#started flipping through and yeah this books is cool

[luvendiary]

reindeer games / g. weasley

geroge weasley x f!reader

summary: george weasley was not privvy to the fact that you were getting attention from other guys. the moment he realized it, the game changed. a/n: how i love dramatic confessions 4.6k words. not proof-read. no use of y/n. based on this request.

You loved Ginny Weasley—really, you did.

She was sharp and loud and loyal in a way that made you feel like standing next to her could protect you from just about anything. There was no halfway with Ginny. You were either in or out. And you? You were most definitely in.

But if there was one downside to being close to a Weasley, it was, well… another Weasleys.

Not all of them. Most of them were perfectly lovely. You’d always liked Bill, even as a kid he always seemed cool to you, that had not faded as you grew up. Percy was uptight but easy enough to ignore. Ron, you could handle. Charlie…you most definitely liked Charlie.

The twins however, were another story.

The twins were relentless.

From the first moment they figured out you and Ginny were close, it became open season. If you dropped your quill, it vanished. If you left a book unattended, it mooed when opened. If you rolled your eyes at a bad joke, you could guarantee that one of them would show up two minutes later to deliver five worse ones.

You met it head-on, of course. You teased back, gave them nicknames, mocked their flying form. That seemed to rub them on.

If there was something the twins liked more than anything, it was a challenge. And you had become the loveliest of challenges for them. It became a game, and you were good at it.

But even so, it went deeper. You could joke and play all you wanted, it even seemed like you were a magnet for them. Attracting them at whatever party or Quidditch match the three of you were at. They always found you, and you had started to like it. You could count on their presence and their jokes. 

But there was something about George.

Fred made you laugh, sure, but George had a way of lingering. Even after he was gone.

He’d sit beside you in the common room with a stupid comment ready. He’d nudge you in the corridor and say something ridiculous in your ear, just quiet enough to make your skin prickle. Every harmless insult came with a half-smile and a raised brow, like he was waiting for you to keep up.

And you always did.

The turning point when his teasing became more than just that. It was still teasing, but the nature of it had changed. 

He had started flirting.

It took you by surprise at first. And you supposed that’s what egged him on. The slight moment your eyes widened and your cheeks reddened.

You saw it clear as day, the way his smirk became wider and more insufferable.

You had stared at him, mouth slightly open and eyes narrowed before covering your face with the nearest pillow. 

His laugh had become ingrained in your brain. 

You would not let it happen again.

So you had started flirting right back. You would not lose, especially not to George Weasley.

It was late at night when Hermione and you found yourselves in Ginny’s room. You were flipping through one of Ginny's sport magazines as Hermione braided your hair.

“I’m just saying,” Ginny was saying through a mouthful of chocolate biscuit, “if he wanted to kiss me, he would have by now.”

Hermione raised her brows. “Or maybe he’s nervous. Not everyone dives headfirst like you do.”

You snorted. “Yeah, Gin, some people actually think before they speak.”

“Unlike certain Gryffindors,” Hermione added.

Ginny made a face and turned to you. “Alright, you’re awfully quiet. Who are you thinking about these days?”

You shook your head. “No one.”

Ginny gave you a look. “Liar.”

“I’m not lying!” you laughed, lifting your gaze from the magazine. “I’m just… not thinking about anyone in that way right now.”

Hermione tilted her head. “That’s funny, because I swear George Weasley hasn’t gone more than five minutes without bothering you since last week.”

“Exactly!” Ginny cut in, “It’s kind of gross.”

You rolled your eyes. “He flirts with everyone. It’s George. It’s what he does.”

“That’s different,” Hermione said, ever the analyst. “He doesn’t flirt like that with everyone.”

“Yeah,” Ginny agreed. “He called you ethereal the other day.”

You groaned. “He said I was ‘weirdly ethereal for someone who just tripped on their shoelace.’ That’s not a compliment, that’s an insult with extra steps.”

Both girls burst out laughing.

Ginny leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “But you like it.”

You took a slow sip of your butterbeer. “I like winning.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “So you’re saying it’s a competition?”

“I’m saying,” you said, flipping a page, “if George Weasley thinks he’s going to rattle me with a few well-timed winks and dramatic compliments, he’s going to have to try harder.”

Unbeknownst to you, George had, in fact, been trying harder. And listening in on your conversation. Ginny’s sweater gripped in his hands, the intent of returning it being more rewarding than he had planned.

“Besides, let’s not talk about crushes without mentioning Hermione and Lockhart,” you said, adding wood to the fire.

Hermione gasped and covered her face with her hands. “I was thirteen!”

Ginny laughed as she popped in another chocolate biscuit. “Yeah! And blindsided by his ‘golden locks’.”

“Alright, alright!” Hermione protested, face red as a Quaffle. “Let’s not act like I’m the only one who’s ever had a questionable crush.”

You smirked. “Fair. In that case… I might as well confess.”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed immediately. “Go on.”

You turned a page in the magazine with deliberate slowness, feigning disinterest. ��Promise not to kill me?”

“Depends entirely on what you’re about to say.”

You grinned, leaning back into Hermione’s hands as she gently tugged through a knot. “I may have had a crush on your brother.”

Hermione’s hands paused mid-braid. Ginny blinked. “Which one?”

You bit your bottom lip. “Charlie.”

“Charlie?” Ginny shrieked, reaching for the nearest pillow and chucking it at your head.

You ducked, laughing. “I said don’t kill me!”

“Oh, come on! He’s ancient!”

“He is not ancient!” you countered. “He’s just…rugged.”

Hermione cackled. “That’s one word for it.”

“I was twelve,” you said, grinning now. “He was nice to me in second year when I got stuck in that stupid broom cupboard after the duel club,” you defended. “Helped me out. Smelled like dragon ash and lavender. I was twelve. It was a confusing time.”

Ginny groaned and covered her face with both hands. “I’m going to throw myself into the lake.”

“Oh please,” you said, tossing the pillow back at her. “You’ve got nothing to complain about. You’re not the one who spent two years doodling 'Mrs. Charlie Weasley' in the margins of your Potions notes.”

Hermione burst into laughter. “You did not!”

“She did,” Ginny groaned as if the fact had refreshed her memory, clutching the pillow to her chest. “I remember finding them. You nearly set yours on fire when I walked over.”

You sighed dramatically. “It was a dark time. Let us never speak of it again.”

“Too late,” Hermione said smugly. “Charlie Weasley. Merlin’s beard.”

Ginny snorted. “You’ve got a type.”

“What’s that?” you asked with a giggle.

“Tall, and disheveled,” she said immediately.

You couldn’t deny it, so instead you just shrugged as you flipped the page. “I’ll have you know, my last crush had neither.”

Hermione raised a brow. “Oh? Who was that?”

You hesitated. “McLaggen.”

The room went silent.

Ginny blinked. “McLaggen?”

Hermione looked vaguely horrified. “Why?”

“No, no—I didn’t like him,” you corrected quickly. “He had a crush on me.”

“Oh,” Ginny breathed. “That makes more sense. Still. Gross.”

“How do you know?” Hermione asked.

You gave them a pointed look. “He asked me what cologne Oliver used to wear.”

“Oliver?” Ginny asked, brow arched.

“Oliver Wood?” Hermione completed.

You hummed casually, popping a chocolate into your mouth. “Yeah. We dated. Briefly. It was nothing serious.”

Ginny’s head whipped around so fast her ponytail hit Hermione in the face.

“What?! You dated Oliver and you never told me?”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” you said, shrugging with exaggerated innocence. “Besides, I could never compete with his true love — Quidditch.”

“Define briefly,” Ginny said, squinting at you like you’d just confessed to secretly owning a dragon.

“A few months,” you said airily.

Hermione gaped. “And you didn’t tell us?”

“You didn’t ask,” you grinned.

At that very moment, George—still crouched on the other side of the door, Ginny’s sweater now clutched in a death grip—almost fell forward.

Because Oliver Wood?

And Charlie?

Worst of all, McLaggen thought he had a chance with you?

It had been fun. A game. He liked the way you talked back. The way you held your own. But now? Now there was a flame in his chest, and it was not jealousy, thank you very much—it was just mild irritation. Annoyance. Confusion perhaps.

Definitely not jealousy.

He didn’t like being late to the party.

And he was about to do something about it. 

George didn’t mean to notice.

Not at first.

It started in the Great Hall, over toast and pumpkin juice, when a Ravenclaw fifth-year leaned over from his table just to hand you a folded note.

You glanced at it, blinked, and gave a tight smile before tucking it under your plate and resuming your breakfast as if nothing had happened.

George caught the whole thing.

“Friend of yours?” he asked casually when he reached you, flopping onto the bench across from you and grabbing a slice of toast.

You didn’t look up from your book. “Not particularly.”

George frowned at the note still peeking out from under your spoon. “You gonna read that?”

“I already did.”

“What did it say?”

You turned a page. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

George leaned forward, squinting. “Was it romantic?”

“I’m sure he meant it to be.”

He scoffed. “Didn’t even seem your type.”

You tilted your head, finally looking at him. “And what, exactly, is my type?”

George opened his mouth, paused, then shoved a piece of toast in it instead. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

You smirked.

But it wasn’t just breakfast.

Later that afternoon, he passed you in the courtyard and watched as a Hufflepuff Chaser tried to flirt with you by showing off a ridiculous balancing charm involving four pumpkins and a floating apple.

You laughed—actually laughed—and George felt a strange, brief pressure in the center of his chest, followed by a violent desire to punch the bloke in the face.

And then in the evening, you were in the library, sitting with that seventh-year Slytherin—Theo something—who was not terrible-looking and had the audacity to lean in close when showing you something in a book.

George paused in his tracks, one arm full of overdue books, and watched as you smiled politely and pushed your chair just a bit away.

“You alright, Georgie?” came Fred’s voice, suddenly behind him.

George flinched. “Bloody hell, don’t sneak up on me.”

Fred ignored him, instead glancing down toward your table. “You look like a man torn between sending an unforgivable or a slightly less forgivable.”

George scowled. “Why is he sitting with her?”

Fred raised a brow. “Nott? He’s in Ancient Runes with her. You gonna duel everyone who shares a class with her now?”

George looked away. “She can talk to whoever she wants.”

Fred waited.

George added, reluctantly, “He just seems interested.”

Fred let out a low whistle, grinning. “Well, look at that. Jealousy looks adorable on you.”

“I’m not jealous,” George snapped.

Fred clapped him on the shoulder, smug. “You better get a move on, then. Before someone who isn’t you figures out she’s brilliant, funny, and insanely good at Quidditch.”

George looked back toward you just as you laughed again, tucking your hair behind your ear and shaking your head at something Theo said.

His stomach twisted.

Fred smirked. “Better hurry up before someone steals your girl, mate.”

“She’s not—” George started, but the words stuck.

Because the thing was—maybe she wasn’t.

Yet.

But he really, desperately, wanted that to change.

Something had changed.

At first, it was subtle—so subtle you almost thought you were imagining it. A longer glance at breakfast. A brush of his shoulder against yours in the corridor. A comment he whispered low enough to make the hairs at the back of your neck stand up.

George Weasley had always been persistent, but now… he was present.

You noticed it especially at breakfast.

You were half-asleep, blinking blearily at your toast, when he sat across from you with a grin that could only mean trouble.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said cheerfully.

You gave him a look. “You’re unnervingly chipper for someone who got hit in the head with a Quaffle yesterday.”

“Still riding the high of your concern,” he said, placing a spoonful of jam on your plate like it was a gift. “You gasped. I saw it.”

“I thought your skull cracked. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I am flattered. I’ll cherish that gasp forever.”

Hermione, sitting beside you, cleared her throat loudly.

You turned to her. “Don’t start.”

“I haven’t said a word,” she said innocently, though the corners of her mouth twitched. Beside her, Harry raised an eyebrow at George, who winked at him before stealing a piece of your toast.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, grabbing it back.

“Only to you,” he said.

Which was probably true, and deeply unfair.

It didn’t stop there.

You’d started adapting to George’s nonsense like it was just part of your daily routine—right up there with brushing your teeth and dodging Peeves. You even started to rely on it. His teasing had become clockwork. If you didn’t see him by lunch, it felt like something was missing.

You started anticipating it. Waiting to see what outrageous thing he’d say next.

And once you’d accepted that, it became a game.

It started small. You’d catch him staring, and you’d smile—slow and smug, like you knew something he didn’t.

Then, you started seeing if you could get to him first.

You began trying to catch him off guard. A well-timed compliment. A glance too long. Whispering something just close enough to his ear to make him jolt and immediately cover it up with a bad joke.

It became about who could make the other crack first.

And you were determined to win.

In Herbology, when you caught him watching you over a potted Venomous Tentacula, you tilted your head and murmured, “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to think you actually like me.”

He blinked once. Twice. Then turned red and nearly sliced his finger off on a Devil’s Snare stem.

He’d lean close enough to brush your hand when passing you a quill. You’d send him messages through enchanted paper notes that heated up his desk mid-class.

He’d mutter something indecent in your ear before breakfast. You’d compliment his broom-handling in the most obscene tone possible.

He’d wink.

You’d blow him a kiss.

It wasn’t serious, of course.

Not officially.

But Merlin, it felt like it.

By the time the next Quidditch match rolled around, the tension was unbearable in a way that made Ginny refuse to sit between you two during warm-up.

“I am not risking my brain cells to your sexual warfare,” she said, walking off and leaving you both smirking across your brooms.

The match was brutal.

George was just as relentless. But not just in the game.

Every time he scored a goal, he did some ridiculous celebration—arms wide, chest puffed, bowing dramatically mid-air.

You pretended to boo him every time, but you were smiling. 

And every single time, he turned and blew you a kiss.

By the third one, you had to physically turn your broom away to stop yourself from smiling. You hated how much you were smiling.

Lee didn’t miss a beat.

“And there’s Weasley, dedicating yet another goal to his favorite seemingly-favorite teammate. That’s the third kiss blown in fifteen minutes. Starting to think this isn’t just about the Quaffle.”

You caught one of the kisses with a roll of your eyes and mimed stuffing it in your pocket.

Fred howled with laughter from across the pitch.

By the end of the match, the score was devastating in your favor. Gryffindor won.

You hit the ground running, adrenaline high and victory on your back like a second skin. George found you in the middle of the chaos — red hair wild, cheeks flushed, grinning like a madman.

“You played alright,” he said, nudging your shoulder.

You shoved him back. “You’re ridiculous.”

He reached for your waist without warning and hoisted you into the air and onto his shoulders, spinning you so fast you shrieked with laughter, grabbing at his hair to keep steady.

“Put me down!” you laughed.

But his hold on your thighs only seemed to get stronger. You hit his head softly.

“Say I’m your favorite Weasley!”

“Never!”

When he finally set you down, your legs were wobbly and your cheeks hurt from grinning. But before you could say anything, George caught your wrist, dipped you like a scene out of some ridiculous muggle romance movie, and kissed you.

Right there. In front of everyone.

It was reckless. Dramatic. Completely and utterly George.

You froze for half a second—eyes wide, brain short-circuited.

Then you yanked him forward by the collar of his Quidditch robes and kissed him right back, just to prove a point.

When you pulled away, you punched him hard in the arm.

“I hate you,” you said breathlessly.

He beamed like you’d said the opposite. “Love you too.”

You stepped back from George, cheeks warm, breath still a little uneven. Not that you’d ever let him know that.

Instead, you gave him a look that was far too calm for someone who had just kissed someone in front of half the school.

Then you rolled your eyes.

“Idiot,” you muttered.

And then—like nothing had happened��you turned and walked toward Harry and Ginny, your arms spread in triumph.

“Did you see that last play?” you called, grinning like a lunatic. “I basically flew through their Beaters—twice.”

Harry laughed and pulled you into a hug as you ruffled his hair.

George just stood there, a little dazed, watching you like you’d turned the sky upside down.

Fred sidled up beside him, swinging an arm around his shoulder with mock-sympathy. “I didn’t want to state the obvious,” he said, grinning like a fox. “But you’re screwed.”

George didn’t argue.

He didn’t say a word, in fact.

Just watched you laugh with your teammates, throwing your arm around Ginny’s shoulders and pretending nothing had happened. Like it was any other Tuesday. Like you hadn’t just kissed him in front of literally everyone.

And Merlin, he was so screwed.

He was still smiling.

Because the kiss had been good—no, great—but the real kicker was how easily you’d brushed it off, like it was part of the game.

And for you, maybe it was.

But for George?

It was already over. He’d lost. Completely. Utterly.

And he couldn’t wait to play again.

From the outside, the rumors had already started. You and George. George and you. People said you were dating. That it was obvious. That you had been for months.

You both swore you weren’t.

“It’s just a joke,” you said.

“We can’t stand each other,” George agreed.

You said it with smug smiles and lingering glances. He said it with his hand brushing yours and his leg always bouncing against yours under the table.

Neither of you meant a word of it.

Everyone knew.

Well—everyone except Ron.

Ron, who watched the entire post-match kiss with a face like he’d swallowed a Snitch.

“Wait, what is happening?” he asked, spinning toward Hermione. “They hate each other.”

Hermione sighed, not looking up from her book. “No, Ron. They’re in love.”

Harry clapped him on the shoulder, pitying. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Ron gaped. “She’s our age!”

George winked at you from across the common room, and you blew him a kiss.

He caught it with a smirk and stuffed it in his pocket.

You rolled your eyes, heart stupidly loud in your chest.

If this was a game, neither of you were ready to quit.

And Merlin help anyone who thought they could play it better than you two.

With Hogsmeade weekend looming, it became painfully clear just how many people had taken the “you and George aren’t dating” line a little too seriously.

You were barely two days out from the trip when the first attempt came—an overeager fourth-year with an unfortunate tuft of hair that refused to lie flat and a nervous stammer. He asked if you’d like to go to Madam Puddifoot’s “just as friends” with the same energy as someone approaching a sleeping dragon.

You were polite. You let him down gently.

George was not gentle.

He appeared at your side mid-conversation with a saccharine smile and his arm thrown over your shoulders like it belonged there. “Sorry, mate,” he said cheerfully, “she’s got a thing for men who can actually tie their own shoes.”

The boy fled so fast he left behind his Charms notes.

You turned to George, unamused. “Really?”

He just smiled wider. “What? He looked like he was about to cry. I did him a favor.”

“You didn’t have to be rude.”

It would’ve been easy to brush off—chalk it up to George being George—but then it happened again.

And again.

A quiet Ravenclaw prefect who asked if you'd like to walk down to Honeydukes together. A Hufflepuff whom you shared classes with and asked you about your notes along with a slipped compliment about your eyes. A seventh-year who found you in the library and tried to start a conversation about the book currently in your hands.

Each time, George found a reason to interrupt. Each time, the boys backed off, usually with a wary glance over their shoulder. And each time, you said nothing.

Until the hallway outside the Charms corridor.

“You know,” you said, tone sharp and easy at the same time, “I don’t actually need a guard dog.”

George blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Or a brother. Or whatever it is you’re trying to be.”

He jutted out his chin and furrowed his eyebrows, "A brother?!"

He seemed wildly insulted at the idea.

"I don't know what game you're playing Weasley—"

He crossed his arms. “You think I’m doing this for fun?”

“I think you’re too much of a coward to do what you actually want to do and ask me out already.”

His eyes went wide.

Like actually wide.

As if the words physically stunned him into silence. You’d never seen George Weasley at a loss. Not when Filch caught him red-handed with Dungbombs. Not when McGonagall threatened to hex the freckles off his face. Not even when you faked a letter from the Head Boy and convinced him he'd been made Prefect.

But now? Now he looked like you’d slapped him.

Then, slowly—furiously—his brows drew down.

“All I’ve been doing is asking you out,” he said, voice tight.

You blinked. “What?”

He stepped forward. “I’ve asked you out a hundred times.”

“You’ve never—”

“Every single time I asked if you wanted to walk with me to Hogsmeade. Every time I sat next to you in the library and brought you those stupid lemon biscuits you pretend not to like. Every time I said something flirty and you rolled your eyes and laughed instead of answering—that was me asking you out.”

“That’s not asking me out!” you shot back. “That’s just you being an idiot! That’s just—jokes—like always!”

He laughed, but there was no real humor in it. “You think that was a joke? You think I’m playing some long game for laughs?”

“George, it’s you. You flirt with everything that moves!”

“I don’t flirt with everyone like that,” he said sharply, stepping closer. “I don’t get stupid nervous when other blokes talk to anyone else. I don’t feel like throwing up when I see you smiling at Theo bloody Nott across the library.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“I’m not a joke to you, am I?” he asked, quieter now. “Because I sure as hell wasn’t joking when I kissed you after that match.”

Your breath hitched.

George ran a hand through his hair, eyes burning with frustration. “You think I just—what—kissed you on a dare?”

“I don’t know, George!” you shouted, voice cracking. “I don’t know what to believe with you! One minute it’s ‘you’re so annoying,’ and the next it’s—” You cut yourself off before the words you kiss me like I’m the only girl in the world could leave your mouth.

He saw it, though. Saw it in the way your lip trembled and your fists clenched at your sides.

“I didn’t want to get my hopes up…” your voice taught and slightly cracked.

George ran a hand down his face, like he was trying to physically pull himself back together. “You want to know when I realized it wasn’t a joke anymore?”

You said nothing.

He exhaled, quieter now. “I overheard you.”

Your brows pulled together. “What?”

“You. That night in Ginny’s room. With Hermione. When you said I was just playing around. When you said you liked winning, not me.” He swallowed hard. “It wasn’t even supposed to matter. But it did. It killed me.”

“George…”

“I’ve never felt that kind of jealous before,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “Like—real, violent jealousy.”

“And then McLaggen?” he said bitterly. “That absolute wanker trying to ask you out  like he had a chance. And the thing is—I knew you wouldn’t go for him. You’re not stupid. But the idea that he thought he could?”

He exhaled a sharp breath.

“That he thought you were up for grabs? That he thought you were free?”

You felt your heartbeat pick up, hot and pounding behind your ribs.

“That’s when I realized it,” George said, voice lower now. “It’s not a game to me. Not anymore. Maybe it never was.”

You couldn’t say anything. You just stared up at him, lips slightly parted.

“And when I kissed you?” His voice cracked. “When I kissed you, I thought—Merlin, I thought maybe you finally saw what I’ve been trying to say.”

You sucked in a breath.

“That it’s always been you,” he said. “And you’ve been driving me out of my bloody mind because I couldn’t tell if it meant something to you or nothing at all.”

Silence.

Tension curled hot and tight between you.

When you finally spoke, your voice was barely a whisper. “Of course it meant something.”

George blinked.

“I just…” You rubbed the back of your neck, helpless. “I thought it was all just part of the game.”

His voice was suddenly soft, broken open with relief. “It’s never been a game for me.”

You felt like all the air had left your lungs. And then, with a breathless laugh—half apology, half disbelief—you closed the space between you.

Your hand found the collar of his jumper, just like it had after the match, and you pulled him in.

This time, it wasn’t a kiss to prove a point. This wasn’t a performance. It wasn’t payback.

This time, it was real.

Something fast and tension breaking turned into something slow and certain.

His hands came to your waist, grounding you. Yours curled into his collar like you’d always meant to be there. Like every moment before this had been leading here.

When you pulled back, cheeks flushed, you looked at him for a long moment.

George grinned. “You gonna keep pretending it’s a joke?”

You smiled back. “Only when Ron asks.”

“Deal,” he said.

He didn’t have time to say much else, for his lips were already chasing after yours, with one of his stupidly enchanting lazy smiles.

Maybe the game was over now.

And you both had won.

[natjennie]

just considered pulling out a book I got for a literature class like 4 years ago called "monsters in america" to see if the section on ghosts had anything about sexuality in there. what autism does to a motherfucker.

[elin-moon]

Exciting book my mum bought today.

Fun little story, while flipping through the book and coming upon this exact page, I pointed at Poenari castle and called it 'Vlad's place' and my mum joked about how it made me sound like I knew him personally or something. Anywho, this build up into us joking about Vlad being a family relative we visit over the holidays. First it was Uncle Vlad, and then when we made the joke to my brother, it was Cousin Vlad. And the thing is, I'm not sure my brother realised we were joking, especially since he knows little romanian history, and now he might think we actually have a relative called Vlad (we don't 😅)

[pixiexdusts-world]

Meet the Heffley’s

Rodrick Heffley x reader

Summary: Rodrick’s girlfriend meets his chaotic family, and Manny tries to steal her. She loves it anyway.

Word count: 1010

Notes: this is very random but I love Rodrick so I needed to write something

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Title: Meet the Heffleys

Meeting your boyfriend’s family is supposed to be a big deal, right? Like, one of those moments where you dress nice, bring flowers or something, and sit down for an awkwardly polite dinner while his parents judge you.

Yeah. That’s not how things work with Rodrick Heffley.

When he invited me over for dinner, it was more like, “Hey, my mom said you should come over and eat with us or whatever.” Super romantic. But I agreed because, well… I wanted to meet them. Rodrick talks about his family all the time, mostly to complain, but still. I was curious.

So, here I am, standing on the Heffleys’ front porch, wondering if I should have brought something. Probably not. This doesn’t seem like the kind of house where formal dinner etiquette exists.

Before I can knock, the door swings open, and there he is.

Rodrick smirks, leaning against the doorframe like he’s so cool. “Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up.”

I roll my eyes, stepping closer. “I’m on time.”

“Yeah, well, you were supposed to be, like, ten minutes late so I could say something sarcastic about it.”

I laugh and kiss his cheek, just to make him flustered. It works. His smirk falters for half a second before he clears his throat and steps aside. “Alright, come in before my mom starts thinking I made you up.”

The inside of the house is exactly what I expected. A little messy, with random shoes lying around, a stack of newspapers no one’s bothered to throw away, and a distinct family chaos vibe. The smell of dinner cooking comes from the kitchen, something warm and homey.

And then I hear it.

“Rodrick! She’s here?!”

Before I can react, a woman appears—short, blonde, and way too excited. I barely have time to brace myself before she pulls me into a hug. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! I’m Susan, Rodrick’s mom. Oh, you’re even prettier than I imagined!”

“Uh, thanks,” I manage, shooting a look at Rodrick, who just shrugs like, Yeah, this is happening.

His mom pulls back, holding me at arm’s length. “Rodrick never tells us anything about his personal life. You should’ve seen my face when he said he had a girlfriend. I almost dropped my coffee!”

Rodrick groans. “Mom.”

“What?” She waves him off. “I’m just happy to meet her. Oh, come in, come in! We’re just about to set the table.”

I follow her into the dining room, where a younger boy sits at the table, flipping through a comic book. He glances up, eyes narrowing slightly.

“You’re Rodrick’s girlfriend?”

“Greg,” Susan scolds. “Be nice.”

“What? I’m just saying.” Greg shrugs, then looks at me. “You do know he’s, like, the worst, right?”

“Hey, shut up, loser,” Rodrick snaps, dropping into a chair.

I grin. “Oh, I know.”

Greg blinks, clearly not expecting that. Then he mutters, “Huh. Okay.”

That’s when I feel a tiny hand grab mine.

I glance down to see a little kid—Manny, I recognize him from Rodrick’s rare stories about him—staring up at me with big eyes.

“I have a girlfriend too,” he announces proudly.

Susan gasps. “Manny! Since when?”

“Since yesterday,” he says, like it’s obvious. Then he looks back up at me and asks, completely serious, “Do you like dinosaurs?”

I nod. “Who doesn’t like dinosaurs?”

Manny grins, clearly satisfied with my answer. “Okay. You’re my second girlfriend now.”

Rodrick groans. “Oh my God.”

Greg snickers. “Dude, you already have competition.”

Manny tugs at my sleeve again. “Rodrick is gross. Do you wanna be just my girlfriend instead?”

Rodrick drops his fork. “Are you kidding me? Mom, tell him he can’t steal my girlfriend!”

Susan barely holds back a laugh. “Manny, sweetie, she’s Rodrick’s girlfriend.”

Manny huffs. “Fine.”

This is amazing.

Dinner is… interesting. The food is good—spaghetti and garlic bread—but the conversation is pure chaos. Susan keeps asking me questions about school, my family, my plans for the future (Rodrick groans at that one). Greg watches me like he’s trying to figure out why I’d willingly date his brother. And Manny? He spends the whole meal making dramatic faces at Rodrick and occasionally whispering, “Rodrick is a doo-doo head.”

Rodrick spends most of the meal making sarcastic comments and kicking me under the table whenever his mom gets too nosy.

At one point, their dad, Frank, comes in late, looking exhausted. He gives me a polite nod, sits down, and immediately starts ranting about something Rodrick did last week. Rodrick barely reacts, just shoveling food into his mouth while his mom scolds him and Greg smirks like he enjoys watching his brother get in trouble.

It’s loud. It’s messy. It’s so different from my own family’s quiet dinners.

And I kind of love it.

After we eat, Rodrick grabs my hand and tugs me toward the stairs. “Alright, we’re done here. Bye.”

“Rodrick, wait—” Susan starts, but he’s already leading me to his room.

The second he shuts the door, he groans. “I told you my family was annoying.”

I flop onto his bed, laughing. “I like them.”

He gives me a look. “You like them?”

“Yeah. Your mom is sweet, Greg is funny, and Manny… well, he’s trying to steal me, but other than that, he’s adorable.”

Rodrick snorts. “I knew that kid was trouble.”

I smile and lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Not worried, are you?”

He grumbles something under his breath, but I can tell he’s relieved. And maybe even a little happy.

Yeah. I think I’m gonna like being around the Heffleys.

[luvsupa]

TRICK-WHORE-TREAT!

summary: do NOT fuck summon the insanely hot curse, sukuna.

tags: trueform!sukuna x fem!reader, modern day, pwp, smut (p in v), ōral sex (f!recieving), food (candy) play, sukuna has two dicks, he’s a bully, petnames, dumbification, etc. mdni.

w.c: 2.7k

a/n: HAPPY HALLOWEEN GUYS 🧡🧡 IM SOO HAPPY THAT YOU ALL HAVE BEEN FOLLOWING W MY KINKTOBEER MWAAA!!! lowkey sad it’s done but ENJOYYY 🧡

kinktober masterlist

“the hell’s that?” you ask, stepping into the livingroom after finishing up your nightly skincare routine. tonight, it’s just you and your friends mina and sage, skipping every halloween party to hang out together . you’ve all stocked up on snacks and horror games to keep yourselves entertained.

“no clue, got it off some marketplace—thing was dirt cheap,” sage shrugs, holding up an ancient, dusty book that looks like it’s been around since the dawn of time. you step closer as sage hands over the grimy thing, flipping the first page and frowning at the unreadable text.

“this is the dumbest shit ever, we can’t even read it,” you mutter, slamming the book shut as dust fills the air, making you gag. but something about it still piques your interest, so mina does a quick search and manages to decode some of the ancient alphabet, translating the words:

RYOMEN SUKUNA, KING OF CURSES.

SEALED AWAY BY: GOJO CLAN.

DO NOT SUMMON.

you nearly lose it at the dramatic warning. a king of curses sealed up in a ten-dollar marketplace relic? yeah, super scary.

“so, this is like…a bootleg ouija board?” mina asks, clutching your cat, coco, for comfort. you drop the book onto the coffee table with a snort as you and sage crack it open again, flipping through each creaking page. mina pulls your cat tighter as it hisses, clearly over her nerves. as you dig through the pages, you find some ridiculous official chant,

“ryomen sukuna, king of curses, awaken now. break from the seal, emerge from the night.”

you and sage recite it over and over, while mina shuts her eyes like you’re actually summoning something worth fearing.

“lame ass book,” you scoff, tossing it behind you, where it lands with a dull thud on the carpet. after that, you grab the other games you brought for the night, and the three of you dive into a marathon of competitive chaos, yelling and laughing until your voices are hoarse. hours slip by, and between the endless rounds and maybe a bit too much snacking, exhaustion starts to sink in.

“gooood nighttt,” you all mumble sleepily as you collapse, deciding to let mina and sage take the bed while you settle onto the makeshift floor bed. you don’t mind the floor—anything for them.

soon enough, silence fills the room, but in the dead of night, a sudden blast of wind slips under the door, rattling it hard enough to shake you awake. your eyes blink open, heavy with sleep, as a strange light spills through the door’s cracks. did you really forget to turn the lights off?

you tap your phone and squint at the screen, 3:27 AM. you groan softly, realizing you’ve barely slept an hour before the cool wins wakes you. maybe you left the window open?

rising from your makeshift bed, you glance over at sage and mina, fast asleep, curled up with your stuffed animals. you tiptoe toward the door, gently easing it open. you nearly yelp when coco, your cat, slips past you and pads silently toward the living room, ignoring your whispered calls as you follow her.

you freeze when coco hops up into a lap—a man’s lap.

your gaze slowly travels up the figure sitting casually on your couch. in the dim light, you can’t fully make out his features, but you catch glimpses—dark, muscular limbs, and the glint of red eyes that pierce through the shadows. coco purrs contentedly in his lap, her small body relaxed as he strokes her fur with a disturbingly gentle touch.

“c-coco…?” your voice is barely a whisper, each syllable shaky as dread knots in your stomach. as your eyes adjust, you realize he has…more than two arms. two extra limbs drape over the couch, relaxed and disturbingly still.

“coco?” he chuckles darkly, voice rich and deep, cutting through the silence. “show respect, peasant.”

a chill races down your spine. his voice carries a weight that sinks into your bones, making you want to shrink back. he cradles coco close to his chest, his other hands moving with unnatural grace, almost possessively, as if she were his own.

“such a precious creature…i’ve missed having a pet in my kingdom.” he speaks slowly, each word dragging, drawing you further into his presence. kingdom? a sinking feeling tightens your chest as your eyes flick to the spot where you’d tossed that cheap book…now gone.

you edge toward the light switch, hand shaking as you flip it on. what you see makes your heart plummet.

he sprawls on the couch with a lazy, terrifying ease, two extra arms draped like they belong there, his legs spread wide in dark, traditional robes, your small cat nestled comfortably in one of his enormous hands. as your eyes trail up, you catch the tattoos winding over his skin, tracing ancient patterns that seem to pulse. then you see them—two extra eyes, fixed on you, gleaming with an unearthly red glow.

“s-sukuna?” you breathe, recognition dawning as your mind replays the cursed illustrations from the book. your stomach twists. you’ve summoned him. his head lifts, and his eyes lock onto yours—four intense, ruby orbs that make you feel like prey.

slowly, sukuna rises from the couch, his towering frame unfolding to its full, monstrous height. his head nearly brushes the ceiling, his presence filling the room, suffocating. he steps closer, holding coco in one hand while his other arms hang back, giving him an unnervingly calm stance as he approaches. you’re trembling, pinned in place by the dark weight of his gaze.

“woman, your scent…” his voice lowers, rough and insistent, as he gently places coco on the ground. she slinks off, disappearing into the shadows as his eyes never leave yours. “…it’s clouding my mind.”

a sharp heat flares through you, fear mingling with something darker. without thinking, you press your thighs together, shocked by the rush of sensation that shouldn’t be there, not with this terrifying creature towering over you. you back away slowly, unable to break eye contact, until you feel the wall press against your back.

“tell me,” he purrs, a mocking smirk curling his lips as he steps into your space, trapping you between the wall and the solid, overwhelming force of him. “isn’t it pathetic…getting all worked up for a ‘lame ass’ like me?” he taunts, voice dark and dangerous. you swallow hard, realizing he heard every insult, every careless word about him and that “cheap ass book.”

“not my fault that book was less than ten bucks,” you snap back, defiance flickering up despite the fear pressing down on you. you’re not sure where the courage comes from, but you hold his gaze.

his chuckle is a low, rumbling sound, his red eyes burning into you. your gaze dips down, lingering on the sculpted lines of his abdomen under his robe, catching on the hard outline beneath the fabric.

the sick fucker was turned on too.

he’s probably more turned on than you, and it’s beyond obvious as he has you folded in half on the couch, your legs painfully stretched back, feet nearly reaching past your head. two of his hands pin your thighs down with a grip that feels bruising, while his other two cradle the backs of your inner thighs, spreading you open with no mercy. his tongue, impossibly long and sinfully thick, reaches deep, curling once it finds that sweet spot that makes you cry out. your eyes flutter as you fight to stay conscious, catching a glimpse of his face twisted in raw, desperate need. when one of his eyes meets yours, a spark of dark hunger flickers within his piercing gaze, sending a shiver through your entire body.

your walls clamp around his tongue as he plunges even deeper, hitting places that make your breath hitch. “m-more,” you moan, voice needy and broken, completely lost in him. his lips curl into a smirk against you, and he lets you grind into his mouth, allowing you to lose yourself in the pleasure. without you realizing, sukuna reaches for something on the table—a bottle of thick blue syrup, something new he’s been itching to try on you.

your eyes roll back when you feel the cool syrup drizzle onto your swollen, sensitive folds, and you gasp, watching as the blue liquid glistens against your flushed skin, sliding down to coat every inch. sukuna’s grip tightens, pressing your legs further down, holding you in the filthiest position imaginable. he takes his time, squeezing ever sticky drop from the bottle as it pools on your clit, mixing with your arousal and slowly dripping lower, reaching your entrance. his tongue pulls away just enough for him to admire the mess he’s made, eyes gleaming with satisfaction at the way the syrup clings to your needy, twitching cunt.

then, without warning, his mouth is back on you, his tongue dives in, lapping up the syrup in messy, hungry strokes. the taste of blue raspberry mixes with your own sweetness, driving him wild, and he groans deeply as he sloppily devours you. his lips stain blue, and he doesn’t care; he’s making out with your cunt like he’s starved for it, sucking hard on your clit until your mind spins. you feel the gentle scrape of his fangs against your sensitive skin, and the pressure builds as he tugs and pulls, drawing out every bit of sensation he can, his mouth relentless and filthy as he drives you past the edge.

his grip tightens on your legs, pressing them even further down as he spreads you wider, eyes locked onto the sight in front of him. he lets his tongue swirl over your clit, catching the sticky syrup with sloppy, hungry strokes. “look at you,” he groans between licks. “soaked and covered in candy like my own personal treat.” he chuckles darkly, lips stained blue as he smears the syrup messily around your swollen, twitching folds.

“‘kuna, jus’ fuck me already,” you whine, voice thick with impatience. you’ve never felt this desperate, and your gaze keeps drifting down to the thick bulge pressing against his robe. all four of sukuna’s ruby eyes narrow, and he lets out a low, mocking chuckle, clearly taken aback by your demand.

“you think you can boss me around, huh?” he taunts, his grip tightening on your chin as he taps your lips, silently demanding you open your mouth. the moment you part your lips, he spits a thick wad of saliva right onto your tongue. you swallow it instantly, almost embarrassingly eager. he grins down at you, his expression twisted with amusement, and gives your cheek a few light taps. “so nasty… and here i thought you had some dignity.”

in a swift motion he pulls you into his lap, forcing your thighs to spread over his muscular legs. when did he even take off his pants? you barely have time to process it as you feel the heat radiating from him, and your eyes drop to the bulge under his robe.

“you want it so bad?” he sneers, pushing you back with a rough shove. “prove it. since you think you’re in charge, you’re gonna work for it.” he unties his robe with a calculated slowness, letting it slip open. your eyes widen, breath catching at the sight of not one, but two thick, throbbing cocks, pre-cum dripping from both angry red tips, veins snaking along their length. and on his stomach, a grinning mouth, twisted and sinister, completes the terrifying sight.

“what’s wrong? too much for you?” he laughs, watching as your jaw drops, taking in every inch of him. “thought you wanted to act all big and baaad.” his eyes flash as he jerks his hips up, rubbing his tips against your soaked entrance. “go on then. ride me… let’s see if you can keep up, princess.”

“t-two? are you insane?” you gasp, eyes locked on his monstrous cocks, both thick and throbbing as they twitch under his dark gaze. sukuna just smirks, his hand wrapping around one shaft, tapping the flushed, swollen tip against your clit. each soft thud electrifies you, your body jolting with each contact as you slump against his chest, barely able to hold yourself up.

“c’monnn, where’d all that attitude go?” he sneers, flicking your forehead as a warning. the sting makes you wince, and he’s already impatient, lifting your hips with two large hands, positioning you right over his leaking tip. you can barely breathe as you look down, staring at how massive he is. there’s no way you can take all of him—but he’s clearly planning to fit both.

you cry out as he sinks you down onto his first cock, stretching you open in one brutal thrust. your eyes widen, feeling every thick inch filling you to the brim, your walls straining around him, slick and achy. glancing down, you can see the bulge forming where he’s stuffed so deep inside.

sukuna chuckles lowly, a dark, mocking sound that reverberates through your body as his hands roam your hips, patting your head in a twisted kind of praise. “not so tough now, huh?” he taunts, his voice thick with satisfaction as he watches you struggle to take him. you’re utterly stuffed, thighs trembling, mind swimming, and he’s just getting started.

he groans when he feels your walls flutter around him, clenching tighter as his hands move down to your ass, squeezing the flesh hard enough to leave bruises. you moan brokenly, and he smirks, thrusting up with sharp, brutal snaps of his hips. each thrust sends squelching, messy sounds echoing in the room, your arousal spraying out, slicking his abs and thighs. you’re a mess, head lolling against his shoulder as the filthy noises fill your ears, lewd and obscene.

“thereee we go, brat… ‘m right here,” he drawls, one hand pressing down on the bulge in your lower stomach, making you sob. his thrusts grow rougher, inhuman, skin slapping against skin as the couch creaks under the weight of his assault. every time he drives into you, your juices squelch and spray, drenching both of you in a mix of sweat and slick.

“imagine what your friends would think of you,” he growls, voice thick with lust, “getting fucked like a dirty little slut by a demon.” his words make you whimper, panic flashing in your mind at the thought of being caught. but it only fuels him, watching your pathetic, broken reactions as his cock slams relentlessly against your cervix.

then, you feel something warm and slimy flick over your clit, making your eyes snap open. you look down, horrified and aroused, to see a mouth on his stomach, tongue lapping hungrily at your swollen nub. you sob, grinding your hips down, desperate for any kind of release as his mouth devours your sensitive bud.

his cock throbs as he nears his climax, driven crazy by your whimpers and the way your walls cling to him, squeezing him tighter with every thrust. his pace becomes erratic, desperate, hips snapping up harder and faster, both of you teetering on the edge. “fuckkk,” he groans, voice rough, his brow furrowing as he loses control, thrusting sloppily as he chases his own release.

with one last brutal thrust, he spills hot and thick inside you, his cum flooding your insides, filling you up as you shudder and release with him. your essence sprays out, slicking his stomach and thighs, a messy mix of cum and arousal coating everything. his stomach tongue laps up every bit of you, greedily sucking up the slick mess. your body goes limp, utterly spent, as your head falls to his chest, lulled by the rhythm of his heartbeat and the warm stickiness between your thighs.

without a word, you two stay exactly where you are, not moving an inch as you keep clenching around his shaft. his fingers idly play with your hair, lulling you toward sleep when—

“what the fuck is going on?”

your eyes fly open, and you turn to see your friends standing in the living room, eyes wide and mouths hanging open as they stare at the two of you.

how in the hell are you going to explain this…

[jikookncity]

HockeyPlayer!Haechan x FigureSkater!Reader

Haechan is the golden boy with a golden life, he's charming, great at hockey, has the greatest teammates and friends, yet when he goes home at the end of the day he can't help but feel empty. Until he meets the figure skater.

WC: 5.7k, unprotected sex (soft though)

Haechan had it good—at least, that’s what everyone said.

Star winger of the university hockey team. Top ten in his class. Witty as hell, with that dangerous mix of sharp sarcasm and heart-melting charm. Professors liked him. Coaches praised him. The student body practically worshipped him. Girls knew his name, wore his jersey, slid into his DMs with everything from flirty jokes to bold propositions. And yeah, sometimes he said yes.

But no matter how loud the arena got when he scored, no matter how many group selfies or wild parties or post-game hookups came his way… he always went home to silence.

And it lingered. Pressed in at the edges. Like an itch beneath the skin.

He’d scroll through texts and close the app. Watch the ceiling in bed. Lie there in the dark, wondering why the hell am I still feeling this way?

He never found the answer.

So every morning at 6 a.m.—before the world was awake, before the noise and the pressure—he went to the rink.

No fans. No teammates. No coach yelling for speed drills. Just Haechan, a puck, and the echo of his skates scraping the ice.

Until today.

He pushes open the door of the practice rink, stick slung over his shoulder, headphones around his neck. He’s got the usual plan: warm up, fire shots at the empty net, skate till his lungs burn.

But when he steps out onto the cold cement floor and looks through the plexiglass—

He stops.

There’s someone on the ice.

Not just someone. A girl.

She glides like she owns the rink—cutting smooth, elegant shapes into the ice. Her arms stretch like they’re painting music into the air. Her hair, braided and caught by the wind, whips as she spins mid-jump, landing with a soundless grace that makes his breath catch.

She's not wearing headphones. Just completely in tune with the rhythm in her head.

He forgets how to breathe.

Haechan’s seen beautiful girls. Dated a few of them. Flirted with plenty. But this is different.

This is watching art in motion. This is seeing control and freedom at once.

This is the first time his heart stutters for real.

And when she finishes, when she skates toward the bench to grab her water bottle, she notices him—just standing there with his stick and stunned expression.

Their eyes meet through the glass.

She gives a small nod, barely a smile. Polite. Cool.

Haechan lifts a hand in greeting, too casually, like he hasn’t just had his entire soul rocked before 7 a.m.

He’s not sure what just happened, but suddenly, that emptiness in his chest doesn’t feel so heavy.

And all he wants now… is to see her skate again tomorrow.

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

The next morning, he’s there even earlier.

5:45 a.m.

No music in his headphones, no stick in his hands—just a water bottle and the restless need to see her again.

She’s already on the ice.

Of course she is.

This time she’s stretching, balancing one leg behind her on the railing like it’s nothing. She’s in the same fitted jacket, her skates already laced. There’s a thermos next to her bag and a single notebook flipped open on the bench, her handwriting neat and organized.

Haechan lingers by the glass until she looks up, arching an eyebrow like what are you staring at?

He flashes a grin. “Morning.”

“...Morning,” she says. Less cool this time. More curious.

He taps the glass with two fingers. “Didn’t know the rink was booked for angels.”

She doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even smile. She just blinks at him like she’s trying to figure out what kind of guy says that at 6 a.m.

Then, calmly, “I prefer practicing alone.”

He’s thrown off. Okay, cold. But fair.

He shrugs, playing it smooth. “Same. But, y’know… I started coming here first."

She nods like she knows that already. “Then maybe we can ignore each other.”

With that, she steps back onto the ice—clean, poised, focused. Like he didn’t rattle her at all.

But he knows he did.

Because halfway through her routine, she glances toward him again.

He starts coming every morning. Always early. Always quiet. He doesn’t push, doesn’t flirt too much. He just exists beside her, skating on his side of the rink while she floats through hers like a dream.

Eventually, she starts leaving the thermos lid off, steam curling up.

One morning, Haechan gains the courage to formally introduce himself. 

“I’m Haechan.”

“I know.”

“Oh?” He quirks an eyebrow.

“You’re on the hockey team. Everyone knows.”

He’s surprised she didn’t mention his reputation. Most girls do. 

“I don’t know your name,” he says after a beat.

She hesitates. Then, quietly: “Y/N.”

He lets it settle. Tries it out in his head. Y/N.

“You’re a figure skater?”

She glances at him like he’s stupid. “Clearly.”

He laughs. “Okay, cool, we’re doing sarcasm this early.”

She softens—just barely. It’s the first time he sees it, a flicker of a real smile. He stores it like a secret.

They don’t talk much more that day.

But the next morning, when he walks in, there are two thermoses waiting.

One with a pink cap. One with a navy blue one.

He carefully picks up the navy, takes a sip. Hot chocolate.

He smiles, looking over to her across the rink.

“You’re trying to bribe me into leaving, huh?”

Y/N looks up from her laces. “No. I’m trying to make your game less trash.”

He bursts out laughing.

And for the first time in months, the silence that waits for him after practice isn’t heavy at all.

It hums with something new.

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

The morning is quieter than usual. No music. No conversation yet. Just the sharp rhythm of their blades on the ice and the sound of their breaths misting in the cold air.

They’ve been skating together—separately—for a couple of weeks now. Sharing hot drinks. Trading sarcastic quips. Building something silent but sure.

Today, he’s the one who breaks it.

She’s mid-routine, gliding into a graceful spin, arms arched and chin tilted in perfect alignment. He watches from the boards, leaning against his stick. There’s something about the way she moves—like the ice answers to her instead of the other way around.

When she finally slows, coasting toward the wall for a sip of her drink, she hears him speak:

“You move like music.”

She blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

He shrugs like it wasn’t a big deal. “The way you skate. It’s... beautiful.”

Y/N stiffens a little, lowering her thermos. “Is that your thing? Flattering lines at sunrise?”

He grins. “Normally? Yeah. But I mean it this time.”

She raises an eyebrow, skeptical.

He steps closer to the boards, suddenly serious. “When I skate, it’s all speed and force. Slams and bruises. Everything’s about breaking past people, hitting hard, being fast. But you—”

His voice lowers, more thoughtful now.

“You make the ice look soft.”

Y/N blinks again, stunned.

There’s no flirt in his tone. No smirk.

Just truth.

Her fingers tighten around the thermos. She doesn’t know what to say at first. No one’s ever talked about her skating like that. Not coaches. Not her parents. Not even herself. Only scores and technique and corrections.

But Haechan—he’s watching her like he saw something no one else has.

“…Thank you,” she says finally, voice quieter than usual. “That means a lot.”

He nods, still watching her. “Maybe you could teach me sometime.”

She arches an eyebrow. “You? Do a spin?”

“I could be graceful,” he says, striking a ridiculous pose with one hand in the air, one leg kicked out.

She snorts. “You’d tear your groin.”

He laughs loud and full, and she finds herself smiling—truly, this time.

“I’m serious though,” he says, still smiling but more earnest now. “You skate like you feel everything.”

Y/N looks at him for a long second, the quiet of the rink wrapping around them. Then she nods slowly.

“Okay,” she says. “One lesson.”

He lights up. “Hell yeah.”

“But I’m not holding you when you fall.”

“Oh come on,” he grins. “Isn’t that, like, the entire plot of every skating movie?”

She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks are pink.

He can’t stop smiling.

And for the first time, she wonders what it would feel like to let someone into her world—into her rhythm.

Maybe Haechan, with all his speed and spark, could learn to dance on ice after all.

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

They meet earlier than usual. She’s already waiting, lacing up her skates with a smirk.

“You sure about this?” she teases as he steps onto the ice.

“Grace,” Haechan declares, arms wide. “Elegance. Poise. That’s me now.”

She laughs. “We’ll see.”

They start simple—just edge control, nothing fancy. She skates backwards slowly, watching him mirror her steps like a determined, clumsy duckling.

“You’re overthinking it,” she says.

“I’m underprepared for this,” he mutters, wobbling slightly.

She reaches out to adjust his posture, her hands brushing over his arms and shoulders as she moves him into place. He stiffens—not from nerves, but from the warmth that shoots through him when her fingers graze his chest.

Focus, he tells himself.

“Now, try a one-foot glide.”

He does.

And promptly loses balance.

“Sh—!”

Before he can hit the ice, Y/N reacts on instinct—grabbing his sleeve, pulling him toward her to steady him.

Except he’s bigger than she is. Stronger. Off-balance. And she’s on skates too.

They crash hard—both of them tumbling down, skidding slightly.

She lands on top of him, her chest pressed to his, faces barely an inch apart.

The silence after is deafening.

Her hair has fallen into his face. One of his hands instinctively grabs her waist, the other braced against the cold ice. He can feel her breath on his lips. Their bodies flush. Her eyes locked on his.

And for a moment, it aches—with tension, heat, something fragile and new.

Neither of them moves.

Then, with a sharp inhale, Haechan shifts.

He gently pushes her off, careful, hands lingering at her arms as he pulls them both upright again.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low but breathless. “Shit—I didn’t mean to… I wasn’t trying to—”

“I’m fine,” she says quickly, brushing herself off. Her cheeks are very pink.

“Sorry,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “That was… less graceful than I imagined.”

Y/N exhales a shaky laugh, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Could’ve been worse.”

He grins, his eyes flicking to hers again, but this time a bit softer.

“Could’ve been a lot worse,” he says.

Neither of them mentions how long they stayed on the ice.

Or how it suddenly doesn’t feel like just lessons anymore.

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

The fall is behind them. Sort of.

Neither of them mentions how long they lay there. Or how warm it felt, despite the ice. But something has shifted — they’re more aware of each other now, in the quiet pauses and lingering glances.

Practice goes on, smoother than before. Haechan’s trying—really trying—and though he’s nowhere near graceful, she can tell he’s determined.

He skates toward her, panting, cheeks flushed from effort.

“I think I just invented a new move,” he says, breathless. “It’s called ‘accidental dive into the boards.’ Gonna change the sport.”

She laughs, handing him her water. “At least you’re not giving up.”

He takes a sip, then gestures toward the journal sitting on the bench. “So what are you working toward? Competition?”

Her expression shifts.

It’s subtle, but the light in her eyes flickers for a second. She nods slowly. “Nationals. December.”

“Solo?”

She hesitates, "I was supposed to do ice dancing. We qualified together last year.”

“We?”

“My ice-dancing partner.” She sets her water down. “He’s been skating with me since we were five. But he tore a ligament a few months ago. Off the ice permanently.”

“Damn,” Haechan murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

She nods, quietly. “I’ve been trying to rework everything alone. It’s not the same. It’s not what we trained for.”

There’s a sadness there—not just frustration, but loss. Of rhythm. Of history. Of something no one else could replicate.

Haechan watches her. The silence stretches between them, soft and thoughtful.

Then, gently: “So… what if you had a new partner?”

She looks up sharply. “What?”

He shrugs. “Not a real figure skater. But… I’ve got good balance. Decent coordination. And I’ve already proven I fall with style.”

She blinks. “You’re joking.”

He meets her eyes, completely serious. “I’m not. I mean, yeah, I’d need training. But if it’s just to get through the competition—keep you in it—I can try.”

She stares at him, stunned. “Haechan. Ice dancing isn’t just skating side by side. There’s rhythm. Lifts. Footwork. Timing.”

“Okay, yeah,” he says, “but I know how to train hard. I’ve got endurance, muscle memory, and—” he smirks, “a pretty killer smile for the judges.”

She wants to roll her eyes—but she can’t.

Because underneath the joke, he’s sincere. He means it.

She studies him for a long second. “Why would you even want to?”

He hesitates. Then shrugs.

“Because I think you’re incredible,” he says simply. “And you shouldn’t have to give up just because your partner had to quit. It's not fair, people should see your talent and you should be able to show it to them.”

Her breath catches.

And this time, when she looks at him, she sees more than the crowd-favorite hockey player. She sees someone who gets it. The discipline. The disappointment. The pressure to keep going even when it hurts.

She crosses her arms, tilts her head. “You’d actually let me boss you around on the ice every morning?”

He grins. “Kinda into that, actually.”

She smacks his arm lightly, but she’s smiling.

“Fine,” she says. “Trial run. One week. If you can’t keep up, you’re out.”

He salutes. “Yes, coach.”

And for the first time in weeks, she feels something steady rising in her chest again.

Hope.

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

They meet the next morning with new energy.

Y/N has her notebook open, fresh drills outlined with neat little arrows and notes. Haechan’s already sweating before they hit the ice, running through stretches like it’s game day.

“This is nothing,” he says. “Just like practice drills with more… toe pointing.”

“You’re going to regret saying that,” she deadpans.

And he does.

Fifteen minutes in, he’s panting, arms flailing as he tries to mirror her steps in sync. She glides effortlessly—an extension of the music she plays from her little speaker. He, on the other hand, looks like someone trying to moonwalk on a treadmill.

“Okay,” she says, skating toward him. “We need to work on lift position.”

“Lift,” he echoes warily. “Like… pick you up?”

She nods. “Basic ballroom hold, first. I’ll show you the stance.”

She steps closer, guiding his arms with her hands. One around her waist, the other holding hers. Her other hand rests lightly on his shoulder.

It’s the most physical they’ve ever been.

Her body fits against his in a way that immediately short-circuits his thoughts. She smells like vanilla and winter air. Her breath is steady. His? Not so much.

“Don’t grip so tight,” she says, adjusting his hand on her back. “I’m not a hockey stick.”

He chuckles, low and a little flustered. “Right. Soft hands. Got it.”

They hold the pose for a moment. Close. Too close.

Her eyes flick up to meet his. And neither of them moves.

The air shifts—something unspoken curling around the space between their mouths.

Then—

She clears her throat, stepping back like nothing happened.

“Try the lift now,” she says. “I’ll jump into it. You just need to support me and hold steady.”

He nods quickly, desperate to shake off the heat rising in his chest.

She skates away, then glides toward him at full speed. He braces. She jumps.

And for half a second, it works.

Her hands on his shoulders. His hands beneath her thighs. Her legs wrapping slightly as he lifts.

But then—

“Shit—”

His balance tilts.

They tumble down again—him landing on his back, her crashing on top of him.

This time, it's worse.

Her face is inches from his, her legs tangled with his skates, her palm flat against his chest. His hand is still gripping her waist, fingers pressing into her jacket.

They're both breathless.

And this time, neither of them laughs.

Haechan swallows hard. He can feel her heartbeat, fast and frantic, against his chest.

“I—” he starts, but his voice cracks.

She blinks down at him, lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed from cold and maybe something more.

He lets go instantly. “Sorry—shit, are you okay?”

She rolls off awkwardly, sitting up beside him. “I’m fine. You?”

“Yeah,” he says, brushing hair out of his face. “That was... very Olympic of us.”

She finally huffs a laugh, rubbing her palms together. “You didn’t drop me.”

He glances at her. “Like I said… I got you.”

Something flickers in her gaze. Warm. Soft. Vulnerable.

She doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just looks at him like she’s trying to figure him out all over again.

And for the first time, Haechan feels nervous around someone.

Not because he’s worried about what she thinks of him—but because he cares what she thinks of him.

And that’s a dangerous new kind of game.

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

They don’t practice much after the fall.

They skate a little. Talk less. Both shaken—not from injury, but from whatever that moment was on the ice. Neither of them can name it, but it’s been simmering for days, and now it’s just beneath the surface.

After practice, they sit on the bench lacing off their skates. She’s tugging at her laces, unusually quiet. Haechan watches her, brow furrowed.

“You okay?”

She nods without looking up. “Just tired.”

“From skating?” he asks.

She hesitates. Then shakes her head. “From everything.”

He waits, letting the silence invite her in.

Finally, she speaks. “I’ve been working toward Nationals since I was eight. Training before sunrise. Sacrificing everything. And now I’m scrambling to make it work with a brand-new routine, no partner, no coach support. Just... pressure. Expectations. And silence when I go home.”

Her voice cracks, just slightly.

He swallows hard. “That sounds... lonely.”

She nods. “It is.”

His jaw tightens. “I get it.”

Her eyes flick to him, surprised.

“I mean, mine’s different. But yeah. I win games, I’m surrounded by people who cheer for me, who laugh at my jokes, who call me a golden boy—” he pauses, eyes down, “—but I still go home and feel like something’s missing.”

She watches him quietly, her expression softening.

He turns toward her, fully now. “But lately, I don’t feel that way when I’m with you.”

That freezes her.

He’s serious. Not joking. Not smirking. Just... open.

Her lips part, just slightly, unsure what to say.

Haechan’s heart hammers in his chest. He leans forward a little, voice quiet now.

“Can I kiss you?”

She blinks, startled—but not afraid. Her lips twitch into the smallest, shyest smile.

Then she nods.

And he leans in slowly, gently, giving her time to change her mind.

She doesn’t.

Their lips meet, soft and unsure at first. His hand finds her jaw, hers curls lightly around his wrist. It’s delicate, almost hesitant.

Until he tilts his head, kisses her deeper—longer.

Her fingers slip into his hoodie. His other hand finds her waist.

When they finally part, their foreheads rest together, breaths warm between them.

He grins, just barely. “So... does this mean I can ask you on a date?”

She laughs softly, eyes still closed. “You just kissed me. Bit late for formalities.”

He chuckles. “True. But I still want to take you out.”

She opens her eyes, meeting his.

“Okay,” she says. “One date.”

He beams.

“Better make it a good one, hockey boy.”

“Oh,” he whispers, eyes dropping to her lips again, “I intend to.”

And this time, when she kisses him, she doesn’t hesitate.

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

The diner is almost empty when they walk in, that familiar neon buzz lighting up her face in soft pink and blue.

It’s old-school—checkered floors, chrome stools, a jukebox humming in the corner—and she looks at him like he’s insane when he holds the door open with a dramatic bow.

“Only the finest establishment for you, m’lady,” he says with mock grandeur.

She laughs. “You're ridiculous.”

“Hot and ridiculous,” he corrects, pointing to the booth. “After you.”

They slide into the booth across from each other. The menu is sticky and chaotic. She orders a burger. He orders pancakes—at 10 p.m.—and a large strawberry shake with two straws, because he’s cheesy and he knows it.

They talk.

And talk.

They share childhood stories—hers about getting scolded for skating barefoot in the house, his about getting his head stuck in a hockey net twice. She laughs so hard she snorts. He mimics her voice. She flicks a fry at his forehead.

He doesn’t stop smiling the whole night.

Eventually, he slides in beside her, casually throwing his arm over her shoulders.

“You cold?”

She nods, hiding a smile, and lets herself lean into him, her temple tucked under his jaw.

They share fries from the same plate, dipping them into the shake. She makes a face the first time she tries it, but when he gives her a look, she shrugs and goes back for another.

He watches her lick salt off her fingers, and that… that does things to him.

But he behaves. Barely.

They leave close to midnight. It’s cold out, stars spilled across the sky, her breath curling in front of her.

He walks her to her door.

She stops on the porch, turning to face him.

“Thank you,” she says softly. “This was… really nice.”

He smiles, eyes dropping to her lips. “Yeah. It was.”

She bites her lip, hesitant, then looks up through her lashes.

“Will you kiss me again?”

His breath catches.

Then he’s cupping her face, pressing her back gently against the door, kissing her like he’s wanted to all night. Slow at first—sweet, careful—but then she sighs into his mouth and tugs at his hoodie.

And just like that, it ignites.

He groans, pressing closer, her back thudding softly against the door. His hands slide under her shirt, palms skimming warm skin, thumbs teasing at her waist as their mouths move in sync—needy now, deeper, hotter.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly. He gasps against her lips.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You’re gonna kill me.”

She smiles against his mouth. “You started it.”

He leaves a little kiss on her neck and mouth when she gasps.

They finally pull away, both breathless, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. He rests his forehead against hers.

“Goodnight,” she whispers.

He nods, backing away slowly like he might kiss her again if he lingers.

Then he turns and walks home, floating.

When he walks into the apartment, Mark and Jeno are sprawled on the couch eating cereal and playing Mario Kart.

Mark looks up first. “Yo. Why are you smiling like an idiot?”

Jeno squints. “Did you win something?”

Haechan doesn’t answer.

He just walks to the kitchen, opens the fridge, and stares into it like he just unlocked the secret to happiness.

Mark snorts. “Okay, lover boy.”

Jeno grins. “He definitely got kissed.”

Haechan finally turns, resting his head against the fridge door, the stupidest grin on his face.

“We did kiss” he says, dreamy.

Mark groans. “Oh no. He’s down bad.”

Jeno laughs. “So down bad.”

And Haechan just grins wider, closing his eyes.

Because yeah—he is.

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

The morning after their date, the rink feels different.

Not colder. Not warmer. Just… alive.

She’s already stretching by the boards when Haechan arrives, hoodie hanging loose, hair a mess, and that signature smirk playing on his lips like he knows he’s got her thinking about last night.

“You’re late,” she says, not looking at him.

“I was up all night thinking about fries and that cute little noise you made when I kissed your neck,” he replies casually, setting down his bag.

Her head snaps toward him, scandalized—but her cheeks are pink.

“Stretch,” she says quickly, turning away.

He grins. “Yes, coach.”

The moment they hit the ice, it’s different.

Charged.

His hands on her waist linger longer than needed. Her fingers trail along his neck when she adjusts his stance. Their gazes lock between turns. Their mouths get close in holds, breaths brushing but not quite touching.

It’s… dangerous.

And neither of them is pulling back.

“Ready for the new lift?” she asks.

He nods, already sliding an arm around her, the other beneath her thigh. They move in sync now, less awkward, more fluid. She jumps, he catches her clean, her legs curling around his waist just for stability—obviously.

But neither of them moves after.

His hands are gripping her tight. Her body flush against his chest. Their faces… inches.

Her voice is soft. “You’re not letting go.”

“Do you want me to?”

She swallows. “Practice is over.”

He blinks. “It is?”

She nods slowly, heart pounding.

He doesn’t say a word. Just leans in and kisses her.

It’s nothing like last night. This time, it’s hot. Desperate. Familiar now, but still breathtaking. His hands slide up beneath her jacket, dragging along bare skin. Her fingers are in his hair, tugging. She gasps when he deepens it, and he nearly groans into her mouth.

They break apart just barely, panting.

“Wanna come over?” he asks, voice husky. “I’ll cook for you. We can watch a movie. You can keep distracting me.”

She grins, biting her bottom lip.

“You cook?”

“No,” he says, laughing. “But I order really well. I do this thing where I press a button and it shows up at my door.”

She laughs, breathless, leaning in to brush her lips against his again. “Okay. Dinner and a movie.”

He wraps an arm tighter around her. “And maybe dessert?”

She smirks. “Depends how good the movie is.”

He kisses her again, harder this time, and she melts into him.

Practice is very over.

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

Haechan’s place is cozy, dimly lit, the kind of warm that makes you want to stay. Candles flicker on the kitchen counter. A soft playlist hums in the background—something slow, dreamy. There’s takeout spread across the coffee table, half-eaten because they’ve been talking, laughing, stealing bites from each other’s plates instead of focusing on the food.

She’s curled into the couch, wrapped in one of his hoodies. He’s sitting beside her, one arm thrown over the backrest, eyes only on her.

“You keep looking at me like that,” she says, eyes flicking to his.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re not listening to anything I’m saying.”

He leans closer, voice low. “I’m listening. Just… not with my ears.”

Her cheeks flush. She tries to look away, but his fingers gently tip her chin back toward him.

“I’ve been thinking about kissing you all night.”

She smiles shyly. “Then why haven’t you?”

He doesn’t answer. He just leans in.

The kiss is slow, patient. Not rushed. Like they have all the time in the world. His lips part hers carefully, his hand sliding up to cup her cheek. She sighs softly into him, shifting closer, one hand on his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his t-shirt.

When they finally break apart, they’re both breathless.

He nods toward the bedroom. “Do you wanna…?”

She looks at him—really looks at him—and sees nothing but warmth and tenderness and heat.

“Yes,” she whispers.

He kisses her again before standing, taking her hand, and leading her through the dark apartment into his room.

---------

The door to Haechan’s bedroom clicks shut behind them.

She doesn’t even make it a full step inside before his hand slides to her waist and he pulls her in, kissing her like he’s been starving.

Soft, careful kisses are long gone.

This one’s hot, open-mouthed, needy. His lips crush into hers, tongue sliding in when she gasps. His hand fists the back of her hoodie, tugging her closer, like he needs her to feel every inch of how much he’s been holding back.

She moans into him, fingers already curling into his shirt.

“Been thinking about this all damn day,” he breathes against her lips. “Your mouth, your body, the way you looked at me on the ice—fuck, I almost lost it.”

He walks her backward, never breaking the kiss, hands sliding under her hoodie and up her bare skin, palms warm, breath hot.

He lifts her—just scoops her right up—making her squeal against his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck. He carries her like she weighs nothing, grinning into the kiss even as his eyes darken.

He lays her back on his bed, immediately tugging off her hoodie and shirt in one move, eyes drinking her in.

“Jesus,” he murmurs, hovering over her. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

She pulls him down, crashing into another kiss, more desperate now. Their hips grind together, his hands gripping her thighs tight, pressing into the softness there like he’s trying to memorize the feel.

Clothes come off in frantic, messy movements—her bra unhooked with a flick, his shirt stripped off between kisses, pants half-stumbled out of as they fumble and laugh between gasps.

He looks down at her, completely bare beneath him, and stills for a moment, chest heaving.

“You sure?” he asks, voice wrecked.

She nods, eyes glassy with need. “Yes. Please.”

And that’s all he needs.

He kisses her again—slower, deeper, more purposeful—hands roaming her body, mouth trailing down her neck, across her chest, over her stomach. She arches into him, moaning his name when his lips hit just the right spots.

“Fuck, the sounds you make…” he groans, nipping at her collarbone. “Gonna make me cum just from this.”

When he finally slides into her, it’s slow at first, careful, his forehead pressed to hers, their fingers intertwined. Her gasp melts into a moan as he bottoms out, staying still just a moment too long.

Then he pulls back—and thrusts deep.

She cries out.

His rhythm picks up fast, desperate, like he’s been holding back for way too long. Every push of his hips has him groaning her name, mouth hot against her ear.

“Feel so good—so tight—fuck, baby, I’ve been going crazy.”

She moans his name, wrapping her legs tighter around him. “Haechan—oh my god—don’t stop—”

“Not planning to.”

His hand slips between them, thumb brushing fast over her clit, making her jolt, cry out louder. He watches her fall apart beneath him, the way her mouth drops open, the way her nails dig into his back.

“You’re mine now,” he murmurs, forehead pressed to hers. “You know that, right?”

She nods, eyes barely open, lips trembling. “Yours.”

“Say it again.”

“Yours, Haechan—please—I’m yours.”

He kisses her hard, hips slamming into hers faster, messier, both of them chasing it now. She’s gasping, writhing, completely lost to it—and so is he.

When they come, it’s together—loud, breathless, full-body shaking, his name tangled with hers in the dark.

He collapses onto her chest, both of them covered in sweat, hearts racing.

Minutes pass in silence.

Then he lifts his head, eyes dazed but smiling, brushing her hair back.

“Dinner and a movie, huh?”

She lets out a breathless laugh. “You owe me both.”

He grins, leaning in for another kiss—softer now, lazy and sweet. “Round two’s gonna be a rom-com. Promise.”

She hums, pulling him close again. “Only if there’s popcorn.”

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

The sun peeks through the curtains, golden and slow.

Haechan stirs awake, face buried in the crook of her neck, skin warm, bodies tangled under his sheets. Her leg is still draped over his waist. She’s wearing nothing but his oversized hoodie and a sleepy little smile.

He brushes a soft kiss to her collarbone.

She hums. “Morning.”

“Mm. Best one I’ve ever had.”

His phone buzzes somewhere on the floor, followed by a string of pings.

She groans. “Make it stop.”

He grins and leans over, blindly patting for it. “Probably Mark wondering where I am. Morning practice. I forgot.”

She bites her lip. “Oops.”

He chuckles, finally grabbing his phone.

17 missed messages. 3 missed calls. Group chat: ‘Ice Kings 🏒💀’

Haechan winces. “They’re gonna kill me.”

He taps the call button.

“Bro,” Mark’s voice comes through immediately, annoyed and dramatic. “Where are you? Coach’s been asking—are you alive?”

“Barely,” Haechan says, glancing over at the girl beside him, who giggles under the blankets.

There’s a pause.

“Was that a girl?” Jeno chimes in.

“She giggled, bro,” Jaemin adds. “There’s a hoodie-stealing, bed-hogging, toe-curling girl in your bed, isn’t there?”

Haechan laughs, rubbing his face. “Okay, okay—chill. Yeah. I wasn’t just ‘sleeping in.’”

Mark whistles low. “Okay lover boy. Since when?”

“Since…” Haechan glances at her, smiling. “Since I started skating at 6 a.m. with someone who moves like a dream.”

“Wait,” Jaemin says. “Skating? You mean figure skating?”

The line goes silent.

Then chaos.

“Bro what the hell—are you doing twirls now??” “Did you buy tights?” “IS THERE VIDEO—”

“Shut up,” Haechan groans, but he’s grinning. “She’s a figure skater. I’ve been helping her train for a competition. It’s… not just skating anymore.”

Mark’s quiet for a second. “Wait. You’re serious?”

“Yeah.”

Haechan glances down at her again. She’s holding his pillow to her chest, smiling at him like she’s never smiled at anyone else.

“I really like her.”

More silence.

Then Mark says, “That’s actually… really cool, man.”

“Yeah,” Jeno agrees. “I mean, it’s hilarious, but it’s cool. I bet you look majestic.”

“Like a graceful little hockey fairy,” Jaemin teases.

Haechan groans. “I hate all of you.”

“But we love you,” Mark laughs. “Seriously, though. That’s dope. And kinda hot.”

“Tell her she’s got full team approval,” Jeno adds. “And that she’s officially invited to the next party.”

Haechan smirks. “I’ll let her know. But if you weirdos scare her off, I’m body checking every one of you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Alright, go back to—whatever you were doing,” Jaemin says, snickering. “We’ll tell Coach you pulled a hamstring. Or found religion.”

Haechan hangs up with a laugh, tossing his phone aside.

He rolls back toward her, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her close.

“You heard all that?”

She nods, smiling. “Graceful little hockey fairy?”

He groans. “God. You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Never.”

He kisses her again, deeper now, hand sliding up the back of his hoodie on her body.

“Good. Because I’m not letting you go either.”

Want to read part 2 with the competition, more fluff and smut? Subscribe to my patreon here or read the full story here. Or if you'd like to give a lil tip, do so here!

[obsessivevoidkitten]

It Was in the Cards

Male Moth Hybrid Yandere x Male Moth Hybrid Reader CW: Noncon, gaslighting, drunkenness, drunk sex, brief mention of pheromones, general yandere behavior, fortune telling Word Count: 1.3k (Commission for @mothmaniacs featuring their OC Liu.)

Sweat dripped from Liu's brow as he belted out the lyrics to his band's new rock song. Shaggy brown hair thrashing as he banged his head. The band, Death's Wing Moth, was performing in a bar on campus. All the members were students and they had become quite popular locally. Especially among other students.

Liu was great on stage. A handsome moth hybrid with a lot of energy during performances but otherwise had a very nonchalant public persona. The very image of cool.

Of course, he was a heartthrob.

You were in the small crowd, clapping and cheering as he finished his performance. But you were more than a fan. You were his close friend, another moth hybrid student. Many eyes were jealous of you when you left the building with Liu.

Liu loved seeing you in the crowd. He played it cool in public, but he had a pretty big crush on you. Each time he saw you cheering for him, he felt like maybe it was proof that you liked him back.

That wasn't really the case, though. You just viewed him as a great friend. He was too shy around you to outright ask you, so as long as he still had at least a bit of doubt that you liked him, you were safe.

But things rarely remain so simple. And this instance was no exception.

He began to get very into divination. Crystal balls, reading tea leaves, a bit of palm reading. But, most of all, tarot cards. Part of his newfound interest in such things came from the fact that he had seen a fortune telling book on your shelf.

“You’re into this stuff?” He had asked as he flipped through the pages.

“Yeah, I just think it’s all so interesting!

Now, you weren’t serious into that stuff. Didn’t really believe in it. But you were pretty knowledgeable on the subject and Liu saw sharing a new interest as a great way to bond with you.

He got way more into it than you though, and when he asked you to tell his fortune via the tarot cards he always carried on him he put a lot of stock in it. And when the cards hinted at romance and friendship in his future he took your responses as flirting with him. Something about the way you told him about the cards.

“Y-you like me don’t you?” He twiddled his thumbs nervously as he asked you, no trace of his cool guy persona.

“Well… as a friend…”

He was dejected, but didn’t press the issue. He knew you liked him, all the hints proved it. But maybe he had just come on too strong. You just needed more time to consciously accept your feelings, that was all. Yeah, he was sure you’d be his eventually. The cards said so!

And when you were ready, he’d be waiting right there for you.

As the weeks passed however he came to realize that waiting was really difficult. Didn’t you realize yet how much you liked him and how much love he had to give you? He quickly grew more more desperate.

Things came to a head when he was throwing a party at the frat house he was a part of. Of course he had invited you. It wasn’t premeditated but he ended up pretty tipsy, with you getting flat out drunk. He blushed as he stared at you. So out of it. You clearly couldn’t hold your liquor, he was sure you’d had a bit less than him. Either way, he found it exceedingly cute.

When he had the opportunity his liquid courage convinced him that it was a good time to get you alone and revisit the topic of a relationship.

Liu approached you in the hall. You smiled at him before he suddenly grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you into his room.

"We need to talk," he said seriously as he locked the door behind the two of you.

Being relocated so quickly while drunk had you a bit disoriented. You slumped down on the bed and looked up at him, dazed.

"What did we need to talk abou-" you started until interrupted by a hiccup.

You were about to reopen the topic of dating but seeing you all cute and confused, looking up at him helplessly... you probably weren't in the right mind for a conversation... and he was tipsy himself...

So he kissed you deeply instead. And when you melted into it, his heart fluttered.

When he pulled away, you looked so peaceful and innocent. You reached up and patted his head before gently petting his antenna.

"So sofffft."

A fellow moth should know all about touching another's antenna. It went right to his cock. Even if you were a bit intoxicated, it wasn't something you just forgot. He didn't stop you, though.

Liu kissed you again, lips crashing into yours before his tongue slipped into you. Taking your touch as proof that deep down you wanted this.

Your wings twitched as he carefully disrobed you.

The other moth took his own clothes off before getting on top of you, pinning your wrists to the bed.

His antenna bristled against yours, giving you a full does of his aroused pheromones and getting some of yours back as well. Irrefutable proof! He knew you liked him!

He momentarily unpinned you so that he could grab a bottle of lube from his night stand. He was so close to being inside you, he had jerked off to the fantasy several times.

Liu carefully applied it to your hole, massaging it in with then two then three fingers. You twitched and whimpered so needily beneath him.

"You need it bad, huh?"

He lined up his cock with your hole and sank himself in your warmth, savoring every second of the sensation. The smooth descent into his darling.

Liu went back to pinning your arms, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

With every thrust of his cock another wave of pleasure smashed into you like a tidal wave threatening to capsize you. He wasn't going hard at all, but you fit around his dick like a glove, and every movement from him reverberated inside you.

Every forward motion kissed that special place inside you.

He was sure you'd be the first to cum but then you were moaning his name.

"Oh, Liu~"

Hearing that, seeing your pleasured face under him, he just couldn't hold out that long.

Liu filled you with rope after rope of hot sticky cum. The throbbing of his cock quickly sending you over the edge, your cum getting on both of your bellies.

You were totally fucked out. A sweaty drooling mess that passed out quickly.

So precious.

Liu couldn't resist making love to you again as you slept.

The moth cleaned you up just a bit with some loose laundry, but his body demanded he go to sleep as well. He put his arms around you and held you close.

When you woke up, you were naked in a bed that wasn't yours, wrapped in the iron clad grip of Liu. Who was equally naked. Your head throbbed. You felt something slimy leaking from your ass. You couldn't remember exactly what happened, but your mind could fill in the blanks.

When Liu woke up, he explained everything that he remembered.

You had come on to him. Even going so far as to stroking his antenna. And then your aroused pheromones. Before he knew it, the two of you were making love! He seemed pretty ecstatic that you returned his feelings after all.

You supposed it had to be true if you went so far. You didn't want to hurt Liu, and he was really sweet to you.

As he kissed your cheek tenderly you figured there were definitely worse guys to date.

[cheriedivine]

𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 | chapter 6

previous | chapter 6 | next

꩜ synopsis: you’re best friends. just best friends. except when she lingers a little too long at your door. except when she calls you her favorite, and it doesn’t feel like a joke. except when her fingers graze yours and neither of you pull away. except when you start to wonder if she’s wondering, too…

꩜ pairing: Ellie Williams x Fem reader (No use of y/n)

꩜ content warnings: none i think lol

꩜ WC: 10k (IT’S WORTH IT THO)

꩜ Author’s note: GUYS WE ARE SO BACKKKK and also HAPPY PRIDE MONTH I LUV YALL. this chapter took a lil too long (sorry) BUT I THINK IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT I WANTED TO GIVE YALL SOME SOFT MOMENTS AND YEAH. i hope u like this chapter and my ass is already brainstorming chapter 7 (might do a lil horny moment there lol) ANYWAYS LOVE U THANKS FOR 400!!

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

You woke up with the taste of her still on your lips.

You could barely even remember how you got to bed last night, when all your mind could think about was Ellie.

And the kiss.

And her lips fitting so perfectly against yours, and the way her hands had gripped your waist like she couldn’t bear to let go. The nervous flicker in her eyes, like she couldn’t believe this was really happening. God. Those eyes.

Your cheeks were warm, even in the quiet chill of your bedroom, and the weight of last night pressed gently against your chest, not heavy, just… undeniable. You could still feel her hands at your waist. Her mouth. The way she said your name right before you left. Like she didn’t want you to go.

It made your stomach flip all over again.

Now it was 8:00 a.m., and your alarm was blaring obnoxiously on your small bedside table. You groaned, throwing a pillow over your face, and let it muffle the pathetic little noise that escaped you. Sunshine bled through your window, soft and persistent, warming your cheeks until you finally forced yourself upright, slipping your feet into your slippers with a heavy sigh.

You still hadn’t changed into pajamas. Just yesterday’s clothes, wrinkled and clinging to the scent of Ellie’s studio. Your makeup had melted into smudged shadows under your eyes, mascara streaked across your cheeks like war paint. Cute.

You stood in front of the mirror for a second too long, blinking at your own reflection like you were trying to place who you were now. Same eyes. Same face. Same everything. But you felt different. Like something had shifted under your skin.

A quick cold shower brought you back to life. You scrubbed away the sleep, the makeup, the evidence of how thoroughly Ellie had kissed you the night before. She was going to be at the diner. Like always. But this time it would be different. This time, you had a secret. One only the two of you shared. And you couldn’t help but smile.

Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad.

You tugged on your white blouse, the fabric soft and familiar as it slipped over your frame. You buttoned it slowly, smoothing it out with distracted hands. The black jeans you’d laid over the chair caught your foot when you tried stepping into them, nearly sending you toppling to the floor. You cursed under your breath.

The streets were still quiet when you stepped outside. Cool air kissed your cheeks, and the sky was that pale kind of blue that only really happens early in the morning, when everything feels just a little too bright. You let the walk to the diner clear your mind, headphones in, fingers gripping your bag, while your other hand was kept warm in your jacket’s pocket.

By the time you arrived, Maria was already inside, phone pressed to her ear and one hand flipping through a clipboard like it had personally wronged her.

“Morning,” you offered carefully, stepping behind the counter.

Maria barely looked up. “You’re on manager brain today, sweetheart. We’ve got vendors calling about next week, two broken coffee machines, and someone booked a field trip for high schoolers without telling me. Get ready.”

You blinked. “Good morning to you too.”

“Welcome to hell,” she said flatly, tossing you the keys to the back office.

The next hour passed in a whirlwind. You juggled emails, answered calls, restocked the front fridge, organized the new shipment of paper straws, and tracked down a missing invoice that had somehow ended up taped inside the freezer door. By the time you caught a breather, your hair was slipping from your ponytail, and your hands smelled like lemon cleaner and burnt toast.

And then—

The bell above the door jingled.

You didn’t even have to look up. It’s like your body just knew.

Ellie strolled in like she wasn’t twelve hours post-kiss. Like she hadn’t made you dizzy with her eyes and her mouth and the way she said “wait.”

She was wearing that same denim jacket, hair a little messy, camera bag hanging at her side like always. But the second her eyes locked on yours, something flickered in them. Something soft and knowing and only for you, making your heart stumble. God, it was unfair.

Maria glanced between you and Ellie. “Your girlfriend’s here.”

“She’s not—” you started, and then shut your mouth.

Maria didn’t press, just smirked as she went back to balancing the register.

Ellie walked slowly toward the counter, each step echoing louder than it had any right to. Her fingers toyed with the strap of her camera. You couldn’t look away.

“Hey,” she said, voice low and warm.

You swallowed. “Hey.”

She tilted her head. “Rough morning?”

You gave a weak laugh. “You try arguing with a soda vendor while scrubbing ketchup off laminated menus.”

Ellie leaned forward a little, elbows on the counter. “Need me to kick someone’s ass?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Take a seat, Williams. I’ll be right there.”

“Take your time,” she said softly, eyes not leaving yours. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And god help you, but that felt like a promise.

You didn’t have to hand her a menu to know what she wanted. It was Friday, still early. Which meant chocolate chip pancakes with extra whipped cream for Ellie, always. You headed toward the kitchen, called out the order, then grabbed the pot of freshly brewed coffee and made your way to her usual spot: the corner booth by the window, sunlight pooling across the table.

You slid the cup toward her. Your fingers brushed. Of course they did. Like a fucking cliché.

You poured her a cup, watching the steam curl upward in little swirls. Ellie looked down at the coffee for a second, then back up at you.

“So…” she said, eyes glittering.

You raised a brow. “So?”

She grinned. “Are you pulling coffee serving duty all morning, or do I get to talk to you like a normal person soon?”

You gave her a sideways glance. “You desperate already?”

She smirked, but underneath it…she was. She really fucking was. She wanted to grab you by the waist and kiss you stupid. Wanted to bury her face in your neck and breathe you in. Wanted to replay last night again and again until her mouth remembered the exact shape of yours.

But instead, she leaned back and said, “Talking about desperation like you weren’t all over me yesterday.”

You laughed loudly. A few heads turned from other tables, but you didn’t care. “Remind me,” you said, playfully squinting at her, “why I kissed you back?”

Ellie sipped her coffee, eyes on yours. “Because I’m super hot, obviously.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “You have a lot of confidence. That’s admirable.” And with that, you turned to greet a family stepping into the diner, your voice softening into that warm customer-service tone she’d heard a hundred times before, but now it made her feel dizzy.

Ellie watched you walk away, fingers curled loosely around her mug.

God. She was so fucking gone.

You moved around the diner like you owned the place, like you were stitched into the seams of this place. Saying hi to regulars. Refilling coffee. Smiling that shy, crooked little smile you thought no one noticed when you messed up a table number or dropped a fork. But Ellie noticed. She noticed everything.

She sipped her coffee slowly, letting it burn just a little on the way down. It gave her something to focus on. Something to anchor her while her brain replayed the moment your lips touched hers—over and over again like a skipping record.

You’d kissed her back.

You wanted her.

And now here you were, in your stupid little white blouse with your name tag slightly off-center and your hair pulled back messily and she couldn’t stop thinking about how it had felt to have your hands in her hair, pulling just enough to make her knees weak.

She tapped her fingers against the mug, trying to act normal. Chill. Casual. Like her whole world didn’t stop spinning every time you looked at her.

Yeah. She was doomed.

You slid into the booth across from her a little later, after Maria had waved you off for a quick break with an approving nod. Two plates balanced on your arm, hers stacked with pancakes, and yours with a side of toast and eggs you’d barely had time to nibble this morning. Ellie looked up, eyes softening, and immediately sat up straighter, like she hadn’t been anxiously fidgeting with the sugar packets for the past ten minutes.

“Bless your soul,” she murmured dramatically, eyes fixed on the plate of pancakes you set in front of her.

You rolled your eyes and sat down with your own food, hiding your smile behind your iced coffee. “You say that every Friday.”

“Because it’s true every Friday.”

She didn’t even pretend to wait, she dug her fork straight into the stack, scooping up a monstrous bite with melted chocolate chips and whipped cream hanging off the edge. You watched her with a smirk, resting your chin in your hand.

“God,” she said around a mouthful, “this healed something in me.”

You laughed softly, watching her chew. Her eyes closed like she was having a spiritual experience. “You’re such an idiot,” you said.

She swallowed and pointed her fork at you. “And you’re enabling me.”

You tapped your nail against the condensation on your glass, almost nervous. Picking at your toast for a second, then glanced up at her. “So uh… Sally’s out of town for the weekend.”

Ellie looked up mid-bite. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, her dad’s birthday or something. She left early this morning.” You tried to sound casual. Chill. Normal. “So I was thinking—” you traced a circle on your napkin, “—if you’re not doing anything tonight, maybe you could come over? Just hang out. Like we usually do.”

There was a beat of silence. This was normal. You did this regularly, but it felt so different now.

Ellie had frozen mid-chew, fork halfway to her mouth again, eyes fixed on you with that quiet, intense look you were starting to recognize as her version of spiraling.

Then she cleared her throat. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be cool.”

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your grin at bay. “I figured we could order food or something. Watch a movie. I don’t know.”

“Yeah sounds fun,” she replied almost immediately. “I’ve got a meeting later, but I can pick you up after your shift? If that’s okay?” Ellie’s voice dropped a bit.

“That’d be perfect.” Your voice came out a little too soft, a little too eager, but Ellie didn’t call you out on it. She just smiled like her chest might implode.

She looked back down at her plate, trying to play it cool, reaching for another forkful but her coordination was suddenly… not great. Her wrist knocked the edge of the plate and a glob of whipped cream splattered right onto the tip of her nose.

You blinked. Then stifled a laugh.

“What?” she asked, totally unaware.

You reached across the table without thinking, thumb brushing under her nose with practiced ease. Ellie froze as you wiped the cream off gently, and your thumb lingered…maybe a second too long.

You pulled your hand back and grinned. “That’s payback for that one time in my living room, remember?”

Ellie blinked. “What—what time in your—” Then realization hit her like a truck. “Fuck off. How do you even remember that?” Her cheeks were suddenly beetroot red, and she was wishing the earth could just swallow her right now.

You laughed, full and warm, and it made a couple customers glance your way, but you didn’t care. “You literally licked the sauce off your finger after whipping it from my chin, like some rom-com shit.”

“God forbid a girl is romantic,” Ellie hissed, face redder than the ketchup bottle behind you. “You’re actually evil.”

“I’m just observant.” You sipped your coffee with a smug little smile.

Ellie groaned dramatically and shoved another bite of pancake into her mouth to shut herself up.

But inside? Inside, she was losing it. You remembered something that proved just how long you’d been watching her. Caring. Storing pieces of her like treasure. And now you were inviting her over and smiling like she wasn’t the center of your goddamn universe.

You glanced up at the clock and sighed. “I should get back. Maria’s gonna start sending me passive-aggressive texts if I take too long.”

Ellie nodded, trying to pull herself together. “Yeah. Go rescue the ketchup bottles.”

You stood, hands lingering on the edge of the table. “I’ll see you later then?”

She looked up, mouth tugging into a lopsided smile. “You know the answer already.”

As you walked back behind the counter, Ellie leaned back in the booth with her heart racing. Her nose still tingled from where you touched her. She tried to refocus on her plate, but the whipped cream tasted like something entirely new now.

And god, she couldn’t wait for tonight.

She lingered in her seat for a little while, waiting for it to be time for her meeting. She watched you from afar, your every move, how you leaned in the slightest when a little kid was asking you for something, how you smiled politely to the old ladies sitting on the other side of the diner, and how your tone changed to a more bossy one when making calls to the vendors.

Her hands slipped inside her camera bag to grab the device, she turned it on with a little click and focused her lense on you while you weren’t watching.

Click.

Just a quick candid. You weren’t even looking at her. You were half-yelling into the phone, frowning over a clipboard, mouthing something to Maria. And still, you looked like a fucking angel. Radiant and infuriating. It made Ellie feel sick with how much she wanted you.

Her phone buzzed on the table, snapping her out of the haze. It was her reminder of the meeting she had, she quickly clicked on dismiss and got up, gathering her camera bag and leaving a five dollar bill underneath the empty coffee mug.

You’d just finished wiping down a counter and tossed her a small smile when she left. One of those stupidly soft ones that made her all warm and fluttery. She gave you small wave, trying to play it cool, but once she got out she exhaled hard, shoving her hands deep into her jacket pockets.

The door made a small tink sound as she stepped out the diner, boots thudding against the pavement making her way toward her truck, keys jingling on one hand. The weather was rather chilly for September, making most of the leaves fall and land directly on her windshield, fantastic.

The car ride to the meeting was peaceful, a soft indie song playing through the car speakers, windows slid down, hitting Ellie’s cheeks softly, almost as softly as how your fingertips had felt on her face. It was hilarious, how all she could think about was you, not like she didn’t before, but this time she didn’t feel guilty about it, she didn’t feel ashamed of it, of thinking about you, knowing that you felt the same way somehow.

She sat in the driver’s seat a beat too long, just staring at the wheel like it might talk to her, she didn’t even know why she got so anxious all of a sudden, the meeting was with one of those rich old dudes from the gala, the one that praised the work she had done for the fundraiser, and complimented her photography, so why the hell did she feel like she couldn’t breathe?

“Stop overthinking it for fucks sake.” she muttered to no one. She shut the door behind her as she got out of the truck, fingers tapping nervously against the fabric of her jeans, her bag slung loosely on her shoulder.

The building was sleek and modern, polished concrete, glass doors, tall white ceilings. Ellie stood in the lobby like she didn’t belong there, her camera bag strapped tight across her chest, her boots echoing faintly on the marble floor.

A receptionist with bright red lipstick glanced up from behind the desk. “Hi, can I help you?”

“Um, yeah. I have a meeting with Mr. Davis. I’m—uh, Ellie. Williams.” Her voice cracked a little, and she cleared her throat too late.

The woman smiled kindly. “You’re expected. Fifth floor. Take the elevator down the hall, I’m sure he’ll be in Conference B.”

Conference B. Ellie felt like she was walking into a damn interview. Or a trap. She hadn’t been in a proper office since college. She caught her reflection in the elevator’s metallic walls and ran a quick hand through her hair. Her jacket still smelled faintly like the diner, pancakes and vanilla and you. She blinked at her reflection. “Get it together,” she muttered.

The office on the fifth floor was quiet. Big windows let in the dull gray afternoon light, and modern art hung in minimalist frames on the walls. When she reached the door labeled Conference B, she hesitated for half a second before knocking.

“Come in,” a voice called, a gentle rasp to his tone,

Ellie stepped inside and found Mr. Davis at a long wooden table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, glasses perched low on his nose as he flipped through some papers. He looked up with a warm smile.

“Miss Williams. Glad you could make it, my assistant insisted on sending you an email but I told her kids nowadays are just a phone call away,” He laughed, eyes crinkling on the sides while he greeted her with a firm handshake.

“You can call me Ellie. Thanks for, uh… having me,” she said awkwardly, sinking into the chair across from him.

“I’ve been looking through your full portfolio,” he began, tapping on the table, cutting straight to business. “The photos from the gala were stunning. But your older work? That one portrait of the girl in the kitchen light?” He smiled. “That was haunting.”

Ellie’s heart skipped. He’d looked at her personal work. The stuff she didn’t even link on her website. The girl in the kitchen light… that was you.

Ellie blinked. “Wow. Um. Thank you. That means a lot.”

He nodded, steepling his fingers. “I won't waste your time, so I’ll get to it. We’re curating a series for the end of the year. One artist per show, all solo galleries. It’s meant to spotlight emerging voices. I’d like to offer you one of those spots.”

There was a ringing in her ears.

“I—I’m sorry, did you just say—?”

“A solo gallery,” he repeated, smiling. “Yours. End of the year. Full feature. We’ll handle the printing, marketing and venue costs. You just focus on the art”

Ellie stared at him. Her mouth opened and closed twice. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. You’ve got something special. We want to give it a platform, if you’re interested of course.”

If she was interested? Ellie almost laughed.

Instead, she cleared her throat. “Yeah. Yes. I mean—yeah, I’d love that. That sounds amazing.”

She sat there in stunned silence. It felt like her brain had detached from her body. Her fingers were numb. She could still feel the ghost of your lips on hers from earlier, like a dream she wasn’t sure had really happened…and now this?

“I—shit. Sorry. I just…” She rubbed the back of her neck, laughing breathlessly. “I don’t even know what to say. This is—I’m kind of freaking out.”

“That’s expected,” Mr. Davis said with a gentle grin. “You’ll have until the start of December to prepare. We’d like a cohesive set, preferably new work. But I can walk you through the logistics.”

“Yeah,” Ellie said, still dazed. “Yes. I’m in. Totally in. I just—I need to wrap my head around this. I didn’t even think I was gonna be in a gallery at all this year, let alone get my own one.”

“You earned it,” he said, pushing a folder across the table. “There’s a timeline in here, a tentative contract, nothing binding yet. Look it over. We’ll schedule a formal walkthrough next month.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

Three months. A whole gallery exhibit. Her name on the wall. Her photos—printed, framed, hung—for people to actually walk through.

“Fuck,” she whispered, mostly to herself.

Roger laughed again. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

She nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Yes. I’m in.” She felt like her heart was beating in her throat. Her fingers gripped the folder a little too tightly. “Thank you,” she said, quieter now. “I won’t let you down sir.”

Mr. Davis smiled, “Good. Then I’ll have my assistant send over the details tonight. Deadline for prints is December the 3rd.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, some talk about lighting and framing and themes, but Ellie barely heard any of it. Her mind was buzzing. Screaming. Repeating the words “feature you” like a song lyric stuck in her head.

When she finally left the building, the folder tucked under her arm, her boots felt too loud against the floors again. She stepped outside into the cold air and just stood there, motionless, for a full minute. Ellie was halfway down the street before she remembered how to breathe properly. She climbed into her truck and just sat there again, heart slamming against her ribs. She stared through the windshield, hands loose in her lap, and let herself freak out a little.

This was real.

She was going to have a show.

Her art was going to be in a gallery.

She laughed still a little in disbelief and then immediately pulled out her phone.

Joel.

She needed Joel.

The phone rang twice before he picked up, voice low and familiar through the receiver. “Hey, kid.”

“Okay,” she said, breathless, “don’t freak out, but also maybe do freak out because—holy shit—I just had a meeting.”

There was a pause.

“And one of the old dudes from the gala just offered me a solo show. A fucking gallery show, Joel.”

“…You serious?”

“I’m dead serious,” she said, grinning so wide it hurt. “He said I’ve got three months to prep. Three. Fucking. Months.”

She heard Joel let out a long breath on the other end, like he was pacing or rubbing a hand over his face. “Ellie… damn, kiddo. That’s incredible.”

Ellie bit her lip, leaned back against the seat, her throat tightening for no reason. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Joel laughed. A real one. Warm and deep and a little proud. “You better not. Not on the dashboard at least.”

“I don’t know if I can do it,” she said quietly.

“You can,” he replied firmly. “You’ve been doing it for years. You’re just finally gonna get the credit for it.”

She blinked fast. “Thanks.”

Another pause. Then, softer: “You tell her yet?”

Ellie’s stomach flipped. “Tell who what?”

“Don’t play dumb. The girl. The one you can’t shut up about. The one you kissed.”

“Oh my God,” she groaned, covering her face. Joel chuckled. “You called me last night sounding like you were thirteen again. I figured it happened.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Yeah,” Ellie finally said. “It happened.”

“And?”

“And… I can’t stop thinking about it.”

He was quiet for a second. Then: “Told ya, didn’t I?”

Ellie smiled again, that soft, private kind of smile that made her want to press her face into her jacket sleeve and hide.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “You did.”

The late afternoon lull had finally settled over the diner, sunlight filtering through the windows in long, golden strips across the checkerboard floor. You wiped down the last table, the damp rag dragging slow arcs across the laminate, more out of habit than necessity.

You weren’t technically stalling. Just... delaying the inevitable moment when you’d have to go into the back and deal with the prep list. Or think about Ellie again.

Not that you hadn’t been doing that all day. The image of her lingering by the front door earlier, had been playing on repeat in your head and you couldn’t shut it off.

You barely registered the footsteps behind you until a familiar voice cut in.

"That table’s gonna be the cleanest one in the county if you keep rubbing it like that."

You startled slightly, looking up to see Maria leaning against the counter, arms crossed and a knowing smile tugging at her mouth.

You blinked. "Oh. I was just—"

"Thinking about your girlfriend again?" she teased, raising one eyebrow.

Your face went hot instantly. "She’s not—"

Maria didn’t even let you finish. "You mean to tell me the girl who’s been hanging around like a lost puppy for ages isn’t your girlfriend?"

You sputtered. "She’s not— I mean, we’re just—"

"Oh my god," she said, grinning wide. "You kissed her, didn’t you."

You froze. A beat of silence passed, and then you just nodded, slow.

Maria’s eyes went huge. "I knew it. Knew it the second I saw the way she looked at you when you got that promotion. That girl was down bad."

You groaned, half-laughing, half-burying your face in the towel. “Jesus, Maria.”

She cackled, clearly enjoying herself. “I swear, this is like listening to high school gossip again. I’m just waiting for you to tell me it happened under the bleachers during a school dance.”

You groaned louder, now officially mortified. “Okay, I take it back. I never should’ve said anything. I’m taking it to the grave next time.”

Maria grinned, entirely unbothered. “Too late. You already let it slip, and now I need the details.”

You hesitated, heart still fluttering like a trapped moth. “It was… I don’t know. We were just talking and then it—she just kissed me. Or I kissed her. I don’t even know. I think I blacked out.”

Maria blinked slowly, amused. “You blacked out?”

“Emotionally,” you clarified, flailing a hand. “Like, my brain just completely short-circuited. One second we’re just looking at each other and the next I’m…God, it felt so unreal. Like we weren’t even us for a second. And now she’s coming to pick me up and I don’t know if she’s regretting it or freaking out or—”

Maria cut in gently. “Or she’s walking around somewhere with that same dumb smile you’ve had on all day.”

You paused.

“…Is it that obvious?”

“Like a neon sign over your head, honey.”

You groaned again, dropping your head onto the freshly wiped table. “I’m gonna die.”

Maria chuckled, stepping closer to squeeze your shoulder. “Honestly, it makes sense now. All those nights I’d catch guys slipping you their numbers and you’d smile politely and then throw ‘em in the trash five minutes later.”

You lifted your head with a tired laugh. “What? I wasn’t that bad.”

Maria gave you a look. “Please. The only time you ever blushed that hard was when Ellie showed up the first time with her dumb camera.”

You blinked at her. “You noticed all that?”

“I notice everything, sweetheart. It’s part of the job description.”

Something about the way she said that made your chest go soft and achy all at once.

Maria’s voice was gentle. “I don’t know where it’s going, and neither do you. But that girl’s been orbiting you for a while now. And from what I’ve seen? She’s got it bad. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s more scared than you are.”

You swallowed that familiar lump rising in your throat. “Yeah.”

Maria patted your back and leaned a little closer. “You don’t have to rush it. Just... don’t hide from it, either.”

You nodded, her words settling somewhere deep in your chest like the warmest kind of ache.

A long beat passed. Then Maria smiled and added, “I’ll wrap up for the day, you go back and grab your stuff before your girlfriend comes.” she teased, crossing her arms.

You let out a snort-laugh and tossed the towel at her. “You’re the worst”

“And yet, here you are, confessing your little secrets to me.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was lighter than it had been all day. Somehow, Maria always knew how to do that.

You pulled out your phone as soon as Maria ducked back into the kitchen, her laughter still echoing behind you. Your fingers hovered over Ellie’s contact for a second before you typed:

“I’m a free elf now, lmk when u are coming.”

You stared at the message for a beat before hitting send, then immediately locked your phone like that would somehow stop the nerves pooling in your stomach.

It didn’t.

A couple minutes later, the screen lit up.

“be there in 10. still got your weird radio station on.”

You smiled.

You spotted her truck as it pulled into the lot, the headlights washing over the pavement in lazy arcs. You grabbed your bag, gave Maria a parting wave, and stepped outside into the late evening air.

Ellie leaned over from the driver’s seat to push open the passenger door. Her expression was soft, like she’d been replaying the same spiral you had, alone in her car.

“Hey,” you said, sliding in.

“Hey,” she replied, her voice lower than usual, but with that familiar smirk plastered on her face.

Ellie’s truck smelled faintly like pine-scented air freshener, the radio murmured quietly beneath the hum of the engine, and the windows were down just enough to let the autumn air sneak in.

“So,” Ellie said, glancing over at you with a teasing grin, “Maria let you off early for good behavior?”

You raised a brow. “Obviously, ”

Ellie laughed, shoulders shaking a little. “Mhm yeah, sounds about right.”

“She also said I’ve been turning down guys since I started waitressing ‘cause I had a type. And apparently—” you shot her a look, “—you’re it.”

Ellie flushed immediately, gripping the wheel like it might run away. “Okay, wow.”

You laughed. “She literally called me out.”

“That’s just—” She let out a sharp breath, shaking her head. “Hilarious honesty, but now I'm intrigued… is it true or you just hate men.”

You grinned, the tension bleeding out of your shoulders. “Mmm maybe both.”

She glanced over at you, eyes crinkling. “Yeah right”

It got quiet for a second, but not heavy, just soft. You glanced at her hands gripping the wheel, tattoo in full display and that tiny freckle by her jaw twitching like she was clenching it. You suddenly felt hyper-aware of the space between you. Of the night before. Of her mouth.

Of yours.

You cleared your throat. “How was the meeting?”

Ellie exhaled, like she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in breath. “Insane. I’ll tell you everything, I promise. I just—I’m still kind of processing it. It doesn’t feel real yet.”

You nodded. “Take your time.”

She looked at you then. Really looked. Her eyes flicked down to your lips for just a second before darting back up. “We are going to yours right?”

“Yes ma’am,” you said softly.

Ellie nodded and turned onto the road, one hand loose on the wheel, the other fidgeting with the hem of her pocket. You watched the city roll by outside your window, the lights soft and unfocused. Neither of you spoke much on the way home. It was that comfortable silence that both of you fell into after a long day.

After a couple minutes, Ellie pulled into your driveway, turning off the engine of the truck, gathering her jacket and camera bag from the back seats. You stepped out and collected your keys from your bag, juggling with them for a second before getting the door open.

The moment you unlocked the door, Ellie followed you inside like she’d been there a thousand times before. And she had, but this time was different. This time, her eyes lingered a little longer on the curve of your back, her fingers brushed yours when she passed you her jacket, and when she toed off her boots, she did it quietly. Carefully.

“Make yourself at home,” you said, tossing your bag onto the couch. “I’m gonna go change into something less ‘I yelled at a Karen today.’”

Ellie let out a breath of a laugh. “Take your time.”

She watched you disappear down the hall before turning to your kitchen. She opened the pantry, hands stuffed into her back pockets, and leaned against the frame like she was just casually browsing.

But the shelves were... sad. A couple of half-eaten rice cakes, some stale cereal, two cans of chickpeas that had probably been there since last winter.

She made a face. “Wow,” she muttered. “Truly a feast.”

Ellie closed the pantry slowly and leaned back against the counter. She glanced toward the hallway, listening for the faint rustling of clothes.

God. She was in your apartment. After last night. After that.

Okay. Okay. Relax. It’s just her. It’s always been her.

But the way her palms were starting to sweat said otherwise.

You padded back into the kitchen in an oversized t-shirt and some sweatpants, your face was damp, and you smelled like deodorant and home. Ellie looked up from where she was still leaning against the counter with arms crossed. “Okay,” she said flatly, “your pantry is depressing me.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“There’s no snacks.” She stepped forward, opening the door again like you might’ve magically restocked while changing. “Just… corn kernels. Stale cereal. And two canned soups that look like they’re from the Cold War.”

You stared at her. “No fucking way. I bought snacks like… three days ago.”

She raised a brow.

You marched up and checked the shelves yourself, mouth falling open. “That stupid asshole. Sally’s boyfriend must’ve eaten everything. I swear, I had Reese’s, chips, even those sour gummies you claim to hate—”

Ellie placed a hand gently on your shoulder, “Hey it’s okay we can just order some food, or eat canned soup and call it a day.” she joked.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “We can make some popcorn. Stove-top style.”

Ellie smirked, stepping aside as you reached for the oil and a big saucepan. “You sure you know how to do this?”

You looked over your shoulder. “Why, you doubt my popcorn making abilities?”

Ellie didn’t answer. Instead, as you poured the oil and swirled it around, she stepped up behind you. Quiet at first, then let her hands rest lightly on your hips.

You paused, heat blooming across your neck.

Then she leaned in, slowly, and rested her chin in the crook of your neck. Her arms wrapped around your waist, fingers playing gently with the edge of your shirt.

“You know…” she murmured, voice low, warm. “I’ve been waiting all day for this moment.”

You laughed, a little breathless, pretending the way your heart stuttered was just from the heat of the stove. “Were you Williams?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled against your skin. “Thinking ‘bout you and yesterday.”

You turned your head slightly, enough to catch her eyes hovering near your jawline.

“Is that so?” you teased, biting back a grin.

Ellie smiled, and it was all mischief. “Mmhm.”

You turned just a little more, barely enough to meet her lips—your hand still holding the pot handle, her body pressed into your back. The kiss was brief, warm, almost lazy. A shared breath. A hum. Then another, this one just a little slower, laced with the taste of something that had been waiting far too long to be claimed.

You pulled back first, blinking at her.

But Ellie didn’t waste a second. Her hands were all over you, gripping your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush. Your lips moved in sync, a rhythm that felt like it had been waiting to happen. Meant for just the two of you. Your hands slid over her shoulders, then curled behind her neck, fingers tugging gently at the loose strands of her hair, making her lips part just enough for you to deepen the kiss. Tongues collided, fighting, teasing, tasting.

You pushed her back onto the couch, straddling her lap. Her hands roamed over your waist, down your back, fingertips pressing in like she was grounding herself. You kissed her again, this time letting her take control. Her mouth moved over yours with a hunger that was all teeth and tongue and years of yearning left unsaid. Desperate. Dizzying.

A soft moan escaped Ellie’s plush, pink lips as your mouth trailed down to her neck. Your stomach flipped at the sound. She tilted her head back, offering you more. Her skin was warm under your lips, and she smelled like cedarwood and something unmistakably home. It was driving you out of your mind.

You pulled back just long enough to flip your hair to the side. And God—the look on Ellie’s face. That alone made her flush deeper than she ever had before. As if that wasn’t enough to unravel her completely, you grabbed the collar of her shirt and tugged her back in, lips swollen, glossy with the mix of you both.

You felt her hand slide up, knuckles brushing along your side beneath the fabric of your shirt, warm and tentative like she was savoring every inch.

Your breath caught.

She looked up at you from under her lashes, lips slightly parted, like she wanted…needed permission to go further.

And you were ready to give it.

You leaned in, your fingers grazing the hem of her shirt now, about to tug it up, your mind racing ahead to where this was about to go. Ellie looked like she might just melt into the couch, or you, or both. One of your knees shifted, guiding her to lay back—

And then—

“Shit—!”

A sharp, bitter smell hit your nose, followed by a series of mini explosions.

Your eyes flew open. “The stove!”

You practically launched off her lap, Ellie blinking up at you in a daze as you scrambled into the kitchen.

“No, no, no—fuck,” you hissed, yanking the pot off the burner and tossing the lid aside. A cloud of burnt popcorn smoke wafted up like it was mocking you.

Ellie blinked, breathless, still sitting on the couch. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” she muttered under her breath.

You shot her a look, exasperated but trying not to laugh. “How can one fuck up popcorn?”

Ellie leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Ask the expert. Oh wait…”

You tossed a burnt piece at her. “Shut up.”

She caught it, smug. “Pizza or Chinese?”

You were still flushed from the kissing, your shirt slightly askew. “I think some cheese filled crust could brighten up my mood.”

She stepped forward again, slow, playful. “Pizza it is.” Ellie chuckled, reaching past you to grab a glass of water like she hadn’t just had you straddling her five seconds ago. “Pick a movie?.”

“Alright” You replied as you opened a window to let the smoke out, heart still pounding—part from the near-kitchen-fire, and part because you were one step away from making out with Ellie Williams until the world ended.

And God—you wanted to pick up right where you left off.

The couch cushions let out a small sigh as you dropped down onto them, tucking your legs beneath you. Ellie followed, this time with a throw blanket she must’ve grabbed while you were trying not to burn your kitchen down. She tossed it over both of your laps like it was nothing. Like this was already routine.

You scrolled half-heartedly through whatever streaming platform you had which felt like ages, your finger hovering above a dozen thumbnails while your mind still replayed her mouth on yours.

Ellie stretched out beside you, one arm lazily draped across the back of the couch. “You’ve passed the same movie three times now.”

“Everything looks the same to me, bring back the 2000s rom-coms.”

That made her huff a soft laugh. “Uh huh.”

The warmth of the blanket, the scent of burnt corn still lingering faintly in the air, the glow from the TV lighting up her features, it all felt so surreal. You almost forgot about the pizza.

Then Ellie shifted, sitting up slightly, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of the blanket.

You glanced at her. “I’m kidding alright, I won't make you watch thirteen going on thirty again”

She hesitated, chewing her bottom lip for a second. Then—

“I got offered a gallery,” she said, voice low, like she still didn’t quite believe it herself. “A full solo show. End of the year. Big space. Real-deal art world shit.”

You blinked at her. “Wait. Wait—what?”

Ellie’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, a little unsure, a little dazed. “Yeah. I met with this man Mr. Davis. From the gala? He, uh… he said he loved my work since the gala and said some nice shit. He thinks I’ve got a voice or whatever.”

You dropped the remote. “Ellie. Holy shit.”

She rubbed the back of her neck. “I know.”

“No—like, are you kidding me? That’s insane! That’s incredible!”

Your excitement surged so fast that Ellie visibly flinched before a grin spread slowly across her face.

You reached over and rested your hand over hers, lacing your fingers together tightly. “You’re getting your own gallery? Your photos? On walls? Framed? With little name tags and wine and people pretending they understand art?”

She laughed, full and unguarded. “Yeah, that kind of gallery.”

You launched forward, hugging her so tight she made a little noise of surprise. “Ellie, that’s amazing. I’m so proud of you. Like—so proud.”

Her chin rested on your shoulder, breath warm near your neck. “I still feel like I’m dreaming.”

You pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes soft. “Well, if this is a dream, I hope you don’t wake up before opening night.”

That got a quiet smile from her. Not cocky. Not playful. Just… moved. She squeezed your hand. And didn’t let go.

“You know this means we will rewatch thirteen going on thirty right…” you whispered jokingly, but you were dead serious.

Ellie giggled, “Yeah I think it does.”

You were about ten minutes into the movie, giggling quietly every time Jennifer Garner appeared on screen, as if you hadn't watched this movie a dozen times. Ellie was mid-sip of soda when the doorbell rang. “That better be pizza and not your neighbor trying to sell crystals again,” she muttered, stretching her legs out beneath the blanket.

She stood with a dramatic groan. “I’m about to risk my life walking into the hallway in socks. You better thank me for this.”

“You’re my Matty,” you called after her, which earned you a middle finger over her shoulder.

She opened the door—and immediately froze.

The voice that followed was way too familiar. “Well… Hello there”

No fucking way. Ellie thought to herself, she really did have shit luck, it was the same delivery girl from yesterday, the one who attempted and— failed miserably at flirting with her.

She stood there without saying a word.

“If this isn’t a sign from the universe, then I don’t know what it is.” the girl said, smirking seductively at Ellie.

You straightened on the couch, was she flirting with Ellie? Your heart already dropping into your stomach.

Ellie laughed, nervous and strained. “Oh. Hey. It’s, uh—yeah.”

“Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon,” the delivery girl added, in that syrupy, unmistakably flirty tone. “Didn’t know you liked pizza too.”

You didn’t even think—you stood up and walked over, to the dining table where your bag was laid out and grabbed your wallet, pulling a $5 dollar bill and stepping right next to Ellie at the door with the calmest fake smile plastered on your face.

“Hey, babe,” you said sweetly, gaze flicking to Ellie, then to the girl. “You need some cash for the tip?”

Ellie blinked at you, clearly thrown for a second before catching on your little act. “Uh—yeah. Yeah, thanks, babe.”

You handed her the five-dollar bill, your hand brushing hers like it meant something. Then you looked at the delivery girl again, smile not reaching your eyes.

She scoffed softly, unimpressed, and passed you the pizza box. “Have a nice night.”

“Will do,” you said, voice sugarcoated and venom-laced all at once, shutting the door with a satisfying click.

You turned around only to find Ellie standing there… grinning like a fucking idiot.

“Is it bad that I’m lowkey turned on by that?” she said.

You rolled your eyes and headed for the couch. “Shut up.”

“Somebody got jealous.”

You tossed the pizza on the coffee table. “What the hell did she even mean by ‘a sign from the universe’?”

Ellie flopped down next to you, still grinning like a kid who got away with something. “Okay, so. Yesterday, before you arrived, she delivered the thai food to my place and she, like… full-on flirted with me at the door. Said she liked my tortured artist vibe? I don’t know shit was awkward as hell.” She said while biting onto a slice of pizza.

You blinked. “Jesus.”

“And then you showed up, all gorgeous and then we kissed. So I guess now she thinks she manifested it or something.”

You groaned into your hands. “Holy shit.”

“Don’t worry,” Ellie said, voice lower as she leaned in. “You won.”

You glanced over. “Damn right I did.”

She smirked and bumped your shoulder. “I prefer your pancakes all the way tho.”

You laughed. “Shut up, Williams.”

“Alright babe,” she teased, drawing it out like it was the best thing she’d ever heard.

You shook your head, cheeks hot, but the warmth wasn’t just embarrassment anymore. It was Ellie. And somehow, that made everything feel like it was exactly where it should be.

The movie played on, soft light flickering across the room, casting pinks and blues across Ellie’s cheekbones. She’d settled next to you again, one leg curled under her and the other brushing yours every so often. The pizza sat on the small coffee table, half-eaten, ignored now in favor of the quiet comfort settling over everything.

You rested your head on the back of the couch and glanced sideways at her.

Ellie was watching the screen, but not really watching, more like pretending to, eyes glazed in that way she got when something was brewing in her mind. You didn’t say anything at first. Just reached down, grabbed a slice, and took a bite.

“You’ve got that look on your face again,” you broke the silence.

“Mhm? Sorry, there’s just a lot going on my mind right now,” she said quietly, not looking away from the TV.

You swallowed. “Like what?”

She sighed but shook her head. “The gallery thing. I keep thinking I imagined it or like… I’m gonna wake up and—”

You blinked, then slowly set your slice down on the paper plate. “It’s real, Els. You earned that.”

She glanced at you, a flicker of something fragile in her eyes. “Yeah, but… I dunno. I guess part of me never thought I’d actually get a shot like this, you know? I always thought I’d just keep taking photos ‘cause I loved it and maybe, like, sell a few online, or get published in a zine or something. But a gallery? That’s like… big leagues.”

You tucked your legs under you and turned more fully toward her, elbow resting on the back of the couch. “It’s because you see people, Ellie. You don’t just take pictures—you feel them. That’s rare. People notice that.”

She looked down, rubbing the seam of her jeans between two fingers. “It’s weird. I was so scared going in. Like, full-on heart palpitations, sweaty palms, brain static. But then he said it. And for a second, it felt like all the noise in my head just… stopped.”

You smiled softly. “That’s how you know it matters.”

Ellie nodded slowly. “I think I’m still waiting for someone to yank it away and be like ‘just kidding.’”

Your chest ached at that—how deeply rooted that fear seemed. You reached out, brushing your fingers lightly against her arm. “No one’s taking it away. You deserve good things, Ellie. This is just the start.”

She looked at you, really looked at you, her green eyes glistened with something raw and hopeful, it made your cheeks burn and the moment stretched between you like a held breath.

“I think part of why I’m scared,” she said, voice low, “is ‘cause it’s not just the gallery. It’s everything. This. It all feels so fucking good that it terrifies me.”

Your breath hitched.

She kept going, like the words had been waiting at the edge of her tongue for too long. “I haven’t let myself feel like this in years. I didn’t even realize how much I missed… being seen. Being wanted.”

You reached up, hand gentle against her jaw as you turned her to face you fully.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.

The TV kept playing in the background, but it was pure background noise at the moment, because right now, all you could see was Ellie, and all you could hear was your own heart thudding on your chest. Ellie looked at you like maybe her dream was already sitting beside her.

She leaned in, resting her forehead against yours. “Don’t let me fuck this up.”

You smiled, your voice a whisper. “Don’t let me fuck it up.” eyes staring directly to her plush lips, and Ellie took it as permission to close the space between you two, the kiss was gentle. Slow, Like you were afraid you would break her apart.

You pulled away first, catching your breath for a second, Ellie’s pupils were dilated like she had taken the strongest drug in the world, And maybe she had. Your head rested on her shoulder now, cuddled beside her like you’d done a million times before.

The credits rolled long ago, but neither of you made a move to turn the TV off. The room was dim now, lit only by the soft glow of the screen and the occasional flicker of passing cars outside.

You were curled up against Ellie, head resting on her lap, one arm tucked beneath you, the other draped lazily across her thigh. She sat still as stone, hand moving in slow, lazy patterns through your hair, her other arm stretched along the back of the couch, fingers twitching every time you let out one of those sleepy little exhales.

Ellie looked down at you, breath catching just slightly at the sight. Your face was soft in sleep, mouth parted slightly, lashes casting shadows across your cheeks. You looked so pretty. So safe. And it wrecked her.

She didn’t dare move.

Didn’t want to wake you or disturb the peace that had settled so delicately between you. But eventually, you shifted a little, nose scrunching at some dream or distant sound, and Ellie whispered, “Hey…”

You barely stirred.

She brushed a knuckle across your cheek. “C’mon. Let’s get you into bed, yeah?”

You mumbled something incomprehensible, your voice thick with sleep, but you nodded faintly as Ellie slowly helped you sit up. You blinked groggily at her, eyes glazed and heavy.

“You fell asleep on me,” she said gently, tucking a bit of your hair behind your ear.

You gave a small, sleepy smile. “Your lap’s comfy.”

Ellie chuckled softly, helping you stand. “Let’s go. Don’t wanna wake up with your neck all fucked up tomorrow.”

You shuffled into your room, Ellie following close behind. She grabbed the throw blanket off the couch and trailed it with her, draping it over the bed as you collapsed onto it with a sleepy sigh.

She tugged the comforter over you, and then hesitated, standing there with one knee on the edge of the bed.

“I’ll head out now alright—”

But you reached out, fingers wrapping around her wrist.

“Stay.”

Ellie melted. Her smile was like she had just won the lottery, and she basically did.

She climbed in next to you, slow and gentle like she was scared the whole moment would vanish if she moved too fast. You scooted closer, tucking yourself against her chest, legs tangling beneath the sheets.

Her arms wrapped around you instantly.

And then—you exhaled.

Just like that, Ellie felt the last of the tension in her bones ease. Your warmth seeped into her skin. Your breath tickled the hollow of her throat.

She didn’t want to breathe too loud. Didn’t want to blink too fast. Her heart beat slowly, reverent.

You were here.

And you were hers. At least for tonight.

She pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head and whispered into your hair, “Night.”

You didn’t respond. Just sighed in your sleep, one hand gripping the hem of her shirt, like even in your dreams you didn’t want to let go.

Ellie stared at the ceiling a while longer, wide awake with something gentle and overwhelming blooming in her chest.

And then, eventually, she fell asleep too. Still holding you like a secret, like a promise, like the start of something real.

Morning came by, the faint sounds of the outside world filtering through the windows, along with the golden rays of sunshine. The light crept in slowly, warming the wooden floor and painting golden stripes across the bed.

You stirred first, eyes fluttering open to a blur of soft fabric and even softer skin. It took you a second to remember where you were. Who you were with, but the familiar weight of an arm draped across your waist and the steady rhythm of a breath not your own grounded you instantly.

Ellie was still fast asleep beside you, her face turned slightly toward yours, mouth parted just a little. Her lashes fluttered faintly, catching the morning light. The freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks looked painted on like a sky full of stars. Almost unreal.

You didn’t move.

You didn’t want to disturb this moment. The calm that wrapped around the two of you like a shared secret.

She looked younger like this. Softer. Her usual furrowed brow relaxed, her lips curved in the subtlest hint of a smile, as if even in her dreams she was at peace with you. Your heart swelled.

God, she was beautiful.

The kind of beauty that made you ache. The kind that made you want to write it down, sketch it, memorize every line and angle so you’d never forget what it felt like to look at her and feel this full.

An idea sparked in your head—sudden, stupid, sweet.

You untangled yourself as quietly as you could, tiptoeing barefoot into the kitchen where her camera bag still sat from the night before, right beside the empty popcorn bowl. The lens cap was off already. You adjusted the settings the way you’d seen her do a hundred times, and you padded back toward the bedroom.

Ellie hadn’t moved. You raised the camera, holding your breath. Just one.

Click.

The flash burst across the room.

Ellie stirred immediately with a groggy, confused little groan. “Wh—what the hell…”

You stifled a laugh as she squinted up at you, eyes barely open, face still squished against the pillow. “Did you just—did you seriously just take a picture of me sleeping?”

You shrugged, biting your bottom lip to keep the grin at bay. “You looked so peaceful it was a rare moment..”

She groaned, dragging the blanket over her head. “You’re evil.”

You took another step back, raising the camera again. “Don’t hide, I wanna frame this one.”

Ellie peeked out from under the comforter, eyes narrowing. “Gimme that.”

You squeaked as she suddenly lunged toward you, still tangled in the sheets. “No, no—”

But she managed to grab the strap of the camera, pulling you down with her, the two of you laughing as you half-fell onto the mattress. Ellie sat up, finally victorious as she took the camera from your hands.

Her eyes gleamed when she turned it toward you.

You blinked. “Wait—”

Click.

The flash went off.

You groaned. “Ellie—”

She grinned, entirely too proud of herself. “What? You look hot.”

You threw a pillow at her.

But she caught it with one hand, still looking at the photo on the screen with a stupidly fond smile spreading across her face.

“Gonna keep this one,” she murmured, voice soft now, a little sleepy, a little in awe. “You look cute.”

You felt your face flush. And for once you didn’t even have a clever response. You just reached forward and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yeah?” you whispered.

“Yeah.” Ellie nodded, eyes not leaving yours.

She set the camera down gently on the nightstand, eyes still on you, and leaned forward without saying anything. Her hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing lightly against your skin, and she kissed you.

Soft. Sweet. Morning slow.

You melted into it for a second before your brain screamed reality at you and you pulled away with a little gasp, covering your mouth.

“Nooo—stop. I’ve got morning breath,” you whined, ducking under the blanket.

Ellie just laughed, tilting her head to try and catch a glimpse of your face. “So what? I like your gross morning breath.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Ellie smirked, leaning back against the headboard with a dramatic sigh. “Can’t believe you’re denying me a kiss just because of a little dragon breath. Tragic.”

You peeked out from under the blanket, narrowing your eyes at her. “Can’t believe you slept in jeans. You’re literally insane. I could’ve borrowed you something.”

“Oh yeah? One of those little mini shorts you wear to sleep?”

You rolled your eyes, tossing a pillow at her chest. “Well you could always just sleep in your underwear.”

Ellie gasped mockingly, a hand to her heart. “You wanna get in my pants already? Damn, didn’t take you for that kind. Not even a coffee or anything?”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“But charming.”

You ignored her, even though the smirk tugging at your lips betrayed you. “But seriously,” you said more softly, picking at a thread in the comforter. “Maybe we should do that…”

Ellie raised a brow, eyes playful. “Get into my pants?”

You shoved her this time, laughing. “No, dickhead. I’m talking about a real date. Like… normal people. You know?”

Ellie blinked, caught off guard for a second. And then she smiled. That real, dimple-showing, eyes-creasing smile that made your heart hiccup in your chest.

She tilted her head. “You got me excited for a second there.”

You laughed, burying your face in her shoulder as her arms wrapped around you again, pulling you into a warm, lazy cuddle that felt exactly like falling into something right.

Ellie watched as you nestled back against her, laughter still faint in your chest, fading into a sigh. Your fingers toyed absentmindedly with the hem of her shirt, and she didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare speak.

She could stay like this forever. With the morning sun spilled over the sheets in lazy streaks, dust dancing in the air. The warmth of your body against hers. The rhythm of your breath. It all felt too good to be true. Like something she wasn’t supposed to touch but somehow still held in her hands.

Her eyes traced the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes fluttered slightly as you blinked slower and slower. You were getting sleepy again. Or maybe just really, really comfortable.

How the hell did she get here? How did she go from sketching alone in her bedroom to taking secret candids of you to this. It didn’t feel real. And yet, here you were. Draped over her like it was the most natural thing in the world. She knew she was in deep. Had been for a long time. But now, it wasn’t just in her head. It was real. Tangible. Yours and hers and something in between.

Ellie closed her eyes for a second, trying to memorize everything, to trap it in her secret treasure chest, and give you the key to all of it, all her thoughts, all her feelings, even her fears.

She pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

If this was a dream, or a hallucination, or some kind of fucked up joke, it didnt matter either way. She didn’t want to wake up from it.

Not yet.

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

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@liasxeatt @80saturn @eleanorsghost @youusunshineyoutemptress @jazzyxox @lesoulew @fangirlinc @hitmehardmommy @liztreez @chwekriz00 @vahnilla @elliespotion @haithone @stwolfhardimaginez @thxtmarvelchick @purinukie @lavenderseedling @elliesfavwife @mikellie @iadorefineshyt @thebadwritersposts @gayandsuffering26 @flynnph0bias @adoreasellie @wwefan2002 @pinkcloudsmmr @ellliewilliamssgf @hufflepuffin92-blog @madsxh1022 @elliepoems @finnthehumanjakethedog @oneinameliann @sulliefimmie @lunshimmer @theangelwaltz @morticeras

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[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which paige finally meets her match

warning : sexual content included - minors do not interact

everyone thought paige bueckers had a type.

cheerleaders.

blonde, brunette, redhead—it didn’t matter, as long as they were on the sidelines, flipping and shouting and smiling under the friday night lights. by the end of her sophomore year, she had dated three, maybe four? no one kept count anymore. the campus just knew one thing: paige was a player. not in the toxic way—she was too charming, too respectful—but definitely in the way that made you roll your eyes when you heard another cheerleader say they were “just friends” with her.

so, naturally, when junior year rolled around, and the basketball season kicked off, people started taking bets on who’d be next. paige had just come back from a minor injury, her energy was electric again, and her instagram comments were flooded with flame emojis and thirst.

but she wasn’t looking at the cheerleaders.

she was looking at you.

and you weren’t even remotely close to being in her world.

you were a teacher’s assistant for an upper-level stats course. glasses, tucked-in shirts, always a little too many books in your arms. people noticed you, sure—but it was because you were the reason half the athletic department was passing their classes, not because of anything remotely romantic.

so when paige bueckers started showing up in the library on your shifts, it was... confusing.

the first time, she leaned over your desk and gave you that signature lopsided grin.

“hey, nerd.”

you didn’t even look up. “hey, cliché jock.”

her laugh echoed through the quiet room. she pulled out a chair and dropped into it like she owned the place. “i need help.”

“with math or self-awareness?”

“math. for now.”

you sighed, finally meeting her eyes. god, she was pretty. unfairly so. but you knew her type—and more importantly, you knew she didn’t date girls like you.

“fine,” you said, pulling your laptop closer. “but this doesn’t mean i’m letting you copy.”

that should’ve been it. a one-time thing. but paige kept coming back.

it started once a week.

then twice.

then you found her waiting for you outside your lecture hall, spinning a basketball like she was born doing it.

you raised an eyebrow. “stalking isn’t cute.”

“who says i’m stalking? maybe i’m expanding my interests.”

“oh yeah? into what?”

she shrugged. “smart girls with killer sarcasm.”

you tried not to blush. you failed.

you weren’t easy.

paige figured that out real quick. she flirted shamelessly—complimented your handwriting, brought you coffee with your exact order (“i guessed, but also i may have asked your barista”), and even showed up to your book club once, awkwardly squeezing into a circle of english majors discussing pride and prejudice.

you knew what she was doing.

she was trying.

and for the first time, it felt like paige bueckers wasn’t chasing someone for the fun of it. she was chasing you because she wanted you.

but you weren’t going to let her in just like that.

“i’m not a cheerleader,” you told her one night. you were sitting on the steps outside your dorm, the air cool and quiet, your coffee between your hands.

paige sat beside you, her knees brushing yours. “no shit ma.”

“i mean it,” you said. “i’m not going to be some girl you date during the season and forget after finals. i don’t... do casual.”

paige was quiet for a second. then: “what makes you think i want casual with you?”

you gave her a look.

she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “okay, yeah. i used to be that girl. freshman year, sophomore year... i didn’t care about anything except hoops and distractions. but you’re not a distraction.”

that surprised you. “then what am i?”

she leaned in, her voice lower, softer. “you’re the reason i want to be better.”

and just like that—you were ruined.

but you still made her work for it.

paige showed up to your study groups and brought snacks for everyone. she helped you carry your books when your arms were full. she asked questions during your tutoring sessions—not dumb ones, either, real ones. she listened.

she started quoting random facts you’d mentioned in passing.

“you remembered i like obscure 19th century poetry?”

“i’m literally memorizing your syllabus.”

and when she took you to a quiet, hidden spot in the rec center—just a dusty rooftop with fairy lights she’d strung herself—you realized she wasn’t just chasing.

she was falling.

hard.

her teammates noticed. so did her fans. rumors swirled — paige’s next cheerleader must be real lowkey. but they were wrong.

because she didn’t look at anyone else like she looked at you.

you, on the other hand, tried to keep your distance. you didn’t want to be another name in her highlight reel of exes. you didn’t want to fall into something temporary.

but paige was persistent — and when she asked you on a real date, voice surprisingly nervous, you couldn’t say no.

“this is our first date,” she announced, holding the door open to a neon-lit arcade just off campus.

“i feel like i’m in a 90s movie,” you said, glancing around. “are you going to win me a stuffed animal too?”

“only if you beat me at something,” she smirked. “which, good luck.”

she took you straight to the basketball game, of course. the kind with hoops lined up and timers counting down.

“go on, brainiac. show me your form,” she teased.

you narrowed your eyes. “fine. prepare to be amazed.”

you made two shots. clumsily. the third one bounced off the rim and knocked the ball back at your face. paige was dying laughing.

“okay, okay,” she said through giggles. “that was adorable. move aside.”

she stepped up, casual as ever, and made every shot with ease. like her body was designed for it. like it was natural.

“you’re disgustingly good at this,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

“i know,” she said, tossing her final ball and hitting nothing but net. “but you’re cuter.”

you stared at her, heart skipping.

that night, after hours of games and laughter and little moments that made your stomach flip, she walked you back to your dorm. the world felt quieter. her fingers brushed yours.

“can i kiss you?” she asked, voice low.

you nodded. and when her lips met yours, it was slow, patient, like she was kissing you not for the first time — but like she’d been waiting for it for a long time.

the night she asked you to be hers, it was raining.

you were leaving the library, hoodie soaked, muttering to yourself about broken umbrellas, when you saw her.

paige was standing by the bike racks, drenched, holding a bouquet of crushed tulips in one hand and a note in the other.

“i was gonna wait until after your shift,” she said sheepishly. “but... the weather sucks and so does timing, so—hi.”

you stared at her. “you look like a drowned rat.”

“i feel like one. but also, maybe the happiest drowned rat ever, if you say yes.”

“to what?”

she held up the note. “to this.”

you took it, opening it with shaking hands.

“will you be mine? (also, i swear i’m done with cheerleaders.)”

you laughed, then looked at her. really looked at her.

this girl, who had the entire school at her feet, was dripping wet and waiting on you.

“only if you promise to never call me ‘nerd’ again.”

paige grinned. “deal.”

you stepped forward, cupped her face, and kissed her right there in the rain.

paige asked if she could come over — “just to unwind,” she said. you hesitated, but curiosity got the best of you.

it started with paige kissing your shoulder.

you were lying in your bed, tangled up in the soft sheets of your dorm, the fairy lights casting a warm glow over the room. rain tapped gently against the window—because somehow, the universe always gave you rain when things felt too big to put into words.

you had been reading. a book on your chest, glasses slipping slightly down your nose. paige had her head on your lap, her fingers tracing absentminded patterns along your thigh. neither of you had spoken in a while, but there was no need to. the silence between you had long stopped being awkward.

then she shifted.

lifted herself up, leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss to the skin just beneath your collarbone.

you looked down at her. “what are you doing?”

she smiled, slow and sure. “memorizing you.”

your breath caught in your throat.

her kisses trailed up your neck, feather-light, until she was hovering just over your lips. you could see the flicker in her eyes—desire, but deeper than that. adoration. like you were something sacred.

“is this okay?” she whispered.

you nodded, fingers finding the edge of her hoodie, sliding beneath to touch the warm skin of her back. “yeah,” you breathed. “i want you.”

that was all she needed.

she kissed you like you were air—like she had been holding her breath for months and only now was allowed to breathe. her mouth was soft, slow, worshipful. she kissed with intention, with emotion, with something that made your stomach flutter and your chest ache.

her hands moved gently, slipping beneath your shirt, sliding it up until she could lift it over your head. she looked at you like she’d never seen anything more beautiful.

you felt vulnerable—but safe. entirely safe.

“god,” she whispered, kissing the swell of your breast. “you’re everything.”

you tugged at her hoodie. “take this off.”

she did, tossing it aside, revealing the toned warmth of her body. you ran your fingers down her arms, over her shoulders, feeling the strength there—the same strength that made her a force on the court. but with you, she was gentle. careful.

she kissed her way down your body, leaving a trail of heat that had your thighs trembling before she even reached them. you watched her settle between them, kiss the inside of your knee, then your thigh, and then higher.

“paige...” you whispered.

“i’ve thought about this,” she murmured, her voice low, her breath hot against your skin. “so many times.”

then her mouth met you.

and god.

her tongue was soft at first, slow and exploratory—like she was learning every part of you, tasting you, savoring you. you tangled your fingers in her hair, gasping softly as she dragged her tongue along your folds, circling your clit just right. she moaned into you when she felt you respond, like you were the one driving her crazy.

and then she slipped a finger inside you—so carefully, watching your face, making sure she wasn’t too much. you arched your back, breath catching.

she moved in perfect rhythm—her mouth and fingers in sync, like she was composing something. like your body was a song she already knew the melody to.

you couldn’t even form words.

just soft moans and whimpers of her name. her name, over and over.

when you came, it wasn’t loud. it wasn’t wild.

it was intimate.

you clenched around her fingers, hips trembling, heart pounding so hard you thought she might feel it from across the room. but she stayed with you the whole way through—kissing your thighs, your stomach, your lips—until you were grounded again.

she pulled you into her arms, whispering, “you okay?”

you nodded, your cheek pressed to her bare shoulder. “more than okay.”

she kissed your forehead, your temple, your nose.

“i meant what i said,” she whispered. “you’re not a distraction. you’re the reason i’m not afraid to feel anymore.”

you curled into her, fingers tracing shapes on her skin. “you’re really soft for a player.”

she smirked. “only for you.”

the morning after, you woke up to a photo paige had posted on instagram.

it wasn’t overly romantic — just the two of you, laughing in front of the arcade basketball game. your eyes were half closed, cheeks flushed from smiling too hard. paige had her arm slung around you casually, but there was no mistaking how close you were.

caption: “she beat me… barely ❤️”

and the heart emoji? yeah. people noticed.

within an hour, the comments were flooded.

“wait… who’s this?” “not a cheerleader for once?” “damn. nerd girl wins.” “w player finally settled?”

the campus was stunned.

the player? the queen of the court? dating the nerdy ta?

twitter exploded. memes were made. some people called it fake, others said you had bewitched her with your brain.

but you didn’t care.

because when paige laced her fingers through yours, sat beside you in the cafeteria instead of with her team, and proudly introduced you as her girlfriend?

you knew it was real.

and slowly, so did everyone else.

she was still the same paige—confident, cocky, intense on the court. but around you, she softened. she brought you flowers just because. let you read to her while she stretched after practice. kissed you like you were the only thing that ever made her nervous.

and you?

you let her in.

you loved her.

even if she was terrible at poetry.

[arkaiveofurown]

Im dying for soft mild smut with law please. First time with each other aka non established relationship perhaps?

Slowly, Together

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Reader

A slow, intimate first time between you and Law aboard the Polar Tang. After months of building tension, you finally spend the night together—tender, emotional, and real.

Word Count: ~2,000 words

tags: mild smut, fluff, non established relationship

my masterlist here ♡

——

a/n: thanks for requesting! i’m not yet used to writing smuts so i’m so sorry in advance! i tried tho (╥_╥)

——

The Polar Tang rocked gently with the waves, a quiet rhythm that had become comforting since you joined Law’s crew. You sat in the small library, flipping through a well-worn book, though your eyes hadn’t moved from the same sentence in fifteen minutes.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him.

About Law.

About tonight.

He’d asked you—awkwardly, carefully—if you wanted to spend the night in his quarters. Just to sleep, he’d said. No pressure. But the look in his eyes had said something else. Something unsure. Vulnerable.

And you’d said yes.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t shared a bed before. You and Law had been in a relationship for a few months now. There had been a few shy kisses in quiet corners, lingering touches that meant more than words ever could—but nothing more.

Still, tonight felt different.

Every glance, every hushed word between the two of you built the pressure in your chest like steam in a boiler.

You jumped slightly when the door creaked open.

“Y/N,” Law’s voice was low, as always. “You coming?”

You stood, heart pounding. “Yeah. Sorry, I got distracted.”

He nodded once and waited for you to follow. The walk down the corridor was silent, the air between you thick with things unsaid.

——

His quarters were clean, spartan—just like him. A few medical texts were stacked on the desk, his nodachi propped neatly in the corner. You stepped inside, waiting for the door to slide shut behind you before turning to face him.

Law stood near the bed, one hand behind his neck.

“So… I wasn’t sure if you actually would.”

You tilted your head. “You asked.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d say yes so fast.” His mouth twitched, somewhere between a smirk and a grimace. “I’m not good at this.”

You approached him slowly. “Neither am I.”

He let out a short breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “You don’t seem nervous.”

“I’m terrified.”

That made him smile, soft and real. You reached for his hand, and he let you take it, his fingers cool and calloused against yours.

“Have you ever…?” you asked quietly, heart thudding.

He shook his head. “No. You?”

You matched his honesty. “No.”

There was a pause. It wasn’t awkward—it was honest.

Law looked down at your joined hands. “If we’re doing this, I want it to be because you want to. Not because you think I expect it.”

“I want to,” you said, stepping closer, placing a hand on his chest. “With you.”

He kissed you then—slowly, like he was afraid he might break you.

It was hesitant, cautious, more breath than pressure. But your lips moved against his, and something in him cracked open. His hand came to your cheek, the other slipping to your lower back. You melted into him, feeling the tension in his frame and the restraint in his breath.

When he pulled away, his pupils were blown wide, his voice hoarse.

“Tell me if you want to stop at any time. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

——

The bed creaked under your combined weight as you lay side by side, facing each other. You touched his face, tracing his jaw with your fingers. He watched you like he was memorizing the moment.

“Do you want me to…” you started.

He leaned in and kissed you again—deeper this time. More certain.

“I want to touch you,” he murmured, his voice low against your skin.

“Then touch me.”

His hands were cautious, respectful. You guided him, whispering soft encouragements, and every sound you made seemed to ignite something in him. His touches grew bolder but never rough—just curious, reverent.

You tugged at his shirt, and he helped you remove it, revealing the inked map of his chest. Your hands splayed across his tattoos, feeling the way he shivered under your palms. He stared at you, his breath shallow.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered.

His eyes widened slightly. “You really think so?”

“Yes.”

Your clothes came off slowly, clumsily. There were awkward laughs when you bumped knees or got stuck in your shirt, but it made everything easier—lighter. Real.

He hesitated when he hovered above you, weight held carefully on his elbows. “You sure?”

“Yes, Law. I trust you.”

You kissed again, your legs parting for him, and he slipped inside you inch by slow inch, eyes locked on yours the whole time. It hurt, but not in a way that scared you. His thumb brushed your cheek as he whispered, “You okay?”

You nodded, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as your body adjusted to the stretch. “Keep going.”

He moved gently, cautiously. His never left yours, and your other fingers tangled in his hair as he moved deeper, slower, finding a rhythm that made your toes curl.

Once your bodies had adjusted and the initial tension eased, his movements began to shift. His thrusts grew deeper, more relentless, stretching you with a burn that melts into blinding pleasure as he moves, hips snapping with a rhythm that shakes the bedframe.

“Shit, you feel so good,” he grunts, voice rough, sweat beading on his brow as he grips your hips, pulling you into each hard thrust, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the tight space—“Law—fuck!” you gasp, nails raking down his back as you cling to him, completely lost in the heat, the rawness of it all.

He groans, low and guttural, as you tighten around him, his voice strained, breathless. “I’m close—gonna come inside, okay?”and the tension coils tighter, your body arching into his as he drives you both to the edge, the air thick with the scent of love and the sharp, desperate hitch of his breath.

——-

You lay tangled together under the sheets, your head on his chest, listening to the soft beat of his heart.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked, his fingers brushing lazy circles on your back.

“No,” you said, smiling into his skin. “You were perfect.”

He huffed softly. “That’s debatable.”

You leaned up to meet his eyes. “You were perfect for me.”

A slow, almost shy smile crossed his lips. “You, too.”

You traced the ink on his chest with your finger, voice soft. “I love you, Law.”

His eyes met yours, steady and full. “I love you too.”

The silence between you was warm now, full of something deeper than comfort—something fragile and strong all at once.

And in that moment, wrapped in each other, the world outside the Polar Tang simply ceased to matter.

[st7rnioioss]

۶ৎ SKATER!CHRIS x GIRLY!READER

skater!chris carrying girly!reader to bed after she fell asleep admiring his tattoo

˚𝜗𝜚 warnings... kissing, skater!chris being shy (rare sighting), pure fluff.

“hey, come on. i think it’s pretty cool,” he chuckled, flipping through the little book from his nirvana ‘in utero’ CD. you were both sitting on chris’s couch, your knees tucked up to your chest, while he showed off the pictures from the booklets his different CDs had to offer.

by now, it had been a few months since you ran into chris for the first time and a few weeks of dating. despite your differences, it had been some of the best weeks of your life.

“i like that one,” you smiled when he got to a specific picture, pointing at what looked like kurt cobain lying down on stage with a guitar in hand. he turned to look at you, meeting your eyes. “yeah? that’s my favorite actually,” he chuckled, closing the CD again while you nodded.

you looked up at him, a soft but questioning look on your face, reciprocating a shy smile. he hesitated for a second, before speaking.

“wanna see something?” he smirked, which slowly turned into a smile when you nodded with a giggle, his mysterious way of asking making you feel a mix of confusion and excitement. clumsily, he moved to sit up normally, handing you the CD to look at for a second.

but your attention flickered back to him when he started taking his shirt off, leaving you confused and flustered. “what- uh, what are you doing?” you mumbled shyly, attempting to stay respectful and look back down at the album in your hand, but.. it was hard.

“don’t worry. you can look,” he laughed when you turned all shy and bashful on him, his fingers gently grazing your chin to tilt your head back up, meeting his, now shirtless, form. confusedly, you kept staring, before he turned his back to you.

ohhh.

“woah..” you stared in awe almost, watching the tattoo that adorned his toned back. it was beautiful, really. every single stroke and detail is just on point with the original album design. it suited him so well, stretching from one shoulder blade to the other, reaching the middle of his spine. yeah, such a big tattoo was bold, but chris made it look so good.

without thinking, you let your fingers carefully trace the ink—the angels face, wings, open arms. it was perfect, and though you knew nothing about tattoos, it looked like it had healed and faded just perfectly.

it wasn’t until you felt him shiver just slightly that you pulled your hand back, now aware that you were actively touching him. “sorry- i’m sorry.” you muttered, heat rising to your face immediately when the tucked his shirt back on, turning back to face you.

“no, it’s okay. yeah, don’t worry ‘bout it,” he smiled softly at you, rubbing the back of his neck. “it’s, um, it’s beautiful. i really like it,” you smiled, resting your elbows on your knees to look up at him.

it wasn’t long before you were resting on the couch, chris’s back to your chest while you gently traced the outlines of the tattoo with your gentle fingers. his eyes were fluttered shut in pure pleasure, the calming feeling of your touch making him more relaxed than he’s ever been.

you yourself, was almost dozing off. your legs were still tucked up to your chest, your side resting up against the backrest of the couch while resting your head on your arm. chris could feel the way your fingers were staring to slow on his shoulders, before your hand stilled completely.

chris rightfully assumed you had fallen asleep, cherishing the intimate moment before he got up and pulled his shirt back on, looking down at your drowsy body.

“c’mon, gotta get you to bed, hm?” he asked rhetorically, carefully slipping his arms under your legs to carry you to his bed bridal-style. treating you as if you were made of glass, he let you rest on one side of his bed, pulling the covers up over your chest.

“so, so pretty..” he whispered, leaving a soft kiss on your cheek, careful not to wake you up. gosh, you looked so peaceful like this, so adorable, your lips stuck in a pout. checking the time, he decided he might as well just go to sleep as well, going to lie on the other side of the bed.

gently, he shuffled closer to you, wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you closer, before brushing his fingers through your hair.

“good night, sleepyhead,” he muttered quietly, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead, down the side of your face, before he reached your lips—carefully pecking them with a racing heart. “i love you,” he watched you shift, slowly moving closer to him with a long sigh. though he wished you would wake up, maybe shyly ponder over his sweet confession, he was glad you were too far gone in a deep slumber to watch the way his eyes skimmed your pretty features, and maybe even hear the way his heart was going a million miles per hour.

it was a weird feeling in his stomach—sure, he was loud and always throwing horrible jokes, but moments like this made all of that roaring persona disappear. you made him want to throw all his shitty habits right out the window, hoping they’d fly far away from him.

and you did. though his friends felt betrayed and it did sound cool to practice for his band at night, he’d much rather listen to you talk his ear off about your favorite sanrio character in your pretty, frilly, feminine bed. oh, if any of his friends were to see him in that state, they’d never stop laughing.

𝜗𝜚˚࿔ notes: im sooo oh em gee! rare shy skater!chris moment, and im here for it. he's soo stupidly in love with her im sick.

more skater!chris x girly!reader here!

۶ৎ taglist: @jetaimevous @missmimii @mattscoquette @pearlzier @witchofthehour @elizasturn @loveparqdise @delilahsturniolo @phone4pills @sturnsmia @hearts4werka @cayleeuhithinknott @strnilolover @sturnvxz @lovergirl4gracieabrams @ifwdominicfike @toftomgmf @emely9274 @sturnioloangell @blushsturns @forgottxen @slut4chris888

© ST7RNIOIOSS est. 2023

[mandoalorian]

meet cute [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Congress & Carnality Prologue

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: Moving to New York was supposed to be a fresh start. You didn’t expect to cross paths with a stranger who offered a helping hand—or that fate would throw him back into your life in the most unexpected way. Now, navigating a new job and an enigmatic boss, you start to wonder if this city has more surprises in store than you bargained for.

Word Count: 3100

Tags/warnings: 18+ fic series. employer x employee.

Masterlist

congress & carnality masterlist

Brooklyn was alive with the hum of the city—horns blaring, distant laughter floating through the air, the occasional shout of a street vendor trying to make a sale. The summer heat had begun to cool with the setting sun, but your skin still stuck to the fabric of your shirt as you strained to lift the last of the boxes from the moving van.

It wasn’t going well.

You gritted your teeth, adjusting your grip on the heavy cardboard box labeled BOOKS – HEAVY AS HELL in thick marker. You had been ambitious, thinking you could handle moving all your things alone. Your new apartment was on the third floor, the elevator was out of service, and your arms were already aching.

"Come on, come on," you muttered under your breath, trying to shift the weight in your hands. Just a few more steps to the front door—

"You need a hand with that?"

The deep voice startled you, making you jump. You turned too quickly, and the box wobbled dangerously in your arms, your grip slipping. Before you could react, strong hands reached out, steadying it with ease.

"Whoa—got it," the man said smoothly, catching the box before it could meet the pavement.

Your heart pounded, both from the near disaster and the sudden presence of him.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark t-shirt that stretched across his chest in a way that made your stomach flip. His dark hair was a little longer, pushed back like he’d run his fingers through it too many times. But it was his eyes that caught you—steel blue, sharp and assessing, yet softened by something unreadable.

He was handsome. Like, ridiculously handsome. And familiar.

“I saw you from across the street,” he explained, scratching the back of his neck. “Looked like you needed a hand. Forgive me for overstepping, ma’am.”

Ma’am? Was this man trapped in the 40s? “No you’re all good,” You swallowed, clearing your throat. "Uh—thanks."

"You sure you got this?" he asked, glancing at you with a teasing smirk as he easily lifted the box like it weighed nothing. "Looked like you were about to start a wrestling match with it."

You narrowed your eyes. "I had it under control."

"Right," he drawled, clearly unconvinced. "That's why you were losing?"

Your lips pressed together, but despite yourself, you let out a small huff of laughter. "Fine. Maybe I was struggling a little."

"Kinda figured," he said, shifting the box effortlessly under one arm. "Where to?"

You hesitated. "You really don’t have to—"

"Third floor?"

You sighed in defeat. "…Yes."

"Then I’m helping."

You knew better than to argue with someone who looked like they could carry your entire bookshelf up the stairs without breaking a sweat. You grabbed a smaller box to at least pretend you were contributing and led him toward the building.

"You new to the area?" he asked as you climbed the stairs, barely winded. Meanwhile, your legs were already burning.

"Yeah," you panted. "Just moved here for work."

"Work, huh?" His voice held a note of interest.

"Technically nowhere yet," you admitted with a dry laugh. "I have an interview tomorrow."

"Big deal?"

"Could be. It’s for a political assistant position."

His steps faltered just for a second, so brief you almost missed it.

"Politics, huh?"

"Yeah. Not my first choice, but… I need the money. And I figure it’s a good stepping stone."

He hummed, unreadable. "Well, if it’s meant to be, you’ll get it.”

You raised a brow at that, watching him effortlessly balance the heavy box in one hand. His other hand, clad in a single dark leather glove, flexed as he adjusted his grip.

Your curiosity got the better of you. "What’s with the glove?” 

His expression didn’t change, but there was the slightest pause before he shrugged. "Fashion statement."

You smirked. "Oh, sure. You just had to be the guy who wears one leather glove in the middle of summer."

"Exactly," he said smoothly. "Real trendsetter."

You laughed, eyeing his physique. "Are you a bodybuilder or something?"

He grinned, a soft blush kissing his cheeks when he realised you were checking him out. "Something like that."

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "You’re being very mysterious."

"Am I?" His smirk widened.

"Yes. And it’s suspicious."

"You think I’m suspicious?"

"A little."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe I just enjoy keeping you on your toes."

Your stomach did an unexpected flip at that, and you quickly looked away, pretending to focus on not tripping over the stairs.

When you reached your apartment, he set the box down effortlessly while you huffed and wiped sweat from your brow. He turned to you, rubbing his palms together as if dusting them off.

"There you go. Least I could do.”

You hesitated. "Thanks… I uh— I appreciate your help,” You said awkwardly, extending your arm to shake the man’s gloved hand. You registered the weight of it, a strong and firm grip. “Do you live round here?”

“Ah, no,” The man replied. “Used to. Was born here, actually. But that was a while ago and everything looks so different now. I hardly recognise it,” You quirked an eyebrow. The man appeared no older than 40 and you could’ve sworn the neighbourhood hadn’t changed that much.  “I live in uptown Manhattan.”

You laughed. “Wow, fancy,” you tutted, jokingly rolling your eyes. “How come you’re here in Brooklyn?”

“Promised I’d meet with Sam for a drink later, he’s a friend, I mean, he’s actually more of a headache,” he replied, clearly unimpressed with himself.

“You know I didn’t catch your name.” You laughed. In the past five minutes you’d learned the name of this Brooklyn-born body builder’s friend and discussed his keen eye for fashion trends, and yet, you didn’t even know his name. 

Something flickered across his face, a split-second hesitation. Then, smoothly, he said, "Bucky."

Bucky.

The name stirred something in your mind. But before you could dwell on it, he was already backing up, a small smirk on his lips.

"Good luck tomorrow," he said. "Hope you get the job."

You wanted to say something else—to ask if you’d see him again. But the words caught in your throat, and before you could untangle them, he was already turning down the hallway, disappearing into the stairwell.

You sighed, shaking your head. If it’s meant to be…

Yeah, right. What were the chances you'd ever run into him again?

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Late. You were so late.

When your eyes fluttered open that morning, it was already too bright outside. Too bright meant one thing—you had overslept.

The moment you turned your head to check the time on your phone, panic set in like ice in your veins.

8:43 AM.

Your interview was at 9:30 AM.

In Manhattan.

Your stomach dropped.

"Shit—!"

You flew out of bed, nearly tripping over the sheets as you scrambled to the bathroom, fumbling to brush your teeth while simultaneously yanking a hairbrush through your tangled strands. Your carefully planned, professional morning routine? Completely out the window.

By the time you threw on your blouse and blazer—both slightly wrinkled—and snatched up your bag, it was already 8:57.You bolted down the stairs of your apartment building, the adrenaline in your veins the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

The subway was packed. Of course it was—rush hour in New York.

You squeezed yourself into the train, clutching onto the pole with one hand while you rifled through your bag with the other, checking for your resume.

Crumpled.

Great.

The train lurched forward, and you stumbled, mumbling a curse. Your reflection in the dirty subway window revealed wide, stressed-out eyes, flushed cheeks, and a shirt that looked like it had been rolled into a ball before you put it on. Fantastic first impression.

The train ride felt eternal, every stop stretching time like torture.

By the time you finally made it to Uptown Manhattan, you were sweating. You raced up the steps to street level, nearly twisting your ankle in your heels as you sprinted down the crowded sidewalk.

The office building came into view, towering over you with its sleek glass facade. You skidded to a stop inside, gasping for breath as you approached the receptionist.

"I'm—I'm here for the—interview," you panted, pushing hair from your face.

She barely glanced up. "Mr. Barnes is expecting you."

You straightened, trying to regain a semblance of dignity. Mr. Barnes? The name meant nothing to you. You nodded, smoothing your clothes before pushing through the doors.

And then—you froze.

Because sitting behind the massive mahogany desk, was Bucky.

Your Bucky.

Except… not your Bucky.

Congressman James Buchanan Barnes.

Oh. Oh.

His smirk was slow and smug, his eyes filled with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest.

"Surprise," he murmured, a coy smile playing on his lips.

Your stomach plummeted.

Oh, shit.

The straight navy blue suit was very different to the black tec-top he was wearing when you had met him yesterday. His hair had been combed back with a little product placed in it to keep it from falling out of his face. You stood there, still, like a tin of milk, blinking in disbelief at the Congressman you were stood before. 

“Well, you could at least take a seat, sweetheart,” Bucky chuckled, pulling your seat out like a gentleman. 

Your legs moved on autopilot, your mind still reeling as you sank down into the chair. You tried to steady your breathing, smoothing your clammy hands over your skirt as you forced yourself to focus.

He walked over to the drinks trolley, picking out a crystal glass. “Want a drink?”

“Wa-water would be good,” you swallowed, stiffly sitting into the chair and taking your crumpled resume out of your purse, doing your best to straighten it out the best you could. 

“You’re thirty minutes late,” Bucky acknowledged. “But your shirt is inside out so I won’t be too harsh on you.”

You gasped looking down at yourself. He was right. How had that even happened? 

Bucky handed you the glass of ice water and slid into the chair, opposite you, behind the obnoxiously large mahogany wood desk. 

“You're staring.” His voice was smooth, laced with amusement.

You blinked rapidly, mouth opening and closing as you tried to form words. Any words.

"You—You're him!" you finally sputtered. “Congressman James Buchanan Barnes!"

“Just Bucky is fine," he corrected, his lips twitching. "But yeah. Still me."

Your pulse thundered in your ears. "You're—You're a Congressman?"

His smirk widened. "Something like that."

You shot him a glare. "That’s the same thing you said when I asked if you were a bodybuilder."

"I was being vague for a reason."

"You—!" You exhaled sharply, gripping the folder in your hands so tightly the edges crumpled. Your eyes scanned your resume one last time before handing it over to him. ”This is the political assistant job?"

"That would be correct."

"And you’re the one hiring for it?"

Another nod.

You could kill him.

Bucky only watched you with a maddeningly calm expression, clearly enjoying your struggle to process reality. This was still an interview. Your interview. And you were going to nail it—whether or not the man across from you was someone who had once carried your heavy-ass book box like it weighed nothing.

Bucky leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "So," he said, voice settling into something more businesslike. "Tell me why you want to work for me."

You straightened, lifting your chin. "I'm interested in politics, and I think working as a congressional assistant would be a valuable step in gaining experience."

He arched a brow. "But not your dream job?"

You hesitated. "No," you admitted. "But I want to learn. I want to understand how things work from the inside."

His sharp blue gaze studied you for a long moment. "And you’re okay working in a… morally gray environment?"

Your brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Bucky sighed, rubbing his jaw. "Politics isn't exactly clean. There's a lot of… persuasion, deal-making, bending the truth."

You swallowed. "I can handle it."

That made him smile. It was small, approving.

"Alright, then," he said, leaning back. "You’re hired."

Your eyes widened. "What?"

"Congratulations, sweetheart." His grin was teasing. "You just became my new assistant.”

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Bucky led you through the winding halls of the congressional office, his presence steady beside you. The space was sleek—wood-paneled walls, modern glass partitions, the faint hum of ringing phones and muted conversations filling the air. You tried to take it all in, the sheer gravity of where you were now working.

You had just started feeling like you could breathe again when Bucky turned a corner and led you into an open office space filled with desks, most of them occupied by young, fast-talking, coffee-fueled staffers who barely spared you a glance.

But one person did notice you immediately.

She was perched against the edge of a desk, legs crossed, her deep red dress fitted to perfection. She had long honey blonde hair, pristine makeup, and an air of effortless authority that made it clear she was used to being in charge.

Her gaze swept over you in an instant—assessing, calculating. And then she smirked.

"So, this is the new girl?"

You forced a polite smile, ignoring the sharp prickle of discomfort that ran down your spine. "That’s me."

Tara’s eyes flicked over to Bucky, amusement dancing in her gaze. "I see why you hired her."

Your stomach clenched at the implication.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Bucky cut in smoothly, his tone firm. "Tara."

She glanced at him, feigning innocence. "What? It’s just an observation."

"You promised to play nice," he reminded her.

She hummed, tilting her head at you. "I am being nice."

You arched a brow. "I'd hate to see what not nice looks like."

That seemed to amuse her. "Oh, you’ll find out," she said lightly before pushing off the desk. "Welcome to the team, sweetheart." With that, she strode past you, the scent of expensive perfume lingering in the air.

You exhaled, finally turning back to Bucky. "Well. She seems charming."

Bucky chuckled. "You’ll get used to her."

"I doubt that."

His smirk grew. "Tara’s tough, but she’s good at her job."

You folded your arms. "Is she always like that?"

"Like what?"

You shot him a flat look. "You know what."

He sighed, rubbing his jaw. "She’s protective. She likes to test people."

"Test people? Or test me?"

Bucky’s lips twitched. "A little of both."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t push further.

"Come on," he said, nodding towards the exit. "You survived your first day. That means you deserve a reward."

You frowned. "A reward?"

"Yeah." He grinned. "Coffee. On me."

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The café Bucky led you to was small, nestled into a quiet corner of Manhattan. It had warm lighting, the scent of roasted espresso beans filling the air, and a cozy charm that made you instantly feel at ease.

You stepped inside, grateful for the slower pace compared to the chaos of the office. Bucky guided you to a table near the window, and as you sat, you let out a long breath.

"Better?" he asked, watching you.

You nodded. "Much."

A barista came by to take your orders—Bucky got a simple black coffee, while you opted for something with far too much sugar and whipped cream.

As soon as the barista left, you looked at him, narrowing your eyes playfully. "So. Congressman Barnes."

Bucky groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You can just call me Bucky, y'know."

You smirked. "Oh, I know. But I’m still reeling from the fact that you didn’t tell me you were a politician when I met you."

"I didn’t lie to you," he said innocently. "I just… didn’t offer unnecessary details."

You scoffed. "Not unnecessary! You made me think you were some guy who just walked around offering free labour to people moving into their apartments."

He shrugged. "Maybe I am that guy."

"Yeah, and maybe I’m the Queen of England."

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, fine. I’ll admit it—I should’ve told you."

You leaned forward, propping your elbows on the table. "Why didn’t you?"

His smirk faded just slightly, his eyes darkening.

"Would you have acted differently?" he asked. "If you knew who I was?"

You opened your mouth to respond but hesitated. Would you have?

You weren’t sure.

He saw the conflict on your face and smiled knowingly. "Exactly."

You huffed. "Still. You let me ramble on about my job search when you knew you were the one I was applying to work for!"

He grinned. "That was my favorite part."

You kicked him lightly under the table.

He chuckled, reaching for his coffee as the barista returned with your drinks. You took a slow sip of yours, savoring the warmth, before glancing at him again.

"So, tell me," you said. "What exactly does being your assistant entail?"

Bucky smirked. "Keeping me in line."

You snorted. "That sounds like a full-time job and overtime."

"You’re not wrong," he admitted. "You’ll help with scheduling, policy briefings, liaising with the press. And, sometimes…" He hesitated. "You’ll deal with people like Tara."

You made a face. "Ah. So ‘babysitter’ should be in the job description."

He chuckled. "Something like that."

There was a moment of quiet between you two, the soft hum of café chatter around you.

Then Bucky spoke again, his voice softer this time.

"I wanted to ask you out for coffee the other day," he admitted. "When I helped you move."

Your breath caught.

"But I chickened out," he continued, looking down at his cup. "Figured I missed my chance."

You tilted your head. "And now?"

"Now?" He looked up, his blue eyes locking onto yours. "Now, I finally have an excuse."

Your pulse stuttered.

Fate.

You had told yourself that if it was meant to be, you’d cross paths again.

And here you were.

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Taglist: @imaginecrushes @maplepepperoni @sleepysongbirdsings @sunday-bug @bunnyfella @lktunes12-blog @bellamoret @mrsnikstan @greatenthusiasttidalwave @pancake-05 @theylovethesky @avengersfan25 @nydubs @abitofblues @ferretferretferret @helen-2003 @notreallythatlost @opheliagreenaway @flowerluvr @lil-riddle-kiddle

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[elliesbabygirl]

ch.005 ⇄ ch.006; boyfriend material - Young Friend

"Our conversations always short, we're fucking in my car"

my masterlist.

word count: 4.3k words

series synopsis: friends with benefits, that's what ellie wanted. yet, she can't let you go, even after the messy 'breakup' between the two of you.

warnings: fingering(r! receiving), strap-on sex(r! receiving), kissing, swearing, baby blue dildo referred to as ellie's 'cock', reader cheating(?) on abby anderson, even if they're not officially together + lying to her, and possible hints of abby being closeted to her father.

author's note: can you tell that my favorite color is baby blue btw.. Sorry if you guys don't fw this chapter 💔. It's been a stressful week for me❤️(still not proofread).

The library was quiet, the low hum of students studying filling the space around you. The steady scratching of pens against paper, the occasional rustle of pages turning—it all should’ve been soothing. It should’ve helped you focus.

But you could barely sit still.

Your sleeves were pulled down over your wrists, your collar zipped up just enough to cover your throat, layers strategically hiding the marks Ellie had so desperately left on your skin the night before.

And Abby was right across from you.

She sat at the table, casually flipping through her kinesiology textbook, occasionally glancing up at you with that easy, lopsided smirk of hers. “You good?” she finally asked, raising a brow.

Your fingers twitched against your notebook. “Yeah,” you said too quickly, forcing yourself to keep your gaze on the highlighted notes in front of you. “Just tired.”

Abby hummed, unconvinced. “Mmm. You do look exhausted.”

You swallowed hard.

She had no idea.

No idea how wrecked you were from last night, how your thighs ached from Ellie keeping them spread, how your skin was still sensitive in the places she had marked you up, how your mind kept flashing back to the way Ellie had whispered, you’re all mine, against your skin.

No idea that you had spent the entire morning scrubbing yourself clean, covering up every single bruise with makeup, layering your clothes just to make sure Abby wouldn’t see.

You nodded stiffly. “Didn’t sleep well.”

Abby studied you for a moment, then smirked, leaning her chin in her palm. “Guess I should’ve tired you out more last time, huh?”

Your stomach dropped.

A nervous laugh that tasted like vomit bubbled up in your throat, and you barely managed to swallow it back. “Guess so,” you muttered, forcing a small, tight-lipped smile before ducking your head down, pretending to focus on your textbook.

Abby just chuckled, turning back to her notes.

And you let out a slow, shaky breath.

She couldn’t find out.

She wouldn’t find out.

As long as you kept your guard up—kept your lips sealed—Abby would never have to know the truth.

Sleeping with Ellie was a one time thing, a mistake, you promised yourself.

Abby flipped a page in her notebook, tapping her pen against the table absentmindedly. “Oh—by the way,” she started, keeping her eyes on her notes. “My dad’s coming into town this weekend.”

You blinked, looking up from your book. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” she said, stretching her arms behind her head before letting them fall lazily onto the table. “He’s got some conference thing, but we’re probably gonna be catching up the whole time, so I’ll be kinda off the grid for a bit.”

Something about the way she said it made your stomach bubble.

She wasn’t just letting you know she’d be busy—she was preemptively telling you not to expect to see her. Not to text her. Not to exist in her world for a while.

You swallowed, fingers tightening slightly around your pen. “That’s nice,” you said slowly. “You guys close?”

Abby shrugged, giving a small smirk. “Yeah, I mean—he’s busy a lot, but when we do see each other, it’s cool.”

you forced a tight-lipped smile, nodding as you reminded yourself to give Abby grace. After all, you were creating a double standard by already having slept with Ellie.

She flipped another page in her book, barely sparing you a glance before adding, “Though, he’s probably gonna spend half the trip trying to set me up with some fancy lawyer’s son or whatever.”

You stared at her, waiting for her to follow it up with a joke, a smirk, something.

But Abby just kept reading, like she hadn’t just said something completely out of place. Like she wasn’t literally fingers deep inside you earlier this week.

like Ellie’s pussy wasn't literally against yours last night, but Abby didn't need to know that.

You shut your textbook with a quiet thud, stretching your arms over your head with a sigh. “Alright, I think that’s enough studying for me."

Abby smirked, setting her pen down. “Tapping out already?”

You rolled your eyes. “We’ve been here for hours. My brain is fried.”

Abby chuckled, leaning back in her chair as you stood, grabbing your bag. As you slung it over your shoulder, she tilted her chin up slightly, wordlessly waiting.

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, brief but lingering enough for her to hum in approval.

“I’ll text you,” you murmured against her mouth.

“you better” she teased, giving your hip a light squeeze before letting you pull away.

You gave her one last small smile before turning toward the exit, digging into your pocket for your phone. The second you checked your screen, your stomach flipped.

Ellie: miss you. come over?? :(

Your breath hitched.

You locked your phone immediately, shoving it deeper into your pocket before Abby could see.

“Something wrong?” Abby asked, raising a brow.

You forced a small laugh, shaking your head. “Just my mom,” you lied smoothly. “Probably just checking in.”

Abby nodded, not questioning it further, and you exhaled quietly, turning towards the exit.

But as you stepped out of the library, the message burned in the back of your mind.

Come over.

Your grip on your bag tightened.

you shouldn't.

The uber to Ellie’s apartment felt too fast. Like your body knew exactly where it was going before your mind could stop it.

By the time you reached her door, you barely had a chance to knock before it swung open, revealing Ellie standing there in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants, her hair slightly messy like she had just rolled out of bed.

Her eyes flickered over you, something soft and shy in them before she stepped closer, tilting her chin up to kiss you. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate—just slow, warm, familiar.

Her hands found your cheeks, thumbs brushing over your skin as she sighed against your lips, smiling a little into the kiss. “Missed you in bed this morning,” she mumbled, her voice low, still thick with sleep.

Your breath hitched slightly at the way she said it—so casual, so certain, like waking up with you beside her should’ve been normal

She pulled back just slightly, her green eyes flickering over your face before she pecked your lips again, softer this time, like she couldn’t help herself.

Then, without another word, she took your hand and led you inside, pulling you toward the couch. The TV was still on, some random show playing, the remote tossed onto the coffee table like she hadn’t actually been paying attention to it.

Ellie sat down, tugging you with her, settling right against you, her arm resting over your waist as she slouched comfortably into your space.

Every so often, she’d lean in, pressing absentminded kisses to your neck—soft, warm, casual—like it was second nature, like she didn’t even have to think about it.

You shivered slightly, the warmth of her breath against your skin sending something familiar through you.

Minutes passed before Ellie let out a quiet sigh, clearly losing interest in the show altogether. She shifted beside you, tugging at the hem of your hoodie, her green eyes flickering up at you.

“I really did miss you this morning,” she mumbled, her voice low, a little rough.

Before you could respond, Ellie leaned back, shifting until she was lying fully against the couch, pulling you down with her until you were on top of her, her hands sliding up your back to keep you close.

Then—she kissed you again.

It was slow, deep, dripping with something raw and needy, her lips parting slightly as she sighed into your mouth. Her fingers curled around the back of your neck, keeping you there, her legs wrapping around your waist, her old Converse pressing firmly into your lower back.

She moaned softly against your lips, her body shifting beneath you as she kissed you deeper, her tongue lazily slipping into your mouth, teasing, tasting you.

For a moment, she dominated the kiss, slow and intentional, making you feel every inch of her, every ounce of want she had been holding back—

Then she let you take over.

Her body relaxed beneath yours, her hands trailing down your spine, her breath heavy as she let you lead, let you kiss her the way you wanted, her lips parting under yours like she was ready to give in completely.

The room was filled with the quiet, wet sounds of your lips moving together, of your hands slipping under each other’s shirts, exploring, remembering.

Ellie sighed into you, her nails scratching lightly at your scalp, her hips subtly rolling up, chasing more, even though she wasn’t rushing anything.

The only thing you could hear was the quiet, wet sounds of Ellie’s lips moving against yours, the soft sighs slipping from her mouth every time you kissed her deeper.

She was needy, barely holding herself together, her body shifting beneath you as she tried to keep the pace slow, tried to act like she wasn’t getting turned on from just kissing you.

But she was failing.

Her hips kept rolling up against you, subtle at first, like she didn’t mean to, but then again—this time, deliberate.

A quiet whimper slipped from her throat, her fingers gripping at your back, keeping you pressed against her. Her breath was heavy, her lips parting beneath yours like she was desperate for more, for anything you’d give her.

She pulled back just slightly, her lips still hovering over yours, her green eyes dark and glazed over. “Please,” she mumbled, the word slipping out between the small space of your lips, like she couldn’t help it.

Her hand slid down, fingers tracing the front of your pants, playing with the button—hesitating, waiting for you to say something, for you to let her.

She didn’t care how desperate she looked.

Didn’t care that her hips were still subtly grinding up against you, her breath coming out shaky and uneven.

Didn’t care that she was practically begging now.

All she cared about was you—letting her have you, letting her make up for every second she had lost.

Ellie barely made it to the bedroom before she was on you again, her lips finding yours with a messy, open-mouthed desperation as she pressed you back onto the bed. The room was dimly lit, the only source of light filtering through the blinds, casting soft shadows over her face, her flushed cheeks, her needy expression as she hovered over you.

Her hands roamed over your sides, gripping, pulling—taking you in. She needed to, needed to feel you again, to memorize you, like you might slip away if she wasn’t holding you close enough.

“Fuck, I missed you, baby” she murmured against your skin, her voice rough, laced with something desperate as she pressed her lips to your neck.

She reclaimed the hickeys she left last night, sucking dark bruises into your skin, her tongue flicking over them before she bit down just enough to make you gasp. The sound made her groan, her hips grinding down instinctively against your thigh, like she couldn’t help herself.

Her fingers made quick work of your clothes, yanking fabric over your head, shoving your pants down until they were completely forgotten on the floor. She didn’t waste a second, her hands slipping between your thighs, teasing you, spreading you open, her breath hitching when she felt how wet you were already.

“Shit, baby,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your jaw, fingers trailing between your folds, circling right where you needed her. “You’re already so fucking ready for me.”

You whimpered, bucking into her hand, and Ellie moaned, her own breath shaky. She slid one finger inside, slow and careful, her other hand gripping your hip, holding you there as she worked you open.

“need my cock inside you,” she whimpered suddenly, her lips brushing your ear, her voice almost pleading. “Please.”

You shivered at the way she said it. “please what?” you teased breathlessly, even though you already knew.

Ellie exhaled sharply, her forehead pressing against yours, her fingers curling inside you just right. “You know what, baby,” she whispered, kissing you slow and deep as she rubbed her thumb over your clit, making your body twitch. “baby—please, I need to.”

You hesitated for only a second before nodding, and Ellie swore under her breath, her lips crashing against yours before she reluctantly pulled her fingers away.

She reached into her nightstand, grabbing the harness, the baby blue dildo attachment making your stomach tighten. Ellie's hands trembled slightly as she adjusted the straps, securing it around her hips, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Then, without a word, she straddled you suddenly, her knees pressing into the mattress as she hovered over you, still, quiet for a moment as she took you in—laid out beneath her, waiting.

She swallowed thickly, her voice softer now, almost shy as she whispered, “You’re so good to me, baby.”

Ellie exhaled slowly, adjusting her grip on your waist, fingers flexing slightly like she was grounding herself, steadying her breath as she lined herself up with you. The baby-blue dildo pressed against your entrance, slick and warm from where she had been grinding against you moments before.

Her green eyes flickered up to yours, searching, asking silently even though you had already given her permission.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around her shoulders, and that was all she needed.

Ellie pushed forward, slow and careful, her breath stuttering the second she saw herself slip inside. “Fuck—” Her voice was barely above a whisper, shaking with restraint, her lips parting as she watched your expression shift beneath her.

She froze for a second, her fingers tightening their grip on you. “'M not hurting you, right?”

You shook your head, breath hitching as you adjusted to the stretch. “No,” you murmured, pulling her closer, kissing her softly. “You’re good, els.”

Ellie fucking whimpered.

Something in her snapped.

The second the nickname slipped past your lips, her hips jerked forward, pushing in deeper, a wrecked, breathless moan spilling from her mouth. “Fuck—say it again,” she begged, her voice breaking as she thrust into you again, her movements suddenly needy, desperate.

You gasped, nails gripping onto her shoulders as she rocked into you harder, her forehead pressing against yours, breath hot and heavy between you.

“Els—”

Ellie groaned, her hands gripping your hips even tighter, her pace picking up as she rolled her hips in a way that had your body tensing, arching into her touch. “Again,” she pleaded, her lips brushing against yours, swallowing every little sound you made.

“Els—ohmygod els—”

“Fuck, baby—” She whined into your mouth, her thrusts growing rougher, sloppier, like the sound of her name on your lips was ruining her, completely breaking her down.

“Keep saying it,” she begged, voice raw, desperate, her fingers slipping between your legs to really make you feel her. “Wanna hear you say it when you come—fuck, baby—say my name just like that—”

Her mouth trailed down your neck, her pace relentless now, obsessed with pulling those noises from you, chasing the moment where you’d break completely and give her everything.

The sound of her name on your lips had completely undone her, and now she couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down—her hips snapping into you harder, deeper, the wet sounds of your bodies moving together filling the room.

Her mouth dipped down, desperate for more of you, her lips wrapping around your breast, sucking hard before pulling your nipple between her teeth. You cried out, back arching, your nails digging into her back, leaving scratches she was going to feel tomorrow

Ellie groaned, relishing the sting, her free hand gripping your other breast, squeezing, playing with you like she needed to feel every inch of you under her hands.

“Fuck, baby—” she gasped, her mouth trailing sloppily back up your chest, her breath hot against your skin as she begged, “please—say my name just like that—”, Ellie was completely pussy drunk on you, and she didn't even know it.

“Els—fuck—els, ohmygod!” you moaned, body trembling, hips rolling up to meet her every thrust.

Ellie whimpered, her movements turning even sloppier, even rougher, her hand slipping between you to rub tight, frantic circles against your clit. “That’s it, baby—fuck, you’re so good—so fucking good for me—pussy so fucking good for me.”

You shattered.

Your whole body tensed, your breath catching as the pleasure crashed over you, your nails digging deeper into Ellie’s back, leaving red in their wake as you moaned her name, over and over, falling apart beneath her.

Ellie followed you, a wrecked whine slipping from her lips as her hips stuttered, her body trembling as she came, still rutting into you as she whimpered, mouthing at your breast, her hand pawing at you, like she couldn’t stop touching you.

“Fuck—fuck—” she gasped against your skin, her body shaking with the aftershocks, her forehead pressing against your chest, her breath uneven, her whole body burning from how hard she had just come.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just breathed, tangled together, Ellie still pressed so close, her hands still gripping at you like she wasn’t ready to let go.

She stayed right there, still inside you, her body warm and heavy on top of yours, her breath uneven against your skin. Her fingers slipped into your hair, lazily threading through the strands, her touch slow, gentle—such a stark contrast to how desperate she had been just moments ago.

Her chin rested against your chest, face pressed close to your skin as she listened to your heartbeat, felt the steady rise and fall of your chest beneath her. The soft motion moved her slightly, rocking her with each breath you took, like she belonged there.

And then—so quietly, like she almost didn’t want you to hear it—Ellie whispered, “I love you.”

The words barely left her lips before she tilted her head up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to yours—no rush, no desperation this time. Just Ellie, just her, giving you all that she was, without saying anything else.

She pulled back just slightly, her green eyes watching you as you recovered, as you steadied your breathing. She traced slow, absentminded circles on the nape of your neck, still not moving, still holding you so close, like you were home in her arms.

The apartment was quiet, save for the low hum of the coffee maker and the gentle sizzle of the pan on the stove. Ellie moved slowly, deliberately, her socked feet barely making a sound against the hardwood as she flipped the eggs, watching the edges crisp just slightly before turning down the heat.

The smell of coffee filled the air, warm and rich, mixing with the faint scent of butter melting in the pan. It was early—too early—but Ellie didn’t mind.

She glanced toward the hallway, toward her slightly ajar bedroom door, where she knew you were still curled up, tangled in her sheets, your body pressed into the warmth she had left behind. The thought sent something warm curling in her chest, something she wasn’t used to, something she didn’t want to name just yet.

She sighed, running a hand through her messy hair before reaching for the mug she had set out, pouring herself some coffee as she leaned against the counter, watching the steam curl into the air.

It felt normal, domestic. The kind of morning she didn’t think she’d get to have with you again.

And yet—here you were.

Still in her bed.

Still here.

She swallowed, pushing the thought aside as she turned back to the stove, flipping the eggs onto a plate.

Ellie took a slow sip of her coffee, letting the warmth spread through her chest, before setting the mug down with a quiet clink. She exhaled, running a hand through her messy hair, again, before padding back towards the bedroom, the faint creak of the floorboards the only sound in the stillness of the early morning.

The sight of you tangled in her sheets made her stomach flip.

You were buried in them, limbs sprawled lazily, face half-hidden against her pillow. The soft rise and fall of your breathing was steady, peaceful—familiar.

Ellie swallowed, something in her chest tightening as she carefully climbed onto the bed, straddling your waist without putting too much weight on you. Her hand found your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your skin as she leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

You stirred slightly, letting out a sleepy groan but not fully waking just yet.

Ellie smirked against your mouth, barely pulling away, her lips still hovering close as she whispered, “Morning, baby.”

Your nose scrunched slightly, a small grumble leaving your throat as you shifted beneath her, still so tired from the night before.

Ellie chuckled, pressing another soft kiss to your lips, her thumb still tracing slow circles against your cheek. “C’mon,” she murmured, voice low, warm, teasing. “I made breakfast.”

You groaned again, this time more exaggerated, burying your face into the pillow. “Too tired,” you mumbled, your voice muffled, your body still aching in the best way from last night.

Ellie grinned, dipping down to press another kiss to your jaw, then your cheek, her barely-there coffee breath the first thing you smelled as you shifted beneath her. “Can’t be that tired,” she teased, her lips ghosting over your skin. “Not after the way you were moaning my name last night—”

You groaned louder this time, smacking her thigh halfheartedly as she laughed, her breath warm against your skin.

Yeah.

Ellie could get used to this.

She is getting used to it, too quickly.

So were you. What about Abby?

“Ellie fucking Williams,” you groaned, voice rough with sleep, full-naming her as you blindly reached out to shove at her shoulder. “You are such a fucking freak in the morning—”

Ellie just grinned, unfazed, her hands settling on your hips as she hovered above you. “You love it,” she teased, leaning in like she was gonna kiss you again.

You narrowed your eyes, putting a hand on her face and shoving her away with a huff before finally sitting up, stretching lazily. Your muscles ached from the night before, your body still warm from the way Ellie had held you against her for hours.

You sighed dramatically, leaning back against the headboard, rubbing at your eyes before reaching out, fingers absentmindedly playing with the short ends of Ellie’s auburn hair.

Ellie melted instantly, the teasing grin on her face softening as she inched forward, tilting her head into your touch like it was instinct.

You barely noticed it at first, still blinking sleep from your eyes, until her green ones flickered up at you, something warm, something fond behind them—

And then she was kissing you again.

Soft, slow, her hands curling around your waist as she pressed forward, like she couldn’t help herself.

It lingered, deepening slightly before she finally pulled back, her lips hovering over yours for a second before she spoke. “You got any plans today?”

Her voice was casual, but there was something hesitant about the way she asked, like she was hoping you’d say no, like she wanted you to stay.

You pretended to think, lips pursing, stretching your arms out with a long, dramatic sigh as if you had so much on your agenda. “Well… I was supposed to attend this very important—”

Ellie raised a brow, her hands still gripping your waist as she stared at you, waiting.

You fought to keep a straight face, eyes flickering up like you were really considering something, before finally shaking your head with a small giggle. “Nah, no plans.”

Ellie’s face lit up. “Really?” she asked, like she needed to hear it again just to make sure.

Ellie let out a soft, relieved laugh, ducking her head with that boyish smile of hers, shaking her head slightly like she couldn’t believe her luck. “Fuck, I love you,” she muttered, more to herself than anything, before leaning in again, pressing another giddy kiss to your lips.

You both giggled into it, hands tangling in each other’s hair, lips moving together in messy, soft kisses, smiling so much that it made it hard to kiss properly.

Ellie hummed against your mouth, her fingers squeezing your hips before she pulled back just slightly, her forehead still resting against yours. “Alright,” she murmured, breath warm against your skin. “As much as I wanna keep you here all day… I did make you breakfast.”

She kissed you again—quick, chaste, just to steal one more—before standing up, stretching her arms above her head.

You just watched her, still breathless, still feeling the warmth of her lips, her laugh lingering between you.

Ellie turned back to you as she reached the door, arching a playful brow. “Well? You coming or what?”

yeah.

You could get used to this.

What about Abby?

© elliesbabygirl - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms.

Author's note: can y'all tell that i fucking lost the plot midway...ch. 006 is so ass u guys, I'm so sorry. I've genuinely been thrown off my rhythm ever since my midterms started, since I've gotten sick, AND since my period started this week😭yeah life's been kicking mybas lately y'all but I'm so sorry for being so late with this mid ch.006...Also, I had to watch homemade lesbian porn on pornhub to write the strap on scene cause your girl has ZERO game n has only ever tribbed with a girl before 😭so I'm sorry if the scene seemed a little wonky to you cause I was trying my best, I promise y'all😭

TAGLIST: @liasxeatt @vahnilla @sleepingwasp @morticeras @violetszn @eriiwaii @elliesactualgirlfriend @mikellie @lovely-wisteria @idletyouruinme @losing-it-lately @robinphobia @sexlus @lez-zuha @liztreez @linabellaox @piscesfairyyy

COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO MY TAGLIST!!

[marauroon]

i heard you're taking in requests? 👁👁

marauders x forgetful reader?? like misplaces a book or an article of clothing?

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭-𝐦𝐞-𝐧𝐨𝐭 (𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲.𝐦)

you can always count on your boys to make sure you don’t forget anything in the mornings

poly!marauders x gn!reader | 1.0k | fluff | masterlist.

The scent of fresh coffee drifts through the air, mingling with the warmth of early morning light filtering through the sheer curtains. The flat is quiet in the way that all homes are just after waking—a few soft footsteps, the occasional yawn, the distant hum of the city outside.

James is already up, of course. He’s the only one of the four of you who voluntarily wakes before the sun, somehow chipper even after his morning workout. He moves through the kitchen with practiced ease, filling mugs with coffee and humming under his breath.

You’re not quite as functional.

“C’mon, love, up and at ‘em,” Remus murmurs beside you, his voice still thick with sleep. His hand smooths over your shoulder, gentle but insistent. “Don’t want to be late,”

You groan, burying your face in your pillow. It’s far too early for this. “Five more minutes—”

“You said that ten minutes ago,”

Remus chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple before sliding out of bed himself. Without the warmth of him beside you, the sheets feel colder, and you reluctantly peek an eye open.

Across the room, Sirius is sprawled in the other bed, his face half-buried in his pillow, dark hair a tangled mess. One arm is slung over his head, the other dangling off the side of the bed. Completely dead to the world.

“Is he—?” you start, voice still rough with sleep.

“Alive? Yeah,” Remus answers, tugging on a jumper.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes as you finally push yourself up. The moment you do, the morning chill nips at your bare arms, and you shiver. “Why is it so cold?”

“Because it’s February,” Remus says, glancing over at you with a knowing look. “You should probably wear a coat today,”

Right. That makes sense.

You finally manage to swing your legs out of bed, the floor cool against your bare feet. Remus watches, his expression teetering between fondness and exasperation as you shuffle toward the wardrobe, half-aware of what you’re doing.

It’s a struggle, pulling on clothes when you’re still mostly asleep, but you manage, albeit sluggishly.

By the time you make it to the kitchen, James is there, dressed in his usual workout gear, his hair damp with sweat from his run. He grins when he sees you, already holding out a steaming mug.

“Morning, love,” he says, pressing the warm ceramic into your hands. “You look like you need this,”

You take the coffee with a grateful hum, cupping it close to your chest. “You’re a lifesaver, Babe,”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” He winks before turning his attention to the rest of the kitchen, setting out breakfast with a practiced ease.

The sound of footsteps shuffling down the hall signals Sirius’s arrival. He stumbles into the kitchen, still half-asleep, hair sticking up in a dozen directions. He’s wearing one of James’s hoodies—one that’s far too big on him—and a pair of boxers, looking as if he’s barely conscious.

James hands him a mug without a word.

Sirius takes it, lifting it to his lips without even opening his eyes. “‘M not awake,” he mutters, voice hoarse.

“You don’t say,” Remus deadpans, leaning against the counter with his own cup of tea.

Sirius finally cracks an eye open, fixing Remus with a sleepy glare. “Shut up, Moony,”

James laughs, ruffling Sirius’s already-messy hair before turning to you. “You’re gonna need an umbrella today,” he says, nodding toward the window. “It’s supposed to rain,”

Right. That makes sense too.

You take another sip of coffee, letting the warmth settle in your bones, willing yourself to wake up properly. The flat hums with quiet, domestic ease—James moving about the kitchen, Remus flipping through the newspaper, Sirius slowly coming back to life with every sip of his drink.

It’s mornings like this that make you feel most at home, wrapped in the easy comfort of them.

It’s not until you’re gathering your things that the problems start.

“Where’s my bag?” you ask, scanning the sofa. It’s not there.

Remus sighs from the doorway. “You left it in the bedroom,”

Right. That makes sense.

You retrieve it quickly, only for James to call after you as you reach for your shoes. “Love, you’re not seriously going out without a coat, are you?”

You blink, looking down at yourself. You have a jumper on. That should be enough, right?

Remus is already holding out your coat, his expression patient.

You huff, taking it. “I was getting to it,”

“Mhm,” James hums, clearly unconvinced.

You pull the coat on, grabbing your bag before heading toward the door. Just as you reach for the handle, Sirius’s voice stops you.

“Oi, you forgetting something?”

You pause, frowning.

Sirius lifts an eyebrow, taking another slow sip of his coffee before nodding toward the table. Your keys.

Right. Of course.

You mumble a thanks, grabbing them before finally stepping outside. The cold air nips at your cheeks, and you burrow further into your coat. Remus locks the door behind you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he pockets his own keys.

“Did you pack your lunch?” he asks as you step onto the street.

You freeze.

His sigh is long-suffering.

James laughs behind you. “What would you do without us?”

You roll your eyes, already turning back toward the flat. “Probably starve,” you admit.

They don’t disagree.

[strwbyoons]

LITTLE THINGS

STARRING ... BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER!M. YOONGI X READER

WORD COUNT ... 4.7K

SUMMARY ... it was the little things.

NOTES/WARNINGS ... happy min suga day everyone!!! a double update today, wowww. slight(? five years) age gap. based in the 2000s. growing up with yoongi and reader. underaged drinking. slightly suggestive towards the end. let me know if i missed anything.

playlist : crush (david archuleta). you belong with me (taylor swift). do i wanna know (arctic monkeys). just a little bit (maria mena). somewhere only we know (keane). teenage dirtbag (wheatus). the only exception (paramore). cigarette daydreams (cage the elephant). hate that you know me (bleachers). kiss me slowly (parachutes).

the first time you swore marriage to yoongi, you were five and he was ten. you, his sister, and him were all at the playground, and you and his sister had decided to just spend the day trip in the sandpit.

your loving declaration was made shortly after yoongi hit one of the other boys there in the face with his skateboard after he made you cry by saying that you had cooties.

the first time yoongi swore marriage to you, you were eight and he was thirteen. you and his sister were sitting cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom, cutting pictures out of an old magazine, when the topic of boys being gross came up.

"they are," you insisted, wrinkling your nose as you snipped a model’s head clean off his body. "all of them."

"not all boys are gross," yoongi said from where he was lying on his stomach by the door, flipping through a comic book. he didn’t even look up, just turned the page like this was a casual debate he was only half-invested in.

"yeah, they are," you shot back.

"you’re marrying me," he said simply, like that settled it.

"i am not." you stuck your tongue out at him.

"guess i’ll just have to marry you instead, then," he said, propping himself up on his elbows and smirking.

"ew," his sister said.

"yeah, ew," you agreed.

yoongi just laughed, flipping another page with a half lazy smirk.

you were thirteen when you stopped idolizing yoongi and started seeing him for what he was—your best friend's older brother.

maybe it happened gradually, in the way he stopped lingering in doorways or teasing you when you and his sister whispered in her room. maybe it happened all at once, the day he turned eighteen and left like it was the easiest thing in the world. either way, by the time you realized, it was already too late.

he was gone. not gone gone, but whisked away into adulthood like it had been waiting for him just beyond the front porch. he stopped coming home as much, stopped letting his sister drag him into your sleepover games or chase him down the hall when he stole a hair tie off her wrist.

"he's so annoying," his sister huffed one day, flopping onto her bed after yet another unanswered text. "it's like he thinks he's too cool for us now."

you just hummed, staring at your phone screen, at a group picture taken last summer—the three of you, arms slung over each other's shoulders, sun in your eyes and sand stuck to your knees.

maybe he did think he was too cool for you now. maybe he was right.

he would come home every summer, but those summers were never actually spent at home. you'd catch two-minute glimpses of him before he’d run off to some party or to skate with the other boys.

sometimes, you’d see him in the kitchen, rifling through the fridge for something to eat before disappearing out the back door. other times, it was in the driveway, slamming the car door shut while some guy leaned on the hood, waiting for him to hurry up.

"yoongi," his mom would call after him. "you just got here!"

"i know, i know," he’d say, already halfway down the front steps.

he never looked back, not even when his sister rolled her eyes and mimicked his voice under her breath, making you laugh.

but sometimes, if you stayed up late enough, you’d hear him come back. the rattle of the doorknob, the creak of the stairs. the sound of his skateboard dropping to the floor just outside his room.

once, when you were sixteen, you caught him on the front porch lighting a cigarette.

"that’s bad for you," you said, stepping outside.

he glanced over his shoulder, barely reacting. "so’s fast food, and i don’t see you giving up mcdonald’s."

"that’s different."

"not really." he took a slow drag, blowing the smoke into the warm night air. then he looked at you properly for the first time all summer, eyes flicking down like he was seeing something new. "you got taller."

"yeah," you said, crossing your arms. "it happens."

he huffed a little laugh, pressing the cigarette to his lips again. "guess it does."

the first time yoongi sees you drunk, you’re seventeen.

his sister’s sleazebag of a boyfriend had invited the two of you to some rager in his backyard, and—against your better judgment—you both went. one drink turned into three, cheap booze and cruisers passed around like candy, and before you knew it, everything was a little too funny, a little too bright, and walking in a straight line became a distant memory.

yoongi had to be called to pick you up.

"she’s fine," his sister slurred into the phone, waving you off when you giggled at absolutely nothing. "we’re both fine. just hurry up."

he showed up fifteen minutes later, standing in the middle of the chaos with a look of absolute disinterest, like he’d rather be anywhere else. some guy slapped his shoulder on the way out, muttering something about taking a shot, and yoongi ignored him completely.

"we’re not even that drunk," his sister insisted when he found you both slumped together on the back steps.

"yeah?" yoongi scoffed, hooking his hands under your arms and hauling you up first. "you can barely keep your eyes open."

"neither can you," you mumbled against his shoulder, words slurring together as he steadied you.

"that’s because it’s two in the morning," he said, half-dragging, half-guiding you toward his car. "come on, let’s go before i have to deal with any more of these idiots."

you blinked up at him once you were in the passenger seat, head lolling against the window. "you’re kind of mean."

he rolled his eyes, reaching over to buckle you in. "and you’re kind of wasted."

you frowned. "i was having fun."

"i’m sure you were." he shut the door with a sigh, rounding the car to help his sister next.

you don’t remember much else. not the drive home, not the way you leaned your head against the seat and mumbled something about how he smelled like mint and cigarette smoke.

but you do remember this—yoongi didn’t laugh at you that night. didn’t tease or call you a lightweight like you thought he would.

he just drove you home, silent, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

the first time yoongi brings home a girlfriend, you’re eighteen.

it’s the middle of july, hot enough that even the a/c struggles, and you and his sister are sprawled across the couch, flipping through a stack of magazines you found buried in her closet. it’s a slow, lazy afternoon—until the front door swings open, and yoongi walks in with her.

she’s blonde. tan. wearing a rhinestone-studded tank top that says JUICY in bubble letters across the front. her white miniskirt is just barely hanging on, and her lip gloss shines like it was applied with a paint roller.

his sister freezes first, fingers tightening on the magazine in her lap. you feel it a second later, the way the air in the room shifts.

"who’s this?" his mom asks from the kitchen.

"this is sena," yoongi says, arm slung low around the girl’s waist.

"hi!" she chirps, all smiles. "it’s so nice to finally meet you guys!"

his sister leans in, voice low. "she looks like she’d be on girls gone wild."

you press your lips together, flipping a page. "swear i’ve seen her in hustler."

yoongi hears. of course he hears. his head snaps toward the both of you, eyes narrowing in warning. his mom’s hard look follows right after, the same one she gives when the two of you are this close to getting grounded.

but the girlfriend just giggles, leaning into yoongi’s arm like she didn’t just hear you indirectly call her a porn star.

"yoongles, they’re so funny!" she coos, poking his cheek with a manicured nail.

his sister chokes. you slap a hand over your mouth. yoongi just closes his eyes for a long, long second, re-evaluating every decision that’s led him here.

his mom sighs. "well, sena," she says, ever the gracious host, "do you want something to drink?"

sena beams. "oh my god, totally. do you guys have diet pepsi?"

yoongi’s sister makes a strangled sound and bolts up the stairs before she completely loses it. you barely manage to keep it together long enough to watch sena drag yoongi toward the kitchen, still giggling, still calling him that.

as soon as they’re out of earshot, you grab your phone and text his sister, only two words:

yoongles. help.

there were many girlfriends after that. a new one almost every two months.

some were blonde, some were brunette, some had the same rhinestone-studded tank tops and miniskirts, and some wore ripped jeans and band tees like they were too cool for the rest of the world. none of them lasted.

yoongi was home a lot more now, at twenty-three, taking a break from college. no one really knew if it was temporary or if he was done for good, but he never said much about it. just shrugged whenever his mom asked and said something about needing time to figure things out.

whatever figuring out he was doing, though, it didn’t stop him from sliding right back into old habits. back to the skater boy that left his dirty socks in the living room and took too long in the bathroom.

"he’s so annoying," his sister groaned one morning, kicking at a pair of his sneakers abandoned by the front door.

"you’ve said that every year since you could talk," you muttered, flipping through the tv channels.

"yeah, and he gets more annoying every year."

you hummed, pausing on mtv cribs.

yoongi was still asleep upstairs, last night’s girlfriend long gone, leaving behind a stray bobby pin on the coffee table and the faintest trace of vanilla perfume in the air.

it was always like this now. he’d crash at home for a few months, fill the house with girls and late-night cigarette smoke, and then disappear again just when you started getting used to him being around.

but for now, he was here. twenty-three, aimless, and completely unaware that yoongles had officially become a household joke behind his back.

your first boyfriend comes into your life at nineteen.

he’s nice. polite. a little vanilla, but sweet in the way that boys who don’t know how to be anything else are. he opens doors for you, remembers your coffee order, and always texts you good morning and good night.

"you’re so going to marry him," yoongi’s sister teases one night, sprawled across her bed with a bag of chips between you.

"right?" you giggle, flipping through a magazine. cosmo, this time. ten ways to know he’s the one.

"he’s so boring," yoongi mutters from the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.

you and his sister share a look before bursting into laughter.

"he’s nice," you correct, tilting your head at him. "you wouldn’t know what that looks like."

yoongi rolls his eyes. "you’re gonna be miserable in a year."

"you’re just mad i actually found someone who wants to date me."

he scoffs, but doesn’t argue. just watches as his sister steals another chip from the bag and nudges you with her elbow.

"remember when you were five and promised to marry him?" she grins, jerking her thumb toward yoongi.

you wrinkle your nose. "i was a kid."

"still happened," yoongi says, so annoyingly smug about it.

"doesn’t count," you shoot back.

his sister nods, backing you up. "yeah, childhood delusions don’t count."

"whatever," yoongi mumbles, pushing off the doorframe. "don’t come crying to me when you realize i was right."

he disappears down the hall, and you roll your eyes, turning back to your magazine.

"he’s so weird," you say.

his sister snickers. "he’s so jealous."

"he's so gross," you say, wrinkling your nose as you pop a chip into your mouth.

"right?" his sister snickers, shoving another handful into hers. "like, who even says that?"

you shake your head, flipping another page in your cosmo, but your mind is still half-stuck on it—on the way yoongi had leaned against the doorway, arms crossed like he was so sure you’d regret dating someone who was, for once, actually nice to you.

like he knew something you didn’t. like he thought it was funny.

it wasn’t. it was weird. he was weird.

and yet, later that night, when your boyfriend texts you something sweet, something corny and cute, you hesitate before answering.

because suddenly, yoongi’s voice is stuck in your head.

"you’re gonna be miserable in a year."

weird. so weird.

your first heartbreak comes later that year, getting dumped after refusing to put out.

it’s not dramatic. no screaming, no public fight. just a quiet, awkward conversation in the front seat of his car, parked outside your house.

"i just think we’re in different places," he says, hands tight around the steering wheel, like he’s bracing for impact.

"yeah," you say, voice flat. "guess so."

and that’s it. he drops you off and drives away, and you stand in the driveway for a full minute before going inside like nothing happened.

his sister is the first to find out.

"that asshole," she huffs, throwing a handful of popcorn at the tv like that somehow avenges you. "i always knew he was too polite. like, fake polite. like one of those guys who probably tells people he’s a feminist but still reads playboy mags."

you groan, flopping onto her bed. "he does not have playboy mags."

"bet he does."

you let out a weak laugh, staring at the ceiling. you’re not going to cry. not over him. it’s just—it sucks.

the next person to find out is, unfortunately, yoongi.

he’s home when it happens, freshly twenty-four and still lounging around like he has nowhere better to be. you don’t tell him, obviously. his sister does, loud and unfiltered, while you sit at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal and pretend not to care.

"she got dumped," she announces, stealing a spoonful from your bowl.

yoongi, who’s digging through the fridge, snorts. "called it."

"fuck off," you mutter, shoving cereal in your mouth so you don’t have to say anything else.

but yoongi just leans against the counter, watching you with that same smug expression, like he’s been waiting for this.

"should’ve married me when you had the chance," he says.

you glare. his sister wheezes.

"oh my god, you’re so gross," you groan, pushing your chair back. "i’m leaving."

"good," yoongi calls after you. "don’t come crying to me!"

you flip him off over your shoulder. his laughter follows you all the way up the stairs.

you do, in fact, go crying to him.

a full year later, the night his sister leaves for college with a hug, a promise to call you every day, and an assignment to take care of yoongi for her.

you were the wrong person to choose for said assignment.

because first of all, who takes care of yoongi? no one. the man is self-sufficient to a fault, fueled by nicotine and whatever questionable food he picks up at the convenience store at ungodly hours. and second, you have your own life to deal with. your own problems.

like the fact that, hours after his sister’s car disappears down the street, you’re inexplicably, overwhelmingly sad.

the house is too quiet.

the realization hits you all at once—your best friend is gone, off in some dorm room, making new friends, starting a new life, and even though she swore you’d always be her person, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s not here anymore.

so you do what any emotionally stable, well-adjusted adult would do.

you cry about it.

and—because you’re terrible at making good decisions—you cry about it in yoongi’s room.

"you’re so dramatic," yoongi mutters, handing you a tissue as you curl up on the floor beside his bed.

"am not," you sniff, blowing your nose miserably. "you just don’t get it."

"i get it," he says. "i just don’t think it’s worth ugly crying over."

"fuck you."

he smirks, sitting back against the headboard, lazily flipping through a notebook. "not even gonna buy me dinner first?"

you throw the tissue box at him.

he dodges, barely, but there’s amusement in his eyes when he glances down at you again, tapping his pen against his knee.

"she’ll be fine, you know," he says, voice quieter now. "you will too."

you don’t say anything, just sniffle again, swiping at your damp cheeks.

a beat passes. "you can stay, if you want."

you blink. yoongi never offers things like that.

he doesn’t meet your eyes, already scribbling something down in his notebook. "just don’t—" he cuts himself off, sighs. "don’t cry on my floor all night, okay?"

you huff, curling deeper into yourself. "no promises."

he rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t tell you to leave.

somehow, you end up in his bed.

you don’t really know how it happens—maybe you got tired of the floor, maybe yoongi got tired of hearing you sniffle—but at some point, you end up curled against his side, face smushed into his hoodie, still crying like some pathetic, abandoned child.

"jesus," he mutters, hand hovering awkwardly over your back. "you’re actually so annoying."

"you offered," you croak, voice muffled against his chest.

"yeah, well, i take it back." but he doesn’t move you. doesn’t shove you off or complain when your fingers clutch at the fabric of his hoodie because you need something to hold onto.

instead, he sighs—long, put-upon—and lets his hand drop against your back, an awkward, barely-there pat.

it’s dumb. the whole thing is dumb. you’re an adult now, and your best friend is literally a phone call away, and yet here you are, crying like a baby in yoongi’s bed.

but he doesn’t kick you out. doesn’t make fun of you like he normally would. just lies there, letting you fall apart on his hoodie, his hand never moving from your back.

"yoongi?" your voice is small, choked.

he shifts, chin resting against the top of your head. "what?"

"thanks."

he exhales sharply, and for a second, you swear you feel him smile.

"whatever," he mutters, voice softer than it should be. "go to sleep."

and—because it’s yoongi, because he’s warm, because his hoodie smells like laundry detergent and cigarette smoke and home—you do.

when you’re not sleeping in your best friend’s bed, you’re sleeping in yoongi’s.

it’s not on purpose. at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

the first time, you’d been too exhausted to go back to your own room. you’d fallen asleep curled up against his side, and when you woke up in the morning, he was already up, sitting at his desk, acting like you hadn’t just drooled on his hoodie all night.

the second time, it was his fault.

"you’re just gonna cry in my room again anyway," he’d said when he saw you hovering by his door, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands like some kind of orphaned child. "just get in bed and shut up about it."

so you had.

and then it just...kept happening.

some nights, you still slept in your best friend’s bed out of habit, curling up under the same floral-patterned blanket you’d both been using since you were kids. but most nights, you ended up in yoongi’s instead.

"this is getting weird," he’d grumbled one night when you crawled under the covers beside him, poking at his ribs until he moved over.

"then kick me out."

he sighed. "too much work."

and that was that.

there were rules, though. unspoken ones.

you didn’t talk about it. not in the morning, not when his mom raised an eyebrow at the way you emerged from his room stretching, not even when your best friend teased you over the phone.

("ew, you’re sleeping in yoongi’s bed?" she’d laughed. "have some self-respect.")

you didn’t cuddle. you weren’t like that. yoongi kept to his side, you kept to yours, and that was that.

and, most importantly—it didn’t mean anything.

because if it did, then you’d have to admit that something had shifted. that somewhere along the way, the teasing, the eye-rolls, the years of bickering had stopped feeling so familiar, so easy, and had started feeling like something else entirely.

and you weren’t ready for that. not yet.

the first time you realize something’s changed, it’s at a party.

it’s one of those loud, hazy, sticky summer nights, the kind where the air is thick with humidity and the scent of cheap beer and cigarette smoke clings to your clothes before you’ve even stepped inside.

you don’t know why you came. maybe because your best friend begged you to actually go out for once, or maybe because you knew he would be here.

yoongi isn’t hard to find. he’s never hard to find.

he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, lazily sipping from a red cup, one arm draped over the back of some girl’s chair. she’s pretty—they always are—laughing at something he just said, leaning into him like she wants to be the next one.

you tell yourself you don’t care. that you’ve seen this before, that it means nothing, that you have absolutely no reason to feel the way you do right now.

but then he looks up.

his eyes find yours across the room, and something in his expression shifts—just barely, just enough for you to notice.

and just like that, you’re somewhere else.

somewhere months ago, slipping under his blankets, stealing his warmth on cold nights. somewhere in the early mornings, waking up to the sound of his deep, slow breathing before slipping out of his bed unnoticed.

somewhere you shouldn’t be.

but you’re here now, in a room full of people, and he’s still looking at you.

you swallow, breaking eye contact first, pushing past bodies and slipping outside.

you don’t run, exactly, but it feels like you do.

the air is cooler out here, quieter, and you take a slow breath, pressing your hands to your flushed cheeks.

and then—"running away?"

yoongi’s voice. behind you.

you turn, and he’s standing in the doorway, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other still holding his drink.

"no," you say too quickly. "just needed air."

"bullshit." he steps closer, the warm glow from the porch light casting soft shadows across his face.

you roll your eyes. "why do you care?"

"i don’t," he says, but he doesn’t walk away. doesn’t leave you alone like he should.

he just watches you, like he’s trying to figure something out.

and then—"you look good."

your breath catches.

it’s stupid, it’s so stupid, because he’s probably said that a hundred times to a hundred different girls, but this time it’s you.

and it feels different.

"you’re drunk," you mutter, arms crossed.

"not really."

you don’t know what to say to that.

so you say nothing, looking away, looking anywhere but at him.

but then—his fingers graze your wrist.

just barely. just enough.

and suddenly, it’s very clear that something between you isn’t the same anymore.

the first time you kiss yoongi, it’s his birthday.

he’s turning twenty-seven. his hair is still bleached, the pale blonde grown out a bit at the roots, and he looks different now—older, sharper—but somehow still the same yoongi you’ve always known.

there’s no party. no drunken celebration or crowded apartment full of strangers. just a quiet night at home, the way his mom prefers it. the way he prefers it. dinner, cake, a movie. the whole family—plus you, of course.

his mom had gone to bed hours ago. his sister was passed out on the couch, curled up in the same blanket she’d been buried under for most of the movie.

and you’d just wanted a drink of water. but when you turn around, glass still in hand, he’s there. leaning against the counter, watching you with that lazy, unreadable expression.

"where’s my present?" he asks.

you blink. "you already opened my present."

it’s true. you’d given him a new set of headphones, something he’d offhandedly mentioned needing months ago, and he’d actually smiled when he unwrapped them. a real one.

but now he just hums, stepping closer. "not that one."

"what—"

and then he cuts you off with a kiss.

it’s soft, at first. hesitant, testing. but when you don’t pull away—when your breath catches, when your fingers tighten around the glass still in your hand—he presses in deeper, tilting his head, lips parting against yours like he’s been waiting for this.

you don’t know who moves first. don’t know if you drop the glass or if he takes it from you, if you step closer or if he pulls you in.

all you know is that it’s him. yoongi.

his hands on your waist, the faint scent of birthday cake and cigarette smoke clinging to his hoodie, the way he exhales so softly against your lips before pulling away just enough to look at you.

yoongi lifts you like it’s nothing.

hands firm at your waist, he hoists you up onto the counter, slotting himself between your legs before you can even catch your breath. the cold marble is a shock against your bare thighs, but the warmth of his hands is hotter, grounding, spreading heat everywhere.

you’re wearing an oversized band tee—his band tee. he notices. his fingers slip beneath the hem, just barely, thumbs brushing slow circles over your skin.

"you’re such a thief," he mutters, mouth ghosting over yours, not kissing you yet, just lingering.

"you gave it to me," you breathe, blinking up at him.

he huffs a soft laugh, lips twitching. "you stole it."

"and yet, you never asked for it back."

he hums, tilting his head. "maybe i liked seeing you in it."

you don’t have a chance to process that, because then he’s kissing you again. deeper. slower. hungrier. you don’t even realize your hands are in his hair until you feel the strands slipping through your fingers.

yoongi groans, low, deep, and the sound goes straight through you.

his hands tighten on your thighs, pressing you closer, and you feel it, the way his fingers tremble, just a little, like he’s holding back.

you don’t say anything. just pull him in, legs wrapping around his waist, fingers tugging him even closer.

"yoongi," you murmur against his lips after a moment, breathless, dazed, hands still tangled in his hair.

"mm?" he hums, mouth trailing, kissing along your jaw, slow, lazy, like he has all the time in the world. and maybe he does. maybe you do.

except—

"your sister is in the living room," you remind him, voice barely above a whisper, fingers tightening against his hoodie.

he stills, and there’s a beat of silence. then he groans, low and frustrated, forehead dropping against your shoulder.

"you have the worst timing," he mutters, his hands gripping your thighs, debating whether or not to just pretend you didn’t say anything.

you laugh, breathy, threading your fingers through his hair. "we’re in your mom’s kitchen," you point out. "next to the fridge. literally anyone could walk in."

he huffs, pulling back just enough to look at you—really look at you. your lips are swollen, your shirt is crooked, still drowning you. and suddenly, he wants. wants to stay here, wants to ignore reality, wants to kiss you until the sun comes up.

but you’re right.

(you’re always right, and it’s so fucking annoying.)

he sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. "fine," he grumbles. "you win."

you grin. "i always do."

he rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it, stepping back, hands slipping from your thighs way too slowly, like he doesn’t really want to let go. "come on," he mutters, offering a hand. "before you ruin my life even more."

you take it, hop down, straighten your shirt, and try not to laugh at the way he adjusts his way too obvious boner when he thinks you’re not looking.

"hey, yoongi?" you say as he leads you out of the kitchen.

"what?"

you smirk. "happy birthday."

his eyes flick to you, and something shifts again, something deep, something you don’t have a name for yet. then, his mouth quirks into something almost fond, and he squeezes your hand before finally letting go.

"thanks, brat."

taglist : @rpwprpwprpwprw @haru-jiminn @glossdebut @mimi1097 @angellekookie

[girllblogging777]

INK AND INTENTIONS

tattoo artist! mattheo riddle x reader

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 1.5k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : you impulsively decide to get a tattoo to get over your cheating ex. the thing is, you didn’t expect the tattoo artist to be this handsome…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

the first thing you noticed about him was his hands.

it wasn’t on purpose. it just… happened. the way his fingers drummed against the counter while he flipped through the appointment book, the silver rings catching the dim light of the tattoo shop. his knuckles were inked, veins prominent, like they were meant to do things… dangerous things.

you swallowed.

"you here for a tattoo, sweetheart, or just to stare?"

your eyes snapped up to meet his, and fuck. his gaze was heavy. dark brown, a little amused, a little challenging, like he knew exactly what he was doing. like he’d caught you in a trap and was just waiting to see how you’d squirm.

you squared your shoulders, pushing your hands into the pockets of your jacket. "i want to get ‘angel’ tattooed. lower back."

tatted guy’s lips curled at the edges, something slow and knowing. "angel, huh?" he let the word roll off his tongue like he was tasting it. "interesting choice. you don't really give off the angel vibe, love."

you rolled your eyes, ignoring the way your stomach flipped at the pet name. "i don’t think it’s your job to decide what vibe i give off."

he exhaled a quiet laugh through his nose, head tilting slightly, assessing you. "fair enough," he murmured, and then jerked his chin towards the back of the shop. "come on then. let’s get started."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

you didn’t think it’d feel this intimate.

mattheo - that’s what you found out his name was - had told you to lay on your stomach, and now, with your shirt pushed up and the waistband of your jeans tugged slightly down, you were hyper-aware of everything. the cool air on your skin. the way your heart pounded against the leather chair. the fact that his hands.. merlin , his hands, were currently resting on your waist as he positioned you properly.

"you good?" his voice was lower now, quieter.

you hummed, pretending to be unaffected, even though you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

he chuckled, the sound rough and teasing. "yeah. you say you’re fine, but you’re stiff as hell. you need to relax for me, angel."

you inhaled sharply. “maybe if you stopped talking, i could relax."

that only seemed to amuse him more. he was enjoying this. the tension. the way you were fidgeting under his touch.

"feisty," he mused. "i like it."

before you could snap back, the buzzing of the tattoo gun filled the silence.

the first sting made you gasp. sharp, shocking. but the pain faded into something else. something warm. something grounding. the needle dragged against your skin in slow, precise strokes, and you could feel mattheo’s focus, the steady pressure of his palm against your hip as he worked.

you bit your lip, trying not to squirm.

"you’re doing good," he murmured after a few minutes.

your fingers clenched into fists at your sides. "don’t.”

"don’t what?"

"talk to me like that."

mattheo smirked, and even though you couldn’t see him, you knew.

"like what, angel?" his voice was dripping with amusement. “like I know exactly what you’re thinking right now?"

your pulse roared in your ears.

"you’re insufferable," you muttered, face burning.

"and you’re fucking adorable when you’re trying not to lose your mind."

you turned your head to glare at him, but the moment your eyes met, your breath hitched. He was already looking at you. like really looking at you, his dark eyes hooded, lips slightly parted.

it was unfair. the way he sat there, tattoo gun in one hand, the other resting so casually on your hip like it wasn’t driving you insane. like he wasn’t completely aware of what he was doing to you.

"you’re staring again," he murmured.

you forced yourself to scoff, even as heat pooled low in your stomach. "shut up."

mattheo just smirked.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

by the time he finished, your legs felt like jelly.

"all done," he said, wiping the tattoo gently before leaning back to admire his work. "you wanna take a look?"

you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and sat up, moving carefully toward the mirror. when you turned slightly, twisting to get a glimpse, your heart did a weird little flip.

it was… beautiful.

the word angel curved perfectly along the dip of your lower back, delicate and elegant, but still bold enough to make a statement.

mattheo came up behind you, standing close enough that you could feel his warmth against your back. his voice was quiet, just for you.

"looks good on you," he murmured.

you swallowed, pulse hammering. "thanks."

his gaze lingered on yours in the mirror, something unreadable in his expression.

then, slowly, his lips quirked into a smirk.

"hope your ex sees it and loses his fucking mind."

you shook your head, turning away, reaching for your bag. “how do you know?”

mattheo leaned against the counter, giving you a smirk that suggested he already knew.

you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “he cheated. with some girl he met at a club. and i… stayed. for a while. tried to convince myself I could forgive him.” you let out a short, humorless laugh. “spoiler alert: i couldn’t.”

his expression shifted, just slightly. something darker, something dangerous flickering behind his gaze.

“some people don’t deserve second chances,” he said, voice smooth, measured.

you huffed. “yeah, well. i figured that out eventually.”

mattheo studied you for a second longer, then, just as easily as he always did, he smirked again. “don’t worry about paying.”

your brows furrowed. “what?”

he shrugged. “consider it a gift.”

you scoffed, shaking your head. “absolutely not. you did the work, i’ll pay for it.”

mattheo leaned in, just slightly. “or,” he murmured, “you could let me buy you a drink instead.”

“i’m not looking for anything,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

his smirk didn’t falter. if anything, it deepened, something wicked glinting in his eyes. “who said anything about something? no strings, angel. just a drink.”

your breath caught.

you should say no. you should. all the recent events had left you feeling empty, betrayed, and like you’d never find anyone else again.

but the way he was looking at you, the way he had looked at you all night, like he already knew you’d say yes, made your stomach flip. and maybe for once, you didn’t want to overthink it.

your lips parted, heartbeat hammering in your throat. “fine,” you murmured.

mattheo grinned. “good girl.”

and merlin.

maybe this was a terrible idea.

or maybe it was exactly what you needed

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───