#she is always loafing on my bed

[meownotgood]

loaf of bread fresh from oven

[mashtatosworld]

heiress of my heart

summary: G-Dad and Diva have a shopping addiction...

The day usually starts with the little diva waking up the whole house.

Not crying - no, she was far too dramatic and refined for that. Instead, she simply calls out for her Appa, repeatedly, until he has no choice but to wake up and get her from the crib.

"Appa." A pause. "Appa." Another pause. "APPA."

Jiyong groans beside you, his face buried in the pillow. Zoa sat loafed on his back. "Five more minutes," he mumbles.

"APPA."

You sigh, sitting up in bed and carefully plucking the grey cat off his back, pulling her into your arms. She settled immediately, always ready for a cuddle. "She’s not stopping until you go get her."

“I hurt, jagi," Jiyong peeks at you through messy hair, pouting. "Why aren't you hungover?"

You had shared a bottle of wine last night after putting Diva to bed.

"Because I'm not an old man," you smirk teasingly.

Defeated, he rolls out of bed, shuffling down the hall in his plush Chanel robe and slippers - because even half-asleep, Kwon Jiyong is still Jiyong. The father of your diva.

He returns moments later with said baby in his arms, her small hands clinging onto his pyjama shirt as she rests her cheek against his shoulder.

"She said she only wants Eomma now," he complains, dropping onto the bed with his mini-me. "I was just the transport."

Diva crawls towards you and snuggles into your side, gently petting the sleeping cat with one finger, just like you'd taught her. You smile at her lovingly.

Jiyong sighs dramatically. “I give this child everything...”

But he doesn’t mean it - because ten minutes later, after some morning milk and cartoons, your diva is climbing all over him, stealing his hat, and demanding attention.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Jiyong insists on dressing Diva every morning.

"She has to be cool, jagi. She’s my daughter.”

Today, he’s in front of her wardrobe, holding up two outfits.

"This one?" He shows her a tiny blue Burberry sweater and cargo pants.

"Or this one?" A Chanel dress with tiny matching shoes.

Diva stares at him blankly. Then she points at her pajamas.

“No.” Jiyong is scandalised. “We don’t wear pyjamas all day in this house.”

You sip your coffee, sitting beside Diva on the floor, thoroughly amused. “You do."

“I'm an old man, remember?” he defends, using your own words against you, before turning back to your daughter.

Diva yawns and crawls into your lap. She’s over it.

Jiyong sighs, heading back into her wardrobe for more inspiration.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Jiyong doesn’t go anywhere without Diva by his side. Whether it’s a quick errand, a café trip, or a studio visit - she’s his little shadow.

Today, he takes her out shopping since you wanted to work on writing some new songs and it was nearly impossible with the pair of them around.

If Diva wasn't clinging to your legs, it was Jiyong.

But only an hour after they left, you receive a Facetime call on your phone. It’s Jiyong and Diva, inside a store. He’s pointing his camera at a Chanel bag on display.

"Should we get this for Eomma?"

Diva stands beside it, holding a smaller, identical one, nodding her head.

Jiyong flips the camera to his face, and chuckles. "She has Eomma’s taste."

You roll your eyes, "Ji, I don't need another one."

"Yah, yah bad connection in here- gotta go, we love you!"

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Hours later, they stop for snacks at a quiet café.

Diva sips from a Chanel-branded baby cup. Yet another purchase he'd have to disguise from you. But to Jiyong, it was an investment. Your next babies would get to use it too.

Jiyong, feeling sentimental, strokes her tiny hand.

“You know, Princess, someday, you might have a little brother or sister.”

Diva freezes.

She slowly lowers her cup.

Jiyong waits.

She stares at him for a long moment.

Then -

She throws her cup onto the floor.

Jiyong jumps. “What - ”

Diva glares. “No.”

He blinks. “No?”

She crosses her arms. “No.”

“Baby, you’d be the best big sister!”

Diva shakes her head violently.

Jiyong looks around, panicked. “Okay, okay, let’s not - ”

But Diva is already kicking her legs, huffing, and looking seconds away from a meltdown.

Jiyong FaceTimes you immediately.

As soon as you pick up, you hear Diva wailing in the background.

Jiyong looks stressed. “Jagi, we have a crisis.”

You blink, putting your pen down with a sigh. “What did you do?”

“I said she might get a sibling, and now she’s - ” he turns the camera.

Diva is full-on sulking, arms folded, cheeks puffed, absolute betrayal on her face.

You laugh. “She’s one and a half. She’ll change her mind.”

Jiyong looks horrified. “But what if she doesn’t?”

“She will.”

He turns back to Diva. “Baby, don’t you want someone to play with?”

Diva pouts.

"Princess?"

She turns her head away dramatically.

Jiyong deflates. “She’s ignoring me.”

You laugh harder. “You’re scared of her.”

“I am not!”

“Yes, you are.”

He never tells her off. In all fairness, he never really had to. They were two peas in a pod.

Jiyong sighs. “I might be.”

And then - he hangs up.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Jiyong carries Diva inside, arms full of shopping bags.

You stare. “Jiyong - ”

He cuts you off. “Before you say anything, we've had a stressful day.”

You fold your arms. His idea of retail therapy was excessive.

He sets Diva down, and she immediately runs off calling for the cats, her tiny shoes tapping against the floor. He shifts under your scrutiny, finally admitting, "I had to buy my way back into her heart, okay?"

You blink, glancing at the sheer number of bags he’s just abandoned in the entryway. “Ji, I’m sure a juice box would have cut it.”

He drops onto the chair opposite you, rubbing his face. “You weren’t there. She looked at me like I’d betrayed her. My own daughter.”

You laugh. “I did warn you. She needs friends other than us.”

He groans. “Jagi, what are we gonna do?” His voice is almost distant, like he’s lost in some great, existential crisis.

You laugh, closing your notebook. “Not let our lives be ruled by a toddler?”

He gives you a look. “What do you mean?”

Diva’s voice rings from the other room. “Appa, juice!”

Jiyong is already on his feet. “Coming, my Princess!”

You watch him go, shaking your head. A wave of love washed over you so you opened your notebook again, finally feeling the words pour out of you.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

i wrote this for another fic i'll be posting soon! featuring the adventures of g-dad, eomma and diva ofc

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev

[hy6erion]

Hello~!

There is one thing I need and that's Viktor's head on my chest, you know, imagine he came from work all tired and stressed and then reader is there, waiting for him with dinner ready and before sleep she holds him all lovingly and rest his head between her breasts and he just lay there between consciousness and sleepiness, holding and toying with her boobs just because they're squishy and warm 💕

𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 - 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞

𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝 (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)

The apartment was quiet, bathed in the warm amber glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the walls. A gentle breeze filtered through the open window, carrying with it the faint sounds of Piltover’s bustling streets, but here… here, in this little sanctuary you’d built together, it was peaceful.

You stood in the kitchen, carefully ladling hot soup into two ceramic bowls, the comforting aroma of herbs and roasted vegetables filling the air. A fresh loaf of bread, still warm from the oven, sat on the counter, and you’d set the table with care—nothing extravagant, just a soft candle and folded napkins, the kind of touch that made a house feel like a home.

Viktor was late again.

You’d stopped worrying about it, not because you didn’t care, but because this was his rhythm—long hours at the lab, his brilliant mind always burning, pushing the boundaries of science. But no matter how caught up he got in his work, he always came home to you. Always.

As if on cue, the faint, familiar sound of his key turning in the lock reached your ears. You glanced up, wiping your hands on a dish towel, a soft smile already forming. The door creaked open, and there he was—Viktor, framed in the doorway, exhaustion clinging to him like a heavy coat.

His coat was half-off his shoulders, his gait a little slower than usual as he leaned on his cane. The dark circles under his eyes spoke of long hours and little rest, but when his gaze found yours, something in him seemed to loosen.

“You’re home,” you said softly, stepping forward to meet him.

A small, tired smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I am,” he murmured, voice rough with fatigue, as though the very act of speaking took effort.

You closed the distance between you, hands coming to rest gently on his arms. “Long day?”

He let out a breath that was almost a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “You could say that.”

“Come,” you whispered, guiding him toward the kitchen. “I made dinner. You need to eat.”

For a moment, he looked like he might argue, but the warmth of your touch and the promise of food seemed to sap the fight from him. He allowed himself to be led, sinking into a chair with a soft sigh, leaning his cane against the wall.

You set a bowl of soup in front of him, along with a thick slice of bread, and watched as he ate—slowly, methodically, like someone too tired to fully engage but aware that his body needed the nourishment.

He didn’t say much, but his free hand found yours on the table, his thumb stroking absently over your knuckles, grounding himself with your touch.

When the meal was finished, you cleared the dishes, gently brushing off his mumbled attempts to help. “Go lie down,” you said, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Viktor didn’t argue. That, more than anything, told you how drained he was.

By the time you joined him in the bedroom, he was already half-undressed, his shirt discarded on the floor, leaving him in just his trousers. He sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, elbows resting on his knees, staring down at the floor as though he couldn’t quite summon the energy to move.

Wordlessly, you climbed onto the bed behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his bare back. His skin was warm, his muscles tense beneath your touch.

“Come here,” you whispered, tugging gently until he let himself be pulled back into your arms, into bed.

He all but collapsed against you, his head finding its natural place—nestled between your breasts, the softness of you cradling him like something sacred. You settled back against the pillows, one arm draped loosely around his shoulders, the other threading through his tousled hair, scratching your nails lightly against his scalp.

A soft, shuddering sigh escaped him, and you felt him melt, the tension bleeding out of his body as he let himself be held.

“Mm…” he murmured, already half-lost to that warm, hazy place between wakefulness and sleep. “You are very soft.”

You smiled, tracing slow circles along his back with your fingertips. “I know.”

His arm came around your waist, pulling you just that fraction closer, and his hand found its familiar place—resting gently over one of your chest, his fingers splayed, warm and absentmindedly toying with the flesh there.

It wasn’t sexual. Not really. It was comfort, a ritual you’d both fallen into without ever really discussing it.

“You do this every time,” you teased softly, your voice a lazy murmur.

“Can you blame me?” His voice was thick with sleep, muffled against your skin. “They are… very pleasant.”

A quiet laugh bubbled up, and you felt the corners of his lips curve into a small, lazy smile against your chest.

“Mm,” he hummed, giving a gentle, idle squeeze, his thumb brushing over your skin in slow, hypnotic circles. “Warm… and soft…”

You could feel him slipping, his body growing heavier, breaths slower.

“You work too hard,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

A soft sound of agreement rumbled in his chest, but there was no fight in him, not now, not when he was so thoroughly enveloped in you, your warmth, your scent, the steady rise and fall of your breathing.

“You should sleep,” you murmured, your fingers still moving through his hair.

“I am sleeping,” he whispered back, though the smile in his voice betrayed him.

A few more minutes passed like that—quiet, warm, intimate. His hand grew heavier, his touch slowing until it was just the faintest, unconscious brush of his fingers.

“I love you,” he whispered, so softly you almost missed it, like a secret meant only for the space between your heartbeats.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, holding him just a little tighter.

And there, with his head resting on your chest, the sound of your heart in his ear, Viktor finally let the world go.

[luveline]

would you ever be willing to write the day spencer and stripper!reader met in the grocery store? i’ve always loved the concept when you’ve referenced it in the story, i would love to read it👀 you’re absolutely incredible and i can never say anything not anon to you because my blog is flooding you with notes constantly and i’m embarrassed😅

thank you for your request ❤️ fem!reader, 1.5k

cw for domestic violence and workplace abuse

There's this weird organic grocery store by Spencer's place that's far too expensive, but it's a ten minute walk, so that's where he goes. (Weird in separation to organic.) 

He needs a lot of groceries now he's home for the week. Bread, vegetables, rice, flour if he wants to try and make pancakes, which he does. He also needs a new pen to write a letter for his mom, but Leaven is slightly too small for a stationery section. 

He doesn't know what he'll say to her in this one. Maybe that the cases he's going on are easy, or that he's been reading about crows. She's not feeling well lately. It might help her to know he's doing gentle things, even if it isn't true. 

No, he thinks. Can't lie to her. He never lies to his mom. 

Eggs. Sugar. Coffee grounds. He fills his cart. It'll be a lot to carry on the way home, but better to do it in one go. He likes keeping busy but he's a human being, too, and he's looking forward to spending at least sixteen hours in bed after dinner tonight. 

You look tired, too. 

Your back is turned, but Spencer knows it's you. You must live close by, he's been seeing you duck in and out for months. Usually with a loaf of bread or a single box of painkillers tucked in your pocket. You don't steal, he'd be able to tell, and he wouldn't say anything if you did, anyways. All he knows about you is that you have a nice smile when you have the energy, and your voice is like silk. Purposeful or by nature, he's yet to guess. 

You're standing by the end of the aisle near the checkouts with a basket hanging from your fingers. All you're buying today is a box of pancake mix and a bag of peas. 

Weird, he thinks with a smile. Spencer likes weird stuff. It's quirky. 

You turn to see which checkout is empty and Spencer's smile abruptly drops. 

You have a bruise across half of your face. It isn't strictly fresh —he can see the split skin on your cheek starting to close in on itself, and your purpled eye is open (though barely). You're frowning. Spencer knows how bad it hurts to get hurt like that. For a split second he can't believe someone could do that to another person, and then he remembers the hundreds of women he's had the privilege to meet at their most vulnerable, who trusted him, and he thinks maybe he's capable of helping another one. 

“Hey,” he says. 

You meet his eyes with a funny smile. “Hey. Sorry, am I in the way?” you ask, your voice stretched, thin but not weak. 

“No, you're not, it's… I see you here all the time.” 

You hold your breath. When you talk, it rushes out. “So?” you ask wearily.

“Are you okay?” 

Your funny smile fades as Spencer's had. He supposes that's the talent of cruelty. Even when it's over, it's not truly over. Your bruise still hurts, and Spencer still needs to know you'll be okay when you go home tonight. 

“I see you all the time too. We've… we've actually spoken before, haven't we?” you ask after a moment. 

“Yeah, about spirometry. I was out of breath running and–” It doesn't matter. You asked him if he was okay, and he explained that he was, just that his lungs don't hold much air on account of his own laziness, and it doesn't matter. “Are you? Alright? It's a bad bruise.” 

“It's getting better.” 

It might be, but there's something so raw about seeing you standing there in your sweatpants too big for you and a hoodie with a hole in it, purple and yellow contusion across your eyes and nose like the clumsy stroke of a paintbrush. Spencer will admit to feeling sorry for you.

“Can I talk to you?” he asks, knowing this isn't the right place. “There's the cafe at the front? Let me pay for my stuff and–” 

“I'm really okay–” 

“You had a cast on your wrist two weeks ago and now you're here with a limp and a really bad bruise,” he says softly, imploringly, “I just wanna talk to you about it. You don't have to say yes, I'm not trying to be weird, but I–” 

You cut off his mile a minute speech with a small smile. “Okay. I'm not, you know, doing anything anyways. It'll be nice to sit down.” 

Spencer knows it's dumb, but he wants to show he has good intentions. He takes your basket out of your hands and nods toward the cafe past the checkouts. “I'll come and meet you.” 

“You don't have to,” you say, gesturing at the basket. 

“The damage is done, right? This place is ridiculous.” He doesn't like the way you're holding your hip. It makes him feel sick, even though there's no proof one way or another to say you've been hurt beyond your bruising.

He pays for his things and yours and meets you at the cafe. He's half expecting you to have bolted, but you sit at a table near the entrance, completely still. 

Spencer puts his two bags under the table and offers you your pancake mix and peas in their own bag. 

“Thanks.” 

“Yeah, no problem.” 

“It was my boss.” You look at your fingers, spreading them slowly over the table top. “I’m a dancer. Sorry. I know you’re going to ask.” 

“And he hit you?” 

“Yeah.” 

Spencer knows the number for every women’s shelter in every state, but he doubts it would matter to you. He can tell already that you’d say no. He can tell you’re scared, even if you don’t realise it yourself. “Is it getting worse?”

You can’t offer him anything else. He understands how that feels. There have been moments where he desperately wanted to tell someone, anyone, what was going on in his life, but he always holds his secrets like a perpetual ache in his throat. It’s like he can’t tell someone, even if they ask. 

Sometimes he just wishes they’d ask twice. 

“You can tell me. It won’t sound stupid,” he promises. He’s in some odd place between Agent Reid and young, terrified Spencer, determined to help you, but not sure how. “It’s getting worse, right?” 

“Yeah,” you say, the weight of tears on your tongue. 

“You’re a dancer. Is he just a boss– Does he… abuse you financially?” 

You laugh wetly. “He’s not my pimp.” 

He can feel his face heating up.’“No, but do you get paid on time? Everything you earn?” 

You shake your head. “No, I don’t get paid on time. He takes a percentage, and somehow there’s always another percentage, and then discipline. And now…” 

“Now he’s hitting you.” Very badly. 

“I’m not stupid.” 

Spencer frowns gently, talks softly, “I didn’t mean to imply that you were.” 

“No, I know, but I need you to know I’m not stupid. When we talked before, you– you’re so smart, I bet you know so many smart people.” 

He’s not sure where you’re going with this. Perhaps you don’t want to talk about being hurt anymore. It must be a kind of torture to be hurting and know that that hurting will come again. There isn’t an end in sight for you, just right now. 

“Can I buy you something to eat?” 

“I have money,” you say, taking your small purse from your pocket. There are a few notes wedged inside. 

“You can’t take painkillers on an empty stomach, and you should take painkillers again soon. You had some before you came, and they’re wearing off.” He meets your confused frown with a frown of his own. “Your hands are twitching like you want to move away from yourself.” 

“You’re very perceptive,” you say in that smooth murmur. Power clawed back, he thinks. You’re protecting one of the things you can control about how you’re seen when everything else is far from it. 

“I’m a profiler. Do you,” —he tries not to sound hoity toity— “know what that is?” 

“No.” 

“I’m an FBI agent.” You’re laughing as he takes out his badge. He joins you. “I know it sounds like I’m making it up.” Spencer offers you his identification passport slowly, so you know he isn’t wielding it around to be an asshole. “I’m in the behavioural analysis unit. We analyse the way people act. That’s why I know you’re in pain.” 

You take his badge, looking between his photo and his real face with a growing smile. “If you need all that to know I’m in pain, you’re not as smart as you think,” you tease, gesturing to the mottled skin of your bruise sweetly. 

Spencer buys you both cold sandwiches from the front of the shop and a drink to wash down your aspirin. It’s awkward, he guesses, but he’s used to that by now, and under it he can feel your palpable relief. You trust him to not hurt you, if nothing else, and he can work with that. 

[archangeldyke-all]

Oh my god... Werecat sevika rubbing against reader then unconsciously turning into human again and shes just on top of reader while her head is rubbing against readers chest WHILE PURRING?????🤭 I live for soft sevika.

CUTEEEEE

men and minors dni

most of the time, sevika only transforms for practical reasons.

when she needs to descend the steep walls of the undercity quickly, when she's jumping across rooftops and needs better balance, when she's freezing and would prefer having a body covered in fur...

but... when it comes to you, sevika's found that she's been transforming more and more.

there were the months of lazily snoozing on your fire escape and happily watching you through your window-- a few hours each week just... being a cat.

but once you figured her out and saved her life and the two of you became a couple (the word still gives her butterflies)... sevika's been transforming a lot more often.

she just loves your pets. she can't even help it half the time; you guys can be cuddling on the couch mid conversation, and you'll reach over to start scratching her scalp, and in the middle of her story about work she's transforming into a cat.

"so then silco went downstairs to-- purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr... meow."

you laugh and continue petting her, letting her crawl onto your chest and cuddle up into a loaf, making a mental note to ask her about her story later on in the evening when she's back to her human form.

sometimes, you can use your power for evil.

if sevika's being stubborn-- refusing to come to bed so she can get work done, or pouting because you made her take out the garbage-- you can just start scratching her scalp, and sooner or later she'll transform. then, all you have to do is grab her by the scruff on the back of her neck and drag her to bed with you.

she's figured this out, though, so she's always trying to run away from your outstretched hands. it often ends in a game of chase around the house, sevika cursing your magical fingers while you try to pin her to a wall or the floor for long enough to get her to relax.

and, funniest of all to you-- sevika gets jealous.

the fat tuxedo cat that comes to visit you once or twice a week has become sevika's biggest enemy.

she comes home to find you cuddling the chubby cat, and she's so unreasonably jealous that she gives you the silent treatment for the rest of the night. (she also instinctively transforms and starts hissing at the poor cat until he clambers back out of your window and sprints home.)

you find it fucking hilarious.

"sev, baby, it's a cat, it's not like i was fucking someone else!"

"you fucking might as well have been! those pets are mine!"

"baby, there's so much about me that's already yours. my heart. my tits. my pussy-- no pun intended. you can't seriously be jealous that i was petting a cat. honey-- it's a cat! you're a human!"

"whatever. you're sleeping on the couch tonight."

"sevika!" you laugh.

she doesn't make you sleep on the couch, though. she can't sleep without you underneath her anyways.

but sweetest of all is when sevika's being a sweet cat-- curled up in your lap and snoozing while you read, or purring as you scratch her head while you both watch a movie-- and she'll unconsciously shift back.

it's a little jarring the first time you've suddenly got a lapful of sleeping grown woman instead of sleeping kitty, but mostly, it's cute.

because sevika's still sleeping. and... as you push her hair behind her ears, she stretches just a bit, like a cat, and she starts to snore.

it's not her usual snore, it's a little more rumbly...

you have to smack a hand over your mouth to keep from bursting into laughter as your girlfriend purrs on top of you.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @claude999 @nhaaauyen

[littlelovelunette]

my english is not the best but i hope you understand :(

could you do one where reader and sev adopt a puppy and sev is super cute with him and treats him like a son?? 😭😭 I'm a big animal enthusiast lol

you can decide whether to add some smut or not, anyway, I love your writing!! :3 byee

Tiny Paws

The first time Sevika said no to the idea of a puppy, it was automatic.

“No,” she grunted, arms crossed over her chest, a cigar dangling from her fingers. “Too much work.”

You expected that, but you also knew how to wear her down.

The next time you brought it up, you took a different approach—showing her a picture of a pitiful, scrappy little thing with dark fur and big, scared eyes.

“Found him outside the Last Drop,” you said casually, placing your phone in front of her. “Poor thing’s shivering.”

Sevika barely spared a glance before exhaling smoke, flicking ash into the tray. “Not my problem.”

“Would be if you saw him in person,” you murmured, already pocketing your phone.

You didn’t bring it up again—not directly, at least. But the next night, you returned to the apartment with a small bundle in your arms.

The puppy, barely the size of a loaf of bread, whined softly as you set him on the couch. His ribs showed under patchy fur, his ears drooping in exhaustion.

Sevika, seated in her usual chair, sighed loudly. “You brought it home.”

“I couldn’t just leave him.”

She groaned but didn’t argue.

Instead, she took a long drag from her cigar, staring at the tiny thing curled up on your lap. You braced yourself for more protests, but instead,

Sevika muttered, “What’s his name?”

You hid your smile. “Haven’t picked one yet.”

She grumbled something under her breath, but later that night, you caught her crouching near the puppy, scratching his tiny head with her flesh fingers.

Sevika liked to pretend she wasn’t invested.

Sure, she acted indifferent when you bought the puppy a proper bed, when you set out food and water bowls in the kitchen. But you noticed how she always checked if his bowl was full before sitting down for the night.

And then came the moment that sealed it—when you woke up one morning to find Sevika asleep on the couch, the puppy curled up against her chest, his tiny body rising and falling with her slow breathing.

You nearly gasped, but before you could even reach for your phone, Sevika cracked one eye open. “Don’t,” she warned, voice rough with sleep.

You grinned. “Didn’t say anything.”

She carefully shifted, making sure the puppy stayed nestled against her. “He’s gonna get spoiled.”

“Maybe,” you teased, “but I think he’s already your favorite.”

Sevika scoffed, but when the puppy stirred and whined, she immediately ran a hand down his back, soothing him.

From that moment on, she dropped the act.

She carried him under one arm like he was her son, grumbling about how soft he was making her while feeding him scraps from her plate.

She kept him close during storms, rubbing his ears when thunder made him whimper.

And when some idiot at the bar made a joke about how ridiculous it was to see a fearsome enforcer doting on a puppy, Sevika simply narrowed her eyes and said, “Say that again.”

The guy didn’t.

You never said I told you so, but every time you watched Sevika cradle the little thing in her massive arms, talking to him in that rare, gentle voice of hers, you didn’t have to.

[jihoonjuseyo]

hi! this is my first time sending a request 👉👈

When I saw your icon, I immediately thought of a request about being cat parents with woozi! 🐈

literally so cute omg— thank you for requesting!! i’m so honored, and i’m glad i could get this to you quickly! i was just about to change my entire blog appearance but this cat is sort of signature for me ;u; also… i just love the pet-parent aus.

cw: domestic fluff

“she looks like you already,” you’d half-giggle to yourself, your hand coming up to partially cover your smile with your fingers.

you remember it vividly, the first time jihoon met your little kitten. he went in, determined to find the perfect soul-cat that would suit your dynamic well at your shared home. of course you wanted a cat - hell, it your your idea! but aside from what you expected, jihoon didn’t object. he loved pets, just never had the time or space for one. now, he had you to help.

when the kitten came to the view of jihoon’s dark eyes, you didn’t have a chance to speak before he murmured, “this one.” he chose the tired kitten, the one stretched out on its back and refusing to wake as you whispered through the glass

the first few weeks were a train wreck. jihoon thought it would be low maintenance. litter box, cat bowls, beds, toys, a cat tree, stimulation toys - but nobody warned him about the constant scratching on everything but what was meant to be scratched. they also didn’t warn him about the zoomies in the middle of the night. he remembers it clearly, and he thinks about it every night, the time he slept peacefully with you curled towards him, buried in his chest.

it was like an eruption happened in your sleep, the feel of something hitting and bouncing off of your scalps. jihoon would be quick to react, hand holding you down protectively as he rose up in a defensive manner, only to see the cat sprint out of the room.

“what happened?” you’d whine, desperate to lie back down.

“your daughter,” jihoon grumbled, rolling over onto his side and tucking a leg between the two of yours, curling you as close as possible. it took him a solid five minutes to relax before he could sleep again.

the most important, nobody told him how much attention a cat needed. he could hardly eat without the new addition to the family brushing her tail under his nose, he couldn’t leave his laptop open in fear of the cat treading over it and messing things up. he certainly fought to keep the cat from scratching on the bathroom door when he just needed some privacy!

but you saw the other side of things. it was the slight smile he wore when the cat jumped on his legs at the table, something that would annoy others, and flick his nose with her tail before running off. “damn cat,” he’d half-heartedly complain. he knew he loved her.

you always noticed how flustered jihoon would get when he’d get caught being upset that the feline wasn’t following him from room to room. “she followed me all day yesterday.”

“she doesn’t appreciate what she has today,” you’d reply back.

“you’re right. i hope she doesn’t expect attention for the next few days.” as he walks back to his bedroom, you’d see him snatch the cat up from the back of the couch and carry her like a baby to the bedroom with him. so much for that.

the peaceful days were a treasure to jihoon. the mornings where he could wake up with you, bodies chilly from the cool air in the apartment. he’d hear the purring between your bodies and see the perfect little loaf, eyes closed and breathing soft. he blinked, wondering if he’s imagining the smile on her mouth.

and how sweet it was, when jihoon walked into the apartment one day to find you sweeping up a broken bowl, sauce and remanence of your lunch smeared to the floor. “shit- baby, be careful. let me do that,” he’d say, carefully walking to take the dustpan from you. “are you okay?” he’d ask over his shoulder at you. “what happened?”

he watched you pout, folding your arms as you shot a glare to the cat in the middle of the living area, sitting so sweetly and swaying her tail.

“your daughter.” you’d say back to jihoon with a mocking smile, before you watched his lips curl up slightly, his gaze going back to the cleaning project at hand.

“our daughter.” he corrected. “she can’t just be mine when she makes you upset.”

“she can’t just be mine when she does parkour and fifty somersaults on your face while you sleep.” you quickly responded, eyebrows raising as if to challenge him though he couldn’t see you.

you could hear him though, the little laugh he let out as he discarded some of the glass into a plastic bag. “aw, love,” he’d turn around, setting the plastic bag on the ground momentarily to pull your waist close to his, kissing your forehead. “is it good for our daughter to see us go back and forth like this?”

he watched your cheeks turn a darker shade, your eyes glancing towards the cat now licking her paw and cleaning her face. when you looked back at jihoon, you saw that he had you trapped in response. “…. you can have full custody-“

“stop,” he groaned, interrupting you and your pout over your spilled lunch.

[darkmarkmarauder]

What she doesn't know won't hurt her - T.R.

!warning!minors dni, infidelity, mature content

pairing: Tom Riddle x you

summary: you swore it would never happen again—betraying your best friend for the boy you had first. But every time Tom Riddle touches you, you lose yourself. It's wrong, twisted, and bound to destroy everything—but you can't stop. And neither can he.

The first time it happened, you swore it would be the last. You had told yourself—over and over—that it couldn’t happen again, that you wouldn’t let it. For Bellatrix. For your friendship. For your own sanity.

And yet, here you were. Back against the silk sheets of Tom Riddle's bed, his hand around your throat, and your legs spread open for him like you were made for this—made for him.

He wasn’t kind. Not in this. Not with you. But you didn’t want him to be.

You bit down on your lower lip to stifle the moan threatening to break free as he thrust into you, the stretch of him almost too much to take. Almost. His fingers flexed slightly against the sides of your neck, and the pressure had your head spinning, blood rushing in your ears.

"Look at you," Tom murmured, his voice a low rasp in the dim light of his prefect quarters. "So fucking desperate for me. I wonder what Bella would think if she saw you like this."

You flinched at the mention of her name, guilt curling in your stomach like a snake. Bella—your best friend. Bella—his girlfriend.

"Don't," you hissed through clenched teeth, nails digging into his forearms as he pinned you beneath him.

Tom only laughed. A soft, cruel sound. "Why not? You weren’t thinking about her when you begged me to fuck you last night." He tilted his head, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. "Or the night before that. Or the night before that."

"I hate you," you spat, even as your hips lifted to meet his next thrust.

"No, you don't," he said, leaning down until his lips brushed against your ear. "You should. But you don't."

And he was right. You should hate him. This was wrong. You knew that. But knowing it didn’t stop you from wanting him. From coming back to him again and again, no matter how many times you told yourself you wouldn’t.

He wasn’t always like this. There was a time when things were simpler. When Tom was just your best friend, the quiet, brooding boy you had pulled out of his shell during your first year at Hogwarts. You had sat beside him at the Slytherin table, uninvited and undeterred by the glare he shot you.

"You don't talk much, do you?" you had said, tearing a piece of bread from the loaf in front of you. "That's okay. I can talk enough for the both of us."

And you had. About magical creatures and herbology, your favorite subjects. He never seemed bored or annoyed. He listened. Really listened. And somewhere along the way, listening became friendship. And friendship became something else. Something more.

You had him first. Long before Bellatrix. Before anyone.

His pace was merciless, each thrust forcing the air from your lungs. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, mixing with your ragged breathing and the faint crackle of the fireplace in the corner. It was obscene—the way he took you, the way you let him—but neither of you were stopping.

"You think about this when you're with her?" you bit out, the words sharp even as your body arched beneath him.

His lips curled into a cruel smile. "You think I don’t?"

Bastard.

But then again—what did that make you?

Tom's grip on your waist tightened, his nails biting into your skin as he drove into you harder. "You should see yourself," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "My dirty slut.”

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, barely stopping the moan that tore from your throat. Shame burned at the edges of your thoughts, but it wasn’t enough—not enough to stop you from meeting each of his brutal thrusts, from chasing the high he always seemed to pull from you.

"th-this is the last time," you lied, tilting your head back as he bit down on the curve of your neck.

Bella loved you like a sister. And yet, none of that stopped you from spreading your legs for her boyfriend—your best friend—the one person you should have stayed away from.

Tom didn’t care. He never had. And that was the worst part, wasn’t it? That you were the one who felt guilty. That you were the one who still gave a damn.

You should stop this. You should push him away, gather your clothes, and leave. But instead, your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him deeper—closer. And Tom, ever the opportunist, took exactly what he wanted.

Thrusting faster and harder into you, the sound of your lovemaking getting louder by the second. His focus was singular—the drag of his cock inside you, the way your body clenched around him, the way you couldn’t help but moan when you came.

Tom followed with a low, satisfied groan, his cum spilling inside you as he buried himself into your neck, his movements stalled slowly.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing and the smell of ash from the fire that had been burning.

When he finally pulled out of you, you felt the loss of him like a physical ache. He settled on the bed beside you, one arm draped possessively across your waist.

"this has to stop," you said, the words hollow and meaningless.

He laughed softly, lips grazing your ear. "No, it doesn’t."

And Merlin help you—you knew he was right.

pt II to this fic

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: inspired by my favorite most darling writer @shyamanuensis there's something about writing infidelity scenes thats so exhilarating eeeee but I wouldn't wish this on anyone guys plz dont think I endorse cheating. istg its just fun to write sometimes😭😭

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ !!!check them out

MASTERLIST

[fangirlingalittletoohard]

Mine

Your husband has been cheating on you for your whole marriage. The life he provides for you isn't quite enough to keep you happy, so Haymitch takes matters into his own hands to show you what you're missing. (Inspired by this request!)

3,121 words

Haymitch Abernathy x reader

No use of y/n, but second person perspective.

Warnings: Infidelity, possessive Haymitch, occasional swearing, alcohol, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, overstimulation, kind of soft-dom Haymitch (let me know if I've missed any...)

................................................................................................

You felt like a fool. For the fifth time since you had been married less than a year ago, you had come home to find your husband fucking another girl. Four times, you had found him like this. Four times he had begged for your forgiveness. Four times you had given in, hoping that he would change. 

Part of you knew that he would never change, that this was your life now. You had married a Town boy. He had made you feel special; a girl from the Seam with dark hair and grey eyes. Really, you didn’t look much different from the other girls in the Seam, but he had made you believe that you were beautiful. It was barely six months before the two of you were married. He had provided you with a beautiful home, more food than you needed, and the freedom to not have to work yourself to the bone every day. 

The first time you caught him was two months after your wedding. You had been out shopping in the square, picking out the little hard-boiled sweets he favoured, a fresh loaf of his preferred bread, and a chicken that you were to prepare for dinner. You could hear them as soon as you opened the front door - she was moaning ridiculously loudly. You hadn’t quite known what to do with yourself. You vaguely remembered leaving the front door open, and your basket of produce which you had dropped on the doorstep had been stolen within minutes. 

The other times weren’t much different. He always managed to convince you that he only did it because you weren’t there in the moment when he needed you, so he had to get his fix elsewhere. It was beginning to hurt less and less each time, you only wished he wouldn’t bring them to your home. You didn’t like to sleep in your bed when you knew another woman had been there earlier that day. 

This time was different. You had been out for a walk with your friends, and your husband had been brought up. Someone had seen him with a Seam girl down by the Meadow. You had begun to make excuses for him, when one of your friends had informed you that everybody knew about your husband’s serial cheating. She had tried to give you tips on how to keep him satisfied. Face burning, you made your excuses and returned home to find him fucking a girl you went to school with over the kitchen counter. 

You slammed the door behind you. “Hi, honey.” You greeted, sickeningly sweetly.  “Fuck.” He muttered, hurrying to redress himself and throwing his latest plaything’s clothes in her direction. “I thought you’d be out longer.” He explained.  You turned to the girl. She had barely changed since school. She was the year below you, and you remembered her for her pretty name; Willow, like the tree you could see from the fence which separated your parent’s garden from the wilderness outside of District 12. As a Seam girl, she looked remarkably similar to yourself - dark hair, grey eyes, and a skinniness that only those accustomed to starvation wore with a sense of defiance. You suddenly felt self-conscious, aware of the now soft flesh around your stomach, arms and thighs which had appeared since living comfortably. “Get out of my house.” You stated quietly. 

Willow complied, hurrying out of the front door, leaving you alone with your husband. “Don’t be like that, honey.” He soothed, taking both of your hands in his. “You were out, and I didn’t think you’d be back until late. You girls usually lose track of time once you get talking.” He brought one of your hands up to his lips and kissed it. He looked up at you with his big blue eyes, and your defences crumbled. Every time that you thought that you had finally become angry enough to stand up for yourself, he flashed you those eyes and you just couldn’t resist. Your husband noticed you soften, and pulled you into a hug, kissing the top of your head. “You’re home now, honey. She wasn’t as good as you are.” He cooed, hands slipping down your waist and began to grope at your ass. “Make me feel good, honey.”  You sighed, knowing that you were being manipulated but not having the energy to argue.  “Make your husband feel good.” He murmured, mouthing at the soft skin of your neck. Despite yourself, you gave in, allowing himself to bunch your dress up around your waist and back you against the kitchen counter. He yanked your underwear to the side and pulled himself out of his trousers, pumping himself a few times with his fist before sinking into you. You allowed him to thrust into you, your tailbone bumping painfully against the edge of the counter, until he came inside you. He kissed you quickly on the lips, pulling out of you and re-buttoning his trousers. “I’ll be out late, honey.” He asserted, before leaving the house. 

You stood motionless, still leaning against the kitchen counter. You couldn’t live like this much longer. Your husband didn’t love you - you doubted whether he had ever loved you at all. You didn’t love him. You had, in the beginning, but what you felt for him certainly wasn’t love any more. You liked your life though. You never had to worry about where your next meal was coming from, you had a warm home, a comfortable bed, and luxuries you wouldn’t even let yourself dream of as a child in the Seam. Something in you felt like it wasn’t quite enough, though. If you were honest with yourself, the life your husband provided for you hadn’t been enough for quite some time now. 

You needed a drink. The Hob was only a ten minute walk away, and it wouldn’t be dark for a while. Usually, you would drink alone at home for fear of people seeing you and talking, but you didn’t want to be alone with your thoughts. If you thought about it for too long, you might convince yourself to try and leave your husband, and that was not a very wise decision. 

So, you went to the Hob. Usually, you favoured the more expensive amber liquor, but tonight you were drinking to numb yourself, not for pleasure, so you opted for a bottle of the stronger clear stuff. You were only one glass in when Haymitch Abernathy stumbled in. You had met him a few times before when you had been brave enough to sit and drink in the Hob. He was sweet. He had a quick wit but knew when to hold his tongue. He was a Seam boy through and through, even though he now lived in a fancy house.  “Bad day?” He asked, pulling up a stool beside you.  “Something like that.” You replied, grabbing an empty glass, filling it from your bottle of liquor and handing it to him. He gulped it down quickly, and you refilled it for him.  “Care to share your woes?” He asked clinking the rim of his glass with yours and making you laugh a little.  You sighed. Haymitch wasn’t like your other friends. He didn’t judge you like they did, even though you knew they didn’t mean to. “My husband had been cheating on me since a few months after our wedding, probably earlier if I’m being honest, and apparently everyone seems to know.”  Haymitch was silent for a few very long moments. “What?” He asked lowly.  “I caught him for the fifth time today.” You stated simply. You didn’t feel angry, or hurt, or anything, really. Clearly, the liquor was working.  “You’re kidding?” He asked, more serious than you had seen him in a while.  You shook your head. “You didn’t know?”  “You really think I would’ve gone all this time without saying something if I’d known?” You shrugged your shoulders and Haymitch thumped his glass against the table. “Why are you still with him?” He asked, failing to conceal his anger.  “Haymitch, when was the last time you heard of a married couple splitting up in 12?” You asked, a little perplexed by his anger.  Haymitch shook his head. “But you’re not happy with him?” He asked, leaning closer to you.  You took a moment to think. “I like my life, but….” You trailed off, unsure of how you actually felt. “But?” Haymitch prompted.  “I don’t know.” You replied frustratedly.  “Are you satisfied in your marriage?” He asked. You were confused. Your furrowed brow only seemed to make him angrier. “If he’s off fucking other girls, tell me he at least takes care of you enough to make you want to stay with him.”  “I mean,” you began, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as Haymitch questioned you about your sex life. “We are… intimate… sometimes, but I guess it isn’t like it was when we first got together.” You replied, feeling exposed as his stormy grey eyes bore into you.  Haymitch leant even closer to you, and you could feel his warm breath against your lips. “If you were my wife,” he growled, “I’d spend so long making you feel good that you wouldn’t even want to leave the house.” You could taste the liquor on his breath, and a jolt of pleasure shot straight to your core. You hadn’t felt that for almost a year. You inhaled shakily. Haymitch smirked, noticing your reaction. “If you were my wife, I’d take you out with hickeys all over your pretty little neck, so everyone knew you were mine.”  “Haymitch,” you whispered, silently begging him to stop. For most of your marriage, you hadn’t felt like this. You hadn’t felt desired, you hadn’t felt pretty, you hadn’t felt worthy of pleasure. You were afraid that you would do something that you would regret.  “If you were my wife,” He continued, ignoring you, “I’d fucking worship you, and you’d have no doubt that you’re the prettiest fucking woman in the whole of Panem.” 

You snapped. A whole year of ignoring that something was missing. This was what was missing. The heat between your thighs, the hammering of your heart against your ribcage, the desire pooling in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t resist. You gripped Haymitch’s shirt with both hands and pulled him into you, your lips crashing together messily as you kissed him. You felt Haymitch smirk into the kiss. After a few moments, Haymitch pulled away. “Let me take care of you like your husband can’t.” He requested. You nodded feverishly, pulling him back into you. His tongue slipped past your lips and into your mouth. You didn’t care who saw. Everyone knew that your husband was cheating on you. Let them see that you were finding satisfaction elsewhere. 

Haymitch broke the kiss again and stood up, motioning for you to join him. He planted his arm firmly around your waist, leading you out of the Hob and in the direction of Victor’s Village. It was less than a five minute walk back to his house, but it took closer to twenty as you stopped every few paces to kiss as much of each other’s exposed flesh as possible. You were sure that hickeys were already forming on your neck before you’d even made it to the gates of Victor’s Village. 

When you reached his house, Haymitch lifted you off the ground, one hand beneath you and the other snaked around your back, and began sloppily kissing you again. He kicked the door open and then closed behind you, stumbling up the stairs without detaching his lips from yours. He deposited you on a soft bed and had removed his shirt before you had time to collect yourself. Noticing him undressing, you followed suit, yanking your dress down as quickly as you could and hearing the fabric of the sleeve tear in your haste. 

Wearing just his boxers, Haymitch took a small step back to admire you. “You really are the prettiest fucking woman in the whole of Panem.” He stated. You were naked except for your underwear, and his statement made you blush. “Want me to make you feel good, pretty girl?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow. You nodded, and Haymitch tutted. “Use your words, doll.” He demanded.  “Haymitch… please.” You managed to request breathily.  With your consent, Haymitch dropped to his knees before you. He was a sight to behold. He gripped your hips and pulled you to the edge of the bed, beginning to kiss you again. His hands roamed over every inch of skin he could reach, paying extra attention to your breasts. His kisses moved from your lips, to your neck, to your chest, to your stomach, and finally, to your thighs. He lifted your hips and slipped your underwear off in one swift movement, then sat back on his heels and eyed your naked form. He placed both hands on your knees and parted your thighs, licking his lips. “Does your husband make you this wet?” He asked, his eyes lingering on your core. “No.” You admitted, beginning to close your legs, but Haymitch stopped you. He laughed. “You poor little thing,” he began, a little condescendingly, “all this time without anyone to make you feel good. Must be torture.” He continued, massaging your thighs with calloused fingers. You whimpered a little pathetically, feeling yourself clench around nothing as your body became desperate for him. Haymitch smirked. “I’ll make you feel so good you won’t even remember his name.” He promised. 

Without giving you time to digest his words, he closed the gap between his face and your core as his tongue began lapping at your arousal. You couldn’t stop the ungodly moan which escaped your lips as your hands flew to his hair, tangling in his dark curls as your thighs clamped shut around his head. Haymitch groaned as your hips bucked involuntarily against his face. Your husband had never pleasured you with his mouth before, and it was bliss. His tongue delved into your hole, and you were a moaning mess, one arm propping you up as you began to grind your hips against his face, his nose bumping against your clit and stubbled chin grazing deliciously against your sensitive core. Before long, your thighs were squeezing Haymitch’s head so hard you were surprised you hadn’t crushed his skull as a wave of pleasure washed over you and your arousal gushed out onto his tongue. You had never experienced a sensation like that before. You felt a little sensitive and pushed gently at Haymitch’s head. He detached his mouth from your core, and the sight of him sent a fresh wave of arousal to the pit of your stomach. His pupils were blown wide, giving him the look of a starved man, and the lower half of his face was damp with your arousal. “That feel good, pretty girl?” He asked, placing a feather-light kiss to your clit and making your hips jolt upwards. You nodded. “You gonna give me another orgasm?” He asked, condescendingly.  “Too much,” you managed to mutter, still not fully recovered from your high.  “We’ve got a year’s worth of pleasure to make up for, doll. One orgasm’s not nearly enough.” He insisted. His breath against your core made your hips buck upwards again, and he chuckled. “Such a needy little thing.” He muttered, before attaching his lips to your clit and sucking. Again, you surprised yourself with how loudly you moaned. You couldn’t help it, Haymitch was just making you feel so good. It took a little longer for your orgasm to build this time, but once Haymitch inserted a warm digit into your core, curling it just so, as his lips continued to suck at your clit, you felt your walls spasm around his finger and a similar wave of pleasure sent a shiver down your spine. 

Your head was spinning as Haymitch removed his finger and lips from your core and came up to kiss you. You had never felt this good. You were just beginning to feel grounded again, when Haymitch stood up and removed his boxers, his hard cock springing up against his stomach. He was big, bigger than your husband. You were still so sensitive, but you neededhim inside you. “Haymitch.” You whined.  “Mmh?” He asked, innocently.  “Need you.” You managed to request.  Haymitch chuckled. “Need me how, doll?” He asked. He was driving you crazy.  “Inside me, please.” You begged.  “You’re such a mess for me, aren’t you?” He asked, kissing you gently on the lips.  “Haymitch,” you whimpered again, feeling pathetic but not caring. Haymitch decided that you had made yourself clear enough, and lifted you up, laying you back down with your head comfortably against the pillows at the head of his bed. He didn’t make you wait, slowly pressing into you almost as soon as he had laid you down. He stretched you out so perfectly and you knew in that moment that your husband would never be enough for you.  “Fuck,” Haymitch murmured, “if you were my wife,” he growled into your ear, “I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from fucking you like this every day, you feel too fucking good.” He concluded, his thrusts picking up pace. His words made you whimper and clench around him. He manoeuvred you so that your legs were bent over his shoulders, and the new angle allowed his cock to hit a spot inside you that had you seeing stars.  “Haymitch!” You cried out, clawing at his back for support.  “That good, huh?” He asked. You nodded feverishly. Haymitch picked up his pace, hitting that spot with every thrust. You couldn’t think straight. Everything was Haymitch. The way he smelled, the way he felt, the way he tasted. Again, your orgasm was building rapidly.  “You might be married to that idiot,” Haymitch began, “but you’re fucking mine.” He concluded. His words tipped you completely over the edge, and white-hot pleasure coursed through your veins as you came for a third time that evening. Your spasming walls forced Haymitch into his own high, and he stilled his hips, coming deep inside you. 

Haymitch kissed you sweetly, thumbs brushing over your cheeks soothingly. He carefully pulled out of you and helped you to lower your legs, before lying next to you and pulling you into his chest, placing a kiss to your forehead. He had given you everything you had been missing in your marriage. You didn’t need to voice it. You knew that he understood. You simply lay, curled up together, in comfortable silence, until you drifted off to sleep.

[katnissmellarkkk]

-

There was a clatter in the bakery and I heard the woman screaming again and the sound of a blow, and I vaguely wondered what was going on. Feet sloshed toward me through the mud and I thought, It’s her. She’s coming to drive me away with a stick. But it wasn’t her. It was the boy. In his arms, he carried two large loaves of bread that must have fallen into the fire because the crusts were scorched black.

His mother was yelling, “Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!”

[…]

The boy took one look back to the bakery as if checking that the coast was clear, then, his attention back on the pig, he threw a loaf of bread in my direction. The second quickly followed, and he sloshed back to the bakery, closing the kitchen door tightly behind him.

-

Getting the broth into Peeta takes an hour of coaxing, begging, threatening, and yes, kissing, but finally, sip by sip, he empties the pot.

-

“No more kisses for you until you’ve eaten,” I say.

We get him propped up against the wall and he obediently swallows the spoonfuls of the berry mush I feed him. He refuses the groosling again, though.

-

Peeta feeds me bites of groosling and raisins and makes me drink plenty of water. He rubs some warmth back into my feet and wraps them in his jacket before tucking the sleeping bag back up around my chin.

-

I watch as Peeta crosses to the table, the sunlight from the window picking up the glint of fresh snow in his blond hair. He looks strong and healthy, so different from the sick, starving boy I knew in the arena, and you can barely even notice his limp now. He sets a loaf of fresh-baked bread on the table and holds out his hand to Haymitch.

-

From the bag I pull two fresh buns with a layer of cheese baked into the top. We always seem to have a supply of these since Peeta found out they were my favorite.

-

“I checked in on him. Dead drunk. But I built up his fire and left him some bread,” he says.

-

My mother lets me sleep until noon, then rouses me to examine my heel. I’m ordered to a week of bed rest and I don’t object because I feel so lousy. Not just my heel and my tailbone. My whole body aches with exhaustion. So I let my mother doctor me and feed me breakfast in bed and tuck another quilt around me.

-

My mother sits on the side of the bed and Prim crawls right up next to me and they hold me, making quiet soothing sounds, until I am mostly cried out. Then Prim gets a towel and dries my hair, combing out the knots, while my mother coaxes tea and toast into me. They dress me in warm pajamas and layer more blankets on me and I drift off again.

-

Gale sets his tray beside me and I try not to stare at his turnips too pathetically, because I really want more, and he’s already too quick to slip me his food. Even though I turn my attention to neatly folding my napkin, a spoonful of turnips slops into my bowl.

-

My mother and Prim take turns nursing me, coaxing me to swallow bites of soft food.

-

I’m really not in the mood to divvy up everything into eleven equal parts, factoring in age, body weight, and physical output. I poke around in the pile, about to settle on some cod chowder, when Peeta holds out a can to me. “Here.”

I take it, not knowing what to expect. The label reads LAMB STEW.

-

Peeta, bearing a warm loaf of bread, shows up with Greasy Sae. She makes us breakfast and I feed all my bacon to Buttercup.

-

something something about how in a series called the hunger games, one of the most kind and intimate acts of love in the mind of the protagonist is feeding those you care for.

[kathlare]

windmill kiss

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie and Lando steal away from their busy lives for an afternoon that’s silly, tender, and full of warmth.

Wordcount: 3.2 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

March 31st, 2025 - Copenhague, Denmark

liked by alex_albon, keeganpalmer, and others

lando: dɯnp

View all 17,831 comments

lanmelieobsessed: HE POSTED HER. HE POSTED HER. HE’S SO IN LOVE I’M GONNA CRY

maxfewtrell: not you posting the elevator buttons like it’s deep 💀 → lando: @maxfewtrell it’s called aesthetic mate. look it up.

quadrant: subtle brand placement king → lando: @quadrant what can i say… synergy

helmetblondie: lando said i’m her photographer, editor, director and #1 fan → daymanlight: @helmetblondie he’s deep in his boyfriend era and we love to see it

trackromance: the way she’s just casually stunning in the middle of this chaotic boy dump → norrisnation: @trackromance she’s the main character in all his dumps and it shows

stoppostingher: i don’t need to see his gf every time he posts

oversteerslut: he rlly said “lemme sneak her in twice and act chill” → paddockpals: @paddockpals we SEE you king. we respect it.

keeganpalmer: who let me cook in slide 3 😭 → lando: @keeganpalmer you did your thing tho, chef keeg

ameliedayman: i look like a renaissance painting in slide 5, say thank you → lando: @ameliedayman thank you 🙏 also printing it out for my wallet

thatf1girl: no bc you can feel the couple energy from these → softamelieupdates: @thatf1girl the way he captures her>>> literal boyfriend behavior

trackbae69: he’s in his simp era and i support it

breakupbelievers: ok but y’all were crying about a break up last week lol → paddockgossip: @breakupbelievers and now we’re crying bc we love love. duality babes.

kiki.ameliefan: i would like to personally thank Lando’s camera roll for its service → boatsoftboy: @kikiameliefan he’s so deep in bf mode i can’t breathe

-------------

The Danish sky was an overcast gray, but it held the soft light of a northern afternoon, casting a silvery glow over the quiet city. Amelie stood in the hotel room, brushing out her hair, the hum of the heater in the background while Björn aggressively tried to claw himself under one of her suitcases and Benny curled at the foot of the bed like a needy loaf.

She had a show in a few hours—a big one. Copenhagen’s crowd always had a special kind of energy, and she was feeling that familiar tug of nerves and adrenaline. But more than that, she was feeling the ache that always settled into her chest right before Lando had to leave again.

He stood by the window, arms crossed, hoodie half-zipped, watching the streets below. His suitcase sat by the door, neat and ready, mocking her.

—You’re staring again— she said softly, catching his reflection in the mirror.

Lando didn’t even flinch. Just smirked. —Can you blame me? You’re brushing your hair like you’re in a bloody perfume ad or something. Gimme a break, Ames. My heart can only take so much.—

She rolled her eyes, cheeks warming. —You’re such a simp.—

He walked over, wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss just under her ear. —I’m your simp. Big difference.—

—Gross— she mumbled, but her voice melted as she leaned into his touch.

Lando chuckled against her skin, swaying them gently side to side as if they had all the time in the world. She could feel his fingers tracing little shapes on her stomach over her hoodie, a mindless, affectionate habit he’d picked up lately whenever he held her like this.

—You nervous about the show?— he murmured.

She hesitated, eyes meeting his in the mirror. He could always tell.

—A little. It's Copenhagen. They're… intense. Good intense. Just...— She shrugged. —I want it to be perfect.—

—It will be— he said, with the kind of conviction that made her stomach flutter. —You’re gonna kill it. And I’ll be there cheering like an idiot ‘til the second I have to leave.—

She twisted around to face him, looping her arms around his neck.

—And after that?— she asked, her voice quieter now, eyes searching his.

Lando leaned in, nose brushing hers, —I’ll be in Japan missing you like a little bitch, obviously.—

She laughed, forehead falling against his, —You’re so dramatic.—

—Only for you.—

There was a pause, long and warm. The hum of Copenhagen outside felt muffled by the cocoon they’d created in this little hotel room, and Lando, ever the thoughtful one when it came to her lately, pulled back just enough to press a soft kiss to her lips.

—Come on, get your shoes on. I’ve got somewhere to take you.—

She blinked. —Wait, what? Lan, my soundcheck’s in like two hours.—

—I know— he said, eyes twinkling with that mischievous sparkle that always made her suspicious and a little soft all at once. —Trust me. It won’t take long. Just… humor me, yeah?—

—You’re not gonna propose, are you?— she teased, already grabbing her boots from the corner.

Lando laughed, shaking his head as he slipped on his coat. —Not yet, cariño, but fuck, you’re not making it easy not to.—

Her heart did a little somersault, but she pretended not to hear that last bit, biting back a smile as she zipped up her boots.

Outside, the cold bit at her cheeks as they stepped into the waiting car. Lando’s hand found hers the second they sat down, his thumb drawing lazy circles across the back of it. He looked suspiciously giddy, practically vibrating with excitement.

—Okay, can I get a hint now?— she asked, glancing sideways at him.

—Absolutely not.— He squeezed her hand. —But I promise, you're gonna love it. It's nothing fancy. Just us. You and me. A little stupid, a little sweet.—

She narrowed her eyes. —So, you’re saying it’s very on-brand for you.—

—Exactly.—

They drove for about twenty minutes through quiet Copenhagen streets, the kind of calm only northern cities could maintain even in the middle of a workday. Lando kept glancing out the window, clearly tracking where they were, until finally he perked up like a little golden retriever spotting a squirrel.

—Okay, close your eyes.—

Amelie groaned. —Lan.—

—Ames. Trust me.—

With a dramatic sigh, she obeyed. Lando guided her out of the car and onto the cold pavement, his hands gently on her shoulders as he walked behind her like a guide dog.

—If I fall and break my ankle, you’re canceling Japan and staying to nurse me back to health.—

—Deal. But also, please don’t fall. I don’t think my heart could take it.—

When they finally stopped, the cold air sharper now, he pulled his hands away.

—Okay. Open.—

She blinked against the gray light, then frowned.

—Is this… a mini golf course?—

—Yup.— He grinned like a proud idiot. —I rented the whole thing out. Just us. Got it all to ourselves for the next hour and a half before you gotta head to soundcheck. Figured you’d need something stupid and fun to take the edge off.—

She stared at him, touched and a little stunned. He was already grabbing two clubs and a pink golf ball, grinning like this was the best idea he’d ever had. It probably was.

—You’re ridiculous.—

—You love it.—

—Unfortunately.—

The first hole had a stupid little windmill that barely turned anymore, and Amelie instantly whacked her ball into the side of it.

—Fuck this game— she muttered, and Lando burst out laughing.

—You haven’t even made it to the second shot.—

—It’s rigged. You set me up.—

—Okay, but you look hot as fuck while failing. So really, I win either way.—

She squinted at him. —You’re trying to distract me.—

—Always.— He winked, then lined up his shot perfectly. The ball sailed through the windmill and straight into the hole.

—Show off.—

He strutted past her like he’d just scored pole position, clapping once.

—Come on, baby, don’t let me humiliate you in front of all the… empty benches.—

She tried to glare. Really, she did. But his smug smile, the stupid beanie half-falling off his head, and the fact that he’d somehow pulled this off just for her made it impossible.

—You’re disgusting.—

—Still gonna kiss me though, yeah?—

She leaned over, kissed him softly, then whacked him on the arm with her putter.

—That’s for being annoyingly good at everything.—

They continued through the course, laughing too much, cursing every poorly designed loop-de-loop, and taking far too long because Lando insisted on making up new rules every third hole.

—This one’s worth double if you hit the flamingo.—

—That’s not a flamingo. That’s a very depressed swan sculpture.—

—Still counts.—

By hole eleven, Amelie was breathless from laughing, cheeks red from the cold and from Lando’s relentless flirting. He’d let her win a couple holes, clearly, and every time she’d accuse him, he’d say something like,

—What can I say? I’m weak for you.—

And she’d roll her eyes, even though her heart ached in that sweet, dangerous way it always did when she looked at him too long.

At hole sixteen, he stopped, watching her as she crouched to line up her shot, arms wrapped tightly around himself.

—You’re staring again— she murmured without looking up.

—You’re my favorite thing to look at. Sue me.—

She stood, turned to him with the club slung over her shoulder. —You’re such a sap lately.—

—Only since I fell in love with you.—

Her breath caught. He said it so easily now. Like it was a fact. Like gravity. And maybe it was.

She stepped toward him, club forgotten in the grass.

—You’re leaving in a couple hours, idiot.—

—Yeah. But I’m here now.—

She kissed him then, hard and fast and a little desperate, like she wanted to freeze time.

And for a second, maybe they did.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Lando whispered against her lips,

—I’m really gonna miss you.—

She nodded, throat thick. —I’m catching you in Japan in two days. It’s not that long.—

—Feels like it.—

—You’re soft.—

—You make me soft.—

Amelie chuckled under her breath, brushing her thumb over his cheek.

—God, you’re whipped.—

—And proud of it.— He leaned in again, pressing one last kiss to her jaw before tugging her hand. —Come on. We’ve got two more holes, and I refuse to let you leave without seeing me get a hole-in-one on the dragon’s mouth.—

—That sounded incredibly inappropriate.—

—Only if your mind's in the gutter, cariño.—

She smirked, letting him pull her along. They finished the last couple holes with more giggles than actual playing, mostly because Lando kept trying to “coach” her by wrapping his arms around her and whispering in her ear in that stupid, smug tone that made her both flustered and very bad at aiming.

Eventually, he just abandoned his club entirely, opting to sit on a bench and watch her play with a ridiculous, proud boyfriend expression on his face. She could feel his eyes on her the entire time.

By the time they were walking back to the car, the wind was sharper and her fingers were starting to go numb. Lando tugged her into his side, rubbing her hand between his palms to warm it up.

—Thanks for this,— she said quietly, her head against his shoulder.

He pressed a kiss to her temple. —Thanks for letting me steal you. I know how insane your schedule is right now.—

She shrugged. —You’re worth it. Also, if I bomb soundcheck now, I’m blaming you.—

—Fair. But also, I maintain that mini golf is excellent vocal warm-up. Lots of yelling, lots of laughing. Builds diaphragm strength or whatever.—

She snorted. —You’re full of shit.—

—Yup. And still somehow irresistible.—

They slipped back into the car, and this time, she curled into him fully, head on his chest while he kept an arm wrapped around her shoulders. It was quiet again, that comforting stillness that always seemed to wrap around them like a weighted blanket when the world got too loud.

—You nervous?— she asked, her fingers fidgeting with the drawstring of his hoodie.

He hummed. —About flying halfway across the world in a few hours to race a car against twenty lunatics at 300 km/h? Nah. Easy.—

She tilted her head up to look at him, one brow arched.

—Liar.—

He grinned. —Okay, maybe a little. But it’s not the racing. It’s the leaving. That bit always sucks.—

Her chest ached again, that familiar tightness that had taken residence there every time they had to be apart. But she nodded.

—You’ll kill it in Japan. And I’ll be there before you know it. I land early on saturday, remember? Max said he’d sneak me into the paddock if you’re still in meetings or whatever.—

Lando smirked. —God bless Fewtrell. Never thought I’d say that unironically.—

-------------

liked by single4f1, landoheartzz, and others

norrisnupdates: lando just posted this on his story 👀 looks like him & amelie are out minigolfing today!! 🏌️‍♂️🩷⛳️

View all 8,113 comments

speedqueen44: i KNOW they were being competitive af 😭 → landoheartzz: @speedqueen44 loser def had to buy ice cream after lol

lanmelielover88: they’re so unserious i love it here

saltypapaya: idk man, she gives me pick me energy 🙄 → flanellef1: @saltypapaya babe they’ve been dating for like a year and u still mad? get well soon xx → no1lanstan: @saltypapaya lando literally looks the happiest he’s ever been BYE

single4f1: you guys see romance. i see two people better at love than me. → lanmeliefiles: @single4f1 we suffer together 🫡

papayanights: they probably made a dumb bet like “winner picks the next movie”

delulu4lanmelie: pls they’re literally married in my mind → formulagirlie69: @delulu4lanmelie you mean in my heart, soul, and taxes.

qualiqueen: how do two pairs of feet have this much chemistry??

ameliestrawberrymilk: lando def said “loser kisses the winner” → superchargedcutie: @ameliestrawberrymilk and he lost on purpose. we all know.

stopdrivingmecray: ok but can i third wheel pls

landosleftfoot: didn’t know i’d die over feet pics today but here we are → daymanssunshine: @landosleftfoot they’re not even trying and they still serve every time 😩

-------------

The backstage of the venue buzzed with the electric chaos of a show about to begin—crew members darting between shadows, last-minute mic checks echoing off the rafters, and the murmur of the Copenhagen crowd growing louder by the minute. Amelie stood in front of the lit-up mirror in her dressing room, adjusting the final details of her outfit. The sequined bodice hugged her waist perfectly, shimmering like a constellation whenever she moved. A touch more gloss, a final spritz of perfume, and she was ready.

Her heartbeat thudded steadily, a mix of nerves and excitement. But it wasn’t the show that had her stomach in tight, fluttering knots. It was him.

Lando leaned casually against the wall near the doorway, hands in his pockets, wearing that stupid hoodie she loved too much and that fond, quiet smile that made it impossible to look away for too long. His suitcase was beside him again—always there, always waiting to be dragged away from her.

She met his gaze in the mirror, her own expression softening.

—Okay,— she said, turning toward him. —Last call for good luck kisses.—

Lando didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room and gathered her in his arms like he’d been aching for it all night. His hands found the small of her back, grounding her. Her forehead pressed gently to his chest, and for a second, she just breathed him in—detergent and cologne and that familiar scent that meant home.

—You look…— he whispered, pulling back just enough to glance over her. —Jesus. Ames, you’re gonna give people a heart attack.—

—Good,— she smirked. —They paid for a show.—

He laughed quietly, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. —God, I hate leaving you.—

—I know,— she murmured, threading her fingers into the hem of his hoodie. —Me too.—

There was a knock at the door—one of her stage managers calling out, —Ten minutes!—

She nodded in response, but didn’t move to pull away. Not yet.

Lando's arms tightened around her for a beat longer, like he could memorize the shape of her. She tilted her head up, catching the flicker of something in his eyes. That nervous twitch of his brow. That tight swallow.

She’d seen it before—before big races, press days, even back when he used to FaceTime her in the McLaren motorhome parking lot, pretending everything was fine when his foot kept bouncing off-camera. But this time, it was different. He was leading the championship. Everything was happening. And the weight of it—of the spotlight, of the pressure—was beginning to press down, even if he hadn’t said it out loud.

Amelie reached up, cupping his jaw, her thumb brushing gently just under his cheekbone.

—Hey,— she whispered, searching his face. —You’re gonna be amazing in Japan. I know it’s a big one, and I know you’re already in your head about it, but Lan… no matter what happens, I’m so fucking proud of you.—

His throat worked as he swallowed, eyes flicking between hers like he was trying to find the right words and failing.

—You always say the right thing at the worst time,— he said, voice quiet and hoarse. —Now I’m gonna get on that plane and cry like a bitch.—

She laughed, breath catching, and pressed her forehead to his again.

—Save the tears for the podium, cariño.—

He smiled at that, soft and aching.

—You’ll be there, right? Saturday?—

—First flight out. I land stupid early. Max is gonna smuggle me in, remember? I’ll be in the garage before you even zip up your fireproofs.—

Lando chuckled under his breath, his eyes never leaving hers.

—You’re really something else, Ames.—

—Yeah, well. You make it easy to love you.—

The silence that followed was heavy with unsaid things—three words that danced just behind his teeth, three words that lingered in her pulse. But neither of them said it this time. They didn’t need to. Not right now.

There was another knock. Louder.

—Five minutes!—

Lando kissed her then, slow and lingering, his hand curled gently around her waist like he didn’t want to let go. She kissed him back just as fiercely, her fingers curling into the collar of his hoodie.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless and reluctant, Amelie rested her hand over his heart for one last second. Then she stepped back, straightened her shoulders, and smiled.

—Go catch your flight, Norris.—

He looked at her like he wanted to stay, suitcase be damned.

—Break the world out there, Amelie.—

—Every time.—

She turned toward the corridor that led to the stage, heels clicking softly against the concrete. But just before she reached the end, she paused and glanced over her shoulder.

Lando was still there, watching her like she was the only thing in the room.

—Lan?—

—Yeah?—

—Text me when you land. And…— She hesitated, eyes warm. —Wherever you end up, trophy or no trophy… you’ve already made me proud. Don’t forget that.—

His smile faltered, then deepened—something quieter, fuller.

—I won’t.—

Then she disappeared around the corner, the roar of the crowd rising like thunder. And Lando stood there a moment longer, heart still catching up, before finally picking up his suitcase and heading for the door.

[satorusugurugurl]

Tangled Up With You

Summary: You’re the personal guard of the prince of the kingdom. So to protect him and his magical healing hair. but he’s also charged you with keeping his bed warm as well.

Pairing: Prince!Geto Suguru x Guard!AFAB!Reader

Warning: Fantasy AU! Long hair Suguru, magic hair that glows, fluff, sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 3K

A/N: Kinktober day Nineteen: Tangled!AU! Tangled is like one of my favorite movies! So of course I had a major blast writing this! Also I need Pascal!Gojo 😩💚

You were panting as you ran, looking over your shoulder; you made sure no one was following you. Your leather and light armor made it nearly impossible to stay silent, but you hoped you were far enough that he wouldn't hear you. Your pulse raced as you darted down an empty corridor through the kitchens. Once in the darkness, you slammed yourself against the darkest part of the wall. You were inhaling and exhaling through your nose as you covered your mouth, attempting to silence your breathing as voices echoed off in the distance.

“You can't run forever!” Captain Nanami barked out, making you sink further down. “You might as well come out now! Face my anger now!”

“Damn, she’s fast!” Haibara chimed in, and the clincking armor sounded like a ticking time bomb to you. “But don't you think making her do combat training is a bit harsh just for—”

“Do you want to join her?” Silence. “That’s what I thought. Now help me find her!”

Why were you so stupid!? Of course, Nanami just happened to catch you slacking off and eating his sweet bread! The autumn breeze had been so nice, and the sweet smell of bread was so tempting! And for once in your entire time of being a guard within the castle walls, you decided to give yourself a break. A break that included you taking off your palace cloak, laying down underneath one of the autumn trees, and snacking on Nanami’s favorite bread. A friend you didn’t realize was the last loaf of the day, and he has been saving it for when he got outside of his shift.

It didn’t help that your fellow guards knew this fact and refused to tell you about it. They were always tired of being on their commander's radar and decided that it was your turn! A turn you didn’t even want to partake in!

But here you were, hiding in the darkest corridor on the palace grounds from your commanding officer, who wanted to give you hand-to-hand combat training with him. A lesson thought you would do practically anything to avoid getting out of. All you needed to do was avoid him for the rest of the day. If you managed to do that and get back to the barracks, you could get up early tomorrow morning and call him at two loaves of his favorite bread to make up for your mistake.

That is if you manage to get through the rest of the day without getting caught.

The clinking armor grew louder, and you felt your heart rate spike with each step. Your life was starting to flash before your eyes as you listened to Nanami approaching closer and closer. There was nothing you could do aside from praying to the gods and goddesses to show you mercy!

“Hi, Nanami.” A familiar cheerful voice rang from above you. “What are you doing?” You glanced up, finding Prince Geto Suguru leaning outside the window of his tower.

The clanking of armor came to an abrupt stop. “Oh, good evening, your highness! I’m looking for my second in command! You haven’t seen her, have you?” The prince hummed, and you tilted your head up, praying he wouldn’t see you. Much to your horror, pretty lilac-hued eyes met your gaze as he smiled, his dark bands flowing in the cool breeze. You acted quickly, shaking your head back and forth in a silent plea for him not to tell Nanami.

With a dramatic eye roll, your prince pointed the opposite way. “Her favorite flowers are blooming soon. I bet she’s in the gardens. I would have joined her, but I’m still brushing my hair.” You thought that maybe, just maybe, Nanami wouldn’t have listened and continued down his path hunting you.

“Ah! Thank you, your highness!”

You blinked, watching as bother Nanami and Haibara headed off to the garden on the other side of the castle. You waited there for an eternity before a sigh of relief finally passed through your lips. Winning a whole-hearted laugh from the man above you.

“Oh my gods! That was a close one!”

“What did you do to invoke the wrath of the Nanami Kento?”

Long, black, silky hair was thrown out the window, swaying in front of you. This was a drill the two of you had. “I didn’t mean to piss off!” You wrapped your hand around his hair as he began climbing, pressing your feet against the wall of the tower. “Honest to the gods, his bread was just sitting there in the office, and I didn’t think you would mind sharing!” you grunted as you hoisted yourself up on the windowsill, scooting in until you could hop into his room.

“Okay, and you know, Nanami. Bread to him is one of his only joys in life.” Suguru laughed, returning to his bed, where he picked up a brush and ran it through his magical hair.

“Maybe I was just being optimistic.” Without another word, you took the brush away from your prince and began brushing it for him.

Suguru hummed softly, shutting his eyes as you gently worked through his hair, all seventy feet of it. Both of you enjoyed quiet moments like this. Where he whisked away to the court to help with an ill villager or paraded like a peacock for princesses, and you weren’t stuck escorting him when both of you would rather be with each other. Suguru was blessed with magic hair that could heal injuries, illnesses, and many other ailments people may have. Because of this, people were always trying to cut his hair off, not knowing that by doing so, his hair would lose all magical attributes.

That’s why you and the rest of your squads are in charge of keeping him safe.

But being his guard has led you to get to know each other more personally, and your relationship became less of a protector and more of a partner. Suguru wanted to be with you, but you both decided it would be best to keep it a secret for now. He would toss his hair out the window, and you would climb it to ensure no one saw you sneaking into his bed chambers.

You could hear the gossip that would arise from this if anyone found out about your relationship. People would say that you were just some lonely guard, deflowering their prince, making him unworthy and unfit for marriage, which wasn’t at all what you were doing. You had fallen for the prince you were sworn to protect. He was handsome, kind, and intelligent. It would’ve been practically impossible for you not to develop these kinds of feelings for him. You would hate for anyone to get the wrong idea that you were just out for his body, to bed him and leave. That wasn’t the case at all!

It all happened, which was a bonus for falling in love with him.

Typically, you tried your damnedest to keep your mind yourself along with your hands. But as he let out a breath as you began, twisting the long hair into a braid, your mind began to wander elsewhere. You could see his broad shoulders and muscles strained with his tunic. He didn’t have to do anything, and you wanted him so badly.

It was something he could see in your face as he glanced at you from the mirror. “Princess?” He purred, tilting his head as you fastened the braid with a hair tie on your wrist. “You keep undressing me with your eyes. If you want something, you should just outwardly say it.” He smirked, watching as you sputtered and flushed as you looked towards the ceiling, trying to find an excuse as to why you were practically eye fucking him when he hadn’t done anything.

“I wasn’t undressing you!” The look on his face, combined with how he slowly turned his head to look back at you and his expression, told you he did not believe you. “Okay, maybe I was.”

He grabs your wrist, pulling you to lie on the bed with him. “Does my favorite guard want me?” You watched as he hovered about you, long fingers unfastening the belts that held your armor in place.

“I do—but what about your friend?”

“My friend?” Your armor is swiftly removed and placed on the ground beside his bed. He slides his hands up your shirt, tugging that off next. “I can assure you, my cock is eager to see your pretty pussy again.”

Anyone that would look at the Prince would not assume he used that kind of language, but in reality, he was just a horny, filthy-mouthed man. This only deepened the attraction you had for him. You off on it when he talks to you like this.

“As much as I want that to happen,” you purr, running your hands down his chest. “I’m talking about your other friend.”

“Satoru?” As you referred to his pet chameleon, he chimed in amusement, thickening his voice. “Shoko took him in for a check-up.” More clothing was discarded and tossed around the room as the braid you had done on his hair fell over one of his shoulders. “Besides, he hogs up all your time and is here with me.” You grinned at the thought of the white chameleon with a bright, so cerulean. “So call me selfish, but I want you all to myself.”

“Well, luckily for you, I want you to. I need to repay you for saving my life.”

The rest of your clothes are thrown off until you’re both completely naked. Suguru pushes himself between your legs, his hands resting on either side of your head as he kisses you gently. “You do, which is sort of funny because aren’t you the one supposed to be protecting me?”

“I like switching things up sometimes, Sugu.”

“That's one of the many reasons I’m falling for you.”

Before you can linger too long on his words, Suguru leans forward, kissing you softly. His hands moved to rest on your hips. The head of his cock gently began pushing the tip of his cock past your slickened folds and inside of you. Your lips parted slightly as you inhaled sharply, feeling him stretch you open with his thick member. Suguru pressed his forehead against yours as he continued to slide himself inside of you. The two of you panted lips inches from one another as Suguru slowly began rolling his hips.

“Suguru,” you whined, tilting your head back, allowing him to trail kisses and nibbles along your sensitive, heated flesh. That feels so good.” He chuckled against your skin, pulling away to look into your eyes.

“Yeah, it always feels good.” He moaned out with a charming smile before thrusting deeper inside you, “I’m going to make you feel so good that you won’t be able to walk tomorrow. That was how I could selfishly keep you all to myself.”

The thought of spending the day with him, without your titles, had you clamping down, causing him to groan in pleasure, “That sounds magical; I wa-holy fuck!” Suguru silenced you by slamming into you fast and hard, cutting off the rest of your words.

“I’d make you mine in every sense. But that’s going to have to wait for a bit. “Because as much as I love hearing you talk, I want to hear your moan instead.,” he growled softly into your ear,

“Well, what are you waiting for then? Make me moan.” You leaned up, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and nibbling on it.

The two of you moved together, finding a rhythm that felt best for both of you. A position where your legs were wrapped around his waist, your heels digging into his ass, desperately trying to pull him deeper inside of you. His hands massaged your breasts, twisting your right nipple between his thumb and index finger as he took your left nipple in his mouth until it stood at attention for him. All the while, his cock plunged in and out of your pussy, causing you to gasp out his name.

Suguru’s fingers tangled in your hair as he slammed his lips on yours. Kissing you as hips picked up, moving at a faster pace, “Princess, fuck gods-” he nipped at your bottom lip, “I want you so much.” he pulled away, looking down at you, pausing his thrusts to stare down at you. You just stared at him, chest rapidly heaving with lust; the two of you were covered in a thin layer of sweat sheen off two of you in the dying light of the sunset. “You’re so beautiful,” his thumbs massaged the dips of your hips. You are the only Princess I want.” His thrusts became deeper as he stared into your eyes. “Because I love you.” Your heart nearly stopped as your cheeks burned even as you looked at Suguru in shock. He didn't need to say more or explain himself; he kept going, spilling out the truth. “Princess, I’m so in love with you.”

“Suguru,” your heart raced as you stared into his violet eyes. “I-I—” You reached up, stroking his cheek. “I’m in love with you too. I don't care if we come from different nobility. All I care about is loving you.”

“Princess,” the prince moved to pull you up to sit in his lap so he could kiss you eagerly. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long.” He kissed your cheeks as he thrust up inside of you lazily. I knew I would be in good hands from the moment I first saw you.”

“Haaah,” you exhaled as you rocked against him, “I took my bow seriously, but I, fuck, first saw you smile. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to control myself.”

“All I think about is you. From the start of my day, you’re the first thing on my mind. And you’re the last thing on my mind when I sleep at night.” The dark-haired man grabbed your hips, making you rock faster.

“Nnngh! Sugu!” You cried out as his cock brushed right against your g-spot, causing a familiar tightening in your abdomen, “I’m getting close.” you whispered against his lips.

Dark strands of his hair clung to his forehead as he nodded, feeling that same ache in his belly, “I can feel you squeezing down on me,” He furrowed his eyebrows together before biting down on his lip as he slammed you back down on to the bed, “I wanna feel you cum all over my cock.”

The handsome and seemingly sweet prince lifted your legs over his shoulders and fucked into you. Your breath caught in your throat as you gripped his forearms, leaving a crescent moon indent in his skin. He winced at the slight pain, but his paste didn’t falter. The head of his cock continued brushing against your g-spot with each thrust before pushing further to kiss your cervix. Your entire body felt like it was on fire as your toes curled and your back arched as he pushed you closer to the end of your orgasm. Sensing you close, Suguru’s left hand that was gripping your hip trailed down your lower stomach, pushing down on it gently while his thumb brushed over your clit, sending you over the edge.

“I’m cumming! Sugu fuck!” You screamed back, arching off the mattress as you came all over his cock, moaning like a mistress of the night, “Yes, right there!” You thrashed your head side to side as Suguru thrust faster inside of you, chasing his orgasm.

“Princess, I’m gon-gonna cum!” He growled, thrusting as deep as he could before spilling himself inside of you, “Princess!” Suguri growled, burying his face in the crook of your neck and biting down on it as he continued to thrust, milking his cock inside of you.

Both of your bodies trembled against each other as you came down from orgasmic bliss. He took deep breaths as he trailed kisses along your neck and shoulder. Your legs continued to shake as he wrapped his arms around you, brushing your hair back out of your face.

“You know I meant it, right?”

“Huh?”

“AI meant every word.” Suguru lies down on his back, pulling you close to his side.“I don’t want to meet any other princesses or be introduced to other nobility. Because I just want you. And I will make a point to tell that to my father tomorrow. You are the woman I want to spend my life with.”

You swear to the gods above that you could start crying at his sweet words. “I know.” And you did know he was telling me the whole truth that he didn’t want to be with anyone else but you. But for him to reiterate those words when your minds were clear meant the entire world to you. “I don't think he’ll be happy about that thought.” Suguru scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“He can kiss my ass for all I care.” His pretty violet eyes narrowed, and he softly smiled. “You are going to be the person I marry.”

“I want to marry you too.” You hummed, trying to set up to stay alert, your training kicking in. Because not only was he the prince, but he was also the man he had fallen in love with. Suguru, of course, felt your muscles tightening.

“It’s okay. For once, you relax. I’ll protect you tonight.” At his words, your body began to relax. “There you go, get some sleep.”His lips brushed over your forehead. “I’ll protect you from this night until I draw my final breath.” Suguru hummed as your head was on his chest. You hummed as he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you close to his body. The two of you fell asleep soundly and safely inside each other's arms.

Forever Tag List:

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[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗜 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨

　　　　　　　　　𝒑𝒂𝒖𝒍 𝒍𝒂𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒆 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Paul finally gets the courage to say "I love you" for the first time.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: Yes, on Wattpad.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N's eyes slowly opened as she tried to adapt to the brightness of the space, rays of the morning sun completely entered through the window covered only by a thin curtain, keeping the room warm and comfortable.

The girl turned her head as she stretched lazily, a smile stretching across her cheeks as her eyes stopped on the face of her boyfriend, Paul, who was lying on his back, eyes closed and small snores coming from his half-open mouth.

Y/N shifted her body to the right, facing Paul while her head rested on his bicep, which served as her pillow every night she slept at his house.

Her eyes traveled over his face, which carried a relaxed expression. His long eyelashes rested on his tan cheeks, and his nose moved slightly from time to time, showing that his mind was immersed in some dream. Y/N felt like she could stay there all day, her left hand drawing small shapes on her boyfriend's bare chest.

After a few minutes of admiring him, the girl felt her hunger speak louder, sitting up slowly so as not to wake Paul, smiling in relief at not seeing him move even an inch, showing that he felt extremely calm and safe in her presence.

Y/N slowly got up from the bed, casting one last glance at Paul before starting her steps out of the room and towards the kitchen, her hands using the black hair tie on her wrist to tie her hair into a high ponytail.

The girl entered the kitchen, a yawn escaping her lips. She walked over to the small radio on the counter and played it, leaving it on the station she always listened to with Paul, turning down the volume a little so as not to disturb her boyfriend's sleep.

Y/N walked to the fridge and opened the door, vaguely observing the items inside, deciding to make a creamy scrambled egg with buttered bread and a fruit salad with yogurt, knowing that Paul felt hungrier than normal and a simple loaf of bread wouldn't sustain his stomach for more than 30 minutes.

She took what she was going to use, placing it on the sink and doing the same with the cabinet, organizing separately what she would use for each dish and starting to prepare breakfast.

With the bread already in the toaster and the water already heating for black coffee, the girl took a ceramic bowl and broke five eggs there, stirring them with a fork.

Sounds of footsteps echoed through the hallway between the bedroom and the kitchen, but it was imperceptible to Y/N, who was too focused on her action and the music coming from the radio.

Paul leaned his body against the threshold of the kitchen door, crossing his arms as his eyes admired his imprint preparing coffee for both of them while softly following the melody on the radio, a smile stretching across his cheeks at the scene so homely, free from weight and worry from all the chaos that has surrounded the supernatural beings of Forks over the last few months.

The opening whistle of the song "Home" by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros sounded through the room, catching Paul's attention. That song was considered one of the main songs of their relationship, as it played during the first bonfire that Y/N attended as Paul's companion. The memory of the two of them dancing together late at night, bare feet on the sand, surrounded by people they loved and lots of food was engraved in their minds.

The boy walked away from the door, going towards Y/N, who swayed her hips to the beat of the music as she passed the eggs to the frying pan on the stove.

Warm, strong arms surrounded the girl's waist, causing her to jump in place in fright, her right hand flying to Paul's arms while her left went to her chest, trying to calm her racing heart.

"You scared me!" Y/N said loudly, slapping weakly her boyfriend's arms, taking the spatula from the sink and stirring the eggs in the pan before it burns.

"Sorry, my love. Good morning." Paul responded in a whisper, resting his head in the crook of his girlfriend's neck, breathing in the natural scent of her skin and the body cream she had applied the night before after her shower. "Remember this song?"

"How can I forget? It's our song, it marked the beginning of our relationship." Y/N responded in a low voice, not wanting to burst the bubble that seemed to settle around them.

"Yes, I will never forget you dancing in that beautiful white dress that night, the bonfire behind you, and the smell of food in the air. Remembering that memory makes me love you even more." Paul commented with a goofy smile on his face, closing his eyes briefly, seeming to see the scene in front of him again.

Y/N's right arm, which was previously moving the spatula against the eggs, suddenly stopped, catching the boy's attention, who raised his face and moved so that he was next to his girlfriend, watching her with confused eyes.

"You love me?" She asked in a whisper, turning off the heat and dropping the spatula into the frying pan, turning around and facing him.

Paul replayed in his mind what he had said seconds ago, the understanding that he had said that he loved her flashed across his eyes, a nervous smile expanding on his face as his heart accelerated, fear settling in his chest.

"Yes, I love you." He revealed, knowing that was no coming back, looking at her closely, observing her reaction closely.

His heart warmed at the sight of his girl's eyes shining with tears as her mouth opened slightly in surprise, Y/N's right hand going to her own chest in disbelief.

"Oh Paul, I love you so much." She reciprocated, a tear escaping her eyes as she walked closer to her boyfriend, laying her head against his warm chest, her arms wrapping around his waist.

Paul sighed in relief, his eyes also filling with tears as he pulled Y/N closer, hugging her tightly.

"I've loved you since before I understood what that kind of love meant. The first time I saw you, I gave myself completely. When we kissed for the first time after you accepted me as yours, I became an addict and I knew that no one else could make me feel such an electric spark. Y/N, the moment I looked into your eyes for the first time, I knew I would follow you to the end of the world if necessary. And I don't say that because you're my imprint, my love for you goes far beyond that." Paul declared, pulling away slightly so he could look into his girlfriend's eyes, a huge smile decorating his features.

"Paul, it's not fair of you to make me cry at a time like this." Y/N muttered, her voice cracking with emotions. Paul brought his large hands to her face, wiping away the tears that wetted her flushed face. "I love you so much, I promise I'll be yours for the rest of our lives." She whispered, her heart overflowing with love, passion, and affection.

The boy bent down slightly, sealing his lips on hers in a slow kiss, full of the best feelings. A sigh escaped Y/N in pleasure, surrendering to the kiss and Paul's arms.

The sound of the wolf's stomach begging for food interrupted them. Y/N let out a laugh against Paul's lips, opening her eyes slowly and walking away, smiling big and turning to the stove again, going back to finishing breakfast for both of them.

Paul's arms remained around his girlfriend's body seeking contact and comfort, his heart warm, as their bodies moved slightly to the melody of the songs that sounded from the radio.

They felt like they could stay there forever, surrounded by the best feeling, love.

[redtsundere-writes]

Part 6: Harvest Season

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

Tags: MDNI. +18. Murder. Blood. Cannibalism. Sukuna Ryomen Is The Warning Itself. Nudity. Sexual Display. Vaginal. Fingering.Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst.

Word Count: 5083 words.

Beginning. | ← Previous | Next →

The cold morning tickled your toes protruding from the blankets that barely covered your body. You curled into a ball as you slept with your five sisters while the sun peeked through the hills of the green valley. They were squashed together like sardines to make the most of the small bed's cramped space. The room in the cabin where they lived was practically empty, they only had a small closet with all their clothes, some stuffed animals for decoration and a semi-transparent white cloth that served as a curtain. You were in your fifth dream when you felt a hand pulling your foot. You snapped your eyes open to see your mother at the end of the bed. 

“Let’s go to the market,” she asked you as you whittled your eyes wide awake. 

You nodded in response so as not to wake your sisters. You carefully slipped out of bed to get dressed in a brown dress, you wore it so much that it already had holes in the skirt. Your mother had sold most of your fancy dresses, so your sisters could buy new ones for the dances they were invited to. Your mother was always obsessed with the idea that one of her daughters would marry a rich man and take them all out of the misery in which they lived. Every morning she used to repeat the same thing: “Up my future princesses because men don't flirt themselves.” You quietly left the room and picked up the old worn-out basket they used to carry the loaf of bread and potatoes they could afford to buy. 

Since your father died a couple of years ago, money was always tight. Your mother, to keep her hopes up and not starve to death, had slowly sold all the furniture in the house. She started with the living room, then the dining room, then her bed and then the decorations. Little by little, they were running out of options. Someone had to sacrifice in the work field, and your mother would not be one of them. 

The sun was barely rising over the green horizon. It was too early to go to the human market, but you just followed your mother without question. The grass crunched under your worn boots and the cool air ruffled your hair. As you walked along the path you had created from the many times you had gone to town, your mother was quieter than usual. She was a hard woman to keep quiet, always having to have an opinion on something. “The mornings are horrible,” “it hasn't rained in months,” “everything is more expensive.” She always prattled on about any topic that crossed her mind, but today she was different. She just looked straight ahead, walked hurriedly and hadn't even wished you good morning. “Maybe she wants some peace,” you thought. You should have realized it at the time. 

You knew you reached the main town when the smell of fish intensified. Every morning, fishermen set out to sell their booty among the busy main streets of the Sukuna kingdom. A place full of humans who were ruled by curses. Since King Sukuna had conquered their lands along with his army more than five hundred years ago, the humans who had already lived there for centuries became easy prey for the hideous deformed monsters. Half of the population was eaten, while the other was left alone as soon as their stomachs were full. The only thing that stopped them from eating more was their own limits. From then on, the curses began to coexist with the humans. Only instead of treating them as equals, it was a cow-butcher relationship. 

Since the curses owned the main town, it was rare to see so many humans walking down the street. They were all heading in the same direction, the gloomy castle of King Sukuna. A striking architectural structure of charcoal color and huge windows with blood-red roses. It was so large that despite being surrounded by towering walls, you could still admire the rest of the castle and its imposing watchtowers. Your astonished gaze kept going up to admire the terrible place. Your eyes could not continue because the top of its towers were hidden among the gray clouds and the vultures flying overhead. 

Unfortunately, they had not arrived at the market but at the gigantic wooden bridge that led into the castle. Several curses in fine armor paraded around the perimeter as you watched two of them lead a lady into the castle. Your breath hitched as you realized what day it was. Today was harvest day. Once a year, King Sukuna asks those who want to work for him to report to the castle and in return their families would be rewarded financially, but everyone knows it's a trap. No one knows exactly what goes on inside the castle, but a tyrant who mistreats his people does not usually offer “work.” All the people know that once you enter his castle, you don't get out. Even though it is known that entering his castle was like entering a torture machine of your own free will. People in need of money or resources send older relatives or children they can't support to get rid of them. 

You dropped the basket in shock at why your mother had only woken you up so early and was so quiet. She was about to sell you. As soon as the basket creaked against the floor, you ran away to avoid your painful fate as the daughter who was betrayed by her mother. You didn't manage to run that far, because two curses pinned you to the ground. You screamed, kicked and twisted your body in failed attempts to escape. Your eyes filled with tears as soon as the curses lifted you off the ground to drag you back to the castle. It was the end, you knew that for a fact. 

“We must part ways, my adorable daughter,” your mother said goodbye without looking you in the eye. 

“Are you really going to sell me to the tyrant? You know what happens to those who enter!” You yelled while tears fell desperately down your cheeks. 

“Don't be like that, you know we need money. The king may be a tyrant, but sometimes he is generous,” she said as he showed you the sack of gold coins the curses give her for you. 

100 gold coins. That was all you were worth. All your years of life equaled a year's worth of food. Not even luxuries, expensive furniture or beautiful clothes. Your mother had traded you to eat one more year without worry. You hang your head in defeat. She was treating you as if you were a nuisance. One more pitiful mouth to feed. 

“I can work at the market, at sea, in mining, in anything!” You protested. 

“How are you going to work there? I educated you as a young lady so you could marry a rich man, and you failed me,” she emphasized, spitting in your face the disappointment she felt. 

Your chest ached, snot was building up in your nose and your eyes were beginning to redden from the hot tears coming from your sad heart. Your head was starting to hurt, you couldn't believe this was happening to you. You were always a good daughter. You were the perfect daughter, polite and compliant. What have you done wrong? The frustration of not being able to do anything was eating you alive.  

“Think of your sisters. With this money, they will be able to buy new dresses to impress rich men. Next week there is going to be a ball, they say King Gojo will be there,” your mother said excitedly. 

“Say goodbye to your mother, we must get you to the castle.” A curse ordered you with a harsh voice. 

“I don't have a mother anymore,” you mumbled between sobs. 

“My sweet daughter, don't be like that…” your mother called you with disappointment. 

“And you no longer have a daughter,” your mother gasped, surprised at the minimum act of rebellion. 

From the time you were a little girl, your parents knew you would be a good girl. You always did everything orderly, knew what to say to stay out of trouble and educated your sisters when they were wrong. You were the perfect daughter in their eyes. The only thing you weren't good at was talking to men. At dances none of them would come up to you and none of them would catch your eye. While the sister next in age to you, Yorozu, danced with almost everyone, you always stood on the sidelines as you watched the night unfold. Your mother always scolded you on the way home for not being good enough to get a husband, but that never mattered to you. You knew inside that someday you would marry a good man who could see your true potential. 

Curses threw you into the parade ground and closed the gate behind you. You felt worse than dirt itself, you wanted to lie on the ground where you belonged. You wished the earth would swallow you up and disappear at that instant, anyway, you had nothing left to fight for. You didn't even have the strength to cry anymore. 

A loud sobbing sound reached your ears, causing you to look up. A little blond boy was crying his eyes out as he desperately searched for his mother. You were in the same situation as him, only you didn't have a little teddy bear to cheer you up. In a place full of old people, no one wanted to pay attention to you. No one had enough energy to soothe the crying of a frightened child. 

You stood up and dusted off your dress. Quietly, you approached the child with a red face from crying. He was dressed in a torn white shirt and dirty overalls. He couldn't have been more than 10 years old. You got down on your knees to stand by his height and wiped away his tears with your thumbs before shaking off his clothes.

“I want my mommy,” the boy shouted as he sniffled. A lump rose in your throat. You wanted the one you used to have too. 

“She'll be back. You just have to be a good boy, alright?” You asked with a weak smile. The boy nodded as he rubbed his watery eyes. “Whatever you do, just behave well and she will come back.”

 “Do you promise me?” he asked you between sobs, raising his little pinky towards you. 

“Of course,” you answered, intertwining his little finger with yours. 

An old woman approached you both. A granny with a cotton head, raisin skin and a sketchy smile, handed him a piece of candy she had in the pocket of her once-white apron. The boy gladly accepted it, forgetting for a second why he was crying in the first place. Children were always easy to please. 

“Poor little boy. He hasn't even started his life, and he's already this lucky,” the old woman whispered to you as you watched him eat the candy and play with his teddy bear perched on the grass. You could only nod in sorrow.

After an hour of waiting and watching the curses hurl more sold humans onto the parade ground. The doors of the gigantic castle opened. A white-haired person with a red stripe and splendid white robes made an appearance along with a scroll under their arm. You stepped in front of the boy to hide him behind you. 

“Welcome to this year's harvest. Thanks to your relatives or communities, you have been chosen as the most useless beings of this year. So the great king Sukuna has decided to give you the opportunity to work for him as servants,” The person began to read the scroll aloud in front of everyone. 

A collective sigh was heard when he read the word “useless”. Most of them, being elderly, already knew that they were only a burden to their families. Therefore, there was no need to stress it further. It was like squeezing lemon on an open wound. 

“As every year, we give those who are completely useless a chance to leave. King Sukuna needs real servants and not stupid dogs.” Along with that announcement, the castle gates opened.

There it was, the door that would lead them to freedom right under their noses. Hearing that, most of them ran towards their escape route, desperate to return home to their loved ones. You took the child in your arms and were about to run away until the thought that the offer was too good to be true settled in your mind. “Those who go in, never come back” you thought. 

“Come on, dear, let's go,” the kind old woman asked you while she pulled you by the arm to escape quickly. 

“If they do this every year, why doesn't anyone come back home?” You asked her. “It's a trap, I can feel it.” The old woman looked at you puzzled at first, but understood your point after processing it for a couple of seconds. She was so blinded by the brilliant exit that she hadn't boasted about it. 

Once the first to escape was about to reach the door, the grille slammed shut. The evil laughter of hundreds of curses echoed through the place like a war chant. In less than a second, a gigantic flock of armored curses began to eat all those who were about to flee. A massacre, desperate screams and blood spraying everywhere. You had never seen anything like it in your life. You knew the curses were evil and ate humans, but you never thought it would be such a disastrous sight. You covered the child’s eyes. The lady covered her face as she realized the hell they had been sent to. 

“Traitor dogs do not deserve to live,” the white-haired person said as soon as no human who had tried to escape was left alive. 

“You were right…” the old woman whispered next to you between silent sobs. 

You looked back at the front of the castle while your eyes were still drowning in tears. The person who was summoning you was glaring at you, as if offended by your mere presence. You looked around, less than half had stayed. The other elders were crying, vomiting and some lucky ones hadn't even turned around to see what was happening. Your arms were shaking from the cold of the morning and the terror that consumed you whole. You squeezed the child against your body to protect it. A little creature was not to blame for being in a place like that. You had to protect him, it was the only way he would have a chance to survive. 

“I congratulate you for surviving the first round. My name is Uraume, and I am the right hand of your king, Sukuna Ryomen,” they introduced themselves in a loud, monotone voice so that we could all hear them. “Next you will introduce yourselves to the king. He will have the final word as to your fate,” they explained before returning to the castle. 

After finishing their feast, the other curses rounded up the survivors to form a line in front of the castle gates. They were sheep being led by shepherds who were also wolves. No one said a word, they only obeyed by bodily proximity to where they were supposed to be. You did not let go of the child at any time, you had already proclaimed yourself as his guardian. Maybe it wasn't the best idea in hell, but you knew it was the right thing to do. You were willing to protect him as if he were one of your little sisters. 

Your beloved little sisters. You hid your face in the little boy's hair so no one would see you cry. Once you entered the castle, you would never leave, either by slavery or death. You would never see your lovely sisters again. You would never see them play, comb each other's hair or sing happily after dinner. You cursed the time when you had grown up and were not woman enough not to marry someone. In your mother's eyes you were a disappointment and were to be discarded. You only prayed internally that your sisters would not have the same fate. Yorozu was only a year younger than you. If she did not marry soon, she too would be sold. 

The survivors passed 5 at a time into the castle. The walls were so thick that they could not hear what was happening on the other side. There were 5 more people left, and it was your turn to pass next to the old woman, who was repeating the same silent prayer several times. The curse at the front of the line signaled the 5 people to pass, making everyone move in sync. 

“The child must enter,” the curse ordered you. 

“But they already let 5 in. It's his turn to go in when I go in,” you defended, holding the little boy tightly. 

The curse smiled maliciously before snatching the child from your hands. The difference in strength was crazy. You managed to grab the child by his white shirt to prevent him from being stolen. The child began to cry out loud because the curse had hooked its claws into his back. The curse pulled harder on the boy, leaving you with only the torn piece of cloth in your hand. As you tried to reach him again, the curse kicked you in the stomach so that you fell to the ground. Your body fell, and your eyes could only watch as the boy was mercilessly thrown along with the others. 

“Just do what they ask you to do!” You shouted at the boy between sobs before another curse kicked you in the face to shut you up. 

The last thing you could see was his face full of tears and snot as you bled from your nose incessantly. The castle doors slammed shut as the curses taunted you. You didn't care what they had to say, you just wanted the child to be okay. The woman you had befriended helped you up as your chest closed, and your eyes hurt from crying. You couldn’t do it anymore. 

After about 10 minutes, the doors opened again. The curse kicked you in the back to get you inside. The old woman and three other old men followed close behind. A servant with a grim face welcomed you and led you into the king's hall. A room filled with luxuries along the walls, costly works, candles bathed in gold foil and glowing obsidian candelabras. It was a pity that the beautiful room was bathed in the dark blood of your kind. The walls were splattered, some candles had been extinguished because of it, and there were several dismembered bodies all over the room. 

Despite being surrounded by light sources, the deepest part of the room was in complete darkness. Where you assumed the throne was supposed to be, there were many curtains that kept the king in the shadows. The only thing you could see was one of his giant feet being struck by the light of a nearby candle. 

The servant asked them to stand in a side row so that the king could get a good view of them all. Once they obeyed, the servant retreated at a brisk pace. Everyone was silent. You could only hear their breaths being disturbed by the situation they were in. Your eyes traveled around the room. The bodies of the discarded individuals were cut into hundreds of cubes, making your blood run cold. It was an extremely perfect job, almost impossible to do. Had the king done that or was someone else in the room with them? You didn't want to see, but it was like a morbid exhibition of what an abominable being could do.

Your eyes roamed around the room in curiosity and terror, until they saw a teddy bear soaked in blood. The teddy bear of the child you swore you would protect. The child's head had been cut off, his eyes had popped out of his skull and were held in place by its corneas, and the rest of his body was completely mutilated into perfect rectangles of flesh. You closed your eyes and clenched your skirt to keep from screaming in despair. The frustration and disappointment in you could not be compared to anything else. You could do nothing to save him. You were pathetic. 

“5… 4…” The king started the countdown. For what? You had no idea. 

You knew you wouldn't have the answer if you asked him because of his reputation as a foul tyrant. You didn't know much about the dastardly king who reigned over the land of your birth, the only thing you knew was that he hated humans more than anything else in the world. You looked around for answers as to what exactly the king wanted. Nothing about the decorations gave you answers, the only thing that kept catching your attention were the bodies. “If he has servants, why are the bodies still here?” you thought the servants would get rid of them before bringing in any more prospects. 

“3…” His deep voice echoed through the walls along with a devilish smile. 

Sukuna watched you comfortably from his large stone throne, hand carved by the best sculptors in the region. He was amused to see your eyes darting everywhere. “What a fool,” you thought disdainfully. Nothing in the room could help you know what to do. 

“2…” You could hear a small smile escape his lips as he approached 0. 

You analyzed the bodies before you and they all met the same characteristic. None of the heads were connected to the rest of the body. Their heads had been cut off before they were mutilated. If none of them had heads, it is because they must have been at the same height, that is, they were standing when their heads were cut off. Standing in front of a tyrant? Complete blasphemy. That was it. That must have been it. 

“¡1!” 

“Get down, ma'am!” you yelled before pulling the lady down to the floor with you so she could kneel. 

You knelt with your head on your hand as a pillow while the other still held the lady's arm. A thin slice rang through the room. It was so fast that you didn't hear a scream or even a whimper, you only heard the bodies of the others in the room fall to the floor under their own weight. The blood of the old man next to you began to trickle down to your fingers. You didn't dare look at the result of what had happened. You were just relieved that you were in one piece. 

“Finally… Someone with manners,” the king uttered with disdain. You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but it wouldn't go away. “The one in the middle, come closer,” he commanded. You were dead, you sensed it. 

You struggled to your feet and walked towards him without looking his way. You entered his little sacred place in the middle of the dark, but you could see him clearly. His pink legs were gigantic. His thigh was thicker than your legs put together. That already gave you hints of the giant in front of you. Despite being dressed in a large white robe, he still showed enough skin to be considered vulgar. As soon as you approached, his hand took your head easily as if it were a ball, directing your gaze towards him. Your eyes widened at the eerie sight in front of you. A malevolent face split in half that watched you morbidly. His four eyes roamed your body shamelessly. His half-naked body tattooed with different lines astonished you at a closer look.  

“How old are you?” He asked you while he moved your joints with his four arms as if you were a doll he could play with. You answered obediently between stutters. “Tell me, did your husband sell you?” he answered with a mocking tone. 

“I am not married, my king,” Sukuna arched an eyebrow at that response. You decided to elaborate your answer to that reaction. “My mother sold me because I didn't marry.” 

“You are still old enough to get married,” Sukuna said, still not letting go to observe you better. 

He turned and moved you around like a globe to inspect you completely. It's been a long time since I've seen a girl of your age, to be always in the castle or conquering lands, she always sees young men but almost never women. For someone of the lowest possible class, you had your certain charm. Sukuna saw you as if you were a strange doll in an antique store, odd but striking in your own way. 

“We were starving, my king.”

“It shows,” he replied with a certain mocking tone. “You know… I'm not used to seeing girls like you around here. They always send me decrepit old men or children who didn't die in their mother's womb,” he explained, annoyed. 

Despite the terrifying distance and the fact that your heart was pounding a mile a minute, you were glad he wasn't hurting you. He grabbed you by the head as if he were examining a fruit to dictate whether he could eat it or not, but he didn't squeeze you as if he were squeezing you between his claws. 

“I keep the old people because they work the hardest for their daily meal and I kill all the children because I hate how loud they can be.” You quickly realized right there that you never had a chance to save the child. An unruly tear rolled down your cheek, taking a second to mourn the little boy in silence. “So tell me, what should I do with you, kill you outright or give you a chance?” he asked you with a sinister smile. 

“Dying before I live through hell doesn't sound so bad,” you thought pessimistically. What was the point of going on living? Your mother had sold you, and you trusted that your sisters would marry before you, especially Yorozu, so you didn't have to worry about her. You no longer felt you had any value, but you were afraid of dying. That inexplicable, but useless fear left you frozen. Why did you want to keep breathing if you weren't going to live anyway? Your mind couldn't make up its mind. 

“I trust your decision, my king,” you replied in a sigh of surrender. 

Sukuna's smile disappeared, he did not expect that answer. I thought you would beg him for mercy for your life, but you had completely surrendered to him, leaving your fate in his hands. He smiled again, this time, satisfied. 

“Why?” he asked curiously. 

“Because you always have the last word.” 

“Interesting,” He answered before pulling you by the neck to bring you closer to his face. “You are someone special, aren't you?” Sukuna asked with eyes full of interest in you. He had found a gold nugget in a pile of shit. 

Your eyes slowly drifted to his. Have you heard correctly? Had he, an almighty king, called you special? You no longer knew if your heart was pounding from the flattery or being so close to the king. You were so close that you could decipher what he had for breakfast that morning, probably people. 

“Do you know how to cook and clean?” he asked quietly. You just nodded. “Well, you better not let me down,” he reluctantly let you go, making you stumble backwards. “Now get out of here with that old bitch so you get your uniforms,” he ordered with a harsh tone. 

“Thank you, my king. I will not disappoint you,” you thanked him with a weak smile as you bowed several times before retreating from his presence. 

Sukuna couldn't take his eyes off you. You ran to the shocked lady to help her out of the bloody room. She laid her head on her fist as she followed your anatomy. There was something about you that caught her attention. You were submissive, but you were not stupid. You were perceptive, but not rebellious. He liked what you had offered him so far, he just needed to do a little more observing. 

“Thank you very much, thank you, child, you saved my life!” The old woman cried once they left the room into a candle lit hallway. A small smile crept onto your face. You may not have saved the child, but you saved your new friend. “I am forever in debt with you.” 

“No need, ma'am,” you said so as not to make her feel guilty. 

“Mrs. Inoue,” she introduced herself in tears as she bowed politely, you did the same as you let her know your name. 

They both walked until they reached the end of the hallway where the few survivors were. An uncomfortable silence ruled the place. Mrs. Inoue and yourself sat down on a small bench to wait for instructions. Uraume and a group of servants carrying piles of clothes arrived not long after. Sukuna's right hand looked at everyone with disdain as the servants handed out the uniforms to the new servants who would be under her command. “So she survived…” they thought interested of you as you changed out of the old brown dress into the new uniform. 

You lifted the wet apron against the sunlight to check it for any unwanted stains. Your first anniversary as Sukuna's servant was a month away. You couldn't believe that you were about to complete one lap around the sun since you survived the harvest and received your maid's uniform. A long black dress with a contrasting white apron with black boots and a scarf in your hair to keep your hair off your forehead. You returned the apron to the sink to continue washing it by hand with soap and water. A small smile crept in as you realized you had survived the worst, you just hoped you had the same luck for the rest of your life. Now, you could rest for a very deserving week. 

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Lonely Souls Club 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as stalking, loneliness, noncon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Two lost souls cross, but not all those are lost, want to be found.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: Idk, something a bit different.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Bucky

She doesn’t see him but he sees her. He’s not hiding. He’s right there. If she just looked up, he’d be caught. But she doesn’t so he remains.

The pointed led scratches over the thick paper. Beside the open sketchpad is a plate of orange chicken and lo mein. He hasn’t touched either. His appetite has wandered away like his mind.

Carefully he etches the line of her nose. She carries a lot of her character there, as she scrunches it at whatever she’s reading then wiggles it as she reaches to sooth an itch. She never quite stops moving, like a hummingbird, she’s aflutter.

Mrs. Zhao comes by her table to deliver her food. A plate of dumplings steaming amid a bed of bean sprouts and broccoli. A quiet thank you is uttered but her eyes don’t meet the elder woman’s gaze. He notices how she can hardly look anywhere but the pages beneath her fingers. Her shield against the world around her.

She closes the book and slides it to the edge of the narrow table for two. She grabs the chopsticks and slides off the paper sleeve. She pulls, struggling to pry them apart only for the left one to break in two, still stuck to the other. Disappointment shadows her features and she lays the chopsticks down mournfully.

He scribbles, trying to capture her expression. He has several crowded onto the page; her pensive stare, her scowling focus, and the shadow of a smile that dimples her cheeks. She takes the fork and pokes at a dumpling. The sharp tines release a small plume of steam.

She uses the side to cut into the tender shell of the dumpling. She blows over a small morsel before tasting it. Her delight is plain as she chews slowly, savouring the taste. As he watches, he recalls his own frigid food.

He lets the notebook close on its own. He leaves it by his elbow, setting the pencil down to roll against its spine. He pulls his plate close, twirling a knot of noodles around his fork. He takes a bite and peeks over at her. 

He pretends that they sit together, that they’re eating at the same table. In some other world, they would be. This would be a sweet date he surprised her with and she would thank him with a smile. Her real smile, the one she chews on but doesn’t let free.

But this isn’t that world. This is reality and he’s just a stranger. She doesn’t know him. She hasn’t even noticed him sitting right there. He puts the fork down and sits back. His appetite curdles to hot bile. 

The loneliness is what he hates the most about this new world. The people around him move too fast, they’re all lost in themselves, they’re looking with seeing, talking without listening. It’s like they don’t even speak the same language.

He asks Mrs. Zhao for a to-go box. Another pile of leftovers to go with the rest. It’s habit. He hates to see a meal go wasted. He remembers the days of mustard sandwiches, when his mother scraped every grain of flour to make a loaf. Nearly a century. A hundred years lost, a life stolen. From him.

He packs up the noodles and the saucy chicken and snaps the lid shut. He doesn’t leave yet. She’s still eating. Just as deliberately as before. Her careful bites are self-conscious as she dabs a napkin to her lips now and again. She doesn’t finish hers either.

She accepts a box and a fresh set of chopsticks to take with her. She slides the remnants of her meal into the container and closes it, fingers squeezing the edges as she checks to make certain it’s secure. She doesn’t leave either. She lingers as she resumes her reading, just a few pages before she finishes the chapter.

She counts out a tip on the table top and stacks it by her empty plate. He tilts his head. She’s a creature out of time. Sort of like him. He always sees the plastic swiping or the tap of a watch that has the machine chirping. She’s old-fashioned, he likes that.

She uses the table to leverage herself to her feet. Her hips are slightly crooked as she stands and pulls on her light baby blue jacket. It’s long and belted at the waist but she leaves it open. She slips her book into her canvas bag and hangs it over her shoulder. She cradles the container in her arm, leaning on the chair before she takes her first step.

He noted that before. One leg seems longer than the other as she limps across the quiet restaurant. She doesn’t seem bothered by her uneven gait, she simply goes on. She stops by the door and looks at the little figurine; a smiling cat waving an arm.

He puts his head down and listens to her departure. He looks down at his gloves hands, turning over his left as a glint of metal peeks out below the sleeve. Someone like him can be fixed but she’s there, with her small steps, forgotten.

He gets up so quickly, he hits his leg on the table. He hurriedly gathers up his sketchbook and clutches it against his leftovers. He waves to Mrs. Zhao as he marches out but can’t untangle his voice from his chest. He doesn’t want to lose her. He can’t lose another thing.

In the street, he catches sight of her blue coat. She’s not very quick as it is. He can easily keep up but he doesn’t want to meet her pace. She can’t see him. Not yet.

He rounds the corner nearly a block back from her. He pauses to feign interest in a window as she clutches her hip and slows. She stops not much further down as a bearded man sits against the brick with a cup jingling in his hand. She speaks so quietly, even the man on the pavement has to lean in. If it wasn’t for the laboratory torture, Bucky wouldn’t hear her either.

She’s sorry that she spent all her change but he can have the food. At first, the man’s face twists, he doesn’t seem happy with that. Then he accepts as if he can’t bear to deny her. Who could?

“Thanks, lady,” the man sounds like a buzzard.

She nods and wishes him a good day, as good as it can be, she adds. Then she’s off again.  

As Bucky trails her, he’s reminded of someone else. Of someone who once needed him. His protection and care. Just another person who abandoned him. The one person who could’ve understood him. Gone, just like everything else.

He tucks his chin down, eyes narrowing on the woman. Target acquired. He shakes off that thought, that worrying echo of the past. He’s not the machine they made him. He’s still a man. Alone and broken, just like they left him.

Like her.

Her

Just along the crooked and cracked walk, behind the overgrown bush, there lays the peeling door behind the creaky metal grate. It’s a grim scene but sometimes you pretend it’s a hidden entrance and that you’re unlocking the passage to some fantastical world. You twist the key, wiggling it before it catches, and you pull as hard as you can.

The wrought iron is heavy and one of the bars juts out enough to catch your sleeve. You use your shoulder to hold the outer door open as you unlock the second. You stumble inside, your hip achy and overworked. You close both doors tight, cranking the deadbolts back into place.

The rain will come soon. It’s why you wore your jacket. You expected it to come earlier but you’re glad it didn’t. The change in pressure always wracks your bones.

You hang the baby blue coat as you put your canvas bag on the worn wicker seat of the chair beside the door. The apartment is small but it’s all yours. The single room is a kitchen, bedroom, and everything else but the bathroom. That is barely more than a closet.

There’s a thump from above. Several as the neighbours’ toddler barrels around. You should’ve waited until after nap time to leave.

You leave your boots on the woven mat and fish out the novel from your bag. You limp across to the folding couch, still a bed as you hadn’t bothered to roll away the flimsy mattress. You lower yourself onto it, pulling a pillow behind you as you recline.

Your pelvis is sore. The chair in the restaurant wasn’t very comfortable, though the food was good for the cost. You don’t eat out very often. Not really at all but it’s your birthday and you wanted to do something special.

You open the pages and quickly dive back into another life. A world where magic can weave miracles but tempts a dangerous darkness in its use. No good thing comes without a price.

You slump down as you read. The sunlight slowly fades as the clouds shift and the din deepens. You close the book as you look across the room at the floor lamp. The small distance across the room seems akin to Tolkien’s infamous trek. You don’t want to get up, you just want to sleep in the damp afternoon.

You sigh and put the book beside you. You rub your eyes and forehead and bend one leg, then the other. Your muscles are taut and protest with a dull burn. You can’t read in the dark, you’ll get another headache.

You groan and push yourself to sit on the edge of the mattress. The slender frame echoes you sharply as you stand. Your right foot comes down heavier than the left as you cross the space. You flick on the light and flinch as a storm cloud seems to pass over your very window.

You turn to face the gap between the curtains. How strange. You near the pane as rain speckles on the outside. You peer up at the slat of sky visible between the rooftops. 

You twitch again as you hear something mulch. You whip your head to the side as you look towards the bush. It could be a critter hiding in the bin, no time to find their nest as the storm rises.

You back away, puffing out your fright. Living alone makes you paranoid, even if you prefer it. You live by your own rules, your own schedule, your own whims. The problem is, you’re finding it difficult to figure all those out. You don’t know what you want.

You sit again and rub your lower back. The only thing you can name, you can’t have. The pain is your eternal companion. The looks you get when you venture out are just as persistent. You felt those curious, somewhat dejecting, glances today. You don’t care if they think you walk a bit oddly, you just don’t like to be looked at.

You turn your head to gaze longingly at the kettle. It’s the perfect weather for tea and you forgot to get a cup of green at the restaurant. Yet, it’s a very far way to go, then back again to wait for the water to steam.

You relent. You stand up and go to the small counter set into the wall. You flip on the electric kettle and lean on the chipped laminate. The toddler’s footsteps rumble like thunder overhead and the shadows once more stir behind you.

You turn to face the apartment, hands curled around the counter’s edge. The steady drip of the eaves form a tempo as the rain spatters harder against the window, rattling it in the wooden frame. The doors quiver too as the tempest blows into the alley.

You used to like rainstorms, before they made you hurt so much. Before they seemed so dark. You used to like a lot of things before you were broken. Those days seem very far behind you. Sometimes, you wonder if they ever were.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the breakfast

lilac, chapter two

a/n: when my love, @chvoswxtch, asked me to bring the horny energy of miss patty from gilmore girls, of course I fucking did it, I'm not a criminal, that's what we all deserve

summary: “well, hello stranger.” 

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, lumberjack AU, pete castiglione era, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, slow burn, wholesome villagers being adorable

word count: 2373

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The Lilac Inn wasn’t just an inn to the citizens of Dunbrook. It was its beating heart, a hub for the small community to gather. 

As the town’s only culinary establishment, the residents had always made a habit of eating a fair amount of their meals in the inn’s dining room, the door to the kitchen often staying wide open so that Harvey wouldn’t have to leave the stove in order to catch all of the juicy small-town gossip that had people blabbering. 

“Dad, did you turn off my alarm?” you snapped as soon as your scurrying feet carried you into the bustling kitchen.

Not lifting his eyes from the loaf of bread he was currently slicing, your dad simply countered with a jovial, “well, good morning to you too, sleeping beauty!”

“Dad,” you sighed, jaw clenching at his usual demeanour, the paralysing dream you’d just roused from not setting you up to be in the right mood for such a level of positivity. 

“You just looked like you could use the extra hour or two,” a smile still warm on his lips, the middle-aged man defensively raised his hands.

“But I’m supposed to help you out,” your eyes followed his movements as he trotted towards the stove, “I can’t do that if I’m asleep.”

“Exactly,” your dad passed by a hook full of tangled textiles and tossed you an apron, “that’s why I let you go a little longer so that you wouldn’t doze off on me before lunchtime arrives.” 

“I wouldn’t have dozed off…” you mumbled pettily as you tied the linen around your waist. Exhaling lowly as you watched him crack two eggs into a sizzling skillet, you asked, “what can I do?”

“Well for starters,” he tossed the shells into a small scrap bowl to his side, “these were the last eggs, so if you could go get some more out by the front desk, that would be superb.”

“Why do you have eggs on the front desk?”

“Because Otto’s chickens are laying a lot right now and so he told me he’d give me some today when he swung by for breakfast.” 

“Wait, Sheriff Nilsen has chickens now?”

“Yeah, has for a long time,” the decade of you not living here grew palpable, “he usually just drops the extra ones off here, so they should already be there because I just took his order two minutes ago.”

“Alright,” you disappeared through the back door and snaked down the narrow corridor, ending up behind the messy reception area. 

Your eyes didn’t have to search for long before you noticed the petite basket, brimming with beige eggs, resting on the top of the counter right beside the small rolodex that displayed what date it was. Grasping it in your hand, your vision momentarily drifted down to the small, framed photo nuzzled behind the ever-open logbook. Sitting on the swing that still hung from one of the sturdy trees out back, head adorably posed in a tiny palm, there a 7-year-old version of you sat, forever frozen in that singular moment, beaming up at the camera. 

“Ah!” a sharp voice boomed as you heard the front door swing shut, “oh my goodness, oh my god! Y/n!”

Raising your chin, your eyes grew wide at the rotund woman beaming at you from the doormat, “miss Rays!” you hurried around the front desk, “oh my god, it’s been so long!” 

Capturing you in a hug, she pressed your form into her bosom, “darling, we’re not in bed together, call me Donna.”

Pulling back with a light chuckle, your eyes fluttered over her features, “you haven’t changed one bit,” her lipstick still a fiery shade red and hair still short and feathery framing her plump cheeks.

“You however have,” she clasped your free hand in hers, guiding your figure to give her a good view, “oh, do a little spin for me,” you bashfully obliged with a giggle, “yes! Honey, who is this woman, what have you done with the adorable little girl I used to tutor?”

To your knowledge, Dunbrook never really had a proper school, but for as long as you could recall Donna had always operated as a teacher to the handful of children that called the reclusive mountain village their home. Even though it was just run out of her living room, she had still been the best teacher you’d ever had, her patient way rivalling any of the professors you had to endure when you went off for college. As a matter of fact, she had been the person who’d pushed you to send in the application, praising that you were too clever not to go out and change the world. 

“Oh, stop it,” you sighed light-heartedly, a chuckle still bubbling out of your chest as you shifted the subject away from your own appearance, “so, you still come here for breakfast?”

“Of course, I do, you’ve tasted your father’s cooking,” readjusting her purse, she hooked her arm in yours, “a real shame that he’s never accepted any of my offers of becoming your stepmom,” she leaned in to add as you crossed over the threshold into the dinner room, “I could have been served all my meals in bed like some Egyptian queen!” 

“I’m sure you can easily find another fellow that can handle himself in the kitchen,” the click-clack of her heels came to a stop by one of the small round tables, her eyes briefly taking in the other patrons before a slight crease appeared betwixt her polished brows. 

“Oh, darn it,” her vision stayed glued to the table in the corner as she lowered herself onto her seat, “he’s not sitting at his usual table…”

“Who?”

“The eye candy over there,” she tilted her chin in the direction of the broad, muted flannel-clad back of the man sitting by the window furthest down at the bottom of the room, “you see, I asked your dear father to always reserve this spot for me just so that I can have a great view, if you know what I mean…” gulping down the rest of his coffee, the man’s head tilted enough for you to recognise whom the rugged looking visage belonged to, “oh boy, I tell you, if I was 30 years younger…”

Haven assumed that you’d never again run into the stranger who’d helped you just the day before, a warm flutter suddenly trickled down your spine, “like that’s ever stopped you before,” you pointed out, snapping your eyes out of their trance, “so, uh, do you know what you want to eat or do you just want some coffee or something while you think on it?” you took two steps towards the oblong table where mismatched teacups where stacked and the steam of a few thermoses, all containing a different hot beverage then the next, billowed out.

“Some coffee would be lovely,” she smiled as you with one hand snatched up a mug and the decanter labelled as such, “and some oatmeal if you don’t mind, sweetie.”

Promptly pouring her a cup, you then signed off with a wink, “you got it,” before your vision landed upon the latest of Donna’s abundant infatuations once more. 

Attempting to make the short journey seem spontaneous and effortless, you bounced from table to table, topping off people's cups, before reaching the final one. 

Drawing in a deep breath, your embarrassingly giddy voice then found his ears, “well, hello stranger.” 

Eyes flickering away from the newspaper sprawled out before him, a look of shock washed over his gruff features as he glanced up at you, “oh, hi.”

“Pete–, it is Pete, right?” you checked, slight mortification beginning to brew within your belly. 

“Yes, ma'am,” his head nodded ever so slightly.

“Do you want a refill, Pete?” you savoured the taste of his name on your tongue. 

“Sorry?” his brows furrowed at your offer. 

“Your coffee,” you pointed with the hand that clutched the handle of the thermos, “do you want some more?”

“Oh,” he breathed, though the puzzled look didn’t seem to fade, “yes, always.” 

Leaning in slightly over the newspaper, you filled up the drained mug, only a murky ring at the bottom indicating what it had previously contained, “and can I get you something to eat as well?” 

Eyes narrowing, he stared up at you, “is your vacation really already so boring that you got a job here or what?”

“Oh,” you couldn’t help but breathe out a light chuckle as you answered, “I’m not on vacation and I guess, kinda,” staring back into his eyes as you attempted to repeat your question, “so, do you want any–,” though before you could finish the sentence, out pranced your father, a plate of food balanced in his palm. 

“2 eggs sunny side up and some sourdough toast, as per usual,” he sang as his long arm came down to slice the air between your forms, placing the dish upon the table. 

Briefly catching his eye, Pete then offered a polite nod of gratitude, “thank you,” folding the paper up and scooting the meal closer. 

Feeling the small basket of eggs disappear from your grip, you blinked back at your father as he softly requested in your ear, “honey, could you give me a hand in the back when you’re done out here?”

“Sure, dad,” you flashed him a smile before watching him disappear once more. 

Feet still glued to the floorboards right by Pete’s table, your vision then returned to him as his deep voice washed over you, “so, you’re Harvey’s kid, then?”

“Yep, that’s my dad,” your balance briefly shifted as you rocked on the balls of your feet, “thank you, by the way, for yesterday.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” his fork punctured one of the golden yokes, “how’s your car looking?” 

“I don’t really know yet. The local mechanic is taking a look today, so fingers crossed it’s not anything too catastrophic,” you felt your palms begin to sweat as he simply stared up at you in silence, “anyhow,” you averted your gaze nervously, “I’ll stop bothering you, let eat in peace,” you nearly bumped into the chair behind you as you backed up towards the kitchen, the near accident not managing to draw any words out of him, only the hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his lips, “see you around, I guess…” 

“Hey, dad?” 

Briefly raising his eyes from the logbook cracked open on the wooden counter, he glanced up at you as you bounced down the wide staircase, “yeah, pumpkin?”

Hand tracing the railing, with the aid of the grip, you swung your form around the last post as you ascended the final step, “did you know that the hot water doesn’t work? Like at all.”

“Yeah, that and about a million other things around here,” he sighed, vision returning to the ledger as you rested your folded-up arms upon the top of the reception, “this is a beautiful historic building… and what I mean by that is that there are too many things that either don’t work the way they should or at all. I am not a millionaire, honey. If I was, then the issues wouldn’t be piling up the way that they are…”

Bottom lip snug between your teeth, your mind raced a moment before you quietly theorised, “exactly how long is that list?”

Eyes racing to find your eyes, your father joked, “why? Did you become a contractor while living in New York or something?”

“No, but I was always the handy one out of the two of us,” you noted before your shoulders raised in an innocent shrug, “how hard could it be?”

“Let me get this right,” he raised a palm up between you as his eyes crinkled even further, “you’re telling me you wanna try and patch this place up?”

“Well, it couldn’t hurt the business side of things. When was the last time you booked out more than two rooms at a time here?”

“Oh, no, no,” the moustachioed man then began to shake his head, “you’re not turning this place into some fake, glossy tourist attraction.”

Swinging around to his side of the counter, you assured him, “hey, I’m not saying let's flood this place with tourists, but maybe just a handful more?” tilting your head in an attempt to catch his gaze that had now returned to the open book, “just enough to make ends meet, perhaps also enough to at some point hire someone else so that you won’t work yourself to death…” 

Eyes frozen on the page before him, a long exhale then flowed from his lungs as he deliberated. 

“Alright, fine, yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be that bad…” he tried to downplay the smile that blossomed upon his lips.

Spine pressed against the edge of the front desk, you then braced with your palms and hauled yourself up onto the spot that was just clear enough for you to sit there without knocking any knickknacks over. 

“So,” you drew out, searching for a new topic to explore, “Donna seems to be quite set on that guy Pete to be her new husband, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harvey chortled, “but you know her, she’s like a dog spotting a pheasant every time she sees a new man. I think genuinely I might be the only person in town who isn’t either terrified of him or has some desire to sleep with him.”

“How long has he been here anyway?”

“Eh,” he glanced up at the stained glass adorning the front door as he thought, “maybe a year or two? He mostly keeps to himself, lives up in a cabin in the woods and only really comes down here to either provide some firewood to whoever needs it or have some coffee,” vision landing on you, he then noted, “you however seemed to have broken through to him quite quickly. Took me like 5 months to get anything more than a grunt of recognition out of him.”

“Oh,” you couldn’t stop your eyebrows as they promptly rose up, “well, he kinda helped me the day that I got here. He was the guy I caught a ride with…”

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