#I can give you a vague outline

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Somebody should draw Gromsko in his “Spectrum” skin from mobile with someone riding him and call it “On The Spectrum”

[cursezoroark]

because i feel like i need a refresher on rejuv's story again i feel the need to finally do renegade its just im soooo so hesitant on being mean but i don't want to skip to terajuma......... if anyone has a way to sorta keyhole that please please lmk.

[megwritesriddles]

In the Back of Your Mind ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Young! Severus Snape x F! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 4 - Stalking. Severus is in love with you from afar. Severus is also very good at legilimency. You show a tiny bit of interest by helping him out in class and he loses a little more of his self-control.

Tags: Stalking, P in V, Unprotected sex, Oral sex (f receiving, a LOT of it), Very dubious consent, Mind manipulation / control, Brainwashing, Improper use of legilimency, Toxic relationships, Yandere Snape, Creepy perverted behaviour, Fantasising, Implied loss of virginity, Self-blaming.

READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!!!!

Word count: 3.7k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: Severus in this fic is written to be a walking red flag, don't seek this kind of relationship irl!! I started to get a headache toward the end of writing this, sorry if it's noticeable in the writing!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Splat, Severus’ books thud to the ground. A cacophony of laughs erupts behind him, led by James Potter, a satisfied smirk on his face from having caused this mild inconvenience. Severus huffs and rolls his eyes, luckily hidden by his mop of long black hair. He bends down to pick up the books, not at all surprised when James nudges one further away with the toe of his shoe. He shuffles forward and picks it up too, straightening himself back up, head hung low. He shuffles across the hall to lean against a wall further from the marauders, who hoot and laugh at him. Even putting himself in their shoes he can’t understand what’s so funny about watching someone pick up books. None of it matters anyway, because you’ll be here soon. Perfect you. You always arrive at this class at 12:56, with your friend by your side. You’d usually be chatting, finishing off a pastry from lunch, whatever had taken your fancy that day, Severus guessed it would be the Pumpkin pasties today. He watches the clock above the door into the potion's dungeon, feeling a familiar tingle of excitement. Just as he knew you would, almost exactly as the clock struck 12:56, your voice drifted around the corner down the corridor. He watches behind his hair as you come into view, chatting happily with your friend, carefully holding a hand in front of your mouth as you chew. He imagines you spotting him, smiling and making your way over, giggling and offering him a bite of your pastry. He’d go to bite it and you’d withdraw it playfully, just to tease him, you’d laugh that bright laugh you have and he’d give you a chastising look before stealing a kiss from you, making you smile wider. You’d wrap your arms around his neck, pushing closer so that–

He’s yanked from his thoughts by Slughorn opening the doors to the lab, the heavy wood scraping unpleasantly against the stone floor. Everyone starts to head inside, he keeps his head down as he enters, hanging back at his usual spot at the back of the room, the spot with a perfect view of you. He places his books down, watching as you quickly scoff the last of your pastry, a pumpkin pasty as he’d guessed before the lesson started. Throughout the lesson he’s watching you, barely concentrating on the topic at hand, he doesn't need to, he already read up on it in his own time so that he can watch you. He’s lucky, in a way, that he only has you for potions, no matter how much he wishes you always there, always by him, always in view, else he may never learn anything at all. You lean forward on the desk, your chin in your palms, legs swinging under the desk. He can vaguely make out the outline of your bra through the back of your uniform shirt, it’s black, clasped on the final row. He almost jots this down on his parchment before he catches himself. He imagines that if he told you this, you’d laugh and call him something childish and endearing, like a ‘silly sausage’, flicking his nose gently. He’s lost in this fantasy, this world where he can tell you that he’s watching you and you find it sweet, going through the motions of setting up his workstation for brewing. He doesn’t even realise that Slughorn is calling out to him until your head turns towards him, looking curious. He notices with a start that the entire class is looking at him, the marauders laughing tauntingly among themselves.

“Er… what?” he croaks out, his voice a little rough from barely speaking all day. He hears a few more chuckles, but not from you. Kind, perfect you. You just glance between him and Slughorn without a hint of judgement in your eyes.

“Your hair is getting rather too long, boy, you’ll have to tie it up for this potion, it’s very volatile,” Slughorn chortles from the front of the room. “Do any of the ladies have a spare?” He addresses the room. The marauders and a couple of the other boys explode with laughter, several of the girls immediately shake their heads, or do nothing, except beautiful, perfect you. You’re picking up your bag and digging through it without a second's hesitation and he could kiss you right now, not that there was any time he felt like he couldn’t. Your friend, obviously shamed into action by you, flicks half-heartedly through her bag too. The rest of the class returns to setting up.

“A-ha!” you exclaim, pulling out a plain black hairband from your bag. Black like your bra, his brain supplies, but he shakes that off because you’re walking over to him. He’s immediately sweating, luckily you’re unlikely to notice through his robes, although you may notice the growing sheen on his forehead. You stand in front of him, smiling like an angel. He’s not this close to you often, somehow you’re even more ethereal up close. He takes a shaky breath as you extend the hairband to him. "Don't listen to them, Black is only about an inch away from needing one himself,"

“Th-Thank you…” He mumbles, brushing your fingertips with his own on purpose. It feels like a thousand fireworks exploding under his skin and he smiles shakily. You smile and shrug.

“Just get it back to me when you can, or keep it honestly, I have hundreds and you’ll probably need it again,” you explain happily. You always seem to have nothing bringing you down and he admires it, wishing he could be so positive, perhaps it’s easy when you’re as flawless as you are. You skip off back to your workstation to your friend. He has something in his hand that is yours, something he’s allowed to keep, something he didn’t have to snatch when you left the room. There’s a couple of your hairs stuck around it and he shivers in excitement. This is something you have used, and he has it through legitimate means. He’s floating on air. While everyone else is beginning to brew, he hides behind his cauldron carefully laying down your hairs in his notebook, making sure not to break them, securing them so they don’t fall out.

Eventually, once he’s sure he can’t extract any more of yours from the hairband, he finally ties his hair back into a low ponytail, getting to work. He’s confident he can catch up on the brewing time he missed, even as he keeps being distracted by the sight of you across the room, your hair pulled up out of your face in the same type of hairband you gave him. You’re gorgeous, somehow more than usual, which shouldn’t be possible or, frankly, legal. He’s often wondered if you’re part Veela somewhere far back, because of how absolutely perfect you are. Through extensive research of your family tree, he was able to prove himself wrong, but he still wonders. His potion expertise allows him to catch up on the potion, still being awarded the best potion in class by the end of it. He almost feels bad for everyone who actually put some effort into brewing just to lose to him again, but that feeling melts away when he spots you grinning at him as Slughorn announces his win. The two of you have never been friends, but you have always been silently friendly toward him, refusing to be swayed by the rumours about him. It’s perhaps what he loves the absolute most about you. He’s packing up when you approach him again, smiling softly.

“I actually like your hair up like this,” you whisper, reaching over to gently flick the end of his short ponytail. Severus doesn’t know if you’re teasing him or not. He feels like he’s been struck by lightning, both by your words and your playful touch. A hundred images of fantasies he’s had about you over the years flash through his mind. You’ve touched him! Willingly! In that playful way, he’d always imagined you would. It takes a lot of effort to remind himself that he can’t just kiss you right now. His mouth falls open and he lets out an undignified throaty noise. He quickly covers it up with a cough, blinking rapidly.

“I um… you… do?” he chokes out. You study his face for a moment, he’s sure you’re about to change your mind. You could never be so cruel though, he knows this, you’re too wonderful.

“Yeah… it’s nice to see your eyes sometimes,” you tease. Severus forces himself to laugh back casually, trying to force down the love hearts that are practically forming in his eyes. He also has to stop himself from grabbing you, never letting you move away again. He regrets holding himself back when your friend comes up behind you and ushers you away to your next class. You smile at him over your shoulder as you begin to leave. He quickly decides to use the compliments you’ve just given him against you. He wonders how much you really meant to them, but he has to try anyway. He invades your mind, silently smug about your lack of defences even after all this time. He feeds you a vision based on what you’ve just said. His head between your perfect supple thighs, looking up at you with wide needy eyes, his hair pulled back just like this, devouring your sweet cunt. He knows he’s been successful as he watches you suddenly flush and turn away, your cheeks bright red.

He doesn’t really know how you feel about these visions. He’s been invading your mind and planting them since the end of the fifth year. He would love to stick around in your brain, find out how you react to them, do some digging, and find out how you really feel about him, but he can’t risk it. The longer you’re in somebody's mind, the more they can feel the foreign presence. You’re still yet to put up any wards, even rudimentary ones, so he assumes you don’t realise you’re being invaded. You also haven’t started to avoid him more than normal, if you realised these visions were coming from someone else, there would only be one logical conclusion as to who they came from, but you haven’t withdrawn or confronted him in any way, so he figures he’s safe for now. The nature of the visions he gives you is probably enough to distract you from the momentary uncomfortable tingle of someone else being in your brain. He’s been experimenting for a long while to see what thoughts you react to the best. He often sits in the dining hall, somewhere where he has the perfect view of you, and plants various thoughts. You don’t seem to school your emotions very well, so he gets a vague idea of how you react to each scenario. He’s tried visions of him bending you over, roughly taking everything he wants from you, he’s tried visions of him begging on his knees to please you and everything in between. You blush beautifully at each one, whether from embarrassment or arousal, he isn’t sure. He can’t wait to feel your cheek heat up under his hand, because he will get to feel it, some day. You don’t seem to like the more extreme scenarios, complete domination or complete submission, but you don’t seem to mind either way if the power dynamic is a little milder. He doesn’t mind, he would be anything for you, do anything. What you seem to like best is when he feeds you a vision of him eating you out. He supposes it makes sense, it’s completely focused on your pleasure, so it’s practically all he’s been giving you lately. Sometimes he holds you down and calls you a good girl, sometimes you’re riding his face and calling him a good boy, you seem to like it either way. It makes him unbelievably smug.

After dinner, he’s trailing you and your friends to your common room, just to make sure that you’re safe, nothing more. He’s a little careless, feeding you the same vision over and over, enjoying watching you blush and stutter from afar as you try to chat with your friends. You probably think you’ve been hit with a lust potion or something, as he isn’t letting you think of anything else. It seems you hadn’t lied when you’d told him you liked his hair in the ponytail, as every time he gave you the same vision from earlier, he noticed your thighs tense. This isn’t a reaction he gets from you often at all, usually, it’s so subtle that he can be convinced it was unrelated, but this vision, in particular, seems to have you doing this every time. He’d dropped his fork at dinner just to duck under the table to watch your thighs clench, the sight nearly making his mouth water. He wished he could get under your table and spread your legs, make that vision a reality, but sadly he could not. He would do it in a heartbeat if you asked, fuck the consequences, fuck who could see. Maybe one day, if he kept torturing you with this vision, you would come begging. He feels his cock twitching eagerly in his trousers at the thought. You disappear into your common with your friends, him watching from around the corner. He sighs in disappointment, deciding to leave you be for the night since he can’t delight in your lovely little reactions any more. He hangs around at the corner for a moment, debating whether to head outside onto the grounds to watch you through your dorm window like he often did. The mini telescope he had to buy for Astronomy had turned out to be a fantastic use of money, even if he did often see your roommates instead. He had seen them all in various states of undress by now, but he couldn’t care about any of them in the least, he only had eyes for you.

Over the next few days, he eases off a little, realising how reckless he’d been. He couldn’t risk you knowing what he’s been doing, he can’t imagine that would end very well, even if you had seemed to grow to like the visions he gave you. He didn’t stop altogether, because that would have arguably been just as suspicious. He keeps it tame, one or two a day, maybe a little more innocent than normal. He can’t help but continue to use the information about you liking his hair back, making sure every fantasy he feeds you has him that way. He keeps your hairband, pulling his hair back every day now, because it makes you look at him just a second longer, and he’s obsessed with it. Lucius comments on it, saying it looks odd, but he couldn’t care less. It makes secretly watching you harder too, as he can’t hide behind his hair so much, but he makes do, all for those extra glances. He continues his routines, waiting for you to emerge in the mornings from your common room by hiding around the corner, watching you at every mealtime, trailing you back to the common room in the evening and then watching you through your window whenever he feels the need.

One night, once he’s happy you’re safely back in your common room, he turns to leave but trips slightly over his feet. He glances down, realising with an exasperated huff that the laces on his oxfords have come undone. He crouches down to tie them, setting his other knee on the ground. He fumbles with them unnecessarily, frustrated with himself. He vaguely registers footsteps approaching him, but not enough to react before he hears a voice.

“Oh… Severus, what are you doing here?” your soft angelic voice echoes slightly in the empty corridor. You seem confused, and, arguably, you have reason to be. The only thing down this corridor is your common room, and he has no excuse to be here. He swallows, staring straight down at the ground, his mind working a mile a minute.

“Here to return the hairband,” he grunts, thinking fast. It’s the only excuse he has, even if you had told him to keep it. He looks up at you from his crouched position, you’re a lot closer to him than he thought. He realises how similar this position is to some of the ones he’s forced into your brain. He’s pleased to notice, from the flush on your face, that you make this connection too, without it being planted. He shifts slightly, lowering both his knees to the ground and facing you properly. He looks up at you, his eyes burning with barely contained arousal. You’re flushed and shy as you look down at him and he dares to invade your mind to see what you’re thinking. He can’t fight the twitch of his lips as he creeps into your mind, only to find you’re imagining him, just as he is now, pushing up your skirt and burying his face between your legs. He shivers, you’re thinking of this all on your own. There’s a nag at the back of his mind, telling him you don’t quite seem to want to be thinking this, but he ignores it, reaching up for your thighs. You yelp in surprise as his cold, long fingers press into the warm skin of your thighs and he pulls you forward.

“Wha- what are you doing?” you squeak, stumbling helplessly toward him. He doesn’t answer, he feels possessed, and he’s already salivating. He brushes his nose against the skin of your thigh, just under the hem of your skirt, making you gasp. You smell divine, a vague hint of your perfume, presumably stuck to the fabric of your skirt, a hint of something that he realises, with a growl, must be your arousal. You try to step away, but he grips you harder, keeping you in place. He knows you want him, even if you don’t seem to know it yourself. You whimper as he licks a stripe up your thigh, the taste is faintly salty and he groans in pleasure. He hears the old castle creak slightly, reminding him that the two of you are out in the open. He withdraws slightly. You look utterly dazed above him like you don’t understand what’s going on. You realise that he’s walking you to a cleaning cupboard nearby, and your legs just blindly follow him. You want to protest, but can’t seem to find it in you. You had been fantasising about this for years now, even if the reason for these fantasies never seemed to make sense. He brings you in, shutting the door behind you. He’s kneeling again in an instant, he almost looks crazed as he bunches up your skirt. He doesn’t even give you time to acclimate before his tongue is on you through the material of your underwear. You gasp out loudly as he tastes the small wet spot of fabric, when did you even get wet? He takes a long deep sniff, his nose nudging at your clit through the fabric. He licks at you desperately until the material is soaked through, both with his saliva and your arousal. You were shocked by just how intensely your body was reacting to all this. You let him slide down your underwear, figuring there’s no point stopping him now. You lean back against the wall as he buries his head between your legs, shaking his head slightly to get even closer, the movement making you moan softly. He’s undeniably eager, lapping and slurping at you, but it’s fairly clear he’s never done this before. This is all he’s ever wanted, and he’s determined to make the most of it, the scent and taste of you making him feel insane. He rubs you all over his face, wriggling his tongue against you, gripping the flesh of your buttocks to keep you in place. He’s mumbling against you, about how long he’s been picturing this, but you can’t quite hear him, which is probably for the best. He makes up for his lack of experience with his enthusiasm, the way he’s looking up at you like he’s desperate to please. You find yourself falling apart all over his face shockingly fast, biting your lip to stifle your whines.

“Thank you, thank you,” he mumbles over and over as he laps you all up. He pulls away and you go a little limp, sliding slightly down the wall as he stands. You barely register what’s happening as he turns you around pressing you up against the wall, your eyes widen as he pushes inside you, but by now you’re well past the point of no return, so you simply brace yourself against the wall. He humps you like a dog in heat, sloppy and fast, you’re glad he made you orgasm earlier because you don’t get the feeling you will be cumming from this. Not that it feels bad, in fact, it feels quite good, making you moan as he bullies against you. He grips your waist tight with his slender fingers. “This is perfect, everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” he whimpers in your ear. “Now that I’ve had a taste of you, I’m never letting you go, you’re mine now,” you know what he’s saying is worrying, but your fucked out mind can’t quite realise the true danger of what he’s saying and what your lack of protesting is solidifying in his mind. “All mine,” he growls, his hips stuttering violently. He buries himself as deep as he can. “Fo-forever,” he groans shakily as he spills deep inside of you. He holds you there for a long time, your body limp in his arms as he pants against the back of your neck. You feel lightheaded, you can’t believe everything that’s just happened to you. He kisses your cheek, over and over, as if it's some sort of compulsion. “Mine, mine, mine,” he mumbles repeatedly, the reality of everything starting to sink in for you. Maybe you should have believed the rumours about his mental instability, maybe you should have kicked him away when he first grabbed your thighs, perhaps you should be telling him right now that you’re not his, but instead, a string of words come out of your mouth, feeling like they’re only half your own.

“Can you eat me out again?”

And he happily complies, sliding back down onto his knees.

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xoxoxo

[annievrse]

It Only Hurts This Much Right Now / Act I

Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader  Summary: When your captain, Luffy, tells you to run from Bartholomew Kuma on the Sabaody Archipelago instead of fighting, you end up on a submarine. Takes place pre-time skip. W/C: 15k C/W: Fic structure: Sabaody Archipelago → Dressrosa spoilers, canon timeline but majority canon-divergent events, is organised into scenes, she/her pronouns, no use of y/n. Content: panic attacks, anxiety, descriptions of injuries, blood, passing out, trauma (Luffy), and Law has his death tattoos pre-time skip because I said so.

Labyrinth Series Masterlist

— Scene 1 —

“Run! Now!” 

Your legs move of their own accord, your mind screaming against your captain’s request. Bartholomew Kuma’s Paw-Paw Fruit had your crew disappearing off the Sabaody Archipelago one by one. 

With ragged breathing and a burning chest, the further you get from the grassy patch, the more your heart clenches in agony. Your family is gone, and you don’t know if they’re dead or hurt, and the thought of them being in that state has you clutching your chest. 

“Luffy!” You scream as he vanishes from sight, your voice broken, but there is nothing you can do. The Devil Fruit you’d eaten as a child feels useless against someone of this calibre, so you run, just as your captain told you to. 

The island is in an uproar of violence and fear; the only place you know to go is to the Sunny. The Straw Hats’ dear ship, who’s been waiting for its crew’s arrival, only to be left abandoned when you run directly into the back of someone. 

You stumble backwards, the sudden stop causing your legs to give out from underneath you. You land on the ground, a sharp pain in your tailbone sending shockwaves through your spine. Breathing rapidly, you scramble to stand, but not before a hand clasps around your throat. 

“Who are you?” 

The voice is deep and commanding, and you spit your name out quickly. Your vision is blurry, but you can make out the vague outline of a large man, his fiery hair sticking out in all directions. With exhausted muscles and the little strength you have left, you claw at the man’s hand, his grip tight around your neck. The man scoffs and lets you fall to the ground, the second impact on your spine hurting more than the last. 

“Kid, leave the poor girl alone.” 

You rub your temples with tender fingers where a deep pain in your skull threatens to explode. 

Kid? Where had you heard that name before? 

Your voice comes out as a whimper, your body on the cusp of failing you. A warm liquid drips from your hairline, and you pull your hand back, your fingertips crimson. Panic rises in your veins, and you’re reminded of the terrible fate your crew faces. A dull ache on your side stops you from standing, but you try to do so anyway with no success. 

“Hey, you’re with the Straw Hats, right?” 

Tears collect on your waterline at the sound of it, and your brain focuses on one key component – Straw Hat. 

“Come with me.” 

Spluttering nonsense, you try to think through the rapid rise and fall of your chest, your inhales raspy, and your exhales short. Your body doesn’t feel like your own, and as tears roll down your cheeks, you wish Kuma had given you the same fate. 

“Calm down,” The voice mumbles, hands finding purchase under your armpits to lift you off the ground. “Panicking will only make it worse.” 

“M-my crew, they’re gone.” 

“Gone?” 

You choke on a raggedy cough, your thoughts disordered. With a tightening chest, you nod. “Can’t breathe.” 

The man calls something you can’t hear, setting you back on the grass. The sudden threat of Kuma out there and possibly coming for you next has you crawling away from the man, who has his back to you, talking to someone in an orange jumpsuit. Blood drips from your head onto the grass below you, and your arms struggle to hold you. Coughing out sobs, you keep dragging yourself further from where you know Kuma is. 

“Hey.” 

“Leave me alone,” You rasp. “He’s coming.” 

“Who?” 

“Kuma,” Your heart tightens as your lips form his name. “He’s going to kill me next.” 

“Fuck.” 

And before you reach the trunk of a Yarukiman Mangrove, you’re lifted off the ground and thrown over someone’s shoulder. And despite your feeble attempts at hitting their back, you aren’t getting down. 

“Don’t take me to Kuma, please,” The plea burns your tongue as you sob, your limbs thrashing. A sharp pain shoots from your side, and you wail out. “Please, get me away from here.” 

“You’re safe, you’re free now.” Usually, you’d need proof if a strange person told you something with so much certainty; instead, you nod, and your eyes close of their own volition, exhaustion overpowering your common sense. 

— Scene 2 —

You wake with a start, gasping as you sit up. Fear claws at your consciousness and leaves goosebumps in its wake. You don’t dare speak a word. Squinting into the bright overhead lights, you realise you’re in a bed, a thin blanket pooled around your waist. An IV protrudes from your arm, and you shiver at the feeling of it inside you. 

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Your head snaps to the other side of the room, where a tall, lean man stands over a desk. You tilt your head at his appearance, familiarity picking at your mind. It isn’t until he turns around that you gasp. It isn’t his fur hat or patterned jeans that make you recognise him, but the deep steel of his eyes. 

Trafalgar Law. 

You’d seen him inside the human auctioning house where Luffy punched a Celestial Dragon, thinking nothing of him. Sure, he was a rookie pirate with a higher bounty than your captain, 440 million berries, but he’d done nothing to prove his worth to you. 

You stare at him as he walks over, his steps lazy. Trafalgar Law’s blood runs cold, and he’s nothing short of sadistic; at least, that’s what Shakky told you. The man before you now seems to stalk you like you’re his prey, but his voice is surprisingly full of something close to friendliness when he speaks. 

“You had a panic attack, and you were severely dehydrated, hence the IV,” You blink at him, your brain processing why Trafalgar Law is standing at the end of the bed and not a doctor. “You have a deep gash on your scalp and one on the left side of your torso, too.” 

Your hand lifts to your head unconsciously, your fingertips meeting gauze. It’s obvious there’s some form of pain suppressant coursing through your veins since your body is light and your mind isn’t nearly as sharp as it should be. You curse yourself for being so weak. 

“Best try not to touch it.” 

Frowning, you lower your hand, feeling the same white fabric around your stomach. This time, you can see the dark splotches seeping through the gauze. Your lips smack softly at the dryness in your mouth, and Trafalgar gestures to the glass beside you.

“Wanna tell me your name?” 

You mumble your reply, watching him warily as you sip the drink–-water. The room is quiet, save for the muffled sound of metal clanging. 

“Where am I?” You mutter, holding the glass between your hands. 

“My ship, the Polar Tang.” 

Your stomach clenches with panic. “Why am I here?” 

“Your crew was attacked by Bartholomew Kuma. Do you remember?” 

Nodding, your eyes sting at the memory. 

“You found me and begged me to take you away.”

Your gaze hardens as you set your eyes on him. “I didn’t beg.”

“Believe me, you did.”

Setting the glass onto the bedside table, you rip the blanket off and stand from the bed, noting the discomfort of your side. 

“I know you,” You say. “You’re the guy who did nothing as my crew freed the slaves from that auction house.” 

Tilting his head, Trafalgar says nothing, though his expression is standoffish. You stand there, your body shivering involuntarily. Maybe you should’ve stayed in bed. 

“Drop me off at the next port.” 

Trafalgar clicks his tongue. “No, can do; we’re not leaving Sabaody for a few weeks.” 

Your eyes dart around the room, noticing the lack of windows.

“I know you don’t trust me,” Trafalgar says, irritation dripping from his tone. “But there was nowhere else for you to go.”

You shrink from his piercing gaze and wrap your arms around your body, being careful to avoid your injury. “How long have I been here?” 

“You’re full of questions today, aren’t you?” 

You don’t dignify him with an answer and wait for him to reply. 

“Two days.” 

Two days? “I have to leave. My crew needs me.” 

“You’re no good to anyone like this,” Trafalgar shakes his head and raises his palm before you. “Besides, you don’t even know where they are.” 

You feel like screaming and crying and throwing up all at the same time. It’s not fair. 

“I mean,” He smirks. “You could always ask Kuma where he sent them.” 

You narrow your gaze at him. “That’s not funny.” 

Trafalgar throws his hands up in false defence. “Never said it was, sweetheart. However, you can’t do anything but stay here and recover.” 

You think it over. What he says is true, but that doesn’t mean you must be useless. His nickname washes over you after you go through your options, and you roll your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“What? Sweetheart?” He laughs, turning away from you. “I think it’s perfect.”

You want to retort, to yell at him for patronising you at a time like this, but are interrupted when a large something rushes through the door. 

“Captain,” The polar bear says, wiping sweat from its forehead. “Kid needs to talk to you.” 

Your first thought is Chopper and how excited he’d be to meet another talking animal. Your second thought is far more depressing, and you swallow the emotion lodged in your throat. 

Trafalgar sighs and waves his hand at you. “Change her bandages.” 

The bear salutes and walks toward you as Trafalgar leaves. “Hello.” 

“Hi.” You tilt your head, knowing better than to ask questions. 

“Oh,” It looks down at itself and laughs nervously. “I’m Bepo.” 

“Bepo…”

“I’m a navigator.” 

A familiar feeling rises in your chest. “A navigator, huh?” 

“Yup, I navigate the sub,” He scratches behind his ear. “Who are you?” 

You smile and tell him your name, slotting that you’re on a submarine in the back of your mind. “I’m a seamstress for the Straw Hats.” 

Bepo’s eyes widen. “Captain said we had a guest, but I didn’t know you were a Straw Hat… Anyway, do you mind if I change your bandages?”

Your walls go up, and you glance at the white fabric around your torso. “Uh–”

“Captain had to sew you up,” Bepo says solemnly. “It was a deep cut.” 

You nod and reluctantly drop your hands by your sides. 

“Let me just— over here,” The bear stammers before rushing to the opposite wall. Usually, you can stitch yourself up. Before Chopper had joined the Straw Hats, you were the one to aid the crew. Zoro’s laceration across his abdomen, thanks to Dracule Mihawk, was your most significant job. 

So, when Bepo returns with a fresh roll of gauze and scissors, you quickly take it from his hands. “I can do this.” 

“You sure?” He asks carefully, his teeth showing as he cringes. 

You swiftly remove the old bandage, unroll the new one, and apply it just as briskly. When the gauze is tightly wrapped around you, you notice Bepo watching in astonishment.

“Are you hungry?” He splutters, eyes still trained on your torso. You guess he’s not the best with blood. 

Your stomach rumbles at the sound of food, and Bepo laughs softly. You cover your stomach as you feel your cheeks warm. 

“Penguin made rice balls, Captain’s favourite. You’re welcome to have some,” Bepo says, walking to the door. He seems to have forgotten about your injury. 

You nod, but before following, you stick your hand out. “Can I take this out?” 

The bear turns around at record speed, his eyes honing in on the needle sticking out of your wrist. “Uh, Captain might kill you.”

You pull your hand to your chest. “Why?” 

“Captain does all the medical stuff; he’s a doctor. He wouldn’t want to take it out, b—but if it’s uncomfortable, I can take it out for you.” 

“He’s a doctor?” 

Bepo nods. “And a surgeon.” 

His large paws hold your hand delicately. “Okay, this is fine.”

You give him a wary look, letting him take it out despite the fact you can do it yourself. “You’ve never done this before.”

“I-I have, just not on people,” He splutters. “Captain makes me practice with fruit.” 

Smirking, you watch the needle slide out from under your skin. 

“Done. Let’s go.” 

You shake your arm before inspecting the area. Bepo is already in the hallway when you decide to follow him.

“This is the infirmary, obviously,” He says, then points to the other end of the hall. “That’s the Captain’s quarters.”

You nod, though you doubt you’ll need to remember the layout since you’re leaving soon. 

You follow Bepo up the stairs as he talks about the submarine, how it works, how he navigates underwater, and how it doesn’t implode. It’s all very fascinating, and you can tell Bepo is passionate about his job on the Polar Tang, but you can’t help but think about your own navigator— 

“—and this is the kitchen.” 

— how she knows the weather patterns like it's a part of her, how she draws her maps with such detail that it shocks you every time you get your hands on one, how you gossip with her until your cook pesters you to try his new dish. 

And then you’re being introduced to the Polar Tang’s cook, and it feels like an iron grip on your esophagus.

“This is Penguin,” Bepo says, pointing at a guy wearing a hat. You give him a wave, though it's half-assed, and you regret it immediately. 

“Hi,” You smile, trying your best to push the memories out of your head and make up for the lazy greeting. 

“Rice ball?” He asks, handing you said food on a plate. 

You take it graciously, thanking him for the snack. 

“How’re you feeling?” A new voice calls. You turn to see another man with a hat, but his sunglasses make him different from Penguin. 

It takes you a second to swallow the rice. “Been better.” 

“Oh, that’s Shachi,” Bepo says before turning to the man. “Would be nice if you introduced yourself.” 

Shachi shrugs and returns to his own rice ball. 

“I’m here too,” A large man mumbles. 

“Jean-Bart,” Bepo gasps. “He’s new. Just joined.”

You nod, finishing your rice ball. 

“I see you’ve met some of the crew.” Trafalgar’s voice makes you freeze. You wipe your lips and turn to face him. There’s a katana propped on his shoulder, and you take a moment to study it. 

Zoro’s face and stupid laugh pop into your head, and then you’re chewing the inside of your cheek. 

“I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping,” Trafalgar says, leaving the kitchen. You tug your eyebrows together and follow him. 

“I’m leaving soon.”

He ignores you and continues down the stairs and past the infirmary. From Bepo’s description of this floor, the only two rooms are the clinic and the Captain’s quarters, and considering Trafalgar is the captain, you deduce that you’ll be close to him. 

The thought makes you cringe. 

He stops before the final door and opens it. 

“Ikkaku stays in the other room.” He says it like you know who that is and ushers you inside. “She’s away at the moment.”

Stepping inside, you realise there are more doors. Three are on the right, and two are on the left in the smaller hallway. He stands close behind you. 

“Your room is through the second door on the right. Make yourself comfortable. We’re going into Sabaody tonight.” 

And when you turn to ask Trafalgar Law if this is some kind of joke, he’s gone. 

You should put a bell on him. 

The women’s room is more extensive than you expected, considering there’s only one woman onboard. You peer around corners and keep your footfalls light as you explore, not wanting to snoop in Ikkaku’s stuff accidentally. 

There’s an empty room next to the bathroom. Stepping inside, you realise that the warm light of the bedside lamp and the half-full bookcase in the corner make it seem almost homey. The bed is lush when you sit and run your fingertips over the quilt. What is going on?

Despite being alert, the comfort of the room allows you to let your guard down, and the feeling alone makes you want to close your eyes. Only for a moment do you let yourself pretend everything is fine. Luffy runs laps around Sanji as he prepares the fish he’s caught. Nami and Robin are lounging on the deck, and Zoro’s asleep against the mast. Franky’s tinkering with something under the deck with Usopp, and Brook keeps them company with his violin. You’re sitting on the railing of the Thousand Sunny with your legs swinging back and forth as you chat with Chopper, fixing a patch to the underside of his hat where one of Usopp’s inventions blew it off his head. 

It was meant to be a sleepless dream, yet you fall victim to the clutches of darkness and dreamless sleep. 

— Scene 3 —

You feel sick. Your mouth is dry, and your head is full of cotton. The last thing you remember is laughing at Chopper’s attempt at imitating Sanji. 

The isolated room is a punch in the gut, a harsh reality that beats the dream in your head to a bloody pulp. You swallow thickly and sit up from the bed. You don’t know the time since a submarine has no windows, and the actuality of where you are is a cruel reminder of your situation. 

You rub your eyes with your sore knuckles hard, ignoring the countless stars that cloud your vision when you drop your hands to your lap. There’s no sound from outside the door, and when you really concentrate, there’s no muffled noise from the level above either. 

You groan at the dull throbbing of your side but forget about it when your eye catches on a white jumpsuit hanging from the door handle. You endure the disgust that coats your tongue. 

Before you know it, you’re up and snatching the suit from the handle. You swing the door open, not bothering to care that it slams against the wall, and make a beeline to the infirmary. You only know he’s in there because the overhead light is on. 

Trafalgar has his hat off and a lab coat on. He’s pulling a latex glove onto his hand when you enter. 

“What is this?” You spit, holding the jumpsuit up. Trafalgar’s head turns toward you, his face barren of any emotion. “I’m not one of your pirates.”

“When you’re on my sub, you wear it.” 

Scoffing, you throw it onto a cot. “I’m a Straw Hat.” 

“You’re on my ship.” 

“Against my will.” You know it’s unfair, but the words spill from you anyway. 

Trafalgar shakes his head, a small laugh falling from his lips. He returns to his work before him on the metal table. “I’m not arguing with you right now. How’s your wound?” 

You ignore his question. “Well, when can you fit me into your busy schedule to argue, Traffy?” 

His unamused glance sends shivers down your spine, but he doesn’t bite. 

“It’s a safety precaution.” He says, lifting a jar to his face to inspect it. 

You look down at your clothes and the gauze around you and sigh. Your head is still fuzzy from your nap, and fighting him will get you nowhere, you can tell that much. It’s safe to say that Trafalgar Law gets under your skin, and not just because he’s a surgeon. 

“Not happening,” You shake your head and step back. “I’m not a part of your crew.” 

“As you’ve said,” Trafalgar utters, his voice tinged with irritation. “Fine.” 

Your face softens at the finality of his tone. 

“But when you’re wandering around Sabaody, don’t come running to me when someone attempts to cash in the bounty on your head. You stand out.” 

You smile, your pride overpowering any other emotion for a second. “You’ve done your research.” 

“370 million berries,” He states, turning around. “But I have yet to see why.” 

Your expression sours, and you spin toward the door to leave. “Goodnight, Trafalgar.” 

He says nothing as you swipe a new gauze roll from the shelf next to the entrance and shut the door behind you. 

“Asshole,” You mumble, flexing your hands to stretch out the fists you didn’t realise you’d been sporting—perhaps it’s best that you didn’t lose control of your powers in front of him. The walk back to your room is short, choosing to go to the bathroom before heading back to bed. 

After poking around in the bathroom for an hour, you exit with a towel around you, again noticing the lack of noise on the ship. It is eerily silent as you redress in your old clothes, but once you’re done, you see a new set of clothes on the bed. 

When did they get there? 

You hold the new top, noticing the size is slightly off. Sighing, you move your fingers in a certain way to change the width and length of the garment. “Sew.” 

Seams pop, and new ones are made until the ill-fitting clothes resize to fit you perfectly. You hum in contentment and place them on the chair in the corner of the room. 

You wrap your wound with new gauze, thanks to the roll you stole earlier, but the pain suppressants are wearing off, and the pain is beginning to seep through. Your gaze catches on the new clothes, and despite the bloodstains and dirt patches on the clothes you wear now, you decide you feel more comfortable in them than the foreign ones in the corner. 

Laying on the bed, your eyes close almost instantly. The emotion you feel from earlier and the spat with Trafalgar has tired you. You thought it’d be difficult to fall asleep in such ghostly silence, but when the blanket covers you, you’re dreaming about your crew again. 

—

It’s only slight, but the knock that comes from outside of your door startles you. You’ve been awake for hours, picking through the books on the shelf and thinking about how you were leaving Sabaody when it happened. 

Your name is low on his lips when he speaks it, and your heart jumps at the sound of it. 

“Come in.” 

The door opens slowly, like Trafalgar’s nervous about what he’ll find. 

“How’re you feeling?” 

You glance at your stomach and shrug. “Achy.” 

Trafalgar nods, standing awkwardly in the doorway, one of his hands digging in the pocket of his jeans. “I brought you some pills for the pain.” 

The bottle is small, but it's full of medication. You thank him, screwing the cap and emptying two into your palm. The air is thick with tension, but not the good kind. What he said earlier in the evening still rings in your mind. 

“I’ll show you why my bounty is so high when I’m ready, okay?” 

Trafalgar eyes you warily. “Okay…” 

“Thanks for bringing these,” You gesture to the tablets in your palm, trying to diffuse the tension. “Maybe I’ll be able to sleep properly.”

“You’re having trouble?” Trafalgar scratches his chin halfway out the door. 

“Not bad,” You lie, waving your hand in dismissal. “Just nightmares and stuff. About Kuma and my crew and drowning in a submarine.” 

You don’t know why you’re talking to him like this, exposing your fears, like he’s a Straw Hat, but something about his mellow demeanour is comforting. His shy eyes and shadow of a smile starkly contrast to the man you spoke to earlier in the night. 

“Well, I know that this submarine isn’t going to sink, spring a leak, or implode, so you can scratch that off your list of fears.” 

His good-natured humour surprises you despite his cold look. “Take two every four hours, and the pain should be almost absent.” 

You nod, realising he’s talking about the medication. Taking the glass from the bedside table, you wash the pills down. 

“Goodnight, Trafalgar.” 

“Night,” He murmurs, whispering your name afterwards. 

You open your mouth to say something else, anything else, when he beats you to it.

“By the way,” Trafalgar says, his voice oddly soft. “The situation with your crew will only hurt this much now. As the days pass, it’ll get better.”

He shuts the door behind him, and you stare at it like he still lingers there. 

You can’t help but believe him. 

— Scene 4 —

Bepo looks at you oddly from across the table. 

It’s the next morning, and he’d informed you the day before in his tour that breakfast was at eight am sharp. It wasn’t until you heard the first sound above you that you’d studied the clothes given to you with such caution that you thought yourself ridiculous before sighing and putting them on. You’d shoved your feet into your shoes and trudged upstairs to the dining room, where Penguin shovelled various foods onto your plate without asking your preference and sent you to the table where you sit now. 

“What?” You ask Bepo, moving pieces of your breakfast around your plate. 

Bepo jumps at your voice, suddenly finding the fish before him extremely interesting. “Nothing.” 

Twisting your lips, you feel bad for catching him off guard. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologise,” The navigator shakes his head. “It’s just that you’re not wearing a boiler suit.”

“Oh,” You mumble, looking down at yourself. Maybe you should’ve worn your own clothes. 

“It’s not a bad thing,” Bepo interjects quickly, noticing the look on your face. 

“Yeah, never a bad thing,” Shachi comments from the other end of the table. 

Bepo gasps. “Ignore him.” 

You give him a small smile. 

“It's just that the only person who doesn’t wear one is Captain Law. It’s just odd seeing someone else aboard not wearing one, is all.”

“Alright,” A familiar voice says from the doorway. “We’re going onto Sabaody. Get your shit together and meet out the front.” 

You watch the Heart Pirates scramble to finish their meals, stacking their plates beside the sink as they exit the room. Soon enough, you’re sitting at the table on your own. 

“You’re welcome to join us,” Trafalgar says. “Just stay close.” 

“I’m good here,” You don’t turn to look at him. “Not looking to cause any problems.” 

He sighs. “Do you need anything?” 

You think it over, deciding to take his question literally. What you need is to get off this island and find your crew, to get to the Sunny and go to Fishman Island, like the original plan. Instead, you’re on a submarine, docked on the island where your crew went missing without knowing how to get them back. Your words are bitter as they leave you, but you don’t regret them. 

“What I need is impossible for you to get.” 

“Are you always this melodramatic?” 

His quip surprises you. Your chair scrapes against the metal floor as you stand. You narrow your eyes at him as you walk to the sink and put your plate on the top of the stack. “Are you always this big of a dick?” 

“Only when someone is being difficult. It’s not hard to accept help, you know. Or is that against the rules of the Straw Hats?” 

You blink at him in shock, your voice low as you approach him. You can feel the power of your Devil Fruit tingling under your skin. “You know nothing about me or my crew.” 

“Yet, I can read you like a book,” Trafalgar laughs, looking down at you. “I see you fit in the clothes fine.”

“Are you done?” You scowl, your fingers moving into their usual position when your powers are in use. It’s difficult to control yourself around him. At least you got your answer as to where the clothes came from. You don’t have it in you to thank him right now. 

Adjusting the katana on his shoulder, Trafalgar sighs, lifting a finger to move the needle that materialised before his nose. “Let’s get out of here, hm?” 

You gasp at the sight of one of your needles, regret swimming in your eyes. The needle vanishes like it was never there as you grab hold of your ability. “I’m so sorry.” 

He turns around, ignoring your apology. “I see.” 

“See what?” You ask, breathless at your lack of control. Your feet carry you after him, seemingly having a mind of their own. 

“You ate a Devil Fruit.” 

You don’t care that he’s leading you outside. “What if I did?” 

When the breeze hits his face, Trafalgar stops, and you almost run into his back. “I want to see what it does.” 

You swallow thickly. “No.” 

Being outside, on Sabaody, makes your chest hurt. You try to push down the emotions clouding your vision and circle Trafalgar to stand before him. 

“No?” 

You nod once. “I’m not a circus animal.” 

“You say you’re not a lot of things, sweetheart,” He says. “When can I hear about something you are?” 

His words are honeyed, and you refrain from shivering. “I am pissed off at you.” 

His eyebrow quirks up at you. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” 

Ignoring him, you turn. “I’m going to get some supplies, don’t follow me.” 

“I thought you were good here… but, unfortunately, sweetheart, I wasn’t planning on it,” Trafalgar mutters. “Just stay low, okay? There are pirates and marines everywhere. No matter where you are, they’ll be there too.”

You acknowledge his warning and turn to leave, but the call of your name from his lips has you glancing over your shoulder. 

“Try not to open your wound, okay? Don’t need you dying on me.” 

— Scene 5 —

When Trafalgar told you there were marines everywhere, you thought he exaggerated. Surely they wouldn’t be around every corner, store, on every rooftop…

Now, you know better than to doubt his judgment. The screaming of civilians and the sound and vibration of explosions have your heart leaping every few minutes in fear. 

“Shit,” You curse as you jump into another alleyway. A group of Marines run past, and your heart beats in sync with their footsteps. 

A trip to the town is more complicated than you thought. Shoving your hand in your pocket, you fish out fifty berries and whine silently when you realise how little you have to spend. 

You don’t want to, but Nami’s tips on stealing and bargaining cross your mind. Thieving on Sabaody Archipelago seems like a foolish thing to do—there’s no way you’d get away with it with all the Marines on duty. Rolling your eyes, you step from the street and onto the main strip. 

When nobody jumps you, you make your way to the closest store. It's dark inside the building, but you use that to your advantage and slide various small items into your pockets. The aisles are empty; the only person in sight is the cashier, an elderly man with horns. 

Trafalgar’s words swim in your mind as you wander down the aisles. 

Don’t need you dying on me… I can read you like a book… 

His mood swings give you a headache; you’ve only known him a day. You couldn’t imagine having him as your captain. Despite Luffy’s carefree attitude, he’d never get smart like that, and he would never call you melodramatic. Hell, he wouldn't even know what melodramatic means. 

The thought of your own captain has your stomach sinking, but then your skin is burning at the sheer audacity of Trafalgar Law. Bepo seems to have a high tolerance for his captain, and you guess that skill only develops with time. You scowl at the thought of spending more time with Trafalgar than you have to. You sure hope your crew makes it back here soon. 

But, your mind is so focused on the captain of the Heart Pirates that it isn’t until you’re at the counter, paying for three rolls of gauze and a box of rice cakes, that the newspaper beside the counter catches your attention. 

PORTGAS D. ACE TO BE PUBLICLY EXECUTED

You stare at the headline. It takes a moment for the words to sink in. Ace. Executed. 

“Miss?” 

Blinking once, you drop the berries onto the counter, snatch the newspaper from the stand, and run out of the store with it pressed to your chest. 

No, no, no. 

At a time when your captain needs you most, you’re not there. No tears well at your waterline; only panic has you in its steel clutches. 

You sprint back to the Polar Tang, your legs burning and your mind racing. You don’t dare look at the paper again until you're safe in the room you’re staying in. Throwing it on the bed, you finally look over the details. 

The World Government has captured Fire Fist Ace…. The renowned pirate Blackbeard has been invited to become a Warlord…the execution has been set to be at Marineford in one week… 

Shaking your head in disbelief, you refuse to believe the printed words. You scrunch the paper in your hand and fly from the room into the infirmary. 

Trafalgar is nowhere to be found. 

“Please,” You plea as you run up the stairs and into the kitchen. “Hello?” 

The Polar Tang is empty. 

Your voice echoes off the cold metal, and you sink to your knees. A sharp pain rolls through you, and you look down at your stomach to see the bandages soaked in blood. The sight makes your head feel light. Your heart rate rapidly inclines, and the kitchen spins before your eyes, the adrenaline coursing through your veins tapering off. With shaky hands, you unfurl the newspaper. 

Where’s Trafalgar now? Where are the words he spoke to you last night? It only hurts this much right now? It’s not getting better, only worse. Why would he lie?

Despite your racing thoughts, the only name on your mind and tongue is Luffy before you pass out, and your head hits the metal floor of the common area with a dull thud. 

— Scene 6 —

“I’m starting to get Deja vu, sweetheart.”

You groan when you hear his voice. 

“I thought I told you not to die yet,” Trafalgar mumbles, urgency in his tone. “Never mind, the war’s started.” 

War?

“What war?” You slur, squeezing your eyes shut against the overhead lights. You feel exposed, and when you peer down at your body, you see a blue gown covering you. 

“Your body has undergone immense trauma, both physically and mentally,” He ignores your question. “It's been a few days since Bepo found you bleeding out in the kitchen.” 

You blink, covering your eyes with your hands. “What’s going on?” 

“You were comatose, close to death. You’re stable now, but I thought I told you not to reopen your wound and—” 

“Not with me,” You sit up, your eyes still hurting. “With the war.” 

Sighing harshly, Trafalgar sits on a chair beside the bed, resting his forearms on his knees. You turn to look at him, noticing his sleeves have been pushed up to his elbows. On his arms lay stark tattoos, the ink trailing down to his hands and then his knuckles. 

EATH

You open your mouth to ask about its meaning but aren’t quick enough.

“Whitebeard’s at Marineford. We’re on our way there now.” 

You furrow your eyebrows, finally comprehending the grinding and clanging of metal around you. “Why?” 

“Portgas D. Ace’s execution is today.”

The name makes you lurch, and you scold yourself for thinking about asking Trafalgar about his tattoos. How foolish. 

“What’s wrong? Is it your wound?”

“He’s Luffy’s brother,” You whisper, dread flooding you. “Why are we going?” 

Trafalgar gives up on your health when he realises you won’t tell him anything about it, but the information that Luffy is Ace’s brother catches his attention. “It would be a shame for a rival to die this early.”

“Rival? Ace is a rival?” 

Trafalgar lets out a humourless laugh. “Monkey D. Luffy is a rival.” 

You’re speechless. Wholly and utterly silent at his declaration. Your mouth opens and closes as you try to form the words your brain wants you to say but to no avail. 

He shrugs when he sees you attempt to say something. “We’re pirates, or did you forget that?” 

The idea that you could be here for shifty reasons hits you all at once. Sure, you’d thought about it when you woke up the first time, grateful that a pirate was willing to save you, to put their life on the line to help another pirate. But you were a fool for thinking it was out of the goodness of his heart. 

That’s why it all spills out when you open your mouth this time. “Why keep me alive, then? I’m a pirate from an opposing crew with a bounty of over three hundred million berries. Why not kill me and cash it in?” 

“You could be useful.” 

“Useful.” The word is bitter on your tongue. Useful, not as an addition to a pirate crew, but as a weapon to wield against the people you love. Who was that man from your first night here? Does he exist under the facade of Trafalgar Law? Or was it all a lie?

“You know…” He ponders, running his tongue over his teeth. “Leverage.” 

“Huh,” You smile fakely, disdain morphing your expression. “So, that’s all I’m good for?” 

“Right now? Yes.” 

Your hand flicks up before you know what you’re doing. The act of sewing his lips shut fills you with such jubilation that you can’t help but smile a genuine smile. The black thread of your power has Trafalgar rising instantly, the chair he was on flying out behind him. 

“You may be Trafalgar Law,” You say lowly. “But I’m not a pawn.”

Trafalgar claws at his lips before sticking one hand out. A blue dome covers the room, and you feel an odd sensation in your chest. It feels as though your heart is being ripped out of your chest. You scream in agony, most likely ripping the stitches in your side as you clutch at your breast. The IV needle in your hand tears through your skin, and your blood spills onto the gown you wear, soaking through it. 

Trafalgar gestures wildly at you, screaming through his closed lips as the threads tighten. You’re unknowingly making them taut, suffocating him. He staggers, the trolley that houses the surgical equipment rolling away as he falls to the ground. Scalpels and scissors clatter to the ground, the infirmary turning into a place of chaos.

His face is red, close to purple when you see it, a blue cube with a fist-sized organ inside it. Your heart. 

“What the…” Your brain seems to forget the pain when you see your lifeline in the hand of Trafalgar Law. 

You’re in such a state of shock that you loosen and remove the thread from his lips, your body falling limply onto the pillows behind you.

“What the fuck?” His voice is hoarse. “Are you insane?” 

“Are you?” You ask pathetically, still trying to process what you just witnessed. 

He doesn’t answer, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his lungs trying to take in as much oxygen as possible. He leans his back against the cupboards, his legs bent in front of him. The blue cube hangs from his fingertips behind his knees. 

You yelp in surprise and paw at the empty slot in your chest. 

“Give me my heart back,” You don’t know what you’re saying. How could he have your heart? 

Trafalgar pushes himself back to his full height, his breathing still ragged but quiet. “What Devil Fruit did you eat? They’re not strings, that’s impossible.” 

“What?” You ask absentmindedly, still occupied with the phenomenon of your open chest. 

“What are your powers?” He presses, staring at you. 

“The Sew-Sew Fruit.”

“Sew-Sew Fruit…” 

“I have thread and needles and shit, okay,” Your breathing starts to go rigid. “Where’s my heart?” 

“You suffocated me, that’s—”

“Trafalgar!” Tears roll down your cheeks. “Where is my heart?”

His body goes still, and the terror in your eyes is enough for him to lift it and slot it back into your body. The sound of blood rushing through you is loud, and you can feel the blood in your veins. The first beat of your heart back in your chest is painful but quickly dissipates as your body recognises it as its own. It’s an experience you never want to endure again. 

You scramble away from him, climbing onto the floor and pressing your back against the furthest cabinet. 

“Careful of your wound,” Trafalgar mutters, his gaze glazed with concern. His face has returned to its standard shade, and he rubs his chest. 

“I don’t care.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

The apology should shock you, but you shake your head in disbelief. “What was that?” 

He swallows thickly. “I ate the Op-Op Fruit. I can control all matter within the range of my room.” 

“This room?” Your hand lands on your side, the pain returning. 

“This room,” He says, lifting his hand. “Room.” 

And as before, a blue dome covers you, and you stare at the ceiling in wonder, though you’re confused about how you could be so fascinated at something that almost killed you. 

“Op-Op…” 

“So, what does yours do?”

“I have sew,” You gesture with one hand. “Which you saw, that controls threads, and needles, which controls, well, needles. Sew can be used to stitch up wounds, trap people, and, you know, tie them up, strangulation. Whereas with needles, I can produce giant ones for stabbing and stuff.”

Law hums. “That’s a simple way of putting it…”

A smile you can only believe came from the deepest depths of your soul spreads across your cheeks. “No wonder your bounty’s so high.” 

“And I now see why yours is so high.” 

You feel your body relax when Trafalgar retracts his room. “I’m sorry.” 

He shakes his head. “I deserved that. I was being a dick.”

“You were being a dick,” Your lips quirk. “But I was way out of line. I know we’re pirates, but—”

“What happened? I heard screaming,” Bepo barges into the infirmary, the door slamming against the wall. 

You shake your head in dismissal. “Nothing, I just fell.” 

Trafalgar’s eyebrows twitch when he looks at you. You could’ve easily told Bepo his captain almost killed you, but you couldn’t tell him you almost killed his captain, too. 

“Oh,” The bear sighs. “Are you okay?”

You nod, pushing yourself off the ground to stand. “Thanks for checking in.” 

Bepo smiles before speaking to Trafalgar. “Captain.” 

“What is it?” He asks, turning so his back is to you both. 

“We’ll be docking soon. The waters are rough around Marineford.” 

“Understandable,” Trafalgar mutters. “Get the crew ready to retrieve Straw Hat.” 

Bepo nods and quickly leaves. 

“We’re retrieving him?” 

Trafalgar sighs. “I told you, a rival can’t die this early. We’re rookies, we have to protect each other until the new age surpasses the old.” 

His words have a strange intonation of leadership as if he feels responsible for Luffy. And maybe it's the underlying knowledge that he feels like your captain could be useful to him, but for now, you’re grateful he’s willing to help him. 

“That’s sweet.”

Trafalgar narrows his eyes at you. “Get ready to resurface. We won’t have much time.” 

You look down at your bloody gown and hurry to your bedroom, your stomach churning with both excitement and dread. Excitement for seeing Luffy, dread for everything else.

— Scene 7 —

“Hurry up!” Trafalgar yells to his crew. “We get Straw Hat out of there and leave.” 

“Yes, Captain.” The response is a collective voice, and you stand in the corner, nursing your wound. You would’ve rather done it in the privacy of the infirmary or your bedroom, but with Luffy so close, you don’t care if the men see you. 

“Only Bepo, Penguin, Shachi, Jean-Bart, and I will be on deck, the rest of you are on standby, given things go to shit.” 

Another collective, yes, Captain, rolls through the common area. You’re on the verge of yelling that you’re going with them when Trafalgar finds your gaze and nods once, confirming that you’ll be there too. 

Swallowing, you inhale sharply. Your wound is secure, and you can feel your power surge through you, just in case. 

The submarine lurches, and then the crew rushes to their stations—some to the boiler room (you learnt was below your bedroom), others to the control room, and more to prepare the infirmary. It’s a practised procedure, and the tension around you reminds you of your own crew. 

Trafalgar clears his throat, and you turn to see him before you. “Be careful up there, okay? We don’t need you more injured.” 

You laugh. “Care about me, huh?” 

He clears his throat. “Just need my leverage to be in good shape if i’m to negotiate with Straw Hat.” 

You want to roll your eyes but don’t. You swear it hurt him to say that from the set of his jaw. 

Before you can ponder it, you notice Bepo taking the stairs up to the main door. 

There’s no time to be thinking about him. Luffy is your top priority.  

“Are we there?” 

Trafalgar glances over his shoulder to follow your gaze. “Yeah. Come on.”

You can hear the chaos before you see it. It's a cacophony of cannonballs, gruff wails of anguish, and the distorted sound of bones shattering. 

Bepo pushes the door open, and the wind hits you in the face. The air is thick with rot, burning flesh, and salt, and you cover your nose before you gag. 

“Welcome to the battlefield,” Bepo says. He means it as a joke, but it's utterly morbid.

Far away, chatter erupts when you step onto the deck. Marineford is seemingly silent at the arrival of the submarine. Blood sprays in the distance, accompanied by strangled cries and all you want to do is crouch down and cover your ears like a child. You can’t imagine Luffy here. 

“Hey!” Trafalgar yells, and your attention is turned to the floating bodies in the sky. You recognise who it is immediately and run to the front of the deck. 

“Luffy!” You scream, your eyes catching on his unconscious body. You feel yourself gag at the mangled state of his chest, but when you look at who is holding him, you’re stumbling over your own feet. “Buggy?” 

“Hey!” The clown yells, his eyes wide. “Hey, I remember you! You’re that girl who sewed my arms to my legs back in Loguetown! Why are you here?” 

Trafalgar snorts beside you, brushing off the rest of Buggy’s questions.“Quick, hand over Straw Hat.”

“I don’t take orders from you! Besides, what do you want with him?” Buggy asks. “Who even are you? What are you doing with the girl from Straw Hat’s crew?” 

Trafalgar ignores him, lips pursed. “Just hand him over, he’ll die without my help. I’m a doctor.” 

You notice the Fishman Buggy holds under his other arm. “Who is that…?” 

“Doctor, my ass! No doctor carries around a sword that big,” Buggy cries. 

“I don’t have time for your shit, clown. Hand over Straw Hat.” 

“But, what’s in it for me? You’re just a —”

The familiar high-pitched sound of a cannonball makes your heart leap. “Trafalgar…” 

“Uh, Captain,” Shachi calls, his voice wobbly. “Navy battleships are approaching the stern.” 

“Fuck,” Trafalgar curses. “Hurry up! Give him to me!” 

Four more cannon fires can be heard before the sub rocks violently from the impact. 

“Captain, we’re almost in their firing range!” 

The wind from a cannonball landing so close to the sub has you panicking. “Quick, Buggy!” 

“Don’t you start bossing me around, little lady,” The clown screams, his voice cut short when you feel the submarine lean dangerously to the left.  

“What’s going on?” Bepo yells, holding onto the railing. 

“Oh, fuck,” Trafalgar says, looking to where Buggy floats. You follow his gaze, your body freezing at the sight of Kizaru. “Drop him now!” 

“Fine!” Buggy exclaims, throwing Luffy and the Fishman down to the deck. The clown yells more nonsense, but you don’t care to listen. Your heart is in your throat as you watch them fall. 

“Jean-Bart, quick, they’re coming.” 

The large man raises his arms and catches them as Trafalgar yells, “Submerge.” 

You run inside, going down to the infirmary. The submarine lurches, and you grab ahold of the handrail to stop yourself from stumbling down the stairs. You enter the infirmary, dodging crew members as they prepare for the worst. 

Trafalgar and Bepo are nowhere to be seen, but you can hear shouting down the hall. 

“Prepare for surgery!” 

You slip into the corner of the room as the Heart Pirates file inside. The only evidence you get of Luffy is the glimpses of his bloody body. You cover your mouth with your hand at the state of him. 

“Set up for a transfusion! He’s lost a lot of blood.” 

The main door to the submarine slams shut, and the metal walls vibrate from the jolt. You wait with bated breath as the crew rushes around the room, sticking needles in Luffy’s arms and opening sterile equipment. 

It’s captivating how fast Traflagar’s crew prepares Luffy and the Fishman for surgery. If it weren’t Luffy, you’d find it exhilarating. 

Footfalls down the hall grab your attention, and soon, Bepo and the Heart Pirates Captain are entering the infirmary. Trafalgar holds something in his grasp, but you’re too engrossed in Luffy to realise what he shoves in your hands. 

“Keep this safe for him, okay, sweetheart?” 

You draw your attention away and look up at Trafalgar before noticing the familiar straw of Luffy’s hat between your fingers. Nodding, you curl your lips between your teeth to stop your emotions from teetering over. 

He walks away, taking white latex gloves from Penguin and putting them on. Trafalgar looks over the Fishman. 

“He’s been shot through the stomach… amazing he’s still breathing.”  

Finally, the last tube is inserted down Luffy’s throat, and you hold your breath while you wait for Trafalgar’s assessment. 

“Straw Hat’s injuries are fairly severe, too,” He says. “But I think his emotional trauma is the real issue.” 

Your heart skips a beat. Ace. 

“Do they need anaesthesia?” Penguin asks from the corner. Your jaw clenches at the mere thought that they wouldn’t. 

“No, Straw Hat is close to comatose, and the Fishman is unconscious. They won’t feel a thing.” 

Your mouth falls open. “But, Trafalgar—”

“It’s gonna be a fun operation, yeah?” 

His words make you feel sick. “Hey—”

“Get her outta here,” Trafalgar says, waving his hand in dismissal. 

“Yes, Captain,” Bepo mumbles, walking over to you. 

“Bepo—”

“Captain’s orders,” He says tightly. “I’m sorry.” 

You shake your head, your hands clutching Luffy’s hat to your chest. “I can’t leave him—”

“You have to; he’ll be just fine.” 

“But—”

The door to the infirmary closes behind you and Bepo, and you're at a loss for words. There’s no use screaming about it, Trafalgar needs to concentrate. 

“Stay here until I come and get you, okay?” 

Bepo smiles sadly at you before he leaves you in your room. Now that you’re alone and the adrenaline of helping Luffy has worn off your wound throbs. Groaning in pain, you limp to the bedside table and swallow four pills. 

The sub is silent, except for the relentless beeping down the hall. 

Suddenly, the sub rocks uncontrollably. Screaming ensues from the infirmary, and panic clutches at your chest. You stagger and fall to the bed, instantly rolling off when the sub jumps. 

“Bepo!”

Crying echoes down the hall as he races to your room. Your door swings open, and Bepo falls inside, rolling on the floor beside you. “Aokiji’s turning the ocean to ice!” 

The submarine surges forward, going faster and deeper. The rocking calms down, and Bepo knocks his forehead on the floor. “No more stress, please.” 

You sigh out a nervous laugh at where you lay on the floor. The sub jolts again; this time, it isn’t until the ship starts swerving that Bepo cries out. “We got lucky once. Now we’re really gonna die!” 

“We’re not going to die,” You say, trying to keep your voice even. “Just hold on.” 

Bepo whimpers, and before he can do as you say, he rolls into the other wall. Your name falls from his mouth in a whine, his eyes closing with dizziness. You cringe with pain, your body slamming into the leg of the bedframe. 

Finally, the sub evens out, but you can tell you’re going extremely fast. The door squeaks on its hinges when it opens. 

“You guys okay?” 

You lift your head to see Penguin panting with his hand on the doorframe. 

“Never better,” Bepo murmurs, his paws scratching the metal floor. 

You nod and attempt to stand, your hand over your wound. “How’s Luffy?” 

Penguin stands taller. “Surgery’s going fine. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, just a bit dizzy,” You say, knowing your skin will be marred with bruises. You don’t tell him of the sharp pain in your temple. “Are we safe?” 

He visibly swallows. “Should be. Jean-Bart says nothing is attacking us now.” 

“Thank you, Gods,” Bepo whines in happiness, pushing himself back to his full height. “I’m going back to the infirmary. I need an ice pack.” 

You and Penguin watch Bepo leave, his legs wobbly. 

“Do you need anything?” Penguin asks, his eyes trained on where your hand presses against your side. 

“Should be fine, thanks.” 

He gives you a tight-lipped smile before exiting. You sit on the bed, lifting your shirt to inspect your wound. 

It’s bloody, and it's clear your stitches have come undone again. When will you catch a break?

Taking a deep breath, you unravel the bandage. Once the soiled gauze is off, you look away, feeling queasy. You move your fingers against your skin, not needing to look when your power starts. “Sew.” 

There’s no sensation when your needle pierces your skin and begins sewing you up. It's a painless procedure, one you’ve done one too many times, but a minuscule part of you wishes it were Traflagar’s nimble fingers threading a needle and cotton through you. It isn’t a welcomed thought, though you don’t curse yourself for thinking such things. You blame the minor blood loss and continue staring at the floor as you sew yourself back together. 

— Scene 8 —

You don’t know how you keep finding yourself in these positions, causing yourself unnecessary pain for the sake of others. Though, you can’t help it this time. 

Luffy is recovering in the infirmary after his surgery. It’s been four days since Trafalgar finished his procedures on your captain and the Fishman, who you have now learnt is Jinbe, a former Warlord. 

You’re outside the door, in the hallway, your backside hurting from sitting in the same position on the metal floor for a few hours. Your neck aches, and your back needs a stretch, but you feel guilty about getting up. You refuse to leave with your captain unconscious and without a specific timeframe of when he will wake. He went through hell in an attempt to save his brother, who you’d met once in Alabasta, and it wasn’t fair that he had to endure that while you were sealed inside a submarine with another crew. 

Trafalgar said it was unfair that you felt like this, and it took time for you to believe him. The past four days have been full of anxiety and tears, but you finally pulled yourself together to see Luffy without having a breakdown. You can feel sweat dripping down the side of your face, but leave it to do so, and you draw your knees to your chest and lean your forehead on your knees. 

“It’s too hot down here,” Bepo complains from down the hall. He’s on the floor, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as Penguin and Shachi watch him with apprehension. “I’m going to fade away. Goodbye, cruel world.”

“Shut up, Bepo,” Penguin snaps, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Now I’m hot, and I wasn’t hot until you said something.” 

“All that fur really sucks, huh?” Shachi laughs, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Bepo pointedly ignores him, slumping his body flat on the floor. 

“I hate going so far underwater. It gets so stuffy,” He cries before narrowing his eyes at his crewmates. “And the company is oppressive, too.” 

You can’t help the giggle that falls from your lips. 

“Not you,” Bepo comments, looking down the hall at you. “You’re not mean to me.”

“Yeah, well, we hate being here with you too, jerk,” Penguin says. 

“Such vitriol. What is a poor bear to do…?” Bepo whines, lugging himself to his feet. “To win the love of his crew members?” 

The collective disgusted sounds of Penguin and Shachi echo down the hall, and you lift your head to see why. Bepo hugs them both into him, rubbing his sweat on their faces. You smile at the sight, a pang of homesickness making your stomach turn. You remember Zoro doing the same thing to you and Sanji when you complained about his lack of bathing. 

“Fine! We’ll ask the captain if we can surface,” Penguin yells, trying to pry himself away from Bepo. 

“Captain!” They yell, stumbling over each other to get up the stairs. You sigh and return to staring at the wall opposite you. 

Heavy footfalls shake the sub above, but you ignore it, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. Your stomach drops as you feel the sub incline rapidly, and you barely smile when you hear the cheers from the common area. 

You stand when the sub is stationary, and there’s no movement above you. You place your hand on the door handle, the cool metal soothing the warmth of your body. You twist the handle and step inside the infirmary. The sight of the Fishman sitting up on his bed surprises you, but your focus is solely on your captain, who lays there motionless, with a large tube coming from his throat. 

“Who are you?” The man asks, and you jump at the gravel of his voice. 

You tell him your name. “I’m a Straw Hat.” 

Jinbe looks taken aback as you run your eyes over Luffy’s body. He’s covered in bandages from head to toe, and you can’t imagine what his injuries look like. You notice Trafalgar’s katana leaning against the bed.

“How are you here? Luffy said his crew was gone.” 

You stand over your captain, your face warm with emotion. You move the katana down to the end of the bed. 

“He told me to run, so I did,” You whisper, brushing his hair off his forehead. “I think he thought Kuma got me too.” 

Jinbe blinks at you before he gets up. “There sounds like trouble above deck. I’ll go.” 

You nod without lifting your head, though you can sense him studying you. 

“He spoke a lot about his crew. I’m glad you’re here.” 

Smiling wetly, you sniffle. “I’m glad too.” 

When the door clicks, you fall to your knees beside the bed. Trafalgar said not to disturb Luffy and told you not to touch his recovering body, but you can’t follow his orders, no matter how hard you try. 

“I’m so sorry,” You sob as you rub his wrist, the gauze rough against your fingertips. “I should’ve stayed back and helped you. Why would you tell me to run?” 

You know you won’t get a response, but having him this close after believing him dead is something your poor heart can’t fathom. 

You don’t know how long you sit there, your head leaning on the side of the bed, but when you come back to your senses, it's obvious the sub is moving. To where? You can’t begin to guess. 

But, you hope Bepo got his fresh air. 

—

Chaos has ensued above deck, you can tell that much. The sound of cheers and then screams of fear, with the dull thuds of arrows lodging into the walls, make you nervous. 

“I’ll be back,” You say, flying from the room. The submarine is empty when you get to the top floor, and you aim straight for the exit. 

The main entrance is ajar, and you push it open. “Trafalgar, what’s—”

“A woman!” 

You freeze after you stumble onto the deck. In awe, you’re suddenly the focus of several people, no, women, lining the walls of a bay. They all wave at you, clearly excited to see you. 

Smiling awkwardly, you wave back, glancing at Trafalgar. 

“Where are we?” You mutter, noticing the large ship in front of you veering off to the left. 

“Amazon Lily.” 

“Okay…” You drop your arm. “Why?” 

“They’re going to take care of Straw Hat.” 

Drawing your brows together, you shake your head. “What happened to being the best doctor on the Grand Line?” 

“I never called myself that,” He scoffs. “Boa Hancock has a fixation on your captain, so she’s going to house him here.” 

Boa Hancock. “The Warlord?” 

“Mmhm,” He hums. “I’m in the dark about how they know each other, but she’s eager to help him.” 

“He’s not something to be passed around.” 

“I know that, but Hancock is adamant about it,” Trafalgar says, voice hard. “Though I said otherwise, I do want him to be okay. Is that alright, sweetheart?”

“Yes, it’s perfectly fine, Trafalgar.” 

He gives you an inquisitive look, one that you brush off. “What’s your problem?” 

“Hancock.” 

Trafalgar snorts and cocks his head. “Yeah, well, don’t make that known here, okay?” 

“Why are we circling the island?” 

“Men are forbidden on the island.” 

“What?” 

“Luffy is the exception.”

You put your hand on his arm, holding back a giggle. “So, you’re going to get shot down? I can’t wait to see this.” 

Trafalgar clicks his tongue, unamused. “Unfortunately, you won’t. We made a deal with Hancock.”

“Disappointing…” You trail off, your fingers slipping from his forearm. But when you look back at him, his eyes are trained on the spot your touch was.

“Docking!” Penguin yells. 

It happens quickly and with skilled practice. A wood plank is placed between the Polar Tang and the patch of land, and the crew piles onto the island. 

Multiple women are on the shore, most setting up tables, tents, and a giant curtain printed with Jolly Rogers. The sun shines down on the grass, and you realise it's the first time since Sabaody that you’ve seen such greenery. 

“The Kuja Pirates,” Trafalgar says in your ear, pulling you from your mind. “Heard of them?” 

You shake your head, not daring to turn to face him. “But this is where Luffy’s staying?”

“Yep, I’m to treat him until he’s better, and then he stays here. It’s a perfect location to hide him from the Navy. You’d know how annoying they are, considering you’re just as if not more.” 

You gape at him, a slight grin pulling the corner of your lip upwards. “You’re kidding—”

A delicate hand on your shoulder pulls you away from him suddenly. You watch as Trafalgar keeps walking, never sparing a glance back. 

“Come with me,” You’re met with a woman with blonde hair. “I’m Marguerite.”

You tell her your name and follow her, though you are unsure where. 

“We have so many clothes for you to choose from,” She giggles. “It isn’t often we get women visitors. Most of the time, it’s men trying to infiltrate.” 

A pang of grief hits you in the chest. It’s unfair these women are still under the threat of unknown men despite having their own island. Though Marguerite doesn’t look too upset about it, you know they are more than capable of handling those men on their own. It’s inspiring. 

“Here,” She continues, shoving you lightly into a tent. 

Immediately, another woman hands you a red bikini. “Try this on.” 

And then you’re swept up by the group of women. Silks and linens are thrown at you, tried on and discarded when you decline the colour or fit of a piece. The women are in awe of your power. They ask you to mend or adjust certain places on their outfits, and you're more than happy to help. 

You hear the Heart Pirates murmuring from their spot on the grass behind the tent walls, food piled high on their plates. Despite your initial hesitation, you laugh along with the women, trading secrets and tips that you could only do with Nami and Robin. 

You feel comfortable here. 

It isn’t until you emerge from the tent that the men go quiet. After knowing you for a fortnight, seeing you in such little clothing has them hollering. You grit your teeth. 

“Enough,” Trafalgar snaps at his crew. You won’t admit it, but the commanding tone of his voice warms your cheeks. “Get back to your food, morons.”

Marguerite laughs at him, and then she turns to you. “Remember, strength equals beauty.” 

You nod, smiling, adjusting the straps of the bikini you wear with your power. It’s something you hold dear to you for a long while. 

“Line up if you want seconds!” A tall woman says, laughing when the Heart Pirates stumble over each other to form a queue. 

“You better get in there if you’re hungry,” Marguerite smiles. “Looks like they’ll take it all.” 

You spot Bepo near the front of the line and thank Marguerite for all she’s done. 

“It’s my pleasure,” She waves as you snake through the crowd. 

“Hey,” You greet Bepo. “What’s on the menu?” 

“Uh…” His eyes look directly into yours, his body stiff. “Stew.” 

You squint at him. “You wouldn’t mind if I skip the line, then?” 

“Never.” 

You roll your eyes at his clipped tone. Scanning the crowd, Trafalgar is nowhere to be seen. Someone in front of you hands you a bowl, and you thank them, stepping to the front of the line. 

“Hello,” The pirate smiles. “I’m Aphelandra.” 

You tell her your name and stick out your bowl when she gestures for it. 

“Must be weird being in a submarine full of men,” She rambles. “Are they all stretchy?” 

You’re taken aback by her question but laugh. “No, the only stretchy guy I know is Luffy.” 

She gasps. “So, you know Luffy?” 

“He’s my captain.” 

“Really? We must tell the Snake Princess,” With a full bowl, you’re pulled beside her. “Eat, you must regain your strength.” 

With your eyes on the trees, you do as she says. You swear you saw a glimpse of Traflagar’s patterned hat when you emerged from the tent. “Have you seen the guy with the funny hat?”

Aphelandra smiles down at you. “The spotty one? He went into the forest.” 

“Thanks,” You grin, placing your empty bowl on the small table beside her and making a beeline for the trees. 

It smells of pine and the rotting wood, and if it weren't for the crashing waves, you’d think you were on an island far away, deep in the trees. 

Your hair snags on a twig before you decide to call for him. “Trafalgar?” 

His response is almost immediate. “Here, sweetheart.” 

You follow the sound of his voice. Trafalgar sits against a tree, a burgundy bottle between his fingers. 

“Whatcha doing out here?” 

He shrugs, sporting his usual bored look. “Not a very social person.” 

You sit in silence as he sips his drink. The birds sing tunes you’ve never heard, and the waves crash against the cliff faces harmoniously. There’s an inkling of anxiety stirring your insides, but you know you’ll get through it. What did Trafalgar say? It only hurts this much right now... You repeat it like a mantra. It will get better. 

“Don’t think too hard. You might hurt yourself again.” 

Scoffing, you shove his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Trafalgar gives you a sidelong glance, a smirk on his lips. “How’s your side? Getting better?” 

You nod, your fingertips running over the bandages unconsciously. “The medication you gave me helps a lot, I barely have any pain.” 

“Good.” 

You study his side profile: the slope of his nose, the harsh cut of his cheekbone, the two gold hoops in his lobe, the dark hair that makes up his goatee... Swallowing, you exhale shakily. 

“I—”

“Excuse me.” 

You jump, looking up to see Marguerite and smiling when she greets you. You rub your palms against your thighs. What were you going to say to him just then? 

“Has Luffy regained consciousness?” 

Trafalgar shakes his head and keeps his voice even. “At this point, it’s up to his spirit and whether he wants to live or die. Nothing I can do anymore.” 

You’re surprised. He hasn’t told you that.

“Marguerite! Hurry up!”

The blonde girl turns, nodding. “Take good care of him until he gets better.” 

Trafalgar keeps the lip of the bottle up to his mouth but makes no move to drink. 

“His spirit, huh?” 

He sets the bottle into the dirt and twists it to stay upright. His demeanour shifts so seamlessly that you barely see it happen. 

“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.” 

You look down at yourself. Usually, you’d feel embarrassed, but Trafalgar seems uncaring of such things. His eyes don’t criticise you, and you swear there’s a shimmer of something close to appreciation in his gaze. 

“I love it here,” You say, tilting your face to the sun. The distant chatter of the Heart and Kuja Pirates only elevates the warm feeling in your chest. 

“Then stay.” 

“What?” You ask, startled. 

Trafalgar closes his eyes and leans his head on the bark. You haven’t encountered his expression yet and can only interpret it as something close to pain.  

“I’m going wherever Luffy goes.” 

He sighs shakily. “Then it’s settled.” 

The air is thick, and you don’t dare move. You frown, mind racing. Have you done something wrong? Said something?

“Why would you—”

“Luffy! Calm down!”

The alarmed scream has you running toward the submarine, Trafalgar not far behind you. 

You see Jinbe standing on the edge of the cliff and reach him in time to see the roof of the Polar Tang explode, and something fly out the top. You're in too much shock to comprehend what’s happening. And before you know it, Luffy’s bandaged body falls to the grass with a sickening thump. 

“Luffy…”

“Something’s wrong,” Jinbe mumbles beside you. 

Your captain slowly pushes himself to his knees, his fingers digging into the dirt. “Ace.”

Your heart stops, and you grab Trafalgar’s wrist. The doctor is frozen. 

“Ace.”

Cries fall from Luffy’s lips, and he rises before you can approach him. “Where’s my brother?”

You stumble backward, Trafalgar’s chest is hard against your head. Clutching your stomach, you feel sick. He wraps his arm around you, his forearm leaning on your collarbones, barring you from running over there.

Luffy moves before you see him, and then he’s gone. 

“That way!” Penguin yells, pointing to the area you were not 30 seconds ago. The Heart Pirates go after him, but Trafalgar holds you close to him. 

“You’re okay,” He whispers, steadying you. His breath is hot on your ear, and your body almost betrays you. 

Jinbe watches Luffy run around with worry etched on his face. “What happens if he stays in this state?” 

“If he keeps flailing around,” Trafalgar says, narrowing his eyes. “He’s more likely to open his wound, and if that happens, then he’s dead.” 

You cover your face with your palms, unable to form words. 

“Quick! He’s down!” 

Tears blur your vision as you look up, but as soon as they jump on Luffy, the Heart Pirates get flung into the sky. “I have to get to my brother! Get off me!” 

“Oh, Luffy,” You cry, watching as he runs through the curtain separating Amazon Lily and the bay. The pirates stop before they cross the threshold. You want to yell at them for stopping, but remember what Marguerite said. 

“Repair the ship,” Trafalgar commands behind you, removing his arm to throw it toward the submarine. 

“Yes, captain,” A few of them obey, boarding the ship and immediately getting to work. 

You snatch Luffy’s hat from the rock when Trafalgar’s back is turned before standing on wobbly legs and running toward the curtain. 

“Hey, hey!” Bepo yells after you, but you don’t look back. 

Trafalgar yells your name, worry etched in his tone, but you refuse to stop. 

You must get to your captain. 

— Scene 9 —

You trudge through the trees, insects zipping past your ears every few seconds. It's humid in the forest, and you wipe the sweat from your forehead. 

A stick snaps behind you, and you spin around, your hands out. “Jinbe.” 

The Fishman grunts and walks past you. “We must find him. I fear he’ll get himself hurt if we don’t soon.” 

You silently agree, following him over logs and through thick brush. Luffy’s hat sits at your back, the string around your neck. You’d never put it on, but you don’t want it ruined before you give it to him. 

The ground rumbles under your feet, and you stagger. “What was that?” 

Jinbe quickens his pace. “This way.”

You jump over a particularly large branch and try to keep up with him. A scream echoes through the trees, and your body freezes in its spot. 

Jinbe glances over his shoulder. “The only danger here is Luffy.” 

“Luffy…” You whisper. You can't imagine the agony he feels right now. 

Another scream is heard before there's a crash, one that causes the trees to sway uncontrollably. You see rocks flying in all directions and duck to avoid them, using Sew to weave threads above you to catch stray debris. Birds fly overhead at alarming speeds, and you can only guess what was thrown into the mountain to create such an explosion. 

“We’re close, quickly.” 

Before you know it, you see your captain hunched over on the ground, his forehead on the dirt. You gasp at the blood on his hands and back. 

Luffy lifts his head, and you have to look away from the sheer torment on his face. 

“Luffy, listen to me,” Jinbe calls. “Your brother is—”

“Don’t say it!” Your captain screams. “You think I don’t know? You think I think this is a dream?”

You wipe the silent tears that run down your cheeks. It's jarring to see someone you’ve seen be carefree for as long as you’ve known him like this. You feel sick watching him as tendrils of your thread lift the debris from around your captain. 

“If this were a dream, I’d already be awake, don’t you think?” 

“Luffy…” You mutter.

“This isn’t a dream… Is it?” Luffy sobs. “He’s really dead, isn’t he?”

Jinbe sighs. “I’m afraid so.” 

Your captain starts hyperventilating, his breaths short and his face wet with blood and tears. 

“Luffy…” You call, noticing how his body freezes. His eyes find yours, and his jaw falls open. 

He murmurs your name. “Is this a dream, too?”

You stumble over to him, your hands out before you. “No, this isn’t a dream. I’m here.” 

“Wha— How? Did you see Ace, too?” 

You crouch in front of him and shake your head. “I didn’t, but I was at Marineford when we picked you up.” 

‘We?” Luffy asks, his voice holding a tinge of hope. “Are the others here?” 

“No,” You say, wiping his face. “It's only me.” 

Luffy’s cries don’t lessen. “Are they dead, too?” 

You feel your bottom lip tremble at the question. You shrug pathetically. “I don’t know.” 

Luffy falls back down to the dirt. “I’m so tired.” 

You throw Jinbe a desperate look, feeling Luffy slip through your fingers. 

“I’m so weak!” Luffy suddenly yells. “I’m useless!” 

“Luffy—”

“How can you call me your captain? I’m pathetic.” He stands and runs at the large boulder just outside of the trees. He slams his fists into the rock, breaking it into pieces. “I couldn’t save my brother or my crew!”

Jinbe walks up beside you as threads halt the stones from flying into you, and you struggle under their weight. 

“Fuck!” Luffy screams, punching another rock. “Useless!” 

Jinbe says your name. “I think you should leave.”  

Your hand covers your mouth, and your expression morphs into shock. Did you hear him right? You feel the needles of your power wanting to escape, to tighten around him. Your Devil Fruit purrs in your ear as it drops the rocks a few feet away and aims for the Fishman instead. 

“Please don’t make me force you.”

“No! I’m not leaving my captain here!” You scream, threads weaving from your fingers. “What kind of pirate—what kind of person would that make me?” 

“There’s no time for questions,” Jinbe exclaims. “Go!”

“I can’t—”

“I’ll bring him back safely. You don’t need to see this.” 

Your power cracks and fizzles out under your skin as you grapple for it. But it's useless unless you want to lose control, and you know better than to let that happen. 

“Jinbe,” You cry, body too weak to fight him. Luffy hunches over with his hands on his knees, yelling. “Help him.” 

“I will,” He waves you away. “Now go!” 

You sprint back to the bay, forcing your legs to run. You’ve betrayed your loyalty.

Your cheeks are stained with tears and dirt, and your hands are covered in blood. With weak knees, you try jumping over the fallen logs as you did before, but now you’re exhausted, and it feels like they are rocks tied to your feet. 

You sob frantically, stopping to press your palm against a tree every few minutes. Shaking your head, you sniffle. The bay isn’t too far away, and you can hear the seagulls chirping. Your fingers wipe under your eyes, though you know it won’t do anything. You can imagine the state of you. 

You hear Bepo calling your name as you stumble through the curtain. “What happened?” 

There’s blood all over you, which you failed to notice before; the staining on your hands was just the start of it. You stare at your hands as panic rises inside you. Who’s blood is this?

“Where did you go?” Trafalgar’s harsh voice hits your ears before his hand grips your bicep. “Who did this?” 

“Nobody,” You cry, holding onto Trafalgar’s fingers. “Luffy, he—”

You don't hear what the doctor says before he catches you. “Okay, let’s get you to the ship.” 

You shake your head, forgetting the blood on your hands when you fist his shirt. “No! I can’t go there. Not with Luffy out here.” 

“Okay, well, where do you want to go?”

If Jinbe were to be trusted, which seems like a silly thought to question, you know Luffy would be okay. It takes your mind a while to accept that your body needs rest. The adrenaline from seeing Luffy and then running is wearing off, and the fatigue you’ve ignored hits you all at once. 

You sniff, pulling him weakly to a rock. “I just need to lie down, and then I can fight for him.” 

Trafalgar makes no sound when you push him to the ground. Your breathing is calming down, though hiccups still pass your lips. 

“Who were you fighting against? Did they do this to you?” 

“Just sit still for an hour, okay?” You whimper, putting your head on his lap, his jeans rough against your cheek. You can feel his thigh tense underneath you, clearly not used to having someone so close. Sniffling once more, your muscles relax against the ground. “No more questions.” 

When you close your eyes, Trafalgar says nothing, and the waves crashing against the rocks are just as soothing as the hand on your shoulder. 

— Scene 10 —

There’s a hand patting your head when you wake. It’s not gentle, and there's no rhythm, and when you lift your head, you notice the bandages wrapped around his legs. When did Trafalgar get injured? 

The sky is dark, and the stars sparkle above you. It’s a sight you’ve missed. 

“Hey, sleepyhead.” 

“Luffy,” You're in shock at the familiar voice, scrabbling to your knees so you’re not leaning on him anymore. “Are you okay? Why are you here?”

Your captain shrugs, a dopey grin on his face. “I don’t think so. I’m here to say goodbye.” 

“What?” You shake your head. 

“Straw Hat. Pack it up.”

Luffy sighs, his wide eyes glassy. “You gotta go.” 

You pause, a crease forming between your eyebrows. “What? Where?”

“Traffy’s going to take you with him.” 

Shaking your head, you don’t dare take your eyes off Luffy when you hear someone walk up behind you. “I’m staying here with you.” 

“You can’t. We have to get stronger.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

Luffy puts his hands on your shoulders. “You’re going to go with Traffy, and I’ll see you in two years.” 

Two years. “Wait, what? What do you mean two years?” 

Strong hands slip under your armpits from behind and lug you to your feet. You feel your body lift off the ground but do nothing. You’re too shocked to form complaints against whoever’s taking you away. 

“Meet me back at Sabaody in two years.” 

“No, Luffy. I’m here now. Why would I do that?” You struggle against them, your power still sleeping under your skin. 

“We won’t stand a chance in the New World,” Luffy stands. “Get stronger.” 

The person leading you to the Polar Tang whispers an apology as they spin you around and throw you over their shoulder. 

“Bepo?” Your voice comes out in a cracked whimper when you realise it's the bear carrying you. 

“I’m sorry,” He repeats, holding you tightly. 

“Luffy!” 

“Please,” Your captain says your name. “It's the only way. I’ll be fine here!”

“What about the others?” You cry. “How will they know?” 

“I have a plan.” 

You scoff, bordering on laughter. “Of course you do.” 

“Get stronger!” Luffy yells. “And I’ll see you in the New World!” 

Shaking your head, a crazed laugh falls from your lips in disbelief. You should’ve known he’d do something like this. He never does anything half-assed. 

Get stronger. 

“Are you out of your mind?” 

Luffy cackles, tears bordering his waterline. “Yeah!” 

Get stronger. 

If he can smile at a time like this, especially after what he’s been through, then so can you. 

And if Luffy trusts Trafalgar Law to train you in the two years he promised, then so do you. You trust Luffy with your life. 

Swallowing your emotion, you smile back at him. “Fine! I’ll see you in two years, captain!” 

Get stronger. 

You hear Luffy whoop with joy, and before you know it, the door of the Polar Tang slams behind you. Bepo lets you down, steadying you as the submarine goes under. 

It hits you just before you take the first step. “Luffy’s hat!” 

“It’s okay, I gave it to him,” You turn to see Trafalgar leaning against the wall with his katana back on his shoulder. “You feeling okay, sweetheart?” 

“Physically, kinda,” You say, holding onto the railing as you descend the stairs. “Emotionally, no.”

Trafalgar clicks his tongue. “Expected.” 

“Captain, maybe she should eat…” 

You’re so terribly worn out that your eyes are dry. There’s no use crying when it doesn’t serve a purpose. You’re here now, and you will be for the next two years. You hold onto the hope that you’ll see your crew on Sabaody after that time, and that’s enough for a small smile to grace your face. 

You peer up at Bepo, who smiles sheepishly. “Hungry?” 

If polar bears could blush, they’d now look like Bepo. “Uh, no. Just a suggestion, you know… Food helps everything.”

He sounds like Luffy.  

“Can you make rice balls?” You ask Trafalgar. 

“Me?” He acts like it offends him. 

“Bepo let it slip that they’re your favourite, so I know you’d make them best.” 

“Tsk,” He glares at the mink. “I’m busy.”

“Surely not enough to decline making your guest food, Traffy.”

“Traffy, huh?” Bepo snorts. 

Trafalgar runs his tongue over his teeth. 

“Please?” You smile. 

“No. You’re a pest. Go bother someone else.” 

With that, he disappears down the stairs. You stand there with Bepo, the sound of pots clanging making your stomach rumble. 

“I can’t remember the last time he made rice balls,” Bepo says. “He makes other foods, but that one is special to him.”

You go to ask why, but think against it. Trafalgar wouldn’t want his crew members airing out his business. Instead, you shrug. 

“Maybe one day I’ll persuade him.” 

Bepo laughs, scratching behind his ear. “Good luck with that.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. 

“Anyway, let’s go ask Penguin what’s for dinner,” The bear says. “I wanted rice balls, too.” 

As you turn the corner to the kitchen, the area is quiet. 

“That’s weird,” Bepo says. “Penguin doesn’t shut up when he cooks…”

A familiar katana leans against the counter when you enter, and before you can decipher why, Bepo gasps behind you, confirming your outlandish suspicion—which, as it turns out, wasn’t so in the first place. 

“What filling do you want? I’m not asking again,” Trafalgar’s voice holds irritation. He stands at the stove without his hat, his hair dishevelled. You refrain from giggling. 

Bepo makes a surprised sound. “No way…”

You laugh, stunned, and slide onto the bar stool beneath the counter. Trafalgar’s hat sits beside you, and you eye it as you think about what type of filling you want.

He nods at your request and begins preparing it immediately. Bepo hasn’t moved from his spot in the doorway.  

“Snap out of it, idiot.” 

“Sorry.” Bepo lowers his head and ambles to you to sulk in the chair beside you. 

Trafalgar works silently, seeming comfortable as he rolls the premade rice into triangles. He’s meticulous, using a practised amount of rice to protect the filling, and a knife to slice the nori into even strips. 

Watching him be so careful with the onigiri makes you wonder if there’s more to his delicate touch. One that can bring warmth and comfort to someone. If that translates to his intentions, and if he really wants you here, or if he felt pressured by Luffy to take you on board. 

The question bubbles out of you before you can help it. Despite the setting, it's not one about food. 

“Why did you tell me to stay on Amazon Lily?” Your voice surprises him. 

Bepo looks at you incredulously. The question hangs in the air, and you see Trafalgar’s shoulders tense. 

“I’m gonna go…” Bepo murmurs, slipping from the chair and running from the kitchen.

Trafalgar sighs, rolling his eyes at his crew member. His back is to you, but you can tell he’s thinking of a reply. 

“I figured you’d had enough of a submarine full of men. You seem happy on the island.”

There’s something unsaid in his words, something deeper, but you’re too unsure what it could be to delve into it. Instead, you smile. 

“And here I was, thinking I was just a pawn,” You laugh, running your fingers along the brim of his soft hat. The memory of a few days ago burns deep inside you. It makes you think about his hands again. “Besides, you’re not allowed there, so why would I stay?” 

“Mm?” Although the hum sounds non-committal, you can feel him side-eyeing you. 

You wouldn’t admit it, but you’ve grown fond of him. But your cheeks warm when you realise the connotation of your rhetorical question, and your focus remains on his hat. “Who will I annoy if not you?” 

Trafalgar sighs and laughs a breathy laugh. “You’re going to be a pain in my ass, aren't you sweetheart?” 

You raise your eyebrows and shrug, feigning innocence. His easy laughter gives you all the evidence that he wants you on his submarine. “Two years isn’t that long, Traffy. You’ll survive.” 

He mumbles something under his breath and turns around, two plates in his hands. 

You take one from him. On the plate sits two onigiris, each a perfect triangle with a strip of nori on the bottom. “Thank you.”

Trafalgar grunts and picks up one of his onigiris. You copy him, eyeing how he bites the top off precisely. 

“What’s in yours?” You ask, chewing. The flavour explodes in your mouth, and you refrain from moaning in delight. You can feel Trafalgar’s eyes on you, but don’t look up as you play with a stray piece of rice on the plate. 

“Grilled salmon,” He speaks when he finishes swallowing. “Do you like it?” 

The question seems loaded, as if he’s not just asking about rice balls. It catches you off guard, the discernable keenness. Maybe you didn’t notice it before, with all your exhaustion and constant unconsciousness, but he’s hanging on your every word. His eyes are full of hope before he blinks, and it vanishes. You swear you saw it, and it fills you with shy satisfaction. 

He definitely wants you on his submarine. 

Remembering his original question, you nod. “It’s good.” 

It's an understatement, but Trafalgar seems content with your answer and continues eating his food. 

“You can call me Law, you know. No need to be so formal now that you’ll be here for a while.” 

Your eyes widen, and a soft ‘oh’ leaves your lips.  

Trafalgar is quick to speak. “Only if you’re comfortable. I know I’m considered a rival and all that.” 

You mull over his request, eyeing his hunched posture and countless tattoos beneath his elbows. His hair flops over his forehead, and his lips are twisted into an awkward pout, and you realise this is the same man you saw on your first night. 

“Law,” You whisper, and when you look at him, your mind plays a trick on you because his cheeks are tinted pink, and there’s a vulnerable look in his eye. 

A fortnight isn’t a long time, and despite your quarrels, you think you’ll get to know Trafalgar Law much more than you anticipated.

[romanticintheory]

now thinking about what it would look like if reader was betrayed by simon. i just wanna feel the excrutiating pain😞😞🙏🙏

nonny u read my mind!!

simon "ghost" riley x reader

-you meet him while you're shopping for new jewelry. your father, instead of celebrating your birthday with you, sent you a stupid amount of cash with the note, "happy birthday. get yourself something you like."

-he was always away for work. what he did, you never knew. your entire life, he had always been distanced from you despite his friendly, loud demeanor. it was like he was trying to make up for his lack of emotional and physical presence with his smiles and money.

-you believed simon riley was different.

-he tapped you on the shoulder when you were birthday shopping, clearing his throat to drown the nerves as he asked you which of the two necklaces looked better.

-you smiled kindly at him and pointed to the one you thought looked better.

-"who's the lucky lady?"

-"just my mum. figured she deserved something nice and i want it to be special for her."

-you both hit it off immediately.

-his quiet, observant demeanor was a breath of fresh air compared to what you had suffered with your father. he was always listening, keeping his eyes on you, or maybe had an arm around your waist when his attention was required elsewhere.

-he was also incredibly understanding of your situation with your father.

-"i dunno. i thought about having you meet him, but he's just always so busy and it always feels like there's no point in asking him."

-"he's that busy? what's he even do?"

-"couldn't tell you. he can't even be bothered to let me know what's so important that he has to basically ignore me my entire life. i mean, i love him, but..."

-"yeah. i get it."

-eventually, your dad catches on that you're dating someone. it's during his once-a-month call that hears a simon's "ow" following a loud thud.

-when your dad finds out it's your boyfriend, he insists on meeting him.

-"need t' get to know him, is all. especially if he's gonna be my future son-in-law!"

-when you tell simon, he gives you an encouraging nudge toward agreeing. it had been almost a year that you were together, and you were still apprehensive on letting the love of your life and the vague outline of your father meet.

-"he already knows. bet he'll keep asking until you give in, so why not now?"

-your shoulders sag in defeat as you realize he's right. so, you text your dad the details of a meetup.

-simon is oddly silent the entire drive to the restaurant. you assume it's nerves. after all, you can feel your own heart beating furiously against your chest.

-when you're about three blocks away from the restaurant, he pulls over on the curb. it's a dark night and all is quiet. for a moment, you think he's about to chicken out and propose the both of you just go home.

-he leans back in his seat and unlocks the car doors. he raises his hand as a signal and utters a single phrase:

-"don't scream."

-suddenly, the door to your seat is thrown open and someone is tying your hands behind your back and your legs together. the entire time, you're pleading, tears gathering in your eyes with a confused look on your face.

-as the last knot is secured on your legs, you hear a deep voice murmuring an apologetic, "sorry. nothing personal." is that a scottish accent? "ghost, price gave the good to go. we're ready for you."

-the soldier looks into your eyes briefly, nods back at simon, and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

-you turn your gaze back to who you thought was the one.

-"simon?"

-still, he refuses to make eye contact with you. instead, he opens the glove compartment and pulls out a balaclava and mask, pulling the former over his face.

-you can't read his eyes when he finally looks over at you, his expression now covered by a skull.

-"don't try to escape. we've got someone watchin' you, so we'll know."

-"why are you doing this?" your voice is cracking, and the tears are now slowly dribbling down to your chin and onto your lap.

-he doesn't answer you, just giving you a hardened, "i'm sorry," before taking your phone from your bag and leaving you in the dark, suffocating car.

-yeah. you believed simon riley was different.

[moonstruckme]

hello mae! you said that you’re tentatively thinking about doing poly! jily? how about them x shy!reader who is used to spending holidays alone but now that she’s in a relationship, James and Lily wanna give her experiences of like carving pumpkins, baking cookies, or something like that.

just cute and domestic fall activities!! I hope that’s enough.

Thank you for requesting lovely!

poly!Jily x shy!reader ♡ 845 words

You smile, and James plants his lips on your cheek just before the flash. 

“Perfect,” Lily says while the camera whirs. She takes the photo it spits out, going to stow it in a shady corner of the porch. 

“Now one with you,” James urges. 

“No.” Lily waves him off as you second James’ request. “How would we get all of us and our pumpkins in it?” 

“James has long arms,” you say.

"Yeah, Evans." James grabs you roughly around the shoulders, making your face heat even as you smile. "I have long arms. Give it here."

After some debate Lily hands over the camera. James holds it out as far as he can, waiting until you’re all holding up your jack-o-lanterns before pressing the button. 

It goes beside the other photo, waiting for the film to develop. You know as soon as it does, both photos will be clustered in with the others on James and Lily’s fridge, held up by magnets beginning to lose their strength under the weight of so many. Lily has always liked to take pictures, and ever since you got together she’s been cramming ones of you into every empty space. This relationship is relatively new for you, and most days you’re still trying to figure out where you fit, but Lily and James do everything to make you feel welcome. In a million tiny ways, they show you all the time that they care just as much for you as they do for each other. 

James looks between your pumpkins pridefully. “Whose do we think turned out the best?” 

“Lily’s,” you say at the same time as Lily says, “Mine.” 

James’ mouth falls open. “Mine was good too!”

“Sorry, Jamie.” You give his shoulder a consoling pat. “Hers is just better.” 

The fact of the matter is, your girlfriend was simply patient where you and James were not. She outlined her jack-o-lantern’s face beforehand in marker, used a small knife to achieve the curvatures of one heart-shaped eye and one winking one, and took the time to make the edges of her cuts look nice and clean. James and you, however, tried to freehand things with much larger knives; it had not gone quite so well. 

“I think there should be points for creativity,” says James, frowning at his botched pumpkin. He’d tried to give it round eyes, and in the process accidentally cut more than he meant to. The result is jagged and vaguely upsetting, so eventually he decided it was an ill pumpkin and trailed its entrails out of its mouth so it looks like it’s vomiting pumpkin guts. 

“It was a very creative solution,” Lily tells James. And to you, “You did really well for your first time, too, sweetheart.” 

You snort. Yours is nearly as bad as James’. Both of your partners had to show you how to saw through the pumpkin flesh more than once to keep you from yanking the knife out and stabbing yourself. After many tutorials, you’d managed two triangle-shaped eyes, but the teeth you’d tried to put in your jack-o-lantern’s mouth had fallen out, so now it just looks like a rather simplistic, very upbeat face. 

“You did,” Lily insists, but she’s repressing a laugh too as she looks down at your pumpkin. “It’s cute.” 

“It looks like something a five-year-old could have done,” you acknowledge. 

“You and a five-year-old have about the same amount of experience carving pumpkins, so that’s not really so bad,” says James. He reaches for the polaroids Lily took. “Let’s see how these turned out.” 

“James Potter,” Lily’s voice goes sharp, “don’t you dare touch those with your slimy hands.” 

“Okay, alright.” James holds his hands up in the air. He stands instead, backing away slowly like Lily has him at gunpoint. “C’mon, lovie, let’s go fish the seeds out in the sink.” 

“What for?” you ask, following him as he carries your large bowl of pumpkin entrails inside. 

“If you separate the seeds and roast them, you can eat them.” James raises his eyebrows at you. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had pumpkin seeds before.” 

“Nope.” 

“Ugh. You poor, deprived girl.” James takes your face in his hands, and you smile despite the slick feeling of his pumpkin-y fingers on your cheeks. His eyebrows scrunch pityingly as he kisses above your nose. “We’ll right that wrong today, sweetheart, don’t you worry.” 

“You haven’t been missing out on much,” Lily says, slipping past the two of you with your photos. She wedges them underneath a magnet on the fridge. “It’s a lot of effort for a snack.” 

“She only says that because she can’t stand the guts,” James tells you conspiratorially. 

“Really?” You mash your hands into the stringy pumpkin bits. “I kind of like them.” 

Lily makes a face. “They’re all slimy and weird. And sticky.” 

“Wimp,” James teases. 

“You’ve just called them guts, James. In what world does that sound appealing?” 

“Angel,” James says in a quiet voice, “you’ll protect me, won’t you?” 

You frown at him. “Why?” 

He picks up a small mass of pumpkin guts and lobs it at your girlfriend. 

“James!”

[ddarker-dreams]

Understatement.

Wanderer x Reader.

Warnings: None. Word count: 1.2k.

Your bag carries plenty of essentials. 

Stationery, lip balm, keys to your apartment; stuff of that nature. Then there’s your personal favorite, a wallet embroidered with dandelions — your hometown’s flower — into the fabric. It’d been sent to you without a return address on your birthday, shrouding the gifter in mystery. All of these items accompany you on a day-to-day basis. 

That aside, this list has another unifying factor. Each object is inert. Completely still. Incapable of moving without an outside force. Now, this isn’t a revelation that’ll shift society and be recorded in history books for generations to come. It’s common sense. A concept children grasp before they even know what ‘gravity’ is. 

As for why you’re taking a lengthy mental inventory of your belongings… 

Well. 

Something in there is moving. Rustling about, the vague outline of its body pressing against the aged leather. 

Your response is slow. Cautious. You begin by pushing yourself away from your desk, creating distance between you and this potential threat. The Vision fastened along your waistband thrums, ready to act. Numerous theories whir around your mind like a sandstorm. Is this a prank in poor taste? Cyno had mentioned an investigation into scarabs being placed in student’s bags, although nothing serious had come from it. Maybe it’s a gadget or some elemental reaction— 

—Your cognition grinds to a halt when a head pokes out, undoing the bag’s clasp in the process. 

…

…

…

“Oh!” The creature exclaims while freeing itself. “Um… hi!” 

The room’s natural lighting gives you a better idea of the creature’s appearance. Its wings keep it suspended midair, each enthusiastic flap scattering your notes. Large, doe-like eyes consider you, gleaming with childlike curiosity. If not for the prominent horns atop its head, you might think it’s a bat, but that classification doesn’t quite fit. 

Whatever it is, you sense no hostility. 

“Hello,” is your hesitant reply. 

It looks around, fixating on the items displaced from your desk. 

“Ack, I’m sorry,” it apologizes. It lands carefully on your desk and lowers its head, as if ashamed. “I didn’t mean to make such a mess… I’ve just been excited to meet you.” 

“Don’t worry, this is nothing. I’ve been meaning to reorganize my stuff, anyway.” 

For some reason, you can’t find it within you to fault this seemingly well-meaning yet clumsy guest. Its naivete is reminiscent of a certain explosion-obsessed girl from back home. In truth, this entire ordeal doesn’t even breach the top five strangest experiences you’ve had in recent times. 

… Alright, perhaps it’s a contender for the fourth slot. 

Suddenly, your guest straightens up. “Wait! I haven’t introduced myself yet. We can’t be friends if I haven’t introduced myself… you can call me Mini Durin. And I already know your name. You’re [First].” 

“Yeah, that’d be me,” you cover a budding smile with your hand, not wanting your giddy guest to mistake it for mockery. “So, Mini Durin… you said you’ve been wanting to meet me? Why’s that?”

Mini Durin ambles his way toward the edge of your desk. 

“You’re important to my first friend,” he declares. “At least I think so. He only has the nicest things to say about you, like how you’re not ‘as insufferable as most,’ and that ‘your presence is tolerable.’” 

That’s what Mini Durin considers ‘the nicest things’ to say about someone…?! 

The conviction with which he speaks affirms his sincerity. 

“It sounds like you trust this friend a great deal.” 

Mini Durin nods. “I do. That’s how I ended up in your bag… I got separated from him earlier. Luckily, I spotted you. I knew you’d keep me safe. And now we even get to be friends!” 

That explains why your bag felt heavier coming home than when you left. 

“You got separated from him?” Frowning, you scoot your chair closer. “Where at? We can go looking for him, if you want. He must be worried.” 

“Oh. I didn’t think about that.” 

Mini Durin mulls over your offer for a few seconds, adding, “What if he’s mad at me? He was working hard on another gift for you, but I went and distracted him.” 

“Friends can sort stuff like this out,” you reassure. Then, a pause. “Huh. Did you say ‘another gift?’” 

Mini Durin tilts his head. “You didn’t know? The pretty flowers on your—” 

A rapid knock on your door cuts him off. 

You both turn your attention toward the booming sound. Huffing, you cross your arms over your chest. It’s late in the evening, who in their right mind would treat your front door like a drum? You shoot your unexpected guest an apologetic look, promising a swift return.

Some choice words sizzle on your tongue as you swing the door open, only to be met by an equally irate figure. 

Your eccentric classmate, the Wanderer, stands before you. There’s a slight flush to his cheeks like he’s been physically exerting himself. The telltale sign of Anemo settles down around him, his hat reappearing in the process. He soon mirrors your exasperated posture, one hand on his hip, the other readjusting the brim of his hat. 

“I could’ve flown to Inazuma and back in the time it took you to answer,” is the courteous greeting he goes for. 

“Hello to you too,” you greet. “Was there something you needed? Or are you just making your debut as a percussionist known to the entire nation?”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course there’s something I ‘need’, genius.” 

“And what would that be?” 

“I’m looking for a small, talking dragon,” the Wanderer deadpans. “Ring any bells?” 

You blink. “Are you referring to Mini Durin?” 

“Just how many dragons are you acquainted with?” 

“I mean, I am from Mondstadt,” you shrug. A realization then creeps up on you. “Hold on. Does that make you this ‘first friend’ I’ve heard so much about?” 

The Wanderer freezes. You observe as he processes this information in real-time, along with the implications that come with it. Though his muscles are tense, he keeps his visage impassive. The occasional twitch of his eye is the only detail betraying his panic. 

“... On second thought, you can keep him.” 

He swivels on his heel to make a hasty retreat. 

You lurch forward without thinking, your hand latching around his wrist. He snaps his head around to meet your gaze, almost knocking you over with his hat in the process. A well-timed dodge protects you from the potential headache. In the light of the setting sun, the Wanderer’s porcelain complexion is dyed in crimson hues. Though he’s maintaining eye contact, something tells you it’s a struggle. 

“Hey,” you use your free hand to poke his flushed cheeks, to which he grimaces and bats at it like a cat. “Come inside. I’ll make up some of that awful, bitter tasting tea you like.” 

He inhales through his teeth, likely weighing various excuses. You bat your eyelashes and offer your brightest smile. As the seconds pass by, you can feel his resolve weakening. With a scoff, he frees himself from your grasp, the ease in which he does so confirming he’d been your willing hostage. 

The Wanderer wordlessly strolls past you and into your home. 

Humming, you follow close behind him. 

Just ‘tolerable’, huh? 

[seafarersdream]

Kismet | Modern AU! (Jace Velaryon x Y/N)

Jace Velaryon, a wealthy legacy student at the University of Cambridge and captain of the football club, is barely surviving his second year in majoring in History and Politics. With a 5,000-word paper looming, Jace is hopelessly lost. His concerned professor decides to assign him a study partner: Y/N L/N, a star student. Y/N knows all about Jace’s wild reputation and his band of troublemaking friends. She's managed to steer clear of his orbit—until now. Aegon Targaryen, ever the wildcard, throws down a challenge to Jace: a bet on whether he can get Y/N into his bed. After all, Jace is a notorious womanizer, with a reputation for charming his way through the university’s female population. Should be easy enough for him, no? Word count: 14,5k

TW // Strong language and profanities, explicit scenes (oral), dub-con, sexual innuendos, alcohol use and intoxication, emotional manipulation, smoking, slow burn narrative.

Note: Massive thanks to @ashamedtobewhitemanswhore27 for the idea! Hope I did it justice. I really ran with this one—what can I say? I love a good, slow build-up. So yeah, this fic definitely got way longer than I planned. But hey, grab some snacks, settle in, and enjoy!

“Five thousand words? She’s taking the piss, isn’t she?” He thought.

Jace Velaryon slouched back in the worn, creaky chair, an amused grin tugging at his lips as he stared at the ceiling of Professor Jeyne Arryn’s office. The beams above were ancient, older than his ancestors probably, and seemed like they might crumble at any second. He couldn’t help but think it’d be a hell of an excuse to get out of this meeting if the whole damn roof just collapsed right then and there.

Professor Jeyne Arryn, all prim and proper in her tweed blazer and horn-rimmed glasses, sighed dramatically from behind her desk, fingers tenting in that classic I’m disappointed in you way. “Jacaerys, you do realize that the War of the Roses is one of the most pivotal conflicts in English history, right? It’s not something you can just... ‘wing’ in a night.”

Jace chuckled, the sound rich and careless. “Is that a challenge, Prof?” he teased, stretching out his long legs, one foot resting lazily on the opposite knee. “You know I love a good challenge. Ask anyone on the pitch.”

She didn’t smile. She never did, not when he was being an ass—which, admittedly, was most of the time. “This isn’t a game, Mr. Velaryon,” she said, voice tight with irritation. “You can’t charm your way through a five-thousand-word paper like you do with the girls or your professors, for that matter.”

Jace scoffed, giving her a cocky wink. “Worked on you, didn’t it? Remember that first-year exam?” He flashed her a grin that was all white teeth and mischief, the kind that usually got him out of trouble—or into it, depending on the situation.

Professor Arryn's lips twitched, but she quickly straightened her expression. “Enough, Mr. Velaryon. This isn’t negotiable. You’re going to do this paper, and you’re going to do it well, even if it kills you. Or, more accurately, if it kills me trying to drag you through it.”

Jace rolled his eyes, the weight of her seriousness finally sinking in. “Alright, alright, you’ve got my attention. What’s the plan then? A crash course in roses and wars?”

Jeyne leaned forward, her tone softening just a fraction. “I’ve assigned you a study partner.”

He sat up straighter, eyebrows shooting up. “A what now?”

“A study partner. Someone to help guide you through the research, outline, and, hopefully, writing process. Someone who actually understands the material and takes it seriously.”

Jace frowned, feeling his stomach twist. “Who?” he asked, wary now. “Not one of those posh History Society nerds, yeah?”

Professor Arryn smiled, a thin, knowing smile. “No, not one of those... though she is quite the academic star. Y/N L/N.”

Jace blinked, trying to place the name. It sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite remember a face to go with it. “Y/N?” he echoed, like it might conjure up a memory. “The one with the… cat?”

Jeyne’s smile grew wider. “Yes, that one. She’s in her third year. Sharp as a tack, that girl. And far more disciplined than you.”

“Great,” Jace muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “So, I’m stuck with a cat lady who probably hates my guts. This’ll be fun.”

“Perhaps,” Jeyne replied, “it’ll be good for you to spend some time with someone who doesn’t fawn over you or buy into your charm. And let’s be honest, Jacaerys, you need all the help you can get.”

Jace sighed deeply, tapping his fingers on the armrest of his chair. “Fine. Whatever. When do I meet this... Y/N?”

Professor Arryn checked her watch. “Actually, right now. She’s waiting outside.”

Jace’s eyes widened. “Wait—what?”

The door creaked open, and there she was—Y/N L/N, standing just outside with an expression that could only be described as skeptical. Her hair was up in a bun, a few stray strands escaping around her face, and she was clutching a notebook like it was a lifeline. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked over Jace briefly before settling on Professor Arryn.

“You wanted to see me, Professor?” she asked, her voice low and even.

Jace couldn’t help but smirk. Oh, this was going to be interesting.

Professor Arryn gestured for Y/N to enter. “Y/N, this is Jacaerys Velaryon, your new study partner.”

Y/N’s lips quirked ever so slightly, but she quickly schooled her features back into a neutral expression. “Oh,” she said. “Lucky me.”

Jace chuckled, leaning back in his chair again, arms spreading out as if he owned the room. “The pleasure’s all mine, love,” he drawled, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Looking forward to all those late-night study sessions... with your cat, of course.”

Y/N’s gaze was flat, unimpressed. “Yeah, don’t get your hopes up. This isn’t a charity case. If you want my help, you’ll have to actually put in the work.”

Jace blinked, caught off guard. “Right,” he said slowly, recovering with a grin. “Fair enough. Let’s start with the basics, then… What’s a ‘War of the Roses,’ anyway?”

Y/N let out a soft sigh, clearly unamused. “We have a lot of work to do.”

Professor Arryn watched the exchange, a satisfied glint in her eye. “I think this partnership will be good for both of you,” she said. “And remember, Velaryon, this is your last chance to prove yourself. Don’t blow it.”

Jace glanced at Y/N, who was already walking towards the door, her back straight and her expression unreadable. He scrambled to his feet, hurrying after her. “Oi, wait up!” he called, trying to catch her.

Y/N paused, turning slightly, her eyebrow arched. “First rule,” she said calmly. “Don’t call me ‘love.’”

Jace grinned, loving the challenge already. “Alright… Y/N,” he replied, putting on his most charming smile. “Shall we?”

She rolled her eyes, but there was the slightest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah,” she muttered, “Let’s get this over with.”

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“Look, we can start with some basic texts,” Y/N said, flipping open her notebook and scribbling something down with a quick, practiced hand. She barely spared Jace a glance as they walked down the narrow cobblestone path, her steps purposeful and brisk. “Seeley Historical Library has the best collection on late medieval England. I figure we’ll start there. I know a few—”

“Wait,” Jace interrupted, his tone incredulous. “You want to start now? Like, right this second?”

“Yes,” Y/N replied, not breaking her stride. “Because it’s clear you know absolutely nothing about the War of the Roses, and I’m not about to waste my time with some half-baked attempt at a history paper. We’re going to the library.”

Jace groaned, dragging a hand through his tousled dark curls. “Oh, come on, love—”

She shot him a sharp look.

“—Sorry, Y/N. Can’t we at least get a coffee first? I haven’t even had my caffeine fix yet, and you’re already dragging me to some dusty library.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “No time for coffee. We have a lot of ground to cover, and I’m not about to let you turn this into some kind of social hour. The library, now.”

Jace huffed but kept pace with her. “You’re a hard-ass, you know that?”

“Yeah, I’ve been told.” She replied dryly.

They turned a corner, and Jace caught sight of the courtyard just ahead—a familiar patch of green surrounded by old brick buildings, where his mates were kicking a ball around. His gang—Cregan Stark, Oscar Tully, Aegon Targaryen, and Davos Blackwood—were all there, clad in their team jerseys and shouting insults at one another.

Aegon, spotting Jace first, smirked and jogged over, his bleach-blonde hair glinting in the sunlight. “Oi, Captain!” he called out, voice booming across the courtyard. “Where the hell you think you’re going?”

Cregan and Oscar followed, both looking amused. Cregan, tall and broad-shouldered, clapped a hand on Jace’s back as he got closer. “We’ve got practice in five, mate. What’s this? Thought you were allergic to books,” he teased, nodding towards the notebook Y/N clutched like a weapon.

“Yeah, I thought the only paper you touched was hundred-pound notes,” Oscar added with a grin.

Jace gave a sheepish grin, throwing a thumb in Y/N’s direction. “Meet my new study partner,” he announced, his tone half-mocking, half-serious. “Apparently, she thinks I need to learn a thing or two about the ‘War of the Roses.’”

Davos snorted, a grin spreading across his face. “Well, you’re gonna learn what war is if you don’t show up for practice, Captain. Coach is already pissed.”

Y/N, standing a step back, folded her arms across her chest, her patience visibly thinning. “I’m sorry,” she interjected, her voice cutting through their banter like a knife, “but Jace and I have actual work to do. Unlike whatever this is.” She waved a dismissive hand at the football pitch behind them.

Aegon let out a low whistle, eyeing Y/N with mock admiration. “Feisty one, isn’t she?”

Jace chuckled, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. “Look, Y/N, they’re right. We do have practice—”

“Don’t care,” she cut him off sharply. “We’re going to the library, and you’re coming with me. You can play your little game later.”

Cregan laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. “Your little game? Oi, Jace, I think she just called football a ‘little game.’”

Jace shot a pleading look at Y/N, but she remained resolute, chin tilted up defiantly. “This isn’t optional, Velaryon,” she stated flatly. “You can skip practice once. It’s not going to kill you.”

“Actually, it might,” Oscar quipped, elbowing Jace. “Coach’ll string you up by your own bootlaces.”

Jace hesitated, caught between the demand in Y/N’s eyes and the expectant gazes of his teammates. “Come on, Y/N,” he said, trying to sound reasonable. “Just one hour? I’ll be right there at the library after.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, clearly irritated. “Fine,” she muttered, “One hour, Jace. But if you’re not at Seeley, I’m done with this, and you can flunk out on your own.”

Jace grinned, sensing a small victory. “Deal.”

With that, she turned on her heel and strode off toward the library, leaving Jace standing there.

Aegon nudged Jace with a sly grin. “Mate, you’re in deep with that one.”

Jace shrugged, his grin widening. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Then, he jogged toward the pitch, already plotting how to charm his way out of trouble.

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The sun was setting over Cambridge, casting a warm, golden glow over the courtyard where Jace and his gang were sprawled out on the grass, panting and laughing, still high from the adrenaline of practice. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and freshly cut grass. Jace gulped down his energy gel, feeling the rush of artificial citrus flavor burst in his mouth. Aegon, leaning back on his elbows, was grinning like a Cheshire cat, clearly up to something.

“So,” Aegon started, with that telltale smirk plastered across his face, “what’s the deal with your new study buddy, Jace? This… Y/N?”

Jace shrugged, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “Nothing much. Just some girl Professor Arryn stuck me with to make sure I don’t bomb this paper. Proper bookworm, you know?”

Davos, lying flat on his back and squinting up at the sky, chuckled. “Yeah, heard she’s one of those types. Always in the library, never out for a drink. Bit boring, if you ask me.”

Aegon’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Boring, eh? Anyone know anything interesting about her?”

Oscar, sitting cross-legged, shook his head. “Nah, mate. She’s just… normal. Doesn’t bother with us, and we don’t bother with her. Mundane as they come.”

Aegon scoffed. “Mundane, my arse. There’s always something, yeah? Everyone’s got a secret.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing some great forbidden knowledge. “I heard she’s still a virgin.”

Davos snorted, nearly choking on his water. “No way. At Cambridge? The land of drunken hookups and bad decisions?”

Aegon nodded, his eyes fixed on Jace. “Yup. Pure as the driven snow, they say. Bet she’s never even been kissed.”

Jace laughed, but it was more out of surprise than anything else. “What’s that got to do with me?”

Aegon’s smirk turned devilish. “Just saying, mate. You’ve charmed the pants off half the girls in this place. Why not try the one that’s got everyone else stumped?”

Davos caught on, grinning widely. “Yeah, Jace, bet you can’t even get her to look at you twice, let alone… you know.”

Jace raised an eyebrow. “You’re seriously betting I can’t get Y/N L/N to…?”

“To shag you,” Aegon finished, laughing. “That’s the bet. Get in her knickers, mate. Come on, it’ll be a laugh.”

Cregan, who had been sitting quietly, frowned, his brow furrowing in disapproval. “This is a bad idea,” he said, his voice low and serious. “Messing around with someone like that… it’s not right, Jace.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I’m with Cregan on this one. It’s one thing to have a bit of fun, but this… it’s different. She’s not one of your usual types. You could really hurt her.”

Jace felt a strange flicker of something in his chest—a mix of guilt, curiosity, and… excitement. He brushed it off, shrugging casually. “Come on, boys. It’s not like that. Just a bit of fun, yeah? Nothing serious.”

Aegon leaned forward, eyes glinting with amusement. “So, are you in or not? Hundred pounds says you can’t do it. That’s what, a week’s worth of drinks and cigs for you?”

Jace hesitated for a moment, thinking of Y/N’s determined glare, her sharp wit, the way she didn’t give a damn about him or his reputation. She was different. Uncharted territory. A challenge.

He smirked. “Alright, you’re on,” he said, hearing the cheers and groans from the lads around him.

Cregan shook his head, already looking like he regretted being a part of this conversation. “This isn’t going to end well, Jace. I’m telling you.”

Oscar sighed. “I don’t approve, mate. But… you’ve never been one to listen anyway.”

Jace just laughed, but there was an edge to it, a thrill of something dangerous. “You all worry too much. I’ve got this.”

As they all started to pack up, heading off in different directions, Jace couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just stepped onto a very slippery slope.

He had an hour to make it to the library. And now, he had a new game to play.

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The small study hall in Y/N’s dorm was quiet except for the faint hum of the ancient radiator and the occasional rustling of paper. The place was cozy, with mismatched chairs and a long, scratched-up wooden table in the middle that looked like it had seen better days. A soft yellow light flickered overhead, casting a warm glow that made everything feel just a bit more intimate than Jace was used to.

Y/N sat across from him, her head buried in yet another thick textbook, her glasses sliding down her nose in that way they always did when she was deep in concentration. Her cat, Tabby, was sprawled out next to her, purring loudly, its fat tail flicking every so often. Jace watched the cat with a wry smile, the can of wet food hidden in his backpack, ready for his next move.

He had to admit, these study sessions weren’t exactly torture. Sure, he’d rather be out with the lads, downing pints at the pub or kicking a ball around, but there was something oddly… nice about the routine they’d developed over the last two weeks. Y/N was sharp, with a sarcastic wit that he’d quickly learned to appreciate. She didn’t laugh at his jokes, didn’t fawn over his every word, and wasn’t afraid to call him out when he was being a lazy git.

And yeah, maybe that made him want to impress her just a little bit.

Tonight, though, he had a plan. He set his textbook aside with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “So,” he started, his tone casual, “I think I’ve got the gist of this whole War of the Roses thing now. The Yorks, the Lancasters, the whole shebang.”

Y/N glanced up, pushing her glasses back up her nose. “Oh, really?” she said, her tone dripping with skepticism. “Let’s hear it then. Enlighten me, Velaryon.”

Jace grinned, ready for the challenge. “Alright, so it’s like this: Basically, you’ve got two families—Yorks and Lancasters, right? Both got a claim to the throne, both think they’re the shit. Lots of battles, lots of blood, lots of people getting their heads chopped off. The Lancasters start off strong, but then the Yorks take over for a bit with Edward IV, right?”

Y/N nodded, her expression almost… impressed. “Okay, so far, so good.”

“Then Edward’s brother, Richard III, the shady bastard, knocks off his own nephews, or so they say—”

“They were never found,” Y/N interjected, raising a finger. “It’s just a theory.”

“Right, right, allegedly,” Jace corrected himself, rolling his eyes, “Anyway, then Henry Tudor comes in, wipes the floor with Richard at Bosworth, and boom, new king. Tudor dynasty kicks off. End of the Wars of the Roses.”

Y/N tilted her head, a small, amused smile playing at her lips. “Not bad, Jace. Not bad at all. Maybe you’re not as hopeless as I thought.”

Jace chuckled, leaning in a little closer, letting his voice drop. “See? I’m full of surprises.” He reached into his bag and pulled out the can of wet cat food, holding it up like a trophy. “And speaking of surprises… look what I brought for our furry study buddy.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard, and then she laughed—a soft, genuine laugh that Jace hadn’t heard before. “Seriously? You brought food for Tabby?”

Jace grinned. “Figured it might earn me a few points. Besides, I’m starting to think she’s the one actually running this show.”

Tabby’s ears perked up at the sound of the can, and Y/N shook her head, amused. “You know, you didn’t have to do that. But… it’s sweet. Thanks.”

He shrugged, feeling a strange, warm twist in his chest at her reaction. “No big deal. Besides, I’m trying to stay in your good graces here, remember?”

Y/N gave him a sly look. “Oh, is that what this is? Buttering me up? This is bribery.”

Jace laughed, leaning back. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like spending time with you, even if you do make me memorize the most boring shit ever written.”

She smiled, a real one this time, and he felt something shift in the air between them, something that made his heart pick up a little faster. “History isn’t boring, Jace,” she corrected, but there was no bite to her tone, only a soft fondness. “You just have to find the right angle.”

He watched her for a moment, taking in the way her eyes sparkled behind her glasses, the way a loose strand of hair fell across her cheek. “Maybe,” he said quietly, “you can help me find it.”

For a moment, they were just there, sitting in the soft light, with Tabby purring between them. And for the first time in a long time, Jace didn’t feel like he needed to be anywhere else.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence, “tell me more about this Henry Tudor bloke. Sounds like a bit of a legend.”

Y/N laughed again, and Jace realized he could get used to that sound. “Oh, he was. But not in the way you think.”

And as she launched into a passionate explanation, Jace found himself leaning in, genuinely listening, genuinely interested. Maybe it was because of her, or maybe… just maybe, it was something else altogether.

Jace then pulled his laptop out of his bag, its surface covered in stickers from random pubs, indie bands, and some meme that Y/N didn’t quite get. He flipped it open and tapped the trackpad a few times before turning the screen toward Y/N. “Alright, don’t judge me too harshly,” he said, flashing her a grin that was equal parts sheepish and cocky. “I’ve got about fifteen hundred words down.”

Y/N took the laptop, eyebrows arching as she began to read. Her expression shifted quickly—from neutral to slightly amused, and then to something bordering on exasperated. “Jace… this reads like a bloody blog post,” she muttered, her tone half a scold, half a laugh. “I mean, really? ‘York versus Lancaster: The Original Family Feud?’”

Jace chuckled, leaning back in his chair, hands resting behind his head. “Hey, I’m just trying to keep it interesting. No one wants to read a paper full of dry academic crap.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “This isn’t about being interesting, it’s about being accurate and precise. You’re supposed to be writing a serious outline, not an article for BuzzFeed.”

He raised his hands defensively. “Alright, alright, fair point. But can you blame me? I’m trying not to fall asleep while I write this thing. I figure, if it’s fun for me, maybe it’ll be fun for whoever ends up grading it.”

Y/N shook her head, though there was a softness to her expression that Jace couldn’t ignore. “That’s… not how it works. But I’ll help you refine it. You’ve got the right ideas, just not the right… execution.”

“Story of my life,” Jace muttered, and for a moment, his grin faltered. He quickly recovered, though, leaning forward to take the laptop back. “Seriously, though, I appreciate it. I know I’m a bit of a lost cause when it comes to this stuff.”

“You’re not a lost cause,” Y/N said, surprising even herself. “Just… a bit misguided. But you’re trying, and that counts for something.”

Jace smiled, feeling that strange twist in his chest again. “Trying, yeah. I’ve got my reasons. If I don’t pass this paper, my mum’s going to cut me off. And trust me, you don’t want to be around when that happens.”

Y/N looked up, curious. “Your mum… she’s Rhaenyra Targaryen, right? The one who’s always in those society pages?”

Jace nodded, leaning back in his chair again. “That’s the one. Everyone thinks she’s this glamorous socialite, but she’s tough as nails. Proper iron lady, you know? It’s always Jacaerys, do this or Jacaerys, don’t embarrass the family. She’s got this whole plan for me, for my brother Luke, for everyone. She’d have me running for Parliament if she could.”

Y/N listened, her face softening. “That sounds… intense.”

Jace laughed. “You’ve no idea. Luke—my little brother, he’s at Eton right now, the little shit—is the golden boy. Mum dotes on him like he’s the second coming or something. He’ll be here at Cambridge next year, probably ace every exam and make me look even worse by comparison.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his grin turning a little wry. “Between you and me, Luke’s the smart one. Reads all the time, top of his class, the whole package. Meanwhile, I’m just trying to stay on the pitch and out of trouble.”

Y/N smiled a bit. “I doubt that’s all you are. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have something going for you.”

Jace shrugged, playing it off, but her words struck a chord. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just because Mum and Grandfather have their names on a few buildings around here.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, but her eyes held a glimmer of understanding. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be here. It just means you have to work a little harder to prove that to everyone else.”

Jace looked at her, caught off guard by the sincerity in her tone. “You really think that?”

Y/N nodded, her expression steady. “I do. I mean, you’re lazy as hell, sure, but you’re not dumb. You just need to find something that makes you want to try.”

Jace felt a flush rise in his cheeks, unexpected and a little confusing. “Yeah, well, maybe I’ve found something,” he muttered, looking away.

Tabby, sensing the change in the atmosphere, stretched out on Jace’s lap and yawned loudly, demanding attention. Jace chuckled, reaching down to scratch the cat’s ears. “You’ve got a good taste in cats, at least,” he said, grinning.

Y/N leaned back, watching Jace with a look he couldn’t quite place. “Tabby seems to like you,” she said softly, a hint of surprise in her voice. “That’s… unusual. She doesn’t usually take to strangers.”

“Maybe I’m not as much of a stranger anymore,” Jace said, looking up to meet her gaze.

Y/N’s eyes lingered on his for a moment longer than he expected, and something passed between them, something warm and tentative. She quickly looked back down at her notebook, clearing her throat. “Alright,” she said, shifting gears. “Let’s get back to work. This ‘original family feud’ bit needs to go.”

Jace laughed, pulling his laptop back toward him. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, boss.”

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Two more weeks of grueling late-night study sessions, endless cups of coffee, and Y/N’s relentless revisions had finally paid off. Jace’s paper was finished. No, more than finished—it was actually good. Even Y/N had begrudgingly admitted it was up to her usual standards, which, coming from her, was high praise indeed.

Jace couldn’t help but feel a rush of satisfaction when he handed the paper to Professor Arryn that morning. He watched her face closely as she skimmed through the first few pages, her eyebrows slowly rising with what he hoped was approval. When she finally looked up, there was a rare, pleased smile on her face.

“Well done, Jacaerys,” she said, her tone warm. “This is… quite an improvement. I’m impressed.”

Jace grinned, feeling a surprising swell of pride. “Thanks, Professor. Guess I had a good teacher.”

Professor Arryn chuckled softly. “Yes, well, I’ll have to thank Miss L/N for her patience later. But I’m glad to see you’ve taken this seriously. Keep it up. You’ve got more potential than you think.”

Jace nodded, and as he left her office, he couldn’t shake the grin off his face. He had done it. They had done it. And he couldn’t deny the thrill he felt knowing he’d actually managed to prove everyone wrong for once.

Later that afternoon, he found himself wandering through the winding pathways of the campus, searching for Y/N. He finally spotted her by the fountain in the courtyard, sitting on a bench.

He sauntered over, casually leaning against the side of the bench. “Oi, bookworm,” he greeted, flashing her that grin he knew usually worked on most people. “Guess what?”

Y/N looked up, mildly surprised, but a small smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t know. You found another typo in your own name?”

Jace laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, better. Professor Arryn loved the paper. Said she was impressed.”

Y/N’s eyes brightened a little. “Really? Well… that’s good. I mean, not surprising, considering all the work we put into it. But still… good to hear.”

“Yeah,” Jace nodded, feeling a surge of excitement he hadn’t expected. “And I figured, you know, since it’s the weekend and all, we should celebrate. There’s a pub just off campus that does the best chicken wings. Thought you might fancy a night out?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, um, I don’t usually go to pubs,” she started, fidgeting slightly. “Not really my scene.”

Jace wasn’t deterred. He leaned in a bit closer, his voice dropping to that smooth, persuasive tone he knew could win over even the most stubborn people. “Come on, Y/N. It’s just a drink, some wings, a bit of fun. You’ve earned it. Besides,” he added, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “I know you’re obsessed with chicken wings. And trust me, this place makes them mean.”

Y/N’s mouth twitched like she was trying to hide a smile. “How do you even know that?”

Jace shrugged, pretending to be innocent. “Just a guess. But seriously, you can’t turn down an offer like this. I’m buying, and I promise not to make you read any history books while we’re there. Think of it as… a reward for your hard work.”

She hesitated for a moment, but the look in his eyes was so genuinely hopeful, so damn persistent, that she found herself softening. “Alright,” she sighed finally, a small smile breaking through. “But just this once. And only because you said there’d be good wings.”

Jace’s grin widened. “Deal. I’ll pick you up at six?”

Y/N nodded, still looking a bit skeptical, but there was a flicker of excitement in her eyes that she couldn’t quite hide. “Six it is. But if it turns out to be one of those rowdy pubs with sticky floors and bad beer, I’m leaving.”

Jace laughed. “Trust me, Y/N, I’ve got taste. You won’t regret it.”

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“Tonight’s the night, mate. The night you finally conquer the wallflower,” Aegon declared, sprawled out on Jace’s bed with a grin wide enough to split his face in half. He was already two beers in, and his enthusiasm was rising with every sip. “I mean, come on, you’ve done all the groundwork. You’ve got her thinking you’re some misunderstood genius or whatever. It’s bloody perfect.”

Jace rolled his eyes, tugging a fresh shirt over his head. “Piss off, Aeg, you make it sound like I’m storming a castle. It’s just a drink, alright?”

“A drink?” Aegon snorted, sitting up with exaggerated incredulity. “No, no, my friend. This is a tactical maneuver. A carefully orchestrated operation. You’ve been planting the seeds, and tonight… you reap the harvest.”

Davos, leaning against the doorframe with a lazy smile, added, “Yeah, Jace, think of it like one of those battles you’ve been studying. Except instead of swords and armor, you’ve got charm and… chicken wings.”

Jace shook his head, but he couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. “You lot are ridiculous. It’s not that deep, alright? It’s just… it’s been fun hanging out with her. She’s different.”

“Different?” Cregan scoffed from where he sat at Jace’s desk, fiddling with a random keychain. “Different how? Like, ‘actually has a brain’ different? Or ‘won’t fall for your bullshit’ different?”

“Both,” Jace admitted, smoothing his shirt and checking himself in the mirror. “She’s… she’s not like the usual girls, yeah? Makes me work for it. And maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

Oscar, who’d been mindlessly strumming Jace’s guitar, looked up and smirked. “Wow, you’re going soft, Jacaerys Velaryon. Next thing we know, you’ll be quoting poetry or some shit.”

Aegon laughed loudly. “Nah, he’s too thick for poetry. But don’t lose focus, Jace. Remember the bet. She’s a challenge, yeah, but you’re the bloody captain. You don’t lose.”

Jace turned to Aegon, a hint of irritation in his voice. “I know what I’m doing, alright? I don’t need you lot in my head.”

Davos chuckled, raising a hand in mock surrender. “Fair enough, fair enough. Just don’t forget why you’re doing this. I’d hate to see all your hard work go to waste.”

Jace paused, looking at his reflection, and for a second, the bravado slipped. Why was he doing this? Was it really still just about the bet, or was there something more?

He shook the thought away and turned back to his friends. “I’m not losing,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “And tonight, I’ll prove it.”

Aegon raised his beer in a mock toast. “To Jace, the knight in shining armor, off to slay the virgin dragon.”

Jace flipped him off, but he couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Wish me luck, you pricks. I’m off.”

He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling in his chest.

Jace arrived at Y/N’s dorm at exactly 5:50, which was impressive by his own standards. Usually, he didn’t bother even showing up on time with his usual rotation of girls. Hell, half of them wouldn’t mind if he rolled in an hour late, two hours, even three—they’d still fall over themselves to be near him, giggling and batting their lashes, ready to jump him at the first opportunity.

But tonight was different. He didn’t want to be late, didn’t want to give her any reason to back out. So he was there early, leaning against the doorframe, tapping his foot to an imaginary beat in his head.

When Y/N finally opened the door, she looked a bit startled, clearly on her way out herself. Her eyes widened when she saw him standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Jace?” she said, blinking. “You’re… early.”

He grinned. “Yeah, thought I’d mix things up a bit. You know, keep you on your toes.”

Y/N folded her arms, a little smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Well, color me surprised. You don’t strike me as the punctual type.”

Jace laughed and shrugged. “Usually not, but I figured you’d appreciate it. And besides, I’ve been looking forward to those chicken wings all day.”

Y/N shook her head, still looking amused. “Of course, it’s the chicken wings,” she muttered, locking her door behind her. “Alright then, let’s go.”

They started walking together down the winding path that led from the dorms to the main road. The evening air was cool, and the streetlights were just beginning to flicker on, casting long shadows along the cobblestones. Jace lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his face in the dim light.

“So,” he began, making small talk, “aside from being an academic weapon and the loyal servant of Tabby the Cat, what else do you get up to?”

Y/N smirked at his choice of words. “Oh, you know, world domination, the usual.”

Jace chuckled. “Seriously, though. What do you do when you’re not buried in books?”

She shrugged, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. “I volunteer at a local shelter. Animal rescue, mostly.”

Jace raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. “Yeah? That’s pretty cool. What made you get into that?”

Y/N glanced at him, surprised he seemed to care. “I’ve always liked animals. And I figured, if I’m going to be stressed about everything else in life, I might as well do something good with my time. Plus, it’s kind of hard to worry about exams when you’re busy trying to get a terrified dog out from under a car.”

Jace laughed, a deep, genuine sound. “That does sound like a bit of a distraction.”

She smiled softly, nodding. “Yeah, it’s… it’s good. Keeps me grounded, you know?”

He took another drag of his cigarette, considering her words. “Makes sense. I guess we all need something like that.”

Y/N looked at him curiously. “What about you? What keeps you grounded?”

Jace hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He hadn’t really thought about it like that. “Football, I suppose,” he answered finally, a bit more seriously than he intended. “It’s the one thing that makes sense, you know? When I’m out there, everything else just… fades away.”

She nodded, understanding. “Yeah, I get that. Everyone needs a release.”

They walked in companionable silence for a moment, the sounds of the city around them filling the spaces between their words. Jace felt a strange calm settle over him, a sense that he didn’t have to perform or play a role.

As they neared the pub, the warm glow of its lights spilling out onto the street, Jace flicked his cigarette to the side, stubbing it out with his foot. “Here we are,” he said, holding the door open for her. “Prepare yourself for the best damn chicken wings in Cambridge.”

Y/N laughed, a sound that made him all warm inside. “Alright, Velaryon, I’ll be the judge of that.”

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In wine, there is truth, they say. But in beer? Well, in beer, there’s a hell of a lot of bad decisions.

Jace hadn’t expected Y/N to get drunk off a few pints. Hell, he’d forgotten what it was like to be around someone who wasn’t a seasoned drinker, someone whose idea of a wild night wasn’t pounding shots until the room spun. He was used to heavyweights—Cregan downing vodka like water, Aegon always pushing the limits, the lot of them living on a constant edge between buzzed and blackout.

But Y/N? Three pints in, and she’d gone from reserved and witty to giggling mess, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright, and—most dangerously—her hands a bit too free with him.

It was around ten when he realized she’d crossed the line from tipsy to drunk. She stumbled as they stepped outside the pub, the cool night air hitting her like a slap. Jace instinctively wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, and she leaned into him, her head tipping against his shoulder, a small, sleepy smile on her lips.

“Y’alright?” he asked, feeling a mix of amusement and something else, something warmer, spreading through his chest. Full of denial, he made himself believe it was because of the alcohol.

“Mm, yeah,” she mumbled, her voice slightly slurred. “Just… didn’t realize how strong those beers were.”

Jace chuckled. “Lightweight,” he teased, but there was no bite to it, just an unexpected tenderness.

Aegon’s words rang in his head like a bell. Tonight’s the night. She’s a challenge, yeah, but you’re the bloody captain. You don’t lose.

It would be so easy. She was already leaning into him, her fingers curling into his jacket, her body soft and pliant against his. She looked up at him, her eyes half-lidded and dreamy, and he felt his resolve waver.

“My place?” he heard himself say, the words slipping out before he could stop them, and he cursed himself immediately.

But then she nodded, a small, trusting smile spreading across her lips. “Okay,” she agreed softly, and he felt something dark and selfish twist in his gut. Fuck.

He wrapped his arm tighter around her, supporting her as they started walking. His dorm was closer anyway, and she was so warm against him, so… trusting. He felt the tension building in him, the battle between the guy he was supposed to be and the guy he wanted to be.

As they walked, she kept giggling, saying things he couldn’t quite make out, her hands playing with the zipper of his jacket, her breath hot against his neck. “You’re not so bad, Jace,” she murmured at one point, and he felt a pang in his chest, a mix of guilt and something else. “I think… I think you’re actually kinda sweet.”

Jace swallowed hard, his mouth dry. “Yeah, well… don’t go telling anyone that,” he joked, trying to keep his tone light, even as his mind raced.

They reached his dorm, and he fumbled with the key, feeling her sway beside him, her fingers brushing his arm. “Here we are,” he muttered, pushing the door open.

She stumbled inside, giggling again, and he caught her by the waist, steadying her. She turned in his arms, looking up at him, her expression soft and open. “Thanks,” she whispered. “For tonight. I had fun.”

Jace stared down at her, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he could do it—he could lean down, close the gap, and she wouldn’t push him away. She’d let him, she’d probably kiss him back, and it’d be the easiest thing in the world.

But something held him back. Something in the way she looked at him, her eyes so trusting, so… innocent. It made him feel like the biggest prick on earth.

He felt Aegon’s taunting voice in his head, heard Davos’s laugh, remembered the bet, the stupid bloody bet. And he hated himself in that moment, hated the way he’d played this, hated the way he was tempted.

“Come on,” he said softly, steering her toward the bed. “You need to lie down.”

Y/N giggled, collapsing onto the mattress. “Oh, is that an invitation, Velaryon?” she teased, her voice light, her eyes half-closed.

Jace forced a laugh, trying to keep his hands from shaking. “Nah, just… making sure you’re comfortable,” he said, pulling a blanket over her.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his heart thundering in his chest as he tried to get his bearings. This wasn’t how he’d planned for tonight to go—he wasn’t sure what he’d planned, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. Not sitting here, feeling like the floor had dropped out from under him while Y/N lay there, soft and warm and too damn close.

He was about to stand up, to put some distance between them before he did something stupid, when he felt her fingers brush against his cheek, tentative and light. Her touch sent a spark skittering down his spine, and he froze.

“I never noticed your freckles before,” she murmured, her voice slurred. “They’re… cute.”

Jace’s breath hitched, and his focus, which had been hanging by a thread, snapped completely. He’d lost it five minutes ago, maybe longer, the second she’d started touching him, the second she’d looked at him with those eyes, her lips all plump and pink from the spicy wings earlier.

He was staring at her lips now, unable to look away. They were wet and inviting, and he could almost taste the beer and the traces of spice on them, feel the warmth of her breath. His mind was racing, and his body… shit, his body was reacting like he’d never had a woman over before.

Y/N caught him staring, and she let out a soft, self-conscious laugh. “I must be a mess, huh?” she said, her voice laced with uncertainty. “I mean… I’m definitely a downgrade from all the women who’ve graced your room and this bed before.”

Jace’s heart stuttered, guilt and desire twisting together in his chest like a vice. She had no idea, did she? No clue about the bet, about the way his friends had egged him on, made this into some twisted game. She was here, vulnerable, open, looking at him like he was something more than a stupid, privileged jerk who could charm his way into anything.

His body continues warring with him, every muscle taut, every nerve alive with want. He knew damn well that under his bed, there were probably scraps of lingerie and thongs left over by fuck knows who, little trophies of past conquests, forgotten in the haze of nights he could barely remember.

But this? This was different. This was real. And he felt like he was on his very last string, the tightrope fraying beneath his feet.

Then, in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, she asked, “Will you kiss me?”

Jace’s brain screamed at him to stop, to decline, to be a better man than he usually was, but the words caught in his throat. Y/N was looking at him, all hot and bothered, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted, and he could see the longing in her eyes, the same need he felt thrumming through his veins.

“Y/N…” he managed, his voice hoarse, strained. “You’re drunk, and I… I don’t want to—”

But she leaned closer, her breath warm against his lips, her fingers still resting on his cheek. “Please, Jace,” she whispered, her voice pleading, “just kiss me.”

And fuck, he tried. He really tried to hold back, to keep the distance, to be the decent guy he’d been pretending to be for the last few weeks. But the way she looked at him, like he was something she needed, something she wanted, something more than a mistake…

He was gone. Completely and utterly gone.

He closed the distance between them in one swift movement, his hand cupping her jaw, his lips crashing against hers. The kiss was rough, desperate, all the tension of the last few weeks pouring out in one fierce, needy snog. He groaned, pulling her closer, his fingers tangling in her hair.

Y/N responded immediately, kissing him back with equal enthusiasm, her hands clutching his shirt, pulling him closer, pressing herself against him. He felt her body arch into his, and he couldn’t help but deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, tasting her, losing himself in the heat of it, in the softness of her lips.

He knew he should stop, knew he was crossing a line he had no right to, but he couldn't think clearly anymore, couldn't focus on anything except the feel of her against him, the taste of her lips, the way she was kissing him with so much need. He could tell she hadn’t done this much before—her movements were uncertain, a bit clumsy—but none of that mattered now.

Jace’s mind was spinning, his breath coming in ragged as he broke the kiss and gently pushed her back, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Wait,” he murmured, his voice unsteady. “Y/N… have you done this before?”

She blinked up at him, her eyes hazy but honest. “No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, like she was admitting a secret she wasn’t sure she wanted to share.

His heart lurched at that. He cursed under his breath, his hands still on her shoulders, holding her at a careful distance. “We should stop,” he said softly, trying to keep his voice steady. “I don’t want you to be angry with me… or yourself, come morning.”

Y/N shook her head, her fingers sliding up his arms, stubborn as ever. “I won’t be,” she insisted, her voice firmer now, a determined edge to it. “I know what I want, Jace.”

He felt a shiver run down his spine, but he fought against it, trying to hold on to his last shred of self-control. “You’re drunk,” he murmured, “and I don’t want to take advantage of that.”

But she was already leaning in again, pressing closer, her lips grazing his neck, right where she knew his pulse was pounding. “I’m not that drunk,” she whispered against his skin, her breath hot, sending a jolt through his entire body. “And I want this… I want you.”

Her mouth moved over his neck, by sheer luck finding a soft spot just below his ear, and he felt a groan rise in his throat, his body betraying him completely. Her lips were gentle but insistent, kissing the spot where she could feel his pulse racing, and he felt his resolve slipping, melting under the warmth of her touch.

“Y/N,” he breathed, trying to keep his voice steady, but it was hopeless. Every time her lips brushed his skin, he felt like he was losing another piece of himself. “We really shouldn’t—”

But she wasn’t listening, her hands moving up his chest, her lips still at his neck, kissing and nipping, her touch sending sparks all through him. She was so damn stubborn, and it was driving him wild, his hands gripping her waist as if to anchor himself.

“Please, Jace,” she whispered again, her voice a breathy plea against his skin, and he felt something in him snap. For a moment, he hovered on the edge, caught between his desire and his conscience, every nerve screaming at him to just give in, to take what she was so freely offering.

But then he saw her eyes, the way they were wide and unguarded, and he remembered her earlier words, the soft confession—no, she hadn’t done this before. She was drunk, not in her right mind, and damn it all, he knew he wasn’t either.

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. For once in his life, he chose to be the bigger person, to do the right thing, even though every part of him was screaming to just lose himself in her. There was no way in hell he was going to go all the way with her—not like this, not when she was a virgin and not when they both were just a little too far gone.

But he also wasn’t going to just leave her wanting, not when he could see the need in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks, feel the way her body was pressed up against his, warm and willing. He could give her something, at least. And that was a thought that sent a rush of heat through him, a decision settling deep in his bones.

Jace let out a slow, shaky breath, his hands sliding down her sides. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. “Not everything… but I can still make you feel good. Really good.”

She blinked up at him, confusion and desire mixing in her eyes. “What do you—”

He didn’t let her finish. Instead, he gently pushed her back onto the bed, his lips brushing against her jaw, trailing down her neck. He felt her breath hitch, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he moved lower, kissing down her collarbone, his hands sliding under her shirt, lifting it just enough to reveal her skin.

He looked up at her once more, his gaze intense. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, Y/N,” he promised, his voice rough with need. “Just trust me.”

And then he was lowering himself between her thighs, hands gently spreading her legs, his breath warm against her skin. He kissed her inner thigh, his fingers teasing at the edge of her panties, and he felt her shiver beneath him, her breath coming faster, her eyes wide with anticipation.

He knew this was something he was good at—something he had honed to perfection over the years. Someone should really give him a degree for it, a bloody medal for his services to women. Because if there was one thing Jace Velaryon knew how to do, it was this.

He slipped her panties down slowly, savoring the way her breath hitched, the way she tensed in anticipation. He spread her legs a bit wider, his hands gripping her thighs firmly, and he leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste her. The first touch was gentle, almost tentative, and he felt her gasp, her hips arching off the bed.

Jace grinned against her skin, a low, satisfied hum rumbling in his chest. “Just relax,” he whispered, his breath hot against her, “and let me take care of you.”

He set to work, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes, teasing her, tasting her, finding every sensitive spot and lingering there until she was gasping, her hands clutching his sheets, her head thrown back in pleasure. He ignored his own growing need, focused entirely on her, on the way her body responded to him, the way she trembled under his touch.

He sucked gently, his tongue swirling over her clit, his hands gripping her thighs tighter, feeling the tension building in her, the way her breaths were coming faster, more desperate. She was close—he could feel it, could hear it in the way she moaned his name, her voice breathless and needy.

He kept going, picking up the pace, his tongue moving faster, more insistent, his fingers joining in, stroking her in rhythm with his mouth. She was writhing now, her hips moving against him, her moans turning into cries, her fingers twisting in his hair, holding him closer.

“Jace,” she gasped, her voice breaking, “Oh, gods, Jace—”

He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down. He kept up the relentless rhythm, his mouth working her with a skill perfected by experience, by knowing exactly how to drive a woman to the edge and hold her there until she was begging for release. His fingers moved in motion with his tongue, pressing deeper, finding that perfect spot inside her, feeling the way her body clenched around him, her thighs quivering under his hands.

Y/N was a mess above him, her breaths coming out in broken gasps, her body arching off the bed, every muscle tense, straining toward that peak. Her moans were getting louder, more frantic, her nails digging into his scalp, pulling him closer.

She was so close—he could feel it in the way her hips bucked against him, the way she was practically chanting his name now, over and over, like a prayer, like a plea.

And then, with a final swirl of his tongue, a firm press of his fingers, she shattered.

Her orgasm ripped through her, a wave of pleasure so intense it stole her breath, her cry breaking into a sob, her entire body shaking with it. Jace kept his mouth on her, coaxing her through it, feeling the rush of her release, the way she came apart beneath him, raw and real and beautiful.

He didn’t stop until he felt the tremors subside, until her hands loosened in his hair, her body going limp, spent and sated. Only then did he pull back, kissing her inner thigh softly before moving up the bed to lie beside her, his breathing ragged, his own body still tight with need he chose to ignore.

Y/N lay there, her chest rising and falling, her eyes still closed, a dazed smile playing on her lips. She turned her head to look at him, her gaze soft and filled with something he couldn’t quite name.

“That was…” she breathed, her voice still a little shaky, “that was...”

Jace smirked, his thumb lazily tracing her cheek. “Mind-blowing? Legendary? Best damn thing you’ve ever had?” he teased, his voice thick with cheeky arrogance. “Told you I’d make it worth your while.”

Y/N slapped him playfully on the chest, her eyes still feel heavy with the afterglow, but a grin tugging at her lips. “Yeah, yeah,” she laughed, her voice a mix of sarcasm and lingering breathlessness, “I get it now. I understand why every woman at Cambridge turns into a cat in heat around you.”

Jace chuckled, his grin widening, feeling a surge of satisfaction at the sight of her so relaxed, so damn comfortable with him. “Well,” he drawled, leaning in closer, his lips brushing against her ear, “I do aim to please. Can’t blame them for wanting a repeat performance, yeah?”

She rolled her eyes, but there was amusement in them. “You’re a real piece of work,” she muttered, but her smile gave her away.

He laughed, dropping a quick kiss on top of her head. “Maybe,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze, “but admit it—you’re not complaining.”

Her cheeks flushed a bit, but she didn’t look away. “Alright, fine,” she conceded, her grin softening. “I guess you’re not completely useless.”

Jace barked out a laugh, his hand now resting on her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin. “High praise, coming from you.”

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The next morning, Y/N woke up with a pounding headache, her mouth dry as sandpaper, and a groan slipping from her lips before she even opened her eyes. The room felt too bright, her skull thudding like someone was hammering a drum inside her head. Her first hangover—and it was every bit as awful as people had warned.

“Morning, sunshine,” came Jace’s voice, too cheerful, too loud. She cracked one eye open to find him leaning against a desk, a lazy grin on his lips. He held out a bottle of some isotonic drink and a couple of ibuprofen tablets in his palm. “Here, take these. Trust me; they’re a lifesaver.”

She squinted at him, trying to make sense of the blur that was his face, and groaned again. “Do you have to be so… perky?”

Jace chuckled, moving closer and handing her the pills and the drink. “Nah, but it’s a bit fun watching you suffer,” he teased. “First hangover?”

“Obviously,” she muttered, swallowing the pills and chugging the drink like it was holy water. “Why did no one tell me it would feel like getting hit by a bloody carriage?”

He laughed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Consider it a lesson learned, yeah? But hey, you handled yourself pretty well last night.”

Y/N felt her face flush, memories from the night before rushing back in a haze of heat and embarrassment. “Yeah, well… thanks, I guess,” she mumbled, not quite meeting his eyes.

Jace grinned and, after deeming her well enough to stand, pulled out a well-worn sweater from his wardrobe. “Here,” he said, tossing it to her. “Borrow this. You’re going to need something warm for the walk back.”

She caught the sweater and stared at it for a moment. It was oversized, soft-looking, and smelled faintly of him—a mix of cologne and something else she couldn’t quite place. She slipped it over her head, the fabric swallowing her, but it was warm and oddly comforting.

Jace then grabbed a pair of sunglasses off his desk and slid them onto her face with a wink. “And these, to protect you from the cruel, unforgiving daylight.”

She couldn’t help but smile, a small laugh bubbling up despite the ache in her head. “Thanks, Jace,” she murmured, feeling strangely touched by his small gestures.

He gave her a once-over, nodding approvingly. “Look at that. Almost like you’re ready to face the world again.”

She rolled her eyes but felt a warmth spread through her that wasn’t just from the sweater. “Almost.”

Jace walked her to the door, his hand on the small of her back, guiding her gently. “Come on, let’s get you out of here before the rest of the lads wake up and start giving us grief.”

Y/N smirked, adjusting the sunglasses on her nose. “Thanks for… everything,” she said, her voice soft but sincere.

Jace just smiled, that damn charming grin of his, and opened the door for her. “Anytime, Y/N. Anytime.”

He watched her disappear down the hall, his sweater draped over her like a dress, her steps still a bit wobbly but steadier than before. He lingered for a moment longer than necessary, an odd mix of satisfaction and uncertainty bubbling in his chest. He couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, he didn’t want this to be a one-time thing.

As he turned around, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Cregan standing a few steps away, leaning casually against the wall near the water cooler. His arms were crossed, and there was a knowing look in his eyes.

“Fucking hell, Cregan,” Jace muttered, a bit more defensive than he’d meant to sound. “You spying on me now?”

Cregan shrugged, pushing off the wall and taking a few steps closer, his expression calm but unreadable. “Just grabbing some water,” he said, though his tone was heavy with implication. “Couldn’t help but notice… that was quite the exit.”

Jace rolled his eyes, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, well, we had a fun night. No harm in that.”

Cregan’s lips quirked up in a small, humorless smile. “She’s a nice girl, Jace,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that made Jace shift uncomfortably. “A real nice girl.”

Jace sighed, already sensing where this was going. “I know, I know,” he said, holding up a hand like he was warding off a lecture. “And I didn’t sleep with her, alright? Just… third base. That’s it.”

Cregan’s expression didn’t change. If anything, his brows drew together, a shadow of disappointment crossing his face. “Third base, huh?” he repeated, voice flat. “And how do you think she’s going to feel when she finds out about the bet?”

Jace bristled, his jaw tightening. “Look, I didn’t do anything wrong. She wanted it. I didn’t push her.”

Cregan sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not saying you forced her, Jace,” he replied, his tone measured, like he was trying to keep his annoyance in check. “But you know damn well she doesn’t know the whole story. She doesn’t know she’s just a notch on some stupid bet you made with Aegon and Davos.”

Jace clenched his fists, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “It wasn’t like that,” he muttered, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

Cregan gave him a long, hard look, his eyes piercing. “Maybe not to you,” he said quietly, “but it will be to her when she finds out. And trust me, Jace, she’s going to find out. These things always do.”

Jace opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

Cregan shook his head, stepping back. “Don’t say I didn’t see this impending mess coming,” he said, his voice resigned. “Just… don’t hurt her, Jace. She doesn’t deserve that.”

Jace watched him turn and walk away, his words hanging heavy in the air. And he felt the weight of what he’d done settle on his shoulders, the reality sinking in.

He could still hear Aegon’s taunting voice in his head, but now, it sounded more like a curse than a victory.

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How to Find Out You're the Punchline of a Bet: A Step-by-Step Guide!

Y/N stood outside Jace’s door, holding his sweater and sunglasses in her hands, trying to calm the fluttering nerves in her stomach. She’d had them freshly laundered, even though she’d slept in the sweater more nights than she’d care to admit. It had been too warm, too soft, and way too him. She might have drooled on it as well, but whatever, he didn’t need to know that.

She’d been debating for days whether to bring them back in person or just drop them off and leave. But somehow, she found herself here, standing outside his door, trying to summon the courage to knock.

That was when she saw him.

He was at the end of the corridor, coming back from another practice session, sweaty and still in his kit, flanked by his usual crew—Aegon, Davos, Oscar, and Cregan. They were laughing, shoving each other around, lost in their own world. They hadn’t noticed her yet.

She took a step forward, ready to call out, but then she froze.

Aegon’s loud, obnoxious voice cut through the hallway like a knife, his tone mocking and overly enthusiastic. “Oi, Jace!” he shouted, punching Jace playfully in the arm, a wide grin on his face. “Fair’s fair, mate! You earned it.”

Y/N watched as Aegon reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He peeled off a couple of notes and smacked them into Jace’s hand—£100, easy. Maybe more.

Her stomach twisted, a weird, uneasy feeling creeping up her spine. What the hell was that for?

Then she heard it—the answer she hadn’t been looking for, delivered in Aegon’s stupid, booming voice.

“Can’t believe you actually did it,” Aegon laughed, clapping Jace on the back. “Thought you’d bottle it with the little wallflower, L/N. Didn’t think you had it in you to seal the deal, but you proved me wrong. Fair bet, mate. A hundred quid well-earned!”

Y/N’s heart stopped. She felt her blood run cold as her own name slipped from Aegon’s mouth, followed by a word that made her stomach drop: bet.

She ducked back into the shadow of the wall, pressing herself flat against it, her heart hammering in her chest. She felt like she’d been slapped, the shock of it hitting her all at once. She clutched the sweater to her chest, bile rising in her throat.

She’d been a bloody bet. A joke. Something for them to laugh about over beers and practice sessions. She had trusted him. Believed in that stupid grin and those stupid, warm eyes. And all the while, he’d been playing her.

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her breathing, but it felt like the air was choking her. She had her answer now—clear as day.

And god, did it hurt.

They were coming closer, their voices louder, their laughter echoing down the corridor. Y/N’s heart pounded in her ears, each step they took making her feel like the ground was about to give way beneath her. She gripped the sweater tighter in her hands, trying to steady herself, to stop the tremor that had started in her fingers.

And then Jace saw her.

His face paled instantly, the color draining from his cheeks, his smile vanishing like a shadow under harsh light. He slowed to a stop, and the rest of the group followed suit, their expressions shifting from amusement to confusion—and in some cases, dread.

Cregan sighed, a resigned, knowing look in his eyes. Aegon, who had been all smiles a moment ago, faltered, his grin slipping away, replaced by an uneasy look.

Y/N felt a cold fury settle in her veins, pushing back the wave of hurt that threatened to swallow her whole. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, her chin lifting with a defiance she didn’t even know she possessed.

“I just came to return these,” she said, her voice colder than ice, every word clipped and deliberate. She thrust the sweater and sunglasses into Jace’s chest, her hands trembling despite her best efforts to stay calm.

Jace took them reflexively, his mouth opening and closing like he was searching for something to say, but no words came. His eyes were wide, filled with panic and something that looked a lot like shame.

Before he could get a word out, before he could try to explain or deny or beg, Y/N’s hand came up in one swift motion.

She slapped him across the face, the sound sharp and loud in the suddenly silent corridor.

Jace flinched, the impact snapping his head to the side, his cheek reddening instantly where her hand had connected. He blinked, stunned, his hand instinctively touching the spot where she’d hit him.

Y/N didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the tears that were threatening to spill over. She turned on her heel, her head held high, and walked away, every step feeling like it was taking all the strength she had left.

She didn’t look back. She didn’t say another word. She didn’t need to.

Jace stood frozen, his cheek stinging, his mind whirling, trying to process what had just happened. The corridor felt like it had gone eerily quiet, the only sound the dull thud of his heartbeat in his ears. He could still feel the imprint of her hand on his face, the shock of it running through his body like an electric current.

Did that really just happen?

He blinked, still trying to make sense of it, his thoughts a chaotic mess. He’d been slapped before, sure, but not like that. Not with that kind of fury, that kind of raw, cold anger.

Aegon and Davos stood a few steps behind him, both of them looking like they’d just been doused with ice water.

“Well… crap,” Aegon muttered, scratching the back of his neck, his usual bravado suddenly deflated. “That… that did not go as planned.”

Davos grimaced, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “No shit, Aegon,” he muttered, glancing over at Jace, who still hadn’t moved.

Jace didn’t respond, still staring at the spot where Y/N had been, his expression blank, like he was trying to decipher some impossible puzzle.

Cregan just sighed, shaking his head with a look that was equal parts disappointment and resignation. “I told you this would happen,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Without another word, Cregan turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving the rest of them standing in the heavy silence.

Oscar, who had been hanging back, finally spoke up, a half-amused, half-sympathetic look on his face. “Crash and burn, mate,” he said, his voice almost soft. “Crash and bloody burn.”

Jace blinked, finally tearing his gaze away from where Y/N had disappeared. He felt a strange hollowness in his chest, a tightness in his throat that he couldn’t swallow down.

He’d messed up. Badly. And this time, he wasn’t sure he could charm or talk his way out of this one.

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In Aegon’s defense, he didn’t expect Jace to trip balls and spiral the way he had. The guy looked like he’d been living in a cave, all hollow-eyed and pale like bloody Dracula, and he was a miserable sight—mopey, silent, just plain ugly these days. For the past few weeks, Jace had been in a mood so deep and dark that even Aegon, the king of bad decisions, was starting to feel concerned.

Aegon had tried everything in his bag of tricks. Hell, he even brought out the big guns—he knew Jace used to have a thing for his sister, Helaena. So he’d gone to her, practically on his knees, begging for her to hook up with him or at least flirt a bit, throw him a bone to pull him out of this funk.

But Helaena had returned with a bemused smile, reporting that Jace had looked at her like she was crazy or some shit. “Honestly, Aegon,” she had said, “he stared at me like I had personally offended him. I don't think it's going to work.”

Nothing worked. Not a damn thing.

Cregan, usually the voice of reason in their little gang of idiots, had tried talking sense into him, cornering Jace after practice with the kind of serious, no-nonsense tone that usually worked. But Jace had just brushed him off, muttering something incoherent, looking like a phantom drifting through the halls.

Oscar had taken his turn, too, showing up at Jace’s dorm with his best bottle of whiskey and a pack of expensive cigs, hoping to lure him back to life with old vices. But Jace barely touched the drink, barely looked at the smokes, just sat there staring out the window like a man waiting for the death penalty.

His mates were at their wit's end. They’d bent over backward to drag him out of this shambles, tried everything they could think of, and nothing had made a dent. Jace was lost in his own head, his own mess, and Aegon was starting to wonder if this was what permanent damage looked like.

Aegon sighed heavily, watching Jace slouched in the corner of their usual pub, staring blankly at his untouched pint. “For fuck’s sake, man,” Aegon muttered under his breath. “What the hell are we supposed to do with you?”

Even Davos, normally the most reckless of the bunch, was beginning to worry. “We’ve tried everything,” he whispered to Cregan, who only nodded grimly.

“Maybe,” Cregan said quietly, “he’s got to figure this one out on his own.”

Aegon scowled. “Yeah, well, he better figure it out soon, or I’m dragging his sorry arse to therapy. I’ve got limits, you know.”

Jace didn’t even glance up. And his friends could only watch, exasperated and out of ideas, as the once carefree, charming captain of the football team spiraled deeper into his own self-made hell.

Jace then muttered something under his breath about needing to use the loo, pushing himself up from his chair and shuffling off toward the back of the pub. His mates watched him go, the silence thick.

Oscar leaned in as soon as Jace was out of earshot, his voice low but urgent. “I think we need to talk to Y/N,” he said, glancing around the table. “Get her to talk to him, or at least see if she’ll give him a chance to explain himself.”

Davos nodded quickly, his brow furrowed. “Yeah, shit, man. I’m scared one of these days he’s going to do something stupid. I mean, look at him? He’s a bloody mess. I’ve never seen him like this.”

Cregan sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. “His brother called me yesterday,” he admitted, his voice grim. “Said Jace hasn’t been answering his mum’s texts or calls. She’s worried sick. Wants to know what the hell’s going on, but I’ve got nothing to tell her.”

Aegon looked around at the lot of them, his usual cocky grin replaced by a serious frown. “Yeah, we need an intervention. This is getting out of hand. If anyone can snap him out of it, it’s her.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “She’s got every right to hate him, but… we’ve gotta try, right? Maybe if she just talks to him, hears him out, it’ll help. He’s spiraling, and none of us know how to get through to him.”

Cregan looked uncertain, but he finally nodded. “Alright,” he said. “But we have to be careful with this. She’s pissed, and for good reason. We can’t just waltz up and ask her to forgive him like it’s nothing.”

Aegon leaned back in his chair, looking more serious than any of them had seen him in a while. “So, how do we do this?” he asked, eyes flicking to the others. “Who’s gonna reach out to her?”

Cregan exhaled slowly. “I will. I’ll find a way to talk to her, explain… something. Let her know he’s not himself. We just need a chance. Otherwise, I’m afraid Jace is going to do something we can’t fix.”

They all nodded, glancing toward the hallway where Jace had disappeared.

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The next afternoon, Cregan Stark found himself walking along the Cambridge Backs, the gentle curve of the river Cam glinting in the sunlight, punts gliding lazily over the water, laughter and the murmur of tourists drifting in the air. He had asked around, pieced together the clues, and finally located her usual haunt—a quiet spot along the riverbank, tucked beneath a canopy of willows.

And there she was.

Y/N sat on the grass, a book open on her lap, though she didn’t seem to be reading it. Her eyes were swollen and puffy, dark circles smudged beneath them, as if sleep had been evading her for days. She looked almost as bad as Jace did, and for a moment, Cregan thought it was almost funny—if it weren’t so damn tragic—how much alike they looked.

She spotted him approaching and her eyes narrowed into thin slits, her whole body tensing like she was preparing for a fight. Cregan raised his hands quickly, palms out, a peace offering. “Hey, hey, I come in peace,” he called out, a small, disarming smile on his lips. “Promise I’m not here to make things worse.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but at least she didn’t immediately bolt. She looked annoyed, but resigned, almost like she’d been expecting one of Jace’s friends to show up sooner or later. “Of all people,” she muttered, “at least they were smart enough to send you. The one with half a brain.”

Cregan chuckled, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he walked over and sat down a good distance away, giving her some space. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said lightly. “Though I think you’ve already got my number. I’m not here to defend anyone. Just… wanted to talk.”

She snorted softly, glancing back at her book. “If you’re here to try to make me feel sorry for Jace, save your breath. I’m not interested in playing the sympathy card.”

He shook his head, his expression earnest. “I’m not here to ask for sympathy, Y/N. I’m here because… look, for all the love I have for my mates, especially Jace, I told them from the start that this bet was a shitty idea. Callous. I disagreed with it, and I warned them. Didn’t stop them, obviously, but… I tried.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes still guarded, but there was a flicker of curiosity there. “So why are you here now? You think saying ‘I told them so’ is going to make any difference?”

Cregan sighed, leaning back against the bench. “Nah, I know it doesn’t fix anything. But I thought you should hear it from someone who… I don’t know, isn’t completely messed up in the head like Aegon. Gods, I love him like my own brother, but the man is a ticking timebomb.”

Y/N let out a small, involuntary laugh at that, surprising herself. “Yeah,” she muttered, “I got that impression.”

Cregan smiled slightly, sensing he was making a little headway. “Jace has been… well, let’s just say he looks like he’s been waterboarded. I’ve never seen him like this before, Y/N. He’s not eating, not sleeping, not talking to anyone. We’re worried, and none of us know how to reach him. It’s like he’s punishing himself or something.”

Y/N’s face softened for a brief moment, but then she straightened, putting her defenses back up. “Well, maybe he deserves it,” she said quietly, though there wasn’t as much bite to her words as she’d intended. “He made his bed, didn’t he?”

Cregan nodded. “Yeah, he did. But I think he’s realized just how badly he’s messed up. And I know you don’t owe him anything, not even your time… but I’m asking. Would you talk to him? Even if it’s just to tell him off properly, maybe it’ll snap him out of this spiral he’s in.”

Y/N studied him for a moment, her fingers playing with the edge of her book. “Why should I?” she asked, her voice softer now, almost hesitant. “Why should I give him the satisfaction?”

Cregan leaned forward, his gaze steady. “Maybe not for him,” he said softly. “But for you. Because carrying this around… it isn’t doing you any good either.”

She looked down, her shoulders tense, a battle clearly waging inside her. After a long pause, she finally nodded, just once. “Fine,” she whispered. “I’ll talk to him. But I’m not promising anything.”

Cregan smiled, relief flooding through him. “That’s all I’m asking, Y/N. Thank you.”

She nodded again, her expression still wary, but Cregan could see tiny cracks in her armor. Seems like he has done his job. And that’s all the push he could do.

“Good luck,” he said, standing up and giving her a reassuring nod. “You’re gonna need it with that idiot.”

An hour later, Y/N stood outside Jace’s door, her heart pounding, her nerves shot to hell. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, then knocked on the door with more force than necessary.

Jace opened it, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, his hair tousled, eyes wide with shock when he saw who was standing there. He looked so stunned, she almost laughed.

“Y-Y/N?” he sputtered, his voice an awkward mess of surprise. “What—what are you doing here?”

He started to stammer out more incoherent sentences, a jumble of half-formed apologies, but she cut him off with a raised hand. “I don’t want to do this here,” she said firmly. “I need some fresh air while I listen to whatever sad attempt you’re about to make to justify what you did.”

Jace blinked, swallowing hard, and nodded quickly, grabbing his jacket off a chair. “Okay… yeah, sure,” he mumbled, following her out of the dorm like a scolded puppy.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Y/N leading the way through until they reached a quieter, less crowded part of the grounds. The air was crisp, the sky overcast, but it felt good—clean, refreshing, something he hadn’t felt in weeks.

She finally stopped, crossing her arms over her chest and turning to face him. “Okay, talk,” she demanded, her tone sharp, daring him to make this worth her time.

Jace ran a hand through his hair, feeling like a complete idiot. “Look,” he started, “I know I messed up. I know how stupid and cruel the bet was… I realized it from the start, but I went along with it anyway. I was out of my damn mind. I don’t have a good excuse.”

Y/N’s eyes flashed, anger boiling over. “Why?” she spat. “Why would you do that? I mean, I get that you’re a bit dim, but I didn’t think you were that cruel. And I’m an idiot for falling for it. If you’re dumb, then I’m even dumber.”

Jace flinched, the sting of her words hitting him hard, but he forced himself to keep going. “I didn’t want to do anything that night,” he said, his voice softer, more desperate. “You were drunk, and I knew it wasn’t right. But… fuck, Y/N, I really did want to kiss you. So when you asked me to, what was I supposed to do? How the hell was I supposed to say no?”

That shut her up real good.

She stared at him, her anger momentarily replaced by confusion, disbelief. “Why the hell would you even be into me?” she demanded, her voice tinged with frustration. “You could have anyone—why would you even look twice at me?”

Jace’s frustration boiled over. “Maybe that’s exactly why!” he shouted back. “Maybe I’m tired of the same old bullshit! Maybe you’re the first real person I’ve met in this whole bloody place, and it scared the hell out of me.”

They bickered back and forth. Y/N was still angry, still hurt, and Jace was struggling to make her understand, to make her see that it wasn’t just about the bet, that there was more to it—more to him, to them.

And then, suddenly, the sky opened up. Rain poured down out of nowhere, drenching them both in seconds.

“Great, absolutely fantastic,” Y/N muttered, throwing her hands up in exasperation as the rain pelted down. “I just washed my hair this morning. And now this.”

She looked like she was on the verge of tears, a mix of frustration and exhaustion weighing her down, and Jace’s heart twisted at the sight. He reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly near her arm. “Can we start over?” he asked, his voice pleading. “Please, Y/N. You can slap me again if you want. I’d do anything to make this right.”

Y/N just stared at him, long and hard, the rain streaming down her face, mingling with the tears she refused to let fall. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, the raw, unfiltered regret, the desperation in his voice. And in that moment, all the anger, all the hurt, seemed to wash away with the rain.

“I just really want to kiss you right now,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the downpour.

And then, before he could say anything, she closed the distance between them, her lips crashing against his with a force that took his breath away.

Jace responded immediately, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her close as he kissed her back with everything he had, the rain soaking them both to the bone, but neither of them cared. The world around them seemed to fade away, the only thing that mattered was this—this kiss, this connection, this second chance.

His lips moved against hers with a desperation that bordered on frantic, his hands sliding up to cup her face, thumbs brushing the rain-soaked strands of hair from her cheeks. He kissed her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Between kisses, he managed to whisper, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… please, forgive me…”

Y/N felt his words more than heard them, the breath of each apology warm against her mouth, mingling with the rain. Her heart twisted, conflicted, every emotion tangled up inside her—anger, hurt, relief, and something stronger, something she’d been trying to bury since the moment he’d first kissed her.

But she couldn’t deny the way he was holding her, the sincerity in his voice, the way his hands trembled slightly against her skin. He was being so gentle with her.

“Jace,” she whispered against his lips, her voice catching in her throat. “I… I want to forgive you, but I don’t know how. You hurt me. You made me feel like a joke.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his forehead resting against hers, his breath ragged and warm. “I know,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I know, and I hate myself ever since for it. But I swear, Y/N, I never meant for it to be like this. I never wanted to hurt you. It was stupid and wrong and… and I was a bloody idiot.”

She swallowed hard, searching his eyes, finding nothing but raw, open honesty. “You were,” she agreed softly, her fingers still clutching the front of his shirt. “But… maybe we’re both idiots. Because I still…”

Jace’s heart leaped in his chest, hope flaring bright and wild. “Because you still what?” he pressed, his thumb brushing over her cheek, wiping away a raindrop that looked suspiciously like a tear.

“Because I still… want to try,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know why, but I do.”

Jace’s lips curved into a small, hopeful smile, his hand cradling her face with a tenderness that surprised even him. “Then try with me,” he whispered, his lips hovering over hers again. “Let me make it up to you. Let me prove that I’m worth it… worthy of you.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then nodded, just once, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. “Okay,” she whispered. “But don’t make me regret this, Jacaerys Velaryon.”

“I won’t,” he promised again, and his lips found hers with a new urgency, a fervent hope that maybe, just maybe, this time he could get it right. “I swear, love, I won’t.”

And then, as if the universe wanted to punctuate the moment, a blinding flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed immediately by a crack of thunder that shook the ground beneath them. Both of them jumped apart, startled, wide-eyed like kids caught sneaking out past curfew.

“Shit!” Jace laughed, glancing up at the dark sky. “That was close. We should probably get back inside before we’re fried like fish and chips.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking the water from her hair. “Yeah, I’d rather not be a human lightning rod today.”

He grinned, noticing the way she was shivering now, rain running down her face, her clothes clinging to her skin. He slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her close, his voice dropping to that familiar cheeky drawl. “Come on, then. I’ll warm you right up,” he teased, giving her a playful wink, his hand sliding lower on her back, pressing her against him. “Plenty of ways to heat things up, you know?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smile was undeniable. “God help me, you’re cocky,” she muttered, but there was a spark in her eyes, a waggish glint that matched his own.

Jace’s grin widened. “Oh, you liked it,” he teased. “Don’t pretend otherwise. You loved every second of it. I’ve got more where that came from.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly not willing to let him have the upper hand for long. “You mean the head you gave me?” she shot back, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “Yeah, I have to admit, that was… nice.”

Jace barked out a laugh, his eyes lighting up with delight. “Oh, nice, she says!” he repeated, leaning in closer, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “L/N, that was just a taste. I’m a man of many talents. Consider that your appetizer.”

Y/N snorted, swatting his chest. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Velaryon. I’d hate for you to blow your entire repertoire too soon.”

He laughed. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got stamina to spare. We’ve got all night to explore… my menu.”

She blushed and couldn’t stop her breath from hitching. “Alright, alright, let’s get out of this rain before you start making more food innuendos. I’m getting hungry.”

He grinned, holding her tighter. “Deal. But once we’re dry, I’m taking you up on that second course.”

She just rolled her eyes again but leaned into him, letting him lead her back toward the safety of the building, their laughter mingling with the sound of the rain as they ran for cover.

[pomefioredove]

if you're still taking requests for the event could i request floyd with "Maybe we should just kiss to break the tension" ? ty !

hehe ofc ofc!

summary: "maybe we should just kiss to break the tension" type of post: fic characters: floyd additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, pre book 3, kissing, yuu is very much canon yuu here lol a part of this event

Riddle's noble efforts to warn you about Floyd Leech had fallen on deaf ears.

"And stay out of trouble!" were his exact words, if you remembered correctly.

You'd almost scoffed.

You had already been at NRC for months; you'd fought monsters, solved mysteries, and come out of all of it in one piece.

You could handle a history of magic project.

Sure, this is your first mixed-year assignment; and yes, the project itself makes up a great portion of your semester grade...

...but if anyone had asked you, you'd say that a measly school presentation is nothing compared to what you've already been through.

"Remember not to play along with his antics; it only encourages him,"

Riddle had wasted no time lecturing you about your mysterious project partner the second his name left your lips.

You'd come to him to ask if he knew the guy, not his entire life story.

"Stay focused... and stay out of trouble!"

Trouble. Ha. Every second at NRC since you'd arrived had been trouble.

You walk into the library; like usual, it's mostly empty.

Floyd Leech, Floyd Leech... now, where would...?

"Hey, you!"

You turn on your heels to face the source of the shout; leaning against a bookshelf behind you is the tallest boy you've ever seen.

He even gives off the vague impression of towering over you, making you feel small regardless...

"Man, I almost didn't see 'ya, you're so tiny," he grins, baring a row of sharp teeth. "I'm gonna call you Shrimpy. Now, come onnn, I've been waiting forever!"

You're early. Before you can say as much, he grabs you by the forearm and drags you off to a table.

"Alright, Shrimpy," he says, taking a seat across from you. "What's on the docket for today?"

"Uhh..." you're still slightly dazed. He's got some energy, that's for sure.

Riddle's words flash through your mind.

"...Well, I was thinking we could find our material first, then outline..."

"Reading?" Floyd asks, slumping in his seat as if he'd just received terrible news.

You blink. "...Well, we're going to have to read a little,"

He groans, loudly. A few people in the library turn to stare before awkwardly shuffling away.

"...Nah, I'm not in the mood. Let me do 'somethin else,"

What had Riddle said yesterday? "He changes his mind at the drop of a hat. Arguing is no good,"

"...Okay," you say, tentatively reading his expression. "I'll start with the outline. Do you want to look for pictures instead?"

He's quiet, as if seriously considering the pros and cons of the offer, and then he shrugs.

You sigh. Riddle was just being overdramatic. This is fine!

Floyd becomes lost in his assigned job, leafing through an atlas in search of a map from the time period you're researching, leaving you to your reading.

It'd be an easier job with two people, but...

"You're real quiet, Shrimpy,"

You look up from your encyclopedia. He'd shoved the atlas aside, his eyes fixed on you instead.

You raise an eyebrow. "I'm reading...?"

"Aw. Don't tell me you're the serious type?" a loud, dramatic sigh follows. "I was hoping we could have some fun. I was really looking forward to meeting you and all..."

You have to remind yourself that you have a reputation here. Great...

"Well, sorry to disappoint, but I'm a pretty boring person. Normal,"

Floyd's brow furrows. "Nah, I don't buy that. You wanna know what I think?"

You don't like this. The way he's looking at you, like he sees something you don't...

"...I think you only act normal 'cause you're afraid of being judged. You try way too hard to be a good student and stuff 'cause you wanna fit in here,"

Ouch. You blink, momentarily stunned to silence. He could tell all that just from watching you read?

"I'm just 'sayin," he gives you another sharp smile. "I wouldn't mind if you stopped acting all serious around me. You're way too tense."

"...Tense? I am not tense,"

Your denial only encourages him. A wide grin creeps across his face.

"Yeah, you know. You could feel the stress in this place from a mile away...

...Maybe we should just kiss to break the tension,"

Riddle had drilled you for hours; Floyd stealing your things, making you chase him, getting bored and leaving, a thousand possible situations that could come out of a simple study session...

...This was not one of them.

Floyd grins again, wider this time. "Ahah, never mind. You're way too boring and normal for something like that, right?"

You suddenly feel hot; he's putting you on the spot, and he knows it. He seems to be living for your agitation.

"Hey, that's not fair-"

"Fair schmair," he cuts in. "I gave you a dare, and you can't do it. Happens all the time to you, I bet. It's-"

Riddle had warned you, several times, quite clearly, not to play along.

But... in your defense...

Floyd giggles against your lips, the delighted little noise giving away a hint of surprise. His hands, cold and clammy but nice nonetheless, grab hold of your face, drawing you closer into the kiss. He's threatening to pull you across the table at this point...

...It's a good thing you chose a time when the library would be empty.

After a minute or two, he lets go, leaving you breathless with another smile.

"I knew you had it in 'ya," he says, reaching across the table to pull the encyclopedia back towards him.

"My turn to read, okay? I was getting bored of the pictures,"

[writella]

The Confession

Synopsis: Confessions shared with the wrong person gone so sinfully right.

Details: rick grimes x reader, afab!reader, smut—masturbation, unprotected sex, riding, both rick and reader being desperate in the dark. I made the exact reason for the confession and occasion very vague. 18+, wc: 2.6k. Proof read, but there might be some errors.

A/N: Not sure how much I like this one, but I had this idea back in early October and I wanted to finish it and give you guys something after a whole month.

I miss you, I’m sorry. Hope you’re all well!! With love from writella. ♡

Your voice is solemn and heavy as you sigh before starting, “I don’t do this very often,” you say, “I hope this is okay.” Your eyes lowering shamefully as you stop. It’s only the first sentence and you’re finding it hard to continue. It’s almost as if there are needles piercing into your throat. “I just feel so embarrassed,” you admit.

Then you pause.

No response from him comes after.

Only silence fills the dark and hallow space of the wooden confession box. Only your thoughts, every creak you made on the built-in bench, and the light wind that rustled from the cracked door were heard.

You wait a second longer.

Hoping.

But still, nothing.

Part of you was suspecting that Gabriel would have been more inviting, telling you it’s okay; and doing so with his kind and gentle voice, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t doing anything it seemed. You only saw the silhouette of his face when you walked inside— the outline of a nose and mouth, really. He seemed to be sitting as far from the small barred window as he could, but you didn’t dare look again. You didn’t even turn on the light fixture in the corner. Your fear was all too big, and his unwavering quietness made it worse.

Maybe you had come at the wrong time, maybe you interrupted him. You almost wanted to ask. But maybe confessions happened in complete silence… you didn’t know anymore, but at this point, you were hoping so. You had already wasted five minutes and managed only one sentence. Perhaps he heard the fear in your voice and was just trying to be a good listener… yes, maybe, you pretend as you urged yourself to start again:

You breathe in sharply, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” The words come out in an uneasy, hushed whisper. “It happens a lot and I know it’s wrong. And you’re probably going to look at me differently after this, but I have to tell someone so I can stop.”

Your eyes screw shut, the next phrase coming out jumbled and continuous as you try to explain yourself quickly: “I’ve journaled about it and told myself it’s wrong but it’s not helping.” You start to weep, almost laughing at yourself, “I feel so stupid.”

You sigh and you almost think you hear him do so too, but you keep going.

“I’ve been thinking about someone,” you finally say. “For a long time. And I know it’s bad, I know it, but I do it anyway. It's all I think about.”

Another pause.

You catch your breath.

You wait.

But nothing.

So, you start again.

“I think I love him sometimes.” And if you couldn’t get any more timid, your cheeks flush, and your voice grows quieter, “I like his hair, and his eyes, those button-downs he always wears…” you smile at yourself, these were silly things, “Even his beard.”

And then you hear him shuffle, and a light sound is emitted.

It startles you, but silence ensues again thereafter. Maybe you imagined it.

“I like his kindness too. People would usually say strong or giving, but that’s what I like to tell him— that he’s kind. I think he’s kinder than other people give him credit for. He’s just protective. Everyone, and especially himself, we put a lot of pressure on him to make the hard decisions, but, really…” and there it is, “that's not the only way I think about him. There are things–” your throat tightens again– “ things that I think about. And things that I do.” Your eyes screw tight as you force yourself to say it, “I touch myself.”

Another bout of silence comes before the question.

One you’d never suspect.

“Can you describe it?” The voice asks, dark and curious.

The cool spring air of the night turns cold, but it adds no relief to the summer heat that burns in your heart as it begins to beat painfully. The texture in his voice, the inflection at the end that lined the sentence as a request, it rings through one ear and out the other and back again in a cycle.

You knew who it was.

“What?” You shriek so lightly as if playing dumb would help you now. He knew who you were talking about, you made it so desperately obvious.

“Can you,” he repeats steadily, “describe it?”

“I… shouldn’t.”

“What other better time could there be?” You can’t tell if he truly means it. His voice remains firm and lets out no hints of his true intentions, but despite doubt, you start anyway. He’s right after all, you’re in here because there hasn’t been a better time.

“I- I start by touching up my thighs, trailing up slowly… I always get so nervous… I never do it fast because I know I shouldn’t do it while thinking about you- about him,” you correct yourself, squeezing your thighs together, your hands gripping the bench tightly.

“But you do it anyway.”

“I do,” you reply meekly.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“I can't.”

“What happens when you finally reach all the way up?”

“Gotta touch myself.”

He puts his hands on his knees, making sure his voice stays leveled. “Where do you start?”

“Rubbing my clit.”

“Do it.”

And then you do. You truly can’t help it. Your fingers slide down your hips to the front of your heat, chilly fingers pressing up against your lips over your underwear.

He hears the little sigh as you finally allow your finger to reach your clit in between.

“How does it feel?”

“My fingers are cold right now, so,” a quick breathy laugh leaves you, “ good, really good.” You rub your fingers in slow circles, but your hand and hips jerk, forcing you to speed up, but you try, try to not seem so pathetic to yourself as if there was any attempt at going back now.

His voice’s a slight strain as he asks, “And what do you think about?” He starts to rub his thighs, feeling his cock stir to the side of his jeans, making the material feel tighter than it truly was. His fingers trail closer, knuckles brushing against his erection. He’s pretending like he can stop himself too. “What does he do in your head, sweetheart?”

“He watches,” you say as your movements speed up again. You really can’t help it now, his voice edges you on. Your hand goes under the band of your underwear, fingers collecting wetness below to bring up to your clit, “He’s standing at the edge of the bed,” you tell him, “he’s unbuttoning his shirt, and then he starts taking off his belt… He’s smiling.”

If only you knew that hearing how bad you wanted him was making him do the same thing on the other side.

You’re panting now, one foot comes up to the bench as you slide yourself over to press your back into the corner of the wall, your head tilting back as well, using the assistance to grind into your hand. “He thinks I’m pretty.”

“That's cause are.” He’s lowered his pants now and takes his cock out from under his boxers. Your words make his mouth gape and his eyes close as he begins to stroke himself. “You really are.”

His smile fades as he bites down on his lip lightly. You’re so needy for him and so desperate to admit it. It makes him feel powerful. Almost God-like, despite you both starring as the other’s tempter. So sweet and sinful the sounds you’re making are. How could he not give in? How could he not make you wet for him even at church and stroke his cock as it happens? You’re making it so easy with every whine and little moan you try to withhold. He could hear you getting restless, but he wants to make you want it more, “Keep goin’,” he tells you. “What’s happening now?”

“I put two fingers in,” you whine, “not big enough. Never enough.”

You let your two fingers stay inside you as you press your palm down on your pussy, rubbing your clit with the underside of your hand. You stop for a moment to take off your pants and underwear entirely, discarding it on the floor before you return to your spot. You put one leg up on the bench as you continue to finger yourself.

“I want him so bad.”

“How bad, sweetheart? What would you let him do?”

“Anything, Rick.” You say it louder than you intend, you’re losing yourself. “Anything for him.”

“Anything?”

“Everything.”

After that only nonsense comes out, simple sounds of desire and pleads. It was becoming too much to talk.

Rick felt the same. His hand on his shaft made quick and short movements, his lips parted and pink, more red on the bottom than the top from when bit his lip again at the words anything and everything for him. He repeated it in his mind, listening to your sweet little whines in the present. His head tilts so far back that it bangs on the wooden wall and he hisses.

It reminds him to compose himself.

Even after you let out another moan of his name, and he swears he could almost hear just how wet you are now, the squish of your fingers going in and out, louder and louder.

He swallows hard and takes a breath before he says, “What if I say I want you in here right now?”

That’s when your movements completely stop. You can hear the wind swirling again. You were speechless.

He turns to the netted window. You two can’t see each other but you know he’s looking. “C’mere.” He says slowly. “Now.”

And after that, your body takes control. Swift and instantaneous you move from your door to his, shutting it hard. You don’t even take a moment to look at him, it was too dark anyway, and that’s not what mattered. You’ve already dreamed of his curls, and the pierce of his blue eyes. You knew what he looked like. It’s time to know how he felt.

Rick takes off his shoes and fully lowers and discards his pants. Before he could even consider his shirt, you’re on top of him. You’re kissing his face, your lips and tongue missing his lips by just a little, but it doesn’t matter.

You begin to rock, your wet pussy making the length of his cock and thigh slick before it's even inside of you. You couldn’t help yourself and it makes him laugh, all cocky and proud. Something that you’d cross your arms to, even quip back at in any other situation but right now, it’s so fucking hot.

His hands latch onto your hips, his legs slide back to hit the wall. He raises your frame and you grab him. Your sticky fingers lace around his dick and then you both lower yourself down onto him.

You try to bottom out fast, but his nails dig into you, slowing you down. Your face reaches back with a pout and a whine as he says, “Wait,” even after he’s inside of you.

Your pussy quakes around him. You’re both trying to hold it together, but he’s faring much better than you.

His hand holds your jaw, thumbs caressing your cheeks and a tear falls from your eye, all the sensations becoming too much.

His eyes trail the sight as it rolls down and he tells you, “You’re right. I do think you’re beautiful.”

And he kisses you. Tongue slipping past your lips just as quickly as they depart, going to whisper in your ear: “Go on now,” he smiles, “show me everything.”

You begin to rock against him instantly. Initiating the kiss this time, your tongue slips into his mouth but his goes on top of yours. He grabs the back of your neck, deepening it, and you continue to take charge below as you ride him.

You squeeze around his cock tightly with every movement forward and you hear a strangled groan come out of him as his dick twitches at the sensation.

It makes you moan so loudly, you could wake somebody up.

But it doesn't matter.

You could even come right now just from feeling him inside you for the first time.

And it doesn’t matter.

“I've wanted you for so long, Rick!” You tell him.

He’s all that matters.

“You’ve got me.” He tells you breathlessly, kissing down your neck with his hand tugging on your hair. “You always could’ve.”

Now you know you’re all that matters too.

Your head tilts to the side, eyes closed, and mouth open for each pretty sigh and slight hiss that come out as he bites and kisses.

His hands lower to the hem of your shirt and he pulls it off. You start to undo the buttons on his too.

It’s fast and rushed and messy, but now your chests can meet. You press into him. Your hips are rocking hard. Your clit meets his pelvic bone making you whine and moan again. “Really good,” you say.

Rick’s hands slide to grab your ass, helping you go faster until they rise to your hips again. His thumbs press into the crevice of your hips and legs and he starts to bounce you on him.

You grip onto his arms, assisting him in his efforts. Your eyes are still closed, you’re smiling— already in a state of bliss, yet relishing in the fact that he was pushing you further and further into the dream-like feeling that was to come: your orgasm was close, and the string of airy moans made it evident to you both.

The way his hands move to caress your waist, trail up your back, roll over your arms, and back down again feels like gliding on ice. You felt him everywhere.

“Come on,” he tells you.

“I'm trying, I want to.”

“I know,” he affirms. He takes hold of your upper arms, letting his hands slide down to yours that tightly gripped his biceps and placed them on his shoulders.

You bounce yourself down on him harder, switching it up to rock on him and give your clit attention, then repeat it again.

Once you’re back to bouncing Rick takes one hand on your hip, helping you go faster while the other rubs your clit as vigorously as he can.

Your mouth is open wide, pants and squirms, and pleads coming out wildly. You almost feel like you’re making the whole box jump along with you as you bounce, and bounce, and bounce, and then… there it is: you shout his name and he speaks back to you, you both come together and ride out your high.

A glow emits as you smile, your head crashing into his as you catch your breath.

Then a noise erupts.

The church door closes.

Steps become louder and louder until they reach the open confession box door.

Rick puts his finger to your lips, silently quieting you both. Your eyes are owl wide knowing what the person in the next section would find in there. You almost squirm but Rick slots his finger into your mouth to stop it. “Quiet,” he mouths as the person next to you drops the wet garments they just touched, almost running out of the place as fast as they could.

You lower your face to his shoulder. Embarrassed, you sigh, “What are we gonna do now?”

Rick is unfazed: “Well,” he starts, picking you up by the hips, securing your legs as you wrap them around him, “we could do this one more time.”

He locks the church door and then walks you down the aisle and onto the podium, placing you gently on the ground. He’s standing above you. Just like it all your daydreams.

It was his turn now.

[theorist-fox]

There's no butler in The Usual Suspects

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

18+

Self-indulgent piece because I need some fluff in these hard times

Summary: Simon gets distracted while watching a movie, and then he gets distracted while watching you.

Word count: 2.8k

CW: Kevin Spacey Jumpscare and big fat spoiler for "THE USUAL SUSPECTS". Also, smut in established relationship (Simon is so whipped).

Let me know if you've been cockblocked as well.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

“’S Kobayashi,” he mutters.

You give him a look. “Kobayashi?”

“The—the criminal thing,” Simon gestures vaguely at the TV, legs spread in the spot next to yours on the sofa. “Wha’ was his name.”

He sees you connect the dots slowly, head tilted in question, and then you stifle a laugh when it hits you.

“The criminal thing? You mean Keyser Söze?”

He snaps his fingers at you in recognition. As if you haven’t seen the movie already and only sat down on the living room couch to have him watch it—because that’s a great film, you said. One he can't apparently miss.

“Tha’ one.”

“How can it be Kobayashi.” You deadpan as the TV buzzes with dialogues you’re not paying attention to anymore.

He shrugs. “S’always the butler.”

You chuckle, tucking your legs on the cushions. “Kobayashi’s not a butler.”

“Closest thing.”

“Have you been watching the movie at all?”

Simon gives you a side eye, arms crossed on his chest. Thinks. His gaze falls down your legs inconspicuously before rising up and following the curve of your hips, up until the plump of your breasts outlined by the fabric of your t-shirt. It’s a quick swipe you could’ve missed, but he knows you’ve caught him red-handed.

“Sorta.” He replies, though his voice has a certain hoarseness to it, now.

You give him a knowing smile, echoing the word right after him with so much skepticism he tastes it on his tongue.

“C’mere,” he says, beckoning with his fingers, before gently curling them around your forearm to tug you in.

A quick pat on your thigh has you straddling his lap. You take the blanket with you, draped over your shoulders like a soft cape. Simon cups your hips with his palms, thumbs drawing mindless circles at your hipbones.

“The movie, Si.” You say softly, placing your hands on either side of his neck. 

But his eyes are already tracing the fine lines of your face, tiny imperfections he adores because they make you more real and less of a dream. 

“S’the butler, trust me.” He murmurs, and you chuckle under your breath.

“It's not the butler. There’s no bloody butler.”

It makes his lips curl in a smirk, because he knows you like being right—and he’s more than aware that you are, because, as you've told him for the nth time, there is no fucking butler in The Usual Suspects.

But he stopped watching the whole thing thirty minutes in, when he got the gist of the film, instead favoring to focus on you.

Can’t fucking believe he gets to witness this firsthand, eh?

Gets to have a pretty thing like you share her home. Share her meals. Her bed. Her thoughts, her glances, herself. Fuck, how he’d like to show this to his fucking father. Show him that you chose him, no matter how hard that bastard's tried to turn him into the same worthless sack of shit that he was.

So, frankly, sue him if he doesn’t care about this movie when you’re so obviously there—looking divine in your simplicity.

And now he has you exactly where he wants you. Plush thighs sitting atop his, tongue peeking out to wet your lips.

He leans forward and leaves a peck at the corner of your mouth. Then one kiss on your chin, one down your throat, to your collarbones. He's not choosy, kissing wherever his lips land.

He puckers his lips around your nipple, sucking through the cotton of your shirt, and you arch into him, inadvertently grinding your hips against where he’s already hard. You hiss and glower when he sinks his teeth around it, and his shoulders shake with a breathless laugh at how powerless you look, even if you’re trying your best to appear otherwise. 

Before you can chide him, however, he blinks up and gives you the softest of smiles—aware that he rarely offers them. Aware that they melt your resolve easily, like snow under the morning sun. 

So, really, it’s not long before you drop the blanket on the floor, pooling at his feet—his briefs and sweatpants coiled around his ankles. Your own clothes freckle the coffee table, or the armrest of the couch, or the carpet underfoot—he took them off you and tossed them away blindly, uncaring of where they landed.

It’s not long before he’s worked you open with his hand. Not long before he has you fuck yourself on two thick fingers he occasionally scissors inside you, watching you drag your clit across the heel of his hand—your breathless moans somehow louder than the barrage of gunshots blaring from the TV. 

He stuffs those same fingers in your mouth once he's satisfied with how wet you are. Watches how your cheeks sink at the suction. Feels the rough texture of your tongue coat his pads. He takes them out, then. Smears your spit on your lips only to kiss it with his own.

Soft hands are placed on his chest as he holds the base of his cock to help you sink on him. The screen of the TV creates a halo of light around your shoulders and back, and Simon thinks he’s being blessed—he’ll never get used to it, neither the sight of you nor the warmth of your sex.

Within minutes, he has you stretched around him, taking his cock as if you were born to do it. His palm lies flat on your lower belly, thumb rolling circles on your clit. Simon lets you ride him, watching mesmerized all the things you hate about yourself, all the things that make you so real to his eyes. 

He loves to watch you cum, but for selfish reasons. Not only do you feel heavenly clenching around his cock, milking it for all it's worth, but also because, unbeknownst to you, all those details you seem to despise suddenly bloom before his eyes.

The rolls of your stomach, and how they ripple when your orgasm stalks closer.

The lines curling around your mouth, the way they stretch when you stutter your moans, when you whisper his name among them—like a fucking prayer, like you only know how to say his own.

The crow’s feet at the corners of your eyes—you say they came too early, he says they make your eyes smile. 

And fuck if all that doesn’t make you prettier in his eyes, no matter what you think.

You’re entranced. Heavy lashes curtain your eyes, casting shadows on your cheekbones. It’s ethereal to look at you, wonderful thing in his arms, so abandoned in bliss because of him. Nails dig into the muscles of his shoulders, but there's no pain—not when the plump of your rear slaps against his thighs each time you come down to take him to the hilt.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” He grunts against the tightness of his throat, “You wanna cum, yeah?”

He feels the knot of your clit getting raw under his thumb, so he grabs your jaw and sticks his finger in your mouth. Your lips close around the knuckle, and he watches with heavy eyes how you suck on it, lathering his pad with your spit, before he returns it to your sex. 

He draws his thumb back and forth on your clit, unsheathing it from its hood so that each stroke sends sparks up your spine. You jolt above him when he touches it right, and he drinks in the sight of you trembling when you try and resume the pace.

“You do, don’t you?” He asks again, "Sweet girl."

Your head bobs limply in a nod, and your lips twitch in a smile, because you know he’s going to comply. He'd never take a thing from you—always giving more, and more, and more.

“Fuckin' hell.” He curses under his breath, mouth dry like sandpaper. “I got you, love. I got you—c'mere."

Simon’s arms wrap around your waist to bring you in, allowing you the chance to rest the tireless work of your hips in order to favor his. Your forehead is in the crook of his neck now, and you’re curled into him as he holds you steady and fucks his cock into you from below. 

He whispers nothings in your ear. Calls you beautiful as you come apart piece by piece, unraveling like a spool of thread between his fingers while his calves burn from the strain. Let him be consumed, for all he cares—as long as you're there, sizzling hot and clammy and soft.

He laps at the sweat like dew on your neck, sucking love bites while being careful not to leave any dark spots behind. Though he would love, if anyone were to ask, to mark you up like you’re his property. Symbolic—someone his, and his only.

However, he figures his cock spearing you open is enough of a statement.

The TV drones muted dialogues, drowned in the slap of skin against skin and your soft breaths in his ear. Sweet fucking sounds, he thinks. Would taste like honey, feel like silk.

Liquid warmth wraps around his cock, a cocktail of your arousal and his. It makes something tighten at the apex of his thighs, makes his fingers twitch against the fat of your hips.

He wants to cum inside you. Wants to see it leak out and push it back in only to fuck you again. He wants your face warm and dizzy, your eyes rolled back, and his name on the tip of your tongue.

So, he bucks his hips and fucks his cock into you again, and again, and again. Until you're a shivering mess and your nails are leaving red marks on his back. Until you stumble over your moans and his grunts echo with your own. Curses, praises, whines pitching upwards and—

A bang from the TV.

You jump in his hold, whining something unintelligible over the ringing in his ears.

His mouth twitches in annoyance as he goes and resumes the pace, trying to give you back the orgasm you've clearly lost. One he's fucking lost, too.

But whatever’s happening in the movie must require some build-up of tension, because the volume suddenly skyrockets. 

He tries to pay it no mind. However, you seem to do.

“Turn off the thing,” you mumble through heavy breaths, gesturing blindly to where the remote should be. 

He huffs and looks around for it, using one hand to keep you still as he slows down with his hips. He finds it tucked between the cushions of the sofa and snatches it off before pointing at the TV. 

There, his eyes land on a scene. A close-up of two shoes, walking with a limp at first, and then straightening their step. Cut to a hand lifting a cigarette being brought to a pair of lips. 

“Bloody hell.” 

His voice is so croaky that it has you lift your head in worry, movements coming to a halt. You palm his jaw, your breath puffing against his cheek.

“What? You alright?” You fumble, brows pinching right above your nose. “Did I hurt you?”

“T’was Kint.” He mumbles, frowning in thought. 

The air still smells of sex, but there isn’t an ounce of it left in either of you. You blink, as if the motion could bring you back to earth, as if it could make you forget how painfully tight you’re stretched around him.

“Wh-what?” You pant, confused. Clearly, blood still hasn't made its way back to your head. “Who?”

“Keyser Söze.”

You almost flinch when he says that. Eyes wide and a big, fat question mark floating above your head. Slack-jawed. Befuddled. 

Only when your fucked-out brain connects the dots do you snort.

“K-Keyser So—what the fuck, Simon?” You chuckle under your breath, “Now? Really?”

He blinks. Drops the hand holding the remote next to his thigh with such abandon one might think he’s just received the worst news of his life. Then, he looks up at you, one arm still wrapped around your side, fingers grazing at your tailbone.

“Really fuckin’ thought t'was the butler.” He mumbles in disappointment, but his lips twitch in a smirk.

You burst into a laugh above him, throwing your head back. It ripples through your stomach in waves that rumble against his own, and he realizes that it looks even better when it happens because of this instead of an orgasm. 

It tugs at his heartstrings, and so he tugs you a little closer. 

When you return your eyes to him and bring your hands to cup his cheeks, he nuzzles your palm and presses a kiss against it.

“Told you there was no butler in The Usual Suspects,” you say a little smugly, but with a smile that could brighten up a room.

Simon holds your eyes for a moment longer, and then he wiggles his fingers against your side to steal another laugh out of you. 

“Yeah, alrigh’ smartarse.”

He lifts you up enough to place you on your back on the sofa, tucking his hips between your thighs. He slides his cock inside you again, but you’re so wet that you barely react to it. His hand comes to cup your cheek, while the other one slips between your bodies to brush against your clit.

It throbs under his touch, asking for attention. He gives it, reverently, as he slides in and out of you at the slowest of paces, rolling idle circles that cause the air to lodge in your throat.

You hold him with your arms around his neck, occasionally grazing his scalp with your fingers. Your lips travel from his cheek to his jaw, until you’re softly biting into the meat of his shoulder when he hits something that feels particularly good.

He fucks you languidly this time, as the credits of the film roll like background noise. Simon makes love to you with each lazy kiss down your neck and each slow drag of his cock—deliberate movements that give your orgasm the chance to build up slowly, coiling around your belly up to your throat in a blazing warmth that Simon feels stick to his chest.

It’s not long before you cum around him, huffing heavily from your nose while your teeth sink deeper into his skin. That does it for him, and the knot at the base of his cock finally snaps, causing syrupy hot warmth to travel all the way to the tips of his toes. Simon cums with a muted groan, and his body gives out until his chest falls flush to yours. He spills inside of you and traps your lips in a heavy kiss—because you taste so much better when you’re still shivering underneath him.

Your breath is hot as it hits the damp skin of his neck. Your mouth is warm when you press it to the shell of his ear. And when he comes back to his senses, he props his weight on one arm and looks down at you, basking in the afterglow.

The telly drones silently as it displays the front page of some streaming service you pay for. It’s the only light in the living room, and it bathes you in soft oranges and ruddy shades.

You look lovely like this, he thinks.

He pulls out of you, careful when you wince as his cock drags against your sensitive walls. He watches with rapt attention as his cum leaks out of your hole—it makes his eye twitch and his cock ache once again.

But you seem sated, glassy eyes slow blinking at the ceiling. Chest rising and falling softly.

So, he relents to your wishes and stuffs the thought of having you for a second time in the back of his mind.

And since he knows neither of you can be arsed to clean the sofa in case it stains, he uses his fingers to gently push his cum back inside. You read his mind and cant your hips upward so it won't leak out again.

“Guess perception wasn’t one of the SAS requirements, uh?” You tease him breathlessly, toying with the hair at his nape. A snort escapes you, and you mock his gruff voice. "S'always the butler."

He narrows his eyes and flicks your nose because he knows it'll make you smile. Then, he brings his hand between your faces, watching how his middlemost fingers glisten under the soft light from the telly. 

“How ‘bout you put tha’ mouth of yours to better use, mh?”

You scrunch your nose in a smile. “Like what?”

“Could clean this up, for starters.” He mumbles with a smirk.

You snort. “Charming.”

He gives you a cheeky side eye, but ultimately moves his hand out of the way to kiss your smile. His chuckle is hoarse against your mouth, inviting and warm, as his kisses turn playfully sloppy just to rile you up and have you giggle underneath him.

And you cherish it—like you do every time—by kissing him in kind.

[physalian]

What No One Tells you about Writing #3

Opening this up to writing as a whole, because it turns out I have a lot more to say!

Part 1

Part 2

1. You don’t fall in love with your characters immediately

But when you do, it’s a hit of serotonin like no other. I’d been writing a tight cast of characters for my sci-fi series since 2016 and switched over in a bout of writer’s block this year to my new fantasy book. I made it about ⅓ through writing the book going through the motions, unable to visualize what these new characters look like, sound like, or would behave like without a ‘camera’ on them.

Then, all of a sudden, I opened my document to keep on chugging with the first draft, and it clicked. They were no longer faceless elements of my plot, they were my characters and I was excited to see what they could accomplish, rooting for them to succeed. Sometimes, it takes a while, but it does come.

2. Sometimes a smaller edit is better than a massive rewrite

Unless you’re changing the trajectory of your entire plot, or a character’s arc really is unrecoverable, sometimes even a single line of dialogue, a single paragraph of introspection, or a quick exchange between two characters can change everything. If something isn’t working, or your beta readers consistently aren’t jiving with a character you yourself love, try taking a step back, looking at who they are as a person, and boil down what your feedback is telling you and it might demand a simpler fix than you expect.

Tiny details inserted at the right moment can move mountains. Fan theories stand on the backs of these minutiae. One sentence can turn a platonic relationship romantic. One sentence can unravel a fair and just argument. One sentence can fill or open a massive plot hole.

3. Outline? What outline?

Not every book demands weeks upon weeks of prep and worldbuilding. I would argue that jumping right in with only a vague direction in mind gives you a massive advantage: You can’t infodump research you haven’t done. Exposition is forced to come as the plot demands it, because you haven’t designed it yet.

Not every story is simple and straightforward, but even penning the first draft with your vague plan, *then* going back and adding in deeper worldbuilding elements, more thematic details, richer character development, can get you over the writer’s block hurdle and make it far less intimidating to just shut up and write the book.

4. It’s okay to let your characters take the wheel

I’ve seen writing advice that chastises authors who let their characters run wild, off the plan the story has for them. Yeah, doing this can harm your pacing and muddy a strong and consistent arc, but refusing to leave the box of your outline greatly limits your creativity. I do this particularly when writing romantic relationships (and end up like Captain Crunch going Oops! All Gays!).

Did I plan for these two to get together? No, it just happened organically as I wrote them talking, getting closer, getting to know each other better in the circumstances they find themselves in. Was this character meant to be gay? Well, he wasn’t meant to be straight, but you know what, he’d work really well with this other boy over here. None of that would have happened if I was bound and determined to follow my original plan, because my original plan didn’t account for how the story that I want to tell evolves. You aren’t clairvoyant—it’s okay if it didn’t end up where you thought it would.

5. Fight. Scenes. Suck.

Which is crazy because I love fantasy and sci-fi, the actiony-est genres. Some authors love battle scenes and fistfights. It comes naturally to them and I will forever be jealous. I hate fight scenes. I hate blocking and choreographing them. I hate how it doesn’t read like I’m watching a movie. I hate how it could take me hours to write a scene I can read in 5 minutes. I hate that there’s no way around it except to just not write them, or put in the elbow grease and practice.

Whatever your writing kryptonite is, don’t be too hard on yourself. It won’t ever replicate the movie in your head, but our audience isn’t privy to that movie and will be none the wiser of how this didn’t fit your expectations, because it’s probably awesome on its own. It could be a fight scene, sex scene, epic battle, cavalry charge, courtroom argument, car chase—whatever. Be patient, and kind to yourself and it will all come together.

6. Write the scenes you want to write first

And then be prepared to never use them. It can be mighty difficult working backwards from a climax and figuring out how to write the story around it, but if you’re sitting at your laptop staring at your cursor and watching it blink, stuck on a tedious moment that’s necessary but frustrating, go write something exciting. Even if that amazing scene ends up no longer working in the book your story becomes, you still get practice by writing it. Particularly if you hate beginnings or the pressure of a perfect first page is too high, you’re allowed to write any other moment in the book first.

And with that, be prepared to kill your darlings. Not your characters, I mean that one badass line of dialogue living rent free in your head. That epic monologue. That whump scenario for your favorite character. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out anymore, but even if it ends up in the trash, you can always salvage something from it, even if that’s only the knowledge of what not to do in the future.

7. “This is clearly an author insert.” … Yes. It is. Point?

No one likes Mary Sues, because a character who doesn’t struggle or learn to get everything they want in life is uncompelling. The most flagrant author inserts I see aren’t Mary Sues, they’re nerdy, awkward, boring white guys whose world changes to fit their perspective, instead of the other way around—they don’t have anything to say. I’m not the intended audience to relate to these characters and I accept that, but I don’t empathize with the so-called “strong female character” who also doesn’t have flaws or an arc either.

A good author insert? When the author gives their characters pieces of themselves. When the “author insert” struggles and learns and grows and it’s a therapeutic experience just writing these characters thrown into such horrible situations. They feel human when they’re given pieces of a human’s soul. They have real human flaws and idiosyncrasies. I don’t care if the author wrote themselves as the protagonist. I care that this protagonist is entertaining. So if you want to make yourself the hero of your book, go for it! But make sure you look in the mirror and write in your flaws, as much as your strengths.

[livelaughloveluffy]

The straw hat crew with reader who likes to give them compliments, but hates it when the crew gives reader compliments?

compliments - with the straw hat crew

a/n: ahhh thank you for the request!! it's been a long time since i've written a fic like this, so hopefully i can do it some justice!! 💗 (i like skimmed proof-read this so forgive me if there is some grammatical and spelling errors 😭😭)

a/n: (also sorry, the sanji girlie in me is always going to bring it back to sanji, so yeah... there's some sanji x reader in here too 😭😭😭)

a/n: ((sorry idk how to tag this guys 😭😭😭😭😭😭))

word count: fuck idk man, its kinda long though (hehehe that's what she said)

nothing but fluff here💗

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it has only been two weeks since you first joined the straw hat pirates, and it was definitely a huge change of pace from your life before them. the crew, as eccentric, spontaneous, and bold, as they are were also some of the kindest people you had ever met. you couldn't help but be in total awe of them. i mean- how could you not? the amount of countries they've helped, people freed from oppression, friends they have defended and supported even when the whole world was against them...

it was hard not to feel insignificant, through no fault of theirs, it was just a lot to live up to.... and it was hard to feel enough at times.

• ♡ •

while your time being apart of the crew is nothing to write home about, hardly even considering yourself a true member yet, you still couldn't help but be utterly amazed with the people around you, and you just couldn't help yourself but to let them know.

mornings on the sunny were truly a special time. the mouth watering smells leaking out from under the kitchen door, as well as the sounds of a soft melody from brooke's violin fill the ship.

"good morning brooke! what song are you playing? it sounds wonderful!" you ask as you made you way to the kitchen, too eager to see what wonders awaited for breakfast

"yohoho!! just a ballad i've been composing!" he replied, sharing a smile with you before you turn and open the kitchen door.

"it smells delicious sanji!! seriously, im salivating out there! when's breakfast going to be ready?"

a faint blush appeared on his cheeks, but after a quick drag from his cigarette he quickly regains his composure "you're actually right on time! i just finished up!!"

• ♡ •

after breakfast, you weren't surprised to find zoro working out, as he had told you "any second not training, drinking, or sleeping, is a waste" one of your first nights on the ship. you watched in awe as he carried an inhuman amount of weight with ease, not even breaking a sweat.

feeling your stare, his eyes wander to meet yours, "need something?"

"oh! um.. no sorry!! i just can't believe you can lift that so easily!! you're not even sweating!"

"well yeah, this is just my warm up" he replied, a small smirk appearing from the corner of his lips as you wandered away

• ♡ •

in the girl's shared bedroom, you found nami hunched over her desk, carefully and slowly drawings lines for yet another one of her maps. it had been a few days since you had seen this particular map, so you quietly peered over her shoulder to see her progress

"nami, this is incredible!! i could've sworn two days ago there was only a vague outline on this page!! look at that detail!!"

she turned around, beaming at you "thanks!! after years of practice i could draw a map this simple with my eyes closed!"

• ♡ •

the sounds of sawing and nails being pounded into wood grew too loud for you to ignore, so you finally decided to leave the girls room to see what the commotion was all about.

in the three seconds it took you to get to the door, the sounds had ceased. curiosity overtaking you, you couldn't help but step out and see what had caused it all.

the first think that caught your eye was a small greenhouse the seemingly appeared out of thin air, since it definitely wasn't here earlier, and usopp and franky opening up some colas nearby

chopper ran up to you, giddy with excitement "do you want to see the new greenhouse usopp and franky made? its perfect for all my medicinal herbs! now i can grow them here on the sunny!!"

taking the small deers hoof into your hand, you followed him down the stairs to the greenhouse. "wow!!! you guys just built this?"

"franky drew up the plans after breakfast and did the labor, and i added a special watering system!" usopp chimes in, ready to boast about their design, and for good reason

"consider me impressed!!! i may even dare to say that it's SUPER!" you proclaim, earning giggles from all three of the boys

• ♡ •

the following morning you woke up with a purpose. stars still in the sky from how early it was, you tiptoed out of the shared bedroom and to the kitchen. trying to be as quiet as possible, not wanting anyone to hear you, you turned on the lights and gathered the ingredients to make some lemon bars, as a thank you for the crew, they did save your life after all.

as you baked, occasionally glancing out the kitchen window every once in a while you slowly saw the stars leave the sky, the moon disappear, and the sun slowly beginning to rise. its just about dawn now and your lemon bars had finally finished chilling, ready to be cut and served.

sanji, a typical early riser since he has to prep and cook breakfast, opened the kitchen door shocked to see the lights already on and you inside. "oh! mellorine!! i didn't expect to see your beautiful face this early! to what do i owe this pleasure?" he asks.

"sanji.. i'm not- um.... i just made some lemon bars... as a thank you for the crew.. maybe we could eat them with breakfast if thats okay..."

"of course we can!!! im sure i can whip up some stuff that would compliment them perfectly! get some rest! it's still super early, i'll call when breakfast is ready!"

• ♡ •

"breakfast!!!" sanji's voice rings throughout the sunny, and slowly but surely everyone made their way to the kitchen, you being the last to arrive. once you had been seated, you noticed sanji walking his way over to the table, with your tray of lemon bars in hand as he announces "this morning we also have a very special dish prepared by our newest member!"

luffy's eyes widen as he looks over at you and practically shouts in excitement "wow!! i didn't know you could cook! what did you make? im sure its amazing!!! i want some!!"

with all eyes on you, you couldn't help but feel a bit shy, the confidence and determination you had this morning suddenly dissipated "just some lemon bars... its really nothing special... i just wanted to thank you guys.. for everything.. it's just you're all so amazing, you guys are crazy talented and strong and so kind and thoughtful... its really nothing special... i'm sure they don't even hold a candle to the elaborate desserts sanji makes every night..." you mumble, cheeks burning red with embarrassment.

"i'm sure they're delicious! definitely better than anything our captain could ever make" nami says with a sly smile. "all this talk about food is making me even more hungry!! let's finally eat guys!" luffy shouts, grabbing for the closest plate of food to him, too impatient to wait any longer.

• ♡ •

one chaotic, fast and messy breakfast later, and all the plates on the table were practically licked clean.

"thank you for breakfast sanji, you outdid yourself as always! those omelets and the potatoes, freshly squeezed orange juice, delicious as always!" you said absolutely glowing, sanji's breakfasts truly were the best, you wonder how you ever lived a life without them before.

"thank you mellorine!! but those lemon bars! they were divine!! who taught you how to bake?" he asks.

before you can get a reply in, the entire crew bursts into an uproar of compliments.

"yeah!!! i never knew you could make stuff like that!! i might have you replace sanji!!!" luffy exclaims

"i totally would've thought sanji made them if you hadn't said anything!" nami says, usopp nodding along and adding "yeah!! i was totally worried they would be bad at first because you seemed so nervous, but i can't believe sanji didn't make them!"

a soft spoken "absolutely delicious" coming from robin

zoro, lifting his head up and meeting you eyes, decided to chime in on the topic "i guess they were good." but after an intense glare from sanji then mumbles "...really good" his cheeks flushing ever so slightly.

"they were SUPER!!!!" franky shouts, causing luffy, chopper, and usopp to giggle.

and by this point, the compliments became a bit overwhelming. you didn't feel confident enough to accept them, but didn't want to be rude and ignore them either. your silence was definitely noticed by the crew who began to quiet down a bit as your face grew hotter and hotter, blush way too visible to hide behind your hair, you looked down and muttered as quietly as possible "they're really nothing special... im glad you guys liked them though..." and rushed out of the kitchen as fast as you possibly could.

• ♡ •

you retreated to the crow's nest to collect yourself. it was truly the perfect spot on the sunny to get some alone time. out of sight from everyone, but still in a spot where you can enjoy the warm sun, the ocean breeze, and the sound of the waves crashing as you sail the sea.

thankfully, you managed to leave a book up here the previous day, so once you caught your breath and the blush cleared from your face, you read. just to take your mind off of the interaction with the crew.

• ♡ •

you weren't sure how much time had passed, as you had gotten unexpectedly absorbed in the story of your book, but it wasn't until you heard the sound of a lighter.

you look up to meet the sky-blue eyes of sanji, he takes a drag of his cigarette before taking a seat on the floor next to you. the two of you sat together for moment of silence, minus the sound of the waves beneath you both. a quiet sigh leaves his mouth, before he breaks the silence "i just wanted to apologize. i didn't mean to put you on the spot in there. we didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"no you don't owe me an apology! really! it's fine!! i know you guys were just trying to be nice and compliment me but.... i don't know... " you paused to collect your thoughts for a second. trying to word how you felt. sanji waiting patiently, taking a couple drags before you finally found the words to continue talking.

"it's just hard sometimes.. to feel like i'm good enough... especially around you guys, i mean the countless people and countries you guys have saved, your strength, your kindness... sometimes, i guess i just feel like a fraud being in the same crew..."

sanji took a moment to consider your words and feelings, and with a quiet sigh said "yeah.. i get it. it's funny because i actually feel the same way sometimes... but you know, luffy chose you to be here for a reason, and even if you don't see that, he does. we all do. we all serve a purpose on the crew, one thats invaluable to our captain, and he has no doubts about what that is."

finally turning to meet those sky-blue eyes, you looked at sanji with a small smile. "thanks, that really means a lot.."

he returned your smile with a bigger one and replied "of course!! i mean.... come on, those were some damn good lemon bars and i think luffy would kill me if you never made them again."

you shoved his shoulder, and in between laughs, you look over and sanji and reply "whatever!!"

and it was at this moment, for the very first time under the warm summer sun and ocean breeze blowing through your hair and the faint smell of sanji's cigarette smoke, that you began to felt a little more sure of your place in the straw hat pirates...

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a/n: i totally didn't expect to make this as long as i did so thanks for sticking around if you made it this far!!! i love and appreciate you!! have a great day/afternoon/evening/night!!! 😭😭😭

a/n: enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!

[changbunnies]

Moonstruck (18+)

♡ Pairing: Changbin x Ghost Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: very loosely inspired by corpse bride, horror in a goofy + silly + fluffy sort of way, ghost / human relationship, love at first sight vibes, smut, takes place vaguely during a time where ppl still use landlines more predominantly than cellphones

♡ Word Count: 6.5k

♡ Summary: Changbin is a scaredy cat– and despite that, he likes to read to the deceased in the cemetery, likes to help the souls that may linger there feel less lonely, likes to let them know they aren’t forgotten. His poems of choice are sweet things, full of love and joy– and his utterances of true love stir you; a soul who died before knowing love, and who craves it even in death. And Changbin decides, then and there, that he wants to give you what you couldn’t have in life.

♡ Warnings: discussions about death ofc (reader is quite literally dead and a ghost lol), i thought making reader the ghost instead of bin would be a fun lil twist as that usually isn't the case in fics like these? just wanted to try somethin a lil different :')

♡ Smut Warnings: sweet + tender smut because i'm a yearner for bin first and foremost!, no intended dom/sub dynamics but i did write a lot of bin begging so :), pet names (baby, honey), exhibitionism, voyeurism, some nipple play, mutual masturbation while cuddling

♡ Notes: my kinktober opened up dark but we are returning to standard form with my precious sweet binnie!! i did originally have something dark planned for bin too but i scrapped it pretty early on cause it didn't feel right lol i couldn't do it!! also the poem binnie is reading at the beginning of the fic is "since feeling is first" by e.e. cummings!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

Changbin curses the autumn sun for setting so early– why on earth is it already so dark at 6 o’clock?!

The full moon hangs over him, and gosh, he wishes he could've gotten here earlier in the day– maybe then he wouldn’t still be here, in the local cemetery at night, with nothing but his poem book in hand.

He wishes even more that he at least had a flashlight– but the batteries were drained in the one he has sitting in his car's glove box, and it's not like he can leave spares in there; that's dangerous! So all he can do now is keep turning in the moonlight, trying to get it to hit the page of his book just right so he can keep reading. 

Perhaps the reason he's here is silly, but Changbin fully believes in ghosts. Well, to be more precise, he thinks that there are many souls in the world, and that not every soul is here physically. 

Most souls, he thinks, depart for a better place when their flesh dies, but he also thinks there are many that don’t– many that stick around because there is something they still wish to do, or because they have someone they still wish to see. 

That’s what always brings him here when he can spare a moment from his busy life. Because he believes that if spirits do still linger in this world like he thinks they do, if they haven’t yet found peace and moved on, they must be lonely. 

It must be sad– to exist in the world you once knew, but be unable to interact with it the way you used to. For others to no longer be able to see you, touch you, or hear you.. He doesn’t want anyone, alive or otherwise, to feel forgotten or ignored. And if he can make a difference somehow, in whatever small and silly way it is, he’ll do it; because he’d want someone to do it for him. 

Naturally, he didn’t intend to still be here at night; he just got caught up at work, and arrived here later than he typically would. But still, he didn’t want to just turn around and go home– he promised last week that he’d come back today to read! 

And maybe ghosts, or spirits, or whatever you want to call them aren’t real; maybe he spends his time here reading to nothing and no one. But if there’s even a chance that someone can hear him, and who looks forward to the days he returns to keep them company, then he has to keep his promises. 

Still, he’d be lying if he said he isn’t more than a little freaked out right now. He’s been here during the day plenty of times, and you’d think that’d mean he wouldn’t be scared of the place at night, but oh, you’d be so sorely mistaken. 

He jumps every time the crisp, freshly fallen autumn leaves rustle from the wind, and from every shadow cast from the newly bare tree branches. He constantly glances over his shoulder, alerted from every small noise, whether it be an owl hooting or a cricket chirping.

And when a black cat appeared out of nowhere to bump against his leg, he let out the shrillest shriek before erupting into a fit of sneezes. He even jumped out of his skin from accidentally kicking a can while walking– and why is there litter in a cemetery anyways? Whoever left their trash here is so disrespectful! 

Suffice it to say, Changbin really wants to get out of here– but there’s only one more batch of graves he hasn’t read over yet, and he doesn’t want to skip them over. It wouldn’t feel fair to them, especially not if they're waiting for him– the last thing he wants to do is disappoint someone.

“H-Hi everyone! Changbinnie’s back to read again, uhm– s-sorry I came so late, I’ll still read to you like I promised! J-Just give me a sec,” he says, trying to temper the fear in his voice as he continues to adjust the position of his book in the moonlight. Finally, he finds the perfect position for the moon to make the words in his book clear, and for the shadow he himself casts to not obscure them.

He takes one more tentative glance around, takes a breath to settle his nerves before he clears his throat to start. And thankfully, the fear does naturally start to dissipate a bit as he reads– serves as a good enough distraction from his eerie surroundings. "Since feeling is first, who pays any attention to the syntax of things, will never wholly kiss you. Wholly to be a fool while–"

Changbin pauses when he hears an unfamiliar sound, goosebumps erupting all along his skin as he looks up from his book. It was a soft, light and airy sound– almost like a voice, though he’s certain it couldn’t have been; because when he looks around, he doesn't see anyone. He’s as alone as he’s been from the start; so he assumes he's just psyching himself out, mistaking the steadily blowing wind for something it isn’t. 

"Aish, it's nothing! Stop scaring yourself!" he whispers to himself before he continues to recite the words on the page. But he pauses yet again when he hears fallen leaves crinkle and a brittle tree branch snap just feet away from him. It spooks him good, it does– and he lets out an awkward laugh at himself when he realizes it was the black cat he saw earlier that made the sound; hopefully it keeps enough distance that he doesn't get the sneezes again.

Looking away from the cat that is currently working overtime to fray his nerves, he turns his attention back to his book. There's only a tiny bit of the poem left to go, and Changbin is confident he can get through it! No more being a scaredy cat over the little things, no more trembling breaths and anxious stutters– he can do this!

"The best gesture of my brain is less than your eyelids' flutter, which says we are for each other; then laugh, leaning back in my arms. For life's not a paragraph, and death, I think, is no parenthesis."

With a sigh of relief to be finished, he closes his book and prepares to bid the inhabitants of the cemetery, that may or may not actually exist, a pleasant goodbye; and a swear that he's never staying past sundown again. He’ll stay longer next time, he promises, but he has to go home before he loses his mind. 

He really hopes they do exist– he doesn't want to think he stuck around while scared out of his wits for no reason; he hopes someone heard him, and was comforted by his presence. And honestly, he thinks he deserves a pat on the back after all the trials he's gone through in the last 30 minutes!

And as he finishes tucking his poem book in his arm and looks up, he sees someone. Translucent, hazy, floating, just a few feet in front of him– he can see straight through them, can see all the dark trees and short, stone headstones that live in the ground that the figure should obscure were they physically here.

Changbin blinks, almost wanting to cartoonishly rub his eyes and slap his cheeks to make sure he's seeing properly and not losing his mind like he fears. What he does instead is shriek, positively jumps out of his skin once again as he drops his book and falls back on his behind from the fright.

He scrambles backwards, ducks behind a nearby headstone and brings a hand over his racing heart. He takes a few breaths, does his best to calm down before he slowly peeks out from behind the headstone to see if the figure is still there. 

He doesn't see anyone anymore– was he just seeing things? He has been really scared, so he doesn't think it impossible that his mind would start tricking him. But what if he really saw a ghost? The thought makes goosebumps rise on his skin again– God, he needs to go home already. 

"Hello? Can you hear me?" he hears a voice, airy and otherworldly, just behind him. His breath hitches, and hesitantly, slowly, he starts to turn toward the source of the voice. You float there, brows furrowed as you call to him, glowing ever so slightly in the palest shade of blue. 

A chill runs down his spine, and it's not just from how frightened he is– it's because cold air is quite literally radiating off of you. "Y-You– You're– You're a–" You're a ghost, he's trying to say, but the word catches in his throat. It doesn't help that his teeth are chattering now– he can even see his breath with every word he manages to choke out.

And yes, he already thought ghosts were real– the whole reason he comes here to comfort spirits is because he believes in them! But he’s never actually seen one before, nor heard their disembodied voices calling to him. And now that it’s actually happening, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

“You can hear me! I knew it! You can see me too, can’t you?” you exclaim joyously, clapping your hands together in utter delight. You’re less transparent than before, your form less blurry– but you don’t look solid either. If he stuck his hand out to touch you, he’s sure it’d pass right through you. 

He swallows as he watches you dart side to side in your glee, the motions so smooth it’s unnatural. You look around his age, he thinks, though it’s impossible for him to tell exactly how old you are– or rather, were. Your hair is wispy, floats around you in a way reminiscent of being underwater; your long dress does too, light and delicate in appearance. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you, Changbin,” you tell him earnestly as you float down to his eye level, “I didn’t mean to, I just got so excited you could finally hear me– I'm so happy!” 

“You– you know my name?” Changbin questions, bewildered– honestly, he feels like he’s going to pass out. “Of course I do! You come here every week to read to me,” you reply with a giggle, as if the idea that you wouldn’t know his name is a silly one.

“O-Oh, right, yeah, of course, that makes sense,” he mutters. He’s still shocked, but he’s not as scared as before, and he manages to relax just a little. “You, uhm– you listen to me read often then..?” he follows up hesitantly; and it’s probably such a silly question, but you’ll have to forgive him because he’s never had a conversation with a ghost before. 

“Yes! I love when you come to visit and read your poems, it always makes me happy,” you tell him, adjusting your position so you’re sitting down with him– though you aren’t actually sitting on the dirt like he is, but levitating off the ground.

You introduce yourself after that, smile happily when he repeats it, because it’s been oh so long since someone said your name. “If you’re always here, why couldn’t I see you before?” Changbin can’t help but ask after, because now that the fear is dissipating he’s full of questions he wants to ask you.

“Well, the conditions have to be right! You can’t see me when it’s bright out, and you never stay 'til dark. And now I know why, scaredy cat,” you tease him, giggling when he pouts and huffs. You honestly find it endearing that someone as seemingly strong as Changbin is so easily frightened by little things.

“Hey, you’d be scared too!” he complains, though he can’t help but smile as you keep giggling at him. He never expected to befriend a ghost, but you’re obviously a kind spirit, and your delight to be talking to him is evident. And now that he’s over the shock and the fear, and really looks at you, he thinks you’re pretty too– beautiful, even. 

Is that strange? Maybe; but you are still a person at the end of the day. You float, you’re a little transparent, you glow pale blue and cold air surrounds you, but you’re still a person.

And at the same time, he can’t help but feel sad too– death comes for everyone, he knows, but it feels unfair that someone like you is already gone from this world. Someone as young, kind, and beautiful as you should’ve lived a long, full life.

“You need to have strong emotions to manifest, y’know? And the moon helps– when it's full like this, it gives me more energy than I usually have,” you continue to explain when your giggling subsides, and Changbin hums contemplatively, thinking for a moment before he responds.

“You have strong emotions then? Something that keeps you here?” It makes sense that you would– as far as he knows, strong emotions are the only things tethering spirits to the physical world; so if you’re not at rest, it has to be because there’s something within you that feels unresolved, something you needed or wanted but never obtained. 

Tentatively you nod, fiddling with your fingers and averting your gaze slightly. “I do, but.. It’s– it’s silly,” you mumble, and Changbin’s previous lighthearted, curious expression shifts, suddenly turning serious as he gazes at you with a slight frown.

“If it mattered to you– if it still matters to you, it’s not silly,” he says, and the sincerity in which he says it would make your heart race if you were still alive. If you’re being entirely honest, you’re in love with Changbin– and that’s part of the problem.

When you were alive, all you’d ever wanted was love– to meet someone that knocked you off your feet with just a glance, someone sweet, sincere, and tender. Someone that you could marry someday, maybe start a family with while living together in a quaint little idyllic house. 

But that never happened– and the sense of despair and unfulfillment you felt from having your dreams taken away from you are what kept you here. You didn’t know what to do when you realized what happened to you– spent your days wailing in frustration and sadness to the few other spirits inhabiting the cemetery with you over the unfair circumstances. 

What were you supposed to do? How were you supposed to find peace and move on? Maybe the only way would be to learn to accept it– accept that your dreams would never come true, and just let them go. You didn’t want to, but if you kept holding onto them, who knows when you’d finally move on from this world? 

And around the same time you were grappling with such thoughts and feelings is when you first saw Changbin, who came to the cemetery for no reason other than to give you and the other inhabitants some company. And he wasn’t talking only to you, but it always felt like he was– like every word that left his lips was entirely for you alone. 

“I’m here for you, you’re not alone as long as Changbin is here,” “This poem is my favorite, I hope you like it too,” “Did you have a good day today? It’s okay if you didn’t– Binnie’ll hopefully make it better!” 

That’s all it took, really– and suddenly, you weren’t bound to this world because you never knew love; you were bound to this world because you felt it too much. You love him; not just because of his sweet personality, but every little detail about him– from the swoop and curl of his hair, to his chubby cheeks, to his cute, pretty and pouty lips. 

And you long to kiss him, but Changbin is alive, and you very much aren’t anymore– and there’s no way he’ll fall in love with a ghost. Still, you believe him when he says that what binds you here isn’t silly– or that he won’t think so, at least. 

“It’s just.. Well, I can’t have what I want, I know I can’t, but I still want it anyways; like, even though I should just let it go, I can’t bring myself to. I think that’s why I’m still here,” you tell him, deciding it’s best to keep your desires down to their vaguest parts.

Changbin is sweet, and he looks at you with so much care that you’re certain he’d be understanding and sympathetic, but it’s probably for the best that you don’t pour your heart out beyond that. 

“Is there really no way for you to have what you want? If there’s anything I can do to help, you can tell me! I’d do my best,” he expresses sincerely, and though you can’t physically cry anymore, it almost makes you feel like you will. He’s just too sweet, you can’t take it.

“M-Maybe, but I wouldn’t ask for it,” you reply, and his brows furrow a little. “Why not? You don’t have to tell me if you really don’t want to, but I hope you know that I mean it when I say I'd be happy to help you," Changbin says, smile so patient, gentle and sweet that it if you were still alive, your cheeks would definitely be heating up right now. 

Should you give it a shot? What's the worst that could happen? You're already dead, so it's not like you can die from embarrassment if he shuts you down. The worst he can say is no– and that would be okay too, because maybe with his rejection you'd finally be able to let go of what keeps you here.

“You could.. kiss me?” you say after a moment of hesitation, and Changbin almost squeaks from how surprised he is, blinks at you with the cutest flustered expression you’ve ever seen.

“Th-That’s– that’s what you want?” he stutters out, and even in the low light of the moon, you can tell he’s blushing, the soft pink spreading over his cheeks and crawling up to the tips of his ears.

“It’s– it’s what I wanted when I was alive. To kiss someone I love, I mean,” you answer, and it gets Changbin’s heart racing. Not just that someone as pretty as you, ghost or not, wants to kiss him, but the implication that you love him that definitely wasn’t missed by him. 

“It was the poems, wasn’t it?” he says with a bashful little downturned smile a moment later, and you laugh, in your delightfully light and airy way as you nod. “They helped. But really, I just think you’re very cute– and very sweet.”

It’s a little strange, being complimented like this by a ghost, and learning that said ghost has very deep rooted feelings for him– but he likes it. And maybe it’s a little unorthodox, but he’d be happy to give you what you want; especially if it will help you find peace.

“I’ll kiss you,” he tells you, and it’s not because he feels obligated, or like he should– it’s because, believe it or not, he sincerely wants to. He thinks you're pretty, you're sweet and earnest, and you love him– so who cares if you're a ghost; why shouldn't he kiss you?

“A-Are you sure? You really don’t have to,” you assure him, and Changbin smiles at you as he nods, entirely certain. “I know I don’t have to. I want to kiss you.” Your spiritual heart soars and burns with joy– and slowly, timidly, you return his smile before you float your way closer to him, and reach your hand out to touch his cheek.

He doesn’t feel your touch, not really– just the cold that pours from you. Regardless, he closes his eyes for you, purses his lips and slightly tilts his head the way he would if he were kissing anyone else. And again, he doesn’t feel your lips, but the cold– that is, until the feeling suddenly starts to become fuller. 

Slowly, he can begin to feel the way your hand rests on his cheek, can feel your lips slotted against his. He can feel your other hand resting on his chest, right over his heart, can feel the weight of your body on his lap, and he shivers– not because of the cold, but because he can actually feel you now.

Instinctively, he moves his hands to try and touch you– and is pleasantly surprised to find he can. His hands don’t phase through you like he thought they would earlier– he can feel you under his fingertips, as if you’re just as corporeal as he himself is. And so he holds you close, kisses you slow and sweet, over and over until he’s out of breath. 

“You’re still here,” he can’t help but whisper when he pulls away; he half expected you to dissipate the moment you got what you wanted, though he’s not sure if that’s actually how it's supposed to work. And he’s left with a strange feeling– on one hand, he’s sad for you because he really did want to help you move on. On the other hand, he likes that you’re still here, that he can still see you and feel you. 

In reality, you feel like his kiss tethered you even more to the physical world. You’re the happiest you’ve ever been, and instead of it giving you the peace you needed to move on, it bound you here stronger. You're filled with a strong desire to remain here, to be with Changbin, and you feel that it has made you manifest more than you’d ever been able to before. 

You’ve tried many times before, but have never been able to manifest yourself this much; to the point that not only could you be seen and heard, but felt– and whether it’s because the full moon is helping, or because Changbin’s kiss gave you more energy and purpose, or a mix of both, you’re happy.

“I think I like you too much to move on.” you tell him, and he giggles as he squeezes you closer, his nose scrunching cutely whilst he hugs you. 

“I’m sorry– I feel like I shouldn’t be, but I’m happy you’re still here,” he says, and you shake your head, returning his smile as you share the sentiment. “I’m happy I’m still here too.” 

It’s a bit strange, having a ghost for a partner. Sharing a kiss attached you to him; and no longer bound to your grave, but to Changbin himself, now you go wherever he goes. You don’t need to always be right on him, of course– but you do have to be close; and every time one of you steps too far out of that radius, you always end up snapping back to him. 

It’s a generous radius, really– you can go several miles before the invisible tether connecting you snaps you back to his side. It’s more than enough for you to exist in his house while he goes to work– and really, he’s happy to share his home with you; he’s sure it beats staying in the cemetery all day, every day. 

And even when he can’t see you, whether because the sun is too bright in the sky or because you don’t have enough energy to manifest that day, he can feel you– and you make yourself known in little ways. His house is always cold now, but it’s especially cold when you’re nearby. You flicker his lights and turn his tv screen to static to get his attention, or leave a message in the steam from his hot showers on the mirror. 

He’ll get a phantom phone call to his landline, where all that exists on the other line is static– but even if he can’t hear it, he’s sure at that moment you’re saying something sweet. And while he's mostly used to these occurrences now, he'll still jump when he hears a sudden noise before he remembers it’s you; a tapping on the wood of his bed frame, usually– 8 knocks meant to signify “I love you.”

Nights of the full moon are always when you can manifest yourself the fullest and easiest, and you both take full advantage of the time you have before you eventually start to become hazy and transparent again. Tonight is one of those nights; the moon hanging high, bright and beautiful, illuminating his dark room in the same pretty, pale blue that glows off you. 

“Baby, please–! You’re so cold, warn me first!” Changbin cries when you first touch him. He already knows you’re not going to waste any time in getting to touch him when you first manifest, but the chill that radiates off you still jolts him every time.

“You’re just so warm,” you muse happily as you snake your limbs around him, sap him for all the warmth he’s worth under his fluffy comforter, “my big teddy bear.” He huffs, but smiles as he does– he can’t actually be upset with you, after all. 

“You should let me take your warmth anyways– you were so mean, ignoring me all day,” you pout as you snuggle into him, burying your head in the warm crook of his neck.

“Hey, hey! Don’t say that, that’s not fair! You know I couldn’t see you!” he wails dramatically, and you have to make an effort not to giggle, bury your face further into him so he can’t see you smiling.

Of course, you know it’s not his fault in the slightest that he couldn’t see your or hear you earlier today, but you still like to tease him over it just a little– his reactions to it are always so cute. “So mean,” you repeat, your voice muffled by his sweater.

He knows that you’re doing it to get a rise out of him, and you know that he knows. But he likes doing this with you– it’s silly fun, and he loves the precious smile that spreads on your face when he plays along and inevitably dotes on you while begging for your forgiveness.

“Aigoo, my baby is really upset. Guess Binnie just has to make it up to you, huh?” he says, and you lift your head just enough to peek an eye at him. “Tell Changbinnie what you want, he’ll give it to you. He’s really sorry,” he entices you further, and the cute smile he was expecting and loves so much makes its full appearance.

“Want a kiss,” you say, pursing your lips at him in that cute duck shape as you wait for him to comply. He tries to coo at you, but it comes out more like a giggle before he’s lifting his head from the pillow to kiss you, tender and sweet.

“Do you forgive me now?” he asks when he pulls away, and you hum as you pretend to think about it. “Mm, I don’t know. I think I might need another one to decide.”

Changbin fully laughs then, shakes his head and mutters something about you being cute before he kisses you again. He shifts onto his side as he kisses you, making it easier for you to tangle your legs with his. He hisses when your cold toes touch the backs of warm calves, and you giggle an apology, though he knows you’re not actually sorry about it at all.

You always tell him how much you love his warmth, and how it radiates from every inch of him. And he’ll pout and shout, half-heartedly complain when you surprise him by touching him with your cold digits, simply because he knows it makes you laugh; you both know that in reality, he’s happy to be your personal heater.

He shivers when you snake your hands under his sweater; your hands aren’t as cold as they were when you first touched him anymore, but it’s still enough for goosebumps to follow the path of your fingers– or maybe he just has goosebumps because he likes you touching him.

Changbin gasps when you brush over his peaking, puffy nipples, and you take that moment to slip your tongue into this mouth. He moans when you pinch them between your fingers, tweak and twist just enough to have him squirming.

“Honey,” he breathes in a near whine when you pull away from him to kiss over his jaw, and the scar that sits on his chin, while your fingers continue to play with his body. 

“I missed you,” you speak against his skin as you press kisses along his neck, “I heard you earlier– saw you touching yourself in the shower. I wanted you so bad, but I couldn’t do anything about it.” He whimpers at that, squeezes you where his hand rests on your waist. 

Naturally, the fact that you can hear him and see him even when he can’t see or hear you always exists in the back of his mind. Every time he starts to touch himself, it’s something he considers– and he even likes it; likes knowing you’re there, watching and listening.

“I’m sorry, couldn’t help it,” he whines an apology, though he knows he doesn’t have to. You’ve both talked about it, of course– how you like watching him, and how he likes being watched in turn. There’s something naughty about it, and it always leaves him feeling extra desired and sexy when you later tell him what you saw, how much you want him because of it. 

And when he feels a sudden chill run along his body and down the length of his spine, is hit with the inexplicable sensation of being watched, he knows it’s you. It always fuels him, makes him fist his cock faster and run his mouth, hoping you like everything he’s spilling. 

Really, it’s no wonder that you always jump his bones the minute you can. Changbin thinks he’d go insane if the situation were the opposite; if he could see you touching yourself, could hear every little noise of pleasure you release, and not be able to join no matter how bad he wanted to. He’s already desperate for more intimacy with you as is– he doesn’t think he’d be able to take it. 

“Can you do it again? Touch yourself with me right here?” you ask him, and he can’t help the way his face flushes as you continue, “I want you to see me watching you this time.” You can feel the way his heart thumps in response to your request, how it picks up speed ever so slightly before he answers. “Y-Yeah, I can– I can do that for you, honey.”

You meant it when you said you like watching Changbin get off. You like watching his honeyed skin slowly take on more and more pink as he strokes his cock. You like watching his broad chest puff out, his stomach clench, his toned arms flex with every motion he makes.

You like watching the sweat build on his brow, and like to listen to his moans become more breathy and whiny as he gets closer and closer to release. And though Changbin isn’t naked now, you’ll still enjoy watching all the same; because he's beautiful, and handsome, and so utterly perfect when he's feeling good.

He reaches between your bodies, manages to get his pajama pants and underwear down just enough to release his still hardening cock from their confines. He bites his lip as he takes the short length in his hand, looks down at himself as he strokes it slowly before looking back at you.

There’s still enough lingering sensitivity from before that he squirms more than usual, but that’s not all there is to it– it's your attentive stare, the way you gaze into his eyes as he moans before you trail them away to watch him stroke himself, and back again. And you’re so close, body so tangled with his, that his fist keeps bumping into your thigh with each pump of his cock. 

Changbin keens when you kiss him, so affectionate and tender that it makes his head spin. You can feel his thighs twitch as he starts to stroke himself faster, and you pull away to watch for a few moments before you tilt your head back up to kiss him again. He's fully hard now, dripping pre-cum so steadily that the glide of his hand becomes slick and effortless.

He whimpers when you pinch his nipples again, parts his lips so you can slip your tongue back into his mouth. His breathing becomes steadily harsher and uneven, his every moan and whimper muffled by your lips against his. He brings his other hand to your ass, squeezes it as he pulls you even closer to his body, as if the fact that you're not already mere inches apart with your limbs tangled together is enough for him.

And truly, he can't get enough of having you close like this. The way you kiss him, touch him, look at him, all while he’s stroking his cock for you– it really does something to him; makes him feel so good and so desired that he swears he could cum purely from the intimacy of it alone.

“You too, please?” Changbin pleads in a breathy exhale the next time you pull back from kissing him, “Please, want to watch you too.”

“Yeah? You want to watch me?” you smile, almost giggle from the eager nod and the whiny, desperate “please, want it so bad,” he gives in response. You’re sweet to your Binnie, oblige him in an instant, and he watches with eager eyes and bated breath as you dip your hand between your bodies.

Even with your dress already hiked all the way up your thighs, you’re so closely pressed to him that he can’t get a clear sight of your pussy; but watching your hand will be enough of a view for him. He'll be able to tell what you're doing, and that's all he really needs.  

All you can reach while this close and tangled together with Changbin is your clit, and he watches you shudder at the first bit of stimulation to it from your fingers. He mimics what you’d done– alternates between watching your face and your hand, and God, every time your eyes meet again it takes his breath away. 

It’s not the same as if you had a physical body like his– your face doesn’t flush, you don't sweat from exertion, and you don’t grow breathless the way he does, but you feel the pleasure all the same. He can tell from the furrow of your brow, the tremble of your body, and the bite of your lip as you gaze at him.

And you're so pretty, face so close to his that your foreheads touch, that his every breath tickles you. "Oh my god, baby–" he whimpers when you start to moan with him, picking up the pace of your hand when he does, matching his speed.

It makes him dizzy– because when he closes his eyes, he can pretend he’s inside you; pretend that the sloppy, squelching sounds his fist creates are from your pussy instead. He can pretend that when you moan and whimper, it’s because he's stretching you out perfectly and hitting your spot just right. 

He holds your gaze when he opens his eyes again, completely stops watching the motion of your fingers between your legs so he can strictly observe you, take in your pretty face and how you look when you're feeling good with him. It’s intimate, staring at you like this; it makes him squeeze his cock tighter, the motion of his fist quickly becoming erratic as he drives himself closer to release. 

“Does it– do you feel good?” Changbin asks, because even though he knows, he still wants to hear you say it. “Do you like this? Tell me– please tell me.” 

“Feels so good, Binnie, love this, love you so much– you can’t see it, but I always touch myself with you like this, always make myself cum watching you,” you tell him, and he whimpers from your admission, high-pitched and squeaky. 

“Oh, ‘m so close– will you cum with me? Please, need you to cum with me,” Changbin whines and pleads, every inch of his body trembling as he tries to hold his orgasm back long enough to hear your answer. 

“I will, ‘m gonna cum for you, Binnie, just for you,” you promise, reaching your free hand out to cup his face, keeping your eyes locked with his as you watch each other unravel. Your paces are frantic now, bodies bucking together with every combined motion of your hands between your tangled legs. 

You lean forward to kiss him just as your high takes you, and it sends him right over the edge with you, eyes rolling back before they flutter closed. Noises of pleasure muffled by each other’s lips, his hips jolt as his cum spills over his fist, onto your thighs and the hand you have nestled between them. 

He’s sure some of it got on his comforter too, but he doesn’t care– he just keeps kissing you as he comes down from his high, because despite how breathless he is, it's all he wants to do. “I love you so much,” he tells you after another sweet kiss, and you smile at him, tell him you love him too as you wipe the sweat sticking his curly hair to his forehead away. 

You stay like that the rest of the night; tangled together, hugging each other close and kissing tenderly until Changbin’s fatigue prevents him from doing so any longer. He falls asleep like that, holding you to his body as much as he can; and even when your physical form starts to dissipate with the rising of the sun, you stay right against him.

When he wakes in the morning, he can’t see you anymore, but he knows you’re there. He tells you he loves you, and he smiles when you reply with your 8 little knocks to his bed frame. He talks to you throughout his morning, as he always does, because even if he can’t see you, he knows you’re listening. 

And when he decides to go back to the cemetery to read to the other spirits that still linger there, as he promised them he would, you go with him. He saves your grave for last, and you watch as he puts flowers on your headstone before he settles in to read to you; and even when he can’t see you because the sun is just too bright, he can feel you there, sitting next to him and listening to his poems. 

When he’s finished reading, he’ll feel a sudden touch of cold on his cheek, and he’ll know it’s from you kissing him. He’ll smile, place his hand over the spot and tell you again that he loves you. And when Changbin returns home, and the light of the moon helps you manifest again, he’ll kiss you all over and squeeze you tight, with a million promises of forever on his lips.

[roguelov]

Invisible Hands

Request: Ok. Okokokok from the kinktober list (ignore this if you aren't interested ofc) Morpheus and the ghost prompt. Imagine either the reader or Morpheus is the ghost and the ghost can touch the other but they can't touch the ghost. Like they can be teased endlessly and there's nothing they can grab so extra intense like just imagine if only reader can see ghost Morpheus or he can become invisible then he could tease them anywhere he wanted like the possibilities are corrupting my soul

Notes: Thank you my sweet panini anon!

Word Count: ~2.7k

Reader: afab (referred to as my dear/my love)

Warnings: SMUT (ghost!Morpheus, breast play, fingering, dirty talk, doggy, window/mirror sex, light exhibition, voyeurism, penetrative sex)

Inhaling the aromas, a pleased hum rumbled in your throat and harmonized with the sizzling vegetables in the skillet. Your stomach grumbled, eager and wishing to devour your dinner now. Shaking your head, a joking smile curled over your lips. Soon, you told yourself. Soon you will feast then crawl into bed.

Yet, someone else had plans, someone wanted to disrupt your peace.

Hands - cold and firm - wrapped around your waist. You gasped. Panic flooded your system, but it all quickly dissipated. Frustration, and some embarrassment, swiftly overtook your flash of panic.

“Morpheus,” you hissed under your breath.

A low chuckle reverberated near your ear.

You whipped your head over your shoulder, throwing a heated glare. And yet, there was no one. Perhaps if you squinted you may see the vague wispy outline of a man, or perhaps it was your imagination conjuring such a shape.

“Cheeky,” you grumbled at the empty space.

Morpheus was a ghost, a gentleman from a bygone era struck dead and doomed to haunt the grounds. Unfortunately over the years, the grounds had been purchased and built on. From a shop, to a house, to finally an apartment complex, Morpheus was the one constant that stayed and had become a resident as well so to speak. And best of all - or worst depending on your view - Morpheus in turn had become your ghost, specifically your spectral lover. You weren’t sure when and how it all started, the beginning was all foggy with the thick haze of lust.

But, you didn’t mind.

He was yours, and you were his.

His hands trailed down, slipping under your baggy shirt. Your own hands flew down trying to stop the demanding hands, however they passed through them.

“Morpheus -“

“Pay no mind to me,” a rich voice cooed in your ear. “Please, continue to focus on cooking your dinner.”

You wanted to roll your eyes. “How can I -“

Your breath hitched. His fingers skimmed up your sides then danced below your breasts. Your eyes dropped down. Your shirt was bunched up. The lumps and movements of hands constantly roamed beneath. His touch was insatiable. He wished to map out your curves … again. He truly could never tire of the softness of your skin, the warmth, the life which flowed through you. While due to his nature, he on the other hand was frighteningly cold. His hands were always so cold they were like ice against your searing skin.

His palm pressed into your stomach, making you shiver. His lips brushed over your ear then dipped below to gently kiss your neck. His hand moved back up. A light hum tumbled off your lips. His fingers brushed along the underside of your soft breasts. “No bra?” He murmured with a teasing tone.

A heat licked at your cheeks. “I - I am home, why would I?”

“A valid reason, my dear, but are you sure you were not waiting for me?”

You scoffed, “You give yourself a lot of credit.”

“I believe my work can speak for itself.” His slender fingers pinched your sensitive nipples. Your eyes widened, and you swallowed back a sinful sound. “I do believe I always leave you more than satisfied, yes? But, do correct me if I’m wrong?”

What a smug man.

He then began to knead and play with your breasts, loving how such a delicate task left you panting and growing desperate. His thumbs then swept over your nipples. Electricity shot down your spine. So cold, so wonderful. You dropped the wooden spoon, letting it clatter to the ground. Your vegetables will most likely burn at this right.

Fuck.

Morpheus hummed, pleased to see you holding back. He will make you sing soon enough. Your body was his most cherished instrument. With every tug, every twist, every pluck, he could orchestrate such a sweet melody. Your body will bend to him. And he knew what chords to play, and in what order, to achieve it. Such as if he truly wanted to make you sing right now, he could wrap his lips around your nipples and suck on them. You always made such lovely sounds when his tongue was involved.

“Relax,” he purred.

Fall into me, bend to me, he thought.

You choked on your words, “My - my dinner -“

The stove clicked, shutting off itself. The pan slid to the side off of the hot burner. Morpheus was growing impatient, and his hunger knew no bounds. “Let me take care of you.”

He twisted your nipples. You moaned so beautifully for him. You finally leaned your head back, relieved to have a solid presence to support you. You had no fight, no more retorts.

You wanted him.

His lips skimmed over your neck. Goosebumps trailed behind in their chilly path. He then pressed gentle, loving kisses into your skin. Each one a proclamation of his desire for you. His hands gave your breasts a break. But, not your body. Oh no, like before he wanted to make you sing. They slid down your stomach then traced along the waistband of your shorts. His fingers glided over once, then twice, before dipping below the band. His finger immediately swirled around your clit, then slid between your folds. He swiped between them, rubbing and teasing you.

A devious smile painted across Morpheus’s face. You were dripping for now, and you always were. “So wet,” he smirked. “I thought you said I give myself too much credit.”

“Please,” you whispered breathlessly. You tipped your head back, trying to look back at your lover, at where you believed his eyes were. You reached up, swiping at the space where his face would be for it to only connect with air. “I need you.”

I want to touch you, to feel you, to kiss you.

He snickered. “Allow me to have my fun, my dear. I assure you you will be satisfied as usual.”

“But -“

A finger slowly pushed inside of you. A small yet delicious stretch made your back arch. You bit your lip, holding back your moan. Morpheus’s eyes dazzled with excitement. You truly were so wondrous. He could watch you all day and night, all your cute lovely expressions.

A hand cupped your face, drawing you into the invisible space. Your eyes fluttered closed as you used your other senses to guide you. Cool lips brushed over yours. You chased after them. He huffed, a small laugh through his nose. It was always nice to see you were addicted to him as much as he was to you. He captured your lips. You hummed, melting into him. His lips moved with such precision. He poured hot passion into your veins. He will burn you from the inside out if he must.

Your heart stuttered in your chest as your mind focused solely on his lips, on the feeling of him. You tried to grab him - something - but to no avail.

You were simply at his mercy.

His finger curled inside of you. You moaned loudly, but Morpheus swallowed it up. His tongue dove in between your lips, swirling around. He explored your mouth. His tongue danced with yours. You tried to fight back, but you couldn’t. He consumed you and all your senses. Morpheus dominated you, and your knees trembled with every swipe of his vile tortuous tongue.

But, you shouldn’t focus only on his tongue.

That was your mistake.

His finger began to pump at a lazy pace. How could you forget? His fingers were vile and tortuous too.

He drew back, breaking the kiss. You whined faintly. Your eyes were still closed, your brows furrowed in a frustrated knot, and your lips were utterly abused and sopped from the messy kiss. His finger gradually picked up its pace. Your eyes flew open.

He chuckled, “You, my dear, always amaze me.”

He added a second finger, filling you more and satiated the ache for more. You whimpered, bucking your hips. Deeper, faster, harder, you wanted him to ruin you.

“And always so responsive.”

His fingers curled again hitting the perfect spot. You moan, squirming in his grasp.

His lips brushed against yours again murmuring, “And always so pretty when you come for me.”

Tears prickled in your eyes. You searched and searched wildly but saw nothing, not your Morpheus. All you saw was the dull ceiling and walls of your kitchen. “Morpheus -“

“Shh, I got you. I told you, let me take care of you.”

He removed his fingers with a graphic wet sound. Your cheeks burned. His hands grabbed the hem of your shirt pulling it up and over your head. Your breast spilled into the air. Morpheus wasted no time, pinching your nipples again. You groaned, burying your head towards him. Seeing you so flustered and needy, he supposed he could make this a little faster. His own arousal was becoming difficult to fight back on anyway. With a small trick, he phased your shorts and underwear off your body, leaving you now fully bare in your kitchen. The cold air against your glistening cunt made you shiver. Hands then gently pushed you forward, making you bend over the counter. You pressed your sweaty forehead into the cool countertop. You peered over your shoulder.

Still no one.

You pouted. Yet, your pout dropped as a silent moan fell from your lips. Something teased your folds. You recognized the thick shape as Morpheus’s cock. You pushed back, desperate to take him. But, he pulled back, keeping just his tip between your folds.

“Stop teasing me,” you begged.

His cock rubbed through your folds. He rocked his hips, lightly humping you. Your mind began to splinter. Lust clouded your mind. Needs and wants curled around your throat, threatening to squeeze out all your depraved secrets. You met his shallow thrust, feeling the head of his cock rub against your swollen clit. Each thrust - the mind numbing friction - made you cry out.

“Please,” you panted.

You needed to feel him fill you and stretch you.

“Say it again,” he growled.

You let out a shaky breath, “Please, Morpheus.”

Grabbing his cock, he slowly pushed inside. You clawed at the smooth counter. Inch by delicious inch, he filled your cunt until he bottomed out. Morpheus curled his body over you. His lips kissed your neck, and his chiseled chest pressed into your back. The coolness mixed well with your perspiration.

Hot and cold.

Dead and alive.

“Are you ready,” he purred in your ear.

You nodded, biting your lip. His hips rocked slowly. His cock dragged out through your walls before pushing back in.

Soft, teasing thrusts. One to make you desperate.

“Morpheus,” you whimpered.

His cock continued the painstakingly slow pace, loving the sensation of your walls clamping down around him and pulling him back in. You didn’t need to say anything, your body screamed for more.

“You’re taking me so well,” he hummed.

You swore you could cry. “Fuck, faster please.”

He smirked. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! Please.”

His hips snapped, setting a brutal new pace. All the air caught in your throat. Your eyes widened then nearly rolled back. Your head fell onto the counter. For now, all you could hear was the slapping of skin. Turning your head, you peered over and locked onto the nearby window. With the dark backdrop and the light inside, it acted like a mirror. You could watch your body being pummeled. You watched as your ass jiggled and contorted, you watched as your breasts bounced with every thrust, you watched as the obvious handprints dug into your malleable skin and hips daring to leave permanent marks.

Your lust rattled mind realized something: the curtains were opened. Apartments across the way could watch you, watch as nothing absolutely ruined.

Would someone think you were fucking yourself? Would they be confused? Would they be turned on? If Morpheus shifted his body, could you watch as his invisible cock filled you, stretching you?

You shivered at your thoughts.

Morpheus’s chuckle broke you out of your thoughts. He saw you eyeing the window. He saw what you saw. “Oh? Do you like to watch?” He paused, considering something else. “Or would you like someone else to watch?”

Words lodged in your throat.

“I can feel you clenching around me, my love,” he teased. You buried your face in your forearms, embarrassed how much this all truly turned you on. “Look. Now do you like to watch me?”

You peered out of the corner of your eye. After his question, his body became corporeal. He was a well built man, toned and lean. His back and arm muscles rippled with every thrust. His pale skin seemed to glow brighter in death. His hair was black as Death’s robes, and cropped short. His eyes shone like pale blue moons. Here he was, Morpheus, your ghost lover in all of his glory. A man whose face belonged in renaissance paintings, spoken as a king or a lord. A man from an era of courtship and marriage, of hidden letters passed between lovers, of romance and roses. And yet here he was, his long heavy cock pounding in and out.

He fucked you like a toy, his toy.

You watched, utterly memorized.

“Or only like this?” His body disappeared again, leaving only the sounds of his destruction upon your body.

You whimpered.

“Answer me, sweet one,” his voice whispered next to your ear.

“B-both,” you stuttered out. You loved watching him, and you loved knowing you were simply at his mercy.

Your ghost, your monster.

“Can - can I see you?” You asked under your breath. You desperately wanted to see him, to see his body and face. Tonight, you needed him, all of him.

“Of course.”

His body reformed. You sighed happily. His head was tipped forward. His lips parted, panting. You swore with each puff, a cold chill spread over your back. His hair - usually slicked back - flopped in his face, begging to be played with. Your eyes fell to his cock, coated in your combined juices.

Pleasure crackled down your spine.

Yet, Morpheus was not satisfied. He moved you a few inches away from the counter. He bent you down more, hitting a new angle. Stars exploded behind your eyes. His blunt tip kissed your cervix over and over. You moaned loudly without a care.

“There,” he mused. “Right there. So beautiful, so sweet.”

Head hanging, you grabbed the edge of the counter, trying to hold on and keep yourself up. But, your thigh and knees shook, threatening to crumble. The stretch was intoxicating. You could hardly catch your breath. Opening your eyes, you watched as Morpheus’s cock disappeared in and out of you. Your stomach even bulged at this angle. Your mouth hung open and you swore drool pooled at your lip. You closed your eyes, focusing on the rapidly approaching orgasm.

“Morpheus, please, I’m so close,” you whined, greedily matching his pace. You began to erratically hump his cock, desperate for your release.

Without saying a word, one of his hands on your hips snaked down between your legs. His fingers circled around your needy swollen clit. Your back arched. You moaned, it was all the encouragement he needed to keep going.

“Then come, my love,” he purred, pounding feverishly into you. “Let me so you unravel, let me hear you sing, let me see you come all over my cock. I want you to make a mess on me, my love.”

You writhed, feeling the pressure build and build ready to snap.

“Watch me fill you, my love.” His fingers moved faster drawing more aching circles.

You were almost there.

“I told you to watch.” He lightly smacked your clit. You gasped, your eyes snapped open. Your eyes connected back to how his cock pumped into your cunt. “Perfect.”

He could tell you were watching by the way your walls tightened around him. It had seemed he had found an unspoken kink of yours.

“Now, be good for me, and come on me.”

Seeing his thick cock fuck you, feeling his blunt tip hitting the deepest parts of you, and his sweet words all combined tougher and pushed you over the edge. You cried out his name, coming all over his cock. Your knees nearly gave out. Luckily, Morpheus held you up. He worked you through your orgasm leaving you floating in utter bliss. After a few more pumps, he buried himself to the hilt, moaning.

The aftermath and heavy panting filled the air. Ever so slowly, Morpheus removed himself. You suddenly felt so empty.

“Let me help you.” Morpheus whispered tenderly. “I’ll prepare a bath for you.”

“Please,” you mumbled, now exhausted.

He laughed then kissed your back. “Of course, my love.”

[agirlwithglam]

S.M.A.R.T goals:

How to set and achieve your goals

What does SMART stand for?

S - specific. don't just set vague goals like "i wanna get fit" or "i wanna get abs". how are you gonna know when/ where to start? if you want to get fit: your goal could be "go to the gym for 30 mins everyday" or "i want to run 5k in under 30 mins". whatever works for you. some other examples: -> if your big goal is to get high marks on your next test: your "mini" goals/ steps should be to study everyday for at least 30-60mins. -> if your big goal is to get money/ become rich: your steps/ mini goals should be to save $___ daily first. and also figure out a way you can make a mini business/ get a job.

M - measurable. make sure that your goals are measurable- meaning that you should be able to track them. some examples: -> if your goal is to read more: then create or find a habit tracker or something so everyday when you read, you can mark it down for that day. ! recommended resource: James Clear's habit tracker journal- you can find it on amazon.

A - Achievable keep your goals realistic and attainable. if you know you dont have the time/ energy to read a whole book in 1 week, dont do it- otherwise you'll get easily discouraged. the goldilocks principle: don't make it too easy, where it doesn't give you a challenge, but don't make it too hard either, otherwise you'll get easily discouraged.

R - Relevant basically a WHY. why do you want/ need to accomplish this goal? have a motivation which drives you. make sure your goal is relevant to you in some sort of way. example: -> if you want to learn a language such as spanish, why do you wanna learn it? because you want to travel to Spain one day? to be able to communicate with someone? even if the purpose is as simple as "wanting to be bilingual cus it makes me feel cool and impressive" - if that motivates you, then go ahead!

T - time bound your goals need to have some sort of deadline or urgency attached to it- otherwise you could take all the time you want to start and procrastinate as much as you want. having a deadline for the goal will motivate you to take action sooner, than later.

how to use SMART goals effectively:

decide on the goal. (something that you actually need/ want to accomplish.)

break it down into smaller steps. (very small. so small that you can start working on whatever it is NOW.) you want to get high marks on your test? lets break it down. study 30 mins everyday -> walk to desk -> get material out -> identify what you need to study -> find your weaker topics & write it out -> create a planner or smth -> start studying. // need help? find videos online, go thru material again, find study tips, etc.

write them down. (helps you stay accountable. also people who write their goals down are 42% more likely to achieve them than people who don't write it down.)

create an action plan. (relates to the 2nd point. outline the necessary steps to take, identify resources, set milestones, plan for potential obstacles.)

monitor and evaluate progress. (regularly review your goals, mistakes, and progress. what could you do better to be more efficient and quicker? how can you learn from your mistakes?)

stay committed and flexible. (you really need to be committed to achieve the goals, you shouldn't just start off super excited, doing great in the first week then slacking off. you've made a commitment to YOURSELF. respect yourself enough to stick to it! but also be flexible with your goals. if you're reeeallyy not able to do it one day, plan to do a bit more the next day. stay focussed and don't get discouraged by setbacks.)

celebrate achievements. (recognise when you've hit a major milestone, and celebrate it! this helps you maintain motivation and a sense of accomplishment. and reward yourself!!)

random additional tips:

visualisation. (such a strong form of manifestation. everyday visualise yourself with your goals, feeling all the emotions and thoughts that come with it! visualisation can also really boost your motivation and drive to achieve it.)

PRIORITIES. (remember that also, all goals aren't equally important. prioritise the ones that really matter. this doesn't mean that you can't focus on the other goals, just make sure the ones that need more attention, get more attention.)

positive language. (use kind and encouraging words towards yourself. know and understand that you are that girl who can achieve ANYTHING she sets her mind to.)

seek support. (ask friends and family or a mentor for help. if you want, be careful tho, share your goals with them to help you stay accountable. and if you know a person who's achieved your goals, GET ADVICE FROM THEM! where better to get advice from than someone who's been through what you're going through?)

stay organised. (self explanatory. just stay organised. messy space = messy mind. clean space = clean mind.)

maintain balance. (of course your goals are important, but so is the age you're currently at. especially if you're a teenage, DONT WASTE THESE YEARS!! get out of the house! make friends! go to parties! LIVE LIFE TO ITS FULLEST. also make sure that you get the adequate rest needed!)

write about your journey. (write about the struggles, the obstacles, how you overcame them, insights you got on this journey, etc. trust me, it'll be so interesting and helpful to read when you're older.)