused skin before you returned back to his plush lips.

Your breath caught in your throat as you shifted, the feeling of being filled growing deeper, fuller with every inch of Clark’s large cock moving inside of you. Clark’s large palm rested on your stomach, caressing over the bulge that seemed to move in conjunction with his slow, methodical thrusts.

He had never mentioned it, but you knew it was a sight that he secretly loved. Clark's eyes softened with admiration as he watched, his gaze lingering on the subtle curve of your stomach. It was unmistakable, the way it had begun to gently bulge with every rut of his hips, becoming more prominent depending on the strength, the fullness a natural sign of the way your body had been affected by what you’d taken.

And what you had taken was Clark’s love and devotion to you—his thick cock making you gape and swell from beneath.

It wasn’t easy, not by any means, but there was an undeniable pull in watching your stomach swell from his cock—an almost desperate craving for the mixture of pain and pleasure, for the way it made your body react even though your mind wavered between wanting to resist and wanting to surrender completely.

He couldn’t help but marvel at it, his fingertips lightly grazing the curve, tracing its outline with a reverent touch. The way your body had responded to him, the way it molded to the shape of the intimate moment, filled him with a quiet awe. He leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against your skin, his voice low and hushed. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, a hint of wonder in his tone, as if he couldn’t quite believe the sight before him.

Clark was never one to boast, but in this moment, the glint in his eyes spoke volumes. He’d never been so proud of having someone like you—someone so determined—take all of his girth with such unwavering focus despite the tears in your eyes. Happy tears, to which he’d only create more of, when he gently pressed on the bulge in your stomach and sandwiched his cock within your insides, plunging himself deep inside of you until the only sounds that came out of your throat were guttural.

“C-Clark—oh, god…” your cock was dripping in pre-cum, throbbing to the weight of his cock hollowing you out as he sped up his hips and pushed you deeper into the bed on instinct. You held onto his muscular shoulders as he clutched onto your waist and rocked you back and forth along to his deep thrusts.

��God, I’m so deep inside of you. Is this okay, baby? Is it okay that I’m making love to you like this? I’m being selfish, aren’t I?”

“No-please! I l-love it so much, Clark. Fuck. Keep fucking me like that… wouldn’t want anything more—”

“Like this? You like how I’m so deep inside of you to the point where your tummy’s swelling? So… good. You look so good for me…”

His forehead connected to yours again, panting over your mouth and taking a moment to marvel over how he had rendered you speechless before he could muster up the energy to kiss you again, to draw out another sound from you with his tongue.

The warmth of his mouth was almost feverish, his breath mingling with yours in a tangled, wet dance. Each movement was smooth and sensual, your tongues exploring, tasting, tracing the contours of each other’s mouths with growing eagerness. The wetness of it—the gentle press of his lips, the slick glide of your tongues—made the kiss feel all the more intoxicating, as if every flick and sweep brought you deeper into him.

Clark’s body temperature only seemed to have gotten warmer, affecting you from the inside and out as his cock was synchronous.

You could feel Clark’s dick heat you up from the inside, seemingly softening your guts to make the ease of fully wrecking you all the more easier. With each kiss, praise, and thrust, your body melted further, feeling as soft and pliable as butter left out in the warmth. The tension in your muscles faded, replaced by a liquid sensation that spread through you, leaving you entirely at ease and whimpering in his hot embrace.

The faint sheen of sweat gave him an undeniable rawness, a physicality that made your heart race. You were mesmerized by the way it clung to him, the way the droplets caught the light before sliding slowly down his torso.

Each movement he made only seemed to draw you in more, the heat radiating from his body intensifying the pull you felt. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, infatuated not just by his strength, but by the way he looked so alive, so real—like the sweat was proof of his effort, his focus, and the raw intensity of how he was making love to you and that tantalizing hole of yours.

“You’re fucking me so good, Clark. I could come like this, baby—just like this…”

“And when you make a mess—not if, but when—I’ll treat you like the prince you are. I’ll clean you up with my mouth, let you watch me lick every drop away with my tongue, and then I’ll kiss you, giving you a taste of your love for me.”

His skin, damp with the effort of his keen need to wreck you, left a trail of warmth and moisture as he pounded you, a strong, animalistic friction that made every touch feel more intimate and passionate, that made the current position of him mounting you and bending your knees till they touched your chest despite your condition well worthwhile and all the more rewarding.

It was a sound that matched the intensity of the connection between you both—no words needed, just the symphony of his sweaty skin meeting yours, and his cock hollowing you out until you two had made a permanent imprint on the mattress.

Clark’s breath hitched as he watched you, his eyes soft and filled with admiration contrasting with his hardened thrusts. “You look so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe. “Just… so perfect.”

His hand moved to your stomach again, evidently in love with the way you swelled from his cock, the weight of the moment sinking in with the aid of the bed creaking, and Clark’s sweaty skin slapping against you.

Every word he spoke, every gentle press of his lips, seemed to soften you, coaxing out of the cold that had been restricting you. It was as though you were being molded by his touch, the heat of his affection spreading through your veins, leaving you pliant, relaxed, and willing to give yourself entirely to him.

All sensation coursing through you was a tangled mess of pleasure and overwhelming intensity. Your body was on the verge of unraveling with every deep thrust of Clark’s. You could feel him swell, veins throbbing inside of you, his balls twitching as he was nearing his high just as you were.

Your eyes fluttered closed, the edges of your vision blurring the harder he pounded into you like an animal, like he was beating away at your cold, and you could feel yourself slipping into a blissful madness.

It was almost too much, yet it felt like the most real thing you’d ever known. Your body trembled from the weight of his body on you, from the girth that Clark was destroying you open with. Every muscle was tight with anticipation, yet you managed to hold onto a smile, the corners of your lips twitching despite the storm raging inside you, your cock throbbing and leaking in overdrive in warning.

“C-Clark..!“

Your hands instinctively found their way around Clark's neck, pulling him closer as if to anchor yourself in the moment. The kiss you pressed against his lips was desperate, full of need and grounding, a silent plea for him to steady you in the chaos as your balls tightened up into your core.

With each breathless press of your mouth to his, you found a sliver of control, a tether to the reality of his presence, even as the pleasure threatened to send you into pure blissful madness.

“I know—me too—“

Your smile lingered, your mind teetered on the edge, savoring every second, every touch, every thrust, and every heartbeat that connected you both, until the very moment where Clark’s name slipped from your lips in a breathless gasp.

“Clark—“

The tension had reached its peak, and when it finally broke, it was like a wave crashing over you, overwhelming and all-consuming. You came in a shared, fervent release. All muscles in your body was taut with desire, the culmination of your love for him unraveling in the form of thick white ropes shooting out of your cock, decorating your bulging stomach with layers upon layers, some splattering onto Clark’s body from the sheer amount of power and arousal.

Clark’s grip on you tightened, his body shuddering against yours as he gave into the same release, his breath ragged in the wake of it. His name left your lips in a soft, trembling sigh as he spilled his warm, thick seed deep inside of your raw hole. He left you breathless, thick, and steady, flooding you in ropes that seemed to never end. It was a powerful, consuming feeling, filling you completely, each pulse of his cock deep and unwavering, decorating your insides with a thickness that left you in awe of how much he had to give, like his body had held nothing back.

Your bodies moved together in those final moments, each thrust and touch sending shock waves through your system as Clark rode out his orgasm. You could feel every inch of him, raw and exposed. The warmth spread through you with each movement, the thick fluid of his cum filling you to the brim, a steady stream that didn’t seem to have an end leaking out of you that would surely have your flesh glued together with his.

Nothing else listed but the two of you—completely undone, unraveling together and leaving behind nothing but the sweet, tender echo of your love for each other.

The room was still, save for your breathing, as Clark’s forehead rested against yours, both of you catching your breath, tangled together in the beautiful, but sweaty aftermath.

“Are you… feeling better?”

His fingers traced along your skin, over the mess that you made of your stomach to let the sticky substance seep into his own palm, while he caught the remainder of his breath in the crook of your neck, fully collapsing on top of you.

“I…” You groaned, the lingering sensation of pleasure making it hard to find words. But despite the exhaustion, a sly smile tugged at your lips.

You rubbed his broad back in soothing circles, whispering in his ear, “I think I might need another prescription, Doctor.” Your voice was breathless, a mischievous glint in your eyes as the desire still simmered beneath the surface.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[enwoso]

empty spot | alessia russo x child!reader

grumpy masterlist

the sleek black suv rolled slowly into st george's park, its tires crunching the gravel as the early morning sun broke over the training grounds. a light breeze rustled the flags hoisted along the fences — england's colors flying proud.

inside the car, you bounced in your booster seat, gripping your esme the elephant and plastic gold medal in the other. your curls were tied up in two puffs, slightly messy from all the jumping you'd done in excitement at home that morning.

"are we there yet?" you asked for the fourth time in the past hour, eyes wide with excitement. "are they all here already?"

leah glanced at alessia and grinned. "remind you of someone?"

alessia laughed as she turned in her seat to check on you. "yes. you, before every england camp. only you would do it just a little quieter.."

"hey, ‘m not loud!."

as the car came to a stop, you could barely wait for the doors to unlock. leah stepped out and helped unload their bags while alessia scooped you up into her arms.

"okay, lovie," alessia whispered, nuzzling your cheek. "you ready to show everyone your medal."

the training ground was already alive — teammates milling about in clusters, the coaching staff waving, the buzz of excitement still lingering from the arsenal girls recent champions league victory.

though it had been a scrappy hard-fought match, the celebrations afterward were even harder. alessia and leah had, had about eight hours of sleep since the final on saturday.

they were barely through the gate before ella spotted them. "finally! look who dragged themselves away from the confetti and sangria!" she called, jogging over.

keira followed, pulling leah into a hug. "congrats, you played amazing."

more players gathered quickly — georgia, lucy, alex — all offering back-pats, congratulations, and coos towards you.

"you brought my favourite little russo," ella announced, lifting you from alessia's arms and spinning her gently. "i've missed you!"

you wrapped your arms tightly around ella's neck, giggling. "auntie ella! mummy and mama beat barcelona!"

"i saw! they were amazing."

as the adults chatted and caught up, you began to look around the growing circle of familiar faces. you waved shyly at lauren, who waved back with a bright smile, then at lucy, who offered you a goofy thumbs-up.

but your brows slowly knit together as she scanned the group, there was one voice you hadn't heard yet. "where mazza?" you asked.

the question came innocently, softly, but it brought a hush that wasn't lost on alessia. ella paused, her arms still around you. "...oh i-, um..."

you looked up at your auntie ella, confused by the sudden silence. "mazza always comes. is she late?"

ella bit her lip and looked toward alessia, unsure. "less... you didn't tell her?"

alessia chest tightened a little as leah shifted beside her. "no" alessia said quietly, stepping forward. "we didn't think she'd notice this soon..."

but of course you had. mary was one of your favorite and had been there for a while — the one who gave you goalie gloves for your birthday, who taught you the ‘mary stomp’ celebration, who always snuck you chocolate bars even when your mummy had told you that you weren't to have one.

you turned back toward her mum. "where is she, mummy?"

alessia crouched down to meet your blue eyes, brushing a stray curl from her face. "come sit with me for a sec, lovie."

alessia lead you to a quieter corner, where there was a few blue couches, just out of earshot from the group. leah followed, placing a gentle hand on alessia's waist but letting her take the lead.

alessia held your hand, your mummy's voice soft. "baby, i need to tell you something kind of grown-up, okay?"

you nodded slowly, your legs dangling off the edge of the couch. "mary's not coming to england camp anymore. she's... she's decided to retire from playing for the national team."

you frowned. "what do you mean? mazza loves england."

"she still does. so much," leah added. "but sometimes, when you've been doing something for a long time, and it's taken a lot of energy, you need to make space for other things. things like resting, or being closer to family."

"she's not gone forever," alessia said quickly. "she's still going to play football, just not for england anymore. and she still loves you."

"b-but... mazza promised she'd come braid my hair before training. she promised."

alessia's heart cracked at the tremble in your voice. "i know, lovie. i think... i know she wanted to tell you herself, but i think it was just too hard."

tears began to well up in your eyes. "she didn't even say goodbye."

leah sat beside you and wrapping you in an arm, kissing you curls. "she'll get the send off she deserves after the euros, how about we call her now? i bet she'd want to explain."

you nodded, rubbing your eyes with your sleeve. alessia pulled out her phone and opened facetime. mary's name popped up with a little lion emoji next to it one you hadn't insisted that your mummy had next to her name. alessia tapped the screen.

it barely rang twice.

"ou oi! look at these champions!" mary's voice rang out, bright and familiar as her face filled the screen. but her expression softened instantly when mary saw you, teary-eyed in your mums' arms. "hey... hey, little one. what's wrong?"

you crossed your arms a frown appearing on your face. "i mad at you."

mary's face fell and she knew immediately why. "oh, little one."

"you didn't come. you didn't even tell me."

mary exhaled, her voice dropping. "i know, and i'm so sorry. i should've called you. i just... didn't know how to say it without crying, and you know i'm not very good at that stuff."

your bottom lip trembled. "but why? you're the best goalie. you save everything."

mary smiled softly. "that means so much to me, little one. really it does. but sometimes, even when your body is strong, your heart needs a rest. i've been playing for england for a long time, and i've loved every second. but now i want to make space for new things... maybe coach little goalkeepers. maybe go see more of the world. maybe just sleep in."

"but whose gonna sneak me chocolate now. i still need you. mummy needs you."

"i'm still here," mary said. "i'll always be here. you can call me anytime and i'll always answer. and i know someone who'll sneak you chocolate and i'll let them know there mission but i can't reveal my sources when grown up ears are around" mary smiled as she pointed to your mummy and mama, you nodding slowly.

you sniffled. "you do?"

"course i do. can't let the chocolate monster down?"

after a pause, you reached toward the screen and said softly, "okay. but i still a little mad."

mary grinned. "fair enough. you're allowed. i love you, little one."

"i love you too." as the call ended, alessia pulled you into her lap, holding you close. the two of you sat there in the quiet for a minute, just breathing, before you looked up. "do you think if i practice really hard, i can be the goalie one day?"

alessia smiled through the ache in her chest. "with mary as your coach? you'd be unstoppable."

[rosachae]

lovesick opaleye | megan skiendiel x reader

⁍ song: can i call you tonight? - dayglow ⁍ genre: Hogwarts AU! fluffy. loser gryffindor!megan x ravenclaw!y/n. ⁍ a/n: rewatched the first movie and man, i just love the idea of megan being goofy. had this one in the works, so figured i'd finish and post. ⁍ wc: 5.4k ⁍ warnings: none that i can think of. ⁍ synopsis:

megan skiendiel, a socially awkward seventh-year gryffindor, stumbles across a secret involving a sick baby dragon and a well-meaning, bumbling groundskeeper who’s far too kind to turn away help. the only problem? megan has absolutely no idea what she’s doing. so she turns to the smartest ravenclaw she knows.

the gryffindor common room was nearly empty, save for the soft crackle of the fire and the two seventh years curled up in the mismatched armchairs closest to it. the hour was well past curfew, the other students having drifted off to their dormitories with tired yawns and unfinished essays. someone had left a chessboard halfway through a match on the table near the window, the black queen kept pacing back and forth like she was losing patience.

megan was halfway through her third stolen treacle tart from the kitchens, crumbs dotting her jumper, her legs swung over the side of the armchair in a fashion that suggested she’d long ago given up on dignity. lara sat opposite her, textbook open on her lap, quill tucked behind her ear, trying and failing to focus on the finer points of sopophorous bean extraction.

“you what?” lara blinked, squinting as if megan had just confessed to beheading a unicorn.

“i didn’t mean to!” megan said, through a mouthful of tart. “i only went to ask hagrid for advice, you know? about the niffler i’ve been working with. the little lad’s been getting all fussy lately and i thought maybe he needed a new trinket, something shiny and special, but i wasn’t sure what to give him.”

lara raised an eyebrow. “and instead you—accidentally—discovered hagrid hiding a dragon?”

“technically, i discovered hagrid hiding a sick dragon,” megan clarified. “there’s a difference.”

lara set her book down slowly, like it might try to run if she wasn’t careful. “merlin’s beard, meg.”

“i knocked!” megan insisted. “he just didn’t hear me, and when i poked my head in, he was halfway through the floo network—kneeling in the fireplace, talking to someone in dumbledore’s office, i think—and when i said ‘hiya’, he got such a fright he bashed his head on a hanging pan and yelped like a kicked kneazle.”

“did he say anything? about why he had a dragon?”

megan’s eyes gleamed, the way they always did when she was sitting on a secret just a bit too big for her pockets. “well, after he put out the fire on his sleeve and stopped panicking, he said dumbledore’d asked him to look after it. just for a short while. didn’t say why, and i didn’t ask. you know hagrid—said too much already, looked like he regretted it immediately.”

lara exhaled slowly. “and you told me?”

megan grinned sheepishly. “you’re my best mate. if anyone’s gonna get expelled with me, it ought to be you.”

lara groaned and leaned back in her chair. the firelight cast long shadows on the stone walls, flickering against the worn tapestries. “so what are you going to do?”

“he asked me to help,” megan said, quieter now. “the little one’s ill. he said it wasn’t eating properly, and there’s this weird shimmer all over its scales, like—like glitter, but not. it’s not in any of the textbooks, and you know i’ve read all the ones in the care of magical creatures section twice over.”

“since when do you turn down an excuse to break into the restricted section?” lara teased.

“i would, but—” megan hesitated. “you know reading’s not… the easiest. i get there in the end, but it’s slow, and i don’t want to muck this up. not when there’s a living, breathing dragon depending on me.”

lara studied her for a moment, then smiled that all-knowing sort of smile megan had learned to dread. “well. there is someone who might be able to help.”

megan’s stomach did something traitorous. it flipped like a pancake on a hot griddle. “don’t say it,” she muttered.

lara raised her brows innocently. “i haven’t said anything.”

but megan knew. of course she knew.

there was only one person in this castle who lara could possibly be talking about. one person who read so much it looked like she absorbed knowledge through osmosis. one person who brewed potions with the precision of an unspeakable, took notes in three colours, and had a voice that always sounded like she was explaining something worth listening to.

y/n.

of course it was y/n.

“she’s in our year. clever. kind. smells faintly of ink and lemon balm—”

“lara.”

“and she just happens to have rescued your potion in sixth year before it turned into a sentient blob and started cursing in latin—”

“i said don’t,” megan groaned, dragging her hands down her face.

lara beamed. “you’ve been enamored with her since the moment she touched your cauldron.”

megan groaned again, louder this time. but she wasn’t wrong. not really.

megan remembered it all too clearly. sixth year, late winter, cold in the dungeons. her potion a catastrophic mess of purple fizz and what she thought was a good idea involving powdered moonstone. snape had just started his usual round, already eyeing her like she was a flobberworm on his carpet, and she’d been seconds away from a detention so long it’d have carried over into adulthood.

and then—y/n. soft-spoken, quick-handed, calm like a winter pond. she’d leaned over, said, “you’ve just over-infused it. here,” and adjusted the temperature with a flick of her wand. no judgment. no fuss. just a quiet smile.

and somehow, even with her heart thudding like a hippogriff on cobblestones, megan had watched y/n toss in a twist—something small, deliberate, something that made the potion fizzle out with a hiccup and a dramatic puff of green smoke. just a little something to throw snape off, because he would’ve absolutely known immediately that megan didn’t do it herself. she was far too messy.

megan had passed. barely. but it was enough. the worst part of the debaucle, however, had to be the way y/n smiled at her afterwards. not a smirk. not a tease. just warm and soft, like she saw something worth seeing.

safe to say, megan had been doomed ever since.

“so,” lara said, all casual, “you’re going to ask her for help.”

megan stared into the fire, its gold glow making the shadows dance along the common room walls. she chewed on her lip.

“maybe,” she said. “but not because i’ve got a thing for her.”

lara snorted. “sure.”

“it’s because of the dragon.”

“right.”

“and maybe the thing. a little.”

megan had never been more aware of how often someone could be around and still utterly unreachable.

y/n was everywhere that week. tucked in corners of the library with parchment spread like wings around her. walking with manon and sophia through the courtyard, laughing at something too clever for megan to understand from a distance. perched in the great hall, always surrounded by ravenclaws with opinions too large for their own tables.

manon she recognized immediately—ravenclaw quidditch chaser, fifth fastest in the school, and the reason megan had ducked just in time during last week’s match when a bludger came flying through the stands. she still had the grass stain on her jumper. and sophia—sophia wore her prefect badge like it had been pinned there at birth, always polished, always impeccable. she was the one who confiscated exploding ink in ancient runes last month and offered the culprit a sternly-worded study schedule in lieu of detention.

and then there was y/n. quiet, composed, radiant, unbothered. every time megan even considered talking to her, she suddenly forgot how mouths worked.

“just ask her,” lara had said, for the third time in as many days. “she doesn’t bite.”

“you don’t know that,” megan had argued. “she’s a ravenclaw. they read everything. she probably invented a spell for efficient biting.”

still, megan tried. kind of.

she loitered near the arithmancy corridor. circled the greenhouse after herbology like a lost niffling. even sat at the very end of the gryffindor table during breakfast, dangerously close to the ravenclaw end, pretending to read the daily prophet upside-down while y/n chatted two seats away.

there was one near-success. megan had caught y/n alone for a moment, manon and sophia flanking her behind just several feet away, but it was enough. she sat on the far side of the great hall, a mug of tea cradled in her hands, her usual fortress of books conspicuously absent. megan had approached. slowly. like one might approach a hippogriff, if said hippogriff had excellent cheekbones and a devastatingly kind smile. y/n looked up just as she reached the table, and immediately her eyes lit up. that smile, warm and curious, touched her lips.

megan opened her mouth. but, it wasn’t anything intelligent that came after.

“so… do you come here often?”

pause. megan almost shat bricks. she fought the urge of facepalming herself, internally cursing whatever compelled her to ask such a dumb question. what in merlin’s flaming trousers was that?!

behind y/n, manon choked into her juice silently. y/n, to her credit, looked amused. a soft laugh slipped out, gentle. nothing cruel like megan half expected, nothing she knows a slytherin would have given her. 

“i do,” y/n said after a moment, that same smile still curling her lips. “for the past seven years, actually.”

megan stammered something about porridge. or possibly the weather. maybe both. then she turned on her heel and walked away with the mechanical stiffness of someone who’d just miscast petrificus totalus on themselves.

she was halfway up the marble staircase when she hissed under her breath, “i’m a menace to society.” and that, she thought, was the end of that.

but hogwarts had a wicked sense of humour.

two days later, megan found herself in filch’s office. or more specifically, sneaking into filch’s office. which, in hindsight, was mistake number one. daniela avanzini’s stink pellet had been confiscated in charms, and megan had sworn on her pumpkin pasty she’d get it back. it was a matter of principle. and possibly revenge.

she meant to cast accio.

instead, she cast depulso.

filch’s desk exploded in a small but theatrical burst of ink, old quills, confiscated dungbombs, and a surprisingly elegant set of enchanted dentures. megan shrieked. bolted. tore down the corridor with filch’s furious howling echoing behind her and mrs. norris hissing somewhere too close for comfort. she took a sharp left—then a right—then another left—then, in a moment of desperation, vaulted through a tall arched window beside the entrance hall, not quite realizing it led directly out into the courtyard below.

“oof—bloody hell—bugger—”

thud. megan lay sprawled in the damp lawn of the courtyard, winded and blinking at the clouds above her. she considered simply staying there. becoming one with the moss. maybe she could claim to be part of a herbology project.

above, the window creaked. filch and mrs. norris peered down at her, unimpressed. filch squinted. and then, miraculously, he chuckled. chuckled. he walked away without another word, an aura of ‘serves you right’ in his pleased saunter. megan sat still, a short groan tearing from her throat, lost in a daze of processing what she’d done. she’s snapped out of her stupor when a voice sounds nearby.

“that was… a lot.”

she turned her head. and of course—of course—there was y/n, sitting with a book in her lap, looking down at her with a mix of surprise, concern, and an expression that could only be described as politely suppressed laughter.

y/n stood, closing her book with a soft snap. she approached, hesitating just a moment before extending a hand. “are you alright?”

megan blinked up at her. everything slowed. the haze of embarrassment, the grass in her hair, the sting in her elbow—none of it mattered. it was y/n. kind and radiant and real, her hand outstretched like this wasn’t the most mortifying thing to ever happen to megan in her seventeen years. she reached for it.

“i’ve been better,” she admitted, letting y/n pull her upright.

y/n gave her a quick once-over. “nothing broken?”

“just my dignity.”

y/n laughed. megan might’ve died and gone to heaven.

“not your first dramatic exit, i take it?”

“not even my first this week,” megan muttered, brushing herself off.

a leaf flew from her sleeve and hit y/n in the shoulder. megan cringed, apologetic, however y/n just smiled and flicked it away.

“so,” y/n said, “was that all just for fun, or…?”

“actually,” megan said—before she could lose her nerve again—“i was looking for you.”

y/n blinked, a little surprised. “me?”

“yeah. i, um. need your help. with something magical. and weird. and possibly not entirely allowed.”

y/n tilted her head, intrigued. “go on.”

“i can’t really say what it is. not yet. but i need information. and you’re, like… really smart. and good at things. and nice. and—books. you like books.”

“i do like books.”

“so… would you maybe help me?”

y/n studied her, thoughtful. and then she nodded. “alright. where do we start?”

__

they slipped into the library just after supper under the very flimsy excuse of “last-minute studying.” or, well, that’s what megan muttered to the fat friar when he caught her pacing outside the entrance like a wind-up toy with a broken gear. the truth was—she was nervous.

not about the library. and not even about what she was going to ask y/n. but about being with y/n. for longer than three minutes. without combusting into a tragic little firework of feelings and sweaty palms.

this was their first real thing. not a pass in the corridor. not an accidental brush of hands during herbology cleanup. a proper, intentional, capital-T Thing. together.

as soon as they stepped through the library doors, madam pince’s beady eyes lifted over the edge of her spectacles. they landed on y/n first. and, of course, they softened in their own pince-way. pince gave her a nod, almost respectful. like y/n was some kind of sacred academic artifact. then her gaze slid to megan. the scowl appeared instantly. forged in stone. eternal.

megan flinched on instinct. she knew exactly why.

it wasn’t her fault. not technically. she hadn’t meant to send an entire stack of spellbooks flying into madam pince’s head last month. she’d just wandered in, sneezed—violently—and that was that. her whole body jolted like a hexed marionette, and the books collapsed like a game of wizarding dominoes. right onto pince’s noggin.

the memory still gave her phantom sneezes.

but y/n, calm as ever, simply offered the librarian a polite smile and started toward the back tables. megan followed in her wake like a very guilty, very lovestruck puppy.

“no funny business,” pince barked from across the room, breaking her own strict silence policy as if it were nothing. she simply did not trust the gryffindor. not even in the slightest

“no ma’am,” megan winces, already holding her hands up.

“and no sneezing!”

“that was one time—”

“the entire shelf collapsed!”

“technically,” megan muttered, “it fell with passion.”

y/n bit back a laugh as she nudged megan gently toward a quiet corner, where the light fell in warm pools across the wooden floor and the smell of old parchment hung thick in the air.

megan flopped into a chair and waited for pince to disappear behind the tall shelves before leaning forward, elbows on the table. “okay. how much do you know about dinosaurs?”

y/n blinked. “you mean the ancient muggle reptiles?”

megan grinned, wiggling her brows. “no no—i mean dragons.”

y/n leaned back slightly, brow raised. “ah. the wizarding dinosaurs.”

“exactly,” megan said. “but like, the real ones. not just textbook death statistics.”

“those statistics are there for a reason.”

“sure, but hear me out—maybe they’re just really misunderstood.”

y/n narrowed her eyes, clearly skeptical. “they breathe fire.”

“so do some gryffindors after too much pepper imps. that doesn’t make them evil.”

y/n snorted, but said nothing. and then, megan started to ramble.

it began with a casual thought about care of magical creatures, but spiraled—spectacularly—into a half-breathless monologue about how dragons got a bad rap, how it was all human error, how maybe if people stopped poking them with sharp things, they’d be less inclined to torch everything in sight.

“they’re just animals,” she said, hands waving to emphasize every point. “scary, sure, but also majestic. and a bit lonely. like… ancient. wise. brilliant, really. if they weren’t so busy being hunted or chained up, maybe they’d be—i dunno—more like companions. or partners. or, like, big winged—”

she stopped abruptly.

y/n was staring at her. not in confusion. not in judgment. but rather, interestingly enough, in awe. megan felt her face flushing when she noticed. she could’ve sworn she detected the faintest sliver of something soft behind her eyes.

“what?” megan whispered, blinking.

“nothing,” y/n said. then, a little gentler, “you’re cute when you ramble.”

megan short-circuited. she made a sound like a deflating balloon and buried her face in her arms.

y/n giggled. “so, what exactly are we looking for?”

megan peeked up. “dragon anatomy. possibly illness. definitely not for a test. totally not suspicious.”

“totally.”

they found a thick, worn copy of fires and flares: an in-depth look at draconian digestion tucked between two mislabeled transfiguration manuals. it looked older than the castle itself, bound in cracking leather with dragon-hide edges that shimmered faintly when touched. y/n handled it with expert care. megan fumbled it like it was made of treacle.

“right,” megan said, shouldering her bag. “now comes the hard part.”

“what’s that?”

“sneaking this past madam pince without shoving her foot up our rears.”

hagrid nearly dropped his teacup when he opened the door.

“blimey,” he rumbled, blinking down at the both of them. “yeh brought company.”

“this is y/n,” megan said, gesturing quickly. “she’s nice. and also very smart. please don’t worry.”

y/n offered a polite wave. “hello, professor.”

“just hagrid’s fine,” he beamed, already stepping back. “well, don’ just stand there—come in, come in.”

the hut was warm, the hearth crackling with a low fire, and the smell of cinnamon toast wafted in from a plate sitting on the table. fang wagged his tail sleepily near the corner, but his ears perked up when y/n walked in.

“she’s good with dogs,” megan whispered proudly.

hagrid scratched his beard, a little awkward. “’fraid it’s not dogs i need help with this time.”

he led them around to the back of his hutt, just near the fireplace, where a medium wooden crate was partially obscured by a heavy wool blanket. inside, curled like a sleepy ember, was the sickly form of a very small, very iridescent dragon. its scales shimmered with a pale, opalescent gleam—faint blue and green along the spine, and silver near the wings. its eyes were half-lidded, breath coming in slow wheezes.

y/n’s expression shifted instantly. from calm, to cautious.

“oh,” she said. “that’s… not legal.”

“not permanent!” hagrid hurried. “jus’… holdin’ him. on a favour. dumbledore’s orders. very hush-hush.”

“of course,” y/n muttered. “why wouldn’t it be.”

“he’s not been eatin’ right,” hagrid said, rubbing the back of his neck. “wanted meg ter take a look. but maybe yeh could help too.”

y/n crouched near the crate. the dragon lifted its head weakly. she didn’t flinch, though megan saw the way her shoulders tightened.

“this is an antipodean opaleye,” she murmured. “young. male, i think.”

“aye. haven’t named him yet. didn’t seem right.”

“so?” megan asked, voice soft as she watched y/n crouch near the crate again. “what’s the verdict?”

y/n glanced at her. “i’m no dragon doctor but he’s clearly not well. looks like some kind of mild respiratory infection? probably from the cold. these dragons are used to warmer climates—he shouldn’t be this far north, not without enchantments.”

hagrid scratched his head. “blimey. knew summat was off. poor lad’s been coughin’ like a cat with a hairball.”

“what have you been feeding him?”

“oh,” hagrid said. “er… i may’ve given him a bit o’ mutton stew.”

“of course you did,” y/n muttered, standing slowly. “he’s too young for raw meat. his jaw hasn’t developed fully.”

megan elbowed her gently. “you do realize he’s doing his best, yeah?”

“his best could’ve exploded this hut.”

“but it didn’t,” megan said, grinning.

hagrid cleared his throat. “right, well. hate ter leave yeh girls with him, but i’ve got a quick errand in diagon alley. just a meetin’—nothin’ yeh need worry about—strictly confidential—dumbledore business—oh, i shouldna said that—”

“go on, hagrid,” megan said, already waving him toward the door. “we’ll be fine.”

“just for an hour or two,” he said, shuffling for his coat. “keep the fire goin’, and don’t let him out the crate. oh—and mind the tail. he’s swingy.”

he left in a thunder of footsteps and the door thunked closed behind him, leaving a slightly nervous silence in his wake.

megan, of course, bounded straight to the crate.

“alright, you little biscuit,” she whispered, crouching beside it. “time to make a new friend.”

the dragon—small, shimmering, and vaguely sneezy—lifted its head at her voice. it let out a breath that sounded a bit like a deflating kettle, then rested its snout back on its forearms.

“pip,” megan said suddenly. “he looks like a pip, doesn’t he?”

“you’re naming him?”

“someone’s gotta. you can’t just go around calling a dragon ‘the dragon.’ that’s cruel. what if he has an identity crisis?”

y/n stood, stepping away from the crate. she leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, watching her.

“you really like magical creatures, don’t you?” she asked.

“mmhm.”

“even the ones that could eat you?”

“especially those.”

y/n raised an eyebrow. “and why’s that?”

megan sat back on her heels, tugging at her sleeves absently. “i dunno. they’re just… honest. they don’t pretend to be anything they’re not. if they don’t like you, you know. if they do, you’ve earned something real. and they’re smart, too. smarter than most people give them credit for.”

pip snorted softly.

megan reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny, glinting bauble—a broken earring she’d found outside the charms corridor. she held it out carefully. pip blinked at it once, then nudged it into his bedding with something like contentment.

“you know,” y/n said after a long pause, “there’s a reason dragons are highly classified creatures. the ministry regulates every known species. not just because they’re rare—because they’re unpredictable. they attack unprovoked. they hoard gold. they set things on fire.”

“so do some politicians,” megan said. “should we crate them too?”

y/n blinked, then laughed—genuinely laughed—and megan’s heart nearly stopped.

“okay, but,” y/n continued, brushing a loose hair behind her ear, “they’re also territorial. and deadly. and illegal to breed. i’m just saying… you have a very romanticised view of them.”

megan shrugged. “maybe. or maybe i just believe they’re capable of more than what the ministry says.”

“that’s very gryffindor of you.”

“you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“it’s not. just… idealistic.”

“and you’re a realist.”

“someone has to be.”

megan grinned at her, eyes crinkling. “we balance each other out.”

“do we?” y/n asked, tone teasing.

“absolutely,” megan said. “you’re the brains. i’m the charm.”

y/n snorted again. “you fell out of a window this morning.”

“with charm,” megan insisted.

pip let out a soft growl-sneeze, and both girls turned their attention back to the crate.

y/n moved a little closer, kneeling beside megan. their shoulders brushed.

“he really is beautiful,” y/n murmured. 

they sat like that for a while. no more arguments. just quiet understanding and the flicker of firelight casting gold along the floor.

__

they’d been spending more time together.

not always in the library. not always in hagrid’s hut. sometimes it was quiet walks around the lake, with their shoulders brushing and conversation drifting between nonsense and dragons. sometimes it was scribbled notes passed in class, ink-smudged and full of half-spelled jokes. just yesterday it was y/n sitting beside megan in the quidditch stands, scarf pulled up to her nose, pretending she understood the rules as manon zipped past overhead, a hufflepuff chaser hot on her tail.

of course megan noticed the glances. the way y/n’s friends looked at her—pointed, curious, smug. how manon wiggled her brows with absolutely no subtlety, how sophia giggled behind her hands. how lara, the worst of them all, blew dramatic kisses from across the great hall like she was in some kind of romantic play. megan rolled her eyes. every time.

 the truth was… she didn’t mind. she didn’t care.

she was simply enjoying herself. the time. the company. the girl.

she liked the way y/n’s eyes lit up when she solved something difficult. the way she tilted her head when she was curious, or how she’d go quiet—not awkward, just thoughtful—when she was really listening. she liked how y/n never made her feel small for not knowing something, never laughed when megan tripped over her words or misread a line or forgot what she was saying halfway through a sentence. and more than anything, she liked how being around y/n made her feel… steadier. like maybe she didn’t always have to fill the silence with a joke. like maybe it was okay to just be.

megan didn’t say any of this out loud. of course not. but it lived in the way her gaze lingered a little longer than it used to. in the way she started showing up to classes early,  just in case y/n did too. in the way she started carrying sugar quills in her pocket—y/n’s favorite—like it was no big deal.

y/n learned, in bits and pieces, that megan had tried to do the research herself. she just… struggled. not because she didn’t care—she did, fiercely—but because reading long passages and deciphering thick magical texts was hard. harder than it should’ve been. megan never said it out loud. she didn’t need to. y/n just knew.

she started reading things aloud when they studied. doodling diagrams instead of writing long explanations. pointing things out in books with gentle, quiet patience, like it was the most normal thing in the world. like it wasn’t a big deal.

megan noticed. of course she noticed. and she didn’t say anything either.

she just let herself fall harder.

eventually, after about six near-catastrophic experiments, they landed on a plan for pip. a potion. a tonic, technically. brewed to soothe his respiratory tract and reinforce his magical immune system. it required one semi-illegal root and two very expensive herbs. y/n brewed it in an empty classroom after hours. megan stole half the ingredients from snape’s cupboard.

“he definitely knows,” megan whispered as they made their way to hagrid’s hut the next afternoon.

“he always knows,” y/n replied, tucking the warm vial into her satchel. “we’re just pretending he doesn’t.”

hagrid opened the door before they even knocked. “girls!” he beamed, ushering them in with a wave of his enormous hand. “pip’s been waitin’ on yeh!”

the little dragon looked marginally better. still a bit sniffly, but more alert, with clearer eyes and fewer wheezes. he perked up when megan crouched beside him and gave a happy little huff.

“you’re going to feel loads better,” megan said softly, crouched beside the crate. “my ravenclaw brewed you a magic smoothie.”

the words tumbled out before she could stop them.

my ravenclaw. her mouth clamped shut a beat too late, like her brain had only just caught up with her heart. it wasn’t meant to be a claim. then she glanced sideways.

y/n hadn’t flinched. hadn’t stiffened or laughed or even blinked in surprise. instead, there was a tiny, knowing smile at the corner of her mouth. just enough to send megan’s heart skittering sideways. she turned back to pip with a flushed face and a half-choked breath.

“it’s not a smoothie,” y/n muttered, kneeling beside her. “and don’t let him drink it too fast.”

megan held the bottle steady while y/n carefully fed pip the potion in slow, measured drops. he scrunched his nose, blinked a few times, then settled back into his crate with a content sigh.

hagrid sniffled. “bless yer hearts,” he said gruffly, wiping at his eyes. “he’s been like a sack o’ sad potatoes all week, but look at him now.”

y/n smiled politely. megan beamed. hagrid nodded to her with a fond grin.

“yer girlfriend’s got a smart head on ’er shoulders.”

megan choked on absolutely nothing.

“she’s not—I mean—we’re not—I—”

but y/n didn’t even flinch. didn’t so much as glance in megan’s direction. she just tilted her head and said, smooth as honey, “thanks, hagrid.”

megan, meanwhile, went so red she could’ve powered a lighthouse. she kept quiet through the rest of the visit, nodded mutely as hagrid patted their shoulders and called them “a right clever pair,” and barely squeaked out a goodbye before they slipped out the door and back into the fading afternoon.

they made it halfway up the hill toward the castle before megan finally remembered how to breathe.

the path was quiet, the grass still damp from morning mist. birds chirped somewhere above, the air smelled faintly of woodsmoke and lavender, and megan was actively trying to avoid combusting on the spot.

y/n, mercifully, didn’t let her spiral in silence forever.

“you know,” she said gently, “i’ve been thinking about what you said. about dragons being misunderstood.”

megan glanced over, still sheepish. “yeah?”

“you were right.” y/n nudged her lightly with her shoulder. “they’re dangerous, sure. but so are a lot of things. doesn’t mean they don’t deserve patience. or care.”

megan’s heart skipped. “told you so.”

“don’t push it.”

they walked a little farther. their arms brushing. once, then again. y/n’s sleeves were pulled down over her hands, but megan still caught the quiet way she fidgeted with the hem of one.

“i’ve really enjoyed this,” y/n said, almost too casually.

megan blinked. “what?”

“us. this whole… project. spending time together.” her voice was soft, but steady. “it’s been… really nice.”

megan’s stomach did a backflip. “yeah. yeah, it has.”

a pause. a breath. then y/n leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek—quick, careful, but certain.

megan stopped walking. just—stopped. like someone had hit pause on her entire nervous system. her heart launched itself somewhere into her throat. her brain made a sound like a fizzing cauldron. and before she could even think about it—before she could stop herself—her mouth moved on its own.

“i’ve been in love with you since potions class last year!” she blurted, voice way too loud for the quiet path.

silence.

y/n turned to look at her, wide-eyed—but not shocked. if anything, she looked like she’d been waiting. like she’d heard something she already knew and was just happy to hear it out loud.  she stepped closer. close enough for megan to see the crinkle at the corners of her eyes, the blush rising on her cheeks, the spark of something warm and bright that had nothing to do with the sun.

“really?” she asked, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

megan nodded. “yeah. i mean. obviously.”

y/n laughed, quiet and bright and just a little breathless. then, without hesitation, she reached out and laced their fingers together, her grip warm and certain.

“finally,” she murmured, tugging megan gently forward.

and then—just like that—she kissed her. not on the cheek. not a quick, shy thing. but a real kiss. sure and steady and soft enough to make time tilt sideways. megan’s breath hitched. the world around her blurred into background noise. all she could feel was the press of y/n’s mouth against hers, the way her nose brushed lightly against megan’s, the way her free hand curled at the edge of her sleeve like she was afraid to let go. it was sweet. and it was clumsy. and it was absolutely perfect. megan felt something behind her ribs detonate in the best, most dangerous kind of way.

she kissed her back, eyes fluttering closed, every nerve in her body buzzing like she’d swallowed a snitch.

when they finally pulled apart, y/n was smiling. so was megan. helplessly.

they stood there for a beat, forehead to forehead, hearts racing.

“so,” megan said, breathless. “do we… tell the dragon first? or our friends?”

y/n snorted. “we’ll flip a coin.”

they kept walking, hand in hand, a little dazed, a lot delighted—like two girls who’d just wandered into the happiest kind of trouble. they walked the rest of the way back to the castle hand in hand. cheeks flushed, minds spinning, steps lighter than air, and absolutely no idea what they were going to tell their friends.

but for once, that wasn’t a problem to solve. not right now.

right now, there was just the girl.

[uns4lted]

ɪ'ᴍ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ

pairings: karasu tabito x gn!reader, otoyo eita x gn!reader, kenyu yukimiya x gn! reader tags/warnings: reader and karasu are already together, pre-relationship stage in otoya's and kenyu's! genre: fluff synopsis: the first time the boys realized that they're in love with you. boys being so giddy lol.

── .✦ karasu tabito

It was just a stupid crush, really.

At least, that’s what Karasu told himself in the beginning. Liking you had been easy. You made things fun, kept him entertained with your quick wit and little quirks. Being with you felt like a game he couldn’t lose, but he didn’t think too much about what it all meant. Love? That was too heavy for something that felt so light.

But then there was that moment.

It wasn’t anything big. Just an ordinary evening in his place. You were on the couch, reading a novel, while some random show played in the background. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch with his own phone in hand, pretending to care about whatever it was on the screen.

You sighed, soft and quiet, but enough to pull his attention away. When he glanced up, you weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was distant, you were caught in a thought you weren’t planning to share.

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice casual, not expecting much of an answer.

“Nothing,” you said after a pause, your lips curving into a faint smile. “I just feel lucky, that’s all.”

You didn’t explain, didn’t even look at him for long. Instead, your hand found its way to his dark blue hair, brushing through it in a way that was both careless and comforting. It wasn’t the first time you’d done it, but something about the way you did it this time made his chest feel tight. You were so at ease that being with him was the most natural thing in the world.

He stayed quiet, watching as you went back to your book like you hadn’t just shifted his entire perspective. It wasn’t just what you said—it was how you said it, it wasn’t something you had to think about. Like being grateful for him was as simple as breathing.

He didn’t know what to do with himself. Usually, he’d have some smart remark ready, some way to brush off whatever you were making him feel. But now? He just sat there, staring at you, wondering how he hadn’t seen it before.

He couldn’t pinpoint when the shift had happened. Maybe it was gradual, something that had been building all along. But in that moment, he knew with absolute certainty: this wasn’t just some crush or infatuation. It was deeper than that. You’d become something he didn’t think he needed, something he couldn’t imagine letting go.

Karasu leaned his head back against the couch, closing his eyes for a moment. The warmth of your words lingered, settling into places he didn’t even realize had been empty.

Love wasn’t supposed to sneak up on him like this. Somehow, you’d done it anyway.

── .✦ otoya eita

This goofy womanizer doesn’t do love or some shit.

Otoya wasn’t the type to lose sleep over anyone. Flirting came easy, and leaving things just the way they were made it even easier. He knew how to have a good time, how to make someone laugh or blush, but feelings? Commitment? Nah, that wasn’t his thing. Relationships were messy, and Otoya didn’t stick around long enough to get caught in all that.

Or so he thought.

It was late, the kind of night where the city outside his window had shifted to a low hum. You were over, laid across his bed and flipping through a magazine you’d brought with you. He leaned against the headboard, half-listening to you ramble about something you’d found amusing in the pages.

“Look at this,” you said, your voice bright as you held up the magazine. The glossy picture was of some ridiculous piece of clothing—a neon-green sweater with feathers along the sleeves. “Can you imagine someone actually wearing this?”

Otoya smirked, the corner of his mouth tugging up lazily. “You’d pull it off.”

“Oh, please.” You laughed, the sound light and effortless, but your eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “You’re just saying that so I won’t roast your fashion choices next.”

“Hey, my style’s flawless, thank you very much,” he shot back, nudging your leg with his foot.

The banter was easy, the kind he thrived on. But he's bothered with the look you gave him, your smile plastered on your lips, the sparkle in your eyes that paused just a moment longer than it should have. That did something to him.

“You’re so full of yourself, Otoya,” you said, shaking your head, but your smile didn’t waver.

“And you love it though,” he retorted, his grin widening.

But as the words hung in the air, he realized how much he wished they were true.

You rolled your eyes and went back to your magazine, oblivious to the way his heart was suddenly pounding harder than it had any right to. He tried to shake it off, but it was no use. His gaze kept drifting back to you—how comfortable you looked.

He didn’t know what was worse: the way you didn’t seem to notice how much of a mess you were making of him, or the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

When you stretched out your arm, holding the magazine over to him, your fingers brushed his for just a second. It wasn’t anything special, just an ordinary moment. But for Otoya, it felt like everything else faded for a heartbeat.

“You okay?” you asked, tilting your head when he didn’t respond right away.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, his voice too casual. “Just tired.”

That night, after you’d left, Otoya lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The silence felt too loud, and every time he closed his eyes, he saw you. Heard your laugh. Felt the warmth of your smile.

“Damn it,” he muttered, rolling onto his side.

He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He wasn’t supposed to want someone so badly it hurts. But no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, he couldn’t ignore the truth anymore.

You weren’t just another thrill. You’d become something that had him turning and tossing in bed, wondering how the hell he’d let himself fall this hard.

── .✦ kenyu yukimiya

Kenyu had always been focused. Soccer demanded it, and so did modeling. Juggling both wasn’t easy, but he never complained. He’d chosen this path after all. What he hadn’t chosen or even planned for was you.

At first, he thought your support was just a pure act of kindness. You’d always been there, cheering him on, listening when he talked about the challenges of balancing his passions. But over time, it became clear that you weren’t just being polite. You genuinely cared—about his dreams, his struggles, even the small things he sometimes overlooked himself.

The realization didn’t hit him all at once. It came slowly, building with every little thing you did. Like today.

The two of you were at the mall, your idea after he mentioned needing new clothes for an upcoming shoot. Kenyu wasn’t bad at picking out outfits but you insisted he deserved a second opinion.

“Try this,” you said, holding up a sleek black jacket. “It’s simple but classy. Totally your vibe.”

He took it with a small smile, letting your enthusiasm guide him. You had an eye for these things, and he trusted your judgment more than he cared to admit.

As he stepped out of the fitting room, you were waiting, your expression lighting up when you saw him.

“See? I told you it’d look good,” you said, giving him an approving nod. “The fit’s perfect, and it goes with almost everything.”

He turned to the mirror, studying the way the jacket fit across his shoulders. It was nice, sure, but what stuck with him more was the way you looked at him. You weren’t just proud of the outfit but of him too.

"Didn't know you had such good taste." he said, half-teasing. “Maybe you should be my stylist.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’d love to, but I think your team would have a thing or two to say about that.”

The two of you wandered through the store for a while longer, you occasionally holding up shirts or accessories, and him silently appreciating the way you paid attention to the smallest details. You truly cared about how he felt in them, about making sure he was confident and comfortable.

At some point, as you stood next to him, you were holding up a scarf and debating its practicality, then it hit him.

This wasn’t just about being a fashion guru or supporting his career. It was about you—your thoughtfulness, your sincerity, and the way you noticed and valued even the smallest things about him.

His chest tightened for a moment that he forgot how to speak.

“Kenyu?” you asked, tilting your head at him. “Is everything alright?”

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Just… thanks for helping me with this.”

“Of course,” you said, brushing it off like it was nothing. But to him, it wasn’t nothing.

After everything had settled, the two of you decided to leave the mall. His thoughts kept circling back to the moment. He couldn’t remember when it had begun, but he knew now that this was more than just appreciation for your support.

He is in love with you.

The realization was unexpected, but it left him feeling lighter, as if he’d discovered something he didn’t know he’d been searching for.

likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! masterlist

[heliosunny]

moze lucky egg pretty please! or some moze foods… there arent many on tumblr do people not like this goofy man or sth im crying so down bad for him 😭 ily btw!

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Moze x Reader

The egg had an aura of mystery from the moment it appeared, a smooth, dark violet shell etched with faint crimson and silver veins. It gave off no sound, no vibrations, just an eerie, unsettling stillness that seemed to draw the eye and silence the mind. For three days, it sat in your home. There was no hum or shift, just the kind of quiet that made you feel like you were being watched.

On the third night, as you prepared to sleep, the egg changed. The faint light of the moon seemed to reflect off its surface unnaturally, creating subtle ripples of motion within the shell. No sound accompanied the cracks that began to spread along its surface, the splitting lines glowing faintly silver, almost too dim to notice.

When the egg finally opened, there was no burst of energy or dramatic display, only silence. The pieces of the shell disintegrated into a mist that dissipated almost instantly, leaving behind a tall figure who stood as still as a shadow.

His presence was suffocatingly quiet. His silver hair caught the faint light, and his violet eyes, sharp and cold, scanned the room methodically before settling on you. He said nothing, his expression unreadable, but the intensity of his gaze spoke volumes.

After a long pause, he finally broke the silence with a soft, almost dispassionate tone "You didn’t summon me. Someone else did."

His words, though few, felt heavy, carrying layers of meaning you couldn’t yet unravel. Before you could respond, he turned his attention away, scanning the surroundings with calculated precision, as though assessing potential threats or gathering information.

You blinked at him, your confusion obvious. “What do you mean, ‘someone else’? I got you from a Lucky Egg Dispenser. You’re the one who hatched from it.”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as though your answer presented a puzzle he needed to solve. He sat down across from you with a fluid grace that made no sound, his hands resting calmly on his lap. “A mere chance?” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Fate, then. How inconvenient.”

His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. You could tell he wasn’t dismissing you entirely, but his eyes, piercing and observant, seemed to dissect your every move.

“I… wasn’t expecting to spawn anyone, let alone you” you admitted, still trying to process the situation. “You’re...uh...different.”

The man let out the faintest exhale, something that could have been a laugh if it weren’t so devoid of amusement. “That much is obvious” he said. “I shouldn’t even be here. My skills aren’t meant for… casual company.”

He was cryptic, but before you could ask what he meant, he vanished. Just...gone. One moment, he was sitting in front of you, and the next, the space he occupied was empty. You froze, whipping your head around the room.

“Moze?” you called out, wait.. how did you know his name?

A shiver creeping up your spine.

There was no response. The silence stretched long enough that you started to second-guess yourself. Had he left? Or worse, had he never been real to begin with?

Then, out of nowhere, a gloved hand rested on your shoulder.

You yelped and spun around, nearly stumbling over your chair. Moze was behind you, standing close, his face unreadable as he observed your startled reaction.

“Do you frighten easily?” he asked, his tone neutral, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Amusement? Curiosity? You couldn’t tell.

“What? How—did you…?” you stammered, trying to catch your breath.

He ignored your question, his voice dropping lower, almost conspiratorial. “You’re not safe. Not from me. Not from anyone. Keep that in mind.”

Was it a warning? A threat? Or some strange attempt at reassurance?

Whatever it was, one thing was clear, Moze wasn’t like anyone you’d encountered before. He moved like a shadow, disappearing and reappearing at will, his very presence unsettling yet impossible to ignore. You couldn’t shake the feeling that, whether you wanted him or not, you were now under his watchful eye. And his gaze, silent and calculating, promised that he wouldn’t be letting you go anytime soon.

The day felt normal enough, even with the weight of Moze's mysterious presence lingering in the back of your mind. You’d gone out as usual, stopping by the market to grab a few essentials, chatting with friends, and dropping off some packages for people who had asked for your help.

You didn’t think much about him- well, not entirely. A part of you assumed he was nearby, watching like a silent shadow, but there wasn’t any point in worrying about it. After all, he had made it clear that he was skilled at staying unseen, and there wasn’t much you could do to change that.

As you arrived home, you pushed the door open and let out a small sigh, glad to finally be back. The groceries weighed heavily in your arms, and you focused on setting them down before tending to anything else.

“You’re careless” came a low voice right behind you.

You jumped, nearly dropping the bag of food in your hands. Turning around sharply, you found Moze standing there, close enough that you could see the sharp, calculating glint in his eyes.

“Can you not do that?” you snapped, your heart still racing. “What is with you and showing up like this?”

Moze didn’t flinch at your tone. If anything, he seemed unfazed, his expression blank as usual. “You’re easy to follow” he replied, as though that were some kind of excuse.

You stared at him, baffled. “I don’t even know how you followed me. I didn’t see you once all day.”

“I didn’t need to be seen” he said simply, his voice as calm as ever.

The statement unsettled you, though you weren’t sure why. His ability to blend into the shadows was almost uncanny, and while it should have felt impressive, it mostly made you uneasy.

“Why are you even doing this?” you asked, crossing your arms. “I didn’t ask you to babysit me.”

Moze tilted his head slightly, his gaze unwavering. “You didn’t need to” he said, his tone dropping into something more deliberate. “It’s not safe for you to be so… accessible.”

“Look, I can handle myself” you said, trying to shake off the unease. “I don’t need someone following me around like some kind of guardian angel—especially not one who keeps scaring the life out of me every time he shows up.”

Moze stepped closer, his movements as silent as ever, until the air between you felt suffocatingly thin. “You don’t see what I see,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s why you think you’re fine. But you’re not.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words.

“I’m not here because you want me to be” he continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m here because you need me to be. And whether you realize it or not, you’ll be safer if you stay under my watch.”

His words left you speechless. You didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know whether to feel reassured or terrified. But one thing was certain—Moze wasn’t going anywhere.

It had been a few days since you realized Moze's presence had started leaving faint traces behind—wisps of purple smoke that seemed to hang in the air wherever he was. At first, it was subtle, but now, you could feel his presence like a sixth sense, the faint smoky trails marking his hiding spots.

At first, Moze didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care. But when you caught him twice in a row, once behind the curtains and another time perched silently on a rooftop, he began to understand.

“You shouldn’t be able to find me” he muttered one evening, his voice as flat and unreadable as ever.

You shrugged, pointing to a faint swirl of violet mist by the windowsill where he’d been moments before. “I don’t know how, but… it’s like I just know where you are now. Maybe it’s something to do with that egg you hatched from?”

Moze considered this for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “A bond” he murmured, almost to himself. “That must be it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A bond?”

He nodded, though his expression remained neutral. “A connection between us. It’s rare, but not impossible. Perhaps the egg linked me to you in some way.”

“Oh that's why I know your name...”

“What was that?”

“N-nothing!”

The idea made you feel… strange. You weren’t sure if you liked the thought of being linked to someone so secretive and intense, but at the same time, it wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

“Well, if that’s the case, then you don’t need to sneak around so much anymore,” you said, crossing your arms. “I can sense you anyway, so there’s no point in hiding.”

Moze tilted his head slightly, as if weighing your words. “It’s not about hiding” he said. “It’s about staying sharp. But… if you can find me that easily, perhaps it’s time for a different approach.”

“Different how?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

He didn’t answer, but the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. It was the first time you’d seen anything close to an emotion from him, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

Still, you couldn’t deny that having someone else around, even someone as cryptic as Moze, made life a little less lonely. As a freelancer, you were used to working on your own, but his presence, odd as it was, had started to grow on you.

One evening, as you sat at your desk going over some requests, an idea struck you. Turning to Moze, who was leaning against the wall like a silent sentinel, you spoke up.

“I think we need a change of scenery!” you said.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but not willing to ask outright.

“I mean, we’ve been cooped up here for days...” you continued. “And honestly, I could use a break. What about you? Wouldn’t hurt to, I don’t know, do something together.”

Moze seemed to consider this, his gaze flickering toward the window. “Where?” he asked simply.

You thought for a moment before a grin spread across your face. “How about the mountains? Fresh air, open skies… it’ll be good for both of us. And who knows? Maybe we’ll find some work out there too.”

Moze’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of interest in his eyes. “If that’s what you want” he said, his voice low and even.

“Great!” you said, clapping your hands together. “We’ll leave in the morning.”

The next day, you packed up a few essentials and set out with Moze by your side. The journey was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Moze wasn’t much for small talk, but every now and then, he’d offer a comment or observation that caught you off guard with its sharpness.

When you finally reached the base of the mountains, the crisp, cool air was a welcome change. The two of you hiked for a while, taking in the scenery, until you found a spot with a breathtaking view of the valley below.

“This,” you said, gesturing to the view, “is exactly what I needed.”

Moze stood beside you, his eyes scanning the horizon. “It’s… peaceful” he admitted, his voice softer than usual.

You smiled, surprised by his comment. “See? I told you this would be good for us.”

For the first time since you’d met him, Moze seemed to relax, the tension in his shoulders easing as he stood there beside you. And for a brief moment, it felt like the bond between you, whatever it was, had grown just a little stronger.

The serenity of the mountaintop was short-lived. Moze stood a few paces behind you, his gaze fixed on the horizon as you enjoyed the view. The crisp wind whistled through the rocks, carrying with it a fleeting sense of peace.

But then, you heard it, footsteps.

You turned, expecting to see fellow hikers, but instead, three unfamiliar figures emerged from the treeline. They moved with purpose, their eyes cold and scanning until they landed on Moze.

“Finally found you” the tallest one said with a sly smirk.

Moze shifted slightly, his stance becoming rigid, but his expression remained neutral.

“Friends of yours?” you asked cautiously, glancing at him.

“They aren’t” he replied, his voice steady yet laced with a faint edge.

The tallest figure took a step forward, his eyes narrowing. “You’re good at hiding, I’ll give you that. Took us weeks to pick up your trail. You’ve caused quite a stir, you know.”

“I don’t care” Moze replied coldly, his hand resting near the hilt of the dagger strapped to his side.

The man chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “You should. Someone like you doesn’t get to live in peace. There’s too much value in a talent like yours to let it go unnoticed.”

You stepped back instinctively, suddenly aware of the tension crackling in the air. “What do you want?” you asked sharply, though you already had an idea.

“Not you” the man said dismissively, his gaze flicking back to Moze. “We’re here for him. If he comes quietly, no one gets hurt.”

Moze didn’t move, his icy stare locked onto the group. “You won’t get the chance to hurt anyone.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before the closest figure lunged toward him, drawing a blade.

What followed was a blur of motion. Moze moved faster than you thought humanly possible, dodging the strike with ease and countering with a swift, brutal strike to the man’s wrist. The blade clattered to the ground, and Moze followed up with a precise kick that sent his attacker sprawling.

The other two hesitated for a fraction of a second before charging in together. Moze met them head-on, his movements fluid and calculated. Every strike was deliberate, every dodge flawless. Within moments, all three were incapacitated, groaning on the ground.

You stared, your heart pounding in your chest. You’d known Moze was capable, but seeing him dismantle three armed opponents so effortlessly was something else entirely.

Moze turned to you, his usual calm expression replaced by something darker. “This won’t be the last time” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“What do you mean?” you asked, still trying to process what had just happened.

“They’re after me” he said simply. “And they’ll keep coming.”

You felt a chill run down your spine at the certainty in his tone.

He stepped closer, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly as it locked onto yours. “I’ll deal with them,” he said firmly. “But you—” He paused, his hand brushing against your arm. “You need to be careful.”

“I can handle myself.” you said, though you weren’t sure you believed it at that moment.

Moze’s jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, an emotion you couldn’t quite place flickered across his face. “That’s not good enough” he said quietly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Moze crouched down near the unconscious attackers, methodically searching them for anything that could reveal more about their intentions. His movements were calm but precise, as though this was something he’d done countless times before.

You stayed rooted in place, your eyes following him nervously. “What are you doing?”

“Checking for clues” he replied without looking at you. “Who they work for. Why they found me here. Anything that could give us an edge.”

“Us?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

He paused, glancing back at you. “Yes. You’re part of this now, whether you like it or not.”

“I didn’t ask to be” you muttered.

“No” he said softly, almost to himself. “But I’m not leaving you out of it. I can’t.”

Moze stood, holding up a small device he’d retrieved from one of the attackers. He pressed a button, and a holographic projection sprang to life, displaying a list of names and locations. Your stomach dropped when you saw your own name on the list.

“Why am I on there?” you asked, stepping closer.

“They’re not just after me” Moze said grimly. “They’re using you as leverage. A way to draw me out.”

You felt a surge of anger and fear, clenching your fists. “This is insane. I don’t even know these people.”

“They don’t care” Moze replied. “They’ll use whatever they can to get to me. And now they know you’re important to me.”

“Important?”

Moze’s eyes locked onto yours, unflinching and intense. “Yes.”

Before you could respond, the sound of distant voices reached your ears. Moze’s head snapped up, his body instantly tensing.

“We need to leave” he said, his voice sharp. “Now.”

The quiet hum of the night settled around you as you lay on the stiff mattress of the inn, exhaustion weighing heavy on your body. Moze had been restless earlier, but you convinced him to rest, even if only for a few hours.

Yet when you woke up, the room was eerily empty.

Frowning, you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. The blanket that had been draped over you, no doubt Moze’s doing, slipped off as you got to your feet. The night air was crisp as you stepped towards the slightly open door, a faint glow of lantern light flickering from the hallway.

You heard voices.

Pressing yourself against the wall, you moved silently, instincts guiding you as you crept toward the source. Around the corner, past the wooden railing of the inn’s second floor, you caught sight of Moze standing in the shadows of a candlelit alcove. He wasn’t alone.

A group of men stood before him. They spoke in hushed voices, but you managed to catch snippets of their conversation.

“—should just take care of it now.”

“No.” Moze’s voice was firm, colder than you’d ever heard it. “I’ll handle it my way.”

Another man scoffed. “You’re getting soft.”

There was a low, metallic sound, Moze’s weapon being unsheathed just slightly. The group stiffened.

“Say that again” Moze murmured, his tone a razor-sharp warning.

The man hesitated before muttering a curse under his breath. “Tch. Fine. But I don’t think your plan will go smoothly.”

A tense silence stretched before Moze spoke again. “This is my problem. I'll handle it myself.”

He was planning something. Something dangerous. And worse, it involved you.

Before you could process it further, a chill ran down your spine.

The air shifted.

You turned, only to find yourself face-to-face with Moze.

Your breath hitched. You hadn’t even heard him move. His hand gripped your wrist before you could step back, his purple eyes boring into yours.

“You shouldn’t be here” he murmured, voice devoid of emotion.

“I—” You swallowed. “Moze, what was that? What are you planning?”

His grip tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you from escaping. “You were listening.”

“Of course I was! You were talking about handling something alone. If this is about me—”

“It is.”

The blunt confirmation sent a jolt through your chest.

“Moze—”

“I told you before.” He leaned in slightly, his presence overwhelming. “They won’t stop coming for you. I’m just making sure they never get the chance.”

His voice was eerily calm, but his eyes burned with an unsettling resolve.

You shook your head, trying to steady your breathing. “That’s not— You can’t just kill people, Moze. There are other ways-”

He sighed, tilting his head as if you were missing the obvious. “There’s not.”

“You don’t get to decide that!” you snapped, trying to pull your wrist free. His grip didn’t budge.

“I do” he said simply. “Because you’re mine to protect.”

“You’re lying.” Your voice was firm, but deep down, you weren’t sure.

Moze stared at you, unblinking. “Am I?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay steady. “Those men—your ‘enemies’—they were your allies, weren’t they?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His silence was louder than any confirmation.

“I heard everything, Moze.” You took a step back, but there was nowhere to go. “They weren’t trying to hurt me. They were questioning you. You’ve been acting on your own—”

Still, nothing. But his eyes darkened ever so slightly.

Your breath came out uneven. “Why?”

A flicker of something unreadable passed over his face before he finally spoke.

“Because you don’t belong to them. To anyone. But me”

“You were never part of their plans” Moze continued, voice smooth, composed. “I was the one planning it all along. They don't see your value. That's why...”

“You—planned this?” Your voice faltered, but you forced the words out.

Moze exhaled, almost like he was relieved you had finally caught up. “Yes.”

The admission knocked the breath from your lungs.

The way he always knew things before you did. His unnatural protectiveness, his unwillingness to let you go.

It wasn’t coincidence. It wasn’t instinct.

It was deliberate.

From the very moment he entered your life, Moze had decided what your future would be.

“You weren’t supposed to find out this soon” he murmured. “I was going to give you more time to adjust. To accept it on your own.”

“Accept what?” Your voice shook with anger, confusion, fear.

Moze finally stepped closer, slow and careful, as if soothing an animal ready to bolt.

“That you’re mine.”

His hand lifted, fingers grazing your wrist—light, like a whisper of smoke.

“You think you still have a choice?” His tone wasn’t mocking. It was genuine. “I erased that the moment I decided to keep you.”

Before you could react, the floor beneath you rippled with darkness. A thick, swirling mass of smoke coiled around your ankles, rising like grasping hands. The air grew heavy, suffocating, laced with an energy so foreign yet undeniably his.

“Moze—” You barely choked out his name before the shadows surged upward.

Your vision blurred as gravity slipped from your grasp. The world twisted, silent and consuming, like sinking into an abyss with no end.

You hit solid ground, stumbling as the weight of the teleportation pressed into your bones. The atmosphere was different. The usual city noises were gone. No distant voices, no hum of life beyond thick walls.

You whipped around, pulse racing, but Moze was already there.

The dim lighting cast shadows over his figure, making him look almost ethereal. He stood between you and the only visible exit, his posture relaxed, unreadable. Yet the way his eyes fixated on you sent a clear message.

Your voice came out hoarse. “Where are we?”

Moze tilted his head slightly. “Somewhere safe.”

Safe.

For who?

Your breath came out shaky, but you forced yourself to stay composed. “You can’t just.... take me like this!”

Moze let out a quiet sigh, almost like he had expected this reaction. “I told you. You have no choice but to stay. With me”

His gaze, sharp and unwavering, pinned you in place.

Your hands curled into fists. “You can’t keep me here forever.”

Moze took a step closer, shadows curling at his feet in response. “You’d be surprised what I can do.”

[prettyfilmz]

PHYSICAL TOUCH • JEY USO

authors note: we have officially made it to the end of the love language series. thank you all so much for the support I have gained, it really means the world to me that you all love what i write and knowing some of my favorite authors on here love it too. sorry for taking so damn long to update, school has been kicking your girl's ass and I was really finding it hard to write during it all. but alas we made it!! I decided to end this series the same way I started it...with my baby jey uso. you are in for a treat with this one as this is the longest one shot i've written in the series🤭 well, don't let me keep you too long. without further a due, happy reading my loves and once again thank you💗🎀 p.s. jey looks so sexy with his red and black gear for survivor series🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

summary: jey don't wanna be "just a friend" to you anymore.

tags: 18+ (MDNI), written with black woman in mind, friends who really like each other, smoking, fluff, jey is obsessed with you, dirty talk, unprotected sex, car sex, kissing, biting (slight), small bits of roughness, overstimulation, oral (fem receiving), daddy kink,praise, this is goofy lovey dovey shit x10000.

word count: 2.7k words

now playing: red light special - tlc

it’s midnight. the air is crisp with the cool breath of late november, cool enough to give goosebumps but still not enough to bite.  you’re sitting low in the passenger seat of jey’s sleek black charger, legs crossed and dipped in the glow of the dashboard lights.  the subtle scent of ‘black ice’ air freshener mixes well with the slow haze of smoke curling from the joint between your fingers.

jey is sitting easy in his driver’s seat, one hand draped on the wheel, the other arm resting along the back of your seat, fingers casually brushing your shoulder.  his signature chain glints in the dim light from the street lamps as they pass, the soft rumble of the car’s engine making everything feel muted, more… intimate.

you exhale a slow, lazy stream of smoke out the cracked window, watching the way the city lights smear into streaks as the charger cruises down an empty street. a gentle r&b song played low in the speakers, its lyrics matching the faint thrum of tension hanging between the two of you.

“you gon’ pass that or hold it hostage, mama?” jey’s voice cuts through the thick quiet, low and teasing, making heat spark low in your belly.

you glance at him through your lashes, lips quirking into a small smirk.  “why? you need it more than me, greedy?”

he leans over slightly, closing the gap between you, his face a little too close, soft brown eyes locked on yours.  “oh I need somethin’, alright.” his grin is sharp but playful, that familiar flirtation slipping from his lips as easy as breathing.

you roll your eyes, even though a shiver crawls down your spine.  you flick the joint between your fingers, teasing, before finally passing it to him.  his fingertips graze yours when he takes it, the brief touch buzzing through you like a shock of electricity.

the air in the car shifts, as it always does when it’s just the two of you, hovering somewhere between platonic and dangerous.  it’s always been like this for years—friends who flirt too much, share too much, maybe fuck love each other too much.  it got complicated when you started seeing someone else, tried to shut that part of you down.  but now that’s over, and things have been creeping back to where they were.  no labels, just...  whatever this is.

jey takes a slow pull from the joint, his gaze never leaving you.  his lips wrap around it just so, and you hate how your thighs press together on instinct, an action he catches easily.

he smirks as he exhales, letting the smoke drift lazily out the window.  “missed this, you know.  just me and you. you ain't gotta act all tough around me, honey.”

your heart stumbles a little at the softness in his voice, but you keep your cool, leaning back against your seat like his words didn’t hit as deep as they did.  “you're getting soft on me,” you tease, smirking.

jey chuckles in return, shaking his head as he taps ash from the joint.  “yeah, yeah. but you love that shit, don't lie." his hand slides from the back of your seat to rest on your thigh, heavy and warm, thumb brushing idly over the curve just below your skirt.  the touch is familiar, claiming, like he’s always known you’d end up right back here.

you don't attempt to move his hand. instead, you settle into the weight of it, the warmth of his large palm massaging your skin,  biting your bottom lip to hide the little smile threatening to creep across your face. he’s watching you too close, like he is reading all of your thoughts.  and maybe he is—jey’s always known how to read you well with just a look.

he leans a little closer again, voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that always gets you into trouble.  “come here.”

you glance at him, the warmth in your chest spreading fast, and you know where this is headed.  you could pretend you don’t.  you could play coy.  but you don’t want to. not with him. not tonight.

instead, you lean in, and jey meets you halfway, his lips brushing yours once, twice, before he kisses you properly.  it's slow and deliberate, a kiss that feels like a reminder—like he’s been waiting for this, waiting for you.

his hand tightens on your thigh, and you sigh against his mouth, your lips parting for him, his tongue sliding against yours, deepening the kiss until you’re clinging to the front of his hoodie, breathing him in like the smoke lingering in the car.

he pulls back just enough to press his forehead to yours, both of you catching your breath.  his hand drifts higher on your thigh, slipping beneath the hem of your skirt with ease.  “I ever tell you how bad I missed you, baby?”

you hum, tilting your head to nip gently at his bottom lip.  “maybe? it would be better if you show me. ”

jey groans low in his throat, his hand leaving your thigh to grab the back of your neck, pulling you into another kiss—hungrier this time, all teeth and tongue. his free hand grips your thigh again, fingers digging into your skin.

he breaks the kiss to drag his lips down your neck, biting gently at the spot just beneath your ear that always makes you purr.  you gasp, arching against him, and he chuckles against your skin, his voice low and wrecked.  “that’s it, mama. I got you.”

your mind is already hazy, inebriated in the way his hands and mouth paint your body like a canvas, but it’s just the foreplay.  his fingers trail higher, brushing the edge of your panties, and you shiver, your breath stuttering out in a soft moan.

“you want this?” he murmurs against your neck, his thumb slipping beneath the damp fabric to tease you.  “words, baby.”

“yeah,” you breathe, barely able to form the word.  “please, jey.”

he grins against your skin, kissing you again as his fingers slip between your thighs, parting your lower lips easily. he groans softly at how wet you are, dragging his fingers through your slick folds with a slow, deliberate touch that makes your head fall back against the seat.

“look at you,” he mutters, voice thick with praise.  “so fuckin’ wet for me and I ain’ even taste her yet.”

you whimper, hips bucking against his hand, and he chuckles low in his throat, loving how desperate you are for him.

“you gon’ let me taste her, mama?” he asks, already pulling back enough to maneuver between your legs, carefully leaning over the gear shift so he’s fully in your space.

you don’t even have time to respond before he’s tugging your skirt and panties down, throwing them carelessly into the back seat.  his hands are on your thighs, spreading you wide, your pussy exposed, and glistening for his eyes only.

jey doesn’t hesitate. he dives in, tongue skillfully dragging through your silky folds with a hunger that leaves you breathless, thighs trembling. he eats you like your pussy is the lifeline that is keeping him alive, switching between sucking your clit and fucking your tight quivering hole with his tongue, the sounds are lewd and obscene which only heightens the pleasure for you two.

“s-hit,” you moan, fingers tangling in his hair as your hips grind your cunt against his mouth. he groans in response, the vibration of it making you cry out, the pressure building fast and sharp between your thighs.

“that's it sweetheart,” he murmurs between licks, his voice dripping with praise.  “you taste so sweet, baby. missed this pussy so much.”

you’re close—so close you can feel the knot tightening in your abdomen. your thighs clamp around his head, sputtering expletives and jey doesn’t let up, gripping your hips to keep you right where he wants you.

“come on, mama,” he urges, voice rough and low against you. “make a mess on me.”

that’s all it takes. your orgasm crashes over you, and you cry, back arching as you ride the wave of pleasure, jey holding you through it, his tongue relentless against your clit until you’re shaking, begging him to stop.

but he doesn’t.  he grins up at you, wicked and smug, and keeps going, sending you spiraling into another orgasm before you can even catch your breath.

“j-jey! w..wa-ait” you gasp, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as your body shakes with overstimulation.

“shhh, I got you,” he soothes, but his grin says otherwise—more like he loves seeing you fall apart for him, that he’s the only one who can make you feel like this.

and when he finally pulls back, lips and beard glistening with your juices, he leans in close, brushing his mouth against yours.

“you good, baby?” he asks, soft and playful, like he wasn’t worshipping you in between your thighs moments earlier.

all you could do is nod, breathless, and he kisses you again, allowing you to taste the sweet tanginess of yourself on his lips and tongue.

jey pulls back from the kiss, eyes heavy-lidded, but that cocky  grin of his never fades. he leans back in the driver’s seat, hands casually resting on the curve of your thighs, spreading them just enough to tease you with his gaze.  the warmth of your release is still causing your pussy to throb, but it’s not enough to fully satiate your lust. and with the way jey is gazes at you, he knows it too.

“come here, mama," jey murmurs, giving your thigh a quick slap. 

with a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, you shift over the console and climb into his lap.  you’re grateful for the roomy interior of the charger as you straddle him, thighs bracketing his hips.  he leans back, hands already roaming up your waist, under your top, squeezing at the soft globes of your breasts like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you.

“you comfy, baby?” he teases, palms pressing into your ass, grinding your bare pussy down against the thick bulge in his sweats. the friction makes both of you groan, and you can’t help the way your body moves on its own, rolling your hips against him.

jey bites his bottom lip, eyes locked on where you grind against him, the wet drag of your pussy staining the fabric of his sweats.  “fuck," he mutters, head falling back against the seat.  “you gon’ ride me just like that?  huh, baby?  make a mess all over me?"

you grin, the pressured heat between your legs building again.  “you always did like it messy.”

his fingers dig into your hips as he presses himself up against you, just enough to make you gasp.  “you know I like you,” he says, voice rough.  “always did."

the words hit you deep—more than they should—and for a second, the weight of them hangs in the air between you.  but you’re not here to talk about feelings, and jey knows it too.

he shifts under you, hand slipping down to stroke himself through his sweats.  “c’mon, baby.  take care of daddy.”

you slide a hand between your bodies, finding the waistband of his sweats and boxers, tugging them down just enough to free him. his cock springs free, thick and already leaking precum, and the sight of it causes you to slightly drool.  you wrap your fingers around him, stroking slowly, teasing, loving the way his breath stutters beneath you.

“damn, mama,” he groans, his grip tightening on your hips.  “you tryna kill me?”

you smile mischievously.  “maybe.” but you don’t play around with him—this isn’t about teasing, not tonight.

you lift yourself up, lining him up with your entrance, and he watches you with brown, half-lidded eyes, pink lips parted as he waits for you to sink down on him.  and when you do, the pleasurable stretch steals both of your breaths.

“fuck, baby,” jey groans, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as you take him inch by inch, slow and deliberate.  “that’s it...fuckin' perfect. you always take me so good, mama."

the praise hits you like a drug, making you moan as you bottom out, his cock buried deep inside you. you pause for a moment, adjusting to the stretch, and jey's hands roam your body like he can’t get enough of you—palming your ass, squeezing your waist, his thumbs brushing the curve of your breasts under your top.

“look at you," he murmurs, voice thick and filled with something dangerously close to awe. “this pussy was made just for me, huh?"

you roll your hips, slow and deliberate, grinding down on him until he curses under his breath, head falling back against the seat again.  “uh huh,” you whisper, leaning in close to kiss behind his ear, sucking on the lobe.  “all yours, daddy.”

the growl that rumbles from his chest is damn near primal. his hands grip your hips hard, guiding you into a rhythm that’s slow and heavenly, each roll of your hips dragging him deeper into you. the air between you is thick with heat, every breath shared, every moan swallowed by the other’s mouth as you kiss again, messy and uncoordinated.

“that’s it, baby," he groans, breaking the kiss to suck a mark into your neck.  “fuck yourself on me. just like that. good fucking girl.”

you gasp as his teeth graze your skin, the sharp sensation shooting straight to your swollen clit. as if he can read your body, his hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with expert precision, circling it in time with the roll of your hips.

“cum for me again, mama,” he murmurs, voice low and coaxing.  “lemme feel you cum on this dick.”

you can’t hold back—not with the way he’s filling you so perfectly, not with the way his thumb works your clit like it’s second nature, and certainly not with how the head of his cock presses deliciously against your g spot. your orgasm hits you fast and hard, your whole body tensing as you cry out, nails digging into his shoulders as you gush all over him.

“that’s my good girl," jey groans, grinding up into you as your warm gummy walls clamp down around him.  “makin’ a mess all over this dick.”

you’re still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax when jey’s grip on your hips tightens, and suddenly he’s fucking up into you, chasing his own release with rough, desperate thrusts causing you to whine.

“uh uh, take it, baby,” he growls through gritted teeth, hands locked on your hips as he drives into you, relishing in your choked sobs.  “gon' fill this pussy up.  you want that, honey? want me to cum in daddy’s pussy?”

“y-yessss,” you mewl, head burying itself in his neck as you grind against him, every nerve in your body on fire.  “please, daddy. cum in me please.”

the sound he makes is beautiful as he slams into you one last time, his hips stuttering as he spills his warm thick load into you, flooding your womb with his seed.

“shit,” he mutters, chest heaving, forehead falling to rest against your shoulder as you both catch your breath.

for a moment, the only sound in the car besides a song playing on low volume is the harsh rhythm of your breathing, the scent of sweat and sex mingling with the lingering haze of smoke.

you stay like that for a while, tangled together, your body still humming from the high of it all. jey’s hands roam lazily over your back, soothing, grounding, bringing you back down to earth and you can’t help but melt into him a little more.

eventually, he presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, grinning against your skin.  “told you I missed you girl.”

you laugh, breathless and light, brushing a hand through his hair.  “you’re so dumb.”

jey leans back just enough to look at you, his grin wide and boyish, the mischievous glint in his eye making your heart skip.  “yeah, but you love my dumbass.”

and damn it, he’s right.

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[naturesapphic]

I was wondering if you could make a short story about billie eilish where the reader craves food in the middle of the night (its my first time asking for something over here lmao🙈) make it into a fluff though.... thank youuu💝

Midnight Snack

Billie Eilish x fem!reader

Warnings: fluff :)

Tossing and turning in the bed, feeling incredibly restless, you just couldn’t go to sleep. You usually can fall asleep pretty quickly once you hit the bed but this night was different. Billie was sound asleep beside you as it was two in the morning and she’s been working all day, so you knew she was exhausted. The grumble of your stomach alarmed you and you quietly groaned underneath your breath.

You didn’t want to wake Billie up but you don’t like going downstairs in the dark and you really needed a snack. So you quietly rolled over to Billie’s side and poked her a few times while whispering her name. She didn’t budge so you leaned in and whispered “I ate all of your beans.” You said and Billie shot up in bed quickly and looked your way. “No fucking way you did.” She angrily said and narrowed her eyes at you.

“Shit Billie I was just kidding! You know I don’t like beans that much.” You quickly explained yourself and Billie let out a big sigh of relief. “That scared me. I was about to kick your ass.” She said with a small goofy smile on her face that made you giggle. “I’m hungry bils, can you come help me find me a snack?” You ask and started giving her puppy dog eyes that made her heart melt. “You woke me up so I could come and help you get a snack?” She asks as she gives you a really face. “And becuase it’s dark duh.” You corrected her and she snorts.

“Fine I’ll go, but only because I love you and I could go for a snack right now anyway.” Billie says as she throws the covers off the two of you and gets up. She pulls you up to your feet making your squeal and she pulls you to her chest. The two of you giggled your way down the stairs while you had your flashlight on your phone on. Yall went to the kitchen and started looking for food to eat. You settled on (y/f/s your favorite snack) and Billie made herself a quick little bean burrito. You and Billie ate in silence until yall were done and you went to get a glass of water.

Billie went up behind you and wraps her arms around your body, making you blush. “I love you babygirl.” She whispers lovingly in your ear making your body have chills. “I love you too bils…” you replied shyly that made her giggle. After fixing your glass, Billie said she wanted one so you quickly made her one. Carrying the two glasses, y’all went back upstairs to the bedroom and you sat down the glasses on your side of the bed on the nightstand. Billie went to her side of the bed and plopped in and quickly covering herself up. You smiled and went in your side and covered yourself up, scooting closer to your girlfriend for warmth.

You grabbed your glasses of water and the two of you chugged it like it was no tomorrow. Billie sat her empty glass on her nightstand while you did the same on your nightstand. “Thank you bils for coming with me.” You said lovingly as you basically got on top of her and cuddled her body. “Of course mamas. I’ll do anything for you. Always.” She said as she wraps her arms around you and kisses the top of your head. You smiled and closed your eyes, falling asleep in the arms of your lover, your sweet Billie.

A/n: thank you anon for this cute request! I hope you and everyone else likes it! Remember to stay hydrated and to rest! Take care of yourselves. I love y’all! Have a great Thursday today!

[com-i-cal]

i watched kpop demon hunters

i also wrote some thoughts under the cut about the movie (slight spoiler warninggg)

starting off with general thoughts: it's a great movie. i love the environments, the characters, the soundtrack, and the character designs. a lot of love was put in this movie and i think it really shows!! it's just really fun and has a pretty interesting plot, too.

i really love both how both kpop groups, huntr/x and the saja boys, can be badass and cool looking to goofy and fun. the expressions really sell it, too; again, you can tell the people working on this were having so much fun.

as for a few criticisms, i feel like the movie's way of giving exposition could be better. a lot of things were kind of glossed over (rumi's parents, what happened after rumi confronted celine, etc.) and it could have taken its time with the pacing. on the other hand, these things leave room for a sequel (which would def be exciting)

for rumi and jinu's romance subplot, i enjoyed it! it's not often you see enemies/rivals to lovers in mainstream media, and i really enjoyed their dynamic and banter. i wished they kinda stretched that out a little more, but i am kinda a sucker for slow burn and yearning :p

i unfortunately couldn't take jinu's sacrifice/death seriously since it reminds me of that one trend where the person catches the ball before it hits the camera and says, "you all right ladies? 😏" but that's just me. the dialogue was kinda cliche too, but i understand how people are sentimental about it.

it's also just a pet peeve of mine where a character dies and all the other characters are so quick to move on like it was nothing, which is what it kinda felt like at the end of the movie. like yeah, rumi was visibly sad when jinu died in front of her, but it was just for that one moment. this is my own personal opinion of course; it's a great movie nonetheless.

now a list of random details from the movie i like:

romance's hair being the shape of a heart

the demon flight attendant stumbling a little in her heels as she's walking to gwi-ma

the demon boy band not posing once but TWICE to convince gwi-ma

all the dance choreography and camera shots (especially in your idol)

jinu's little giggle as he's running in the bathhouse

rumi and jinu's whole kdrama-style meet cute (and rumi's face as she's falling)

baby saja piggy back riding one of the other saja boys

huntr/x's evil little sneaking backstage while the saja boys are on the variety show

rumi going straight into the takedown choreography during the idol awards even when she didn't know what was happening

jinu cringing at himself after saying bye to rumi

the honmoon reacting to rumi when she yells

derpy's (the blue tiger) frog blink and "no thoughts, head empty" eyes

jinu's "PLAY GAMES WITH USSS"

the way the announcer for the idol awards says "the saja boys!"

huntr/x without any makeup

bobby referring to huntr/x as "my girls"

[chiasparks]

everybody adores you, at least i do.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

based on “everybody adores you (quiet)” by matt maltese :)

ship: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.9k

authors note: i wrote this after listening to ^^^ on repeat, god i love matt maltese. there are scenes of alcohol intake, a panic attack and brief self harm. please dni if these topics bother, trigger, or make you uncomfortable. this was a pretty long drabble, hope you enjoy :D

============

you can act all shy, but you know that i want you.

you aren’t one for flattery, that much was obvious. every time bucky took the time to compliment you, he knew what your next words would be. like clockwork, you would turn red, look away, and sheepishly mutter, “thanks”. you fiddled with your hands, and quickly changed the subject. how desperately he wanted to hold your hands, and kiss them. for years, he pined over you, and you’ve always been almost at his grasp. these past couple of weeks though, it seemed to hit you, that he wanted you.

in the dead of night, i want to live with you.

it all started three years ago, after everyone came back from the blip. people were everywhere, and it seemed that all the noise that lacked from the world came back in an instant. after realizing what happened to you, your environment and your home, you couldn’t help but laugh. how comical, that it seemed like nothing changed. your family hadn’t contacted you, well, the distant family that you still had. you walked to a bar in the hazy hours of the night, and met him. some guys were bothering him about his glove, but he seemed unaffected. he just stared ahead, and drank his whiskey. you devised a plan, to distract the assholes and to maybe introduce yourself. you didn’t want to seem like you were trying to pick him up, but you were trying to make friends in this new world. you asked the bartender quietly to escort the two loud drunks out, and sat down next to him. you didn’t think you’d get this far, so you were at a loss on what to say. did people still talked the same five years later? of course they did, but how do you navigate yourself into talking? your thoughts piled up, and they kept piling up, until his gruff voice interrupted them.

“thanks.” he grumbled quietly.

“hm?” you didn’t catch what he said, as you were too distracted. he cleared his throat.

“i said thanks. for the, yeah.” he pointed to the two men outside. he wasn’t much for words, you realized. you sighed in relief and nodded.

“yeah, dont sweat it.”

he offered to walk you home, as a sign of gratitude. it amused you both that you lived in the same building. small world. you invited him inside, but he hesitated.

“we can take a rain check, if you’d like. ill write you my number.” you assured him, and walked inside to grab a post it. what were you doing? giving a stranger your number? you put those thoughts to rest as you wrote your number.

he awkwardly waited at the half open door. he was glad to have made a…friend? he didn’t know what to call you yet, but he was sure to catalogue you at the back of his mind to let his witch of a therapist know. over the next couple of weeks, you had began to know him better. he had a cat, alpine. he had a past that he wasn’t open to sharing. his apartment was empty, almost ready to be left without a tenant at any moment. he froze at your touch, so you made a mental note to not do that. what a strange person. you knew he disappeared during the blip as well, but you felt as if he had lost more than five years.

so terrified of the road that takes you, me too.

a year had passed for your friendship. you came to his apartment, unexpected, and brought two little cupcakes with candles on them.

“what’s this?” he asked, a little embarrassed to be touched by such a small little gesture.

“its our friendship anniversary, goofy.”

“do we sing happy birthday, or what?” you paused. you weren’t sure, you didn’t really think of singing.

“um, we can have toasts if you’d prefer that. yes, toasts! ill get the glasses.” you sprung to your feet and gracefully navigated yourself in his small kitchen. you had spruced up his place a little, buying him hand towels, candles, and little trinkets that make a house a home, or rather, an apartment into a cozier place to live. you brought the two flutes, and filled them with champagne. he frowned.

“that is definitely not mine.”

“i brought it to celebrate, we need something fancy.” he rolled his eyes, but went along to your little celebration. he sat on his couch and observed you placing the cupcakes on the coffee table, and as you passed him his glass.

“ill go first. um…” you didn’t want to admit that you had started liking him, so you decided to say general statements.

“i hadn’t had a friend since, high school? maybe…so thank you for letting me be yours. err, friend, that is. to many more.” you clinked your glass with his, and motioned for him to go next.

“my last friend died a year ago. you haven’t died yet, so cheers to that.” he said dryly, with a little smile on his face. he thought he was so funny. he clinked his glass with yours, and drank the liquid. you rolled your eyes and mirrored him.

you started watching a movie with him, but you weren’t really paying attention. he started to accept your touch more and more, and you watched the movie with your head leaning on his shoulder. he leaned his head on yours, and tried his best to not move, so as to not bother you. the second act of the movie was commencing, and he had something on his mind. he had to fess up eventually about who he is- who he was, that is. someone he no longer was, someone he despised so vehemently.

“doll?” he tested the waters. he started calling you that, a reminder of how much of a casanova he was when he was in high school. you protested but eventually let him continue calling you that, as it was more effort telling him to stop than you cared to give.

“mm?” you hummed softly, half asleep.

“i wasn’t joking about my toast.”

“i didn’t think you were. you don’t have to talk about it if you don-“

“i want to talk about it.”

you paused. this was rare. you didn’t know what to think, so you gave him the space to talk.

“there’s a reason i’m always wearing this glove, you know.”

“yeah, circulation problems.” you joked, but he didn’t laugh.

“doll, i was born in 1917.”

“…” you sat up. “what? james, you’re not being funny right now.”

he continued tentatively.

“my name is james buchanan barnes and i was born in march 10, 1917.” he recited as if giving a memorized speech, his monotone words hitting you, syllable by syllable.

“i was forced to be the winter soldier, and i was framed for the U.N bombing.” your facial expression must’ve hinted that you put the pieces together, and he stopped.

“and, yeah. i have a metal arm.” he added almost rushed, he wanted to explain that part as well. he gave you space to fully digest everything.

“so…your friend that died was…” he nodded.

“steve rogers.” he finished for you.

“wow.” you didn’t know what to say, you just sat there. everything made so much sense now, why he always wore a glove, why he never had any pictures of friends or family, nothing. suddenly, you smiled.

“doll?” he looked confused. your best friend admitted to lying about his identity to your face for a year, and you’re…smiling?

“the first friend i made in ten years is someone who’s older than me by eighty years.” you giggled.

“i don’t- you’re not mad?” his brain short circuited. you’re not responding the way he thought you would’ve. you shook your head.

“i mean, what kind of friend am i for you not to be able to trust me with that? yeah, im a little blindsided, but i understand. i still see you as my friend.”

he didn’t know what to do. tears threatened to fall.

“pay attention to this part, its my favorite.” you leaned back to your original position, as if nothing happened. you offered your hand, and he took it.

don't modify, every one adores you, at least i do.

“dont look at me like that.” you said, a little tipsy. you had been friends with him for two years now, and you had invited him over to your apartment, for new year’s. you both didn’t really have any plans, or friends, for that matter. of course, he had sam, but sam was with his sister for the new year. he had barged into your apartment with a six case of beer on him, and two little paper hats saying, “happy new year!”. how adorable. you weren’t dressed up, gracing yourself with an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts. you sat on the couch with your legs on his lap, his flesh hand holding his beer and his metal hand holding you. he traced small circles on your calves, which felt really intimate. you’re grateful he used his metal hand, because you weren’t sure what you would’ve done if he used his skin to tease you so.

“like what?” he asked. his tone was quiet, his eyes searching for permission in yours. permission for what?

“like you want to kiss me.”

“and what if i do?” there it was. you didn’t want to ruin any friendship you still had left after he threw that bombshell. you paused and looked away. you took another sip of your beer.

“i’m afraid i’ll have to decline your advances.” you quietly said. its not that you didn’t love him, but it all felt so wrong. the only reason he wanted to kiss you was because it was the new year, and that stupid fucking tradition.

“you know i could get lost in those eyes. i’d trip over my words trying to find my way back.” he admitted. he really did love you. god, he loved you.

“if you keep looking at me like that, i might think that you have a crush on me.” you teased, face red. from the intimacy or from the alcohol? you weren’t sure, maybe it was both.

“and what if i did?”

“bucky…” you sighed. you sat up and moved your legs away from him.

“i mean it. would that be such a crime?” he leaned his body towards you. you noticed that his cheeks had their own hue of red, and his eyes felt unsure.

“bucky.” you cut him off. you didn’t know what to say. its not like you could say, “i dont want you to kiss me for new year’s, because i want you to kiss me for real.” you didn’t know what to say, so you just shook your head slightly. he nodded, stood up, and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“i understand.” he whispered into your ear. you bit your lip, this was the friendliest he had ever been towards you, and you only wished for more. he smiled softly and said,

“happy new year, y/n.”

right where the black wood sighs, i look at you, through and through.

your birthday was coming up, and he decided to surprise you. he researched thoroughly about forests located next to you, and found the one. things had been a little rough post new year’s eve, but your connection through knowing who he was kept the friendship close. you soon were back to your old self, but remained a bit guarded.

your birthday was today. you hadn’t received any messages from him, so you felt a bit let down. you sighed throughout the day as you kept checking. suddenly, around 2 in the afternoon, he knocked on your door with a basket in hand, and flowers in the other.

“happy birthday, doll.”

it’s safe to say that you spent the rest of your day very content, and impressed at the picnic he had organized.

right where your father died I'll hold on to your hand.

you don’t remember much from your father, other than the fact that he died early in your youth. you detested seeing children with both their parents with them, even as an adult. you felt jealous, angry at your father for dying. you knew it wasn’t your fault, but still. you occasionally visited his grave, and the place where he passed on. it was a rainy day, the day he went with you. you asked him to go, as you weren’t feeling so well. he obliged.

the downpour matched the dreary mood, and as you stood near the bench he died on, a bench he felt was familiar. he started to panic, thinking that somehow he was the one responsible for the death of your father, wondering if you taking him here was some sort of ploy to avenge your father.

“he got caught in the crossfire of a crime.” you admitted. “police were chasing this guy, and he meant to shoot the…” you trailed off. he knew what you were trying to say and he nodded. he sighed, partly from the mood and partly from relief that he wasn’t the one that took him from you. you took his hand and held it. he squeezed your hand, and rubbed circles on your knuckles.

“thank you.” what an odd thing for him to say to you, but you knew that he meant for taking him to a place so sacred to you.

“now we’re even.” you smiled at him. no more secrets about the past.

so terrified of the road that takes you, me too.

panic attacks didn’t hit him often. it was around two weeks since his last one, and it wasn’t something he wasn’t thinking of at the time, until now.

he spent so much time at your place, so much in fact, that some of his mail correspondence was sent to your place by the mailman. how silly. he was over for some random dinner, and conversed with you as you cooked. you were making spicy chicken alfredo, or something along those lines. he didn’t really pay attention, he only focused on you. he noticed how fluid you were in the kitchen, as if you were dancing. when he thought you were going to run into a cabinet, you moved away just in time. wether that be for your reflexes or by chance, he wasn’t sure. he had shared with you a couple vinyls, a way of sharing his past with you. he hummed along to the smooth voice of ella fitzgerald, until you interrupted the noise with a yelp of pain. he turned to you, and noticed you had cut your finger with the knife, which confirmed to him that in fact, the reason you didn’t run into cabinets was by chance, maybe some guardian angel working overtime. he kissed your finger, and walked to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit. everything was going so well, too. its just a small setback. until, he came back.

you looked to be covered in blood everywhere, with a heavy concentration on your torso. there was a gunshot in your stomach area, and you hunched over the cabinet for support. at least, that is what he saw. in reality, you leaned on the cabinet, waiting for him. his heart dropped and his eyes scanned you so worriedly. he ran to you, inspected your arms, your eyes, your neck, your stomach. your confused expression felt almost like daggers at him, and he started hyperventilating. he felt hands all around him, suffocating him. he knelt to the ground, gasping for air. his hair started clinging to his forehead, his clothes suddenly felt too tight, the air felt too hot, his metal arm too familiar. did he do this? he kept thinking. he heard a voice, his voice, but different. it was him.

“of course you did this.” he said, full of poison. tears fell down his eyes, and they kept falling, even when he shut them so tightly. he clawed at his metal arm, at his reminder of who he was.

you tried your best to make him realize that you were there, and in fact, not dead. no matter your volume, he couldn’t hear you. he was rocking back and forth, and you kneeled to his eyeline.

“bucky?” you kept saying. you kept repeating, kept trying to open his eyes, move his hand from hurting his shoulder. soon, your hands were stained with the blood drawn from where metal met skin. you sat with him, and listened to his cries. you didn’t know what to do, he hadn’t discussed panic attacks with you, so you weren’t sure if you could hold him or not. you decided to take a risk and rub his back, and lean your head on top of his. a few minutes were spent like that, his quiet sobs filling the apartment. eventually, he calmed down enough to the point of hugging you, and whispered “i’m sorry”. that’s all he said, and he kept saying it. his face was nuzzled into your neck, and he kept saying that. your hands held him tightly, your own tears falling as well. he stopped hurting himself, but seeing him in this state broke your heart. you knew why seeing you bleeding affected him so badly. he didn’t often tell you of all the people he killed, but when he did, he was always filled with immense grief. you’d always remind him that it wasn’t really him, and that he didn’t have body autonomy. those words, although comforting, felt like a lie. he was scared you believed differently, thought of him differently. your words and your touch remained the same, though. after his panic subsided, you led him to the sink, and washed his hands. you cleaned his wounds, and wrapped them with gauze. you asked him to stay at your place, and he accepted. you set his bed, and gave him some spare clothing you had. he sat down next to you, and watched you lay down, before looking at you. his blue eyes looked into yours, asking for permission. you held your arms up, and he instantly moved. he laid on top of you, almost tentatively. you ran your fingers through his hair, and he adjusted himself on top of you, holding your waist. no words were exchanged.

you two never spoke of that moment.

don’t modify, every one adores you, at least i do.

three years had passed since you first crossed paths, and he wanted to be the one to initiate the celebration. he didn’t know how surprise you, you two had already done a lot of things. picnics, dinners, sleepovers. he realized he needed to buy a gift. what should he get you? you already had enough jewelry, you always went thrift shopping with him, and you seemed pretty content with everything you had. it clicked in his mind. he got you a photo album for your pictures, and a star projector, showing how the stars looked like on the day you first met. he felt nervous, he hadn’t felt this close to someone in a while, and he was scared to ruin it.

you spent the anniversary gushing over your gift, and kept complimenting him throughout that night. his fears for being a bad friend were eased.

everybody has you up on their wall sometimes.

he wasn’t one for photography. his walls were bare, aside from the decorations you bought for him. you, however, loved your polaroid camera. you took pictures of anything you deemed important, like meeting someone with a similar outfit to yours, a cat you saw on the street, and him. you deemed him important, and he had to pretend like that wasn’t the biggest compliment ever. he had to pretend that every time you snapped a picture of him, he wasn’t blushing so hard, and how he loved being your muse. he started putting more effort into his appearance, so you would take more pictures. you noticed, of course you noticed. you had to keep a solid stream of film. one day, he held your camera. he often wondered how you saw the world, and seeing the little window in the polaroid camera made him smile. you were comically posing in the couch, giggling with every new pose. he clicked away, happily. he then sheepishly asked for a serious picture, for his new collection. well, your picture would be the first in the collection. how fitting, that you would be the one to star in the little joy you shared with him. your face flushed a bit as you sat up and smiled softly at him. he swallowed his nervousness, and took the picture. as he let it develop, he walked away, leaning on the wall. he didn’t want to let you see how red he was. you didn’t know if you were friends or not. of course, you were friends, but you weren’t sure if you were more. you walked to where he was, took the picture from him and placed it on a side table. you grabbed the camera from his hand, and tossed it lightly to your couch. you looked at his lips, his eyes, his scars. you lifted your hand and traced his eyebrows, his nose, his chin, his jawline. his eyes fluttered shut, as he grabbed your hand and kissed it. he pulled you closer, as if you were the air he so desperately needed to breathe, as if you were the water in the middle of the desert. he held you so gently, leaning you against the wall. he leaned his lips towards yours, but didn’t press forward. he just breathed deeply, breathing you in. you looked up at him.

“bucky?” you asked softly, as to not shatter the moment.

“please. you’re all i have ever wanted these three years. i’ve been…you’re…” he couldn’t find the words. he grew a little frustrated at his lack of ways to express himself.

“i love you. from the minute i knew you, from new year’s, every birthday, every anniversary. please, y/n. i need you, like i need air, like i need water, like i need…you.” his eyes looked into yours, waiting for a response in the almost deafening silence.

you leaned forward, kissed him, and were made his that night.

everybody thinks of you when they sleep at night.

he liked waking up next to you. he liked the way your hair ruffled up because of the pillow. he loved the way your eyelashes fluttered when you opened your eyes, and your sleepy smile greeted him.

“good morning, bucky.” you would say.

“dreams?” he’d reply. if you had any dreams, you’d go on in detail about them, and if not, you’d shrug and say,

“my subconscious took the night off.”

he’d tuck your hair behind your ear, and kiss you. how wonderful, that he was able to kiss you, show you how much you meant to him, make you his. how serendipitous, that the first words he ever said to you were “thank you.” fate knew. you knew.

when I say, "everybody", i'm actually referring to mе.

[tbaluver]

hello ree <33 i love ur writing so much so i’m finally here to make a lads request !! can i please request an amusement park themed date with sylus x fem!reader ?? :O (it can be a oneshot, drabble, hcs, i’m okay with anything hehe !!) take ur time and thank u in advance, i hope you have an amazing day !! 🫶🏻 -@sanemistar

amusement park date- sylus

pairing: sylus x fem! reader genre: fluff fluff wc: 1.1k a/n 𐙚: hihi bibi!! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ eeee thank you so much you're always so sweet luv! <3 i was so happy to see you in my inbox and i apologize for taking weeks writing this ! i hope this doesn't disappoint and if it does then this doesn't exist ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) this post is a lil special bc the format is inspired by you and a lot of my fav writers on here ! enjoy reading and i hope you have an amazing day ! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

You pulled your sweater tighter around you as you stepped outside, the crisp breeze creeping to your cheeks. Sylus texted you yesterday that he had a surprise for you but with no context other than to wear comfortable warm clothes.

As you locked the door behind you, your boyfriend stood beside his motorcycle waiting for you.

“Hi sweetie,” A smile curls up on his lips as he wraps his arms around you. 

“So where do you plan on taking me this time?” You asked, tilting your head to study his expression. “Is there some kind of pop up auction? Fighting wanderers? Or....” Your voice trails off, hoping that maybe he’ll give you a hint.

He shook his head, a playful smile on his lips as he grabbed your helmet on the seat. “It’s a surprise,”

-

You hold on tightly to Sylus as he drives you through the city. You watch as the streets that you're well familiar with begin to fade. Glancing around, the night slowly became darker and the city lights became farther. With each turn you watch the streets get unfamiliar and the number of the cars dwindle. 

You stopped wondering when a burst of color pierced through the distance with displays of lights that danced around your vision. Your eyes widened as you spotted the silhouettes of the ferris wheel and the roller coasters that towered against the sky.

An amusement park?

Sylus pulled the motorcycle to a stop, the loud engine of it slowly faded into the background. He removed his helmet revealing his smile that curled on his lips.

“I rented the entire amusement park for the whole night,” He spoke, breaking through your thoughts as he helped you remove your helmet. The vibrant lights of the park reflected in your wide eyes as he continued. “You said you wanted to go weeks ago, but our schedules didn’t line up.”

He extends his hand to help you down, “Sy...” you breathed, your heart fluttering as a goofy grin spreads across your lips.

“Shall we?”

-

Sylus mentioned that all the rides are being controlled by Luke and Kieran. Although you appreciate that you both were going to be alone, you wondered if your safety was truly at risk with the hands of the twins controlling the rides. 

“Miss Hunter! Miss Hunter! Over here!” One of the twins shouted while waving enthusiastically at you. Beside him wobbled the park’s mascot, in which you assume was the other twin inside, its fluffy arms flailing in an attempt to wave at you. 

Your eyes sparkled with excitement as you grabbed Sylus’s hand, tugging him toward the pair to take a picture. “Hi Miss Hunter!” One of the twins whispered from inside the costume, his voice muffled. 

- 

“Where do you want to start off first?”

After finishing taking pictures with the twins, you take in the sight in front of you. The park was completely empty. The smell of popcorn and cotton candy still lingered in the air and the park games and the music were a distant sound in the background.

You stood there momentarily overwhelmed, taking in the amount of choices that stretched out before you. Until your eyes lit up with an idea as you spotted a small gift shop. You grabbed Sylus hand, dragging him toward the shop, his low chuckle trailing behind you.

“Headbands?” A breathy chuckle escapes his lips as he examines the one you give him.

“It’s a necessity Sy,” You continue to browse through the various options you had, making sure you two would match.

“Pick whatever you want, it’s on me.”

-

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit in the front?” You ask, making sure he felt included in the thrill of the ride. 

He let out a chuckle and shook his head, “Sweetie, I’m being generous. You won’t see anything if I’m in the front.”

After finishing a few small rides and trying out a couple of the park games, Sylus suggested trying the scariest ride in the park. The one you had been deliberately avoiding and he knew.

He noticed the way you didn’t even bat an eye in the direction of this ride or even bother mentioning it. The outside of the ride loomed before you like a haunted mansion with sinister sounds echoed inside of it that made your heart race. 

“You’re going to be alright. I’m right beside you,” He assures, placing a reassuring hand on your thigh.  As the seats of the ride locked for the both of you, Luke and Kieran pull the lever to start the ride, waving goodbye as you both disappear into the ride.

Darkness enveloped your vision and without any warning, terrifying sounds erupted around you. Each turn of the ride had your heart racing as scary figures and sounds leaped into you.

You instinctively grabbed onto Sylus while Sylus remains unbothered. When the ride finally came to a full stop you stumbled out, wanting to kiss the floor for gratitude of solid ground.

-

Your feet were killing you. You both explored almost the entire park by now and the last one that was left was the ferris wheel. The one that Sylus suggested you do last. He offered to carry you on his back, effortlessly hoisting you up as he walked you over to the last ride for the night.

As you stepped into the ride, he made sure to lower the bar to safely secure you both in. You both ascended slowly up the ride lifting you both higher and higher, offering a better view of the entire park.

As you slowly reach to the very top of the ride, it comes to a gentle halt. You turned to Sylus, a flicker of confusion in your eyes and yet he remained unbothered.

“Did you have a great time today?” Sylus asked, he smiled softly as he looked at you with admiration.

“Of course I did, did you Sy?”

Suddenly, the night sky erupted with fireworks. Bursts of colors illuminated the canvas of the night sky, some with silly shapes and of course a shape of a crow and a dove.

You watched in awe as the fireworks sparked above you, the colors reflected in your eyes but Sylus was unfazed by the show. His gaze was locked onto you.

As the last firework fizzled into the night, he reached out, gently guiding your face toward his with the tip of his finger. Without any hesitation, he closes the gap between you both as he kisses you softly, his mouth soft on yours. 

“I always have a great time when I’m with you.”