#Bow wow challenge

[d00dleybear]

🎶They're playing basketball🎶

[windchords]

Digging Deeper from the Okami Original Soundtrack Masami Ueda

[yuntwis]

Stupid lyrics, Bow Wow we challenge you to not lie. Full episode ⁠https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/donnathon-dobson/episodes/Whatever-Talk-204-In-A-Nutshell--Good-Times-e2kcv5q/a-abarab0⁠

[hyuckiefluff]

Dr. Dreamy | Na Jaemin - Part 2

pairing: doctor!na jaemin x fem reader genre: smut wc: 5.1k summary: you’re the best valentine’s day gift jaemin’s ever had the pleasure of unwrapping. content warning: explicit sexual content, some bdsm-ish stuff (bondage), temperature play, breast play, usage of sex toys, multiple orgasms, edging, fingering, oral sex (m. receiving), mating press, lmk if i missed any! a/n: couldn’t wait for valentine’s day to post this sooo here it is (granted, over a month late) but i hope it makes up for the wait and satisfies all those who were craving a part two <3 thank you so much for reading and loving the first part. ps: read part 1 for the plot, this one is purely smut. oh and it feels important to add that juno by sabrina carpenter was on repeat while writing this. “have you tried this one?” picture jaemin saying that lol

part 1

Valentine’s Day had been exhausting for Jaemin. He barely had the energy to even think. The hospital was a madhouse. He’d never expected that so many injuries would come from couples trying something new with their partners. By the time he clocked out, it was already 11 PM, and he couldn’t shake the guilt gnawing at him for missing your first Valentine’s Day together. 

But as soon as he stepped through the door, his thoughts of guilt disappeared. There you were, lounging on the couch, eating strawberries. You were wearing nothing but the skimpiest piece of lingerie he’d ever seen before.

His breath caught in his throat as your gaze fell on him, a slow smile curling on your lips. “Long day?” you asked, your voice dripping with sweetness.

Jaemin’s throat tightened, but he managed to choke out a response. “Yeah… you could say that.” His voice cracked slightly as his eyes scanned over your body. “You look....”

“Good, I hope?” You giggled softly when he couldn’t finish his sentence.

“Absolutely,” he said, swallowing hard. “…Are you trying to kill me?”

You smiled and stood up slowly, giving him a full view of your curves. His gaze followed your every movement as you sauntered toward him. You stopped just inches from him, his body stiffening in anticipation. His hands ached to touch you.

“What’s the matter?” you teased, pressing your body against his lightly. “You look like you want something.”

Jaemin bit back a smirk, trying to hold on to his composure. He leaned in, brushing your hair back from your neck, his lips grazing your skin. “And you look like you're offering something.”

You laughed, the sound of it making him feel lighter, but he couldn’t ignore the way his heart pounded in his chest, or the tightness between his legs that was only growing. You seemed to notice it too, your hand slipping down his chest. “I think you might be right,” you said with a wink.

Jaemin tried to maintain some semblance of self-control, but his hands betrayed him by wandering to your waist on their own. You flinched slightly from the coldness and he smiled at that.

"You know," he said, with a half-smirk, "I'm not that easy." There was a playful challenge in his eyes. "You have to try harder than this."

“Oh, really?” you grinned, your voice dripping with mock innocence. "Well, I think I can manage."

He felt the heat in his body surge just thinking about what you had planned for him. When you turned and began leading him to your room, he couldn’t help but let his eyes trace every curve of your body, lingering on the flimsy string of fabric between your cheeks—just a bow for him to undo.

Jaemin followed you into the bedroom, his mouth going agape at the sight. Candles flickered softly on the bedside tables, and rose petals were scattered across the floor and on the bed. The whole scene looked straight out of a movie, but it was real, and it was for him.

“Wow,” he murmured, genuinely impressed. “Princess, this is amazing. I should’ve done this for you…” His voice dropped, a slight frown forming as he looked at you.

“You can do it next year,” you replied, and the fact that you were already planning another Valentine’s Day with him made his heart swell. You closed the space between you, pulling him down by his neck and kissing along his jaw.

“You must be tired,” you whispered against his skin.

Jaemin's hands roamed over your back, cupping your ass making you gasp at the sudden touch. When your lips parted, he took the opportunity to kiss you. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, tasting the strawberries you’d been eating.

“Not anymore,” he whispered, lifting you up by your hips, your legs locked around his waist. He carried you to the bed, never breaking the kiss, his lips moving against yours with need.

You pulled away, and for a moment he thought you would kiss him again. Instead, you gently pushed him down onto the bed and guided him to lie back. His chest rose and fell with anticipation, lips parted as you climbed over him and settled on top. He stayed still, pretending to be unaffected, but you noticed the way his muscles tensed as he fought to hold back.

"I want to try something new," you said, your voice laced with playful daring.

Jaemin raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Oh? Do I get a say in this?”

You paused for a moment before tugging his shirt up and over his head, letting your fingers graze his skin as you did. Your gaze roamed over him slowly, as if committing every inch to memory. His broad shoulders, abs that tensed whenever he took a breath, the faint happy trail he’d stopped shaving just because you said you liked it, the love bites still lingering on his chest from the other night.  

Reaching for his hand, you guided it to the delicate bow at the center of your bra, your lips curling into a teasing smile. “Go on,” you murmured, “unwrap your present.”

Jaemin raised an eyebrow, smirking. He tugged on the bow and the bra fell open, exposing your breasts. He couldn’t help the soft, reverent exhale that escaped him. “Fuck…” he groaned, his hands reaching to touch you, but you stopped him with a soft but firm hand on his shoulder.

“Ah, ah,” you tutted, leaning in to kiss the frown from his face. “Let me take care of you first.” 

Jaemin opened his mouth to protest, but then you were gone. He saw you searching in the drawer, and when you returned to the bed, you had something hidden behind your back. You leaned in close, whispering in his ear.

“Do you trust me, Jaem?”

He nodded, his voice barely a whisper. “Of course.”

Then, you pulled out a blindfold, and he froze, anticipation and excitement flooding his system in equal parts “What are you planning, love?” he asked, his tone soft but amused.

“Something you’ll really like,” you whispered, placing a kiss below his ear.

Jaemin chuckled nervously, shivering slightly. “Should I be worried?”

You only smiled, slipping the blindfold over his eyes. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding as his world went dark. His other senses immediately heightened and he tensed when he felt you reach for his wrists.

The soft touch of silk against his skin made him flinch. “Wait—what are you—” His breath hitched as you wrapped the restraints carefully around him.

His fingers twitched, an instinctive urge to move, but the fabric held him firm. He gave a small, experimental tug, testing the hold, and a shiver ran through him when he realized he couldn’t easily free himself. There was something almost dizzying about being kept like this, unable to touch you, forced to wait. The helplessness only made his excitement burn hotter.

“Wow,” he mused, voice light but strained, “Are we into bondage now?”  

Despite his attempt at humor, you didn’t miss the way his chest rose and fell a little faster when you gave the restraints a small tug.  

You leaned in, letting your lips ghost against his ear. “I want to see if you can last…” you whispered, your breath sending another shiver down his spine.  

Jaemin swallowed, his smirk faltering just slightly. “What do you mean…” he asked, careful now, as if realizing he’d just walked into a trap.  

You didn’t answer right away, and the silence only deepened the anticipation clawing at him. He tried to keep his breathing steady, to act unaffected, but the combination of the blindfold, the restraints, and the sheer uncertainty of what you’d do next made it impossible to be calm.  

And then…cold.  

A sharp gasp tore from his lips as the ice cube slid across his chest, its sudden chill stealing the breath from his lungs. His entire body stiffened, muscles flexing against the cold shock.

“God—fuck…” he cursed breathlessly. He yanked at the restraints, desperate to get away from the bite of the ice but craving more of your touch at the same time. “You really like torturing me, huh?”

You laughed softly, a wicked note in your voice. “Torture? No…” you murmured, trailing the ice lower, just skimming the waistband of his pants. “I just want to see how far you’ll let me go to make sure you feel really good.”

Jaemin let out a strained breath, his fingers flexing against the restraints. He was still trying to hold onto some shred of composure, but his body was betraying him. He felt himself grow harder in his pants and he wanted to beg for you to release him but he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of seeing him break down so easily.

“Tell me, Jaem… have you ever touched yourself on a particularly chilly night?” you asked, your voice smooth and teasing.  

“What—…” His breath hitched when you slid the ice cube lower, past his hip bones. “I… I don’t know… I suppose so,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.  

“Did your cold fingers feel nice?” you continued, drawing the ice in slow circles on his skin. “Did you like it?”  

Jaemin was trying to focus on your words, but the heightened sensation of the cold against his burning skin was making it impossible to think. The contrast was overwhelming, making his hips jerk involuntarily.  

“I—fuck… I guess so,” he breathed.  

Without warning, you pulled his pants down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, slapping against his lower abdomen and startling both of you. 

“You seem excited,” you said, letting your finger graze the side of his shaft. His breath stuttered as he tensed, his chest rising and falling rapidly.  

The next thing he felt was cold sliding over his tip.  

“Shit—” he gasped, his whole body jerking as he tried to sit up, hunching over in a desperate attempt to regain some control. His bound wrists strained against the silk restraints, but they gave him no leeway. And then you did it again, this time, dragging the ice along the side of his cock, the sensation both shocking and exquisite.

“Fuck… th-that feels weird…” he shivered slightly.

His lips were red and wet from how he kept biting them, trying not to moan too loudly.  

You leaned in, kitten-licking the tip while still holding the ice against him.  

“Wait—” he moaned, his hips bucking up instinctively.  

With one last teasing kiss to his tip, you pulled back, watching the way he twitched, the way his body practically vibrated with pent-up need.  

“Looks like you’re ready to play.”  

Jaemin exhaled shakily. The way you were handling him was so different to what he was used to. He was always the one setting the pace, pulling pleasure from you at his leisure. But now, you had him completely at your mercy. And the craziest part was how much he was enjoying it.  

He heard more movement, some shuffling and the quiet creak of the mattress as you settled back in front of him. His muscles tensed in anticipation, his whole body straining against the restraints. He wanted to reach for you, to pull you down and take what he needed but all he could do was wait.

“Jaem, do you know what a cock ring is?” you asked, your voice so soft and innocent that for a second, he thought he must’ve misheard you.  

“Hm?” His brain was lagging, too focused on the lingering cold of the ice cube melting against him. Then your words sank in. “Yeah,” he swallowed.  

“Good,” you hummed, and before he could react, he felt your warm hand wrap around him, pumping once, just enough to make his hips twitch, to make a moan escape his throat before he could swallow it down.  

And then something hard pressed against his dick.  

“Fuck—” he hissed, his body tensing as you carefully slid the cock ring into place. His sensitivity was already heightened, and the combination of your touch and the unfamiliar tightness made him shudder.  

“I want you to hold on as much as you can,” you murmured, trailing your fingers up his stomach, nails lightly scratching at his skin. “Can you do that for me?”  

Jaemin groaned, tugging at the restraints in frustration. “You’re so fucking unfair.”  

You giggled, pressing a kiss to his hip bone. “I’ll take that as a yes.”  

Jaemin’s breath came in sharp, uneven pants as you pulled away, leaving him aching for more. His head tilted back, exposing the long line of his throat as he swallowed hard, trying to remain as calm as possible. 

“Fuck,” he exhaled, his voice shaky. His fingers clenched and unclenched where they were bound, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping nothing. “You’re really trying to kill me…”

You only smiled, still running your nails lightly down his torso, making his abs twitch. “You’re being so dramatic, Jaem.”  

His head snapped up at that, eyes still blindfolded, but his frustration was written all over his face. “Dramatic?” He let out a humorless laugh. “Princess, I’m so fucking hard it hurts, and you’re just—” He groaned, pulling against the restraints again. “God, you’re such a fucking tease.”  

You hummed as if considering his words, then leaned in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below his navel. “But it looks like you’re enjoying it.”  

Jaemin’s hips twitched, but he still managed a weak scoff. “I’d enjoy it more if you actually fucking did something.” His voice was strained, cracking at the edges.

You let your hand drift lower again, wrapping around him with a slowness that had him sucking in a sharp breath. “Is this what you want?” you murmured, your fingers squeezing just enough to make him twitch in your grasp.  

“Fuck—yes, that’s what I fucking want—”  

You gave a single stroke, dragging your hand up his length at an agonizing pace.  

Jaemin let out a throaty whimper, and the sound only intensified the heat pooling in your lower belly.  

His chest heaved as his thighs trembled. His whole body jerked, but the cock ring kept him from reaching the release he desperately chased.

“Oh my god,” he choked out, his voice practically a whine. “Princess, please, I need—”  

You tightened your grip slightly, cutting him off with another slow, teasing stroke. His hips bucked into your hand, but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t fucking enough, and the frustration in his voice was turning into something dangerously close to begging.  

“Please what, Jaemin?” you asked, tilting your head.  

His lip was pulled between his teeth so hard it was turning red, his whole body trembling from restraint. “Please, just—fuck, I don’t even know—just something, please, princess, I can’t—”  

His voice cracked again, revealing his desperation in every syllable. He was completely wrecked, yet still nowhere near getting what he wanted.  

And that was exactly how you wanted him.  

When your mouth dropped down on his dick again, you took in more than just the tip this time. You sucked and licked him just the way you knew he liked.

“God… oh god,” he groaned, his hips jerking up instinctively, but you kept him firmly in place, pressing down on his thighs.  

“Be good,” you murmured against his swollen tip, lips brushing the heat of him. “Or I’ll stop.”  

Jaemin let out a shaky breath, his fingers twitching at his sides, unable to do anything but take what you were giving him. “Fuck… you’re so—” His voice broke into a strangled gasp as you sank back down, taking him deeper, your tongue swirling along his length. 

He was losing control. His thighs trembled under your touch, ragged gasps escaping his lips. His body was already screaming for release, but the cock ring kept him stuck on that unbearable edge, holding him in a storm of pure, agonizing pleasure.

“I can’t… anymore… please.” His voice was strained, broken apart by breathless moans. “Please, take it off.”  

You pulled back just enough to let your breath fan over his tip. “Take what off, Jaem?”  

“Everything,” he choked out. “Let me touch you… let me see you… let me fuck you…please.”  

The little laugh you let out made his stomach tighten painfully. If he wasn’t so desperate, he would’ve held out longer just to make you work for it. But he was past the point of caring about winning right now.

“Well…” You let your hands caress down his thighs, feeling the way his muscles clenched under your touch. “I think you’ve been patient enough.”  

The first thing to come off was the blindfold. Jaemin blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted, the dim light in the room almost blinding after what felt like hours in the dark. His gaze flickered over your form, hovering over him like a lioness about to pounce. Fuck, he forgot you were braless. His hands twitched against the restraints, desperate to touch you.

Then his eyes dropped lower. His dick was painfully swollen, red at the tip, the cock ring still keeping him from the relief he needed. His breath caught as you reached down, fingers brushing his base before you finally removed it. The rush of sensation that followed had his whole body tensing, his abs clenching as he gasped through the sudden overwhelming relief. He was seconds away from—  

You moved to undo the silk restraints, and the moment his wrists were free, he lunged.  

You let out a sharp squeal as he grabbed your arm and yanked you down, pressing your body flush against his chest. In one quick movement, he flipped you onto your back, looming over you with a wicked, predatory grin.  

“Shouldn’t have fucking released me, princess,” he growled, voice still rough from moaning. He licked his lips, eyes raking down your body like he was deciding where to ruin you first. “You’re gonna take everything I give you now.”  

There was no fear in your gaze—only pure, smoldering desire.  

Jaemin’s lips crashed against yours, devouring you, tongue sliding past your lips as his hands finally claimed your body. His fingers found your breasts, squeezing, teasing, all while his hips rolled against your barely clothed core.  

Then, he flipped you onto your stomach. You gasped, feeling his body press against your back, his lips tracing a heated path from your shoulder to the nape of your neck.  

“Wanted to do this since I walked through that door,” he muttered, voice thick with lust. He hooked his fingers into the delicate lace of your underwear, undoing the tiny bow with a slow pull. His eyes went dark with greed and desire when he saw it fall apart and expose your bare backside to him. 

He kissed along your spine, then rocked his hips against your ass with a shuddering sigh before flipping you over again.  

You were already breathless, your mind hazy, and he still hadn’t even touched you where you needed him most.  

But then, just when you thought he was going to finally take you—he suddenly grabbed your ankles and yanked you down the bed, shifting you so you were face-to-face with his abs.  

Your brows furrowed in confusion, until you felt his dick sliding between your breasts.  

“Gonna let me fuck your tits, princess?” he murmured, voice husky.  

Heat pooled in your stomach at his words, and without hesitation, you pressed your hands against the sides of your chest, squeezing your breasts together, trapping him between them.  

Jaemin groaned, the sound deep and raw, before spitting onto your chest to lubricate the area.

You gasped softly, the sheer filth of it making your thighs squeeze together, but Jaemin was also too far gone to tease you about it. He let out a low, guttural fuck as he thrust, slow at first, watching himself slide between the plushness of your breasts.  

“Shit…” His breathing was heavy, his fringe damp with sweat, his jaw slack as he fucked into the tight heat of your chest. “Letting me fuck your perfect tits—fuck.”  

The sounds filling the room were obscene. The wet slide of his dick against your skin, the breathy moans slipping from his lips, the quiet, desperate whimpers coming from you.  

Your legs clenched again, seeking friction, your own arousal dripping down your thighs.  

Jaemin’s rhythm faltered. His thrusts grew uneven, more desperate. “I’m—fuck, I’m close—”  

Suddenly, his hand was on your jaw, tilting your head up.  

“Open for me, princess.”  

You parted your lips instinctively, watching through hazy, lidded eyes as he pumped himself, working himself closer and closer—until the first warm spurts landed across your chest and tongue. His thumb swiped through the mess on your chest, and before you could even react, he brought it to your lips.  

“Taste.” His voice was hoarse.  

Your tongue flicked out to catch it. His breath stuttered as he watched you.  

“Fuck,” he exhaled, his fingers pressing against your tongue just a second longer before pulling away. His cock twitched against your stomach, already getting hard again.

You let out a small whimper, rubbing your thighs together, the ache between your legs only growing sharper.  

Jaemin caught the movement immediately.  

“Oh?” He smirked, eyes flicking down to where you were shamelessly pressing your legs together for any friction. “You want more?”  

You whined, squirming.  

He hummed, as if amused. “Poor thing.”  

“Jaem…” Your voice came out as a whimper, breathless, desperate.  

His smirk deepened. He loved seeing you this way—helpless, needy, falling apart before he even touched you properly. 

But he wasn’t going to make it easy.  

“What’s wrong, princess?” His hand ghosted over your stomach before slipping between your legs, fingertips grazing your soaked folds. “You need help?”  

You bucked your hips, but he barely applied any pressure, making you whimper in protest.  

You let out a frustrated sob, moving to take over yourself, but his hand shot out and gripped your wrist, pinning it to the mattress.  

“Ah, ah! We can’t have that,” he tsked, eyes flashing dark. 

The next thing you know, your hand is being replaced with his own, two fingers sliding through your folds. Your entire body jolted at the contact.  

Jaemin groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. “Shit, you’re so wet, princess,” he murmured, dragging his fingers through your slick before pressing them against your swollen clit. “You like having my cock between those pretty tits that much?”  

You barely managed a nod, too lost in the feeling of his fingers teasing you.

“Such a messy little thing,” he teased, rubbing slow, agonizing circles over your clit, just enough to make you desperate, but not enough to give you what you needed. “I should make you wait. Make you beg for it.”  

“Jaemin—”  

His fingers pushed in, stretching you, filling you just enough to make you gasp.  

“Holy fuck,” Jaemin groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder. His cock was already leaking against your thigh, his body trembling as he tried to hold himself back. “You’re so tight. You’re gonna fucking choke my fingers.”  

He pumped his fingers in and out, slow but deep, so deep you were writhing beneath him.  

“Jaem, please—” Your walls clenched, thighs trembling.  

“Hm?” He purred. “Tell me exactly what you want.”  

Your eyes were glassy, your body begging for it. “Please, just fuck me.”  

Jaemin let out a sharp exhale, visibly shaking as he tried to hold himself back.  

“You—” His voice broke. He looked down, seeing how you were practically dripping down his fingers, and groaned, cursing under his breath. “Jesus Christ.”  

His fingers slipped out with a wet, filthy sound. Before you could even whine, he grabbed your thighs, spreading you wide and pressing the head of his cock against your entrance.  

Your breath caught.  

But he didn’t push in.  

He just teased, rubbing himself between your folds, coating himself in your slick. He watched with dark, hooded eyes as you twitched beneath him, whimpering at every brush of his cock against your swollen clit.

“You want it?” His voice dripped with sin.

“Jaem—”

“Beg for it.”

The jerk was using your own tricks against you.

Now, you were regretting edging him earlier, because this… this felt like hell.

You whined, your nails digging into his arms. “Please, Jaem. Please. I need you. I need your cock inside me, I—fuck—I can’t—”  

That was enough for him. With a wrecked groan, he slammed inside you in one stroke, bottoming out so deep you saw white.  

A choked cry left your lips, your entire body arching off the mattress.  

“Oh my fucking god—” Jaemin’s voice broke, his hands gripping your thighs so hard you were sure it would bruise.  

He was shaking, breathing ragged, his cock twitching inside you as he tried not to cum right then and there.  You were so tight, so wet, so warm. He felt like he was going insane.

“You—” His voice was strained, wrecked. “You feel so fucking good, princess.”  

His thrusts punched the breath out of you, slamming into you so deep you felt it in your stomach, your walls clenching around him like a vice.  

“Holy shit—fuck—” Jaemin groaned, his hips snapping against yours in a brutal rhythm. “You’re so tight—I can feel you fucking squeezing me—”  

You couldn’t even form words, just moaned and whimpered, nails raking down his back.  

Jaemin growled, grabbing the backs of your knees, pushing them up and folding you beneath him.  

The angle —oh god—the angle had his cock hitting so deep it left you shaking, your mouth falling open in a silent scream.  

“There we go,” Jaemin groaned, watching you writhe under him. “That’s the spot, isn’t it?”  

“Jae—Jaemin—”  

“Shhh,” he cooed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re taking me so well, princess. So, so well.”  

His fingers found your clit, rubbing fast. The pleasure crashing over you all at once.  

“Cum for me, baby,” Jaemin rasped, barely holding himself together. “Make a fucking mess on my cock.”  

Your orgasm tore through you, so intense your vision blurred, your entire body shaking under him as you cried out his name.  

Jaemin groaned, feeling you clench around him. His hips stuttered as he buried himself deep, moaning against your throat as he came again, filling you completely.  

For a moment, neither of you moved. Just heavy breathing and shaking limbs.  

Jaemin finally lifted his head, sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead, eyes dark.

He smirked a cat-like smile.

“I hope you don't think we’re done.”  

He was still inside you, his cock twitching, throbbing, still semi-hard despite just coming deep inside you. He could feel you clenching weakly around him.

You didn’t want it to be done.

You felt empty, even with his cock still buried inside you. You needed more, needed all of him, needed him to ruin you completely.

And he could tell.  

Jaemin tilted his head as his fingers dug into your thighs, keeping them spread wide for him. His thumbs traced slow circles into your skin both soothing and possessive, a silent reminder that you weren’t going anywhere.  

“Think you can handle more?” The low rumble of his voice had you feeling dizzy.  

You nodded, too fucked out to form anything coherent.  

He hummed, pretending to consider. “Now that I think about it… you were pretty mean to me earlier.” His hands slid lower, gripping your ass and giving it a sharp squeeze that made you jolt. “Do you even deserve it?”  

“Yes—yes, please, Jaem—”  

He laughed, a breathy chuckle that broke apart into something rougher, needier.  

“Insatiable little thing.”  

And then he was pulling out achingly slow, dragging every inch of himself through your trembling walls. The friction sent a helpless whimper tumbling from your lips.

Jaemin nearly lost his mind at the sound.  

He stared down at you, his ruined, pretty girl. Face flushed, hair sticking to your damp skin, lips swollen and parted, body still twitching from the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

He growled, gripping your waist and flipping you onto your stomach in one swift movement.  

You gasped, heart pounding as Jaemin manhandled you effortlessly, positioning you exactly how he wanted with your chest pressed to the mattress and ass high in the air.

He moaned, running his hands down your spine, over the curve of your hips, before gripping your ass and spreading you open for him.  

“Look at you,” he breathed, watching the way your slick dripped down your thighs, his own cum still leaking from your core.  

His cock throbbed painfully at the sight.  

“Fuck, baby, I made such a mess of you.”  

You whimpered, pushing your hips back toward him, trying to tempt him. But Jaemin only smirked, rubbing the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing you, making you squirm.  

“What do you want, princess?” His voice was low, smug.

You whined, pressing your face into the pillow, trying to grind back against him.

“Jaem—please—”  

He tutted, gripping your hips to hold you still. “You’re so cute when you beg.”  

Then, he slid inside you again, slowly making you feel every inch. You cried out, hands gripping the sheets desperately.

Jaemin groaned, rolling his hips slow but deep. His cock pressing against a spot that made black spots appear in your vision.  

“Oh, my god—”  

“That’s it,” he praised, gripping your waist tighter. Watching the way your back arched, how you clenched around him so perfectly.  

He was so deep like this, hitting angles that had you completely unraveling beneath him.

“God, you’re perfect for me,” he groaned, his hips snapping forward just a little harder, making you choke on your breath.  

His hands traveled down, reaching for your arms, and before you could even react, he pulled you up, pressing your back against his chest. One hand snaking around your waist, the other gripping your throat lightly.

Your moan was sinful, body trembling as Jaemin fucked up into you, the new position letting him bury himself impossibly deep.  

“Shit—” Jaemin choked out, pressing his lips to your sweaty temple. 

His free hand slid down your stomach, two fingers finding your clit, rubbing torturous circles in time with his thrusts.  

You gasped sharply, hands grabbing at his wrists.  

“Too much?” He teased, his voice taunting, but the way he was shaking against you, the way his thrusts were growing sloppier, told you he was just as close as you were. 

You could only moan, pleasure overwhelming you, his cock dragging against that perfect spot over and over, his fingers pushing you closer—

“Cum for me again, princess.” He said, lips pressed to your jaw, groaning with every thrust.  “I want to feel you squeeze me.”  

And just like that another orgasm crashed over you, your walls clamping down on him so tight he nearly screamed.  

Jaemin cursed, feeling you pulsing around him, dragging him straight into his own orgasm. 

“Fuck—fuck—fuck—” His body convulsed, hips stuttering as he filled you up once more, letting go with a strangled moan against your throat.

Jaemin finally collapsed, pulling you down with him. He wrapped himself around you, pressing lazy kisses to your bare shoulder.  

His arms tightened, as if he never wanted to let you go.  

“God,” Jaemin exhaled, still breathless, lips brushing against your ear.

“I think I might have broken you, princess.”  

divider creds toastray

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[inseobts]

Game night

zoro x fem!reader

what could go wrong during and after a truth or dare game?

words count: 3.3k

tags: truth or dare, never have I ever, jealousy, fluff, sfw

masterlist + ko-fi

The Thousand Sunny bobs peacefully on the waves under a clear night sky. The crew is gathered on deck, laughter and the soft glow of lanterns filling the space as Nami announces tonight’s event: game night.

“Tonight, we’re shaking things up with a little challenge!” Nami declares, smirking as the crew exchanges curious glances “The prize? Bragging rights I guess.”

“And what’s the challenge?” Zoro asks, leaning back lazily against the mast with his arms crossed.

Nami’s smirk widens “Truth or Dare… with a twist.”

You groan, already sensing this won’t end well. Zoro groans too, echoing your thoughts.

“Don’t be a party pooper, marimo” Sanji says, lighting a cigarette “Unless you’re scared of losing.”

Zoro scoffs, sitting up “Bring it on, curly-brow.”

The crew forms a circle, and the chaos begins. The early dares are harmless: Luffy is dared to balance Chopper on his head (which he almost manages), Usopp does a dramatic impression of Nami (earning a smack), and Brook serenades Robin with a love song.

But when it’s Sanji’s turn to dare, his eyes land on you, and you instantly regret ever agreeing to this.

“y/n-swaaaan, I dare you… to go on a date with me” he announces, bowing dramatically and pointing at himself with a proud smirk.

Your jaw drops. “What?!”

Sanji grins, pointing to the kitchen “We’ll set it up RIGHT NOW! Candlelight, a five-course meal…”

“Absolutely not” Zoro interrupts, his voice sharp.

Sanji raises an eyebrow “Why not, moss-head? Feeling jealous?”

Zoro’s glare could cut through steel “Jealous of you? Don’t make me laugh.”

Nami claps her hands, clearly enjoying the tension “I think it’s a great idea! Y/N, you’re not backing out, are you?”

You look between them, panicked “uh… do I have a choice?”

“Nope!” Luffy chimes in, grinning.

Before you know it, Sanji has dragged you to the galley, where he sets up an elaborate table with candles, flowers, and what looks like the fanciest meal you’ve ever seen on the Sunny.

“You deserve only the best, my dear” Sanji says, pulling out a chair for you.

From the corner of your eye, you spot Zoro leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, scowling like he’s been personally offended by the concept of romance.

“You’re really going all out, huh?” you say nervously, sitting down.

“For you? Always” Sanji replies with a wink.

As Sanji pours you a glass of sparkling juice and starts talking about the “art of love”, you can feel Zoro’s glare burning into your back.

“Oi, chef” Zoro finally growls, stepping into the room. “Don’t you have other people to feed?”

Sanji doesn’t miss a beat “They can wait. Right now, y/n deserves all my attention.”

“Oh, come on” Zoro mutters, walking closer. “You call this a date? It’s pathetic.”

Sanji straightens, his grin widening “Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, marimo.”

“I’m not jealous” Zoro snaps, his voice tight.

“Then leave us alone” Sanji says, waving him off.

“I’m not going anywhere” Zoro replies, pulling out the chair beside you and sitting down.

You blink at him, your cheeks burning “uh… what are you doing?”

“Making sure this idiot doesn’t do anything stupid” Zoro mutters, grabbing a random piece of bread from the table and biting into it.

Sanji’s eye twitches “Excuse me?!”

“Calm down, curly-brow” Zoro says with a smirk “I’m just here to make sure y/n doesn’t get bored, and you don’t give her a love potion or something crazy”

You bury your face in your hands as the two bicker back and forth, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Luffy and the others peek in from the door, struggling to contain their laughter.

“Wow, this is better than the game” Usopp whispers.

Robin nods, sipping her tea. “It’s like watching a romantic comedy.”

Back at the table, Sanji is trying to impress you by listing all the dishes he could make for you, but Zoro keeps interrupting with sarcastic comments.

“She doesn’t need a gourmet meal,” Zoro says, smirking “She needs someone who can actually keep her safe.”

“And you think that’s you?” Sanji retorts, glaring.

Zoro shrugs “I’ve got a better track record”

You finally snap “Okay, that’s enough!”

Both men fall silent, looking at you in surprise.

“This isn’t just a game, and you two are acting like children” you say, standing up “If you can’t behave, I’m leaving.”

Sanji immediately softens “y/n, I didn’t mean to upset you…”

Zoro cuts him off, standing as well “She’s right about that,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck “This wasn’t a real date.”

You blink, confused “oh now you understand?”

He looks away, his usual confidence replaced with something almost… shy “I mean… if it were, I’d do it right.”

The room goes dead silent. Sanji’s jaw drops, and the crew watching from the door erupts into whispers.

“Did Zoro just…” Franky starts.

“Yup” Nami confirms, grinning.

Zoro clears his throat, his cheeks faintly red. “Anyway, this whole thing was stupid. I’m going back to the deck.”

He brushes past you, but just before he leaves, he pauses. Without turning around, he adds “Next time, it’ll just be us. No interruptions.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving you stunned and the rest of the crew cheering like they just witnessed the grand finale of a love story.

Sanji sighs dramatically, slumping into his chair. “Unbelievable. That moss-head can’t actually beat me.”

You’re still processing what just happened, but one thing’s for sure: the next game night is going to be even more chaotic.

It’s been a few days since game night, and the Thousand Sunny has been anything but quiet. Since then the crew has made it their personal mission to meddle.

You’re in the galley with Nami and Robin, attempting to focus on lunch, but it’s impossible with the way they’re looking at you.

“So” Nami says casually, resting her chin on her hand “When’s your date with Zoro?”

You nearly choke on your drink. “My what with who?!”

Robin smiles, far too amused “He did say ‘next time,’ didn’t he?”

“That wasn’t—he didn’t mean—ugh, can we not do this right now?” you groan, burying your face in your hands.

Nami laughs “Come on, Y/N. You’ve got to admit, it was pretty romantic…for Zoro, at least.”

“I don’t even know if he actually meant it” you mumble “What if he was just saying that to shut Sanji up?”

Robin sips her tea, her expression unreadable. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Before you can question her cryptic comment, Luffy bursts into the galley, grinning from ear to ear.

“Y/N! Zoro’s looking for you!” he announces loudly.

Your stomach flips. “He is? Why?”

Luffy shrugs. “Dunno. He looked mad, though. Maybe you did something?”

“What?! I didn’t do anything!”

“Oh, this is going to be good” Nami says, smirking as she stands “Come on, Robin. Let’s go watch.”

Robin chuckles, following her out “Poor Zoro. He’s probably trying to figure out his feelings.”

You groan, dragging your feet as you leave the galley to find Zoro. When you spot him on the deck, he’s leaning against the railing, arms crossed, his usual scowl firmly in place.

“You were looking for me?” you ask hesitantly.

Zoro glances at you, his expression softening slightly. “Yeah. Got a minute?”

“Uh, sure.”

He gestures for you to follow him to a quieter part of the ship, away from prying eyes—not that it stops the crew from peeking around corners and whispering.

“Listen,” he starts, scratching the back of his neck “About the other night…”

Your heart pounds. “What about it?”

“I wasn’t kidding,” he says, avoiding your gaze “when I said I’d do it right next time.”

You blink, caught off guard “You mean… you actually want to go on a date?”

“Yeah” he mutters, his ears turning red.

Before you can respond, Sanji’s voice cuts through the air like a dagger.

“A date?” the chef asks, sauntering over with a tray of snacks in hand.

Zoro groans. “None of your business, cook.”

“Oh, but it is my business…” Sanji replies, smirking “If you’re planning on taking my y/n out, you’d better have a plan that doesn’t involve getting lost, napping or clean your damn swords.”

“Say that again, curly-brow” Zoro growls, hand drifting toward his swords.

“Boys, please,” you interject, stepping between them “Can we not do this right now?”

Sanji turns to you, his expression softening. “Y/N, are you seriously considering letting this brute take you on a date? I can guarantee I’d do a much better job.”

Zoro narrows his eyes. “She doesn’t need fancy meals and flowers to have a good time.”

“And you think you can show her a good time with what? Sword training?”

“I just don’t need to try hard like you, love-cook.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, already regretting everything “I’m going back inside” you announce, turning to leave.

But before you can escape, Luffy’s voice booms from the crow’s nest.

“Zoro and y/n sitting in a tree! K-I-S—”

“LUFFY!” you shout, your face burning as the crew erupts into laughter.

Zoro sighs, rubbing his temples. “This crew is impossible.”

“You’re telling me” you mutter.

Before either of you can say another word, Nami appears, dragging you by the arm. “Come on, y/n. We’re going to help you get ready for your date.”

“What date?!”

“Obviously with Zoro, duh” she says matter-of-factly, ignoring your protests.

Robin follows with a teasing smile.

“Can someone throw me overboard?” you plead, but it’s no use.

Meanwhile, Zoro watches you being dragged away, his jaw tightening as Sanji smirks beside him.

“You’re really going for it, huh?” the chef asks, lighting another cigarette.

“None of your business” Zoro mutters.

Sanji exhales a plume of smoke, his smirk widening “Just don’t mess it up, marimo. Or I’ll be happy to take your place.”

Zoro grips the hilt of his sword. “Try it and see what happens”

The crew’s laughter echoes across the ship as the sun sets, the promise of more chaos—and perhaps a real confession—lingering in the air.

The day of the “date” arrives, and you’re already dreading it. Not because of Zoro, but because the crew has taken it upon themselves to make it their personal project.

Robin and Nami dragged you into the women’s quarters hours ago. You’re currently sitting in front of a small mirror while Nami styles your hair and Robin picks through outfits.

“I don’t need to get all dressed up” you protest “It’s Zoro. He probably doesn’t even care about what I wear.”

Nami smirks “That’s exactly why we’re doing this. He’ll care once he sees you.”

Robin nods “Trust us. Subtle effort goes a long way with men like him.”

Meanwhile, in the galley, Zoro is facing his own nightmare.

“Here’s what you’re going to do” Sanji says, slamming a piece of paper down on the counter.

Zoro glances at the elaborate list of dishes and raises an eyebrow “I’m not cooking.”

Sanji glares at him “It’s either this, or you let me cook for her, and I sit at the table to make sure you don’t screw up.”

“Fine” Zoro growls, crumpling the paper “I’ll just keep it simple.”

Sanji sighs dramatically. “You’re hopeless. She deserves better than plain rice and sake.”

Zoro glares at him, muttering under his breath about “fancy idiots” and “overcomplicating everything.”

The sun is setting as you step onto the deck, your cheeks already warm from Nami’s teasing. She’s chosen a simple outfit, but it’s enough to make you feel self-conscious. You spot Zoro near the ship’s edge, arms crossed, looking… nervous?

“Hey” you say softly, walking up to him.

He turns, his usual scowl softening when he sees you. His eye linger for a moment before he clears his throat and looks away. “You… look nice.”

“Thanks” you reply, trying not to smile too much.

Sanji appears out of nowhere, carrying a tray. “Dinner is served! Well, the parts Zoro didn’t ruin, anyway.”

“Get lost, cook” Zoro snaps, grabbing the tray.

Sanji winks at you “Let me know if he bores you, y/n. I’ll be waiting.”

Zoro’s jaw tightens as Sanji retreats, leaving the two of you alone at the small table he’s set up. It’s simple—just a few dishes and a bottle of sake—but it’s kind of sweet.

As you sit down, you notice Zoro fidgeting with his drink “This is… nice” you say with a smile, breaking the silence.

“Tch. Don’t make it a big deal” he mutters, trying to not make eye contact but there’s a faint blush creeping up his neck.

You’re about to tease him when Luffy’s loud whisper reaches your ears “Are they holding hands yet?”

You glance toward him, and see the entire crew is hiding—or at least trying to. Luffy and Usopp are peeking out openly, while Nami and Robin sip drinks, pretending to be inconspicuous.

Zoro follows your gaze, his eye twitching “Do they seriously have nothing better to do?”

“I guess not” you laugh.

The two of you try to enjoy the meal, but the crew’s antics make it nearly impossible. At one point, Luffy climbs onto the rigging and yells “Kiss already!”

Zoro slams his sake cup down, his face bright red “Luffy, I swear…”

Before he can finish, Sanji comes over with dessert “Thought you might need this to salvage the night” he says, placing a small cake on the table.

Zoro glares at him “No one asked you.”

Sanji ignores him, turning to you “How’s the date going, y/n? Is moss-head boring you yet?”

“He’s not the problem here” you says side eyeing the crew. Zoro standing up right away.

“That’s it. You..” he says pointing at Sanji “Get out of here before I throw you overboard. And y’all there, we see you, just leave us alone”

Before things can escalate, you grab Zoro’s arm “Ignore them, they won’t stop. Let’s just… go somewhere else.”

He hesitates, but the look in your eyes is enough to calm him down. With a grunt, he leads you to the crow’s nest, far away from the crew’s meddling.

The crow’s nest is quiet, save for the sound of waves and the occasional creak of the ship. You sit on the floor and finally let out a sigh of relief.

“Sorry about… all of that” Zoro mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s not your fault” you say, smiling “They mean well… I think.”

He snorts “They’re idiots.”

You laugh, and for a moment, the tension eases. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the stars above providing a peaceful backdrop.

“So” you say, breaking the quiet “Was this your idea of a date?”

Zoro shrugs “I’m not good at this stuff. I figured keeping it simple was better than messing it up”

“I like simple” you admit smiling at him “It feels… more like you.”

He glances at you, his expression softening “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

For a moment, you think he might say something more, but instead, he leans back against the wall, his usual smirk returning “Good. ‘Cause I’m not trying to impress anyone else.”

Your cheeks heat up at his words, and you quickly look away, pretending to admire the stars.

Down below, you can hear the crew still laughing and arguing, but up here, it’s just the two of you. And for once, Zoro seems at ease.

Maybe this date wasn’t such a disaster after all.

It’s another lazy night on the Thousand Sunny, and boredom has once again taken hold of the crew.

“Let’s play Never Have I Ever!” Luffy suggests, slamming his hands on the table in excitement.

You exchange a glance with Zoro, who doesn’t look very thrilled about it. Still, the rest of the crew cheers, and you know there’s no escaping this.

“It’ll be fun!” Nami chimes in, her smirk making it clear she’s planning to use this game for maximum chaos.

Sanji quickly grabs drinks for everyone—though he places yours in front of you with a flourish and an overly sweet “For you, my love!” which earns a glare from Zoro.

The rules are simple: if you’ve done the thing someone says, you take a drink. If you haven’t, you stay dry. It starts innocently enough.

“Never have I ever… stolen food from the kitchen” Usopp says, narrowing his eyes at Luffy.

Luffy, you and Chopper take big gulps, unapologetic.

“Never have I ever… gotten lost on an island” Robin says, smiling knowingly at Zoro.

“Oi” Zoro growls, taking a sip while everyone bursts into laughter.

The questions continue, ranging from silly to borderline embarrassing. But as the game goes on, the atmosphere starts to shift, with Nami and Sanji clearly steering the questions toward more… personal territory.

“Never have I ever… kissed someone on this ship” Nami says, her eyes darting between you and Zoro.

Your stomach flips, but you stay still subtly avoiding their eyes. Zoro, seated beside you, side eye you but doesn’t move either, though his jaw clenches slightly.

Luffy interrupts “Wait, wait, wait! I’ve got a better one!” He grins mischievously, clearly loving the drama “Never have I ever… been in a secret relationship!”

You freeze, glancing at Zoro out of the corner of your eye. His hand hovers over his drink for a split second before he sighs, picks it up, and takes a long sip.

The room explodes.

“WHAT?!” Usopp yells, nearly falling out of his chair.

“YOU TWO?!” Nami shrieks, pointing between you and Zoro like she can’t believe her eyes.

You look at Zoro as shocked as the others because you didn’t believe he’d actually drink.

He shrugs at you “what? I was thirsty”

Sanji looks like someone just stabbed him in the chest. “y/n-swaaaan, say it isn’t true! You chose him over me?!”

Luffy, on the other hand, starts clapping. “I knew it! I knew you guys were acting weird lately!”

Zoro leans back in his chair, completely unfazed by the chaos “What’s the big deal? It’s not like it’s a secret anyway.”

You bury your face in your hands, half-embarrassed, half-amused “yeah, we weren’t exactly hiding it” you mumble.

“You weren’t exactly telling anyone, either” Nami points out, still recovering from the shock.

Robin chuckles, her calm voice cutting through the noise “I had my suspicions. You’ve been spending a lot of time in the crow’s nest lately, y/n.”

Zoro smirks, reaching for his sake “That’s because it’s quiet up there. No nosy idiots.”

Sanji slams his hands on the table. “I demand an explanation! How did this even happen?!”

“It’s not that complicated” Zoro says with a shrug “We talked. We got along. End of story.”

“Not end of story!” Usopp argues along with Brook “We need details! When? How? Why?!”

You laugh, finally relaxing as the initial wave of chaos dies down “Does it really matter? We like each other. That’s all there is to it.”

Luffy grins, clearly satisfied “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy!”

Nami sighs, shaking her head with a smile “I can’t believe Luffy figured it out before anyone else…Well, at least now we know why you’ve been so weird around each other.”

Franky seems to snap out of shock and says “wait, earlier you didn’t drink at the kiss question, so you are in a relationship but didn’t kiss??”

Zoro looks at you and answers “I was about to but then I saw she wasn’t drinking..” pointing at you.

“Oh, I didn’t drink because it was too embarrassing to admit it like that” you reply trying to hide your face from them all.

Sanji sulks dramatically for the rest of the night, muttering about “unfair competition” and “stupid swordsman”. Meanwhile, Zoro stays by your side, his hand brushing against yours under the table.

As the crew moves on to more lighthearted questions, you can’t help but smile. It wasn’t how you planned to tell them, but in typical Straw Hat fashion, it was perfect chaos.

And Zoro? He leans close, his voice low enough for only you to hear “Told you it’d be fine.”

[junnieverse]

DADDY DAY CARE ➳ H. DONGMIN

➙ synopsis: with you at work due to an emergency and taesan having the weekend off from his own job, this was the perfect time for him to spend some quality time with his daughter.

pairing: han taesan x afab!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.0k

warning: not proofread, set in the future where taesan is much older (like late 20s), domestic husband taesan may melt your heart

a/n: this was originally in my drafts (for a very, and i mean VERY long time- like years) written for hanbin, but since I no longer write for zb1 and I found taesan’s interactions with babies so cute, this seemed like the perfect member to go with

a/n (2): taesan never beating the girl dad allegations <3 [ REBLOGS HIGHLY APPRECIATED! ]

“Okay, I have to get going now or I’m gonna be late. Remember she has to have her nap time at one or she’ll get grumpy. And do NOT let her eat a lot of sugar.”

Going through the last of your instructions, your husband only nods as your glare softens at the sight of your 11 month old daughter cradled in his arms.

“Bye my butterfly, mommy loves you so so much.” you litter kisses all over her chubby little cheeks as giggles erupt from her.

Turning back to your husband again, you also give him his own well deserved peck on the lips before he speaks up, “don’t worry honey, I got this. Butterfly and I are gonna be perfectly fine.”

Nodding, you let out one last silent prayer for your house and child to be in one piece by the time you come back and make your way out feeling your heart hurting having to leave your family even if it would be for just a few hours.

It was a weekend but your boss had called you in to work to finish up some last minute preparations for a presentation your team had been working on seeing as some issues had arose and your help was needed to fix it.

Luckily for you, your husband, found this as the perfect chance to bond with your daughter since he rarely got to spend much time with just her alone.

With the unexpected call into work, Taesan offered to stay home with your daughter, whom you referred to by her nickname “butterfly” which Taesan himself had started calling her ever since finding out you were both having a girl during your pregnancy.

You couldn’t lie and say you weren’t a bit hesitant at first. Despite how incredible of a husband and father Taesan was, this would be his first time being on "daddy duties", as he called them, on his own and you were just hoping he would be able to handle it.

“Okay butterfly. How about getting ready to go out for a walk with me huh, since mommy already gave you breakfast.” he asks the baby in his arms as she only smiles back, probably at the mention of her dearest mom.

Now Taesan had his own personal style he liked keeping to, but he could admit that getting his daughter dressed was simply not his forte.

Placing the little girl down on her playmat as she grabbed a nearby building block enamoured by the colours, Taesan turned his attention to her closet faced with his first challenge of the day.

Letting out a huff, his hands rest on his hips as his foot lightly taps on the floor with his eyes scanning the rack of various clothes.

"What do we think butterfly, are we feeling more colourful with glitter today or do you want sequins?" he asks turning to the preoccupied baby who only babbles back in response as her form of communication.

"Both it is!"

Pulling out a pastel-coloured and sequinned dress from the hanger, a pair of white frilly socks, and silver glittery ballet flats with little bows on the front to complete the entire look.

"Wow bun, I'd say I did a pretty good job don't you think~" he once again asks admiring his style of work cooing at the baby as he blows raspberries into her stomach making her laugh as he smiled.

Next, he grabbed her little ribbons as he sat down behind her preparing to tie her hair just as he had watched you do all the time.

For a good five minutes he seemed to struggle seeing as his very playful daughter couldn't sit still wanting to play with all the toys around her.

Like a cartoonish lightbulb moment hitting him, Taesan takes his silver Chrome Hearts necklace off dangling the chain in front of his daughter catching her attention.

"Look at the shiny necklace butterfly, play with this so daddy can do your hair please." he pleads as her tiny grasp reaches for the necklace quietly observing the new object with high interest.

Taesan exhales in relief as she was now sitting quietly playing with the necklace around her neck as he attempted to part her hair in two to give her little space buns.

"And... done." he huffs adding the last yellow bow to her head admiring her hair.

Evidently skew and still mildly unkept with a few curls falling out, he was proud of his first attempt at doing her hair having expected it to look a lot worse.

With butterfly in the carrier on his chest, tucked and secured, Taesan decided to use the late morning to get his daily steps in and let the both of them get some fresh air and sun for the day.

Making a stop by a nearby ice cream truck, he orders himself one before sitting by the bench watching the kids nearby play as he enjoyed his soft serve ice cream.

"Don't think I didn't notice you eyeing my ice cream missy. You want some? No, you can't have any~" he teases her inching the ice cream near her as she opens her mouth, only to pull it away and lick it as she watched.

Her small face suddenly changed as her eyes began to water and her pout full on display growing upset at her dad's teasing.

"Wait no no- don't cry butterfly. Here, have some. But don't tell mommy about this, let's keep it between us." he pinky promises as he joins his pinky with her tiny one making him internally scream from the cuteness aggression.

Carefully letting her lick some ice cream, her smile grows back and he leans down to kiss her forehead.

"You just have daddy wrapped around your tiny finger don't you." he rhetorically asks noticing some ice cream on her nose.

His camera on his phone open, Taesan captures the moment quickly, saving the picture as his new wallpaper as he chuckles to himself realising she still had his necklace around her neck this entire time.

Giving her some of her own puffs to snack on for the time being, your husband made sure to send you short clips and pictures throughout the day of him and butterfly to show you that they were both still doing well and missing you, her words, not his, according to him.

It was small moments like this Taesan enjoyed most.

Due to the nature and demand of his job, he didn't get to spend as much time as he would've liked to with both you and your daughter. But when he did get the chance, he made sure to cherish every little moment because you were both his favourite people.

Looking down at his daughter, he notices the small yawn escape past her lips and noticing the time on his phone, Taesan realised it was nearing her nap time and decided that was enough outside time for them both.

It was now 1:23pm and Taesan was now faced with his next challenge.

Butterfly was meant to be long asleep, but after changing into her onesie to get comfortable, she was seemingly putting up a fight wanting to stay up with her dad.

She had been fighting to stay awake that it started to frustrate her because her body also knew it was naptime, making her a very grumpy grouch.

This gave Taesan the bright to try and wear out her energy until she couldn't stay up from the exhaustion.

"Daddy brought you some paper, so how about we make some fun art for mommy instead?" he placed all the markers and glitter down knowing she would just scribble all over and make a mess, which he would have to clean up before you came back later.

Picking up whichever colour caught her attention first, Taesan opened the lid for her showing her what to do for her to mimic his actions and she was quick to follow along.

Unbeknownst to him, when Taesan had left the room to answer his ringing phone he had left in the living room, the glitter was left unattended and open for butterfly to have her own little fun.

Tipping the bottle over, the pink glitter spills onto the playmat and she reaches for some glitter as it sticks all over her hands. Her next mistake being she reached for her face leaving remnants of it all over her and her clothes in an attempt to get the weird substance off her hands.

Making his way back into the room, Taesan gasps in horror at the scene in front of him, rushing to his daughter he grabs the wet wipes trying to wipe off whatever he could, some of it still being stubborn on her.

Continuing their little arts and crafts, the man only surrenders to his daughter as she uses the washable markers to draw all over his arm, the paper long forget on the side which she should've been using.

Taesan was evidently whipped for you, without a doubt, but his daughter truly had his entire heart and he would give her anything and everything... even if it meant being used as her little art canvas for a few minutes to keep her entertained.

Yawning himself, he looks at the clock on the wall which read 1:45pm, which was well past butterfly's bed time and she too seemed to be growing tired.

"Time to pack these away butterfly and I'll read you a story to sleep." he gently says as he slowly packs everything back into it's place and grabbing Little Red Riding Hood to read to her.

He picks her up chuckling at how messing her hair had become over the course of her fussing and playing with some glitter still prominent on her cheeks.

Laying down on the playmat himself, he lays his daughter on his chest as he opens the storybook onto the first page.

Beginning to read to her as he interchanges her one hand to hold the book up as the other goes back and forth between stroking her back softly and flipping the pages of the book.

As he nears the end of the story, he hears soft snores and feels her light breathing notifying him she had successfully fell asleep.

Closing the book beside him, he notices the left mess of glitter from before sighing in exhaustion.

"I'll clean that up after a short nap with butterfly." he mumbles to himself as his own tiredness catches up with him closing his eyes letting the sleep take over.

You step into the house kicking your shoes off as a sigh of relief escapes past your lips letting your toes finally breathe after hours of working in those mildly shoes.

Having expected to walk into either the smell of something burning in the kitchen or at least be greeted by your loving husband and daughter, you’re instead met with complete silence.

“My babies~ I’m back home. Please tell me you’re both still alive.” you speak out into the open, cackling softly at your own joke, only to get no response in return.

Making your way around the house quietly, you go into your daughter’s room and find a scene you were least expecting to see.

On the floor, both your favourite people were fast asleep cuddling each other.

Taesan snores softly with butterfly on his chest sound asleep, light snores matching her father’s, her hair wild and unkept and glitter all over the two of them and the floor beside them.

Quietly tiptoeing towards the two, you kneel down placing a light blanket on top of them to keep them warm before adding soft pecks onto both of their foreheads.

Your hand gently brushes the loose strands of hair to the side covering your husband’s face, you look down and notice the scribble marks all over his arm and a small smile grows over your face only imagining what these two had gotten up to while you were away.

In most instances you wouldn’t be happy at the sight of the mess in front of you, but your heart couldn’t help but melt instead seemingly content at the turnout of your perfect little family.

You truly couldn’t ask for anything more.

[spencereidluver]

N is for New Years

january 01, 2009

summary: You and Spencer celebrate your first new years together with the girls at Penelope's apartment, then go back to his to celebrate alone.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: smut, alcohol (a single glass of wine is shared between reader and spencer, they do not get drunk.), somewhat sub!spencer but mostly because he's inexperienced,

“Y/N, you know I’m no good at parties,” Spencer says. He’s sat on the edge of his bed with one leg crossed over the other, both hands working to straighten his tie. 

You’re standing at the counter in Spencer’s bathroom putting your makeup on. “It’s not a party, Spence,” you giggle. 

“Actually, it is. A party is a type of social gathering of invited guests involving eating, drinking, socialization, and entertainment,” he states matter-of-factly. 

“It’s just the girls,” you’re trying to mask the hint of laughter in your voice, but it's becoming challenging.

“Yeah, speaking of which, why am I invited to the girls' night?” You couldn’t see his face, but you knew the look he wore: eyebrows furrowed, lips parted slightly, head cocked slightly to the right, his hand almost certainly brought up to his chin- his ‘confused face.’ You peek out from behind the bathroom door before exiting, a habit you picked up from work. You knew there was no danger in Spencer’s bedroom, but the months of training you’d subdued has overridden your subconscious. You catch sight of Spencer, making the exact face you’d thought he’d be.

He looks over to the door when he registers movement, meeting your eyes. He looks you up and down, mouth falling more agape. “Wow,” he says as he shifts slightly on the bed. “Y/n…” His head is scrambling to find words. “Y-you look beautiful.” 

You’re dressed in a solid black dress that ends slightly above your mid-thigh. Thin spaghetti straps draw attention to your collarbones, and though square around the neck, it’s cut low enough for the smallest amount of cleavage to peek through. A black lace waist corset droops around your waist, the strings hanging low down your back. 

“Will you tie this for me?” You ask as you turn around, revealing the untied strings. 

Spencer rushes to you, spitting out a stuttered “of course.” He stands behind you, wrapping his arms around you to pull the loose corset to its intended position. He tugs on the strings, the tension pulling the fabric into your waist. “How’s that?” He asks, holding the strings in place. 

“A little tighter,” you respond.

“A-are you sure? You need to be able to breathe.” He says, refusing to adjust the strings. 

You chuckle quietly. “It’s not tight at all, Spence.” You’re telling the truth. He had only pulled the strings tight enough for the corset to stay against your waist on its own. 

“You have bones and organs in there!” He pulls the strings ever so slightly tighter, but not enough. He slips his fingers in the side, three of them. “I’ll leave room for one finger, how's that?”

“Okay,” you smile, even though he can’t see it. You find it sweet the way he’s so worried about your health, even though the corset is a thin fabric, not leather, and you’re only wearing it for a few hours one night. 

He tightens the corset to the agreed upon extent then ties a bow at the bottom. He rests his hands on your waist, which has been cinched thinner and tighter, and tilts his head back to admire his delicate work. His fingers explore the front of the corset, feeling the intricacies of the lace as he buries his face in your hair, inhaling your scent.

You turn to the mirror on your left, seeing the finished look for the first time. You reach a hand up to Spencer’s head, still buried in the side of your neck. “It’s gorgeous,” you say as you fluff Spencer’s hair to attract his attention. “Thank you.”

Spencer’s eyes meet yours in the mirror, his hands are still on the small of your waist holding you close. “You’re so so pretty, Y/n. So pretty,” he says, unable to take his eyes away from the mirror. 

You reach your arm behind you, grabbing onto Spencer’s tie from the section of his chest that was visible in the mirror. You’re smooth in your movements, pulling him down to you as you do a 180° turn to face him. Your lips meet his, feeling the desire from his sloppy return. His mouth is open, wet, and his hands gripping tightly on your waist. He moans slightly as you pull harder on his tie, the feeling of want taking over him. 

You battle your own want for him, the feeling growing more as he groans into your mouth with every reposition of your lips. He’s like jell-o in your arms, his bony shoulders awkwardly bumping yours as he’s leaning into your kiss. Your hands grasp aggressively at the loose fabric of his dress shirt around his waist. 

Spencer’s waist was one of your favorite parts of him physically. Especially when you were making out. The way he contorts himself into the kiss, the feeling of his abdomen trembling, it all came from the waist. 

Spencer loved his waist being touched by you as well. He wasn’t sure how to express this to you, but he didn’t have to. The way the octaves of his moans shifted, and how his hips involuntarily jutted toward you as you held him let you know just fine. You feel him hard against your thigh as he presses his hips into yours, his mouth breaking away from yours as a whine moves past his lips. He tries to go back for another kiss, but you move away.

“Spence, we need to go,” you pant. 

He huffs, but nods. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” There’s a hint of sadness in his tone, you feel bad for him. That was the closest he’d ever come to initiating, and you had to deny him. He backs away from you, walking to his closet to get his converse.

“I’m sorry,” you say, worried you made him upset.

“It’s okay, we have plans,” he sits on the corner of the bed again, slipping his shoes on. 

You ruffle his hair as you lean down to plant a kiss on his forehead. He looks up at you with a wide smile; forehead kisses were one of his many weaknesses you’ve found out. 

He finishes tying his shoes, standing once he’s done. You pick up your bag off the nightstand, immediately feeling a hand grab your forearm to stop you. “I’ll take that,” Spencer says with a smile as he takes the bag from your hand. He hooks the bag over his shoulder and gives you a nod. “Ready?”

“I think so,” you say, beginning to walk toward the door. Spencer follows close behind you, shutting the light off as you exit the bedroom and enter the living room. “Actually, wait.” You turn around. Spencer gives you a look of confusion. “Don’t let me get drunk tonight.”

His eyes went soft. “Y/n, I really don’t mind taking care of you, I- I’ve seen dead bodies almost every day for the last five years, a little puke is nothing.” His voice is gentle. You knew he was referring to the Christmas party, the night you got way too drunk and threw up all over his bathroom. But that’s not what you were referring to.

“No, Spencer, I mean I think we should celebrate on our own later,” you correct.

“What? Why would we go to Garcia’s house if we’re going to have a second celebration without them?” His voice is high and crackly, he’s confused. 

You knew better than to try being mysterious with him, but at the same time, you found his rare bouts of confusion adorable. You step closer to him, closing any gaps between the two of you. You reach a hand behind his neck, pulling his head down to yours. Your lips are hovered just off of his; the closest possible distance without touching. His breath is hot and shaky against your mouth. "What I mean is,” you say before giving a quick peck to his perfectly parted lips, “I think we should,” peck, “come home,” peck, “and finish,” peck, “what we started,” peck, “earlier,” peck.

He stares at you blankly for a moment, before his face turns red. “O-oh,” is all he can spit out, an embarrassed smile taking over his crimson face. “Y-yeah, I think I can do that.” 

You smile back at him and give him a kiss on his warm rosy cheek before turning to lead the way out of his apartment for real this time. Spencer’s cheeks somehow get more red from your kiss. He reaches a hand up, touching the place your lips had moments before departed. He follows behind you from his apartment unit, all the way down to his car.

____

“Are you and Spencer gonna kiss at midnight?” Penelope asks, trying to whisper but failing as one too many tequila shots has made her lose control of her voice.

Penelope was your and Spencer’s biggest fangirl. She loved everything about the two of you being together. She’s been impatient in wanting to witness a kiss, practically begging for it to happen any chance she got. You nor Spencer ever gave in though, as, to quote your genius boyfriend, ‘the pressure to kiss takes away from all meanings, and if there’s no meaning behind the action, why share millions of cells of bacteria when you don’t have anything to gain from it?’

While his take was something you’d never really given thought to, it was still a boundary set and you respected that. Spencer was against PDA in the beginning of your relationship, but it didn’t take him all that long to open up to it, his admiration and unconditional love for you taking over the inhibition. While he was more open to holding hands, grabbing your waist, and hugging in public, he’s still yet to kiss you in the presence of others. You figure this was just another stage of him learning to love, and wanted to allow him to do so.

Subconsciously, you told yourself you would not initiate the first public kiss, as you wanted to ensure Spencer was entirely comfortable with the happenings, however when you got drunk at the Christmas Party, you almost broke your internal promise.  Luckily for you though, your drunken loss of coordination had compromised your aim and the only thing to come in contact with the sloppy kiss was his chin.

“I don’t know, we’ll see,” you answer, giving the clearly intoxicated Penelope a smile.  

“Come on, it’s just a kiss,” Emily giggles. “You gotta give us something! You were all over each other at the Christmas party, we're not stupid.” 

They were both clearly intoxicated, you would be too if you hadn’t plans for tonight. Hanging out with the girls while drunk was always fun. It was the closest you were able to come to normal friendship, the subconscious profiling out the door when the alcohol was in your systems. 

“You guys know how he is, he’s weird about that kind of stuff,” you’re trying to answer them as best you can without oversharing, knowing Spencer would kill you if you shared anything about the intimate side of your relationship.

Speaking of Spencer, he was in Penelope's kitchen pouring drinks for the three of you. It was natural for him to take over as host, as he very rarely drank at any gatherings the team had. Luckily for you, he emerges from the corner before the girls start grilling you even harder. He held three clear wine glasses in one hand, all filled ⅔ of the way with a thick red liquid. 

He approaches the three of you who were sitting in a semi-circle on the floor of the living room, such little space between your bodies that your knees were touching. He crouches down, one knee to his chest, the other a support pillar on the floor, between you and Penelope. 

“Aw, would you look at that,” Emily coos, taking a glass from his clawed hand. 

“What a ladies man,” Penelope jokes as she takes the glass Spencer has pushed across the imaginary circle toward her. 

Spencer rolls his eyes, “And for my lady,” he says and hands the final glass to you. 

You scoff at his sorry attempt of a pun. “You’re stupid,” you giggle, shooting a sweet smile in his direction to make sure he knew you were joking. You scoot away from Penelope to the open spot on the ground and signal for Spencer to sit in the vacant area. He does so, situating his lanky figure in a criss-cross position. 

“Welcome to the gir-cle!” Penelope cheers, leaning a head on Spencer’s shoulder briefly.

While Spencer was sometimes weird about physical touch from people other than you, he’s learned to tolerate such from Penelope.

Spencer’s brow furrows, unable to hide his very confused face. “The Gir-cle?” he questions as he looks around the three of you for someone to enlighten him.

You laugh along with the other girls, placing a loving hand on Spencer’s thin thigh. “It means ‘girl-circle.’ We always sit here on girls night.”

Spencer’s gaze stops at your eyeline, a smile forming on his face. “Very clever,” he says. His eyes break from yours, looking to the circle again. “Actually, puns are one of the only form jokes to land among everyone as the punchline is always the incongruity of the subject. People are expecting one thing, but the pun takes away the consistency of a term or phrase and that is inherently humorous.”

Emily and Penelope are looking at you, eyes pleading for you to shut him up. You squeeze his thigh and mumble his name under your breath, though you're sitting in such close proximity to everyone that it’s virtually impossible for them to not have heard it as well. 

“Oh, um, sorry,” he stutters, “I- I’m glad I’m welcome in the gircle.”

“Normally it’s strictly no boys allowed, but you’re special, Dr. Reid,” Emily says, taking a sip of her wine.

Spencer shoots you yet another glance riddled with confusion. This poor boy was SO confused by the world of women, it was sweet. He pressed his lips into a straight line. “How am I special?” he asked.

“Because Y/n here is a near and dear member to our gircle!” Penelope tells him. “And you’re like, basically conjoined twins, so if we want Y/n we get you too!”

“I was going to say because you bring us wine, but that works too,” Emily says.

Spencer looks at you, still confused, but he’s decided to give it up. He takes notice in your wine glass which you’ve yet to sip from. He tips his head toward it, raising his eyebrows. 

“Spencer…” you whisper, squeezing your hand resting on his thigh as you attempt to remind him of your conversation before you’d left his apartment. 

He nods. “I know, it’s okay.”

You lean close to his ear. “Just the one glass, m’kay?” you breathe into his ear. You begin to back away, but return to whisper one more thing. “And you get a few sips too.” You sit up straight, giving him a smile. He rolls his eyes and smirks, a characteristic he’d picked up from spending nearly all his waking (and sleeping) hours with you, before taking the glass from your hand and taking a reactionless sip. 

Emily and Penelope practically cheer at the sight of Spencer drinking, as they’d noted how rare the occasion was for him. 

The clock was quickly approaching midnight. 11:23. Honestly, you were surprised Penelope hadn’t turned the T.V. on to watch the-

“OH MY GOD!” Penelope’s voice rips through the room. “THE BALL!” 

She scrambles to turn on the T.V. flipping through the channels until she reaches the screen filled with a close up of Ryan Seacrest’s face. “I lost track of time, I’m so sorry guys! Don’t worry, we only missed Lionel Richie. Taylor still has her whole segment and the Jonas Brothers have just started.”

“How do you know the entire setlist for the-” Spencer starts, but is interrupted by Emily.

“Don’t even ask,” she says. 

Penelope settles on the couch directly behind you to watch the television program, holding her wine glass out with a limp wrist. “Come on, guys! There’s plenty of room on the couch,” she comments.

Emily joins her on the couch, but Spencer doesn’t budge. “I think Y/n and I will stay on the floor, we’re comfortable,” he says, but scoots back a tad to lean his back against the front panels of the sofa. You move next to him, snuggling into his side and resting your head on his shoulder.

“Suit yourself,” Penelope shrugs and turns the volume on the T.V. up.

_____

You weren’t expecting anything to happen, so when the countdown ended and the ball dropped the feeling of Spencer’s mouth passionately against yours was a complete surprise. And you definitely were not expecting his tongue to break past your lips and enter your mouth. And honestly, you would’ve bet your life savings on his body not tackling you to the ground as he pounced on you, arms darting up to hold your face still from the impact of his kiss, but if you were to have gone through with the bet, you’d be a very poor woman. 

You were too entranced in the kiss to notice the whispers and pointing fingers from the two women on the sofa behind you, but in the back of your mind- like the WAY far back- you knew they were absolutely eating this up. A wolf whistle escapes from one of the girls’ lips, which causes Spencer to snap back into reality. His face turns red as he realizes where he’s at. He sits back up on his own, clearing his throat.

“U-um sorry, Y/n,” he says sheepishly as he extends his hand out to help you up from the floor. You take his hand and sit up next to him again, leaning forward to peck his cheek to let him know it was alright. Actually, it was more than alright. In a way, you were proud of him for mustering the courage to do such an intimate and, what had been, a very private thing for him in the strains of Penelope’s living room. Seeing Spencer gain confidence within your relationship was something beautiful. It was as if he was not only becoming more bold, but becoming himself.

Spencer is uncomfortable, no, more embarrassed. He feels the eyes from the couch behind him burning into the back of his head. It doesn’t take a profiler to sense the tension he’s created for himself. While a kiss in front of friends, even one as passionate as the one you’d just shared, felt acceptable, especially on New Years, to you and the women behind you, Spencer felt as if he’d just exposed himself to his entire workplace. 

From the way he’s shifting in his seated position, unable to hold still, it is apparent to everyone he is wanting to be just about anywhere else right now. You’ll admit, watching Spencer squirm is adorable, but from the way he is desperately grasping at your hand with his, you know he’s trying to signal something to you. 

You fake a yawn. “Well, it is officially four minutes past Spencer’s bedtime,” you say, hinting to everyone, mostly him, that it’s time for you to go home. 

“Spencer’s bedtime was several hours ago, he’s like a grandfather,” Emily jokes, “Go ahead and leave though, you’re not going to miss anything besides when I puke all over Garcia’s bathroom in about four hours.”

“You’re staying?!” Penelope exclaims. She’s clearly excited that, after her countless attempts at begging her, Emily finally decided to have a sleepover at her apartment. 

“Oh, I’m staying.” Emily’s eyes close in on Penelope. “I was promised homemade french toast in the morning, how could I possibly leave?”

“Oh you just wait!” Penelope squeals. “You guys are welcome to stay too!” She motions toward you and Spencer, who has clearly gone non-verbal.

His eyes briefly meet with yours, a fearful look in them, as if he’s begging you to answer for him. You think of an excuse, and while if either of them gave it any thought they’d be able to see right through it, it’s the quickest thing to make it through your brain and past your lips. 

“Not tonight,” you say, a sorrowful tone in your voice. “Someone is very particular about his mattress.” You playfully slap a hand on Spencer’s shoulder as you speak, telling that he’s the someone who has mattress preferences. 

Your answer in itself wasn’t a lie; Spencer did sleep so much better in his own bed than anywhere else. One of the first things he’d tell you in the mornings when you wake up in a hotel bed on a case is how awful the mattress was. But once you got down to it, he didn’t actually mind all that much. You hope for poor poor Spencer’s case that Penelope and Emily are far too intoxicated to piece your lie together, however lying to profilers has never proven to be successful. 

Maybe they were too drunk, or maybe they had their fun with Spencer, sensing his flustered state, and decided to spare him. They walked you to the door, both girls giving you a hug before you left. Spencer of course ran out the door before the goodbyes had even finished leaving his lips.

____

“Y/n I’m really sorry for what I did in there,” Spencer finally says. The walk to the car had been silent, he held your hand so as to tell you he wasn’t upset at you for anything, but the clench of his jaw told you he did not want to speak.

“Hey, you did nothing wrong,” you said, reaching a hand across the center console of the car and resting it on his thigh. He tremors beneath your touch before welcoming it, placing his hand on top of yours.

“Are you sure?” He briefly looks away from the road to meet your eye. 

“I promise.” You gently squeeze his thigh.

He sighs. “Okay,” he says.

“Everyone knows we're together, Spencer. It’s normal for couples to kiss.” You’re trying to explain something to him that you know he knows. It’ll never work.

“I know, it just feels… weird to me.”

“Then we don’t have to kiss in front of people, we can save it for when we’re alo-’

“No.” Spencer’s voice was strangely stern.

“W-what?”

“I want to be able to kiss you in front of people. I want to be normal.”

“You are normal, don’t do something that makes you uncomfortable solely for me to enjoy it.”

“Y/n, there is nothing that could make me uncomfortable with you.” He slows the car to a gentle halt in the parking lot in front of his apartment. He looks over into your eyes. “Nothing.” His tone of voice is reassuring. You smile at him, a small giggle coming out of your nose. 

He’s so cute.

His top lip trembles slightly, not like he’s about to cry, more like he’s trying to hold his smile back from you. A hand comes up to meet your chin, thumb running along the bottom of your jaw to your chin. He lets his thumb trace around your lips, pulling the bottom one down as he finishes his circle. 

He’s slow in his movements, but turns his hips and body to face yours. He uses his hand on your chin to pull you toward him. He closes the gap between you, pressing his chest firmly into yours. His lips hover just off of yours. His breath is hot against yours, yours the same to him. He exhales shakily as his lips barely graze yours.Their touch is so light you don’t think it would even count as a kiss. His soft lips and their exploration have your heart racing.

You press closer into him while moving your lips more eagerly against his. Spencer returns your eagerness, his movements becoming fervent. His hand slides to the back of your neck and fingers tangle in your hair as he pulls you impossibly closer. 

You lift your legs up into the seat of the car, shifting your position to rest on your knees which allows you to lean in at a more comfortable angle. Your hands roam up to Spencer’s face, he allows your fingertips to trace the beautiful contours of his jaw and cheekbones. His skin is warm and soft beneath the pads of your fingers, the finest layer of sweat beginning to surface on his face.

He squeezes his fist in your hair, the gentle pulling of it bringing a small whine past your lips, causing a deep groan to leave Spencer’s throat.

His other hand finds your waist, pulling you onto his lap without breaking the kiss. He whimpers as you settle on him, the inevitable friction of you against his lap causing his hips to rut up toward you so slightly. The confined space of the car amplified every touch, every feeling, every movement, each moment intimate and exhilarating.

Your fingers move to his hair, pulling gently, but insistently. He hums little noises into your mouth with each small tug. Your kisses are heavy, the passion leaving you both breathless. The warm air being exhaled fogs up the windows of the car, blurring the outside world. 

You finally pull back, resting your forehead against his. Your eyes lock with his, a gaze of longing covering the brown of his. You feel his chest rising and falling against yours. His hands are rested on your hips, fingers digging into you a little roughly. 

You smile at him, rubbing your nose into his. “Ready to go in?” you ask as you crawl off his lap, opening the car door and starting the walk to his apartment door.

part 2 HERE

_____

next chapter: P is for Perfect

other parts: Spencer Reid A-Z Masterlist

view the masterlist in a calendar version! 

_____ BUY ME A COFFEE _____

a/n: i felt like i haven't been writing enough interactions with the team, so these last two parts have kind of been dedicated to them. i also realized i only had one chapter with smut, so i wanted to give my lovely lovely whores (said with love) some content.

i left jj out of this part because in accordance with the timeline, she has a newborn baby at home, and i personally feel as if she wouldn’t leave a two month old henry home to go drink with her coworkers.

_____

Have Recommendations? visit my recommendations page to submit your suggestion, no matter how big or small!

_____

taglist:

@justlivinginadaydream @dij-ology @navs-bhat @sammy-4103 @ada--44 @moongirl27

@hopelessheaven @shycreationdreamland @cultish-corner @violetvsworld @ivyflowers13 @taygrls

@hookergutss @random-3455 @nmw-am @bookworm124 @hizzielover @jem08

@princessbowbaby @theofficialfunk @skylions-den @smalltownbeautyqueen @spencereidapologist @lunajay33

@softlysunrays @maybe-not-this @wannabewolf @sylv3in @silver138 @sarcasm-and-stiles

@pillsbury-doughgirl @monfleurr @novaeatsworld @pleasantwitchgarden @vivixir @lolita-hc @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @guacam011y @super-nerd22 @khxna

[muniimyg]

⋆꙳•❅ knj: wit it this christmas ❆•꙳

in which your boyfriend absolute sucks at wrapping gifts, leaving you to do all the work since… well, you don't suck. at least, not at gift wrapping!

series m.list // taglist

note: hoe hoe hoe ,, let's begin the series <3

warning: kissing, tit fucking, nam joon slaps oc, blowjob, headpusher!joon, dirty talk (calls her cockslut, bitch, etc), face cum shot

//

the floor is a mess. 

it’s a chaotic spread of wrapping paper scraps, accidentally ripped bows, and ribbons cut the wrong length—not to mention the missing roll of tape…you’re sitting in the middle of it all, cross-legged and nearly about to lose your mind. 

meanwhile, namjoon sits beside you, scissors in hand and an expression somewhere between focused and defeated.

“namjoon, this is—this is not even remotely straight. what happened?”

“okay, first of all,” he starts, setting the scissors down exaggeratedly, “you gave me the world’s dullest scissors. second, who needs straight edges? it’s going to get ripped off in like, two seconds.”

“it’s the principle,” you reply, deadpan, as you take the scissors from him and start cutting yourself. “why would we give out poorly wrapped presents? this is our 2nd christmas together—”

he sighs dramatically, leaning back on his hands. “okay, okay…”

“you’re on tape duty,” you say, tossing the roll at him. he catches it clumsily, letting out a small “oof” as it hits his chest. 

“wow, demoted again,” he mutters, peeling off a piece of tape and sticking it to his forehead. “what’s next? moral support?”

“don’t tempt me.”

the playful banter carries on as you work, but it’s not long before the god of destruction himself strikes again. 

why didn’t you see this coming? 

namjoon somehow manages to get the tape stuck to itself, creating an unusable, crumpled mess. you groan, taking the mangled roll from him.

“oh my god. do you suck this bad? fuck, that’s it. you’re officially off tape duty,” you declare, pointing towards the door. “go buy more wrapping paper. now.”

he stares at you, lips twitching into a smirk. 

“wow, so controlling. is this how it’s going to be when we’re married? barking orders at me every two seconds?”

“maybe if you actually followed instructions, i wouldn’t have to bark orders.”

his smirk grows into a grin, and there’s a glint in his eye now, playful but challenging. 

“you know, you’re kind of scary when you’re in charge.”

“good.”

"hot too."

"shut up."

the tension shifts, thickening the air between you. his grin fades into something softer, and when he leans closer, the warmth of his breath brushes your cheek. your heart skips as his hand finds your wrist, halting your movements.

“you’re so bossy,” he murmurs, his voice low, teasing. 

as much as you want to get these presents wrapped and out of the way, there’s something about his voice that pulls you back. something that makes your pulse race. even so, you fight through the urge. 

“and you suck,” you counter, but your words come out quieter, softer than you intend. "useless."

he chuckles, the sound deep and warm, before he closes the distance between you entirely.

“useless, huh?” he says, tilting his head, his nose brushing yours. there’s a lazy smirk tugging at his lips now. “you don’t sound too convincing, you know.”

your breath hitches. 

“well, you’ve got me surrounded by evidence, namjoon. want me to list all the ways you’ve been no help tonight? you fucking suck.”

his fingers tighten slightly around your wrist, grounding you, his thumb brushing idly against your skin. 

“maybe i just needed the right kind of motivation.”

you narrow your eyes at him, but your pulse betrays you, hammering wildly in your chest.

“and what kind of motivation would that be?”

he doesn’t answer right away, just looks at you, his gaze slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing every detail. when his free hand reaches up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, you feel your breath catch again.

“maybe if you stopped looking so pretty,” he murmurs, his voice dipping lower, “i’d be able to focus.”

your cheeks burn, but you scoff, trying to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach. 

“pretty sure being able to cut paper straight has nothing to do with how i look.”

“that’s where you’re wrong,” he says softly, his lips dangerously close to yours now. “because the whole time i’ve been thinking about kissing you instead of—”

you don’t let him finish.

it’s instinctive, the way you close the distance, your lips pressing to his in a kiss that’s more impatient than soft. but he doesn’t seem to mind. his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, while his other drops your wrist to settle on your waist.

the kiss deepens, slow and steady at first, before it grows more heated, all the playful tension from earlier unraveling between you. you can feel the faint press of his grin against your lips, making you smile too, even as your fingers tangle in his hair.

“so,” he murmurs against your lips when you finally break apart, his voice breathless, “am i still useless?”

“you’re getting there,” you reply, and before he can respond, you’re pulling him back in.

mid kiss, he pulls away and breathes; “you know how you’ve been yapping about how much i fucking suck at wrapping presents?” 

you nod. 

“let’s see how much you suck, boss.” 

nam joon has you placed in between his thighs. 

your mouth wraps around the tip of his cock. kissing it lightly, you open your mouth wider to suck him in slowly. you only take the top half though, trying to warm him up. 

he’s leaning back against the couch and watching you with needy eyes. his eyebrows furrow as you take him deeper, letting a muffed moan out every now and then. for a moment, he squeezes his thighs together, trapping you. you almost choke from the lack of air, but it’s only enough for your eyes to get teary. when he lets go, you gasp for air. he smirks, liking the way you lost your breath. then, you get back into it.

as you drag your tongue along his length, he hisses; “yeah? that’s it, baby. lick my fucking cock. see how hard it is?”

“mhm? really fucking hard, baby.”

“take your tits out,” he instructs you, shifting so can have the space to take your shirt off. 

you do so. 

“like this?”

“yes,” nam joon murmurs as he helps you undress. nam joon reaches over to unclasp your bra. tossing it to the side, he grabs a handful of your breasts and bites his lip. “so fucking pretty, baby. tits so fucking juicy. so perfect. god, so fucking perfect…”

you tilt your head and shake your body, getting your tits to jiggle. he groans and slaps them. then, with a raspy and demanding voice, he says;

“be a good girl and fuck my cock with your tits, baby.”

you smile, liking the idea. 

repositioning yourself, you kneel over and hold both sides of your breasts. pushing them together, nam joon helps but gently guiding his cock into your cleavage. he thrusts slowly, and you both watch the way the tip of his dick pops out. 

you spit on top and he moans from the warmth of your saliva. 

before you know it, he’s fucking your tits. 

he pumps himself in and out, harder and harder by the minute. 

then, he places his hand on top of your head and holds you still as he pushes his cock into your mouth. 

“take it, bitch.” 

so you do. 

you take him in, sucking him hard and sloppy. you take him in so good, he’s near cumming. he can feel his dick harden inside your mouth and you do too. it’s like every curve and vein pops out, angry and ready to burst. you feel his body tense too—his thighs, his pelvis, and even the way his face winces… it’s such a huge tell. 

soon, nam joon begins to pant. then, he takes a handful of your hair and tugs your head back. surprised by his suddenness, you let go of everything. he bends over and kisses you, shoving his tongue inside. 

you kiss him back, matching his desperation and passion. 

when he pulls away, he cups your face with one hand and squishes your lips together. 

“do as i say,” he huffs. “okay, baby?”

you nod.

he slaps your face. 

“good girl.”

you moan and he slaps you again. roughly, cups your face and spits on you. his saliva sprays all over your face, but more on your lips. 

“what do you say?”

“thank you.”

“yeah, that’s right, bitch. you fucking say thank you when i spit in your face, right? because you’re such a fucking cockslut. you take me in so good, why? cos you love me? or because you love my cock?” 

you blink at him, pouting. 

“because i love you.”

he lets out a chuckle. 

“and my cock,” he adds. “say you love my cock, baby. then tell me what you love about it. say it while you suck me dry.” 

without another word, he pushes your head down and takes his cock in his hands. pumping it slowly, he shoves it into your mouth and hisses at you. 

“look at me,” nam joon deadpans. “don’t take your eyes off me.” 

you listen. 

you watch as the corner of his lips curve into a smirk. he holds his cock steady as he uses his other hand to push your head. 

headpusher. 

you breathe in through your nose, trying to steady yourself. as he pushes your head, his cock reaches the back of your throat multiple times. you gag every now and then, and he takes his cock out to give you some air. as you cough, he runs his thumb against your lips and asks if you’re okay. you simply nod and take him back in. 

you suck him off. 

lick him up. 

and soon enough, he lets go of your head. 

with your newfound freedom, you plop down and dig into his balls. 

as you shove your face deeper, sucking his balls and pressing kisses on his length, you tell him;

“mhmpphh… baby, your cock is so fucking hard in my mouth. did you feel how deep i took you? thank you for helping me, baby… such a good fucking daddy. always helping his girl take him in… you like that, right? you like how big your cock is… doesn’t even fit in my mouth.” 

“yeah?”

“mhm,” you hum, shifting up to suck the tip of his cock. then, you take in more. 

and more.

and even more.

his body tenses. 

you look up at him, batting your eyelashes. 

“see?” you ask, mouth full of his cock. you suck as much as you can as you bob your head up. “f-fuck, baby… i can’t wait for you to cum. i love the way you cum taste. you always make it so sweet for me. what do you wanna do today, hmm? cum on my face? cum on my tits? i want it all, baby… will you give it to me? can this fucking big hard cock give me what i need?”

nam joon nods. 

“yeah?” you ask him, continuing to suck him dry. 

you watch as his body winces. 

“how do i look?” 

“so pretty…” 

“pretty?” you tease. “you like it when i suck you cock like this? you’re such a mouthfull… you say i’m bossy? this is how you shut me up, right?”

“yeah.”

“looks like you’re the one that’s all shut up,” you giggle. “do i suck your cock that good?”

“so good… my pretty cockslut.”

you pout. “then what’s taking so long? cum already. i wanna swallow.”

nam joon bucks his hips and listens to your request. he fucks your mouth. nam joon grunts, squirms, and finally—he cums. 

when he does, his cum rushes out and splatters over your face. he aims for your mouth as you stick your tongue out. a part of you wishes he didn't pull out and just spilled himself entirely inside your mouth.

he wipes the cum that landed on your cheek and shoves his fingers in your mouth. you suck it clean and moan from the heavenly taste. before he can move, you reach over and grab a piece of ribbon on the floor.

he sits still and laughs as you tie and make a bow of it around the base of his cock. you get up and find your phone and quickly snap a picture. 

nam joon’s legs are sprawled wide with one arm draped lazily over the backrest. his posture isn’t anything close to refined—more slouched than seated (it’s the post-nut posture). in the picture, his head tilted, eyes half-lidded like everything about him was effortless. his cock has a pretty pink bow tied around it. 

when you kneel up to show him, he groans. 

“my dick looks too soft.”

you giggle. 

“not my problem.” 

just as you’re about to move away, he grabs you by your hair and tugs your back. he places a kiss on your cheek then on your lips. against them, he murmurs; 

“it will be if you don’t fucking put my cock back inside your pretty mouth."

"oh? is that it?"

nam joon smirks.

"mhm... be a good girl and swallow this time.”

"don't pull out then." you pout.

"i'm so sorry about that," he tilts his head. "i'll be good boy this time and cum inside your mouth."

"promise?"

"promise."

[swizzlemynizzle]

Underneath The Noise - George Clarke

————————————————————

Summary: When Y/N joins a chaotic drunk bingo challenge across London, she doesn't expect to fall for the smirking stranger who always seems one step ahead.

———————————————————————————

“You can do this,” Y/N whispers under her breath as she stares at the apartment door, the painted wood blurring slightly as her pulse thuds behind her eyes. Her hand hovers near the doorknob, not quite touching. For a beat, she lets the noise from inside wash over her—laughter, music, voices overlapping with the easy confidence of people who already know each other.

Her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag. Social anxiety hasn't been bad recently—not like it used to be—but stepping into an unfamiliar group, especially one where everyone already fits, still makes her chest flutter with a too-familiar tension. She’s not sure if it's dread or anticipation, or some twisted blend of both.

She closes her eyes and exhales slowly, mentally rehearsing her smile. Just be cool. Be normal. Be fun.

“You alright?”

The voice behind her is casual, but it slices clean through her spiraling thoughts. She jolts, heart leaping in her chest.

“Oh shit.” She spins slightly, not fully turning around, eyes fixed on the door like it's safer to face. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” the stranger replies, amusement threaded through his tone.

Before she can make sense of that answer—or the weird prickle of awareness that races down her spine—he steps past her and swings the door open. As he leans in, his breath grazes her ear.

“They won’t bite.”

A shiver flickers down her neck, too subtle to show but too sharp to ignore. And then he’s gone, swallowed by the noise and the light inside. She blinks after him, catching only a flash of his back and the echo of his words as her pulse stubbornly refuses to settle.

Who the hell was that?

She barely has time to collect herself before Chris’s familiar voice booms from inside.

“Y/N! Did you have trouble finding the place?”

The warmth in his voice helps ease something tight in her chest, but not entirely. As she steps inside, her gaze skims the room, registering a handful of unfamiliar faces clustered around the lounge. She offers a tentative smile—but then her eyes land on him.

The guy from the hallway is already sprawled on the couch, looking infuriatingly smug. And way too good-looking.

“She’s been standing outside our door for like ten minutes. Total stalker behavior,” he quips before she can get a word in.

Her cheeks flare instantly, heat creeping up her neck. Seriously?

“What a prick,” she mutters under her breath, but her voice has more breath than bite.

“Okay, but why were you silently watching me from the hallway like a creep? That’s way worse,” she shoots back with a practiced smirk, masking the flurry in her chest.

Chris lets out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, George, you melon.”

George. She files the name away instinctively. Of course the smug stranger has a stupidly charming name.

She takes another glance around the room, spotting Arthur Hill—holy shit—and feels a little jolt of awe. She’s been a fan for years. He’s here. Just casually leaning against a kitchen counter, drink in hand. The surrealness of it all mixes with her nerves like static in her bloodstream.

She shifts closer to Chris, lowering her voice. “Are you going to introduce me, or…?”

“Oh—yeah, shit, sorry,” he says, turning back to the room. “You’ve already met George—aka the hallway lurker.”

George gives a mock bow from the couch, grinning. Y/N pointedly ignores him, but she can feel his eyes on her.

Chris continues, gesturing around the room. “That’s Arthur Hill—musician extraordinaire. ArthurTV—resident nerd. And Bach—or Isaac—funny guy, big nose.”

“Wow, okay. Arthur gets a compliment and I get an insult?” Bach replies with mock offense.

“Yeah, mighty bold coming from the hobbit himself,” George adds.

The group erupts in laughter, and to her own surprise, Y/N laughs too. Not just politely, either—her nerves slip enough to let something real crack through. George glances at her, quick and knowing, and for a moment, the room tilts strangely around her.

She shakes it off, choosing a seat beside Arthur Hill. The warmth of the banter continues, and slowly, her shoulders loosen. Maybe this won't be so bad.

Then Chris launches into his idea: a chaotic, oversized game of drunk bingo. Filmed, of course. Because mainstream YouTube waits for no one.

Two teams.

Y/N is on Team 1 with ArthurTV and Bach.

George is on Team 2. A small, irrational part of her exhales in relief.

His presence is distracting—an odd mix of aggravating and… magnetic. And under the easy confidence he wears like cologne, there’s something sharper. She can’t tell if it’s a challenge or just who he is, but she already knows it’ll be a problem.

Out on the street, the energy shifts. The city is alive, buzzing around them, and the boys are ridiculous—in the best way. It helps. It drowns out the buzzing thoughts that try to creep in when she’s quiet too long.

“What should we name our team?” ArthurTV asks, glancing between them.

“Hot Ass Bitches?” Bach suggests like it's the most obvious choice in the world.

“What the fuck, mate?” Arthur laughs.

Y/N smirks. “Let’s… think on it.”

They hit up a bargain shop, digging through racks with the unrestrained energy of people who don’t take themselves too seriously. She finds a shirt—soft pink, bold print. She holds it up with a grin.

“Hey boys, I think I found something good.”

They jog over, arms full of equally awful pink tracksuit pants and sneakers.

“Oh perfect—pink all the way,” Arthur says.

She flips the shirt to show the front: Hot Bitch Ready To Party.

Bach howls. “Okay, we’re 100% calling ourselves the Hot Ass Bitches now.”

By the time they step back out, dressed head to toe in bubblegum chaos, Y/N’s laughter is real. Her anxiety hasn’t disappeared, but it’s quieter now, buried beneath the noise of absurdity and movement.

They’re rounding a corner when they run into the other team. Y/N’s breath catches, just for a second.

“Well, look what we have here,” Chris says.

George’s eyes are already on her. That same half-smirk, like he’s in on a joke she hasn’t heard yet. His gaze drops briefly to her shirt, and her cheeks flame, again.

She forces an eye roll and keeps walking. You’re not twelve. Breathe.

But just as they pass, he leans in again, too close—too familiar—and murmurs, “Nice shirt. Very accurate.”

The words are light. Harmless, technically. But his voice drops just enough to curl into her chest and settle there.

She doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t need to. She can feel his smirk like static against her spine.

And despite herself—despite every rule she’s made about not falling for anyone in this scene—she’s already dreading and anticipating their next run-in.

---

1,430 words

Masterlist

Chapter two

———————————————————————————

Okay I’ve never ever written a fic of any kind but I’ve been reading a lot on here lately (ao3 and Wattpad my whole life) and wanted to give it a try.

[livwritessometimes]

Opposite - Pierre Gasly

: Pierre Gasly x Singer!reader

: Pierre’s new relationship leaves Y/n questioning their time together

: Series Masterlist

: Main Masterlist

: Author's Note - finallyyyy got time to write this part!! Also let me know if you guys want a taglist for I'm Pretty When I Cry Series (I have a few people who want to be tagged in Pt 2 for loml and Enough For You)

…

liked by pierregasly and 84,946 others

👤: pierregasly

Yourname: "Hey dan- I mean Bonjour" "Oh you mean, Au Revoir! Goodbye Humphrey, we're leaving" "where are you guys going?" "Paris"

view all 78,732 comments

pierregasly: It absolutely did not take Y/n 30 minutes to find this particular episode from gossip girls, just so she could use it as her caption

-> Yourname: Uh as if! guys let me tell you Pierre was just as invested as I was, if not more while watching the episode

-> pierregasly: shhh don't expose me 🤐

liked by Yourname and 102,721 others

👤: Yourname

pierregasly: Terrorizing the streets of New York with the biggest baddie who wears a bow!

view all 92,682 comments

Yourname: say all you want about the bow, just know when we get caught and they take our mugshots, we know who's gonna look good and who's not 💅🏻

-> alpinef1team: Please don't get arrested, we can't have our driver behind the bars before the season starts 😅

-> pierregasly: ...🥲

User39: Y/n and Pierre try to write normal caption challenge failed 🙅🏻‍♀️

-> User44: I love them constantly bullying each other 🥰

liked by pierregasly and 92,731 others

👤: pierregasly

Yourname: Rolling into the Dutch Grand Prix in style!

view all 89,727 comments

pierregasly: 🩵

User77: OMGGGG P33333!!! Let's goooooo

User98: Best good luck charm Pierre could ask for 🍀

*liked by Yourname*

liked by Yourname and 106,931 others

👤: Yourname, alpinef1team

pierregasly: You get P3 and then all of a sudden you are tackled to the ground by some crazy fangirl 🙄 but jokes aside I could not have done this without your support, a huge shoutout to my amazing team and equally (if not more) amazing fans!!!

view all 87,673 comments

alpinef1team: YESSSS! So Proud 💪🏻

alpinef1team: Best crazy fangirl to have around in the garage

-> Yourname: ...stop 🙈

liked by pierregasly and 98,673 others

👤 : pierregasly

Yourname: Happy birthday to the weird guy from my flight who likes to sleep with his mouth open...He's quite the character!

view all 80,721 comments

pierregasly: I can feel the love radiating from this post 🤭

-> Yourname: Guys that weird guy from my flight is back and now in my comment section

-> pierregasly: Jokes on you I'm inside your house

-> Yourname: 😨

User41: You guys are so cuteeeee! never stop bullying each other 🫶🏻

liked by Yourname and 95,731 others

👤: Yourname

pierregasly: Happy birthday to my crazy fangirl!! Here's to more years of bullying you 🥂

view all 86,821 comments

Yourname: Aa Ha there we have it folks, he just admitted he bullies me! My lawyer will get in touch with you Mr. Gasly and just so you know I'm getting the custody of @/alpinef1team 's admin

-> alpinef1team: Mom pick me up I'm scared, Dad is binge watching Gossip Girls again!!

-> pierregasly: wow! my own team i against me

-> alpinef1team: 🤭

User09: I will never get married if they break up

-> User712: Girl- same 🫱🏻‍🫲🏼

Y/n paused for a moment. The 10 minutes she had spent selecting every single photo she had with Pierre felt like eternity to her. So lost in her thought, she did not notice a drop tear roll down her face. It is funny how things can change so easily; how a lifetime worth of promises comes with an expiration date. "You will heal; I mean, look at how far you've come from where we were before," said Gracie, Y/n's best friend and probably the only person she had told about her breakup. For the rest of the world, Y/n and Pierre, 'the most playful couple', were still together, spending their vacation in some city filled with love and laughter.

It was Gracie who suggested that it's bout time she deleted their photos. I mean, it has been 2 months already; there is no point in holding on to something, someone who no longer wants to do anything with her.

She knew she would be fine. I mean, isn't that's how it's supposed to go? You hurt, you heal. It was simple, so why was it that hitting the delete button felt like the most difficult task in the world? Swallowing the lump in her throat, Y/n finally pressed the button, which in an instant erased the French man's existence from her life. Goodbyes are hard, especially when you did not see them coming. Y/n never dreamt of a future where she and Pierre wouldn't be together; sadly for her, that was the reality she now had to live in.

francisca.cgomes added to their story!

seen by Yourname and 65,821 others

Sitting in front of her dresser, Y/n was busy getting ready for the night. She saw the news about Pierre seeing someone else flood her Twitter feed. It's okay; it's not like he owed her an explanation or the fact that they broke up 4 months ago. It's perfectly fine for people to go out and explore the dating pool again. Hell, even Y/n had been on a few dates, none that got past the second date. What bothered her was the fact that Pierre was seen with his new girl in Paris. She still distinctively remembers one warm afternoon in July, where both she and Pierre were cuddled up on the couch watching some random movie to kill time. It was then that he told her, "I'm so excited for next week," he had said as he pulled Y/n closer to him. "And why is that?" she had questioned with a hint of amusement in her voice. "Paris holds a very special place in my heart, and a long time ago I decided that I would only take the people closest to my heart there," he said. "And you are very special to me, ma chérie," he added. It was always like this: cheeky comments and flirtatious replies were what made their relationship theirs. 

So seeing him take Francisca Gomes to Paris felt like a direct hit. Here she was barely able to hold onto a new date, and there he was going to the city of love with his 'special person.'

Y/n had just finished applying a sheet mask and decided to watch some videos on YouTube while waiting for her timer to go off. Scrolling through the home page, her eyes landed on an interview with none other than Francisca or Kika, as everyone on the internet had called her. "Kika Gomes on Balancing Life as a Model, a Student, and the Girlfriend of Pierre Gasly" read the title. She knows she shouldn't; she knows that no positive outcome will come from this video, but ignoring all the warning signs, Y/n clicked on the video. Her room was filled with the voice of Kika and the interviewer. Sometime after the introduction and general questions, Y/n stopped paying attention to what was being said in the interview. That was until she heard the interviewer ask Kika about her and Pierre's relationship.

On that reply, Y/n let out a dry chuckle. 'When you know, you just know' how basic. Of course she would think that; why would she mind them moving in 'too fast'? She's got nothing to lose. It was Y/n that had to suffer over them 'moving in too fast.' But no one paid attention to that, because she was not the one he was in love with, not anymore, at least.

Sometime later in the interview, the host asked Kika to play a game, answer a few questions, and take part in a challenge. After about 5-6 questions, the host announced the challenge: 'Get Pierre to text you back in 2 minutes; if she fails, she has to perform a dare.' With a scoff, Y/n said, "Good luck with that." She knows there is no way Pierre would reply within 2 minutes; he never did that during the entirety of their 2 years together, and there is no way he's gonna do it now. She saw Kika type a message to Pierre before hitting send and answering yet another question. It had barely been 30 seconds; the girl on the screen barely finished her sentence when the ding from her notification filled the studio. Y/n felt her heart drop; there was no way it was him; he had never been so quick before. Ya, Y/n was sure it was not him, but then what Kika said made her doubt a lot of things about her relationship with Pierre.

That reply was quick; that's what bothered Y/n. No, scratch that; that was one of the things that bothered Y/n about this new relationship. The girl in front of her could not have been more different from Y/n. She was taller than her, younger than her, and a lot prettier than her. They could not have been more opposite of each other. It made Y/n question whether she was even Pierre's type all along. Was that the reason why he broke up with her? because she was not like the usual girls he would go for? because she did not fit his standard of beauty? Before Y/n could spiral down any further, her phone started ringing, startling her and cutting off her long chain of thought. Looking down, she saw that it was her manager who was calling her. She looked at the top of the screen to check the time: 11:24 p.m. It was odd for her manager to call her at this hour. Confused,  she answered the phone, "Hello?"

liked by gracieabrams and 120,371 others

👤 : gracieabrams, taylorswift

Yourname: Word on the street that two best friends are on their way to traumatize a whole lot of people at the ERAS TOUR!!!! YES you heard it right, my boy Mario and I are officially joining the wonderful, absolutely stunning Taylor Swift at the Eras Tour.

view all 100,282 comments

gracieabrams: AHHHHHHHHH

-> gracieabrams: OH MY GODDDDDDDD

-> gracieabrams: I HAVEN'T STOPPED CRYING

-> gracieabrams: I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE THIS

User66: @/taylorswift I think you broke Gracie

gracieabrams: WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY MARIO?? Where did you get that photo from????

-> Yourname: I have my own ways 😌

liked by gracieabrams and 99,722 others

Yourname: Best believe I'm still bejeweled, when I walk in the room....Yk how that saying goes ✨

view all 90,801 comments

Yourname: Also for everyone wondering where I got that cowboy hat from? I made it with TAYLOR SWIFT 🙌🏻

-> User83: Please tell me you have matching COWBOY HATS????

-> Yourname: You bet your ass we do 👏🏻

gracieabrams: Well ofc a diamond's gotta SHINEE~

-> Yourname: see Gracie gets it!!

taylorswift: Howdy partner <3

-> Yourname: I see you everyday yet when I saw the notification that you commented, I almost called my mom out of excitement!!!!

*liked by taylorswift*

-> taylorswift: 😂

liked by Yourname and 173,982 others

👤 : Yourname, taylorswift

gracieabrams: Oh nothing just a girls night in with my 2 besties 👯‍♀️

view all 120,282 comments

Yourname: I'm just gonna go ahead and say it I'm the best bartender out there!

-> gracieabrams: I was gonna say something sarcastic but I don't think my 7th glass of Margarita would let me 🫢

User87: Alt caption: Taylor Swift getting traumatized for 15 minutes straight from witnessing Y/n and Gracie fighting with each other every second of the day

*liked by taylorswift*

After one too many drinks, Y/n, Gracie, and Taylor were all chilling at the rental Y/n and Gracie were sharing. The night was filled with drinks and laughter. With soft music playing in the background, Y/n looked around at Gracie and Taylor, both texting their boyfriends, giggling over their phones. A content look on their faces. Even though Y/n smiled at the sight, a bitter taste filled her mouth. Excusing herself, she went to the bathroom. After being together with someone for 2 years, it's easy to forget what it's like to be single again. It's been 6 months now since they broke up. Y/n knows she shouldn't miss him, because it was obvious that he clearly wasn't missing her. Looking in the mirror, she saw her blonde hair and blue eyes staring back at her. She wondered was it her eyes? Did he just want someone who had darker eyes all along? Y/n knew Kika's features so well, that one might think of her as an obsessive fan, and maybe she was. Definitely not a fan though. Maybe she was obsessed with Kika; what was it that she has that Y/n doesn't? Way beyond her senses, Y/n, in her drunken state, pulled out her phone and opened Instagram to post a story of herself.

Yourname added to their story!

seen by User40 and 65,821 others

liked by User22 and 101,282 others

👤: pierregasly, francisca.cgomes

Formula1WagsUpdates: Pierre Gasly's partner, Kika Gomes, was spotted at the Miami Grand Prix. The couple were seen entering the paddock together. Some fans spotted the two being extremely affectionate, with Pierre's hand never leaving her back. Ever since the couple started dating, fans have noticed a change in Gasly's demeanor. Some say he has become more of a gentleman ever since Gomes entered his life. All we can say is that we love every moment we can get with the adorable couple.

view all 65,029 comments

User22: They are so cuteeeeee

User09: I'm not gonna lie Pierre has STEPPED UP as a boyfriend!!!

User87: I think it's kinda sad that they refer to Kika as Pierre Gasly's girlfriend and not just by her name. Honestly feel they would have never done that had it been Y/n here.

-> User60: I mean she is his girlfriend! how else should anyone introduce her????

liked by gracieabrams and 99,722 others

Yourname: Red is the color of the season! and no it's not because of my recent obsession with strawberry jam 🍓

view all 90,801 comments

gracieabrams: A lot of nonsense coming from someone who just finished their third bottle of jam this month

-> Yourname: Shhhhh don't say that out loud my trainer might hear you

taylorswift: The treats turned out to be soo goodddd!!

-> Yourname: I did have the best baking partner after all!!

User44: ummm is no one gonna talk about the last photo???

liked by charles_leclerc and 299,722 others

pierregasly and francisca.cgomes: The best new beggenings anyone could wish for!! Meet our baby boy Simba 🦁

view all 230,873 comments

francisca.cgomes: My son 🩵

-> pierregasly: you mean our son???

-> francisca.cgomes: NO MINE

alexandrasaintmleux: Leo and Simba playdate when???

-> francisca.cgomes: Just say the time and place and we'll be there

User88: OMGGG THEY GOT A DOGGGG

-> User30: Ikrrrrrrr!!! he really is ready to settle down 🥰

What are you supposed to feel when your ex moves on with his life? How should one even react when they see him show more commitment to his current relationship than he did to yours? Y/n wondered, What was even the point of feeling like this? I mean, shouldn't she be happy? She has got everything she could have asked for: a job with her idol, performing night after night in front of people who love her and her music, and spending every second of her life with her best friend by her side. Y/n had everything, but somehow she still felt empty. 

He got a dog with her. Y/n still remembers the day when she suggested they get a pet together. "Come on, Pierre, look at this puppy; he's perfect!!!," Y/n had beamed while showing Pierre a photo of the dog she had seen at the shelter. "He is cute, but you know we can't get a pet," Pierre had said. "We're not even home most of the time, and the constant travelling won't help the dog," he had reasoned. Dejected, she sat back down on the couch, opting to delete the photo. What's the point of keeping it when she knows she will never be able to adopt the puppy?

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Yourname: Been thinkin' lots of thoughts 💭

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gracieabrams: hmmm how tho? because last I know i'm pretty sure it's empty up there, like spider webs and shit 😌

-> Yourname: I had ordered Taco Bell for us but looks like you won't be needed it anymore 🙃

-> gracieabrams: Y/N NOOO! I swear I was just kidding 😭

-> User09: Not a single day goes by without us getting Gracie and Y/n acting like kids 🤦🏻‍♀️

User33: Did she just...post lyrics?????????? and that angsty ones?????

-> User86: Shhhhhh!! It can't hurt you if you refuse to acknowledge it

It was finally done. Y/n had just finished her album. She's not gonna lie; this album was probably the most difficult one to record. Especially the last song she recorded. After pushing it back for months, she finally did it. She got in the recording room and poured her little heart out. What surprised Y/n were the tears that came while she recorded the song. It's not like she was in love with him, not anymore, at least. Y/n had finally accepted the fact that no matter how much she questioned the reason for Pierre leaving her and choosing Kika, she could not come up with an answer that would have given her some closure. She had gone through every possible scenario in her head; what could she have done differently to make him stay? But while doing all this thinking, Y/n realized that no matter what she did, he would have ended up with her. Maybe he was holding out, waiting to find someone opposite her, someone who fit his description of "perfect," a match "made in heaven." 

It was time she let go of this chapter, no matter how much it hurt her, it was time to say goodbye to all the possibilities of them.

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Yourname: I'm so excited to announce my brand new album, 'Emails I Can't Send'! This album contains exactly what the title says. There will be a lot of times in life where you find yourself in a situation where you want to say things or question things, but you can't because that's just how things have to be. This album contains all the things I wish I could have said. I hope you enjoy the little piece of my heart that I'm sharing with you! Keep it safe <3

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gracieabrams: I am so proud of you!!!! words can't describe how proud I feel right now 🫂

*liked by Yourname*

taylorswift: I have been to the studio...and let's just say you guys are in for a ride!! 🎢

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User97: DID YOU GUYS PLAY OPPOSITE BECAUSE AHHHHHH

…

Tags: @slutforpopculture | @emmynotawards | @be-your-coffee-pot | @bloodredlolipops | @papaya-twinks | @a-beaverhausen | @rayaharper

[superprofesh]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 1

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The first time Colt Seavers almost kisses you — on set, with lots of paint involved.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.1k

Tag List: let me know if you want to join! :)​

Author’s Note: This is part 1 of what I hope will be a six-part series, but it can be read as a stand-alone too. I am so obsessed with Colt right now that I can't even see straight, so just take this and do whatever you want with it!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

The first time Colt Seavers almost kisses you, you’re not sure it actually happened.

You’ve been on set for about two months now, and your job as set decorator for the biggest action thriller of the decade has ended up being way more challenging than you expected. Every day, it’s a new demand from the director — more realistic graffiti, more subtle light fixtures, more beat-up furniture. It’s going to look amazing, but you’re exhausted just thinking about another day of smearing grime on the set walls by hand.

The one bright spot of every day is Colt Seavers. He’s the best stuntman in Hollywood, so naturally he’s been recruited to perform stunts for almost every scene in the movie. Watching him get thrown against walls, riddled with bullets, and dropped from dizzying heights is heart-pounding for you, but nothing gets your heart pounding as hard as when he leans a little too close to you, so close you can see the dusty brown of his eyelashes against his soot-stained skin.

“Nice sign,” Colt quips, dropping onto the picnic table seat next to you. You’re hand-painting a bright-red Do Not Disturb sign for the next scene, and you barely manage to keep from smearing the paint when you whirl to face him. “Is it for your trailer door?”

You give him a mock glare, laughter slipping through the edges. “Very funny. It just so happens that you’ll be kicking this sign in half in tomorrow’s scene, so show a little respect.”

Colt’s eyes sparkle at your words, all his attention focused on you. He leans forward on one elbow, the other reaching up to ruffle the dust out of his hair. “Wow, a handmade prop just for me to kick in half?” He grins, inclining his head in a mock bow. “I’m honored.”

You can’t hide your return grin, or the blush rising under your skin at his close proximity. Colt always has this effect on you — never pushing the limits to make you uncomfortable, just taking up space with you in a way that steals your breath.

“What’s this?” you ask, using your free hand to tug on the shoulder of his fireproof vest. One side is seriously singed, close enough to his skin to set you to worrying.

Colt shrugs, flashing you a crooked smile that makes his left eye crinkle. “Little pyrotechnics mishap,” he informs you casually, brushing imaginary dust off his arm and onto you. You roll your eyes at him playfully. “Ray got a little overexcited with the stun grenades.”

“What?” You can’t keep the concern from slipping into your voice, even though you try to disguise it behind a joking tone. “You’re working with real stun grenades now?”

“Well, yeah,” he says, as if it should be obvious. “It’s only a stunt if it’s real, you know?”

You narrow your eyes, cocking your head to one side. “I think that’s the opposite of how it works, actually.”

Colt just laughs at that, the golden rays of the setting sun turning his tanned skin golden. His smile is warm and directed entirely at you, heating up the blush in your cheeks again. You turn your eyes back to your painting to keep from completely giving yourself away.

These past few months have been both paradise and torture for you. You thought you could hide your crush easily enough — it’s not like you haven’t done that before. But with Colt, it’s different. He sees through your stoic facades and teases out your laughter, searches for ways to make you smile even on your bad days. Whether it’s pulling a goofy face at you from his rig or remembering that you like sour cream in your soup, Colt has found some new way to surprise you every day that you’ve known him.

The thing is, you’re not sure if he’s actually interested in you or just being flirtatious. Misinterpreting the signals would be awkward and painful for you at this point, so you’ve decided that he’s just going to have to make the first move. You’re too old to play middle-school games with him.

Even if he does give you middle-school butterflies all over again.

You don’t realize that you’ve been lost in your thoughts until you notice that Colt has imperceptibly moved closer to your side, peering over your shoulder as you put the finishing touches on the purposely-sloppy sign.

“So I kick the sign in half tomorrow,” he says softly, his husky voice in your ear sending goosebumps over your skin. “What happens if we have to do another take?”

You risk a glance over your shoulder at him, letting a coy smile slip. “Do you really think this is the only one I’ve done?”

Colt just lifts his eyebrows at you and smiles, returning his eyes to the sign in your hands. Colt has a way of burning you up just with his gaze, and you can’t help breathing an inner sigh of relief every time he focuses his attention elsewhere. Concentrating on anything when he’s looking at you is impossible.

“You know, I could definitely give you some pointers on set design sometime,” he mutters, as if he’s genuinely musing on the thought. You know he’s warming up for a joke, so you let him continue, hiding your smile while he watches over your shoulder. “I have tons of experience in your department.”

“Oh, really?” You grab your black paint and begin the focused task of sprinkling the sign with the darker color for a realistic touch. Realism is the key to making memorable set designs, and you’ve mastered the technique.

“Mm-hmm.” You feel the murmur reverberate in his throat when he leans forward, resting his chin on your shoulder while you lightly dab your paintbrush in your paint bottle. Your heart skips at least three beats when you feel his hair tickling the side of your neck, his eyes still locked on the sign as if he’s studying it. Does he really not know what he’s doing to you, or is he doing it on purpose?

You try to keep your hands steady while you feel his chest rise and fall against your shoulder. Struggling to hide the tremor in your voice, you tease, “What could I improve about this piece, then? I can always use an expert opinion.”

He tilts his head to the side, his chin still resting on your shoulder. You can feel the bristly stubble on his cheeks now. It’s an oddly comforting sensation, one that forces every bit of your self-control to the brink in order to keep yourself from moving your face to the side and nuzzling your cheek against his. You feel his face move slightly as his mouth turns up into a smile.

“If you really want some advice…” he begins, lifting one hand up to trace the edge of your sign.

“Careful,” you warn him, “that’s wet paint.”

Colt doesn’t even get close to smudging your paint, but that doesn’t stop you from lifting your free hand to rest on his wrist, holding it in place while you set your paint bottle down. Colt stills at your touch, and your heart accelerates again at the gentle way his fingertips rest on the edge of your sign.

He lets the moment hang in the air between you for a moment, then comments, “I was just going to suggest a nice artist’s signature. See this big gap right here between Not and Disturb? Your name should go there in big red letters.” You’re already swatting his hand away playfully as his serious tone devolves into snickers. “Just like Bob Ross does on TV.”

“You are so ridiculous,” you laugh, glad to feel the tension slipping out of the atmosphere. Colt lifts his chin off your shoulder now, his hair brushing your earlobe as he does.

“No, it would look perfect,” he insists, his eyes sparkling as his smirk widens. “And then I can aim right for your name when I kick it in half tomorrow.”

He laughs out loud when you slam the sign down on the picnic table surface in mock irritation, your grin making your amusement at his joke obvious. The slam sends a few drops of the black paint from your brush flying up, spattering your jawline.

You reach for a dry rag nearby, still grinning as you prepare to respond, but Colt stops you with a hand on your arm. “Allow me,” he says seriously, placing your hand back into your lap and raising his other hand to the side of your face. You freeze in place, unprepared for the wave of emotion that washes over you when Colt touches the side of your jaw softly.

His eyes are still sparkling with humor, and you know he’s about to do something to make you laugh, but you can’t help the feeling that sweeps through your heart when you’re face to face with him, one of his hands holding yours on your lap and the other just beginning to cradle your face. It feels so gentle, so intimate, so right, and your heart aches as you realize that there is no going back from the feelings you’re developing for Colt Seavers.

He hesitates for a split second, his hand hoving on your jaw for practically no time at all, but it feels like a lifetime to you. You watch his dark blue eyes as they dart down to look at your lips, flitting back up just as quickly to latch onto your eyes with a stare that could melt diamonds.

Then the corner of his mouth turns up again into his usual smirk, and he strokes his thumb across your jaw to smear the black paint up the side of your face.

“Now,” he offers, “don’t you think you look more realistic?”

He dissolves into laughter as you reach up and feel the streaks of black now smudged across your face. You immediately reach past him to dip your fingers in your bottle of red paint, giving him a mischievous grin as you slather three fingers’ worth of paint across his nose and cheeks. The combination of his semi-shocked expression and the ridiculousness of his painted face pushes you over the edge into another fit of laughter.

“You’re the one who will be on camera,” you retort, smiling wider than you can remember doing in a long time. “Shouldn’t you be the one who’s realistic?”

“Touché,” he acknowledges playfully, rubbing his face and only succeeded in smearing the red paint further across his face. “Though I doubt Tom Ryder is going to accept any glimpses of my face on camera, so I won’t even have to wash this off.”

You impulsively reach up and drag your fingertip through the splotch of paint on his cheek, resisting the urge to draw a heart and settling on a simple smiley face instead. His own smile resurfaces at that, eyes twinkling as they stay locked on yours.

“If you keep it until tomorrow, you’ll match my sign,” you muse, trying to lighten the atmosphere, which has suddenly grown a bit more intense now that Colt’s gaze is focused on you again.

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t play it off, doesn’t do anything that you expect from him. His breathing seems to slow down, while yours feels like it takes off in a flurry of movement. Colt doesn’t make a move to touch you, but you can feel the distance between the two of you closing infinitesimally.

You’ve never noticed the flecks of silver-gray in his eyes, or the almost-invisible smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, or the ragged cut of his hair right beside his ears. Even the brilliant red streak only serves to bring out the golden tones of his skin, the swirls of blonde in his hair. Every detail of his face seems vivid, as if you’re seeing him for the first time.

His eyes seem to drink you in, too, traveling over every inch of your face before stopping on your lips again. This time, though, he doesn’t flick his eyes back up. Words escape you, as do any coherent thoughts. This is it. He’s actually going to kiss me. This is real.

“Seavers, on set, ASAP.”

The squawk of his walkie-talkie shatters the intense moment, and both of you release a breath that felt like it had been held for an hour. Colt swallows, smoothes his hand over his beard, turns to slip the walkie back into his pocket. You turn back to your painted sign quickly, trying to regain some composure.

Uncharacteristically, Colt doesn’t speak as he stands and turns to walk back to the filming set. He does, however, glance back at you the moment you lift your eyes to watch him walk away. Your heart is still hammering, recovering from his closeness to you.

With a wordless smile, he reaches up, swipes a bit of red paint off his face, and presses it onto the tip of your nose in the shape of his fingerprint. Then he walks away.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Part 2

[prythiansprincess]

SWEET TOOTH

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🤍 pairing: lorenzo berkshire x reader.

🤍 song inspiration: so american by olivia rodrigo.

🤍 author’s note: just a cute and fluffy little piece because enzo gives off major boyfriend vibes.

It was a well-known fact that Lorenzo Berkshire had a terrible sweet tooth. 

So well known that his mates often hid their stash of sweets from him. Not that it deterred Enzo. If anything, he saw it as a challenge of sorts. 

As Lorenzo ransacked his roommate’s belongings, it should’ve occurred to him that Regulus was far too clever to leave his candy in plain sight, but his attention was focused solely on stuffing as many chocolate frogs into his mouth before his surly friend returned. In his haste, Enzo failed to notice the strange metallic taste until practically inhaling his third frog. 

Still, he figured that it was probably fine. How much damage could a chocolate frog do anyways?

Unfortunately for Lorenzo, that pesky little question would be answered soon enough. 

After carefully rearranging Reggie’s things, Enzo happily skipped off to breakfast. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he spotted you in the Great Hall. With a murderous expression, you swiped a chocolate croissant out of Mattheo’s reach and glared at the curly headed boy. 

“Make one more move towards my food and I’ll snap your arm like a twig, Riddle.” 

Theo snickered and draped an arm over your shoulder. “Come on, bella. Mattheo just wants a taste.” The twat wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “And so do I.” 

You flicked his arm off and rolled your eyes. “For the last time, I’d rather gouge my eyes out, Theodore. You’d think you’d be sick of rejection and embarrassment by now.” 

Nott merely smirked. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Could’ve woken up in mine instead, if you stopped playing hard to get.” 

“Keep pissing me off and you’ll wake up to a bed full of cockroaches.” 

Mattheo cackled before ruffling your hair. “Turn that frown upside down, Y/N. Guys don’t like a grump.” 

“I do,” Enzo blurted before he could think better of it. “I think Y/N’s cute when she’s mean. Especially to you two idiots.” 

Theo and Mattheo gaped, their gazes pinballing from you to Enzo. They were no doubt expecting you to smack your best friend upside the head, but instead you shrugged and bit back a smile. 

“Really?” Theo remarked incredulously. “You’re letting that slide? You threatened to tie my tongue into a bow the last time I called you cute.” 

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Yeah, well, Berkshire doesn’t annoy me as much as you do.” 

Enzo beamed as he slid into the seat beside you. “Wow, I feel special.” 

Clearly, he was well aware of the sweet spot you had for him. Though you’d never admit it. Just like he’d never admit his long standing pathetic little crush he had on you. Except, he did sort of slip up just now, which he unfortunately would continue to do for the rest of the day. 

Lorenzo couldn’t help it. The compliments he normally kept to himself just kept spilling out of him. 

When you were studying in the library during free period, he found himself speaking thoughts that he usually saved for his inner monologue. “I like the way you scrunch your nose when you read. It’s adorable.” 

Surprised, you peered up at him from your book. His words were rewarded by an uncharacteristically shy smile. It was enough to make him momentarily forget his lack of control over his mouth.

Later in History of Magic, Lorenzo stared at you instead of focusing on completing the assignment in front of him. You tapped his nose with the end of your quill playfully. 

“You alright there, Enz?” 

“You’re so beautiful, it’s distracting. I can’t even focus on my notes.” 

You flushed in response and Enzo found that he rather liked making you flustered for a change. Maybe a case of loose lips wasn't so bad after all. 

During lunch, Lorenzo glared at Draco as the blonde asked you a question about the Draught of the Living Dead potion. 

“What’s got your knickers in a twist, cousin?” Draco asked after a moment. 

Enzo continued glaring at him and inched closer to you, draping a protective arm around your shoulder. “Look at Y/N like that again and I’ll turn you into a ferret myself.” 

The other boys snickered while Draco backed away from you. His brief stint as a rodent clearly traumatized him enough to balk at the threat. You turned away from the recounting of the infamous fourth year incident and faced Enzo. 

“Are you feeling alright, Enz? You’ve been acting strange all day.” 

Come to think of it, Lorenzo did feel a bit different. Unfiltered, unadulterated, and perhaps a tad bit unhinged. Oddly enough, it was freeing in a strange sort of way.

“I’m fine. I’m just saying what I’ve been thinking all along. Usually, I’m too scared to speak my thoughts out loud, but I’m not now.” Enzo scrunched his nose. “Also, the chocolate frogs I stole from Reg tasted kind of funny.” 

Before he knew it, you were marching right into the boy’s dormitory with him in tow. He shuffled hurriedly behind you as you yanked open the door to his dorm. Regulus lounged at his desk, flipping through the pages of his book and not bothering to look up as the two of you barged in. 

“Learned your lesson yet, Berkshire?” 

You frowned as you snatched the book out of Reggie’s hands and threw it over your shoulder. “What the hell did you do to him, Regulus?”

Regulus shrugged nonchalantly. “Slipped a bit of Veritaserum in my chocolate frogs because I knew the little weasel had been secretly stealing them behind my back.” 

“Hey!” Enzo exclaimed. “That’s rude.” 

“Is that why he’s acting so strange?” 

The youngest Black leveled an amused glance at you. “Define strange.”

“Well, he’s been complimenting me all day. He even threatened to turn Draco into a ferret for looking at me. It’s like he has no filter at all.” 

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point. Veritaserum makes you tell the truth.” 

You paused, taking in his words. “So everything Enzo said today…” Enzo smiled brightly as you glanced warily at him. “He means it?” 

Regulus nodded in confirmation. “Mhm, I’m afraid young Lorenzo has a little crush on you.” 

“Hello?” Enzo exclaimed. “I’m literally right here.” He turned to face you. “Also yes, I do have a crush on you. I have for ages. I’m honestly surprised that you haven’t noticed. I’m not that great at hiding it.” Your jaw dropped as he pivoted back to Regulus. “You’re a twat for dosing my candy, Reg.” 

“Your candy?” Regulus huffed. “I bought that with my hard earned money.” 

“You mean your allowance that mummy and daddy sends you every month? Please, Reg, you have more galleons and candy than you know what to do with. Honestly, it’s a bit selfish not to share.” 

Before you could put a stop to it, Regulus launched himself at Enzo. The boys wrestled, smacking and taunting each other like toddlers. With a frustrated sigh, you pried the two of them apart. 

“You two are honestly ridiculous.” 

Enzo pushed Regulus off of him and brushed off the front of his shirt. “Yes, but hopefully you find it cute and endearing, right? Well, me. Not Reg. I don’t really think you’re into the whole tortured poet thing he’s got going on.” 

Regulus glared at his friend. “Rude!” 

Enzo shrugged. “What? It’s true. Don’t worry, it works for some people. I think that redhead in Gryffindor likes you, but you’ve got to stop being so goddamn oblivious. She obviously wants you to break her back like a glow stick.”

“Lorenzo!” 

You smacked your best friend on the arm for his rather candid commentary, but it was half-hearted. You were too busy trying not to burst into laughter given the fact that he was completely correct. Said redhead definitely had a thing for Regulus. 

“I’m just stating facts. Anyways, if he didn’t want to hear it, he shouldn’t have dosed me.” 

You tugged Regulus by his tie. “You did this to him. Now you’re going to help me get this under control. Do you understand?” 

Regulus sighed in defeat. “Fine.” 

For the remainder of the day, you kept a close eye on Enzo. Though you and Regulus were both babysitting him, your best friend didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed rather thrilled with spending the rest of the day by your side. Truth be told, you didn’t mind either despite the fact that you had to pull Enzo out of a sticky situation more than once. 

As you watched him during quidditch practice, you nearly fell out of the stands when Lorenzo cocked his head at his captain and narrowed his eyes. “Flint, why is your head shaped like that?” 

It was by sheer luck that Regulus swooped in to save the day and promptly dragged him off to perform drills at the far end of the field. At the end of practice, you thought it would be safe to lounge in the common room, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Enzo snuggled to your side, his slightly damp hair tickling your neck. The familiar scent of citrus and cedar distracted you momentarily as he stared at Tom. The older Riddle was currently hustling Theo through a game of chess. 

“Tom, even though you scare me, I still think you’re hotter than Mattheo. Just don’t tell him I said that.” 

The entire room fell into a hush as Tom directed his smoldering gaze towards Enzo. You tensed beside him, fingers curled protectively around his arm. 

Finally, Tom spoke. “It’ll be our little secret, Berkshire.” 

“Salazar save us all.” 

When dinner rolled around, your fight or flight response was completely shot. Thanks to Enzo’s current condition, you were on constant alert. 

By now, the boys were perfectly aware of his inability to lie and the twats found his predicament particularly hilarious. All except Mattheo, whose ego had taken a hit after Theo told him all about Enzo’s confession to Tom. 

“I can’t believe you think Tom is hotter than me,” Mattheo grumbled. “That’s just completely mental.” 

Theo pinched his cheek. “Don’t worry, Matty. I’ll always think you’re hotter.” 

“How can you two flirt at a time like this?’ You sighed exasperatedly. “One of your best friends is under a truth spell and all you care about is being the hot brother?” Mattheo protested, but you held a hand up to halt whatever stupid remark he was itching to say. “Where is Regulus? I should wring his stupid neck for putting poor Enzo through this.” 

“I think he’s talking to that Gryffindor,” Theo said with an eyebrow wiggle. “Finally. Maybe dosing Berkshire wasn’t so bad if it gets Regulus laid.” 

As if on cue, Enzo snapped his fingers in front of Draco’s face. “Cousin, you really need to lay off the bleach. I think it’s seeping into your bloody brain. You’ve been staring at Granger so intently that it’s starting to freak her out.”

The boys snickered as Draco snapped out of his trance. Before the blonde could reprimand his cousin, you stood up and grabbed Enzo’s hand. Your best friend grinned as he linked your fingers through yours. 

“Oh, we’re holding hands. This is nice,” Enzo shuffled to his feet as you tugged him out of his seat. He didn’t seem to mind being dragged out of the Great Hall. “Hey, have I ever told you that your eyes remind me of the sunset? You’re pretty. I really want to kiss you.” 

You pointedly ignored the kissy faces Mattheo and Theo were making. “We’re leaving. Let’s go, Enz.” 

Enzo waved to your friends and grinned. “I hope we make out.” 

The boys snickered as you turned beet red. “Lorenzo!” 

“Yes, dear, coming!” 

With the promise of an impromptu movie night, you managed to coax Enzo back to his dorm. He shuffled in your lap, nuzzling into your touch as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

“Reg says the serum should wear off in an hour, so you just have to hold off until then.” 

“Oh,” Enzo said with a tinge of disappointment. “That’s a bummer. It’s kind of nice just saying whatever was on my mind.” 

“Enz, you told Theo he smelled like day old lasagna and then you hit on Tom. Tom!”

Enzo’s honey eyes blinked up at you. “What? He’s hot. You’re telling me you wouldn’t hit on him too?” 

You shook your head. “Psychopathic maniacs aren’t really my type.” 

“What’s your type then?” You fell silent for a beat before Enzo nudged your elbow with his nose. “C’mon, it’s only fair. I’ve been making a fool out of myself all day. Grant me this one, love.” 

You sighed, knowing that you’d cave to his puppy dog eyes. “I do have a crush on this one guy.” 

“What’s his name? Enzo asked as he sat upright. “His house? His dorm number? I might ask Tom to hunt him down for me.” You glared at him in response, causing him to raise his hands in surrender. “Sorry. Blame the serum.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “To answer your very nosy questions, he goes by a nickname, he’s in Slytherin, and we’re currently in his dorm.”

“Oh my god. The emo act worked on you, too?” Enzo smacked his forehead in distress. “For fuck’s sake!” 

“It’s you, you idiot. I like you.” 

Enzo beamed. “Thank Godric! This is the happiest day of my life.” He bounced as he talked, eyes shining brightly. . “Do you want to go on a date with me? We could go to Hogsmeade. Wait, no. That’s not good enough. Let’s go to London. Or Paris. Fuck it, I’ll borrow Malfoy’s jet.” 

You giggled at how ridiculously adorable this boy was. “Enz, slow down! First of all, I’d love to go on a date with you. Hogsmeade is perfectly fine, but we should probably wait until you’re back to normal.” 

Enzo sighed. “Fine. I suppose I can wait. But you’re staying to  cuddle, right?” He flashed those honey eyes at you again, perfectly aware that you couldn’t resist him even if you tried. To add to his plea, Enzo jutted his bottom lip into a pout. “Please?” 

“Sure, Enz.” 

With a triumphant grin, Enzo pulled you against him. He leaned forward to kiss your cheek, making you melt. As you continued watching the movie, you couldn’t help but revel in the affection Enzo showered you with. He was a great cuddler and he smelled nice and oh gods you really, really liked him. 

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Enzo murmured against your ear. “Mostly because I can’t, but I definitely have a boner right now.” 

“Lorenzo!” 

You burst into a fit of giggles, which caused Enzo to laugh as well. He only snuggled closer, burying his face into your neck. “Sorry that I find you super hot and pretty and cute. Honestly, I’m the victim in this situation.” 

You smacked his arm. “Oh my god, just shut up and cuddle.” 

Enzo grinned as he wrapped his arms around you. “Yes, honey.” 

[hummingbird24220]

A part 2 with shanks and more swordsmith reader would be great! I think it would suck for any of the swordsmen if their swords got damaged in any way but it could be good angst (though I think only zoro would get emotional and only if it was Wado maybe law too, I think Yoru is to tough to be damaged and I don’t know if shanks’ sword has a name) but Reader being scared of shanks but just straight up walking up to Mihawks front door is hilarious.

hoohoh part 2 is here. Daddy Shanks time. Kinda all over the place but its just scenario ideas .

Enjoy :3

Sharp Tongues, Sharper Blades (Part 2)

One Piece x Swordsmith!Reader

You weren’t technically part of the Straw Hats.

You helped them sometimes. Fixed their blades. Teased Zoro. Mocked Law into drinking water. But most of the time, you wandered. You went where the wind (or talking steel) called you.

Which was how you found yourself on a quiet island dock one evening, minding your business—just admiring a sunset and eating a mango—when he arrived.

Red-Haired Shanks.

You spotted him from a mile away. The coat. The effortless presence. The “I accidentally destroyed a country but still get invited to parties” energy.

You promptly panicked.

You immediately stood up, dropped your mango, and bowed like you were about to be knighted.

“HELLO SIR. GOOD EVENING SIR.”

Shanks blinked at you like you’d just recited poetry in reverse.

“…Hi?”

You straightened up, hands at your sides, smile stretched way too wide. “I’m just—admiring the clouds. Definitely not hiding. Definitely not eavesdropping on the world’s most legendary pirate captain. No sir.”

Shanks raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“YES SIR.”

You were not okay.

Then you heard it. A low, dreamy voice in your mind, slow and soft like incense smoke in a drum circle:

“Heyyyy. Wow. You’ve got a cool aura.”

You froze.

You looked down at Shanks’ sword, resting on his hip like a perfectly normal, terrifying, world-ending accessory.

It sparkled faintly in the sun. You could feel its energy—calm, mellow, and incredibly high.

“You ever think about how swords are, like… just really long truths?”

You twitched.

“Don’t react,” you whispered to yourself.

“You’ve got chakra all tangled up in your left ankle. That’s emotional stagnation.”

You gritted your teeth.

“Also, have you tried mushroom tea? Really opens up the blade-body bond.”

Breathe. Ignore it.

“I once talked to a seagull for two hours. Changed my whole perspective on sharpness.”

Finally, you snapped.

“Oh my god, can you just shut UP for like, five minutes?! You’re making my teeth feel round!”

The dock fell silent.

Shanks blinked. “...Were you talking to me?”

You turned slowly, eyes wide, face pale. “No. No, sir. I mean—yes, sir. I mean—NOT ON PURPOSE.”

Shanks tilted his head. “You can hear my sword?”

You dropped to your knees so fast you nearly ate wood planks.

“I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to intrude! Please don’t kill me, I know I’m technically trespassing, but I promise your sword is just really chatty and high and floaty and it will not stop telling me about its opinions on dream geometry—”

Shanks stared at you.

“—and I just wanted to enjoy my mango and now I think I’m spiritually allergic to sandalwood and also, again, please don’t kill me.”

Shanks just started laughing.

You blinked up at him in confusion.

He doubled over, one hand on his knee, the other wiping a tear from his eye. “You—you think I’m gonna kill you? What am I, a marine admiral?!”

You sat back on your heels. “...You’re literally Shanks.”

“So?”

“So your sword vibrates like a Tibetan singing bowl and won’t stop complimenting my aura.”

Shanks looked down at his blade, amused. “Yeah, she’s like that.”

“You’re doing great, Captain. Beams of intention, man.”

You squinted. “What does that even mean?”

Shanks offered you a hand. “C’mon. Let’s get you a new mango.”

You stared.

“…You're not gonna, like, challenge me to a duel for yelling at your sword?”

Shanks laughed again. “Why would I? Honestly, it probably needed that. It’s been on a ‘vibrational cleanse’ since Jaya.”

You let him help you up, still in a daze.

His sword hummed softly.

“I forgive you. Anger is just unspoken music, you know?”

You groaned. “Please stop talking.”

-

You were sitting on a barrel now, legs swinging off the edge of the dock, mango juice on your hands and a sense of lingering dread slowly being replaced by confusion.

Because Shanks? Was actually kind of a vibe.

He was sprawled on the dock like a dad on vacation, cloak tossed lazily over one shoulder, cup of something suspiciously fruity in his hand. You still weren’t convinced he wasn’t dangerous, but he hadn’t smote you for screaming at his sword, so… progress?

“So,” he said, sipping. “You travel with Luffy a lot?”

You blinked. “Uh… yeah. Off and on. Not really part of the crew, but I hop aboard sometimes.”

Shanks straightened slightly, eyes brightening. “How’s he doing?”

You smiled. “Loud. Hungry. Nearly broke a guy’s neck trying to befriend a mechanical crab. Typical Luffy.”

Shanks beamed. Like, full-on sunshine-beam. “That’s my boy!”

You stared. “…You’re really happy about that.”

He nodded, grinning. “Of course I am! I haven’t seen the kid in ages. Tell me more!”

And you did. You told him about Luffy eating soup off the deck with his hands because he dropped his bowl. About how he tried to give Usopp a crown made of seaweed. About the time he declared war on an island’s bread tax. And every story just made Shanks laugh louder.

Then he leaned back, stretching. “Alright, so you travel, you sword-speak, you Luffy-sit. What else do you get up to?”

You shrugged. “I... do therapy.”

He blinked. “You what?”

“With Mihawk’s sword,” you said casually. “Yoru.”

Silence.

Shanks stared at you.

You continued like it was nothing. “It’s a little intense. Very proud. Kind of like if a grand piano had a superiority complex. But we’ve made progress.”

Shanks nearly choked on his drink. “You give therapy to Mihawk’s sword?!”

“It needs it!” you insisted. “It brags constantly but clearly has a lot of unresolved tension from centuries of duels and being held like a declaration of war.”

Shanks was losing it.

He wiped his eye, wheezing. “Okay, okay, wait—you were terrified of me, bowed like I was gonna throw you into the sea, but Mihawk—Mihawk, who literally radiates ‘I will kill you for breathing too loudly’—he didn’t scare you?”

You tilted your head. “No? Why would he?”

Shanks fell over.

He actually doubled over on the dock, laughing like you’d just confessed to arm-wrestling a sea king for a sandwich.

You waited, blinking, unsure if he was crying or just joy incarnate.

Finally, he looked up at you, wiping his face. “I just—I can’t believe I’m the one who gets the ‘yes sir, no sir’ treatment, and that bastard gets therapy sessions.”

You sipped from your mango drink, expression flat. “You glow, Shanks. Like spiritually. I thought I’d die if I looked you in the eye too long.”

“Maybe I should start wearing sunglasses,” he muttered, still laughing.

From his hip, the sword hummed gently:

“You’ve got a very high-frequency soul. It’s intimidating. But like, in a nurturing tree-father kind of way.”

You groaned. “I am never going to survive this blade.”

Shanks grinned. “You’re surviving just fine.”

-

You thought you were out of the woods.

You thought, after screaming at his sword, oversharing about Mihawk’s therapy blade, and nearly crying over a mango, that you’d hit your peak embarrassment quota for the day.

You were wrong.

“Hey,” Shanks said casually, turning slightly so his sword shifted into view. “Would you mind giving her a once-over? Just to check for any damage.”

Your brain stalled.

“You—you want me to touch your sword?”

Shanks grinned. “You’ve yelled at her already. Might as well get to second base.”

You made a noise that was probably a wheeze. “Yes, sir.”

He unbuckled the sword and handed it over carefully, like he was passing you something sacred. Which, to be fair, he was.

The moment your hands closed around the hilt, something inside you snapped—not emotionally, but professionally. All your fear got elbowed out of the way by pure, focused swordsmith instinct.

You crouched down, rolled up your sleeves, and locked in.

The blade practically purred in your hands.

“Ooh, this is new. I like this energy.”

“Shhh,” you muttered. “Work time.”

You slid your fingers along the edge, testing for microchips, then ran your thumb along the ridge with exacting care.

“Spine’s got a slight imbalance. Nothing serious. Could be from a parry against a heavier blade. Finish is still intact, though…”

You shifted angles, holding the sword up to the light.

“…a few spots of rust beginning to form in the ridge vent, though. Probably from exposure to sea air without a sealant coat.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“And what oil are you using?” you asked sharply, not looking at him.

Shanks blinked. “Uh. Some stuff from a blacksmith in the South Blue?”

You looked up at him, judgment incarnate.

“That’s sesame oil, sir.”

Shanks frowned. “It smelled nice.”

“It’s for cooking, sir.”

You turned back to the blade, muttering to yourself as you wiped it down with your own cloth from your belt pouch, hands already reaching for a proper oil vial.

“Unbelievable,” you grumbled. “Legendary sword passed from generation to generation, and you’re moisturizing it with salad dressing.”

From your hands, the blade murmured gently:

“It was very aromatic, though. I smelled like tempura.”

“Not the point,” you snapped.

Shanks was watching you, brows raised, both amused and slightly alarmed. “You really know your stuff.”

You finished re-oiling the blade, wiped it clean, and pressed your palm to the hilt, murmuring something only the sword could hear. A quiet blessing. A whisper of respect.

Then, blinking like you’d just come out of a trance, you stood up straight and handed it back.

“…There. Good as new, sir.”

A beat.

Shanks stared at you.

“You called me ‘sir’ again,” he said, lips twitching.

You blushed. “Habit.”

“You just yelled at me over cooking oil.”

“With respect, sir.”

His grin split across his face.

“You’re weird.”

You bowed slightly. “Thank you, sir.”

The sword whispered to you fondly as it settled back against his side:

“I like them. Can we keep them?”

You coughed and looked away. “Pretend I didn’t hear that.”

-

You didn’t technically sneak off Shanks’ ship in the middle of the night.

You left at dawn. That’s different. Sneaking implies guilt. And you were mostly just… tired.

Tired of being called “aura child” by his sword. Tired of hearing "good vibes only" from blades that had definitely seen war crimes. Tired of pretending Shanks didn’t terrify you just by existing.

Still, you left the Red Force with every sword onboard polished, oiled, and whispering contentedly like they'd just gotten back from a spa retreat.

You patted one of the crewmates’ twin sabers on the hilt as you passed. “Don’t forget to oil the tang, not just the edge.”

“Tell them to stop using me to open bottles!” the saber wailed.

“I will not,” you muttered.

The last to see you off was Shanks himself, who leaned lazily against the rail, one hand raised in a casual wave, grin too sharp to be comforting.

“You sure you don’t wanna stay?” he called.

You smiled with forced calm and mild trauma. “Very sure, sir.”

“Suit yourself! My sword says you’re its favorite manic energy gremlin.”

You saluted him half-heartedly. “Tell your sword I’ll be in therapy.”

He barked a laugh, then turned back toward the deck, his crew already chattering about you like you were some strange wind spirit that came through and reorganized their lives.

You hit the shore, took two steps inland, and collapsed onto a sun-warmed rock.

“Holy shit,” you wheezed, staring at the sky. “How am I still alive?”

You laid there, letting the adrenaline seep out of your bones. Your fingers twitched, still subconsciously twitching through sword checks. You could still hear one of Shanks’ daggers humming sea shanties in your head like it missed you already.

Eventually, you sat up.

“Well… yeesh,” you muttered, brushing yourself off. “Welp. Back to Luffy, I guess.”

You didn’t even try to act casual. You were already mentally prepping for Usopp’s dramatic reunion pose and Nami’s “You left without warning again?” scolding. You’d accept it all if it meant a break from Yonko-level emotional stress.

Maybe Zoro would let you bully his swords again.

Maybe Sanji had something fried and sugary waiting.

Maybe—just maybe—Luffy would tackle-hug you like always and say “YOU’RE BACK!” like you hadn’t been nearly vaporized by charisma incarnate.

You smiled to yourself.

Yeah. Back to Luffy.

And this time, you were bringing better oil.

-

The moment your boots hit the Sunny’s deck again, you barely had time to wave before Luffy launched himself at you.

“YOU LEFT!!!”

You hit the floor with a wheeze and a very enthusiastic captain glued to your torso.

“I came back,” you wheezed, tapping his back. “Hi. Breathing. Remember that?”

Luffy sat on your chest with his arms crossed. “You didn’t say goodbye!”

“I said I was going for a walk!”

“FOR FOUR WEEKS?!”

You blinked. “…Has it really been that long?”

Nami folded her arms. “Yes.”

Usopp appeared dramatically behind her. “I had a whole eulogy ready. I was gonna do a funeral with a flaming sword raft!”

Chopper burst into tears and clung to your leg. “I thought a sea king ATE YOU.”

You awkwardly patted his hat. “Nope. Not eaten. Just traumatized.”

Zoro, leaning on the railing, grunted. “Where were you?”

You shrugged like it was no big deal. “Shanks’ ship.”

A beat.

Luffy’s eyes sparkled so hard you thought they might explode.

“SHANKS?! RED-HAIRED SHANKS?!!”

“…There’s another one?”

Cue instant barrage.

Luffy: “WHAT DID HE SAY? WHAT DID HE LOOK LIKE? DID HE REMEMBER ME?!”

Nami: “You met Shanks and didn’t write anything down?!”

Usopp: “Did you touch his sword?!”

You: “Define ‘touch.’”

Eventually, Luffy let you go—mostly because Sanji showed up with fried things and a drink—and the day settled into its usual loud rhythm.

Until you caught a glint. A wrong one.

You froze.

You turned, eyes locking on Zoro’s swords resting nearby.

There. A chip. Tiny. Barely visible.

But you could feel it.

Your entire body shifted into pure instinct.

“Zoro,” you said, voice level.

“Hm?”

You marched over, grabbed him by the ear like a misbehaving child, and yanked.

“OW—WHAT—HEY—”

You shoved his face within an inch of the chip.

“Do you see that?”

Zoro squinted. “…Kinda?”

“That’s a fracture in the blade’s edge. One good clash and this thing snaps.”

“It’s fine—”

“You are so lucky it didn’t already snap and embed itself in your collarbone, sir.”

Zoro blinked. “Did you just ‘sir’ me?”

“Yes, and you don’t deserve it.”

You turned to the others, voice loud and proud.

“FRANKY. I need your workshop.”

Franky leaned out from the doorway with a wrench. “YEAH?”

“I’m commandeering it. It’s a blacksmith's now.”

Franky’s shades glinted. “MAKE IT COOL.”

“Oh, it’ll be cool. Lava-cool.”

You dragged Zoro’s swords inside, already rattling off tool needs, oil types, forge temps, and structural supports.

“DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING WITH SESAME OIL,” you shouted.

“Why would I—?”

“ASK SHANKS.”

Brook leaned to Robin. “Do you think they ever stop?”

Robin smiled. “Not a chance.”

-

The sound of steel meeting steel rang through the Sunny’s workshop like a heartbeat.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

Each strike was deliberate. Focused. Rhythmic, like the beat of an ancient drum. The forge glowed with golden heat, and sweat clung to your skin in glistening beads, trailing down the lines of your arms—arms built from years of honing your craft, of wielding tools heavier than some swordsmen could lift.

You weren’t just working.

You were in it.

Muscles flexing with every swing, your shirt—thin and loose—clung to your torso with sweat. You’d tied your hair back to keep it out of your face, jaw set, eyes burning with the same fire that lit the forge. Sparks danced in the air around you like fireflies drawn to the aura of your intensity.

Outside the workshop, the entire Straw Hat crew stood at the doorway.

Staring.

Absolutely silent.

Nami whispered, “Are they… always like this?”

Usopp’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I—did they always have arms like that?”

Sanji had stopped breathing entirely. “Mon dieu…”

Zoro squinted. “They’re doing it wrong.”

Wado Ichimonji, in your voice: “No I’m not, shut up.”

Zoro jumped.

Inside, you didn’t glance up. You were too deep in the conversation.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You want a mirror polish, but this isn’t a spa day, sweetheart,” you muttered, tapping a long, thin blade resting on the anvil. “This chip runs deep. You want it gone, we’re digging for it.”

“I’m just saying we could buff the rest of me first. A little self-care before trauma repair?”

“Emotional damage control after the physical, you drama queen.”

The crew exchanged looks. Brook’s nose cavity should have bled if he had flesh.

Chopper blinked. “Should we… say something?”

Robin tilted her head, smiling. “Why ruin the view?”

Franky crossed his arms, jaw slack. “That’s the most super thing I’ve ever seen in my own damn workshop.”

Luffy, munching on a snack, finally spoke.

“They look cool. Like a fire demon who gives hugs.”

Back inside, you adjusted the blade’s position, wiping sweat from your brow with the back of your hand, smearing a little soot across your cheek in the process.

The sword whispered: “You know you’re making people fall in love with you right now.”

You scowled. “I’m literally fixing a chip.”

“Hotly.”

“Stop talking.”

You raised the hammer again. The forge crackled behind you. The crew stared in awe.

Another swing. Another spark.

Clang.

And still, you didn’t notice the stunned crowd in the doorway.

Because in that heat, with that steel, you weren’t a crewmate or a wandering craftsman.

You were a swordsmith.

And gods help anyone who dared bring you sesame oil again.

[noorpersona]

omgggg you're the sweetest (T_T)♡

oh! can i request a fic about rivalry with kita? i'd love to see him fuming and stuff since he rarely mad about anything. by anything, i mean ANYTHING. and... i don't mind a pinch of nsfw in it btw (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ but if it's not necessary for the plot you can take that away, that's okay. thanks in advance ^^♡

(you don't have to rush, take your time writing it (*ゝω･*))

Thank you so much for the sweetest request!! ♡ I had so much fun exploring what it would take to actually get under Kita’s skinn heheheh

no smut just yet! but trust me—I’ve got some spicy ideas brewing for part two 👀

Thank you for reading lovely 🥰

--

The gym echoed with squeaking sneakers and shouted drills, the clash of balls against hardwood punctuated by the shrill calls of coaches on either end. Co-ed training camps were chaos on a good day. On this day, it was warfare—at least, it felt that way to Kita Shinsuke.

Across the net, you stood with your hands on your hips, eyes cool and sharp, as if you could predict every move his team made. And worse—you smirked when you were right.

“That’s the fourth time your middle’s fallen for the cross,” you called out across the net, voice far too casual for his taste. “You might wanna switch it up before he tears his ACL.”

Kita’s eyes narrowed.

He didn’t respond. He rarely did. But he filed it away. Like he always did.

Osamu muttered beside him, “They’re good.”

Kita hummed in agreement. “Too chatty.”

You were, admittedly, talented. Strategic. A good captain. But the way you barked directions with a bite of sarcasm, the way you smirked when things went your way, the way you carried yourself with this insufferable looseness like volleyball wasn’t sacred—

It got under his skin.

And you knew it.

You took every opportunity to needle him. Subtle things. Walking just a little too close when switching drills. Offering sly suggestions to his players during breaks like you knew them better. Commenting on his rigidity with a grin that never met your eyes.

Today was only day three of the camp. And he was already counting down to the end.

Later that afternoon, the teams broke into a scrimmage. Mixed lineups, random assignments.

Unfortunately, you were on his side of the court.

“Wow,” you said, eyes scanning the rotation chart as you stepped into place beside him, “I didn’t think they’d actually put us together. Do you think they’re trying to test how long you can tolerate me?”

Kita didn’t even glance at you. “Keep your mind on the game.”

“Always do,” you chirped.

The first serve came, and to your credit, you didn’t miss a beat. Your timing was perfect. Your approach was clean. You called the ball clearly, landed sharply, and turned back with a smirk.

“What, no feedback?” you asked breathlessly. “Not even a little pointer?”

Kita stared at you, flat and unimpressed. “You were slightly late on your first step.”

You blinked. “Was not.”

He turned away. “Yes, you were.”

You scoffed. “Kita, if I was any more precise, I’d be a stopwatch.”

He didn’t reply.

You, of course, took that as a challenge.

Practice ended, finally, after a brutal hour. Kita dismissed his team with a bow and collected the stray balls with quiet efficiency. You lingered, sweat still clinging to your brow, hair pulled back, muscles humming with exertion.

You approached slowly, ball in hand, rolling it against your palm.

“You know,” you said mildly, “I can’t tell if you hate me or if that’s just your default personality.”

Kita didn’t look at you. “Is there a reason you’re still here?”

“Yup. I like the view.”

His jaw ticked. His shoulders squared just slightly, a subtle but unmistakable signal of irritation.

You came a step closer. “What is it about me, huh? The fact that I don’t shut up? That I challenge you? That I coach with instinct instead of a clipboard?”

“You coach with your ego,” he replied, finally turning toward you. His voice was sharp—colder than you’d ever heard it. “You don’t respect the game. You treat it like a stage for your mouth.”

You raised a brow, momentarily taken aback by the vehemence in his tone.

“And you treat it like a religion,” you said evenly, though the smirk had faded from your voice. “But not everyone worships like you, Kita.”

He stepped forward once, not quite in your space but close enough to make your breath hitch. His posture was tense now, fists loosely clenched at his sides, back straight like he was trying not to launch into a full tirade. His voice was low, deadly quiet.

“You think being loud makes you better. You think swagger makes up for gaps in discipline. But this—this isn’t your team. These aren’t your players. And I’m not going to stand by while you make a spectacle of the game I’ve spent years building.”

You stared at him.

For a moment, all your usual wit dried on your tongue. Your hands curled tighter around the volleyball in your grip. His jaw was set, the muscle twitching, and his brows were drawn low, eyes locked on yours with a kind of restrained heat you didn’t expect.

No sarcasm. No smirk. Just anger. Real, burning anger.

You hadn’t expected that.

“You’re mad,” you said finally, voice quieter.

“I’m focused.”

“No.” You took a step forward this time. “You’re mad.”

His nostrils flared. His gaze dropped to your mouth for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.

“And why is that?” you continued, cocking your head. “Because I’m not like you? Because I don’t worship your little routines? Or is it because someone finally rattled that polished little mask of yours?”

His mouth parted slightly, but he didn’t answer.

“Right,” you murmured, taking another step closer—close enough to see the veins in his neck standing taut, the slight tremble in his fingertips. “Because someone like you would never snap, right? You’re too composed. Too perfect.”

Kita didn’t respond.

He couldn’t.

Because you were right. And he hated that.

The silence buzzed between you, thick and electric. And something shifted in the air—sharp, magnetic, inevitable.

“Say it,” you whispered. “Say you hate me.”

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist, firm but not painful.

You sucked in a breath.

“I don’t hate you,” he said, voice low and strained. “I just don’t know how to stand you.”

And that was the moment.

The shift.

The crack in the dam.

Your fingers twitched. His hold tightened. And for one suspended heartbeat, it felt like the entire gym faded around you.

Then—

“Everyone outta the locker rooms!” a coach barked from the entrance.

Kita dropped your wrist like it burned. You took a full step back, breath sharp, eyes wide.

No words passed between you.

The look he gave you said everything.

He was absolutely going to snap.

And you were absolutely going to be the reason why.

[dearstvckyx]

You’ve got me nervous to speak - Big Puffer

Chris (BigPuffer) is his usual loud, chaotic self on stream—until Pezzy’s younger sister shows up with food. The moment she walks in, he goes completely silent, totally stunned by her. While she playfully talks to him like nothing’s wrong, he struggles to form actual sentences. The boys and his chat immediately catch on that he’s crushing hard, clowning him the entire time as he tries (and fails) to act normal. - The Neighbourhood , Nervous

Big Puffer x Reader (Pezzy Sister)

Warnings: Fluff, mutual crush tension, streamer chaos, secondhand embarrassment, teasing from friends and chat.

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

Chris was in rare form that night.

Stream energy was chaotic. Pezzy was popping off in-game, Droid was making terrible jokes, Grizzy was laughing so hard he was choking, and Chris was in a full-on argument with chat.

“NO, I did not throw! Pezzy literally body-blocked me! ROLL THE CLIP—someone roll the clip, I swear to God—”

“Bro, you’re tweaking,” Droid muttered. “You walked into the grenade.”

Chris scoffed. “I did NOT walk into the—”

The door creaked open.

“Hey, Chris?”

He turned, mid-rant—and froze.

You stood there, holding a takeout bag and an iced drink in one hand, your other balancing a couple extra napkins and sauces. You wore comfy joggers and a hoodie, hair clipped back with a little bow that made you look unfairly adorable.

You smiled. “I brought you food. Hope you’re not too busy screaming to eat?”

Chris blinked. Once. Twice.

Nothing came out of his mouth.

Your brow quirked. “I… got your usual. Fries, extra sauce, and that strawberry lemonade you pretend you hate but drink in five seconds?”

Still no response.

On his screen, his face was full-cam—and the silence was deafening.

“HELLO??”

“LMAOO HE’S IN LOVE”

“THE BOW? SHE HAS A BOW? oh he’s DONE”

“Chris.exe has crashed.”

“No way he forgot how to TALK”

“Tell her she’s pretty you coward”

You chuckled, completely unfazed. “Do you want napkins? Or did you decide to live dangerously today?”

“I—uh—I… nap… sauce—wait, yes. Napkins. You—I mean—” He cleared his throat. “The napkins. Are good. Thank you. Very napkin. Wow.”

From the other room, a wheeze echoed.

“Yo.” Droid’s voice came through Chris’s headset. “She broke him. He’s done.”

“I thought he only got like this when we mention sushi,” Pezzy added with a laugh.

Chris shot a glare at his monitor. “SHUT UP.”

But his chat was already spiraling.

“Very napkin. Iconic.”

“CLIP IT. CLIP IT. CLIP IT.”

“That’s Pezzy’s sister, isn’t it? OHHHHH”

“Chris in love challenge: failed instantly”

You smiled sweetly. “Well. I’ll leave you to… whatever this is.”

“Wait!” Chris blurted, then immediately winced like he hadn’t meant to say it so fast. “I mean—uh, thanks. For the food.”

“Anytime,” you said softly, tilting your head. “You’re welcome, Puffer.”

And then you turned, hips swaying casually as you walked off back to the living room.

Chris turned back to his screen and facepalmed.

Droid’s face appeared in the corner. “You’re blushing, bro.”

“I’m not blushing.”

“Pezzy’s gonna kill you,” Grizzy chimed in, appearing on another cam.

“I’m not blushing!” Chris repeated.

“Bros flustered.”

“Imagine getting stunned by a pretty girl in sweats.”

“Tell her you love her or we will.”

“Can she come back pls?”

Chris groaned and yanked his hoodie over his head. “Chat, shut up. Everyone shut up. This stream’s OVER.”

But the stream was not over.

Because you popped your head back in with a teasing smirk. “Oh, by the way—I forgot to ask if you wanted ketchup or ranch.”

Chris stared. Again.

“Never mind,” you giggled. “Too stunned to speak, again.”

Pezzy could be heard cackling in the background.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Cashmere ligando para o Finnick e Johanna, para falar sobre o Everest me deu uma ideia. Por que você não faz uma pequena one-shot deles três conversando com o Everest sobre isso, quando vão visitá-lo na Capital?

“Cashmere calling Finnick and Johanna, to talk about Everest gave me an idea. Why don't you take a little one-shot of the three of them talking to Everest about it, when they go to visit him in the Capital?”

Great idea, let’s do it!

Everest answers the pounding at his door to find Johanna, Cashmere and Finnick. “Wow,” he huffs a laugh, “all three.”

“It’s important to have options, don’t you think?” Johanna challenges. “Might be useful to have different perspectives.”

“So,” Everest allows them entrance to his dorm, “were you all like…”

“Finnick and I were. Johanna wasn’t.” Cashmere confirms.

“Snow killed my family for it.” Johanna tells him, “but better that than to bow down.” That’s what I thought at the time, anyway.

“That’s-” Everest breaks off, “insane.”

“Obviously,” Finnick adds, “he was a deranged man.”

“Plutarch told me that my parent’s “footage” was the highest grossing victor profit of all time. So with the least detail possible, can you explain why?”

“Recordings live forever.” Cashmere offers, “I could only be in one place at a time. Footage could be broadcasted as many times as someone could afford it. Hundreds of views, simultaneously; watching from the comfort of their own homes. The tapes were charged per viewing. You couldn’t own them.”

“Only Snow could do that.” Johanna adds, bitterly.

“Ranging from the time your parents got married, until Daisy was conceived.” Finnick breaks off, “to put it simply, there was something for everyone.”

Everest grips the back of his chair, “people watched Daisy be-”

“Yeah. The timeline was funny with Daisy, so it was probably just their best guess.”

“And Arista?”

Finnick nods.

“Me?”

Cashmere rests a hand against his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Everest.”

Everest snaps, “it wasn’t for people to buy or sell. It was my mom and dad! You can’t just sell people.” Their memories, their…

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” Finnick sighs, “I’m sorry you had to find out at all.”

“They shouldn’t be blurting it out in history class, that’s for sure.” Johanna crosses both arms over her chest. “One of us will have to speak with the school.”

“I’ll do it,” Everest decides.

“Everest-”

“They’re my parents. I’ll do it.”

“Are you gonna be ok, kid?” Finnick asks.

“I need my dad,” Everest whispers.