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randomdragonfires · 11 months ago

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I'm A Fire And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm [One Shot]

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Flowers come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage.

WARNINGS | 18+; Mild Smut.

WORD COUNT | 9.6k

A/N | Yet another repost, yay! This one was written based off an ask sent to me by @wonderbias and beta read by the loml @humanpurposes

Their union began as a fragile, delicate one.

By all accounts, Aemond Targaryen was a fine man that any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be proud to be with, should he– a skilled dragonrider, a scholar, a respectful man of honor, a prince worthy of his name and blood– choose to take her to wife.

If only he was not so stoic and dull, they said. The very jovial little lady of Highgarden will be bored of him in moments!

‘Twas the first of many whispers he heard of his apparent inadequacy with regards to his impending nuptials and marriage, and even though it killed him, he could not bring himself to disagree. The woman that he was to marry – the beautiful, kind, ladylike wisp of a girl that was to be entrusted to him�� was a fair maiden who lit up any chamber she graced with her presence, a stark contrast to how he seemed to darken those that he stalked into.

Charming girl like that, she will hate him, they said. The poor thing is probably scared.

Every lady dreamed of chivalrous knights and charming princes, and Aemond knew very well that he was far from being either. They dreamed of charming men who would immortalize them in song, whose looks could thaw the hearts of the coldest women in an instant. Aemond knew very well that the Gods had refused him the chance to even try with her– what with their allowance of his mutilation at a tender, young age.

Even with just one eye, he saw many possibilities but to his dismay, he did not imagine any outcome would be favorable to him. With the scar he carried on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aemond was never meant to be the man that his intended deserved.

And so, he decided that he would keep her at arm's length and in consequence, save his pride. He'd reject her before she rejected him. He may not know it now, but matters of the heart are fickle– and to the utter disappointment of his pride, his little lady rose was very easy to love.

He would not be caught dead pathetically pining after a woman who would soon be his. He would not.

And so, their courtship remained devoid of romance and scandal. His family was made privy to each of their highly appropriate conversations, with them taking turns in chaperoning their walks through the gardens.

There was nothing that he wished to share, for he did not want to lose too much. He did what was expected of him, and she did the very same. Soon, there was respect, admiration, and a whole host of burgeoning feelings that Aemond tried hard to suppress - feelings that he clearly did not see in her eyes as she dared to look into his.

How could she feel anything for a stoic, dull, one-eyed man like him?

As he draped the red and black cloak over her shoulder and pledged to be her man of liege and limb, he told himself that he would not try. He would not give into fantasies, only to be met with rejection from a woman who was too good for him; one that may realize it soon enough as well.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. He would feed himself to the dragons before admitting to someone else being better than him, let alone be rejected by that same person. He was certainly not going to woo her, not when he knew that he would only be met with contempt and disgust.

It did not matter how badly he wanted to. He would not allow himself to succumb to such idyllic daydreams. He would not.

When night fell and the wedding feast was in full swing, his new good-father was the only one who could give his brother a run for his money with how deep he was in his cups. It was obvious how the wine-induced stupor affected the fat lord Tyrell as he bellowed for his daughter and his new good son to take the lead and join in the dancing and merriment.

Aemond was ready to retch at the thought, but what stopped him from making his irritation clear was the possibility that she may want to dance. His wife. He had seen her dance before– as graceful as an otherworldly swan. She had a better grasp at frivolous courtly affairs than he did.

His wife may want to dance. His wife, his wife, his wife. A little rose, his.

He shuffled his feet under the cloth-covered long table and allowed his one eye to train over his clothed boots. In spite of all the dancing lessons he had taken with Helaena, Aemond had never indulged before– and now, he was expected to entertain his bride each time a song played. The thought made him want to press his feet into the ground further than he already has, in hopes that perhaps the ground would swallow him whole.

His view of the dancing crowd had been taken from him by half along with his eye. Without the luxury of complete vision, he could not dance without bumping into everyone that was on his blind side. Now, he would have to– if she wanted to.

He thought he could say no, but he feared that if he were to look her in the eyes, he'd never be able to. Perhaps that was why he had refused to even look at her throughout the ceremony, despite her many admirable– yet failed– attempts to catch his line of sight and share a smile.

It was her meek, mouse-like voice that brought him out of his nervous trance. “We do not have to," she said, the words falling out of her lips like a song.

“You like to dance, my lady,” he said.

“But you do not, my prince. It takes two.” Her surprisingly understanding words were followed by a timid smile, one that threatened to rip through his defenses and get to him.

In the crowded throne room, as his new bride sets aside her happiness to accommodate his preferences, Aemond worried that his self-imposed distance from her may not last too long if she kept offering him kind glances and sweet smiles– no matter how forced and dutiful he knew them to be.

He had much to lose; his pride, his heart. He would not risk it, even if she was seemingly easy to love. He would not. He would not. He would not.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride.

Soon after, her drunk nuisance of a father had called for the bedding. Aemond did nothing as his trembling bride was ushered away by the handmaidens and ladies, each of them wriggling her jewelry off as she stumbled in her steps before they carried her off.

Should he have asked for a private bedding? In hindsight, he believed he wronged her by throwing her to the mercies of the court in her vulnerability. Equally, he did not want to attempt a show of compassion– not when she may not even welcome it from the one-eyed fiend of a husband that she was stuck with.

When he walked into the chambers in his loose linen shirt and breeches, his breath hitched in his throat. Helaena had once told him that the Septas refer to women’s maidenheads as flowers. “Beautiful, ripe and ready for the plucking,” she had said, keeping her nose pointed upward in her imitations. He'd never given the words much thought.

Until now.

There she was. His wife, his flower, his rose, ready for plucking, in her translucent white shift and now untamed hair, like a fae in a dream. How could she possibly be his? How could she possibly be happy with a man as monstrous as him for a husband?

Her eyes, wide and fearful, flittered about his face, in his mind an expression of her repulsion. It pained him to think she did not even give him a chance.

But she was accommodating about my not wanting to dance…

Perhaps she did like to dance; just not with him.

These unsaid words and subsequent misunderstandings plagued their wedding night. Both believed the other did not desire them.

That night, she offered her flower to him– as is her duty– and he took great care in taking it from her. He made sure she was pliant, so that when he took it, she would be as glad and thrilled as he was, regardless of how well-hidden his happiness was.

He may have grimaced in disgust at Aegon's vulgar demonstrations and lessons about the pleasures of the marital bed, but he was thankful as he heard her moan out his name in a silent scream while she convulsed around his fingers. The silent sounds of her choked out moans and the heat engulfing his fingers may have very well been enough for Aemond to find release, and he reminded himself quickly that she will not want him when they're done. How could she, deformed as he was?

And so, he stopped wanting to be good for her, and simply endeavored to get it done with.

She was only more than willing to allow him to take her flower. If he was not so preoccupied with his own insecurities, he may have seen that it had gone past duty for her. Her loud moans proved the fact, and left little room for dispute (or doubt, in the minds of the prying ears that stayed close to the doors of their chambers, and the sharp eyes of the council who were now shuffling out of their seats).

He inched into her, and her tears and turned face only seemed to make it harder for him. Was he so beyond hope that she could not even look? What was it? Had he hurt her? He did not ask, lest he risk finding out that he was a disappointment. So he lost himself, drowned in his own head as he mechanically moved in and out, in and out, in and out.

Duty. Duty. Duty.

If he had not been so preoccupied with tearing his own being to shreds in his mind, he may have heard her moans as the bright pink tip of his cock hit a rough spot in her, allowing her pleasures and experiences she did not believe she would ever know. He may have known that she desired him, just as he did her.

His self-deprecating thoughts couldn't have been farther from the truth– he may not have realized it that night, but he would soon enough.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the first ever flower she gave him– whether she chose to see it that way or not– came to him on their wedding night, in the form of her maidenhead.

Tourneys were a time of celebration for her.

There was something to be said about the romance of watching men ask women for favors and fight with all the might and grace that they possess. She had often dreamed that a dashing knight or a courteous prince would perhaps approach her for her favor, and then perhaps crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. If she was lucky, the man would court her too.

The man she married was the antithesis of all that she hoped a tourney would bring.

Her husband was not a bad man by any means– no. He was a good and respectful husband, slightly removed and isolated for her outward nature, but she did not mind. There were worse men to be married to, and even if he never went out of his way to be there for her, he certainly treated her well when they were in each other’s presence.

She tried with him, Gods bless her.

She would try to catch his eye at the supper table, or watch him train in hopes that he would meet her watchful gaze once or twice. She would watch in a sleepy haze as he woke early in the morn, long before she had the strength or consciousness to wish him a good day, hoping he would turn to do the same. He never did.

More often than not, a curt nod and a wavering glance was all she’d get. Still there were brief, hopeful moments that kept her active in her pursuit to build a friendship with her husband.

She would have done something absolutely obnoxious— acts that would have him sneering if it was someone else– and she’d see it. That little hint of a smile, waiting to bubble through the surface, just by the corner of his pink lips, that she would have missed if she blinked. Each time there was a tenuous beginning of a hesitant smile, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

He was not so intimidating to her now as he was in the initial days of their union– no. In a little corner of her mind, she acknowledged that fact– that is what helped her find his hand and hold it tight in nervousness, before she could even comprehend the intimacy of the act.

The knight who had just taken a harsh tumble from his horse was carried away by servants, with his head beaten bloody and hands hanging limp by his side. If she did not know better, she would have thought him dead.

The champion then raised his hands up in victory. Thunderous clapping sounds overshadowed all else around her, but she could not bring herself to join. She was still stunned by how the other knight had fallen, and was yet to let go of Aemond’s hand.

She felt the bile rise in her throat, so she brought her other hand to her chest and bowed her head down, a feeble attempt at keeping the vomit at bay. It was awhile until she managed to catch her breath again, and by then the celebrations had moved on from celebrating the champion to the crowning of his Queen of Love and Beauty.

The eldest Lady Baratheon smiled coyly as she received the wreath of winter roses, followed by a chaste kiss to her cheek. The crowd gasped at how brazen the act was, with neither of them being married, but the high of winning makes men do the most peculiar things, she supposed. In the back of her mind, regardless of how uneasy she felt, she wished– desperately.

How she wished it was her.

A childish fantasy really. What was a publicly gifted crown of flowers worth in the face of what she had? She was a Princess of the realm now, married to a skilled dragonrider from a family of illustrious history and blood. Any children they may have will be immortalized in the annals. Nothing. A crown of flowers was worth nothing when compared to what she had– or at least, that is what she would tell herself.

And yet, she craved the romance. She had always enjoyed the idea of being loved and cherished. Her husband respected her, and if she was feeling bold, she’d say he liked her– but he certainly did not love her. That much she was certain of. When she naively wished that he’d crown her, she asked if he was going to enter the lists. He had sharply turned so quickly that she feared she had angered him.

“I don’t give a sh…” He had sighed before speaking again, as though he felt tested. “I do not care for tourneys.” The sharpness in his voice had hurt her, and she did not speak of it again.

Their marriage was a decent one– but it held none of the love she hoped to have, despite all her attempts.

Did he find her so disagreeable?

All of a sudden, his hand felt cold to the touch and she let go of him like he burned her. The heat came back to her hand just as it showed on her cheeks, and his had turned cold from having lost her touch so abruptly.

“I’d like to get some fresh air, husband,” she said, and rose before he could even ask if she needed him to accompany her.

Her quick walk took her to the tent where the court ladies had been sitting, and she had stepped in right in time to hear them gossip– about her husband.

“Well he must keep it on while they… you know! It can be jarring to look at, I’m sure it is!”

“It must be terrible to see it up close all the time. I can hardly look at him from across the chamber!”

He is certainly unnerving. It does make you wonder though, do you think they actually…” the woman lowered her voice to match the vulgarity that was to follow. “Do you think they actually fuck? She cannot possibly want to, and she is not with child either…”

“Well, does it really matter if she wants to? He’s a Prince, and her husband. He’ll take his pleasure regardless.”

Regardless of where she and her husband stood, she would not stand for their marriage to become fodder for court gossip. If she stayed quiet for any longer while these empty-headed women berated her husband, she would be insulting him herself.

“Might I ask what is so amusing?” she said with sharp eyes and a tilted head. The sweat on their faces upon her arrival was apparent, and so was their nervousness.

“My Lady, we were just–”

“Princess,” she corrected.

“Yes of course, Princess. We were just–”

“Making presumptions about my marriage?”

“No… we just…”

“Don’t deny it,” she seethed, anger looking completely foreign on a soft, comely face like hers. Her nostrils flared and her nose went red in her current state, but there was no way she could stop now.

“The next time you feel the need to comment on such matters , perhaps you will all learn to remind yourself that he is a Prince of the realm and I am his wife! There will be suitable punishment, and you will all be dismissed from court at my pleasure, disgraced and husbandless. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her words were cutting and sharp, and they had the younger ladies bowing their heads in fear almost immediately.

“I’ll have you all know that unlike the other men of the court, Prince Aemond’s scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. His bravery only makes him more handsome to me.”

She then fixed her attention onto the married lady of the bunch and delivered a questionable blow that she would certainly feel bad about later. “If you’ve been led to believe that the man takes his pleasure from his wife even if she does not want to, then perhaps your marriage is a lot worse than I thought. Your husband must have no regard for your wants, unlike mine. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

She did not wait for them to respond as she gathered her skirts and walked out of the tent, feeling largely annoyed and satisfied to an extent. But as she began her walk back, the fear of news of her anger reaching her husband hit her like a harsh and heavy wave.

Would he call her insolent and disgraceful? Has she damaged her marriage more than it already has been?

She did not have to wait long for her answer, for Aemond had been just a few steps behind her, watching the entire scene unfold. The angry flush on her face left her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a skittish nervousness that led to her shuffling her feet as she stood before him, at a complete loss for words.

She swallowed the spit gathering in her mouth, throat bobbing as her head remained facing down to the floor, awaiting a scolding from him for her absolutely inexcusable behavior; her husband was a man who knew his courtesies, after all. He could not possibly be happy with how she carried herself and disappointed him.

“You do not look well. Let me walk you to our chambers,” was all he said before he led her away with a hand on the small of her back.

She remained worried that he was perhaps leading them to privacy and silence so he could punish her while being undisturbed. She could not have been farther from the truth.

She expected him to scream at her, forget all the courtesy that he had shown her and throw his words at her without care. What she was not prepared for, was for him to hold her chin between his thumb and index fingers, pulling her face up to meet his.

He curiously inspected her, almost as though her little show of anger thoroughly amused him. She would not be surprised if it did– she had never been so outward in her anger in the two months that they had been married; this was a completely new side to her that he was now privy to.

“What was that, wife?” His words were measured and cut.

“They…” She was stunned to find that, despite her tongue becoming loose in moments of anger, it was hard for her to speak right now. So, she chose to gulp once more and tried to look someplace else. The uncertainty in his sharp, one-eyed violet gaze was becoming too much for her to bear– but Aemond did not give up easily. He kept her head held in place as she desperately waited for the words to come to her.

“They were being crude, and insulting you.”

He looked at her for a moment, his sharp gaze refusing to waver as the sunlight pierced through the glass windows of their chamber. He then let go of her, and handed her a goblet of wine to calm her clearly unsteady senses. He watched as she took little sips from the chalice, the restless turning of the wheels in his mind apparent on his face.

Soon after, he made up a sham of a reason about having to leave when the cheering crowds became louder and louder. She nodded and continued to sip, completely oblivious to the change of heart that her husband was having as she wondered why he brought her back to their bed.

She did not know the thoughts that now ran fast and surely in his mind. She did not know that he thought his eye had cost him a chance at a happy marriage with her. She had no idea of knowing how conflicted he felt at the new realization, for his sculpted face gave nothing away.

He turned to face her with a hand on the door. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

She nodded and smiled meekly while he stalked back to the festivities.

He held his hands tightly behind him as he tried to make sense of how light his heart felt in comparison to the rest of him.

Back in the chamber, she blushed. For all her worry that he may have been disappointed, she had been completely floored by how he had responded– he was thankful. She berated herself for not considering the possibility– and smiled at the realization that for all her husband’s prowess as a warrior, in times like these, he needed a champion too.

That night, Aemond burned the midnight oil while reading in the library, trying to still his racing heart and make sense of how it leapt at newfound thoughts of his little wife.

Across the Holdfast, in the soft candlelight of their shared chambers, she sat on her husband’s dear chair, looking at her handiwork– an embroidered silk tourney favor, with a little rose.

Her husband may not care for tourneys, but making the favor allowed her the luxury of thinking that should the possibility of him willingly entering the lists come around, he would do so with her gift on his lance. Mayhaps he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty too– the thought makes her blush.

She would give it to him should he ever choose to partake someday. Until then, it would be safely hidden away in her shelves, amidst her gowns and other possessions.

Flowers have came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the second flower that was intended for him– despite the fact that she was yet to give it to him– came to him on the day of the the twins’ name day tourney, in the form of a rose, embroidered onto a tourney favor.

They have come to enjoy each other's company.

Her coming to his defense while expecting nothing in return had lit a fire in Aemond that he could not seem to quell. What he believed she had rejected him over, she had actually taken to being proud of. What he had believed was his one big, obvious and visible fatal flaw, was something that she had taken to holding in high regard.

I’ll have you lot know that unlike the other men of the court, his scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. And his bravery only makes him more handsome to me.

Her words rang in his mind like the definite tolling of the Great Bell at the Royal Sept. With each chime, her assertiveness on the matter came back to linger in his thoughts, he had fallen for her – bit by bit.

Feelings had always been a conundrum to Aemond, one that he did not entirely understand or even want to. But now, with a wife who warmed him and his heart slowly but surely, with her lovely smiles and nervous face, he found that he would like some certainty in the face of all that was uncertain in his heart.

He did not know if he loved her just yet. But what he did know was that, at the pace that she had set for them, it may be a very short while before he does. His wife. His wife, his wife, his wife.

His, his, his.

Coming to terms with having a wife that actually desired his company– and him, surprisingly enough– had spurned his attempts to bring some sort of intimacy to their marriage. Gods knew that she had tried, only to be rebuffed rudely by him in the initial days of their marriage. It was a time that he now felt deep regret and shame for, one that he would not rest until he had made right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

He did not know how to be the charming prince from a bard’s songs. He did not know how to make women laugh like Aegon; be as sweet and kind as Helaena; or as chivalrous and perfect as Daeron.

But what he did know was respect. Aemond understood respect as something that was earned by everyone around him, but to his wife, it should have been unconditional. It should have come to her the day he had cloaked her and made her his– but it did not. Now, he intended to make it right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try– which is how he found himself with her on his arm, as they walked hand in hand through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards their chambers. Ah yes, hand in hand. Another one of the little joys that he savored like it was his last day alive.

Their initially cold marriage had also been fueled by his blatant refusal to simply be near her, much less touch her. Why would she have wanted to be touched by a one-eyed monster, such as the likes of him?

But the moment he realized that she did not consider him so– not in the least– led to a warmth seeping through his blood, making him crave her so much that his heart hurt. If she did not mind it, why must he not exercise his liberties? And if there was some joy to be derived from it, why would they not want to indulge?

And so he had begun. A stolen touch here, a featherlight graze there.

His huge, calloused hand, seemed to be always holding her dainty one as he accompanied her throughout their time in the castle; on the small of her back as they maneuvered through feasts and dances; around her waist as they closed the distance between each other in their sleep, with her back to his chest; clutching onto her thigh to keep her in place for when she turned around and draped her tiny leg upon his waist.

His hands, all over her.

It was not just these fleeting, quick touches that Aemond had grown to enjoy. With their bond growing stronger with each passing moment, he had realized that their marital duties were simply not duties anymore. They had gone from believing that the other had tolerated their presence, to trying their level best so that the other would know how much they desired them. The growth of their marriage was evident in how their carnal indulgences had evolved.

Where he had held himself to hover over her so as to not facilitate any unnecessary touches, he had now taken to covering her entire being with his own. His hands around her hip as he pounded into her; her hands on his chest as the tip of her fingers grazed and pinched at his nipples. His hands in her hair as he mouthed at her heaving breast; her hands around him as she held onto him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. His hands on her cunt as he drew peak after peak from her before thrusting himself into her; her hands around his cock as she pumped him before impaling herself by straddling him, just the way he liked.

Their sounds of pleasure had been held back and muffled in the beginning, but now they were uninhibited sounds taken by the wind, made with the intent of being heard and making desires known.

Oh yes, their marriage had grown.

This is what Aemond had been pondering as he led her through, with servants making their way for the young prince and princess as she held onto her husband with one hand, and a piece of rolled parchment and some charcoal on the other. He enjoyed their touches now, and it made his heart soar that he did not have to doubt her want for him either.

Yes, they could make something out of this.

“How was your time in the gardens, wife?” It made him happy that with the growth of their marriage, she had taken to exercising her liberties. So, when she had come to him requesting charcoal and bound parchment so she could begin drawing again, he was only happy to oblige.

“Good. I managed to sit and watch the flowers flit about in the wind for a time, and I drew a bit as well. Then the court ladies came to join me as they…”

Aemond listened to his wife as he sat himself on his chair by the hearth, most intently, and with the utmost concentration that he could muster. He could not bring himself to make selfless romantic declarations of love, or speak to her more than he was able. But he could listen, and that is what he would do.

Not a word unheard, not a moment missed. He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

She prattled on and on about her day, and how the court ladies had gossiped about each other when they thought the other wasn’t listening. He listened to the way her voice heightened when her recollections were happy, and he noted the way she frowned when she was in disapproval. He observed how her eyes widened at shocking narrations, and how her hands seemed to move like they had a life of their own.

He kept observing, losing himself in his newfound knowledge of her, her, her… and it was not until she stood close to him, her body slotted between his legs as she held her hands behind her back that he realized she had stopped speaking.

“Go on.”

He did not expect to be given something, not when his name day had just passed. But that is exactly what happened.

“For you,” she said. With her raised eyebrows and coy smile, she managed to place a parchment roll into his hand. Aemond made note of how her head faced down and her feet shuffled as she stood in wait for his approval.

He unrolled the parchment, careful to not cause even a stray tear at the edges. His eyes raked over the drawing, one of clear skill and years of training of the highest level– one befitting a lady.

“I shall treasure it, thank you.”

She smiled at his acceptance, and he nodded. He was not a smiling man, but he hoped that she knew how much he appreciated these gestures. He hoped that their marriage had grown enough for her to notice his quirks, just as he had made note of hers.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the third flower that she had given him was a charcoal sketch of a rose, into which she had poured her heart and soul.

As the days passed, their mornings became brighter.

While she had hoped that the initial days of their marriage would have some semblance of love, and if not, at least affection to some extent, her hopes had been quickly dashed with the closed off and curt behavior that her husband seemed to have made his own. Neither did he ever wish her a good morrow upon sunrise, nor did he kiss her goodnight like in the songs.

But now, there was more.

Where there was coldness, there was now warmth. It was not heat, not like wildfire, no– it was warmth, like from the calm blaze of their hearth. She might not have awoken to a smile, no– her husband was not a smiling man– but she always woke to an arm snaked over her breasts, pressing into her. Where there was distance, oceans between them, there was now a shared intimacy, one that they had both been quietly happy about. She was not put to sleep with a kiss, but whenever she slept on the chaise waiting for him to arrive, he now ensured that she was put into comfortable clothes and carried to their bed with care.

He may not have cared for her in the beginning, but she knew he did now. Her husband was not a romantic man, but his small gestures were enough to make her feel happy and content.

The shift in their dynamic was not just visible in their daytime activities, but in the passions of their marriage bed as well. On the first night that they had coupled, he had been careful, experimental, doubtful. But as the days went by, he had become surer, rougher… insatiable.

She enjoyed this new side to him. She enjoyed being the woman that belonged to a fierce prince, the one that he so clearly desired. She enjoyed being held by him as he moved her up and down his cock, his head buried in her breasts as he breathed in the heady smell of sweat and sex. She enjoyed being impaled by him, her small body being split into two, all while having him whisper words of appreciation in her ears.

My little wife, my little flower. Made for me… only for me, he would say. Tell me who this cunt belongs to, he would growl, hands slapping her little nub over and over until she caught her breath, found her voice again and appeased him.

You! Gods… to you, my prince, she would whine, holding his hand in place, hoping he would fuck her with his fingers once more, just the way she liked.

It came as no surprise to her that ever since they had become welcome to each other’s affections, they had been a lot more active in their marriage bed– so much so that the lewd moans and loud curses had become court gossip.

When she had addressed the matter with him once soon after they had fucked, Aemond had smiled, albeit darkly– the only kind of smile that suited him. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, he had said. His insinuation that she was now a dragon too, all while his warm breath fanned her neck and his large hands squeezed her backside, was all she needed to quell her worries.

And of course, as was the natural order of these things, she was now with child.

She had been overjoyed when she had found out, and a tad relieved too. The court ladies whispering about her womb was not something she appreciated– their assumptions about her being barren, even less. So when she found out, she insisted that she be the one to break the news to her husband– her time as an expectant mother would never completely be her own, given the station she had now married into.

But this, this moment could be hers and his. It would be theirs alone.

And so, she sat in wait at the training grounds, watching him as he expertly maneuvered his sword and slashed at his mentor, Ser Cole. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge–

Ser Cole had bested him, having noticed the predictability in his movements. Aemond of course, being the headstrong man that he was, refused to give up. The anger in his face at being won over in a fight did not escape her, and she would be lying if she said it did not awaken desire in her once more. Before she could think further however, one of the lords in the audience had piped up.

“Perhaps the Prince would benefit from a token of luck from his dear lady wife!” He said, and the watching crowd around them seemed to agree as they cheered and whistled. Aemond was flummoxed, not knowing how to cope with being faced with the topic of his wife while in the middle of a fight. It was only then that he noticed her, red-faced and smiling as she was– before he could say anything, she had taken the lead.

“I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed, my lord. I’ve nothing to offer him right now!” She quipped with a smile. It had warmed him to know that she was jovial enough for the two of them, allowing him the luxury of staying quiet as she became his champion during situations like these.

“Ah well, he knows you’re here now, Princess! If that does not add to his fire, I do not know what will!”

Perhaps it was her presence, or it was his own prowess as a swordsman. But Aemond was quick to come through this time around. The crowds cheered for their Prince, and so did the man who had taught him to be all that he was.

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Cole said. He patted her dragon prince on his shoulder and walked over to where the swords were arranged. Aemond quickly followed in reverence to his teacher, one that he did not freely give to most. Soon after, the crowds had dispersed, and she watched as his slender, tall form stalk towards her.

“Since when do you frequent the training grounds, wife?”

“Can a wife not seek her husband out when she wants to?”

She could not have imagined rhetorics like these tumbling out of her mouth in the initial days of their union. But they were now closer than they had ever been, and she had discovered that it would not hurt to take initiative, especially given how quiet of a man her husband could be.

He was not the charming prince from the books or the songs, but she certainly loved who he was– inquisitive, considerate and respectful.

“Hm. Perhaps.”

Their walk back to their apartments was a slow and quiet one, with her knowing that he preferred his moments of quiet soon after his training. They soon settled into the solar, with the food spread out for them to break their fast.

As was his habit, Aemond stripped himself of his clothes as she checked the water in the tub with the tips of her fingers, water rippling as her hands moved. He was quick to step in and let his hands rest on either side of the tub, his legs ramrod straight but slowly loosening up as she ran a washcloth over him with a gentle softness that is most unlike him.

Her hands glided over his chest, arms and he caught hold of her when her hands moved to clean his neck, beckoning her to come closer. “My dutiful little flower, hm? Come to assist her husband and answer his every beck and call.”

“I am nothing, if not dutiful.” She said, playful smile teasing him as her breasts threatened to spill out of the neckline of her dress– causing his cock to half-harden at the sight. She kissed his cheek and set the washcloth down, hands traveling to his alabaster hair as she ran her fingers through it, allowing her wet hands to trudge through. When she was done, he was quick to pull at her hand from his side, causing her to bend to meet him, eyes to eye.

“You have a council meeting to get to, husband. Now is not the time.”

She knew very well what he wanted. It was what she wanted too– which is precisely why her own protests meant absolutely nothing to her as she gave in, dress riding up to her thighs and billowing wet in the water as she straddled him. Her cunt was already soaked for him, and he was hot and ready from all the energies that training seemed to have put into him. She rocked her hips forward and backward, adjusting to his girth, while sighing and breathing at the feeling of having him in her. It did not matter how many times he’d taken her, she would never get used to feeling so full.

Soon enough, he had her held harshly by her waist in a bruising grip, his teeth nibbling at her sensitive nipples as he moved her up and down, up and down, up and down. The water crashed out of the tub like waves crashing onto shore and she was quick to fall apart in a mix of pain and pleasure, moaning his name in her broken voice, followed by a silent scream. His release followed soon after, cock twitching in her as he drew her closer, closer and closer still. When she felt his cock soften after a time, she got up and he let her, following close behind.

“You fought well today, husband.” She said, in a feeble attempt to coerce a conversation from him as they sat at the table. He was a man of silence, and she was not. He did not prefer it, but she would try anyway - because there were times when he indulged her.

“Hm. Thank you.”

The smell of cut fruit was intoxicating to her, more so than usual. She had heard of women craving peculiar kinds of food during their time as expectant mothers, so she supposed that this may have to do with the little dragon that she now grew in her belly. The rest of their time eating moved in a swift silence– a comfortable one. The only sounds they heard were of the servants in the corridors and the birds chirping from out the window.

When they finished, the trays were taken away and he got up, ready to leave to sit in on the council meeting that his grandfather had called him for. He was halfway out the door after nodding to her when she took his hand, and he stopped.

Her hands held onto his as tightly as they could, and she was skittish as she continued to look down at the floor. By now, he knew her quirks well enough to know that she did that only when she wanted to say something.

“Go on.” He urged her as his other hand reached for her too.

She drew in a sharp breath as she bit her lip. “I… I am with child, husband.”

She did not know what to expect from him of her news– but his silent sigh and slight smile as his hands reached down to cover her belly in his hold is enough of a reaction. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude and happiness made obvious– to her, even if not to anyone else. She did nothing but smile as his forehead met hers in a soft touch– their touches were always passionate and rough while in the privacy of their chambers, so it was peculiar for her to be treated this way. She found that she enjoyed it, just as much as she enjoyed being roughly handled by him.

She then stretched the fingers of one hand, revealing a little silk patch, a little tourney favor with a rose stitched on it. A flower, from his little flower.

“I know you do not prefer tourneys, but… it is my hope that you would at least keep it with you while you train.”

His hands ran over the soft silk, fingers tracing the intricate patterns that she had clearly taken her time with. He was quick to smoothen it out and pocket it, following it with a kiss to her lips.

“Thank you, for everything.”

The favor was only meant for the training grounds. But a week later, when she found it peeking out of his pocket while they walked around the gardens, she smiled. Soon, she found out that he kept it with him all day.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fourth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of a favor with an embroidered rose, one that he kept on his person at all times.

There was something to be said about the comforts of silence.

Her husband was not a smiling man, nor was he an ardent conversationalist. Being a woman who leaned towards being both, she had begun their marriage with the intent of treading lightly, lest she annoy him or risk having him dismiss her halfway through. And she did try; Gods knew that she did.

Royal marriages were a sacred duty– those held in its sanctity would have to hold themselves to a higher standard, no matter how much it hurt them. With that being said, she was eternally thankful for Aemond understanding her preferences and trying to meet her halfway. She had been prepared for a man who would coldly dismiss her and her wants, but she had not been prepared for one that would actually want her.

One of the greatest pains of being born a noblewoman, she supposed, was that happiness in itself, was a privilege– one that she wished was not as such. She wished for it to be an easy thing to have, and as such, understood that she had been blessed with a quiet and peaceful marriage - one that did not take from her more than she was willing to give. It did not matter how many times she thought it over– she never failed to be as grateful as she was at the first realization, many moons ago.

These were her thoughts as she accompanied her husband in the library. Aemond sat opposite her, on the other side of the table with his finger running over the texts of the Summer and Winter Annals, deeply engaged in the knowledge that the book had to offer on the now lost Kingdom of Sarnor, once a famed trade partner of Valyria.

The fresh assortment of flowers lay haphazardly on her side of the bench, while she worked towards entwining them all onto the coir to make a crown. She often stole a glance at her husband as she repeatedly adjusted herself on her seat, one that was bigger than her usual one - to accommodate her, and the babe that she now carries.

An heir, a royal heir. There is dragon blood in you now, he had said.

She felt it, what with her babe’s constant reminders - boy or girl, the kicks were hard and swift, and it never failed to take her by surprise.

Aemond was a very fast reader, she gathered. His pages turned a lot faster than hers did, and his eyes never stuck to one part of the parchment for long - they flitted about and were restless, aiding him in his desire to learn as much as he can in the least amount of time. They have been married for half a year by now, and yet she manages to learn something new about him every day.

Her deft fingers worked through the stems of the flowers, piercing the sharp ends of the coir through them. In and out, in and out, in and out, she went - establishing a pattern that she ended up memorizing, whether she was cognizant of it or not.

Aemond stood up as he noticed a guard waiting near the doors, summoning him on behalf of the King. Her crown was now completely done, and she admired her handiwork as she twirled it in her finger and smiled. Aemond was now speaking to the guard as she ran the tip of her fingers over the petals. She brought it closer to her nose to smell them - the flowers were not as fragrant as they were once before, but there was a faint scent that she adored.

He nodded, and she could not help but smile again as he approached her. It struck her harder with each moment, how the Gods had blessed her with him - him with his infinite knowledge, calm disposition and otherworldly beauty. She wondered if the babe she carried would look like him - she hopes, hopes and hopes that they would.

He took the crown of flowers in his hands and handled it with the same care that she put into making it. It looked thoroughly out of place, yet so at home in his hands - much like herself.

A mildly happy lift at the edge of his lips caused a sharp dimple - one that made him look harsh, content and menacing at the same time. She may have wished for a Prince from the songs all the moons ago - but right now, she could not help but think that she had been blessed with someone greater, even if she knew that he did not believe it himself.

He placed the crown atop her head, crowning her. She remembered wishing he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty at the twins’ name day tourney - but at this moment, as his fingers glided over her smooth hair to set the crown of white roses into place, she was happier than she could have ever been at any tourney.

“Escort the Princess safely to our chambers,” he ordered, after rubbing her growing stomach and giving her a kiss on her temple before going to meet the King. She stood slowly, and noticed that one unused and withering flower had been left behind. The air from outside the castle gushed through the windows, and it was purely by instinct that she grabbed it by the stem and placed it inside the pages of Aemond’s book before the pages flew - so it would be marked and he could begin where he left off if he so wished.

Long after her exit, Aemond came back to his bench after finishing his meeting with the King. He noticed the protruding stem, and he could not help but feel the warmth coarse through his chest as he opened the tome and found the withering flower pressed inside.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fifth flower that she gave to him came to him in the form of a dried rose, one that he kept tucked safely inside his favorite book.

It was moments like these that made Aemond believe in anyone but himself.

Being able to love someone blindly was not a gift that Aemond ever found himself capable of giving. Ever since the loss of his eye, he had grown to be full of spite and resentment, believing that having his dragon was enough to make the loss of company around him worthwhile. Nobody knew how to speak to him anymore– how does one comfort a boy who could only see half the world around him?

And then, she came to him. His wife.

With her free smiles and open heart, she had made her way through into the center of his. He found that he preferred her there, where she belonged. She had made her home in his heart, and he marveled at how despite not matching up to her in any way that mattered, she had found it in herself to allow him to take shelter in hers.

It brought him shame to think of how they could have fallen in love much sooner if he had been open to her affections and not been so wrapped up in his own presumed fallacies. But with time, he learned that in a world where marriages remained cold until the bitter end, a late bloom of happiness was a gift that he should learn to treasure.

It is a girl. Do not ask me why I believe so, husband. I simply do, she had said.

The tomes say a bigger belly is indicative of a boy. I read it, he had countered then.

He stood corrected. Aemond would tell the entire realm that his worldly knowledge did not stand a chance against his wife’s intuition– the little girl he held in his arms was enough support for his claim.

She slept soundly in his arms as he sat in his chair by the hearth. His wife, tired from her taxing labors, had taken to sleeping through most of the last three days, and he had not left his daughter’s side, not once.

He held her head as his mother carried her for the very first time, eyes shining in joy as she thanked them both for making her a grandmother once more. There were very few things that gave Alicent Hightower joy, and watching her children have babes of their own was one of them.

He rested the tip of his fingers over her smooth and frail silver hair as his grandfather took a good look at her, allowing himself a moment with his guard down. Aemond had not seen his grandfather look at anyone with such reverence, not unless it was Helaena, Jaehaera or his own mother. And now, Aemond suspected that his grandfather, for all his cold demeanor, did have a soft corner in his heart for the women of his life.

He had towered over the crib as the twins took turns gawking at her, after spending hours begging to see their new cousin. Aemond brought them after they promised to not make too much noise– both mother and daughter were fast asleep. Jaehaera had asked him if she could braid her hair when she grew some, and Jaehaerys poked at the new babe's nose (her mother's nose) with his thumb in curiosity. Aemond laughed, for he was intrigued by her too– only, it was better contained.

He held her tightly to his chest with his hand over her head as Aegon came to meet his newborn niece– completely sober and bathed, upon Aemond’s threats of murder if he came anywhere near his babe with his foulness. He smiled as he dropped the little dragon toy in her crib, looking over at the exhausted mother who could barely keep her eyes open. Aemond’s one eye followed his brother’s then, and visibly softened at the sight of his wife. Aegon laughed and quipped, “I never thought I’d say this brother, but I suppose you do wear the lovestruck look well.”

He had rocked her in silence as Helaena cooed at her, elated at the thought of becoming an aunt to a niece. This family is in dire need of more women, she had mumbled absentmindedly once. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered and Aemond enthusiastically agreed.

She is beautiful, and she is his. His own daughter, given to him by his own wife.

In the nights, when he was left alone with the women around whom his entire world now revolved, Aemond let tranquility take him. And it was in moments like these, that he learned to love them both with all that he had– blindly, and unconditionally.

It was in moments like these, that he learned to believe.

Flowers have come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the sixth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of his little daughter. A little flower, from his flower.

The flowers kept coming to him throughout the many years that followed, and he valued every one of them– for they had all come from her, and they were all a part of her.

His flower. His wife. His very own.

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MASTERLIST

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misswynters · 3 months ago

Text

short drabble

Ekko and heimerdinger are being nerdy while you sleep

requested. by anon

There was always a soft hum of machinery that filled the air in Heimerdinger’s workshop. And with that accompanied by the occasional clink of tools and the professor’s enthusiastic ramblings. The workshop had an oddly calming atmosphere, a mix of glowing gadgets, bubbling contraptions, and the gentle warmth of lamp-lit light. It was perfect for dozing off, especially after a long day of following Ekko around Zaun.

You were sprawled out on the old, lumpy couch tucked in a corner of the workshop, your head cushioned by one of Ekko’s jackets that you’d claimed for yourself. Curled up against your side was your pet, a small, scrappy Zaunite fox. Its fur was a mix of gray and russet, with glowing green streaks running along its ears and tail. Ekko had found it injured near one of the Sump scrapers, and after some patching up, it had attached itself to you like glue.

Ekko called it “Scraps” (because of course he would), and Scraps was now peacefully snoozing, just like you.

Across the room, Ekko and Heimerdinger were huddled around one of the professor’s latest inventions, discussing something that involved words you didn’t fully understand.

“…but if you accelerate the core’s energy output without stabilizing the oscillation, it’ll implode,” Ekko said, gesturing animatedly at the device.

Heimerdinger adjusted his tiny glasses, nodding. “Precisely! Which is why you must ensure the harmonic calibrations are synced—ah, but don’t forget to account for temporal distortions.”

As the professor continued explaining, Ekko’s focus wavered. His gaze drifted toward the couch where you were sleeping, your form softly rising and falling with each breath. Scraps twitched its glowing tail but stayed nestled close to you.

A small smile crept onto Ekko’s face. You looked so peaceful, completely at odds with the chaos that usually surrounded you both in Zaun. Your hand was loosely tangled in Scraps’ fur, your other arm tucked under your cheek.

He didn’t notice the professor had stopped talking until Heimerdinger’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Ah, young love,” Heimerdinger said, his tone tinged with teasing amusement.

Ekko snapped his head back toward him, blinking. “Huh? What’re you talking about?”

Heimerdinger chuckled, folding his hands behind his back. “There’s no use denying it, dear boy. The way you’re looking at them, it’s rather endearing, really.”

Ekko’s ears burned. “I wasn’t—I mean, I was just—” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re asleep, alright? That’s all.”

Heimerdinger hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Still, allow me to impart some wisdom, as one who has witnessed countless romances blossom and wither over the centuries.”

“Oh no,” Ekko muttered, groaning.

Ignoring him, Heimerdinger continued, his voice taking on the tone of a well-meaning but meddling elder. “When courting a significant other, one must always show respect, patience, and attentiveness. Flowers are an excellent gesture, but so is active listening. Communication, you see, is the foundation of—”

“Professor,” Ekko interrupted, exasperated. “I don’t think you understand. We’re not—”

“Young people these days,” Heimerdinger said with a dramatic shake of his head, cutting him off. “Always so quick to dismiss advice. But mark my words: treat them well, or you’ll regret it!”

Before Ekko could retort, Scraps stirred, lifting its head with a sleepy yawn. The movement must’ve disturbed you because you shifted slightly, blinking groggily as the sound of their voices filtered through your half asleep haze.

“Mm… what’s going on?” you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. Scraps hopped off the couch and stretched before circling back to your lap.

Ekko winced, shooting you an apologetic look. “Sorry, Firefly,” he said softly, using the nickname he’d given you. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Firefly—because you were always a little light in Zaun’s darkness, buzzing around him with endless energy.

You shook your head, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “It’s fine,” you murmured, scratching Scraps behind the ears. “What were you guys talking about?”

Heimerdinger perked up. “Oh, nothing of consequence!” he said cheerfully, though his smirk told a different story. “Merely enlightening young Ekko on the art of courtship.”

You blinked, then glanced at Ekko, who looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “Courtship?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t start,” Ekko muttered, shooting Heimerdinger a look.

The professor chuckled, his ears twitching. “Ah, youth. So easily embarrassed.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Ekko’s expression, your earlier grogginess fading. “Well, did you learn anything useful?” you teased.

Ekko rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

He reached out, ruffling your hair gently before pulling his hand back. “For real, though. Sorry we woke you up. Want me to walk you home?”

You shook your head, leaning back against the couch. “Nah, I’m good here. I like listening to you two talk.”

Heimerdinger beamed. “A kindred spirit indeed! Intellectual discourse is a joy to behold, is it not?”

Ekko groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “And now you’ve encouraged him. Great.”

You just laughed again, feeling the warmth of the moment settle around you. Scraps let out a contented sigh, curling up in your lap, and Ekko plopped down on the couch beside you. His hand found yours, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go, his usual ease returning.

The three of you stayed in the workshop, for endless hours as the two nerds worked on their projects. Whereas you cheered them on at the sidelines with cute ol’ Scraps to keep you company. Especially when they would talk about all the science lingo that you did not understand. Even though ekko would sometimes explain it in more simpler terms. It didn’t quite go through your head. Needlessly to say you enjoyed the days you would spend at the workshop.

taglist. @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights

banner. @anitalenia

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celestiamour · 2 months ago

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pls pls plsss write smth where fem reader and se-mi meet at the games and fall for one another? w the reader having a sort of bubbly and cute personality! tysm 🫶🫶

ft. se-mi x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ falling for your cute and bubbly personality┊0.7k words

contains: fluff! reader is a sweetheart, asking you out

➤ author's note: i was so in love with her this entire season like i couldn’t stop giggling every time she showed up on screen

you seem to be able to create friends even in this impossible situation, she notes as she watches you with amused eyes while you flutter around the room from group to group like a pretty butterfly flying from flower to flower. there’s at least one person in the dozens of teams who you know by name and not number, and even if you didn’t, you thought all of them were deserving of a drop of sunshine that was your personality. you made even the most difficult people crack a smile with how infectious your energy was and how sweet you were even in these murder games, and it made her indifferent heartbeat a little faster whenever it was her turn to have your attention. who wouldn’t feel that way when there was such a cute girl who reminded her of the princesses from those cartoons she watched when she was little?

“se-mi unnie!! how are you holding up?”

she hadn’t seen the real light of the sun in days, yet your smile shone even brighter than the morning star and she briefly wondered if she would be blinded if she looked directly at it. you were like a doll in the sense that it seemed to be permanent, but after seeing the look on your face after the first game where dozens died like they meant nothing, she now knows you were simply spreading some much-needed love to others as a way to cope with the traumatic experience like the sweetheart you were.

“i’m doing okay, i just wish the food tasted better— come sit next to me,” she commanded, patting her free hand against the open spot on the mattress because she wanted as much of your time as possible.

“well, it’s kimbap, so you can’t really go wrong with it!” you obediently climbed onto the bed with her, sitting so close that she could smell the artificial flower-scented soap of the shower you took a couple of hours ago. “when we get out of here, you should come over to my place and i’ll cook you some food! i’m not as good as my grandma, but it’s a lot better than the cold stale stuff they serve here.”

“that would be great.” she liked the idea of coming over to your place, already able to imagine your room full of stuffed animal collections and lace curtains, although she would much prefer it if she came as something more than a friend— but now that she thinks about it, did you even like girls in that way like she does? you didn’t really express romantic interest in girls, but you exactly didn’t show any for guys either, being more of a little sister figure for them all rather than a potential love interest like she saw you as.

there was only one way to tell, so se-mi did what she did best, and that was flirting with girls.

“god, i wish this could be over already,” she sighed as she leaned over to your side to rest her head on your shoulder. “i would love to come over to your place, we could have a spa night and watch romance movies until morning.”

as soon as the words left her mouth, she felt heat start to radiate off your face. “l-like a date?”

“well, only if you want it to be a date…”

“w-well… um… i would… really, really like that… um, mrs kang is calling for me! i’ll talk to you later!” you stuttered as you rushed off in the direction of the old lady and her son, covering your face with your hands and running away like an embarrassed anime girl. she watched carefully as you told them something in a clearly excited tone before smacking the man with the glasses when his head snapped in se-mi’s direction, but they both seemed very happy for you which made her smile knowing you were on board

“goddamn it, why is everyone pulling cute girls except for me?!” an annoyingly familiar voice from a certain purple-haired rapper started. “what am i doing wrong? i’m thanos for crying out loud, i should be getting swarmed!”

“you might want to work on your technique.”

#📜. her works #se mi #se mi x reader #squid game #squid game x reader

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solxamber · 4 months ago

Note

This is a funny lil idea I just had but have you ever thought about rook and a reader that acts like his behavior is normal? Like, they know he's literally stalking them but is perfectly fine with it for some strange reason.

And when they finally do start dating, everyone is either

1. Convinced that he’s threatening your life

2. Judging you like crazy because WHY

Totally Normal Romance || Rook Hunt

You've fallen hard for the hunter and you're dating! But when you tell your friends the good news, they immediately try staging interventions. Huh, I wonder why?

thank you for waiting! I loved the idea a lot and it became way longer than I expected but I hope you like it!

You’ve somehow managed to fall into a relationship with Rook, the Academy's resident “Hunter” and renowned tracker of students who can't even attempt to hide without him finding them.

Most people would be a little alarmed—okay, extremely alarmed—by Rook’s knack for showing up whenever you breathe a little too loud. But you? You’re weirdly, unapologetically chill about it.

The day starts as it usually does. Rook is outside your door bright and early, practically sparkling, ready to report how many steps you took in your sleep, how many breaths you exhaled, and what percentage of your dreams contained images of his dashing silhouette.

You nod, acting like he’s merely sharing the weather, and go about your morning. People are whispering in the hallways; they’ve noticed that the school’s “greatest hunter” is now your personal shadow.

Some think you're being held hostage in an unholy union. Others are convinced you’ve cracked under the pressure of Rook’s endless poetic monologues and have, in fact, lost your mind.

When the two of you officially start dating, the rumors take a delightful nosedive into the surreal. Rook is, naturally, over the moon, reciting sonnets about your “captivating acceptance of his pursuit.” Friends beg you to “see the red flags.”

You just smile as Rook emerges from behind a tree on your morning jog to hand you a flower he found “radiant with the essence of your aura.”

Intervention Attempt 1: Adeuce

You’re just sitting down to lunch when Ace and Deuce suddenly approach you with identical expressions of horror and determination, like they’ve somehow stumbled into a horror movie and taken it upon themselves to rescue the clueless protagonist. Ace, as usual, decides to take the lead.

“We need to talk. About... him.” He jerks a thumb toward Rook, who’s lurking—quite visibly—behind a tree, watching you with a delighted grin as if the entire world is his favorite reality TV show.

You shrug. “Rook’s just being his usual sweet self.”

Deuce’s mouth falls open. “That’s... sweet? The dude’s literally hiding in a tree to stare at you.”

You wave a hand. “He’s just thoughtful, you know? He knew I needed a pick-me-up yesterday, so he waited in my closet for two hours just to surprise me with a motivational haiku.”

Ace’s expression is somewhere between pity and disbelief. “You’re serious? That’s... sweet?”

“Uh-huh.” You pop a fry in your mouth, unfazed. “Honestly, it’s kind of nice to have someone that dedicated.”

Ace and Deuce share a silent, horrified look, one that clearly says, Our friend has lost it. Then, Ace leans in close. “You know, if he’s threatening you, you can blink twice or something. We can handle him.”

You burst into laughter, almost choking on your fry. “Guys, come on! Rook’s harmless. It’s just his way of showing affection.”

Behind the tree, Rook notices you laughing and beams even wider, waving with both hands like you’re his entire world. Ace sighs, looking like he’s just signed up for an impossible mission. Deuce’s brows knit together in concern, like he’s mentally preparing himself to guard you from the “danger” Rook apparently presents.

Intervention Attempt 2: Leona

Leona lounges on the couch as you walk into the room, looking way too relaxed—except for the sharp glint in his eye as he watches you. You know that look; it’s the we need to talk look, though Leona would sooner eat his tail than say it outright.

“You know that guy who keeps creeping around you?” he starts, his tone casual, as if he’s talking about the weather. “The hunter dude?”

“Oh, Rook? Yeah, he’s great!” you reply with a smile, clearly missing his hint.

Leona raises an eyebrow, looking faintly amused. “Great? The guy basically tracks your every move like a lion on a hunt. He’s probably memorized your breathing patterns by now.”

You laugh it off, waving a hand. “Leona, you make it sound creepy. Rook’s just… committed.”

Leona smirks, leaning back with a lazy yawn. “Committed to what, stalking you?”

You shrug. “It’s romantic in its own way! He writes poetry about me, makes sure I’m always safe... It’s kinda nice knowing someone’s always watching out for me.”

“Watching out for you,” Leona mutters, barely concealing a snicker. “Sure. Or just watching you.” He tilts his head, examining you as if you’re some rare species that’s suddenly shown up in the savanna. “You sure he hasn’t put a spell on you? You sound completely out of it.”

You smirk. “Leona, you’re just not used to people showing appreciation.”

Leona narrows his eyes, amusement flickering in his gaze. “You keep saying stuff like that, herbivore, and I’m gonna assume you’ve completely lost it.” He yawns and flops back onto the couch, muttering under his breath, “That crazy hunter and his weird haikus…”

You walk away, oblivious, and Leona just shakes his head with a smirk, quietly wondering if he’ll end up having to pry Rook off of you someday.

Intervention Attempt 3: Riddle

Riddle stares at you over his teacup, his brows knit with concern as you talk about your latest “date” with Rook. You've barely started describing his newest poetic declaration when Riddle sets his cup down, looking thoroughly alarmed.

“I… don’t understand,” he interrupts. “Did you say he was waiting in the shadows outside your dorm window at midnight? And he… recited sonnets?”

You nod, completely unbothered. “Oh, yes! And he was so sweet about it. He even had a rose between his teeth, Riddle. He really went all out.”

Riddle’s expression looks like he’s been hit with cold water. “And you… didn’t feel unsafe?”

“Why would I?” you laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s Rook. He’s just being his passionate self.”

Riddle’s face hardens, and he stands up, clutching his teacup with barely contained fury. “This is unacceptable! You must report this immediately—stalking is a severe issue! You don’t have to tolerate this treatment, no matter how he frames it!”

You blink, surprised. “Riddle, it’s really okay. He’s not stalking me; he’s just… really attentive.”

Riddle’s lips thin, and he looks at you with pity, as if you're just too naive to understand the danger you’re in. “It’s worse than I thought,” he mutters, eyes blazing. “He’s… he’s manipulating you into thinking this is acceptable!”

Riddle finally sighs, shaking his head. “If you’re too afraid to tell him off, I’ll do it for you. As a dorm leader, it’s my duty to protect students in my care.”

“Riddle, I appreciate it, but I don’t need protection,” you insist, patting him on the shoulder. “Rook is harmless.”

Riddle huffs, looking like he’s already planning out the verbal lashing he’s going to deliver to Rook the next time he sees him. “You’ll see,” he says. “When you realize the danger, remember I warned you.”

You just smile, and he glances at you like you’re a sheep walking happily into a lion’s den.

Intervention Attempt 4: Malleus (And Lilia?)

When Malleus summons you to Diasomnia for what he calls an “urgent matter,” you’re intrigued. However, when you arrive, his expression is downright grave. The flickering candlelight gives his face an eerie glow as he looks at you, his usually calm demeanor laced with worry.

He leans in close, and his eyes narrow. “I understand you… spend much time with Rook,” he says, voice almost a whisper.

“Uh, yeah? We’re dating,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Malleus blinks, clearly taken aback, as if he was expecting an entirely different answer. “So you willingly… permit him to lurk in the shadows around you?”

“Well, yes, he’s got that whole poetic ‘silent protector’ thing going on.” You shrug, but Malleus doesn’t look any less alarmed.

“I see,” Malleus says, more to himself than to you. “So he’s already gained control over you.” He sighs, looking deeply concerned. “Fear not. I will protect you from him.”

Before you can respond, Lilia, who’s been silently watching with a smirk, bursts into laughter.

“Oh, Malleus, you’re taking this far too seriously,” he cackles, clapping a hand on Malleus’s shoulder. “Rook isn’t dangerous—well, unless you count bad poetry as a weapon.”

Malleus doesn’t look convinced. “You find this funny?” he asks, frowning.

“Of course I do!” Lilia grins, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. “They’re dating, Malleus. Rook doesn’t even know how to scare a fly when it comes to them.”

Malleus turns back to you, still worried. “Are you… certain you’re safe?”

You nod, but the look of pity in his eyes says he’s clearly unconvinced, as if he thinks you’re only defending Rook out of fear. Meanwhile, Lilia gives you a wink and a mischievous grin, enjoying the absurdity of the whole situation.

Intervention Attempt 5: Azul

You’re strolling past the Mostro Lounge, hoping to grab some food, when Azul intercepts you, looking unusually serious. He gestures for you to follow him into a private corner, glancing around as if he's worried someone might overhear.

“I understand you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Rook,” he says, his tone grave, though there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s already calculating something.

You raise an eyebrow. “Yeah, we’re dating.”

Azul’s expression shifts to something between shock and pity, as if he’s just heard you’ve taken up with the Grim Reaper himself. “Dating? So… you’re aware he’s stalking you?”

You shrug. “He’s not stalking—he’s just keeping an eye out. Very vigilant, actually.”

Azul’s face darkens. “Right… vigilant.” He clears his throat. “In that case, allow me to offer the services of Floyd and Jade for your… protection.”

You blink. “Protection?”

“Yes. For a reasonable price, of course,” he says with a smooth smile, back to his usual self. “Consider it a sort of… insurance in case this arrangement with Rook takes a… dramatic turn.”

He leans forward, lowering his voice. “Imagine if you had two skilled guards who could tail him as closely as he tails you.”

Before you can respond, Floyd appears out of nowhere, draping an arm over your shoulder and grinning. “We could totally scare him, too. Make him feel like he’s the one being hunted!”

Jade nods from behind him, his smile too sharp to be comforting. “Yes, we’re more than happy to shadow Rook if you’d like.”

You stare at the twins, whose predatory smiles seem to stretch further the longer they look at you. “Guys, I appreciate the offer, but Rook’s fine. I’m not being held captive.”

Azul raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t push, instead sighing in that dramatic way of his. “Very well. The offer stands should you need it. Just remember: one word, and we’re at your service.”

As you walk away, you catch a quiet exchange between the twins.

“Do you think we’d even get the chance to tail him, Jade?”

“Hmm… I’d say it’s more likely he’d follow us, Floyd.”

You shake your head, amused. Only Azul would find a way to capitalize on your love life.

Intervention(?) Attempt 6: Vil

You’re backstage in Pomefiore, helping Vil with his costume adjustments for his latest role when he pauses, hands on his hips, giving you a long, evaluative look.

“So… you and Rook?” he finally says, an eyebrow raised with an almost resigned air.

“Yeah.” You grin, shrugging. “I mean, he’s… intense, but it works.”

Vil sighs, pressing two fingers to his temple as if that would ward off the headache he’s certain to get from this conversation. “You realize that most people would find his behavior concerning, right?”

You wave him off. “He’s harmless. Just… expressive.”

He gives a soft, humorless laugh, as though he’s not sure if you’re just that naive or that confident. “You’re both completely mad, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you say, leaning back with a shrug. “But I like it that way.”

Vil sighs again, and there’s a glimmer of a smile, even if it’s hidden behind a look of sheer exasperation. “Well, at least he won’t make you look bad. He’ll be too busy swooning in the background to do anything truly reckless.” He adjusts your collar with an air of finality, giving you a nod. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

And with that, he returns to his preparations, mumbling something under his breath about how only you could take Rook’s intensity as a “feature” rather than a “warning sign.” But you catch the faint smile on his face as he walks away, leaving you feeling oddly reassured.

Final Intervention: Idia

Idia’s “intervention” is the sort of spectacle that would probably have your other friends dial emergency numbers if they walked in. He's got his laptop perched on a stack of comics, his tablet propped up, and an honest-to-Seven laser pointer he’s brandishing like it’s going to physically ward off any poor life choices.

He points at his first diagram, titled in neon-green font: "Why Your Boyfriend Should Not Be Tracking Your Every Move Like a Supervillain”. It's complete with cartoonish red arrows and diagrams that could pass for an undergrad thesis on questionable behavior.

Rook’s sitting beside you, nodding along with a strangely approving look, as if Idia's crude drawings are just part of the "unrefined genius" he'd expect from mere mortals.

When Idia clicks to his next slide—a very intense pie chart on “Reasons You’re Definitely in Danger"—you shrug. “Look, Idia, everyone’s got their quirks, right? He leaves poetry scrolls for me; you send messages only through encrypted text channels with six layers of memes as the header.”

Idia stares at you, blinking, and drops his laser pointer. It rolls pathetically across the floor, and he looks like he’s two seconds away from fainting. “Th-This isn’t the same! I don’t leave my IP address in your flowerbeds!”

Rook, thrilled, interjects. “Ah, but would you not feel a poetic stirring in your heart if you did, monsieur? Every new line I compose is a love letter to the chase!”

Idia sways. You’re genuinely worried he might black out.

Life, as it turns out, continues with a healthy dose of Rook’s “love language,” which to everyone else looks like the dictionary definition of a security risk.

Yet, you find yourself smiling every time he swoops in with that glittering look in his eyes, poetry scrolls under his arm and a thousand strange ideas.

And even if everyone around you is either looking into exorcisms or planning escape routes, for you, it’s just another day of living your best life.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #rook hunt x reader #rook x reader #rook x you #rook hunt #rook

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llamagoddessofficial · 2 months ago

Note

What are some ways the Mafia crew would try to further woo their dearest love? And in return, what ways could we further endear ourselves to them?

Scary spooky mafia guys...... trying their hardest to woo a pretty human. AGH it hits all the notes!!!!

Horror gets overwhelmed. You make him so happy, so fuzzy, so warm - but he doesn't believe he can 'woo' you. Not when he can't bear his own reflection, not when even his Dust and Killer consider him violent and frightening. Horror believes his affection for you is his only redeeming quality. He doesn't think you'll like him, but he literally can't stop himself from trying, so when he has his heart set on you his methods are... surprisingly slow and tentative. Especially considering how mercurial he usually is. He brings you flowers that made him think of you, he makes you food, he pores over his brother's dating manual and panics when something happens that he hasn't read about. He's nervous to even hold your hand in case he scares you; the other skeletons are so handsome and eloquent and flirtatious, how could he ever compare? If he frightens you off, he'll never get you back. He has to be gentle.

How could you endear yourself to Horror? Tell him how handsome he is. Tell him how often he's charming without realising. Compliment his cooking. It really won't be that hard, he's already head over heels, but hearing that you like him means so much.

Dust... does not struggle with wooing. Sorry Horror. Dust is frightening, certainly, but his quietness gives him an undeniable magnetism. Like a wolf - sure, you can see his sharp teeth when he smiles, you can see the moonlight flash in his empty eyes. But when he draws close... you can't help but want to move nearer, and touch his soft, silver pelt. Compared to the other three, his romancing is much more underhanded, more about you than grand gestures toward you - which can honestly be a relief when you're being pursued by such big personalities. He turns on the charm, talks quietly and sweetly, stands just a little too close to be platonic, rents your favourite movie when you're down, and (most importantly) positioning himself as your friend and confidant against the other bad guys. He clearly doesn't want to be involved with them, and it's easier to keep you close if you trust him more.

Dust is won over by sincere affection and compliments. For all that looming and flirting, he sure does fall apart quickly when you look right into his eyelights and tell him you like having him around. At that point, he's all yours.

Killer firmly believes that if he can make you laugh, he can make you love him. It's all about getting those giggles, baby. Whatever kind of jokes you like is the kind he tells, he's impressively quick on the draw and never runs out of material, on occasion you may have to ask him to stop joking because your cheeks and abdomen hurt from laughing. He's careful not to be too much... he knows when to be bombastic, when to just be a bit silly and teasing, and when to offer a shoulder to lean on because you're not in the mood. His romantic side is obviously going to be in full force - bouquets, sweets, cards, dates - but his number one wooing technique is getting you to smile. The world you've been unwillingly dragged into can be truly terrifying, and even with the skeletons surrounding you, you'll no doubt feel the nerves and pressure. Killer's humour is a welcome distraction.

It's... hard to tell what endears you to Killer. Honestly, it's hard to tell what Killer is ever thinking. How do you know what's real affection, and what's just a way of making you feel comfortable around him? How can you tell when he's not acting anymore? Though, if you look at how hard he's working every single day to make you that little bit happier... maybe it's not possible to be any more dear to him than you already are.

Nightmare likes to throw his money around. He has an incredible skill for catching when you really like something, reading your face for even the subtlest shine in your eyes, and no matter how much you try to cover your reactions he will catch when you want something and buy it for you. ... But that's not his only wooing trick. Nightmare is, to most people, a violent and unpleasant man who lets his temper take him wherever it pleases. But once he understands his feelings for you and fully commits to romance, he's charming. Lethally charming. He was raised a prince, after all, Dream isn't the only one who has a way with words. You'll start a simple conversation with him, and then you blink and you're sitting on his desk in his study telling him things you've never told anyone. You'll go to him specifically trying not to be swayed - and then when you snap back to reality the two of you are sharing a very luxurious bottle of wine in his room and you've just agreed to be his plus one to a gala this weekend. After all, if he wants to buy you another eye-wateringly expensive necklace, he's going to have to convince you to try some on first.

Nightmare appreciates any attempt to get to know him. His whole life, he's felt like he's living in Dream's shadow, so when you try to actually understand and learn about Nightmare he gets as flattered as he does flustered. Find out about his favourite painters and musicians, read his favourite books, ask him about himself. No one ever has before.

#llamagines #bad sanses #mafia au #being with nightmare is like suddenly waking up from a crazy night out #except instead of waking up in bed with a hangover #you wake up listening to an orchestra from a private booth. wearing jewellery that costs twice your old rent

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feyascorner · 1 year ago

Note

Hear me out! Hear me out!

From Astrion's pov

A Tav who hates physical contact.

But then one night when it's pouring rain Tav comes to Astarion's tent feeling scared and ask if they can stay and then one thing leads to another and suddenly the two of them are cuddled together and Astarion is like "I thought you didn't like being touched" and Tav is like "Normally I'm scared people will hurt me when they touch me. But you are different. I feel safe with you. I trust you."

a/n. I’m going to collapse they’re everything to me AHHH THIS IS SUCH A CUTE PROMPT

Astarion, by nature and by the two-hundred years he’s spent as a vampire spawn, is a touchy person. It’s instinctual. A habit he can no longer break. It’s not even sexual, half the time. It’s simply how he conveys the words that he struggles to say, even if his vocabulary is filled to the brim with flowery verses of love straight from a romance novel.

But he understands the aversion for touch. Because he’s spent so much of his life hating the touch of strangers against his skin, he understands when you recoil when one of your companions attempt to hug you, or someone tries to shake your hand. Even if yours doesn’t stem from the similar situations where he had to set out on a victim under Cazador’s orders, he understands what it’s like to simply dislike it.

He doesn’t touch you, even if his hand itches to brush the stray strands of hair out of your face. Even as he has to yank his arm away when he feels it nearing yours as you walk alongside one another. Even as all he wants to do is drag you to the nearest corner and beg that you just hold his hand.

So when you appear at the flap of his tent, barely shielding yourself from the thunderous weather outside, asking if you can stay, his jaw physically unhinges.

He coughs, gathering himself quickly—or as quickly as he can manage.

“Come here, darling. You’ll freeze away with that mortal body of yours.”

He doesn’t even know how it happens. Well, he does, but he doesn’t really believe it’s happening. Only fifteen minutes later, you’re snuggled in under his blankets, pressed tightly against his side. He stares up at the ceiling on his back with wide eyes, slowly turning to look at you.

“Is this…alright?” He asks, and you peek out from one eye, adjusting your head on his arm. He can smell your shampoo from so close—lavender? No, maybe another blasted flower he doesn’t know the name of…

“What is?”

“This,” he waves his free arm between the two of you. “Don’t get me wrong, darling, you know I’m never against a cuddle, but I thought you—well—“

You stare at him expectantly.

“I thought you disliked physical contact,” he says, softer. “Not just with me, obviously. In general you seem rather opposed to the idea.”

The thunder rings from outside and your brows crease deeper. The light from a lightning strike illuminates your faces briefly before it’s a dim darkness again, with nothing but your own eyes able to adjust just enough to make out one another’s features. He’s sure he sees more than you do, considering his familiarity with the dark, and uses it to notice the way your lips purse at the intrusive sounds coming from outside.

He also notices you leaning closer to him, but hesitant. Your movements are unsure.

If he had a heart, it would’ve been pounding now, surely.

So he curls his arm closer, pushing you into his chest in the process. You tense briefly, but melt into the feeling, and he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Are you afraid?”

Your voice is but a whisper. “Not anymore.”

There’s a comfortable silence hanging in the air for what seems like hours, but he might consider them to be just a few minutes. The rain pounds relentlessly against the tent, but here, even through the thin fabric, he doesn’t even notice it anymore.

“You’re different from everyone else,” you mumble, and he looks down at his chest to see your eyes halfway shut, clearly about to doze off. “I know you won’t hurt me…there’s no reason for me to avoid touching you.”

He blinks, and you bury half your face into the fabric of his shirt.

“I want you to touch me.”

For the first time in decades, Astarion finds himself at a loss for words. He’s said worse things, sure, but coming from you?…

After filing through a dozen possible responses, he settled on one, opening his mouth to respond, but your breath is already heavier. You’ve already left to a dream world he cannot follow you into, and you’ve left him in a state that he would’ve considered humiliating with anyone else.

He stares at the ceiling again, listening to the soft rhythm of your breathing.

“You can’t just say that and then fall asleep you fool…”

#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #bg3 #fluff

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irndad · 11 months ago

Note

Hi, I’m so sorry, I searched for request guidelines and must be missing them so if this isn’t something you write I apologize-

Flower prompt heliotrope with Spencer where reader sacrifices herself/or gets shot to save Maeve so Spencer can be happy, even though she’s hopelessly in love with him. 🥹

Little angst, little fluff. You can decide if reader fully sacrifices or just gets really badly hurt and how Spencer reacts.

my dear!! there are no rules yet- i have things i won't fill but thus far the onus has been on me to clarify. i had so much fun writing this- thank you for requesting it!!! requests r open :^) wc: 1.1k

“Is Maeve okay?”

It’s the first thing she says when she wakes up from her hospital bed. Spencer’s shaking, a little woozy too. It turns out that they have the same blood type, and she lost a whole fucking lot of it. He’d been happy to give it to her, although ‘happy’feels like the wrong word to use in this situation.

She had internal bleeding, and collapsed harshly from the gunshot, scuffing her forehead so badly she needed stitches. Comparatively, it’s the least of her worries, but still- Spencer can’t stop staring at it. She’s literally marred by the choice she made to protect him.

Maeve is okay. She’s in the same hospital, but Spencer’s spent about ten minutes with her- the rest of the last 12 hours of his life were spent oscillating between donating blood and praying to a deity he’s not sure exists.

She’d survived. They’d both survived. He should feel relieved- why doesn’t he feel relieved?

It’s a stupid question that he keeps asking himself. Two of the most important people in his life are alive, but still in the moment, her blood spilling over him- the gasp of her breath when the bullet hit her- He’s going to remember the sound of it forever, what it sounded like for her to almost die for someone else. He hates that she’s the type of person to do it. To jump in front of a loaded gun for a woman she’s never met before.

He’s mad at her. He has no right to be- he gets a chance with Maeve now, and that’s all due to the choice she made. And yet- he’s so, so angry at her. Because she could be dead right now. He could never, ever talk to her again. She made a choice that meant that he might have never been able to hear her voice, do a magic trick for her, ever, ever be near her again. How the fuck could she do that to him?

“Yes,” he replies, “she’s okay.”

She nods agreeably, before wincing at what appeared to be an intense ache at her temples.

“My head hurts,” she says, her voice low and endearing, and his heart roars with protectiveness. “Do you think I could have a juice box?”

She’s so sweet- he wants to laugh, in a sad desperate kind of way. This is his favorite person in the world, sitting up shakily and asking for juice, clearly groggy and so endearing. He almost lost her.

“You’re okay too,” he says, “If you’re wondering. You scared us. You had internal bleeding and a concussion. You lost a lot of blood.”

It’s only then she frowns.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she pouts, trying to sit up and speak to him. “But it all worked out, Spence. She’s okay.”

“It didn’t all work out!” Her eyes widen at his outburst, and he feels like scum. Yelling at her when she’s in a hospital bed, taking a bullet so he’d have a chance at romance.

“You said she’s okay,” she says back, slowly. “I don’t understand.”

“You lost blood. You almost died. That is not it working out. You have to tell me you understand that.” He doesn’t know why he’s being so harsh, but he also doesn’t know why he has to explain this to her.

“I know,” she sighs, “I know. But this is the job, and I didn’t have time to get a vest on!”

“Then you wait. You wait. You don’t just burst in-“

“And you would’ve lost the love of your life!”

“What makes you think she’s the love of my life?”

A nurse shuffles by the room and Spencer takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to be kicked out of her room, and on some level he knows how crazy it is to be yelling at a gunshot victim. He pinches his nose, eyes winced in frustration.

She’s been his favorite person by a wide margin for an incredibly long time. She joined the team as a consultant and he remembers the first time he did a card trick for her- the first time he’d fallen asleep on her shoulder. He was so grateful to know her. Still is. In this moment, knowing feels like time slipping out from an hourglass- like it was almost numbered. Their time was almost finished.

Maeve was lovely. Maeve listened and she was kind and Spencer really did like her. He’s glad she’s safe, now. But his best friend, his coworker and favorite person- Spencer thought everyone could tell that he’s been in love with the team consultant since the first week he knew her.

Everything he liked about Maeve reminded him of her.

And she’d jumped in front of a bullet for someone she thought he was in love with. And fuck, maybe he did love her in some way- but whatever ‘in love’ meant with Maeve, this sorrow, the pain of knowing she’d almost been someone he’d have to remember was far, far deeper.

“You’ve never mentioned anyone to me romantically. I’ve known you for years, Spencer. She’s important to you.”

Maeve is. She was. It’s all so confusing now. He has liked someone for years, though. He couldn’t tell her, though. Maeve was a welcome distraction from a love he thought was wholly impractical and impossible to love him back— a love that now he has to witness languish in a hospital bed.

Morgan knew. Morgan would tease him every time Spencer drew a smiley face in purple marker on her coffee cup. He would tell him to just ask her out, and it had always felt so improbable. She’d never go for someone as lanky and uncharismatic as him.

“You’re important to me.”

She has no idea how much.

Her eyes soften at that, and not for the first time, he wants to curl into her arms. He wants to lay next to her in the hospital bed, and feel her pulse beat against bare skin. Feel her pulse and with every beat know that she is alive.

“I know that, Spence,” she breathes out.

Even though it’s not kosher, not necessarily the right thing to do when your not-girlfriend/girl you went on one date with is in the same hospital, but when his best friend opens up her arms for a hug, he ends up doing exactly what he wanted.

The team finds her asleep in her hospital bed, with Spencer asleep in her arms. It feels voyeuristic to look at, but Spencer really, really couldn’t care.

He resolved to tell her that he loves her as soon as she’s healed. With the way Morgan side eyes him every time he ‘helps’ her walk across a room by holding her waist, he’s not sure he’ll last that long.

#spencer reid #spencer Reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic

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sakur4ii · 6 months ago

Text

Rooted Connections Pt.2

Charles Xavier x Reader x Erik Lensherr

the gender of the reader is not specified

Note: I will not make a third part, I hope you like it. Also reminder that English is not my first language, let me know if there are any mistakes I didn't notice (especially with pronouns).

Summary: feelings come out, plants love romance and you are still as blind as in the first part.

Finally, peace.

After supposedly saving the future from great chaos, Charles decided to reopen the doors of his school, offering you to stay with him. You accepted because you didn't want to leave him alone, feeling his sadness through the earth. Although in reality, he wasn’t alone; he now had his students, but the connection the three of you had created was so strong that you feared that if you also left, he would break again.

Years have passed, and now the school is full, and you are a teacher.

You walk through the halls, searching for something, maybe someone, though you’re not sure. The mansion’s plants have warned you but haven’t specified anything, so you proceed cautiously, trying to find some intruder.

"Professor Y/N,” you hear, a voice you know well.

“What is it, Jean?” You turn around; you can’t see her clearly, but you can feel her nerves and hear her heart beating faster than usual.

“Someone is approaching from the backyard.”

Before she finishes speaking, you are already running to the backyard. The plants don’t want to reveal anything, and for some reason, you don’t feel any unusual presence, leading you to assume that the earth doesn’t want you to know who the intruder is on purpose.

Once your bare feet touch the green, damp grass, you stop feeling the presence of everyone at the school except for the person sitting on the grass a few feet away from you, and Charles, who is coming up behind you.

You take slow steps toward the seated person, hearing a gasp behind you. You sit down next to him and wait for Charles to come closer until he is on the other side of the man.

“What are you doing here, Erik?” Charles asks. You can feel his conflicting emotions through his voice. On one hand, he is happy to see him again and that it isn’t to stop him from killing all of humanity and condemning mutants. On the other hand, he’d love to punch him again for prioritizing revenge and abandoning him.

But you focus more on the absolute pain you feel from Erik through the earth. You can feel him mourning, yet also very angry, seeking comfort to avoid vengeance.

When Charles doesn’t receive any response, and you can assume he also starts to feel the man’s emotions, you wrap your arm around Erik’s shoulders, pulling him into a side hug, enough for him to start crying.

“I tried,” he sobs into your neck, while Charles sits on the ground, leaving the chair aside and firmly holding Erik’s hand between his own. “I tried to live like them, to blend in, and they… they killed my wife and daughter.”

You don’t know what to say; you don’t know how to comfort him with words, so you just rub his back. You know Charles is afraid of saying something wrong, something that will only make the situation worse, so both of you remain silent, comforting your old friend (and the third missing piece of the puzzle) through gentle touches.

“I didn’t know where else to go… you’re all I have left.”

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

You weren’t born blind; you had the privilege of seeing the color of the sky and vegetation. You had the privilege of having a favorite color, but an accident occurred, and it was no longer worth thinking about things like a favorite book or a favorite flower because you couldn’t see anything anymore.

Plants are very talkative; they always have been. They love to gossip, and they love drama. The day before the accident, they were very hysterical, sensing something bad was coming, but they couldn’t say what.

Then the accident happened, and you were hospitalized. The plants felt guilty, apologizing over and over, even the plants you didn’t know but who knew you, apologizing and feeling ashamed that they hadn’t been useful, that they couldn’t prevent the tragedy.

It was when you lost your sight that your powers began to manifest: control of the earth, the ability to feel through it. Your mentors were the plants, the trees, and the earth itself. You learned that you could see through the roots of trees, and that was an easy way to find something or someone.

When you met Charles, even before the man arrived at your house, the plants were more talkative than usual. They told you everything they knew, like how Logan was from the future and needed help, your help. But they mostly talked about Professor X and a puzzle. You couldn’t understand them, but their excitement amused you.

When they freed Erik from that cell, the plants began talking non-stop again, once more about a supposed puzzle and Erik’s entire life, about how angry they were with some of his actions but how much they appreciated him.

The first time they fell completely silent was when Erik shot Raven; the second was when Erik fled to avoid being captured.

The third time you didn’t understand the silence; you were listening to Charles reading to his younger students, and out of nowhere, the plants fell silent, a mourning silence.

And the fourth time was the day after the third when Erik appeared unannounced at the school. Although it was more for drama—did I mention they are dramatic?

Erik stayed at the school, purposely obtaining the room that was between yours and Charles’.

If before the plants always talked about Charles, Erik, and his family and the children at school, now, whenever you entered your room, they only talked about Charles and Erik. You only heard about the children if you went outside.

A couple of years have passed. Erik is visibly better, happier, and that makes you happy because it’s real, he’s not pretending, and you’re the first to know that.

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

Your room is a madhouse; you feel like you’re losing your sanity. They won’t stop talking about how handsome, intelligent, and kind Charles is, or how hot, serious, and cunning Erik is. They have the audacity to tease you for not being able to see them, those bitches. When did they go from remorse to mockery?

“What time is it?” you ask, tired, sitting on the edge of your bed while putting on your sunglasses. They all ignore you, except for some jasmine flowers Charles gave you for your birthday along with some heart-shaped sunglasses.

You leave the room, grateful for the silence the hallway plants give you. You don’t know what to do; maybe you’ll go to the kitchen and eat some ice cream, you’re not sure.

When you arrive at the kitchen and take out a tub of ice cream and a spoon, you’re surprised that no plant has told you not to eat something so cold in the middle of the night, raising your suspicions.

You focus on the earth, sensing how all the children and adults are sleeping, everyone except Xavier and Lensherr, which makes you sigh tiredly.

Lately, the plants not only wouldn’t stop talking about them, but they also did everything possible to ensure you spent most of your time in the same room with them, and you only complied because deep down, you wanted that too.

You finish the ice cream and walk through the halls to Charles’ office, without any obstacles in the way (the children make sure not to leave anything lying around that might hinder you, even though they know you could easily avoid it; they fear you might get distracted and have an accident).

—“Come in”— you hear in your head, making you jump in place, and some nearby flowers laugh.

You open the door, and for some reason, they’re both sitting on a three-seater couch. Charles’ wheelchair is set aside to not get in the way, and the plants laugh conspiratorially.

«Speak of the devil…» a flower murmurs, sparking your curiosity.

“Can’t sleep?” Xavier asks. You shake your head. The other man is silent; you know he’s watching you, his intense gaze on you. Sometimes you think he has the power to read souls and keeps it a secret.

Charles laughs at your thought, but you don’t notice him elbowing Erik to stop being so obvious.

“Come sit with us, darling.”

The flowers and plants in the room react as if the pet name was directed at them, as if expressing what you don’t dare express even in your own head for fear the telepath might discover your feelings.

Smiling, you approach the couch. Erik, the closest to you, takes your hand and guides you to sit between them.

“What were you talking about?” you ask.

“Nothing important; we were just planning to take the older kids on a field trip, maybe,” Charles responds, and you know he’s not lying, but from the booing of the plants, you can tell that wasn’t what they were discussing before you arrived.

Erik remains silent; you can’t figure out why. Lately, you can’t sense his feelings, only his emotions, and you can guess that the earth is hiding them on purpose—or maybe the metal?

What you do sense is his knee brushing against yours and his gaze trying not to linger on you for too long.

You tilt your head to one side, sharpening your hearing, trying to pick up something more; you don’t know what, but you want to hear all their movements and, above all, the beating of their hearts.

Just when you perfectly hear their rapid heartbeats, the plants start making a ruckus, making you frown.

“What’s wrong?” Erik finally speaks.

“Why don’t the plants want me to hear your heartbeats?”

Unbeknownst to you, Erik and Charles share a wide-eyed look of complicity.

—“We should tell her”— Erik.

—“Now?”— Charles.

The silence between the two men creates a lump in your throat. Since that day on the plane, you felt like you were missing something in the dynamic, all because you couldn’t see. You felt out of place in moments like these, where they might be communicating with just a glance—or worse, telepathically. You hated the thought that they were having secret conversations, thinking that they were using the fact that you couldn't see to communicate in secret. And you hated knowing they were communicating because you could feel the change in emotions through the ground, but what you hated even more was that now you couldn't even feel the emotions of the two men because nature decided to turn its back on you this time.

Tired, you get up from the couch.

"Sorry for interrupting your time alone, I'm going to bed."

You avoid the obstacles you can't feel now but know are there.

"Y/N, no, wait! It's not what you think, let me explain," Charles says, while Erik gets up and runs towards you, grabbing you so you won't escape (and without you knowing, preventing you from bumping into the closed door).

"Listen to them, listen to them, listen to them," the plants chant in unison as you squirm in his grip. The earth allows you to see through your feet again, finally letting you feel the emotions of the two men, which makes you stop struggling and fall into shock at what you're sensing.

"You two are in love," you whisper.

Erik leads you back to the couch and sits you down so that you're facing the telepath, while he hugs you from behind and hides his face in the crook of your neck. He's embarrassed.

Charles gently removes your sunglasses, and you can feel his emotions not just through the ground but also inside your head. He takes your hand in his.

"We’ve been debating whether or not to tell you; we didn't know how you'd react, darling."

"So much secrecy just to tell me you two are dating? I'm not homophobic if that's what you were worried about," you say with an amused smile.

You're sure both men are rolling their eyes.

«Don't be an idiot» a flower says.

"Shush."

Charles laughs while Erik raises an eyebrow in a questioning manner towards him, knowing he's missing something.

"We're not just dating, Y/N. We love you as much as we love each other, and we want you to be a part of what we have because you're the missing piece of the puzzle," says Charles.

"And we want you to be officially ours," adds Erik.

Their words take you by surprise, making your heart race a thousand miles an hour. You're sure you're blushing, and loose words echo in your head.

The missing piece of the puzzle... ha... that sounds familiar.

At some point during the evening, you moved to Erik's room (the one furthest from the other rooms, with only one flower that you gave him a long time ago), where you shared kisses, hugs, words, and feelings. Where you expressed the great love you share, making grand plans for the future. And where you realized that you never were out of place; rather, you had always been missing, so they could feel complete.

The End.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

@djlnkaled @kindlover @only-nope @larissa1379 👋❤️

#x men x you #x reader #x male reader #x female reader #x men x reader #erik lehnsherr x reader #charles xavier x reader #magneto x reader #gender neutral reader #polyamory

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inseobts · 30 days ago

Text

Game night

zoro x fem!reader

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

words count: 3.3k

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

masterlist + ko-fi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your jaw drops. “What?!”

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

“Absolutely not” Zoro interrupts, his voice sharp.

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

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

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

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

“Nope!” Luffy chimes in, grinning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sanji’s eye twitches “Excuse me?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both men fall silent, looking at you in surprise.

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

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

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

You blink, confused “oh now you understand?”

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

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

“Did Zoro just…” Franky starts.

“Yup” Nami confirms, grinning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach flips. “He is? Why?”

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

“What?! I didn’t do anything!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, sure.”

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

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

Your heart pounds. “What about it?”

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

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

“Yeah” he mutters, his ears turning red.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re telling me” you mutter.

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

“What date?!”

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

Robin follows with a teasing smile.

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

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

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

“None of your business” Zoro mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess not” you laugh.

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

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

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

Zoro glares at him “No one asked you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorts “They’re idiots.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luffy, you and Chopper take big gulps, unapologetic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room explodes.

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

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

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

He shrugs at you “what? I was thirsty”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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yandere-romanticaa · 1 year ago

Text

An idea that I really like is Ratio falling for someone who is his complete and total opposite in every way imaginable.

He is the kind of person that operates on pure cold logic and facts. He believes in what he sees in front of him with his own two eyes and yes, while it may be fascinating, perhaps even a little entertaining, to philosophize about various unimaginable concepts they are all indeed just that.

Concepts. Ideas. Things made up from the bottom of the bored human psyche.

Veritas Ratio is a man who is able to grasp many, dare he say, possibly every concept he has ever encountered. He loves a challenge but hardly anything is challenging to him because he is such a genius. He devours books that are over a thousand pages long, the most complicated equations of any science are finished by his hand with such ease that many people might mistake him for a machine rather than a man of flesh and blood.

That's what makes it so fun to see him fall for an airhead. A person who probably doesn't care, or doesn't have the mental capacity to care about such things. This person would rather spend their days dallying away, picking flowers, baking, just doing things that are so mundane and plain (to him). If they do decide to read, it is some trashy romance model, maybe even just straight up written porn if they're just that shameless.

And this is the person who has Ratio grabbing his head in frustration.

He's shaking with anger in his room, golden eyes wobbly as he watches you walk up and down the space ship. You got lost, again. How much of an imbecile are you? Do you truly need someone to guide you through everything? With a huff, the scientist grabs his head made of plaster and makes his exist. He puts the mask on and in no time finds you, all lost in the hallways. You hear his upcoming footsteps before you see him and once you turn around, you are greeted with that bizarre mask you've grown so accustomed to.

You greet the man cheerfully, to which he just huffs. With his arms crossed, Ratio gives you a long and detailed lesson on how you ought to be more careful and aware of your surroundings, that this kind of behavior will not be tolerated. You are not a child and should stop acting like one.

Tears swell in your eyes but none are shed as the two of you turn back, him being a few steps ahead of you. Two pairs of footprints sound incredibly loud in this long and dark corridor. Veritas hears you quietly weeping and he feels the slight inkling of guilt pulling his heartstrings.

... Perhaps he was a smidge too harsh with you.

You are a clueless creature, sure. But maybe, he sometimes reveled in that fact. It was wrong and he would never admit it out loud but his heart whispered it clearly to him - you like this.

Veritas watched you carefully through the reflection of the window, the plaster head concealing the expression on his face. With your lips in a full pout and eyes watery like fresh morning dew, he couldn't help but to be just slightly charmed.

He scoffed to himself as he pressed onwards. He figured he had better standards for himself but that was not the case, clearly.

And just like that, he had escorted you back to your room. He could hear you mumble out a quiet thank you, which he acknowledged with a polite nod with his head.

He's not that cruel. Or rude for that matter!

With the situation now swiftly dealt with, Ratio figured it was high time he went back to his studies. He has already wasted far too much precious time on this, he isn't even sure when he'll finish that -

His train of thought is broken when he feels a pair of arms gently embrace him from behind, the warmth welcoming and dare he say sweet.

Veritas stilled, his body like the statue which some saw him to be. You still could not see his face but his anger could still be felt.

"Just what do you think you are doing?" he spat at you, his tone cold but venomous.

He felt your face being pressed against his broad back, fat tears caking his fine clothing. Just as he was about to pry your hands off him, he heard you finally speak:

"Thank you for helping me. Really..."

Your tone was soft and remorseful. You did not want to disturb him but despite that, you did just that. He was willing to accept your apology and have this situation be over with but what you said next simply knocked all of the air out of his lungs.

"You see, I... I wasn't sure how I could get your attention. I just wanted you to notice me, to talk to me..."

.... Goodness.

He was used to people trying to get his attention but to act like such a pathetic damsel in distress was new. He had to give you credit for your creativity, at the very least.

"I want to be your friend. I also want you to teach me all sorts of things-"

Ratio stopped listening to you mid sentence, his mind running hundreds of laps in thought. Perhaps you weren't the idiot he saw you as. Your little ploy worked, clearly. And if he took you under his wing, who knew what would become of you.

He could turn you into a diamond with his own two hands.

It was embarrassing just how giddy the thought made him.

The shadows of curiosity and some other emotions took over his mind as he analyzed the situation. There really was no harm in taking you all for himself.

Besides, if you were capable of this deceitful plan, who knew what else you could do?

He was eager to find out.

#he makes me mad but he's fun to write for #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yancore #yanderecore #yandere aesthetic #dr ratio #veritas ratio #yandere ratio #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #yandere hsr #hsr ratio #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr ratio #yandere veritas ratio #yandere male

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certaimromance · 14 days ago

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𝜗𝜚 The Love Next Door.

Spencer Reid x Neighbor!reader

series masterlist

Summary: When you and Spencer have no one to spend Valentine's Day with, the idea of watching movies together can save, at least, the night.

Words: 4,4k.

Warnings & Tags: this works as a standalone one-shot but also is a prequel to a series. two idiots obviously in love. fluff. painter!reader who was a cat. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: Happy Valentine's Day (belated) to all💝✨ I hope you enjoy this little glimpse into the past amidst the chaos of the line that follows my series.

Valentine’s Day had a way of making the world feel like a glittery, rose-scented battlefield for the lonely. Everywhere you turned, there were smiling couples wrapped in each other’s arms, whispering sweet nothings as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. Heart-shaped balloons swayed lazily in the wind outside storefronts, red and pink ribbons draped over every available surface like a relentless invasion of affection. Cafés played catchy love songs on repeat, each chorus drilling into your skull, a painful reminder that the day belonged to those who had someone to share it with.

The worst part? The flowers. Gorgeous arrangements of deep red roses, soft pink peonies, and delicate white lilies, displayed in neat little buckets with tiny price tags that felt like a cruel joke. You could have them, sure, if you were willing to stand in an endless supermarket line, clutching your own bouquet like a pathetic consolation prize, enduring the cashier’s judging glance as they scanned the barcode. The same went for the chocolates. Expensive, gold-wrapped, promising indulgence and romance, except, in your case, the only romance involved was between you and your impulse to stress-eat.

But despite the bitterness that curled inside your chest, you didn’t hate love. If anything, you craved it, even if you pretended not to. Romance movie marathons were a blessing, an escape into a world where grand gestures and heartfelt confessions always led to a happy ending. You’d curl up under a blanket, eyes glued to the screen, soaking in every lingering touch, every whispered “I love you,” letting it fill your chest with warmth. And yet, no matter how deeply you immersed yourself, the magic always faded when the screen cut to black. The credits would roll, white letters against a dark void, and you’d be left staring at your own reflection in the blank screen, heart aching with a longing that never quite disappeared: the relentless, unshakable desire to live the love you only ever watched from afar.

All the February fourteens you remember were like this: lonely, with chocolate and romance movies.

Wait. This time was different.

This time, however, you were no longer alone, but accompanied by Spencer Reid. The room was in semi-darkness, lit only by the soft glow of a few scattered candles and the flickering light of the television, which cast shadows on the walls of your apartment. He was sitting next to you, leaning against the edge of the couch with his usual distracted air, his long limbs stretched out on the cushions, but his mind was clearly miles away from yours. He was not fully present, his attention wavering between the screen and the incredibly large world inside his own head. His leg brushed against yours with a nonchalance that only made it more noticeable; the slight warmth of his touch made you feel it every time it happened. You still tried not to notice, to pretend it was nothing, but there was something magnetic about the way he moved, as if the world around you tilted a little every time he was near.

Your hand brushed over his from time to time as you took chocolates from the heart-shaped box you shared and had gotten on sale at the supermarket. You could feel the coolness of his skin under your fingers, his touch lingering too long, as if he, too, was aware of the connection in the simplest of gestures. But Spencer, ever observant and living in his own head, didn't seem to care. He barely glanced at you, too absorbed in the ridiculousness of the movie to register the subtle moments between the two of you. With his mind constantly buzzing, analyzing even the most mundane things, it was almost as if his body knew more than his brain, his closeness a silent declaration that he was comfortable with you in a way he didn't seem to be with anyone else.

The movie on the screen was the kind of clichéd romance that made you cringe on a regular day. The kind where the couple was destined for each other from the moment they met, their chemistry so palpable it felt as though the universe itself was conspiring to bring them together. The dialogue was saccharine, the plot as predictable as a heartbeat, but you couldn’t help it; you loved every moment. The grand, sweeping gestures. The whispered confessions. The inevitable kiss in the rain. You had chosen it precisely because you knew how much Spencer would question everything from the nonsense in the dialogue to the false number of minutes the characters claimed they could travel from one part of the world to another.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice thoughtful as he absently reached for another piece of chocolate, “it’s statistically improbable that two people, just by chance, would fall in love in such a perfect, linear way.” He paused, glancing at you briefly with a look that was almost apologetic for ruining the mood. “I mean, the chances of all those factors aligning—timing, location, emotional availability—it’s…it’s not as simple as it seems.”

You tilted your head slightly, listening intently as he spoke, the weight of his words hanging in the air. He had always been the one to find patterns, to dissect everything until there was no mystery left. But you weren’t in the mood for logic right now. Not tonight.

Before you knew it, the question slipped out, unexpectedly blunt in the stillness of the room.

“Have you ever been in love?”

The words lingered between you, weighty in a way that surprised even you. You hadn’t meant to ask it like that—so direct, so raw—but now that it was out, you couldn’t take it back. It felt as though the question held something more than just curiosity. It felt like a delicate invitation into a part of Spencer you weren’t sure you had a right to see.

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze flickered back to the TV screen, his eyes unfocused as though the question had thrown him off guard. There was a pause, a shift in the air, a subtle change in the way he sat. His posture stiffened just enough that you wondered if you’d crossed some invisible line, if you’d pushed him somewhere he wasn’t ready to go.

Finally, he shifted, voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “I thought I was closer…But saying it out loud makes it sound kind of stupid, considering I never even got to kiss her.”

The words hung between you, fragile and unguarded, their presence stretching the silence like a thin thread threatening to snap. You could feel the weight of his hesitation, the quiet vulnerability in the way he avoided your gaze, fingers twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to fidget. It was as if he was standing at the edge of something, testing the waters before taking a plunge, unsure if he could share a truth that had settled deep inside him. Even after two years, two months, and ten seconds since the first words you exchanged in the hallway, even after all the late-night conversations, the shared laughter, the comfortable silences, and all the times the two of you acted as if your apartments were just one. If he bothered to calculate, he had spent more time with you than he had spent sleeping soundly in years. And yet, despite all of it—the familiarity, the trust, the way he let you curl up on his couch as if it were your own—he still hesitated, like he was afraid that if he told the whole story of his tragedy, there'd be no going back.

“I think you can love someone without kissing them.” The honest tone of your voice and the way you didn't laugh at him or look at him with pity surprised him.

Spencer glanced at you then, his expression unreadable for a moment, before he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Even if you’ve never seen them?”

“Oh,” you whispered, your mind trying to catch up. You hadn’t expected that. You hadn’t expected him to go there. “Never? Never?”

He chuckled lightly, but it wasn’t the usual, lighthearted sound. It was dry, tinged with something that made you want to reach out and pull him closer. “Yeah. That’s usually the reaction I get.” His tone was self-deprecating, a little uncomfortable.

You shook your head quickly, trying to right the atmosphere, to assure him that you weren’t dismissing his feelings. “It’s not that I think it’s foolish,” you said, the words tumbling out before you even fully processed them. “I just think you’re the kind of person who needs constant reassurance. Like a hug, a kiss, or even just a touch or a smile to remind you everything’s okay. That’s how you like to be loved. So it’s hard to imagine you loving someone without all of that.”

A moment of silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, until you could almost feel the weight of his gaze on you. You turned your head, just enough to catch his eyes, and found him still looking undisturbed, as if frozen in place. But there was something in his eyes, something soft, almost vulnerable: curiosity, perhaps, or something deeper, a fleeting glimpse of a side he wasn’t used to showing. It didn’t last long, though. It couldn’t. Because if there was one thing he wasn’t accustomed to, it was being the subject of such focused attention. He had spent his life observing, and studying the little details of those around him, recognizing habits, memorizing routines, and quietly cataloging every nuance. It was his skill, his way of moving through the world. He was always the watcher, the one who gathered knowledge and surprised others with what he knew. But now, as your eyes met his, it was as though the roles had reversed, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure how to handle being the one under the microscope.

Then, as if he wants to flip the conversation entirely, his tone turns curious. “And you? Have you ever been in love?”

The question catches you off guard, the sudden shift in the air surprising you more than you’d care to admit.

“No,” you say, your answer quick, almost instinctive.

His eyebrows lift, and the surprise is clear in his expression, a small wrinkle forming between his brows as if he’s trying to process your words.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” you say, pointing at him, half-amused, half-defensive. “Don’t judge.”

“I’m not judging,” he insists, rubbing the back of his neck, the familiar nervous gesture betraying his discomfort. “I just…didn’t expect that answer.”

You sigh, leaning back into the couch, trying to find a way to make the silence feel less loaded. “Yeah, well. Neither did I. I used to think that by this age, I’d have it all figured out. Love, relationships, the whole thing.” You pause, your gaze drifting to the flickering TV screen before adding dryly, “But love is a tricky subject. Kind of like my finances.”

Spencer’s eyes flicker with something like amusement, but it quickly turns into that familiar glint of curiosity, the one that always makes you feel like you’re on the receiving end of an interrogation. You brace yourself, almost expecting him to start spewing facts about some obscure subject. And he doesn’t disappoint.

“Well,” he says, his voice taking on a tone that’s both analytical and oddly comforting, “there are studies that show people are more likely to find love later in life than they think.” He pauses for a moment, clearly enjoying this little fact-dropping session. “In fact, statistically speaking, people in their 30s and 40s have a higher success rate in finding lasting relationships than those in their 20s. It’s because they’ve had more time to understand themselves, their needs, and what they want out of a partner. It’s not about rushing into something, it’s about finding someone who fits, someone who…gets you.”

You blink, the ease with which Spencer switches into research mode never failing to surprise you. You knew he could recite statistics and facts with ease, but hearing him speak about love in such an objective, factual manner felt…oddly reassuring. The gentle, even tone of his voice made the whole thing seem less daunting, less like a puzzle that needed to be solved, and more like something you could take time with.

“No one gets me except my cat and you,” you say, the words slipping out before you can second-guess them. It’s a light joke, but there’s truth in it, at least partly. “I adopted my cat, and you live next door. You don’t really have a choice; you have to talk to me.”

“No,” he says, almost like he’s contemplating the weight of his own words. “It’s not like that.”

You blink, feeling an odd, almost electric shift in the air between you. Something in his tone is different, softer, more vulnerable. The casual banter, the easy comfort you’d grown accustomed to, suddenly feels far away, as if the room had expanded and narrowed all at once. You weren’t sure what had changed, but you felt it, felt him, in a way you hadn’t before.

Your heart picks up a rhythm that’s a little too fast, but you don’t look away, not this time. You study him, trying to decipher the change, the subtle change in the atmosphere. Was it just you, or was he feeling it too?

“It’s not just because I live next door,” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper but clear enough that you can hear the rawness in it. He’s looking at you now, eyes soft, his gaze not shy but steady, like he’s inviting you into a space only the two of you occupy. “I think it’s because you make it easy. To be around you. To talk to you. I don’t have to try so hard with you.”

The words settle between you, heavy and unspoken, filling the space in ways that neither of you expected. You open your mouth to respond, to deflect with another joke or lighthearted comment, but something in you pauses. The atmosphere has shifted, and the words feel too thin, too trivial to layer over what’s hanging between you.

There’s a small silence that follows, the kind that feels comfortable in a way you can’t quite explain, but also a little unsettling, like you’ve accidentally wandered into a territory neither of you are sure how to navigate. Spencer doesn’t break eye contact. His presence feels different, more present now, as if he’s allowing himself to be seen in a way he never has before. It’s raw, but not fragile. Honest, but not vulnerable in the way you’d expect.

You chuckle, trying to break the tension, but it comes out as a soft snort. “Congratulations. You’ve just been promoted to vice president of the ‘people who tolerate me’ club.”

He hums thoughtfully, the quiet sound of it warm and easy. “I don’t think it’s about tolerating you. I think it’s about understanding you.”

His words, simple as they are, land with more weight than you expected. They’re not teasing. Not a casual remark. He’s being serious, and that sincerity makes something shift in you, just slightly, in a way that catches you off guard.

You sink back into the couch, your mind slowing down to catch up with the unexpected shift in your thoughts. You hadn’t realized how much you were holding back, how much you’d been avoiding, until you said it aloud. “Understanding is a rare thing,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to him, but you know he hears you.

“It is,” he agrees softly, almost like he’s mulling over your words, letting them settle in the space between you. “That’s why, when you find it, you hold onto it.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s still looking at the screen, but his gaze is distant, lost in thought, like his mind is somewhere else entirely. The flicker of the TV casts soft shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the gentle furrow in his brow, and for the first time, you realize how much you’ve been paying attention to him without meaning to.

The space between you feels comfortable in a way that’s new, more intimate than you thought it could be. The quiet stretches, wrapping itself around you both like a blanket, and you realize how much you’re here, in this moment, with him. It’s strange—peaceful, even—like time has slowed down and all that matters is this tiny bubble of calm you’re both in.

Without thinking, your body shifts slightly, leaning into him, your head dipping just enough to rest against his shoulder. It’s not something you plan, just instinct, like your body already knows what it needs before your mind catches up. Spencer tenses, a quick intake of breath, but then the tension melts, and he exhales softly, the air between you warmer. His sweater is soft against your cheek, faintly smelling of books and coffee, a quiet comfort that sinks deep into your bones.

He doesn’t move away.

He doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he does something so small, so careful, that you almost miss it. He turns his head just enough that his cheek brushes against the top of your hair, as if making sure you’re okay, but without disturbing the delicate space you’ve found. The contact is so light, so gentle, that it almost doesn’t feel real, but it settles in your chest like a secret, a silent promise.

A few minutes passed, maybe more. You weren’t sure anymore. The movie played on, the soft glow of the screen casting shifting patterns on the walls, but neither of you were paying attention. The warmth of the room, the steadiness of Spencer’s breathing, the gentle pressure of his shoulder beneath you—it was all lulling you into a hazy, dreamlike state, where time felt like it had slowed just for the two of you.

Spencer’s hand moved then, hesitating only briefly before he let it rest—gentle, careful—on the back of your head. His fingers barely grazed your hair, but the touch was grounding, a silent reassurance that you were welcome here, that you weren’t imposing, that this, whatever this was, was okay.

“You okay?” He murmured, his voice so low it barely disturbed the quiet.

You nod slowly, your eyes still closed, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah,” you whisper, barely audible. “I’m just…comfortable.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you feel him watching you, quietly studying the way your breath has slowed, how you’ve settled, how the weight of the day has melted away from you. You’re not sure how you know it, but you do. You can feel him there, his attention soft, and thoughtful.

A small sigh escapes you, a quiet expression of contentment. His thumb brushes over your hair, the touch light but lingering, so tender it feels like something private, something shared only between the two of you. It’s a simple gesture, but it makes something warm unfurl in your chest, the kind of warmth that stays with you.

And just as sleep began to pull you under, in that delicate space between waking and dreaming, you heard it.

So quiet.

So soft.

Like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“You’re not as hard to love as you think.”

If you were fully awake, maybe you would’ve stiffened, maybe you would’ve asked him to repeat it, maybe you would’ve tried to decipher the meaning behind his words. But you weren’t awake.

Spencer hadn’t realized how much time had passed, how long the two of you had been sitting there in complete silence. The soft, almost imperceptible hum of the television played movies he didn’t even register anymore, their sounds blending into the background as though they were no longer a part of the world. His attention was entirely consumed by the gentle rise and fall of your breathing, the quiet rhythm of your presence against his, steady and soothing. Your warmth had become a part of him, so natural.

He hadn’t intended to just watch you sleep. But there was something about the peacefulness of it, the way your face softened in sleep, the little sighs escaping you every so often, that made him forget about the passage of time. His gaze lingered on you, not in an intrusive way, but with a quiet kind of reverence, as if he were trying to commit the moment to memory. The soft glow of the TV reflected on your features, casting gentle shadows and highlighting the small details of your face that always seemed to captivate him. Like the way your eyelashes fluttered even in sleep, or how your lips parted just slightly.

The steady beat of his heart, the subtle pulse of his chest, seemed to synchronize with the silence that wrapped around him, blending together like a soft, unspoken lullaby. He let himself be carried by its rhythm, a rare, peaceful kind of quiet he hadn’t realized he’d been longing for until now. How precious it was to just be here, with you, with nothing to investigate, nothing to analyze, nothing to figure out. No puzzles to solve, no complex patterns to unravel. For the first time in what felt like forever, he could just be, and he didn’t want it to end. Never had a night off from work felt more necessary, more perfect, than this one.

His fingers twitched absentmindedly, brushing against the fabric of your sleeve as though needing to reassure himself that you were still here, that you were real. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, or why he was so fixated on you in this moment, but it felt safe. His body was heavy with the weight of it, content and grounded.

Hours passed, unnoticed.

It was only when the sharp sound of his cellphone pierced the stillness that he snapped out of his trance, blinking in surprise. The ringtone, abrupt and insistent, felt jarring against the soft cocoon of silence that had enveloped everything.

He glanced at his phone, his mind still hazy, still wrapped up in the warmth of the moment. His eyes immediately flickered to you, still nestled comfortably against him, breathing steady and slow, unaware of the world outside.

The phone kept ringing, louder now, demanding attention.

With one hand, he pressed the phone to his ear, the other reaching out to adjust your position ever so gently. He wanted to make sure you were still comfortable, still blissfully lost in sleep, without waking you.

“Reid! Are you hurt?” Penelope’s voice burst through the speaker in his ear, sharp with concern.

“Uh…no?” He murmured, his voice thick with sleep, barely audible. It was more of a question than an answer, the words slow and unsteady, betraying how distracted he was.

“No?” she repeated, her tone morphing into something a little more teasing. She huffed loudly, her curiosity piqued. “Then why aren’t you here right now?”

“Where exactly?” Spencer asked, his voice a little groggy, still half lost in the fog of sleep.

A beat of silence. Then—

“Oh.”

He frowned, lifting his head slightly to look down at you. His thoughts were tangled, the confusion thick in his chest. “Oh?” he repeated.

“Oh.”

His brow furrowed further. “Why so many ‘oh’s?”

“You’re thirty minutes late,” she said, the realization in her tone quickly morphing into something suspiciously close to delight. “You sound confused but…happy. You, Dr. Spencer Reid, who is never late for anything, are sitting somewhere, all content and cozy, completely forgetting the concept of time on the day after Valentine’s Day.” Another pause, and then, with a sudden squeal of excitement, she practically shouted, “You celebrated Valentine’s Day!”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, the words surprising him in a way he wasn’t quite ready for. “Not like that,” he said quickly, almost too quickly, his voice rushed, as if trying to distance himself from the thought. But even as he said it, there was something about the way his voice faltered, something that made him unsure. He couldn’t help it, his eyes drifted back to you.

“Oh, you totally did!” She gasped. “You adorable, lovestruck genius, you did it! You let someone in! This is huge!”

His eyes darted to the clock on the wall then, his heart stalling for a moment as his gaze lingered on the time. Thirty minutes late. The realization hit him like a wave, and he felt his pulse quicken. This has never happened to him before.

“My alarm didn’t sound,” he muttered, almost to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. He couldn’t figure out how he had missed it.

Garcia scoffed. “Your alarm didn’t sound?”

He could practically hear the smirk in her voice.

“Think of a better excuse for Hotch on your way here,” she said, the teasing evident in her voice. “And save all the details of your lovely night for me. I need to hear about your real-life romance.”

Romance? His chest tightened at the word. No, this wasn’t like that. This was…just friendship.

Spencer exhaled sharply, glancing down at you once more. His chest tightened as he took in the sight of you, still sleeping soundly in his arms, your features relaxed. There was a part of him that wanted to wake you, to say something, anything, but he couldn’t bear to disturb this rare moment. He longed to leave you something, maybe breakfast or a note, before he rushed out the door.

He sighed, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. “Tell Hotch I’ll be there in fifteen,” he said quietly, almost too quietly to be heard.

Penelope’s voice hummed knowingly through the phone. “Okay, lover boy,” she teased.

He hung up before she could say anything else, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

And then, all at once, the realization hit him.

He had spent the whole night watching you sleep. Not even the sunlight creeping through the edges of his poorly closed curtains or the distant ringing of his alarm clock had been able to pull him away from you. From this.

Oh, that’s when he knew.

He was in love. Deeply. Madly. In love.

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#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #matthew gray gubler

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littlepeach-world · 15 days ago

Text

Valentine's Paradise

Pairing: Frontman/Hwang In-Ho x Fem!Reader

Summary: In-ho surprises you for valentines day.

Warnings: Fluff, Gift Giving, Sweet!inho, Cute!Inho.

Word count: 1.04k

Notes: Feeding my delusions with this one 😭. Enjoy! 🧡

You and In-ho arrive at a beautiful, secluded island under a brilliant sky, the perfect place for a Valentine's Day getaway. The air is warm, carrying the scent of the ocean and blooming flowers. In-ho, always the planner, has orchestrated a surprise vacation that seems to have sprung from a dream.

As you walk hand in hand along the sandy path leading from the pier, your heart skips a beat at the sight of a stunning beach house emerging in front of you. The modern architecture melds seamlessly with the natural surroundings. You can't help but gasp, eyes wide with wonder.

Inho's deep, melodic chuckle fills the air as he finds your reaction utterly adorable.

"Do you like it?" he asks, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

"It's beautiful. I can't believe you did all this," you reply, your voice filled with awe.

He smiles and lifts your hand to his lips, brushing it with a tender kiss before guiding you toward the entrance.

"Come on, there's more to see," he says, leading you inside.

Walking into the house, you are instantly enveloped by an aura of luxury and romance. Soft lighting, plush furnishings, and a color palette that feels both sophisticated and soothing greet you. However, what takes your breath away are the myriad gifts that adorn the living space, every corner of the room filled with beautifully wrapped presents. Each one thoughtful and personal, symbolizing Inho's love for you.

Overwhelmed, you gasp again and throw your arms around In-ho, your lips capturing him in a heartfelt kiss.

"Thank you, baby," you whisper, your voice brimming with emotion.

He holds you close, his smile warm and reassuring. "Anything for you, my love. Happy Valentine's Day."

Inho's eyes sparkle as he watches you unwrap the gifts, each one met with squeals of delight and wide-eyed wonder. The living room is filled with the sounds of your laughter and exclamations as you discover each thoughtful present he has chosen for you.

"Oh my gosh, this is stunning!" you exclaim, holding up a delicate piece adorned with a shimmering pendant.

"I'm glad you like it," In-ho replies, his voice warm with satisfaction. "It reminded me of you—elegant and radiant."

After opening the last box from In-ho, you can't help but let your gaze hover over a beautifully wrapped package that you've been saving just for this moment. Your heartbeat quickens with anticipation.

"I have something for you too," you say, a hint of excitement in your voice.

"You didn't have to get me anything" he replies, though his curiosity is clearly piqued.

"I know, but I really wanted to," you respond, handing him the box eagerly. "Go ahead, open it."

In-ho carefully unwraps the gift, removing the layers of paper to reveal an intricately crafted wooden box. His eyes widen in surprise as he lifts the lid and finds a vintage comic book lying inside, its cover adorned with vibrant illustrations.

"No way," he breathes, gently picking up the comic book and tracing his fingers over the familiar characters. "This... this is the comic I always wanted as a kid but could never find. How did you even get this? It's so rare."

You smile, watching the mix of emotions play across his face. "I did a lot of searching and had a little help from a few collectors. I wanted to give you something special, something that would bring back happy memories."

Inho's usually guarded demeanor begins to unravel, his eyes shimmering with genuine emotion as he gazes at the vintage comic book. His voice trembles slightly as he speaks, trying to hold back the full tide of his feelings.

"Jagiya this... this is incredible," he murmurs. "I can't believe you found it. It means more to me than you could ever know."

He pauses for a moment, collecting himself, but you can see the depth of his gratitude and the memories this gift stirs in him. The walls he's built seem to soften, revealing a more vulnerable side that touches your heart.

Unable to hold back any longer, In-ho steps closer, cupping your face gently with his hands. His eyes lock onto yours, filled with warmth and affection. "Thank you," he whispers again, this time more tenderly, as though the words are meant only for you.

In a moment that feels like the world has slowed to a breathtaking halt, he leans in and kisses you softly. It's a kiss laden with gratitude, affection, and a silent promise of love that needs no words.

You melt into the embrace, feeling the reassurance of his warmth and sincerity envelop you. Your arms find their natural place around him, holding him close as you both savor the intimacy of the moment.

After savoring the moment, your curiosity urges you to explore your surroundings further. Taking Inho's arm, you embark on a self-guided tour of the house. Every room seems more beautiful than the last, with expansive windows showcasing breathtaking views of the ocean and the verdant landscape.

"Look at those waves," you marvel, pointing to the surging ocean just beyond the glass. "It's like our own private paradise."

"That's exactly what I hoped you'd think," Inho says. He watches you with a gentle smile, his heart swelling with happiness at your delight.

After you've explored every nook and cranny, In-ho suggests you both freshen up to prepare for the evening. "Why don't we get ready for dinner? I have another surprise for you," he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

With excitement bubbling within, you take a refreshing shower, letting the water wash away any lingering traces of the day. Feeling invigorated, you dress up in your finest attire. As you slip into your elegant dress, you can't help but smile at the reflection in the mirror, feeling the magic of the evening envelop you.

"Ready, my love?" In-ho calls from the hallway, looking dashing in his tailored suit.

You step out, your eyes meeting his. "Ready," you reply, your voice filled with anticipation. Taking his arm once more, you follow him to whatever enchanting experience he has planned next, knowing this is a Valentine's Day you will treasure forever.

The setting for dinner is nothing short of magical—right next to the ocean, with rose petals scattered around and flickering candles casting a warm glow. The waves gently lap at the shore, providing a soothing soundtrack to your intimate meal.

The chef, specially hired by In-ho, presents your favorite cuisine, each dish more delectable than the last. The dinner is filled with laughter, shared memories, and sweet compliments. Inho's typically stern exterior melts away as he listens to your stories, his eyes reflecting warmth and adoration.

When the meal winds down, In-ho leans forward and asks, "Did you enjoy your day?" His voice is filled with genuine curiosity and a touch of vulnerability.

"More than enjoyed," you respond, your eyes meeting his. "Saying I enjoyed my day is an understatement. I'm more than pleased with everything you've done. I'm so grateful."

Inho's solemn nod is followed by another question, "Do you like the island?"

"It's beautiful," you reply, almost breathless with sincerity.

He pauses, then says, "It's yours."

You blink in confusion, your brows furrowing. "What?"

"The island," he clarifies with a gentle smile. "I bought it for you."

You are utterly stunned, your voice barely a whisper. "What..?"

Inho's gentle smile never falters as he repeats, "The island is yours."

Your voice rises in disbelief as you exclaim, "YOU BOUGHT ME AN ISLAND! WHAT THE FUCK?"

In-ho laughs softly, the humor in his eyes unmistakable. "What? Is it not big enough? We can always go find a bigger one."

You shake your head, a mixture of disbelief and affection in your eyes. "You don't have to spend so much on me. I love you regardless of what..." Your words trail off as Inho pulls you close, guiding you to sit on his lap.

His arms wrap around you securely as he kisses you passionately, pouring all his unspoken devotion into that kiss. When he pulls back, his voice is low and earnest. "Money means nothing compared to you. There’s no amount of money that could ever measure up to what you mean to me."

In that moment, the world feels perfect. Your lips meet his again, and you know that no matter the luxury or grandeur, it’s this simple, profound love that makes everything truly precious.

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thegreatstoryteller · 28 days ago

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Female to Male Fridays!

The Great Shift: Meeting the Parents

“Are you sure you’re ok with this? We can still head home.” Jenny muttered. Clearly a bit nervous staring down at her boyfriend.

“Babe. It’s been almost a year since the Great Shift. I told you. Just because I’m unshifted, doesn’t mean I don’t want to meet your parents.” Youseff said smiling.

Jen and Youseff had met in their freshman year of college and immediately became close. They joined similar clubs, volunteered at the same food banks, and eventually friendship blossomed into romance one fateful summer night! The couple knew nothing could get between them and the love that they found… and a few years later that included the Great Shift. While Youseff remained unshifted, Jen Shale wasn’t so lucky.

They had agreed to meet at her sorority when the craziness of the Shift happened. Youseff was more than a bit surprised to find a larger older man in his 40s sitting nervously on Jen’s bed waiting for him! Since then many revelations have been shared with the couple. The first was Youseff coming out to his girlfriend as bi! He never had the courage to say it before and didn’t know how to share that part of his life with his girlfriend, but the shift offered a unique chance that worked out well with the couple. Two. Jen realized she was in a sports medicine professor who was quite in shape! He apparently was father to three student athletes on campus… and luckily her feelings for her boyfriend hadn’t wavered from the shift. A fact that they both enjoyed learning the first week of the Great Shift. Eventually the two became more comfortable with each other even buying a pair of matching pajamas!

It took quite some time for the world to get back in order. During that entire time communications were able to be set up with most families. Youseff’s family had many linear shifts, a term used by most of the world when your shift put you into someone very similar to your original body. His dad was a man his own age. His mother was a woman a few years younger than her. The only difference was his younger brother who now keeps telling Youseff to call him the bigger brother when he shifted into a former professional athlete.

Jen’s family… was another story.

“And that brings us to today. Jen. I’m serious. I want to meet them. I know you’ve talked to them, but I haven’t. And when they invited us over for the holidays I thought it’d be the best chance to get to know them.” Youseff said hopefully, placing a hand against Jen’s cheek and training the thick salt and pepper stubble that was ever present no matter how close she shaved.

“I know- I know… but I told you before the shift that they were a bit much… and, well, now since the shift… they are still that! I guess… just… more…” Jen muttered nervously. A feat she seemed to still master despite her new commanding baritone.

“They can’t be that bad.” Youseff said before knocking. And that’s when they heard heavy steps approaching the door.

A handsome muscular man answered the door! He wore long pink dishwashing gloves and an apron! Aside from that he seemed to be wearing nothing else. The small potted flower he held seemed to be thriving!

“You must be Youseff! Jen has told us so much about you! Come in! Come in! I was just washing some dishes and watering the kitchen plants! We’re so glad to meet you. You can call me Margot! I’m Jen’s mother, or rather her second father!” Margot laughed. The man before them had a deep voice and almost a bro like tone. The motherly introduction he gave at odds with his gym bro form.

“You must be hungry! I’ve been making lots of food these days. This young man I became had quite the appetite. And who could blame him. I’ve felt the urge to go to the gym almost every day of the week! Anyway, I just keep blabbering away! Have a mini quiche!” Margot led them to the living room where a small plate of appetizers awaited them.

“Wow, these are amazing Margot!” Youseff said digging in. I always wondered where Jen got her amazing cooking skills from.

“Awww! Jen! You didn’t mention your man was a little charmer.” Margot giggled as Jen blushed.

“Mooom! Stop! You’re embarrassing me!” Jen complained burying her fuzzy face in her large hands. Her mom was always like this. If it wasn’t telling embarrassing stories about Jen, it was finding an excuse to show off her body. Ever since Margot got her new body she had been more than happy to show it off. She would say, “Well this young man clearly wanted to show off his muscles, who am I to cover them up!”. So bouncing around the house in her classic apron was just the way she dressed these days.

“Shush Jen. My little girl will never be too old for a little humor. Just because you have more grays on that head of yours than your father did pre shift, doesn’t mean you can’t laugh a little.” Margot teased.

“Speaking of where is Mr. Shale? Youseff asked.

“Well he’s always in the garage these days. When he got that 20 year old gymnast’s body, he’d become obsessed with the sport! I’ve got some biscuits to take out of the oven. You two should check on him.” Margot offered.

“Anything to get out of this conversation.” Jen groaned pulling Youseff towards the side of their home. As they opened the door to the garage they could see a handsome black man flexing in the mirror, wearing a tight singlet. The chalk on his hands implying a recent gymnastics routine.

“Jen! There’s my little girl turned big man!” Her dad said cutting his flexing short and heading towards Jen. Mr. Shale now was the shortest one in the family at 5’1. With his daughter at 6’0 and his wife at 5’10, the household tended to tower over him. However, he was more than happy with his new body.

“Hey dad, enjoying your gymnastics or whatever?” Jen half heartedly asked.

“Yes I am! I tell ya, being a few decades younger is great! Sure beats my beer belly and sore ankles. A 20 year old body like this is flexible. You can ask your mother if you don’t believe me.” Mr. Shale winked.

“Dad! Oh my gosh! NO! I brought Youseff here! Please don’t gross him out.” Jen screamed.

“Oh so this is the young man that’s caught my daughter’s eye. You can address me as Mr. Shale or sir. DO I make myself clear?” Mr. Shale looked up at Youseff who just nodded. Despite the size difference between them Youseff was clearly intimidated by his dad-like tone.

“Yes sir!”

“Good man. I guess I have you to thank for helping our dear Jen finally get some more manly clothes? For some reason she didn’t want my help with a new wardrobe.” Mr. Shale shook his head disappointed.

“Yeah! We actually had a lot of fun going to the store and finding clothes that fit. The toughest part was finding shoes in her new size.” Youseff conceded.

“Youseff!” Jen blushed. She knew it was true. With her larger feet, she realized just how difficult it was to find footwear that fit. The largest most places went up to was size 15. Her now size 18 feet were tough to find anywhere!

“Sorry babe, but it’s true. Plus you said you had a great time shopping. Like old times, remember? You said that you weren’t sure we’d find a single pair, but when we went to the Big and Tall store, they had a few shoes your size! Even sandals!” Youseff explained.

Jen just shook as her dad applauded Youseff’s resourcefulness!

Before long the family was finally all together to share a meal! Jen’s parents were loving her boyfriend, though he could see that she was clearly embarrassed throughout the whole dinner.

By the time they left Youseff was driving them back to their apartment, where he asked. “Jen? Are you alright? I… I’m guessing that night wasn’t the most pleasant for you?”

Jen just nodded and hugged her boyfriend. Her broad frame embracing him with a tight squeeze. “My parents just take a lot out of me. Before the shift they were overbearing in a different way and now… well now they are always just so comfortable in their new bodies! My mom started going to the gym almost every day with her old book club. Each of them became some kind of fitness influencer. And my dad! He won’t stop telling me how proud he is to have a son now and that I need to start acting more manly. I don’t get how they can be so well adjusted to all this! I… I thought I was getting there. With you… being this kind of man feels easy. Even more exciting at times too.”

“I do love your mustache.” Youseff noted, causing Jen to giggle.

“See. It’s stuff like that. You always make me feel like your partner… and… I guess I need more time before I start feeling like a member of my own family again and not some older hairy guy.” Jen admitted.

Youseff kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry I insisted we meet them so soon. I was so ready to take our relationship further and I was so nervous to meet them. But I forgot to consider how you were feeling about your parents. From now on, we can just focus on us.”

“I like that plan.” Jen smiled kissing back.

“Good. Maybe we can start with a pedicure tomorrow. I know you’ve been itching to try that out with your big new feet.” Youseff teased.

“Ha! These big new feet would love to get a pedicure. Maybe a foot massage later too!” Jen smiled, wiggling her big toes. When she was with Youseff she realized, maybe she could get used to this big body.

#female to male #body swap #gender change #the great shift #great shift

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babydollslibrary · 1 month ago

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PARIS — NICO HISCHIER

published: March 19th, 2023

summary: in which y/n is so in love with Nico, that she doesn’t care about any of the gossip her friends tell her about her exes.

specific lyrics: “your ex-friend's sister met someone at a club and he kissed her. turns out it was that guy you hooked up with ages ago; some wannabe z-lister. and all the outfits were terrible. 2003 unbearable. did you see the photos? no, i didn't, but thanks, though.” and “i’m so in love that i might stop breathing.” and “privacy sign on the door, and on my page, and on the whole world. romance is not dead if you keep it just yours.” and “i wanna brainwash you, into loving me forever. i wanna transport you, to somewhere the culture's clever. confess my truth, in swooping, sloping, cursive letters.”

GIF by mattymartin

“did you hear that John got engaged?”

i peek up from my spot on the floor, glancing over to Ella who sits in the armchair across the room. Tara and Naomi are sat together on the couch, wide eyes and excited smiles.

“no.” i shake my head, my lips flattening in a straight line as i continue flipping through the magazine in my hands.

“yeah, he got engaged last week. but the kicker?” Naomi speaks this time, pausing for dramatic effect. “Ella heard from Carrie, who heard from the fiancée’s sister, that the girl is two months pregnant. it’s a shotgun wedding.”

“and she’s forty-one compared to his twenty-eight!” Tara pipes up. i glance up again, offering a furrowed brow and an uninterested nod. why were they telling me these things?

“cool. i mean, we’re adults, age doesn’t really matter anymore.” i shrug, and now it’s their turn to look at me like i’m crazy. our exes are usually our favorite topic for gossip, but that was before i met Nico eight months ago. now it’s typically been gossip about their exes. “besides, maybe they are getting married because she’s pregnant, but they could end up being really in love.”

“but- this is juicy?” Naomi says, her face scrunched in confusion. Ella and Tara nod along with her, clearly confused by my disinterest. i shrug once more, my focus falling back down to the magazine that rests in my lap now.

“John just isn’t part of my life anymore. i don’t really care what happens with him. i wish him the best in his marriage and fatherhood, though.”

“the best?” Ella balks, jaw hung open in surprise. “the man who cheated on you with three other women? you wish him the best?”

“i’m over it. did it hurt at the time? yeah. but, i’m happy now. if he hadn’t cheated on me, i wouldn’t’ve found my way to Nico, so it worked out in my favor.” i confess my feelings, and the girls all share a look, raising their brows in suspicion.

“that’s actually really mature of you, y/n/n. i’m proud of you.” Tara tells me, the other two nodding in agreement.

“what can i say? Nico’s been good for me.” i laugh, and they all giggle before returning to their own magazines.

“does it ever bother you that we’re not public?” Nico’s voice breaks me out of my trance. my hands, which were previously rubbing cleanser on my cheeks in circles, freeze and i look at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. he stands in the doorway, frowning down at his phone, leaning against the frame.

“no, why?” i ask. “does it bother you?”

“well, no. it was my idea.” he sighs, slipping his phone on the counter and making his way over to me, entangling his arms around my waist as i continue washing my face. “but, i don’t know. i just saw Shara’s post with Darya and i wondered if maybe it upsets you. i know girls like to be posted and admired, and i feel bad that i don’t do that.”

i finish washing the cleanser off my face, patting dry with a towel, before i twist around in his arms. placing my hands on his bare chest, i give him a soft smile.

“Neeks, i don’t need to be posted in order to feel admired. you make me feel that way every day just from your simple actions. i mean, just yesterday, you went for a run and came back with a bouquet of flowers. last week, you surprised me with a movie night and homemade pizza, when you could’ve very well spent that night sleeping early considering you were leaving the next day for a quick roadie.”

“but-” i press a finger against his lips, signaling for him to be quiet.

“i don’t need to be posted because i like our privacy. besides, the important people know. our friends, our family, they’re the only people we care about knowing, the entire world doesn’t have to know in order for our relationship to be real. if anything, i think it’s kept the romance alive because we’re living in the moment. we’re not taking our phones out to get pictures of our special moments; it’s just us enjoying our time together. i love you, and i know you love me. i don’t need us to be public in order to feel loved by you, because you make sure i’m aware of it every day.”

“ich liebe dich von ganzem Herzen.” he slots his lips between mine, soft and sweet, tasting like his mint toothpaste. we part, and i smile up at him.

“i only caught that first part, but i love you too. so much.” i step out of his grasp to walk back into his bedroom, glancing behind me to see him following me. slipping into bed, he copies me, turning his bedside light off and slinging an arm around my waist, pulling me into him so that we press against each other. my eyes fall closed, and i’m on the verge of sleep when i hear him mumble.

“ich möchte dich eines Tages heiraten.”

i’m spread across the couch at Naomi’s house this time, Ella sitting with my feet in her lap, Tara in one armchair, and Naomi in another.

Ella paints my toenails as Naomi and Tara gossip back and forth and i lay with my eyes closed, just listening.

“y/n.” i pry open my eyes to look over at Tara, humming inquisitively. “did you hear?”

“hear what?” i ask.

“your ex-friend, Gianna? her sister, Izzy, met someone at a club and he kissed her.” she tells me. my brows form a ‘v’ as i nod in understanding.

“okay?”

“turns out it was that guy you hooked up with ages ago; some wannabe z-lister.” Naomi chimes in. “remember him?”

“umm, vaguely, i think. Jake something or other. right?” i peek down at Ella, who stopped doing my toes in order to listen more intently.

“mhm!” Naomi hums before huffing out a harsh laugh. “and all the outfits were terrible.”

“like, 2003 unbearable.” Tara laughs. “did you see the photos?”

“no, i didn't, but thanks, though.” i tell her, shaking my head.

“do you wanna see them?” Naomi asks, tapping on her phone a couple times before i offering it to me.

“no, thanks.” i scrunch up my nose, shrugging.

“oh. okay…”

“i do!” Ella exclaims, swapping the nail polish in her hand for Naomi’s phone. “oh god!”

“it’s horrible! right?” Tara laughs, but i just frown, sitting up on the couch. “he’s wearing a camo thermal shirt under a polo! like dude!”

“guys, that’s mean.” i scold.

“it’s not mean, it’s the truth. if you saw the pictures, you would understand.” Ella giggles, offering me the phone once more. i push it away, shaking my head.

“i don’t care about what happens between Jake or Izzy.” i tell them. Ella shrugs, handing the phone back to Naomi and going back to painting my nails.

“you seriously don’t care?” Tara asks and i shake my head.

“not really. i’m at a good point in my life, Nico makes me really happy. i don’t care what my exes or almost exes are up to.” i admit. “i don’t mind all the other gossiping we do, i love gossip, but i really don’t care for hearing about my exes. it doesn’t affect me in any way, so why do i need to know about it? if they’re happy, then good for them.”

“who are you and what have you done with y/n?” Ella jokes, making us all giggle.

“i really love Nico. he makes me happy, which in turn, makes me content with what happened in the past. i don’t need to hear about the bad karma that’s hitting my exes, because i just don’t care about them anymore.” a soft smile spreads across my face at the thought of my boyfriend.

“i love Nico for you. this relationship is so healthy and i can tell how good he is for you.” Naomi tells me, her voice gentle and happy, a grin on her lips.

i stare down at the piece of card stock in my hands, tracing my cursive with my eyes.

‘kick ass tonight, captain!

p.s. i wanna love you forever

lovingly yours, y/n’

smiling in content, i tuck the note into one of Nico’s skates in his duffle bag for him to find later. a tradition i’ve come to look forward to, it started about two months into our relationship, when i slipped a note into the tupperware holding his pregame snack. when he got home after their win that night, he told me he looked at it during both intermissions. that was the night we said ‘i love you’ for the first time. so now before every home game, i write him a note and stick it somewhere in his things, in order for him to find it before the game, to give him a boost of confidence.

“darling, have you seen my keys?” Nico’s voice carries in from the living room, and i swipe his keys off the counter before padding to the entryway of the living room to find him digging in between the couch cushions.

“right here, love.” i smile, watching his head snap up and his sight lock on the car keys dangling from my fingers. he lets out a sigh of relief, making his way over to me.

“what would i do without you?” the question is rhetorical, but i can’t help but jokingly answer.

“walk.” i shrug. chuckling, he nabs the keys out of my hand whilst simultaneously planting a gentle kiss to my forehead.

“will you be here when i get back?” he asks, raising a hand to gingerly cup my jaw. i nuzzle deeper into his touch, nodding.

“of course.” i tell him before joking again- “i don’t have ESPN+, so i have to use yours on your tv to watch the game.”

he chuckles again, leaning down to press a quick but sweet kiss to my lips before bidding me goodbye. i wish him a good luck, watching as he leaves for his game.

“where’d it go?” i wonder aloud, scouring the bathroom countertop for my chapstick. Nico always puts it back after he borrows it, knowing it’s part of my nightly routine, but he must’ve forgotten today.

leaving the bathroom, i go back to his bedroom, scanning the top of his dresser for the lip product but coming up empty handed. i let out a deep sigh, moving on to his nightstand. not spotting it on the top, i open the drawer. but my brows furrow when i get the drawer ajar, only to find it empty other than a stack of cardstock. pulling one out, i flip it over in my hands, my eyes softening when i read the words swooped across the paper.

i pull out the stack, shuffling through them. my eyes prick with tears at the realization. my notes. i never knew what he did with them after the games, but i guess i assumed he just threw them away. but i was wrong, because they’re all here. all accounted for, dating back to the very first one. kept safe in his bedside drawer. tears slide down my cheeks, my heart pounding in my chest at the sweet gesture.

i place them all back in the drawer, swiping at my face to dry it, and giving up on my chapstick.

laid in bed, a book is gripped in my hands as i await Nico’s return after his big win. i perk up at the sound of the front door opening and shutting, placing my bookmark in and closing my book as Nico opens the bedroom door.

“hi, superstar!” i cheer, dropping my book onto the nightstand. a bashful grin spreads across his face as he drops his bag on the floor by the end of the bed. i shuffle on the bed, sitting up on my knees, facing the edge of the mattress. “two goals and an assist, and first star of the night. i’m so proud of you!”

“thank you, love.” he steps in front of me, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against him, chest to chest. “did you see what i did after them?”

heat rises to my face as i think back to what he did after both goals. the gesture that he told me long ago meant he was dedicating those goals to me; a quick tap to his lips.

“i did. thank you, baby.” wrapping my arms around his neck, i crane my own, settling a gentle kiss onto his lips. parting, he lays his forehead on mine.

“i want to love you forever.” he tells me, making me giggle.

“using my own words on me?” i question, switching to bury my head in his neck. his hand rubs up and down my back as we hug in silence for a moment.

“i think that may have been my favorite note so far.” he admits, whispering in my ear.

“yeah?” i pull back to look at his big brown eyes, my favorite color for the past eight months. he hums an agreement.

“i’m so in love with you. sometimes, it feels like i might stop breathing.”

“you are the best thing that’s ever happened in my life.” i confess. “i love you. so much.”

“is it too early to ask you to marry me?” he questions. a joke, i assume, and i let out an airy laugh.

“maybe a little bit.” i tell him. “but how about we compromise?”

“and just how do we compromise?” he asks.

“how would you feel about me moving in with you?” a wide grins spread across his face at my words, happily nodding.

“i would love that.”

#nico hischier imagine #nico hischier #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier fic #nj devils #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl blurb

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