#he's so full of confidence in that fit and you know what he should be

[missnightshade]

❝ I WILL REMAIN, LOVE ❞

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Requested: Yes!

Summary: Lilia's trial ends with an - almost - irreversible consequence for Agatha's lover.

Warnings: Hurt/comfort. Almost death experience. Mentions of blood, blades and death (aka Rio). Non canon. English not being my first language.

Word count: 2k and something.

The path narrowed as the Coven walked through it. Looking forward at the long-haired witch that had your heart, you felt that Agatha no longer held the confidence she once had while summoning the Witche's Road. Both of you knew, for sure, that the whole song was a catch. A nice, petty, centuries old trap Agatha created in hopes to gain enough power to bring Nicky back.

A witch’s life was never easy. Just as the world was a malleable cruel thing, so was the days that these powerful women had to go through. Things changed between almost four hundred years back and now, walking this makeshift magical road. Nothing was as it used to be. Yet, Agatha was the only constant in all of the eras of your life. One that didn’t need a real label for you to know that, no matter what happened, it was the two of you against the world.

As the time passed and your legs grew tired, your attention shifted to the teen boy. It wasn’t needed for Agatha to tell you that she, too, was suspicious he was the one manipulating all of that. Agatha was powerless, and you knew it wasn’t you. Jen, Alice and Lilia were powerful, but not enough to bend reality to fit their own agenda.

But Teen, or Billy, emanated strong ancient magic. It was applaudable how the seams between his mind and the reality were almost unnoticeable

“He doesn’t know.” you guessed, falling into Agatha’s steps as the rest of the coven stayed behind, carelessly discussing something trivial.

“What gave it away, love?” she smiled, but her mind was far, far away.

“He got himself deadly hurt. He would have to be insanely dumb to trust one of us would cure him.

“Maybe he is just a dumb boy...” Agatha started out playfully, but seeing your serious face, the shine in her eyes died. You hoped for it to come back. “I know. And this makes...everything harder.”

You felt the witch rambling inside, wishing to measure the weight of explaining her worries, but as she opened her mouth, a cold, sickining body passed between the two of you, harshly separating your shoulders. Rio's sinister smile echoed inside your mind, like she could indeed penetrate herself there. As the sharp blade of hers slid down the middle of her tongue, evil, inviting, you felt the path ahead tuneling before you.

“I see you in the next trial, Y/N.”

And right there, towering in front of both of you as Rio skipped happily towards it, was a dim lit castle with its imponent tower screaming at you. Your steps halted, and Agatha almost bumped into you. You couldn't notice as Rio’s aura still held you hostage there, but your partner, your companion, your constant, eyed you as if she could actually force you out of the road. She knew, you knew, but no one dared to say a thing, afraid of the consequences.

Inside the castle, the clothes changed drastically, almost as you were in a disney witches' reunion. A table of tarot reading stood in the middle of the room, and as Teen rounded the corner, Lilia stopped there.

‘It’s my trial. I should read it.”

There was no questioning, but as the first card was laid upwards on the table, a sharp sword crashed down right by your side. Arms full of worry pulled you in, and your body rested against a scared Agatha. Her heartbeat was rapid against your touch, but as you glanced at RIo, she was nowhere to be found. The celling, full of swords, was just now noticed as the trial’s count down began, lowering above the coven’s head.

“I think we need something more...” desesperadly, Agatha took the deck of cards from Lilia. “Imediate.”

She started to lay cards as if her life depended on it. And, at some point, it did. But card after card, mistake after mistake, more and more swords fell. Some not around you, but mostly too close to be safe.

“Agatha!” Teen screamed, stopping her. “It’s not by chance. This has to be done right.”

The deck of cards was, again, in Lilia’s hand. Even though she managed to find out who the reading reading was for, as the last card was placed and the celling stopped lowering, a heartless, mounstruous sound erupted around the room. Agatha looked behind, breathless, pushing you towards the exit that popped open.

“The Seven are here. Hurry. Everyone out!"

Lilia intended to be the last one out, but as Jen pulled her, there was only you, teen, and Agatha behind. You didn’t notice, but a quiet, sly snake rounded the corner of a pillar, morphing quickly into one of Agatha’s old nemeses. The scare made you tremble, steps a mess as you tried to block down an attack with your own powers. A flash of light sent you and them apart, and as the snake met the side of a blade, you met the other, both fallen from the trial. The sharp pain erupted, but looking behind, Agatha was as surrounded by another four of them. Lilia screamed something that only Teen managed to understand, and as he blasted both of you out, the main card was turned upside down, in time only for him to jump out of the door before the whole trial turned and screams of impaled witches were heard.

The instant died down. Nothing besides agitated breaths could be heard between all of the coven members. You, on the other side, could barely hear anything. Agatha’s voice calling for you was far away, and although you tried to answer, you choked in blood, the taste of the ironed fluid filling your mouth.

“What?” Teen asked Alice, who stared at him like a ghost was right above his shoulders. As he held you still, the protection witch could only point out to your own body falling against Billy’s, pale face, coughing blood till your whole figure hit the floor.

Agatha eyes were shining with tears. The leaves from the trees in Salem that spring were vivid, but not like her eyes. At that time, you couldn’t bring yourself to say something as deeply as “I love you” to the Harkness heir. And as your death seeped into your whole existence, the fear of losing her friendship felt...ridiculous. Her tears fell onto your body. Pierced through with Evanora Harkness’ magic for simply being her daughter support, you were sure that there was no better reason to die.

“Please, Sunshine. Stay with me. It will be okay.” Agatha cried and cried, cradling your body into her arms. Holding you for her dear life, your body slowly became more and more heavy against her lap.

“Shh..Aggy. Don’t cry.” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. There was no physical damage, but your insides rotted by the minute. “This is honestly the best option to die. In your arms, you know?”

She scoffed, trying to pull your head up as if a miracle would happen. She was not only sad and griefing but also mad and frustrated.

“Don’t be stupid. You’re not going to die.”

You regarded her tiredly, too tired to even speak. But you knew that there was no way death would collect you before Agatha was sure it wasn’t her fault. And how loved she was.

“Aggy...this is unfruitful. We both know it.” you swallowed your desperation to part ways with the living world. “Just hear me out, Angel. You were the best, best thing I could have in my life. I love you. I’ve always loved you. Don’t forget that. I would die a thousand times in your arms.”

She blinked, tears falling onto your forehead. Last time, your voice grounded her as her own magic saved your from death. But now, as Rio appeared again, there was nothing from you besides the blood that ran to the floor from a large perforation you suffered from falling against the tip of a sword without even noticing in all that commotion. Agatha blamed herself again. You were on the road because of her. Because of her restless search for power. Looking at your pale face and shallow breath almost dissipating, she felt for the first time in her life since her son’s birth that she didn’t need any magic if she could, perhaps, keep you.

“You know you can’t.” Rio’s voice echoed, but as the witches around your lifeless body moved around to recreate the spell used on Billy, Agatha stared at her. “You walked hand in hand with me for so long, Agatha. You, above anyone, should understand how life and death works.“

“Don’t!”, the witches voice screamed back, and the strength it held made Rio stop marching forward. “She can’t die. It’s not her time.”

“But it is.” death answered, showing her half skull face only Agatha could see. “She gave you everything. Her time has been completed.”

“No!” she didn’t plead. Tired of all the centuries serving as a cunt to give her more and more bodies even after having her son taken from her, it felt unfair. “That’s enough.”

Agatha didn’t waste another minute there, succumbing to Rio’s words. She cried out for Jen. Vulnerable, broken, the coven fell into a rhythm of trying the ritual over and over again, but not only the moonlit water fell onto your body, but also your partner’s tears as she was left disheveled from pleading to the Mother to keep your life. It was a side of Agatha Hakness no one had seen. No one besides Y/N and Rio. Yet, as the hole on your body closed, no one exactly knew what would be of you. Rio stood there, overing your body.

“She will be alright.” Teen reassured Agatha almost three hours later, giving her some of the berries he found on the road.

She wanted to curse him for putting you into that situation, but then again, the Salem Seven were her fault. A moment passed as your body was kept close to the fire. On the sidelines, Death eyed you, protected by Agatha’s love, something that she despised you for. The blue eyed witch gazed at you.

“You care for her.” Lilia said, voice flowing with the wind. “Like you never cared for anyone.”

“Just one person, besides her. My son.” she smiled sadly. It was the first time mentioning him, but the truth was just as painful as the current reality. The coven, her found coven, listened to it. “And Y/N helped me navigate all of that. Back from Salem to now. But this is not the first time i almost killed her.”

“If you are going to talk about our story...” a faint, tired, almost really dead voice startled them. Rio had disappeared again, but Y/N’s eyes flashed from her place on the floor. “At least wake me up.”

The others laughed tearfully, relieved, but as Agatha rushed to your side, still a mess of hair, tears and dried mud, they gathered the fire away from them.

“Y/N...sunshine. I’m...”

“Don’t, love. Don’t even think of it.” the maimed witch intercepted, reaching out just one hand to touch her left cheek. Her thumb caressed her face. “I’m here. And I'm not going anywhere. It's not easy to free yourself from me.”

“And i don’t want to.”, her lips pressed against your forehead, kissing it before pecking your lips. “I’m sorry I keep drowning you into my mess. This is unaceptable.”

“Aggy. Please, stop.” even laying down, you could still command her with those sweet eyes. “It’s not your fault.’

“But...”

“No buts. Now, come here.”

As you gently pulled Agatha down, her arms were protective around you. Your body still ached, but as your heartbeat fell into the same rhythm of Agatha’s, there was no doubt you would survive. With your head on her chest, your heavy eyes fell onto the image of the coven exchanging a cup of water they found. Behind them, the shadow of Death blinked slowly at you, turning her back before cutting Billy’s reality to step out.

It wasn’t over, but the worst was.

"I love you." Her voice hummed against your hair.

And you would do all over again for her.

[avastyetwats]

"Sure, but watch the flow."

Stede Bonnet in Our Flag Means Death 2.05 "The Curse of the Seafaring Life."

[hannieehaee]

BOY WITH LUV (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: a new job as a barista should be easy enough, right? except it gets a whole lot more complicated when the coffee shop's most loved client just decides he has to have you OR richboy!jk falls for barista!reader and refuses to give up.

content: richboy!jk, downbad!jk, barista!reader, sub-ish!jk, reader plays hard to get just for plot purposes, jk is down horribly bad for reader, afab reader, smut, dry humping, jk's the embodiment of needy, fingering, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 1.2k (teaser); 8.8k (full fic)

RELEASE DATE: october 22nd

or you can check it out on my patreon today by subscribing!

a/n: downbad!jk is back!

masterlist | patreon

"Anyways just be careful with how many pumps you add to drinks. Customers can be extremely sensitive about that kind of stuff. Trust me," rambled on your new trainer, Jen? Jess? Something like that.

You watched disinterested, already having had a menial barista job in the past and being well aware of the high expectations of disgruntled customers. You, too, had been verbally harassed by one too many people in dire need of a drink far too specific for the average person to memorize. It was still appreciated, though, the effort she took in walking you through every step to ensure you did good at your new position.

Despite your focus on the task being demonstrated to you not being at its best, you did take notice when Jean(?) stopped her mentoring and instead spilled some of the drink she was currently making, clearly now equally as distracted as you. Her focus was no longer on the counter you were practicing drinks on, but instead looking past you and towards the counter a few steps behind you.

You meant to call out her name to question her, but without an angle on her name tag or any confidence in actually remembering the correct name, you simply grabbed at a nearby towel and cleaned off the mess, not bothering to look at whatever was distracting her. It was too early for you to bother.

Snapping out of her trance mere seconds later, she tapped at your shoulder urgently, her voice now a whisper as she leaned close for you to hear what she was about to say.

"Oh my God, don't look, but that's Jungkook," she whispered excitedly, as if letting you in on information you had any context about — hint: you had no idea who nor what she was referring to.

Turning around, you eyed another one of your new coworkers tending to the line at the counter, but more specifically helping out some guy. Focusing your eyes on him, you could now understand why his presence had caused a short-circuit in Jane (?) and why she felt the need to announce his presence to you.

The distraction in question presented itself in the form of a very tall and fit guy, one with a fully tattooed sleeve and dreamy black curls. Other outstanding attributes were the very obvious muscles encompassing his entire body and the shine that came from the various piercings on his face. In short, the man was nothing short of a dream straight from a Pinterest board — and the charisma radiating from his mere presence did not help matters.

"He's a regular. No one really knows much about him other than he's rich. He tips like 200% above his total," continued June, still leaning in your direction to whisper.

You felt bad at how obvious you were whilst staring at the boy, but he was likely the prettiest one you'd seen in a while. The blank expression in your stare did not tell on you, but it did not deny the fact that you were staring.

"We take turns serving him," your coworker informed you, "Sometimes we fight over it. He's a natural flirt, but he does it with everyone, so we're not sure if he's taken or not," she proceeded to tell you benign details about him that had you nodding along as you continued to stare at him.

The usually fast-paced place seemed to slow down when he entered the coffee shop, with most baristas' attentions going to him rather than their jobs. If he was aware of it, he was good at ignoring it, instead giving a flashy smile to the lucky barista currently tending to him. From the short distance between you, you were unable to hear his conversation, but you still had a perfect view of him as he simply existed. He could easily see you, as there was nothing in his way, but he hadn't yet, somehow oblivious to the attention he was receiving from all other baristas in the house.

As time stood still for everyone else, it continued normally for him. He paid for his drink, having it quickly bypass all other prior orders and made immediately by one of the many girls fawning at him. God, even the two baristas working the drive-thru had taken a short break from it go gawk.

It wasn't until moments later that Jungkook seemed to get a taste of his own medicine, with his own time suddenly coming to a halt. As he turned around to leave, sweet drink now in hand, his eyes incidentally met yours, causing him to pause mid turn and do a double take in order to catch your eyes again.

It was ridiculous, really. Almost too identical to those moments you'd see in those dumb romcoms you used to enjoy as a teenager. Except this was actually happening. And it was happening to you. As all your new coworkers watched his every move with extreme attention.

His eyes widened a bit. It was something the naked eye might've missed, but not you (nor the other five girls watching). His head tilted a bit to the side — maybe in curiosity due to not having seen you there before (Joanne did mention he was a regular). A ghost of a smirk took over the natural smile that had been on his lips since arrival. And lastly, a nod was sent your way — a nod in acknowledgment to your presence, but also with a flirtatious hint to it. It was hard to describe. You simply had to be there.

You remained watching him with a poker face throughout. The same poker face you'd had since clocking in to work that morning. It wasn't that you were mean or not a people person, you simply hated work. You'd been told you had a bit of a resting bitch face and gave a mean impression to those who didn't know you, but that was beside the point. The pretty boy whose attention you'd caught had gotten lucky, though, as he at least received the ghost of a smile from you before he left.

The first thing to occur upon his departure was a squeal from your left. The perpetrator? Julie (or whatever her name was).

"Oh my god!," she let out, grabbing onto your shoulder so you'd face her, "Did you see that?"

"See what?", you asked, not 100% sure of what had just happened.

"He totally checked you out . He's never done that before. Maybe he likes you? God, don't let Lila find out, she's got a huge crush on him," she informed you, once again assuming you knew who the hell Lila was.

"Hah, I think he might've just been surprised to see a new face," you downplayed, "What were you explaining before he got here? The thing with the pumps and the-"

"He comes here every morning at 8 or so. How about you take his order tomorrow? Y'know, just to test my theory," she suggested, disregarding your question.

"Orders? It's my first day here. Isn't training like two weeks lon-"

"It's fine! I'll be shadowing you. You'll do great! Now let's get back to your training-"

"Jane! I need more change at drive thru!", called one of the drive thru girls, interrupting your conversation.

"Coming, Lila!", she responded, giving you a polite smile before handing you the shaker she had just been holding, "Just practice some drinks how I taught you. I'll be right back to show you how to work the register."

So her name was Jane. And that was Lila.

At least you learned something today.

...

you can check it out today on my patreon by subscribing!

reply if you'd like to be tagged!

[yuujispinkhair]

How you get the girl

He knows how ironic this is. He is Sukuna, the guy who is known to always wear a smug smirk on his tattoed face and have a snide remark ready at all times. And yet, when you stand in front of him and confess your feelings to him, he is at a total loss for what to do.

Aka Sukuna is a lovesick mess who fucks things up on the first try because being open about his feelings is really not his strength but then makes up for it again.

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff, College AU Word Count: 1.9k Warnings: Light angst with a happy ending. Sukuna struggles with opening up about his feelings. Kissing. All characters are of age. Minors don't interact.

"And that's why...I mean, what I want to say is, I love you, Sukuna."

You stand in front of him, wringing your hands nervously after saying all those sweet things about him that he never knew he was, and look up at him with a hopeful look in your pretty eyes. And Sukuna feels like he has been hit by a truck as he stares at you with wide maroon eyes and his heart hammering in his chest.

He knows how ironic this is. He is Sukuna, the star player of the basketball team, the popular asshole who gets invited to every party, the guy with the bad boy reputation, who is known to always wear a smug smirk on his tattoed face and have a snide remark ready at all times. And yet, when you stand in front of him and confess your feelings to him, he is at a total loss for what to do.

There are a lot of things going through his head. A lot of things he could confess to you. Like how much he likes spending time with you. Or that he thinks about your smile all day. Or that he likes how you laugh about his jokes and always play along when he says something teasing.

He knows he should be honest and tell you how weirdly full his chest feels when he holds you and that he likes it so much how you fit so perfectly into his arms and against his tall, muscular body. That it makes him want to protect you and care for you, just like the way you care for him so lovingly. He knows he could tell you that you are always his last thought before he falls asleep and the first one when he wakes up.

But he doesn't do any of that. He is frozen somehow. This big bad guy, who is always so loud and confident, is standing there staring at you with wide maroon eyes, nervously pushing his tongue piercing against the back of his incisors while he tries to think of what to say to you.

It's too much, too intense. He is good at flirting. He is good at kissing and fucking and sweet talk. But he isn't good at this!

Sukuna opens his mouth only to close it again, unable to put this overwhelming whirlwind of feelings into words. Or maybe it's not even that. Maybe it's not that he doesn't know what to say, but rather that everything he would say right now would feel too honest, too raw, and that is something that scares him. He has always been the rough one, the one who wears a mask of arrogance and indifference that lets him hide how he really feels.

Maybe that is why all he manages to say is,

"Thank you, princess."

He sees your face fall and hears a shaky breath escape your lips. You try to mask your disappointment, lips lifting in a forced smile as you back away from him with shiny eyes.

"You're welcome... I ... I will just go then. Bye, Sukuna."

He has never felt as helpless as when he stands there with his hands balled into fists as he watches you turn around and leave hastily.

He tries to pretend this moment never happened, tries to tell himself he did nothing wrong. It's fine. His reaction was a normal one. Things will be ok. You will come up to him tomorrow and roll your eyes and tease him about how he stood there like an idiot, and he will laugh and pull you against him and tell you that your beauty left him speechless and that, of course, he feels the same!

But that doesn't happen.

He doesn't see you anywhere in the next few days. There are no texts from you either. You're avoiding him, aren't you? Your friends send death glares his way when he passes them in the hallway.

He loses track of how often he pulls his phone out of the back pocket of his skinny jeans, just for his fingers to hover over your last message to him, unable to find the courage to type something.

The new episode of your favorite show airs tonight. He watches it. Of course, he does. He always does, even though he finds it boring and thinks the actors are super bad. But he watches it because you like it, and so he can talk to you about it. But tonight, you aren't in his bed to watch with him, and you aren't texting him about it either.

So Sukuna grabs his phone and finally texts you. He sends text message after text message all through the episode, commenting on the newest scandal and on the outfits of the main characters.

He doesn't get a reply.

On the fourth day, he sits in the living room with his brother, playing video games and losing round after round because his mind is too occupied with missing you and stressing about why he did what he did. And suddenly, he can't stop himself from throwing the controller on the floor and blurting out,

"I fucked up."

Yuuji looks at him with a questioning look,

"Do you mean in the game or something else? Are you in trouble?"

And Sukuna laughs gruffly and hides his face in his hands as he shakes his head. Luckily, his brother is persistent and doesn't leave him alone. The brat bugs him until Sukuna finally spills it out,

"She told me she loves me."

He doesn't even have to say your name. Yuuji knows. Of course, he does. He blinks at Sukuna in confusion.

"And what is the problem? That is amazing news!"

"I said thank you."

The seconds tick away, and Yuuji stares at him as if waiting for him to say more. Sukuna huffs and shakes his head before he adds,

"That's all. I thanked her... and then she left."

"What do you mean you thanked her, Kuna? What the fuck!? That isn't an acceptable way to reply to a love confession!"

"As if I don't know that! I... shit, I didn't know what to say! I was overwhelmed!"

He glares at his twin, desperation turning him into a hot, angry mess. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. He should grab his gym bag and go lift some weights and hit a punching bag until he is too exhausted to think!

But Yuuji's voice stops him.

"But.. but don't you like her? You looked so happy with her."

"Of course I do! I like her a lot."

He hates how soft his voice becomes when he says the last part. He hates how weak he feels when he feels his mask slip and knows he isn't able to hide the pain in his heart.

But luckily, this is Yuuji, his twin, the brat that has been practically attached to his hip ever since he was born three minutes after Sukuna. It's ok if he sees Sukuna like that. This is the little brother who loves Sukuna no matter what shitty situation he gets himself into. The brother who is so much better at being open about his feelings. The brother who isn't scared to tell him off when Sukuna does something stupid.

"When what are you still doing here, you idiot? Get the fuck up and go to her and talk to her! I will throw you out and lock the door! I am serious, Kuna! You only come back here after you made things ok again with your girl!"

It's ridiculous that he needs his younger brother to kick his ass and tell him what to do. It's absolutely pathetic that he jogs through the rain in the middle of the night to buy a huge bouquet of red roses and then bangs on your door with his pink hair dripping wet and his soaked-through white t-shirt sticking to his abs uncomfortably.

But maybe it's good to be pathetic sometimes because you don't slam the door into his face but look at him with a hopeful expression on your face and a soft,

"Hey, Sukuna."

He doesn't give a fuck anymore at that point. He doesn't care that he is standing in a small puddle of rainwater dripping down from his wet clothes. He doesn't care that his hand trembles when he pushes the roses into your arms. He doesn't care if the whole dorm hears him when he says,

"I am sorry! I was an idiot. You said all those sweet things to me, and in my head were so many things I wanted to tell you too, but I messed up."

He runs a large hand through his wet hair and slicks it back again, looking at you with eyes that glitter suspiciously, but he can blame it on the rain sticking to his long lashes,

"I like you too. Every minute with you was the best I ever had. I see your face in my mind all the time. Last week, I started laughing in the middle of the grocery store because I remembered something funny you said to me. I messed up my last exam because I was too distracted thinking about how your hand feels in my hair. I only feel ok when you are next to me because if you are not there, I feel like there is a crucial part of me missing. I know I suck at talking about my feelings, but that doesn't mean I don't have a hundred thousand of them when it comes to you, and all of them are fucking good and intense and drive me crazy and... I just.. fuck, I love you, princess. I love you, and I am so sorry!"

He feels out of breath, maybe from running through the rainy streets or maybe from letting out all of those words that make him feel so fucking vulnerable when being vulnerable was the one thing he always tried to avoid at all costs.

But there is this happy smile on your face. The smile he missed so damn much. And he knows it was worth it that he ran through the rain and spilled his heart out in the staircase of your dorm.

It was all worth it because you take a step towards him with happy tears in your eyes and a soft,

"Oh, Kuna."

And the next thing he knows is you are in his arms again, your warm body pressing tightly against his, not caring about his wet clothes. Your arms wrap around his neck, and your fingers play with the short hair of his undercut, making him let out a soft sigh. And you get on your tiptoes to kiss him right when he wraps his tattoed arms around your waist and pulls you even closer.

He can hear loud cheers and applause coming from somewhere in the staircase, but he really doesn't give a fuck anymore who heard his love confession. The whole world can know how he feels about you. He will shout it from the rooftop and punch everyone in the face who has a problem with it, if it means he can hold you again and kiss you and feel your smile against his lips.

I made myself cry thinking about this scene and then I HAD to write it aaaaah. I am so weak when Sukuna is a mess, it just makes me want to hug him and ruffle his hair and never let him go again. I am obsessed I think.

Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it and that you are weak for this mess of a boy too ;)

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

[mirohlayo]

F1 DRIVERS SLEEPING WITH YOU

FOR THE FIRST TIME

( include piastri, norris, leclerc, sainz, hamilton, russel, verstappen & ricciardo )

warning : none, full of fluff

note : cutest thing I've ever written (I say that to every fics I write)

─ OSCAR PISTRI

Boy is half excited and half nervous. He's already dreading the moment, imagining all the possible scenarios in his head. What is he supposed to do? Stay on the side of your bed? Wrap his arms around you? Tangle his legs with yours? He's beyond stressed, and the very idea that you don't feel comfortable makes him panic even more. But the relief he felt when you just snuggled up to him. It was just... natural. His arms naturally wrapped around you as he gently stroked your hair, your head on his chest. He was soothed, and couldn't hold back a slight smile, feeling his body warm up, feeling his heart overflowing with love.

─ LANDO NORRIS

He plays it cool, confident, but inside he can't deny the fact that he's slightly panicking. Since the very day he met you, being head over heels for you, he has imagined this scenario hundreds of times. Obviously, he dreamed of finally sleeping with you, feeling your body fit perfectly with his and just being able to cuddle you all night. So when the day finally arrives, he tries to act as he imagined in his head. Both lying on the bed, he didn't wait a single second before pulling you against him, holding you tightly so that you couldn't escape. His cheeks are probably very pink, but it's adorable, just like the way you fell asleep. In each other's arms.

─ CHARLES LECLERC

He comes out of your bathroom after changing into his pajamas, and ends up finding you already ready for sleep, lying in your bed, which is now getting ready to be shared with your boyfriend. This is the first time you're going to sleep together. This information seems to paralyze Charles, who remains planted against the doorframe, not knowing if he should come join you now. You giggle weakly, seeing him completely lost and... a little embarrassed. When he sees you open your arms to encourage him to come join you, he is already nestling his head in the crook of your neck the next second, his arms around your waist. Oh and, no need to add that it was the best night of his life.

─ CARLOS SAINZ

You are already lying in bed, side by side. It must have been a good 5 minutes since you moved, not really knowing what to do. You would love to snuggle up against him, but maybe that's too much for a first night together? That's definitely not what Carlos thinks, who noticed that you were, well... not comfortable in your own bed. He slowly turns towards you, smiling softly at you, as if you were the most beautiful wonder in the world, before pressing your head against his chest, with a gentle gesture. Your body presses against him naturally, as he begins to caress your back lightly. He places a quick kiss on your hair, wishing you both a good night.

─ LEWIS HAMILTON

His heart melts just at the thought of finally being able to sleep with you. To be honest, you were looking forward to this moment, and he too could only think about that. He can't help but think about it every second, until your bodies are finally inches apart, under the warm duvet. Lewis can't wait any longer, sleep already overtaking him. Just your simple presence soothes him. Then, it is in a peaceful silence that your bodies finally touch each other, seeking each other's affection. You quietly close your eyes, relaxed, as he inhales your scent, already feeling himself slipping away into dreams. Best night ever, for sure.

─ GEORGE RUSSEL

The bed is all ready, the sheets are clean and the duvet freshly laundered. You burrow under the covers first, smiling softly at your boyfriend, who in turn slips under the duvet. You are neither too close nor too far, a reasonable distance but your faces close. Enough that you felt the heat coming from each other's bodies. You don't dare disturb the other person, or make the situation uncomfortable, so it's in these positions that you fall asleep. However, George's body ends up unconsciously searching for you in his sleep. His arms ended up wrapping you in a comforting embrace, his head finding a place in the crook of your neck. And a little smile appeared on his face during the night.

─ MAX VERSTAPPEN

He was the one who practically begged you to sleep together. He wanted to spend as much time with you as possible, and above all he wanted to be able to hold you in his arms as long as possible, even at night. So when you were finally free from work and could sleep with him for the first time, he almost jumped for joy. As soon as you set foot on your bed, he had already trapped you in his arms, peppering your face with kisses here and there. It's not even embarrassing, it's just pleasantly adorable and warm. As if you had always slept together since the start of your relationship. And now that your first night together has passed, there won't be another night where he sleeps alone. It's him and you, or he doesn't sleep.

─ DANIEL RICCIARDO

This man is literally always in a good mood, and never really seems stressed. Except when it comes to you, and especially your first night sleeping in the same bed. His heart is pounding, and he can't hide his nervous expression no matter how hard he tries. You can't deny the fact that you're also somewhat stressed. After all, this is one of your first intimate moments. He could tell you were nervous just like him. And that's why he immediately knew how to lighten the atmosphere, by joking about the situation. All your stress is gone as you laugh until you cry, and your boyfriend laughs out loud, savoring the sweet melody of your laughter. And so, tired from laughing too much, you fall asleep deeply, snuggled up warmly against each other.

[highvern]

When I Kissed the Teacher

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, humor

Summary: Mr. Kim has a crush, to his students that much is clear. It's also clear that you like him too. What happens when a group of meddlesome ten year olds decide to play cupid for their two favorite teachers?

Warnings: science teacher mingyu, grammar teacher reader, meddling students, crushes, flirting, lots of candy and coffee

Length: ~5.2k

Note: it's here! thank you to @gyuwoncheol and @gyuswhore for beta reading and to my lovely @tomodachiii for fact checking my knowledge of primary school lol

read more here

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

Turning from the white board, Mingyu faces the room full of weary children. Mondays are hard. Early mornings are hard. Learning the difference between reptiles and mammals first thing on Monday morning is downright torture. But it’s nothing a little bribery (read: candy) can't fix.

"Alright class, today we're learning about animals! Who remembers what a mammal is?"

Mingyu barely finishes his sentence before a sharp knock interrupts.

“Mr. Kim,” you seethe from the doorway.

Mingyu turns around immediately, eyes wide in fear at your tone. “Yes?”

“Can I speak with you? In the hallway?”

The class of ten year olds “ooooh” as their teacher trails after you like a kicked puppy. If they weren't awake before they sure are now. He shoots a silencing look back before dipping out the door where you wait, foot tapping impatiently.

“Would you like to explain where all my printer paper went?”

Mingyu tries to play dumb. “I don’t know?”

“Oh really?" You blink. "Because I found the box in the workroom and guess what was on the printer? More of your worksheets for your class!”

“How do you know they were for my class?”

You don’t answer, in favor of shoving the animal themed coloring sheets into his chest harshly.

“Listen, anyone could have…” He trails off under your withering glare.

“If you need paper, ask!”

Mingyu burns under the reprimand. “Oh, like you asked to use my paints last month?”��

“That was an accident!" you argue, eyes wide. "And I replaced them.”

“Alright, then I’ll replace the paper I took.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

With a curt nod, you turn to leave; unaware of the blushing cheeks and heart eyes following your retreating form. But the gaggle of elementary students waiting for Mingyu's return see them clear as day; their fits of shrill giggles and whispers falling on deaf ears as he shakes off the stars clouding his mind.

Mr. Kim, their goofy science teacher, has a crush. And like children are wont to do, they hatch a scheme to help him out.

—

“Alright. Do we remember the difference between fragments and sentences?”

The classroom ripples with tiny voices shouting “yes” with varying degrees of confidence. Their last quiz grades are proof they haven’t quite grasped the subject yet but that’s why you’re planning for an intensive review with them today.

“Awesome! So our warm up today should be a piece of cake. I’ll help with the first one so let's all look at the boa—”

A knock at the door cuts you off. Mingyu stands in the threshold, looking positively mischievous. 

“Sorry to interrupt, Ms. y/l/n. But can I speak with you in the hall?”

Forcing a smile, you respond. “Certainly. Class, why don’t you all work with your desk partner on the worksheet and when I come back we’ll go over the answers?”

They break into groups, chattering about everything but the work you’ve assigned; most notably the way Mr. Kim beams as you follow him outside. However, once you’ve crossed beyond the border of the brightly decorated room, twenty pairs of ears strain to hear why Mr. Kim interrupted their morning lesson.

“What's this about?” you ask.

Mingyu smiles, eyes shifting to the floor. “Here's the paper I owed you.” 

“You’re kidding.”

Three hefty boxes are stacked next to your door. It’s far more paper than Mingyu used for his color sheets, and more than you’d probably need for the rest of the semester.

“I thought you could use extra since you’re too stingy to share.”

“I’m not stingy!” You scoff.

Mingyu simply flashes another self-satisfied smile before heaving a box into his arms and carrying it into your classroom. He could certainly carry all three boxes at once; anytime there were desks or anything else remotely heavy to be moved, Mingyu did so with ease. But the kids don’t think anything of the way he so obviously drags out the torture.

The kids watch Mr. Kim weave through the maze of tables towards the back of the room.

“Lia, can you open the door for me please?”

The little girl jumps from her desk and bolts for the supply closet, braids bouncy with each step.

“In here okay?” Mingyu asks.

Blinking from your stupor, you turn back to your desk as you answer. “Yeah, it’s…whatever.” 

Your class stopped their work to focus on the unfolding drama between their two favorite teachers. They don’t know why you can’t seem to stand their science teacher, and it’s anyone’s guess why Mr. Kim has decided to interrupt their grammar lesson for something so silly. But it’s clear that whenever you two meet an argument is clear to follow. And in the guidebook of elementary school, if you like a girl, you always argue with them.

So enthralled in your silent battle of wits with the peppy man, you miss the two girls plotting in the corner.

Hana turns to her friends with breakneck speed. “Did you see the way Mr. Kim smiled at her?”

“He’s so in love,” Arin sighs dreamily.

“And Miss y/l/n is blushing! We should help them.”

Their whispers are cut off when you clap. “Alright! Back to work!”

Mingyu lingers by the front until you forcibly shoo him away, huffing at the permanent smile stretched across his lips even when the door slams in his face.

“Meet at the tree during recess.” 

The two girls nod and return to their worksheets.

A new week comes with new challenges. Today’s is the universe’s determination to make your life as difficult as possible.

Your alarm didn’t go off, your shoddy dryer left you with damp clothes, and your car battery decided a short strike would be a great way to start the freezing morning. There was barely time to wash your face with cold tap water let alone put on makeup or style your hair. To top it all off, the green lunchbox with leftovers from your favorite restaurant sits on the shelf of your fridge which means the crumbled granola bar at the bottom of your purse will finally see the light of day.

Flicking on the lights, you rush to prepare for the day. By the grace of god your first period is planning time so no students witness your near breakdown from the absolute shit storm of the morning. Not much is to be done since you already organized everything you needed Friday afternoon but the tense events of the day leave you feeling off. Not even a cup of coffee with the creamer you reserve for days like these helps the overwhelming unease rippling in the back of your throat.

Your allotted private time washes by and before you know it, a gaggle of students filters into your room, giddy on holiday spirit and sugar. The first five minutes of class are spent reminding them their butts belong in chairs at their own stations, that the warmup is for them to complete on their own, and if they aren’t feeling well enough to do classwork they need to go to the nurse.

Twenty minutes into the lesson and the worksheet for their quiz on Friday finally manages to capture their attention. A few students struggle but most are sailing through. Its the same material as last week just with a new puzzle for them to complete once they have all the correct answers.

“Alright, who can tell me what word fits for number six?” you ask.

The attentiveness you’ve sweated to cultivate all morning dissolves when a volunteer knocks to distribute candy-grams.

“Delivery!” a young woman sings as she enters, dressed in red from head to toe with heart shaped sunglasses and a sparkly headband. Her wicker basket flows with candy bars wrapped with shiny ribbon and cardstock penned with confessions.

The shrill symphony of oohs and ahhs as the kids receive pieces of candy raises the vein on your temple. 

“And for Ms. y/l/n!” the young woman sing-songs, heart headband bouncing as she approaches your desk.

The cardstock reads one of the cheesy messages the school provides for the Valentine cards they sell as a yearly fundraiser.

‘I like you a choco-lot! - your secret admirer’ 

You throw it into a drawer in your desk, oblivious to the crestfallen faces of two little girls watching with rapt attention. 

“I don’t think she likes chocolate,” Arin whispers.

“No. Remember during Halloween? She said her favorite candy is Twix. She gave Gabi an extra point on the spelling test when she brought in her halloween candy and gave them to her.” 

“Well maybe she’s mad because it wasn’t a Twix!”

“Maybe. But Mr. Kim didn’t react to the note on his desk this morning either,” Hana huffs. “But he was late so maybe he didn’t see it.”

Your second attempt to put class back on track falls flat. Instead of group review, kids come up to your desk one by one to check their answers while you nurse your headache until the bell dismisses everyone to their next destination. Another crop of students flood the seats, emotions running high from who did and didn’t receive candy in their last class. Two students end up arguing about who knows what and then proceed to break into frustrated tears.

You bite your tongue to stop from doing the same and put on one of the movies you reserve for days like these.

When Mingyu walks into your room after school ends and all the kids are dismissed for pick up, you give him a look that sends him turning around and exiting the way he came without a word.

Tuesday brings a better attitude. Mostly because you get to take all of your class to the library for silent reading. But the homemade stirfry sitting in your lunch box in the teacher’s lounge helps too.

Your second period kids spread out through the room, some sprawled across the worn rugs on their bellies while others curl up in the much coveted bean bags; a few choose to hide between the imposing bookshelves, crowded on all sides by the smell of old paper. 

With an overly sweetened latte sitting in one hand, and a new novel in the other, you perch at the long table near the librarian's desk to ‘supervise.’

“How did you manage to get a copy of The Gate? I couldn’t even get the pre-order before it sold out.” Elise, the librarian, asks. 

You smile into your coffee cup before responding. “Eh, I know a guy.”

“You do? I thought you didn’t date?”

“I don’t.” You nod. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t have connections.”

“Well whoever your ‘connection’ is, send them my way when you're done with him.”

You pretend to ponder before answering, “I’ll think about it.”

Snapping your book shut, you rise to gather the kids to return back to class. It takes several minutes as a few refuse to join the line until their current chapter is finished and Kai pulls out the puppy dog eyes, begging to stay all day to finish his book. 

You corral them out the door with promises of more reading time on Friday if they behave well the rest of the week. Some roll their eyes but most nod enthusiastically at the opportunity to skip on their weekly quiz.

Unlocking the door, you unpack your things and find a basket of Valentine’s on your desk to be passed out. Almost all the kids receive at least one, some find two or even three heart shaped sugar cookies on their desk. Your heart squeezes when some of the students decide to divy up their cookies and gift them to the students who didn’t receive a note. 

The last cookie at the bottom of the basket has a note with your name on it and a message in the same swirly script as yesterday’s.

We go together like milk and cookies. - your secret admirer

As far as cheesy Valentine’s go, you’ve seen worse. But free snacks are free snacks and the confection tastes great dipped in your coffee.

Your fourth period class focuses on their worksheets, silently deciphering the reading and ticking of questions. You promised whatever group finished first with the most right answers gets a special Valentine treat; full sized candies and extra credit on Friday. 

Whatever it takes to keep them focused while you work through grading everything for your other classes.

You don’t notice the man waiting at the door until one of your kids greet their science teacher; a ripple of tiny ‘Hi, Mr. Kim!’s following. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Mingyu announces from the door. “But, ugh, the volunteer accidentally gave me this.”

“Oh! Thanks Min—Mr. Kim.” 

You take the can of orange soda from his hand and skim the note.

I have a ‘crush’ on you. - your secret admirer

None of the students can read the note from their seats but you and Mr. Kim look equally bashful. 

“What are you guys working on? Mingyu asks, hoping to diffuse the tension.

A cacophony of voice race to explain their assignment. Mingyu pretends to understand, smiling at their enthusiasm and grabbing a worksheet for himself. 

He plants himself in one of the tiny plastic chairs next to your desk meant for ten year olds rather than a grown man of his size. It’s comical the way his knees brush his chest and any small move across the slippery seat threatens to land him on the floor.

Reviewing the sheet, Mingyu announces, “Alright, how about if you guys finish your work before me, we can have a pizza party in my class on Friday?”

More screams bounce off the walls.

“You guys can’t finish if you’re talking to Mr. Kim,” you remind them.

The room descends into a cozy calm; the sound of pencils on paper, your keyboard clicks, and the soft jazz from the computer speakers blending together.

You don’t look up to grab the answer key from the corner of the desk, Mingyu huffing from his seat at being caught.

“No cheating,” you smirk under your breath.

“Creative strategy,” he argues.

Instead of answering you shake your head and continue to focus on your own tasks. 

Ten minutes and twenty emails later, two groups of students rise and approach your desk at the same time. 

“We finished first!”

“No, we did!”

“Guys,” you interrupt them. “I’ll grade them both and whoever has more right wins. Besides, Mr. Kim owes you a pizza party anyway.”

The entire class cheers at the news while Mingyu playfully pouts. Maybe if he hadn’t given up on his worksheet to snoop through the basket full of snacks on your bookshelf, he wouldn’t be eating his own words.

The second group of students to approach your desk ends up victorious. You mark down their candy orders to pick up on your weekly grocery shopping trip on Thursday night before sending them to back up their belongings so you can all head to the cafeteria.

“What’d you bring for lunch?” Mingyu asks as he walks with you to the teachers lounge to retrieve your lunch boxes.

“Pasta salad.”

“Wanna trade?” 

“What’d you bring?” you ask, handing him the black grocery bag you know carries his lunch.

“Pasta salad.”

You roll your eyes and kick the fridge shut.

—

After lunch you have another free period. The printing room is empty so you take advantage and make enough copies for the rest of the week. Perhaps Mingyu wasn’t wrong to bring you three boxes of paper.

Lugging the stack in hand, you turn down that hall only to find a familiar face standing guard outside your classroom.

“Arin? Why are you in the hallway? You should be in class.”

“I was just…going to the bathroom!”

“Really? Because there's a bathroom right outside Mrs. Lee’s classroom if I remember correctly.”

“It was gross!”

Considering Mrs. Lee’s classroom sits on the main hallway and intersects with two other grades, it probably looked more akin to a battlefield than a restroom at this time of day.

“Okay…but hurry back. And I’m gonna let Mrs. Lee know what took you so long so she isn’t worried.” 

You side step around her but she moves right into your path. And then again. And again.

“Arin, what are you doing?” 

“Sorry, Ms. y/l/n. I don’t feel good. Can you walk me to the nurse?”

Crouching to her height, you rest the back of your hand against her forehead. Arin never admits she doesn’t feel well even when she’s tinged green and hacking up a lung. It’s the perfect admission to keep you from peering past the threshold of your classroom and blowing the entire operation.

Until a loud crash and high pitched scream breaks the silence of the hallway.

You jump back up.“What the—”

“Wait!” Arin shouts, throwing her arms and legs wide to block your path like a three foot tall ‘X’.

“Arin, what is going on?” 

“Mr. Kim said animals make themselves bigger to be scarier,” Arin says, tiny face scowling.

“And why are you trying to scare me?” 

Another bang echoes out the classroom forcing you to pick the little girl up by her armpits and carry her inside with you. She slips from your hold as you stare with a wide mouth at the scene. A desk is pulled up to the board allowing Hana to balance atop it as she scribbles across the chalkboard.

Wil you be my Valintin? - Mr. K

“Hana! What are you doing?”

“Arin!” Hana huffs indignantly.

Arin opens her mouth to respond but the look on your face silences both girls. You help Hana down from the desktop before crossing your arms in front of you and taking a deep breath.

“Sit. Now.”

They trudge to the seats next to your desk; heads hung low, tears brimming in their eyes. Neither has been on the receiving end of such a reprimand before; they’re usually your best behaved students.

You allow them to stew in silence as you right the two chairs Hana knocked over. She doesn’t look injured which is a relief but your nerves are shot from the perplexing situation. Hana and Arin can be troublemakers but they’ve never done anything like this before.

Once you're certain the urge to yell at them is quelled you approach your desk and take a seat. You watch them expectantly. Arin chances a glance up and swiftly looks back to her lap while Hana focuses on the picture at the edge of your desk, blinking away tears.

“Girls,” you sigh. “What were you doing in here?”

“Ms. y/l/n,” Arin blubbers.

Presenting the tissue box, you wait several moments while they both dab their eyes and blow their noses before speaking again.

“We just thought…” Hana starts, glancing at the other girl.

“Thought what?”

“Mr. Kim’s in love with you and we wanted to help!”

“I see.” You nod. “Did Mr. Kim tell you that?”

They look at each other before shaking their heads ‘no.’

Your temple throbs from the situation. A measured breath through your nose sends the girls into a frenzy.

“We can tell!”

“You’re perfect for eachother!”

“And did Mr. Kim ask you to sneak into my classroom while I wasn’t here?”

“No ma’am,” they mumble in unison.

It dawns on you that the two girls have been behind all the gifts you’ve received this week.“Are you two behind all the Valentine’s I’ve gotten?”

“We were just trying to help!” cries Arin.

Moving to crouch in front of them, you wait until they both look up at you.

“It’s very sweet what you were trying to do and I’m sorry I yelled at you. But you can’t sneak out of class. What if something happened and you got hurt climbing the table?”

“I’m sorry,.” Hana says.

“Me too.” 

You pass them more tissues to wipe their noses.

“How about we get you two back to class?”

“But what about Mr. Kim?”

“Yeah! He needs to know how you feel.”

“That’s between Mr. Kim and I. Understand? Those are grown up things.”

The repulsion painting their faces forces you to bite back a snort. Instead you offer your hands, pinkies extended towards them both.

“How ‘bout this? I promise to talk to Mr. Kim if you two promise no more meddling. Okay?”

All three of you share a smile as you intertwine their pinkies with your own. 

“Now,” you say whilst jumping to your feet. “You are supposed to be in Mrs. Lee’s class. And you are supposed to be at the library.”

Escorting them both back to where they belong, they can’t help but giggle when you pass Mr. Kim’s room and he waves. The question is clear on his face but you shrug your shoulders. 

You’ll explain everything later.

You smile knowingly at the corner of the classroom where two little cupids sit as the volunteer brings you a lollipop with a note reading ‘I’m a sucker for you.’

Part of you feels guilty they pooled their own money together to supply you and the teacher next door with treats all week in an effort to play matchmaker. But another part can’t help but laugh. And when you get the chance to tell Mingyu what they’ve planned you’ll no doubt laugh harder.

But because the universe somehow knows you lied to your students the day prior you find your reckoning in the cafeteria.

It was Mingyu’s fault. Or at least that’s what you argue. You barely made it three steps inside the room before the large man bulldozes you; sending his lunch and your own down your fronts in a palette of greens and browns.

His eyes widen in horror as a slice of tomato peels off your shirt and flops to the floor. “I am so sorry!”

“Seriously?” you choke.

The entire school watches with baited breath. Students and teachers alike watch with abject horror as you skirt around the taller man and flee with shaking shoulders and your chin dipped into your chest. Mingyu gapes like a fish as you run by, frozen in place. As hundreds of eyes settle on him, he realizes they all saw how he drenched you in salad and coffee. 

Mrs. Lee dismisses him with a nod, silently agreeing to watch his class so he can trapeze out to his car and find something suitable to wear.

—

Mingyu watches the game of kickball unfold across the field, keeping an eye on the rowdier students as they pick teams. But even from a distance he recognizes one face is notably absent.

He finds Kai slumped on a bench at the far corner of the playground using a stick to draw lines in the dirt at his feet.

“Hey, buddy. You feeling okay?” Mingyu asks. 

Kai never misses a game of kickball. Even when his arm was in a cast at the beginning of the year, he insisted he only needed one good arm to play defense and neither to play offense. Kai’s mom simply laughed at Mingyu’s concerned email and said her son was exactly like his dad and there was no stopping him if he was set on something.

So to have the little curly haired boy isolated on the far edge of the field is serious cause for concern.

Kai looks up briefly at Mingyu’s approach before returning to his mud art. “Mr. Kim, have you ever liked someone?”

“Liked someone?” Mingyu drops onto the bench next to him.

“Like,” the little boy inhales trying to explain himself. “Like a girl?”

Mingyu snuffs out his chuckle at Kai’s innocent question. “Yeah, why do you ask? Do you like a girl?”

“I–My friend does!”

“Okay,” Mingyu nods.

“And he doesn’t know how to tell her.”

“Well that's tough.” 

“How’d you tell the girl you liked?”

“Well,” Mingyu drops to a whisper. “Once upon a time, I had a crush on this girl. And she was the prettiest girl I ever saw. Smart and funny too.”

“Did she run fast?”

The question confuses Mingyu at first but then he remembers he’s talking to a ten year old and the rules of attraction hinge on who gets the swing the highest and jumps off.

“She ran really fast,” he nods. “And she made me so nervous I couldn’t talk to her. My palms got all sweaty and my face turned red.”

“That happens to m—I mean my friend!”

“And it feels like there's a bunch of frogs jumping around your stomach?”

“Yeah,” Kai nods. “So how’d you tell her?”

“Well one day, I finally decided to introduce myself. Walked right up to her, opened my mouth and…poof.”

“Poof?”

“Poof.” Mingyu hangs his head. “I forgot everything I was gonna say to her.”

“What happened after that?”

“She waited a few minutes and then said ‘okay, I’ll meet you at 6:30 for dinner.’”

“She knew you liked her?”

Mingyu nods gravely before imparting his most sage wisdom. “Girls are very smart, Kai.”

“So I should try and tell her I like her?”

“Your friend should at least try,” Mingyu shrugs.

Kai blushes, having been clearly caught. “But what if she doesn’t like him back?”

“That’s okay. It just wasn’t meant to be.”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim. You’re the best!”

“You’re welcome, buddy.” Mingyu gives him a fist bump before shooing him back towards his friends. “Now go play kickball, the boys need your help.”

Kai runs off but a new presence fills the vacant seat on the bench. 

“I thought we agreed to keep our romantic life a secret at work.”

Mingyu smiles sheepishly before turning to look at you. “Oh, you heard that?” 

“Yeah, I heard,” you smile. “They already think you have a crush on me.”

“Smart kids.” He says, enjoying the way the worn sage button up swallows your figure. 

Mingyu loves when you wear his clothes, he told you this morning when you stole his favorite jacket. Which is why you both took almost twenty minutes to gain your composure after he spilled an entire tray of food on you. 

Mingyu swears he didn’t do it on purpose. How could he have known you were coming through the door at that very moment? But he’d do it again if it meant seeing you in one of the spare shirts he keeps in the truck again. Even if it meant he’d also sustain minor coffee burns.

“They think I have a crush on you too.”

You watch the way he traces your collar bone, catching the twinkle of the diamond pendant resting at the hollow of your throat; his birthstone. It was the first piece of jewelry he bought you when you started dating almost a decade ago. 

You hadn’t taken it off since the day he gave it to you with shaky hands and red ears.

“Do you?” He asks.

“Do I, what?”

“Have a crush on me?”

“Oh Gyu,” you coo at him. “I have the fattest crush on you.”

“Damn right you do.”

Sitting outside with an entire audience of other teachers and students doesn’t allow either of you to fall into the familiar comfort of adorning kisses or airtight hugs. But Mingyu’s pinky brushing yours in the ample space between your figures is enough for now.

Friday is Valentine’s day which means all the kids don red and pink outfits and prepare for a day of candy filled fun. You spent all morning helping the art teacher set up paint stations. Why she cashed in on the long owed favor with such a simple task was beyond you but the monotony is a nice change from the chaos you’ve experienced all week. When second period rolls around, you shuffle back to your classroom; welcomed by the line of students waiting outside your locked door. 

“I swear! I saw Mr. Kim and Ms. y/l/n at the grocery store last night.”

“Hana, Ms. y/l/n said its grown up business. Maybe you just saw people that look like them,” Arin shrugs. “And I don’t wanna get in trouble again.”

“It had to be them!”

They quiet down as they walk past your figure, smiling like cherubs when you greet them.

Students file in one by one, shrill voices echoing from excitement. Most cheer about their pizza party with Mr. Kim later that afternoon, a few squeals about the set of Valentine’s their parents sent with them to handout. 

Your ears catch a few other snippets of conversation as you wait for the stragglers to make it by. 

“Oh my gosh those are so pretty!”

“Those look like the flowers my mommy likes!”

Curiosity gets the better of you, forcing you to step into the room and see what the kids are talking about. 

An explosion of pink camellias resting on your desk. Huge blossoms with pale pink petals spill over the sides of the vase, slips of greenery sprinkled throughout. Approaching your desk, the floral aroma fills your nose. The blooms feel like soft velvet under the pad of your finger tracing the largest one in the center of the arrangement.

Who on earth?

As if on cue a mop of black hair peaks in from the hall. Mingyu eyes the bouquet and the pleased look on your face before allowing his own to break into his infamous smile.

“Just wanted to make sure they got here safe,” he calls.

You whip your head up, eyes wide and mouth open at the can of worms he just spilled.

“What?” Mingyu asks innocently. “Can’t a man buy his fiancee flowers?”

He disappears with a wink but his laughter at the chaos he’s stirred up can be heard miles away.

“MISS Y/L/N YOU’RE MARRIED?” Mark screams.

Another shrill voice answers, “Fiancee means they’re almost married, idiot!” 

“You lied to us!” Arin and Hana chorus.

Dropping into your chair, you hide your burning face in your hands. Coincidentally it also hides your shy grin from the hoard of ten year olds jumping in their seats at the news.Mingyu is in so much trouble.

A few weeks before the new school year starts, a group of nearly eleven year olds crowd into the pews of the massive church at the center of town. Stained glass reflects patterns over the marble floors, casting them in a rainbow of colors. 

Some sit on their hands to calm the adrenaline pumping through their tiny veins. Others rock back and forth in an effort to watch Mr. Kim strut down the aisle in a fancy looking suit. 

But all of them gasp when you turn the corner.

You look like a real life princess in your wedding dress, floating towards their science teacher waiting at the altar with tears and a smile matching your own.

When you and Mr. Kim kiss, the girls squeal and the boys blush.

Several rows ahead sits a small group of older students, who’ve long graduated elementary school and are headed to college in a few days. They exchange satisfied smiles and pat themselves on the back for getting their favorite fourth grade teachers together all those years ago.

Maybe now your new classes won’t try playing Cupid like they do every year given Mr. Kim finally married their favorite teacher.

-

Fic taglist: @tacosandbitch @leechanniee @syprosight @prettygyuuu @itza-meee @cottoncheol @ashluvy @jkslvsnella @xuimhao @vanishingboots @miujunhui @viciousdarlings @imprettyweird @akeminy @sana-is-ms-rmty @jayfrvr @watermelonsugawara @bouclesdefeu

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@cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @tomodachiii @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @gyuguys @primoppang @mine-gyu

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Lost in Translation: Prologue

Summary: A college student (reader) forms a deep bond with a young professor, Spencer Reid, over weekly study sessions in the library. After months of building a friendship, they share a night together, only for the student to be left alone, Spencer gone without a word.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst, backstory, mild smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: non-descriptive smut (18+), talks of sex, alcohol, professor/student relationship (but it's Spencer and he's 18 like his students), being used for sex, loss of virginity, (un)requited feelings, no happy ending for this part

Word count: 8.6k

a/n: new story just dropped lol -- wrote so fucking fast and not edited at all sorryyyy

main masterlist part one part two part three part four

Being a wonder kid, Spencer Reid’s youth was one of isolation. Growing up too young, too smart, too awkward—too everything to really fit in—made life difficult. He navigated a world where his intelligence placed him far beyond his peers, yet his age kept him at arm’s length from those who might understand him better. It wasn’t until he began teaching an engineering course while working on his PhD at eighteen that he finally felt a flicker of that belonging.

Standing in front of an auditorium full of undergraduates, Spencer finally experienced something akin to acceptance. The students, many only a few years older than him, loved the fresh, youthful energy he brought to their 8 a.m. class. For the first time, they weren’t learning from a middle-aged professor droning on about equations but from someone who felt like one of them. Spencer’s lectures were passionate, and he brought concepts to life in ways that made the subject not only digestible but genuinely fun.

It didn't hurt that he was handsome either; that soft hair, those gentle brown eyes framed by glasses, and the earnest way he smiled—all of it made more than a few students swoon over him at one point or another. Spencer, of course, remained oblivious to the dreamy stares and flirtatious comments.

Despite his newfound sense of belonging in the classroom, Spencer didn’t really hang out with anyone. He remained somewhat of an enigma—attending his own study groups, tutoring off and on, and sometimes grabbing lunch with faculty who treated him more like an adorable novelty than a colleague. He was used to it by then, that feeling of floating in between worlds. 

But one day, after a particularly engaging lecture on applied mechanics, a student named Jasper approached him. Jasper was bold, with a confident walk and a grin that suggested they weren’t afraid to push boundaries. “Hey, Professor Reid,” they said casually, leaning against the edge of the lecture podium.

“Oh, uh, hi,” Spencer replied, caught slightly off guard as he scrambled to gather his things. He was never quite sure how to handle the one-on-one interactions with students that felt too friendly, too casual. “Did you have a question about the lecture?”

Jasper laughed and shook their head. “No, actually, I was just thinking... Me and my roommates are throwing a party this weekend, and I was wondering if you’d wanna come? You know, kick back, meet some people... No physics or equations, promise.”

Spencer blinked, processing the invitation like a computer struggling to boot up. A party? With students? It felt... like an odd concept, but one that piqued his interest in a way nothing had before. He’d never really had a social invitation like this—especially not one involving people close to his own age. The idea was exhilarating, and for a moment, Spencer could almost feel what it might be like to be just another young adult, rather than the kid-genius-teacher everyone knew him as.

“Really?” Spencer’s eyes lit up, his grin boyish and genuine. “That sounds great, actually! Should I, um... should I bring anything? Snacks? Drinks? I can... figure something out.”

Jasper shook their head, laughter spilling out at how adorably sincere he was being. “No, no, don’t worry about it,” they said, waving off his concern. “Just bring yourself, cutie.” With a teasing wink and a quick flick of their wrist, they slipped a small note with their address into Spencer’s hands. And then, with that same confident stride, Jasper turned and walked away, leaving Spencer to stand there, flushed and stunned, staring down at the address in his palm like it was some secret code to a new world he’d been waiting forever to explore.

—

Spencer stood outside the house, his nerves and excitement mingling as he took in the scene. The address Jasper had given him led him to a lively place: music thumping loudly enough to rattle the windows, laughter spilling out through the open front door, and the warm glow of lights casting playful shadows on the lawn. People were milling around everywhere—huddled in small circles, raising drinks to one another, dancing, and talking loudly over the music. It was the kind of scene Spencer had seen in movies but never really experienced in real life.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled his nerves and stepped inside. He immediately felt out of place in his neat button-down shirt and slacks, compared to the casual party attire of those around him. But he was here, and he was determined to enjoy it. As he made his way through the crowded entryway, Spencer's eyes were wide, absorbing every detail—the smell of popcorn and alcohol mixing in the air, the flashing lights, the loud music, and the laughter. He weaved through groups of students, dodging stray elbows and trying to make eye contact with anyone who might seem familiar. 

However, after a few failed attempts at small talk and realizing that almost everyone he knew was either preoccupied or didn’t recognize him outside the classroom setting, Spencer’s excitement dimmed a bit. He found himself gravitating towards a quieter corner of the living room, eventually sinking into the soft, worn leather of a couch, trying to look relaxed but not too out of place. He sat there, half-heartedly holding a cup of soda someone had pressed into his hand earlier, unsure of what to do next. Every now and then, a familiar face would pass by, and he’d offer a polite wave or smile, but nothing stuck. 

The longer he sat, the more he felt like an observer looking through glass, disconnected from the easy laughter and carefree movements around him. He sighed inwardly, wondering if coming to this party was such a great idea after all. But as he settled back into his seat, he heard an enthusiastic voice shout above the noise.

“Professor Reid!” 

He barely had time to look up before Jasper dropped down beside him on the couch, their presence as warm and electrifying as a flash of lightning. They were so close that the entire side of their body pressed against Spencer's, hip to shoulder, the sudden contact sending a warm jolt through his skin. Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise, and he couldn't help the slight smile that pulled at the corner of his lips.

“Hey!” he greeted, his voice louder than usual to be heard over the music but still tinged with that inherent awkwardness that never quite left him in social situations. He noticed the slight flush in Jasper’s cheeks, their eyes bright and relaxed from the party vibe.

“I thought you were gonna be a no-show,” Jasper teased, leaning in so that their mouth was close to Spencer's ear, their voice buzzing through him. “You seemed kinda nervous when I invited you.”

“N-no, not at all!” Spencer said quickly, though his laugh betrayed his nerves. “I was... just... you know, trying to, uh, soak it all in.”

“Well,” Jasper drawled, dragging out the word like they were savoring it, “now that you're here, we should make sure you have a good time. Can’t have my favorite professor looking all lonely in the corner.” They flashed him that teasing smile, the one that Spencer had come to recognize as Jasper's signature charm, and for a moment, Spencer forgot about the crowded room and the strangers dancing around him.

“Yeah,” he nodded, feeling a bit more relaxed, the warmth from Jasper’s touch making the party seem a little less intimidating. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

That night, Spencer had no idea how things would unfold. What started as casual chatter on that couch quickly transformed into something more charged, more intimate. Jasper had a way of making Spencer feel seen—really seen—and as they talked, leaning into each other, the lines between conversation and flirtation blurred until they no longer existed at all. Eventually, the touches grew longer, more intentional, and Spencer felt his breath catch when Jasper’s fingers brushed against the back of his neck, pulling him closer until their lips finally met.

It was Spencer’s first kiss, and it was exhilarating and nerve-wracking all at once. He was clumsy at first, feeling every ounce of his inexperience and fearing that he was doing everything wrong. But Jasper was patient, guiding him with slow, teasing movements until Spencer’s hesitations melted into something fervent and desperate. They broke apart, breathless and flushed, and before he knew it, Jasper was pulling him up, leading him through the crowded party, down a narrow hallway, and into a bedroom.

There, it happened—the fumbling of clothes, the whispered instructions and reassurances. Spencer's heart pounded in his chest, the nerves and adrenaline mixing with a primal kind of desire he’d never felt before. Jasper seemed to know exactly what they were doing, leading and coaxing Spencer through the motions, and for once, he wasn’t overthinking, wasn’t caught in the spiral of his own mind. He let go, lost in the sensations of touch, taste, and pleasure as he experienced intimacy for the first time.

When it was over, Spencer lay on his back, panting, feeling a mix of awe and disbelief wash over him. He was almost scared to speak, to ask what this all meant. But before he could say anything, Jasper sat up and smiled, giving Spencer a quick, almost dismissive pat on the arm.

“That was fun, Professor,” Jasper said with a playful grin that lacked the intimacy they'd shared moments before. “But I’m gonna get some sleep now. Thanks for, you know, joining in on the fun tonight.”

Spencer sat up, a little dazed and trying to process the sudden shift. He nodded, feeling a strange lump in his throat, and muttered a soft, “Yeah, sure. Thanks... for inviting me.” There was no animosity in Jasper’s tone, but it was clear the night had come to its end. Spencer gathered his clothes, dressed quickly, and slipped out of the room, his head spinning with a thousand thoughts. He walked through the party once more, though he felt almost invisible now, slipping out the front door into the cool night air.

The next class was excruciatingly awkward for Spencer. He’d gone over the lecture material several times, but nothing could prepare him for the moment when Jasper walked in, took a seat right in the middle of the room, and gave him an easy smile like nothing had happened. Spencer struggled to maintain eye contact and found himself stumbling over his words more than usual. He felt exposed, raw, like everyone in that room somehow knew what had happened between them.

But Jasper was unbothered, unfazed—completely casual. It was as if that night was just another blip on their radar, a moment to be shared and then forgotten. And perhaps that was the point. As the days went on, Spencer realized that to Jasper, and probably to many others, it was just another night—no strings, no lingering feelings, just a moment of pleasure and then moving on. 

The realization was strange for Spencer. He couldn't help but question if that was just what sex was—casual, meaningless, but a great way to blow off steam. It felt anticlimactic to think that something so intimate was treated so carelessly, but maybe that was the reality. For all his intellect, this was an area Spencer had little experience in, and he found himself trying to adjust to this new perspective. Maybe this was just the way people did things, and maybe that night with Jasper was simply the start of understanding what it meant to live a life that wasn’t dictated by equations or theories, but by messy, imperfect human experiences.

—

The library was packed with students hunched over textbooks, fingers flying across keyboards, and whispered conversations about study guides. You were already on edge, the stress of your final exam making every little noise seem louder, every empty table harder to find. You hugged your books to your chest, eyes darting around for any free spot, your mind already buried in the formulas and concepts you needed to cram before tomorrow.

Then, without warning, you collided with a solid body as you turned a corner. Your books tumbled out of your grip, scattering across the polished floor. “Shit!” you blurted out, the curse escaping before you could hold it back. “Sorry!” You dropped down immediately to pick up your books, your face burning with embarrassment.

Just as you did, so did the person you’d run into, and the next thing you knew, there was a dull thud as your foreheads collided with a painful smack. You jerked back, clutching your head, eyes watering from the sudden sharp sting.

“Ow,” the guy groaned, rubbing his forehead. He winced, but there was a hint of a laugh behind the pain, a softness in his voice that made your embarrassment double. 

“Fuck, my bad,” you stammered, feeling utterly mortified. “I’m so clumsy.”

The guy chuckled lightly, standing back up as he brushed off his pants. “Me too, it’s alright,” he said. As you looked up, you finally saw who you’d bumped into.

It was him. Professor Reid—the young genius who everyone in your classes seemed to talk about, with rumors that swirled around him like leaves in a storm. The eighteen-year-old PhD who made engineering sound sexy, apparently both in his lectures and in the beds of the more... adventurous students. You’d heard more than one friend gush about how he'd helped them understand a complicated theory in more ways than one, their whispers tinged with admiration and amusement.

And now here he was, standing right in front of you, all tousled curls, warm hazel eyes, and that slightly awkward but undeniably charming smile. The closeness made you realize how tall he was, his lean frame towering over you. You felt a rush of heat creep down your neck, spreading across your skin like wildfire. You’d seen him from afar, of course—catching glimpses of him in lecture halls or around campus—but never up close like this, and he was... so much prettier than you’d expected. 

“Are... are you okay?” Professor Reid asked, still rubbing his head but looking at you with a concern that made your stomach flip. He leaned down, grabbing the books you'd dropped before handing them to you, his fingers brushing against yours briefly.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you mumbled, gripping your books tightly, trying to ignore the fact that your hand was now tingling where he’d touched it. “I just... wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Neither was I,” he admitted, his smile widening a little as he looked at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I guess we're both guilty.”

“Yeah, guess so,” you said, forcing a laugh. God, why was it so hard to speak right now? You mentally cursed yourself for being so flustered. You quickly glanced around, realizing that most of the tables were still full, and suddenly it dawned on you that there were no available places to sit... except for the table behind him.

“Um... do you—do you mind if I sit here?” you asked, gesturing to the table he’d just been standing beside.

He hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the table and then at you, a strange look crossing his face like he was trying to figure something out. Then, with that same awkward but genuine smile, he nodded. “Yeah, of course. It's all yours.” 

You thanked him quietly, moving to the chair and settling down, but as you did, you couldn't help but steal another glance at him—those curls falling just right, his long fingers thumbing through his notes as he lingered nearby. And as you opened your books, pretending to focus on studying, you couldn't stop sneaking glances at the very attractive, young professor. 

The hour that followed was filled with the gentle rustle of pages turning, pens scratching against paper, and the occasional cough or whisper from other students scattered around the library. But you couldn’t concentrate, not really. Your eyes kept drifting up from your notes to the table across from you, where Professor Reid sat hunched over his books, his focus so intense that you wondered what on earth he could be doing. Every now and then, your gazes would accidentally meet, and you’d look away quickly, your cheeks heating up as if you'd been caught doing something wrong.

You were in the middle of re-reading the same paragraph for the fifth time when you heard his voice break the silence between you. “If you don’t mind me asking,” he began, the soft tone of his voice instantly grabbing your attention, “what course are you studying for?”

Your eyes shot up to meet his, and for a moment, all you could do was blink at him. He was looking at you curiously, genuinely interested, and his expression was kind, almost encouraging. You tucked a stray hair behind your ear and cleared your throat, trying not to let your voice shake as you replied, “Oh, uh, architecture. I’m studying for an exam... final one of the semester.”

“Architecture!” Spencer’s face lit up, and he leaned forward slightly, his eyes sparkling with excitement. It was like you’d just told him the most fascinating thing in the world, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way he seemed so genuinely enthusiastic. “That’s great! I’ve always thought architecture was such a beautiful blend of art and science—it’s like engineering for the soul, you know? There’s so much math involved, but it’s all to create something tangible, something that can change the way people experience space. And the way architecture has evolved over time? It’s like a living timeline of human innovation!”

He continued to ramble, moving from modern skyscrapers to the ancient marvels of Rome, describing the symmetry of cathedrals and the beauty of brutalism. The passion in his voice made every word seem like a story, and you sat there, leaning your chin on your hand, utterly captivated by the way he spoke. It was clear he loved to share knowledge, to connect different ideas, to see how everything fit together like pieces of a puzzle. 

You found yourself smiling wider and wider, nodding along as he spoke, absorbing everything he said not because you needed to know it for your exam, but because he made it all sound so alive. 

“Sorry,” he said suddenly, laughing softly as he realized he’d been talking nonstop for quite a while. He leaned back in his chair, a slight flush in his cheeks. “I tend to... ramble a bit. Especially when it’s something interesting. I hope I’m not distracting you.”

“Not at all,” you assured him quickly, shaking your head. “Actually... I liked listening to you.” 

He seemed surprised by that, his eyebrows raising slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you said, meeting his eyes and offering a shy smile. “You, um... you make it all sound really exciting. It’s nice.”

“Oh, I’m glad,” Spencer smiled, a genuine, soft smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. For a moment, there was a comfortable silence, the kind that lingered like a shared secret. You wanted to say more, to keep the conversation going, to ask him about the things he was passionate about. But before you could find the right words, Spencer glanced down at his watch and began gathering his books.

“I, uh, should get going,” he said, a slight note of regret in his voice. “Lots of things to prepare for—classes and, um... you know, life things.” He gave an awkward laugh, and slung his bag over his shoulder, pausing for a moment as if he were about to say something else, but then just smiled instead. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady and casual, despite the fact that your heart was pounding harder than it should have been. He nodded, gave you one last shy smile, and turned to leave, weaving through the tables and shelves of books until he disappeared from view.

You watched him go, the way he held himself with that slight awkwardness, his long stride taking him quickly out of the library. And as soon as he was gone, you slumped back in your chair, letting out a breath. 

For a fleeting moment, you felt hopeful that you might run into him again, that maybe you’d have another one of those conversations that felt easy and exciting all at once. But then you remembered the stories—the whispers about how Professor Reid often slept with students, how it was no big deal to him, just casual fun. And suddenly, you felt foolish for reading anything more into his friendliness. What if he’d only started talking to you because he was trying to woo you into bed? 

You couldn’t deny that he was attractive—very attractive—but if all he saw in you was another potential fling, then maybe it was better not to get your hopes up. After all, Spencer Reid wasn’t like other guys. He was brilliant, handsome, and, from what you’d heard, had more than his share of admirers. You shook your head, trying to brush away the pang of disappointment and return your focus to your notes.

Still, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t quite shake the image of his warm smile or the sound of his voice. And a part of you—just a small part—hoped that maybe, just maybe, there was more to Spencer Reid than the rumors said.

—

You were rushing, nerves jangling through your body like alarm bells. You were running late—really late—and all you could think about was getting to your exam on time. In your panic, you didn’t see the corner coming, your eyes glued to your watch as you cursed yourself for oversleeping. You rounded the bend with way too much speed, and before you could react, you collided hard into someone else. The force knocked you off balance, sending you sprawling to the ground, your books and papers flying in a wild scatter across the floor.

“Oh my!” came a startled voice. “I am so, so sorry, I was just looking for—oh, hi.”

You winced as you propped yourself up on your elbows, but the moment you looked up, your heart sank and soared all at once. There, standing over you, was none other than Professor Reid. He was staring down at you with wide eyes, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern, and his mouth opened as if he wasn't sure whether to apologize or help you up first.

“Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath, scrambling to get back up, your face flushing hot. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going, I just—”

“No, no, please, don’t apologize,” Spencer said quickly, his voice soft but urgent as he bent down to your level. “That was my fault, I wasn’t paying attention either.” He reached out to help you up, his hands gentle as he grasped your arm and steadied you, making sure you didn’t trip over yourself as you stood. “Are you okay?” he asked, eyes darting over you to make sure you weren’t hurt. “I didn’t, um... hurt you or anything, did I?”

“No, I’m fine, really,” you said, though you could feel your whole body tingling from where he touched you, the warmth of his hand lingering even as he let go. You brushed off your pants, trying to regain any semblance of composure despite the fact that you were now not only late but completely flustered.

Spencer began gathering your scattered books and papers, handing them to you with the same focused attention he gave to everything else. He was quick, efficient, but still careful, making sure to line up the pages neatly before passing them back into your hands. “Here you go,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “You, um... dropped a few things.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking the books from him and clutching them to your chest. And then you remembered. “Oh my God, my exam!” You looked at your watch again, the numbers glaring back at you as if taunting your lateness. “I... I have to go, I’m so sorry, Professor Reid, but I really need to—”

“Wait, wait,” Spencer interrupted, a spark of understanding lighting up his eyes. “Is it in the main lecture hall? The big one across campus?”

“Yeah,” you nodded frantically. “I have, like, five minutes to get there or I'm screwed.”

“Then we’d better hurry,” he said, a determined smile breaking across his face. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.” 

“Y-you don’t have to do that, I mean—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Spencer insisted, already starting to lead the way. “I’m heading that direction anyway.” You both knew that wasn’t true but then, with a quick glance back at you, he added, “Besides, it’s the least I can do after, you know... knocking you over.”

You felt a laugh bubble up in your throat, despite the chaos of the moment. “Okay, thanks,” you said, falling into step beside him. It was a strange, surreal thing—running across campus with Professor Reid at your side, his long legs matching your frantic pace. And even though you were still panicking about being late, there was something oddly comforting about his presence, like the whole situation was slightly less catastrophic just because he was there.

“Don’t worry,” he said between breaths, casting a reassuring glance your way as you both hurried down the path. “You’ll make it. I’ll make sure you get there on time.”

You made it to your exam with barely a minute to spare, heart still racing from sprinting across campus and the whirlwind encounter with Professor Reid. As you settled into your seat, your mind was a jumbled mess of nerves, exhaustion, and the lingering thrill of having Spencer Reid rush beside you, determined to get you there on time. The reality of having bumped into him—literally—and seeing his concerned, handsome face up close again was a distraction you struggled to push away. But as the exam papers were passed out and you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus, you felt a small swell of determination rising within you.

It wasn’t just about passing the exam anymore. No, it was about doing well—really well—because a part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d run into Professor Reid again. And if you did, and if he asked you how your exam had gone, you wanted to be able to look him in those warm, interested eyes and say, “I crushed it.”

And so you put everything into it. Every formula, every theory, every bit of knowledge you’d crammed into your brain over the past few weeks. The hours passed in a blur of scribbled answers and focused thought, and by the time you handed in your paper, you felt a surge of pride and relief. You knew you’d done your best—maybe even better than your best.

—

The new term had settled into a predictable rhythm for you: classes in the morning, work in the afternoons, and then hours spent in the library for some uninterrupted study time. By the third week, you found a comforting routine in the silence and solitude of your favorite corner, tucked away but not too far from the bustle of the main floor. It was your place to dive into note-taking, to tackle assignments, and to escape from the chaos of student life. And though your schedule was tiring, there was something satisfying about the repetition—class, work, library, sleep, repeat.

It was a Thursday afternoon, and you were in the thick of your study session, textbooks spread across the table, fingers tapping absently against your highlighter as you scanned the pages. You were deep into a chapter on sustainable building design when a shadow fell over your table, and you heard a voice.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?”

You looked up, and immediately, your breath caught in your throat. You didn't need to see his face to know who it was, but the confirmation was still enough to make your heart skip a beat. Professor Reid stood there with that same friendly, slightly awkward smile, his bag slung over his shoulder and a stack of books in his arms.

“Professor Reid,” you greeted with a smile of your own, trying not to let on how quickly your pulse was racing. “Of course, go ahead.”

“Thanks,” he said, his eyes crinkling in that gentle way as he pulled out the chair across from you. He sat down, settling his things on the table with a soft thud, and for a moment, you were both just... there, in the kind of companionable silence that libraries are made for. Spencer pulled out his own work, a notebook and a pile of papers, and began arranging them neatly before him, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against the edge of a binder.

“Preparing for midterms?” he asked after a moment, glancing up at you with a tilt of his head, genuinely interested.

“Yeah,” you sighed, giving a little shrug as you gestured to your scattered materials. “Trying to get ahead, make sure I don’t fall behind. You know how it is.”

“I do,” he laughed softly, his gaze drifting to the open book in front of you. “I’m writing one, actually. One of the joys of being on the other side of the classroom.”

“Wow,” you said, the laughter bubbling up before you could stop it. “That... actually sounds like way more pressure than taking one.”

“It can be,” Spencer admitted, a lighthearted grin playing on his lips. “I always end up overthinking it, trying to make the questions fair but challenging, relevant but not too obscure. It’s like creating a puzzle that someone’s actually going to solve.”

You nodded along, smiling at how earnest he was. “That sounds... kind of like how I feel about taking exams, actually. Trying to solve the puzzle without knowing if you even have all the right pieces.”

Spencer leaned back in his chair, his eyes lighting up as he considered that. “Exactly,” he said, like he’d never thought of it that way before. “It’s a lot like that. But the fun part is watching the different ways people solve it, the different approaches and interpretations. It’s... fascinating, really.”

As he spoke, you couldn’t help but watch him, his hands moving expressively as he talked, the way he was so animated about his work. You’d heard him lecture from afar, but this—this was different. There was something more intimate about being across from him like this, sharing space, sharing thoughts. 

You smiled, leaning forward a bit. “Sounds like you really enjoy it.”

“I do,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. “It’s nice to be able to help people understand things, to make learning something enjoyable instead of a chore.”

You nodded, and for a while, the two of you sat there, working side by side, an unspoken connection forming over the shared silence and occasional exchanges. And though you were both absorbed in your own work, you knew now that this wouldn’t be the last time you’d find yourselves at the same table, sharing the same quiet space amidst the noise of college life.

Every Thursday for the rest of the term, your routine became intertwined with Spencer’s. You’d meet in your usual spot in the library, setting up your notes and books, and he'd arrive not long after, dropping into the chair across from you like he belonged there. And for hours, you’d sit together—sometimes in comfortable silence, sometimes falling into deep conversations about classes, life, and everything in between. It was almost comical when, after weeks of these meetings, he finally looked up at you, eyes wide with realization, and laughed softly.

“You know,” he said, smiling sheepishly, “I don’t think I ever asked you your name.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, blurting it out in a rush, and he repeated it back to you like he was savoring the sound of it. And just like that, something clicked into place. He’d ask about your exams, your grades, always genuinely interested in how you were doing. You, in turn, asked about his lectures and the classes he was teaching, and he would share his thoughts on the challenges of balancing students’ needs, all with that passion and depth you had come to expect from him. 

Your friendship blossomed, but it was always contained to those Thursday evenings at the library. It was a boundary neither of you seemed to cross—studying together, talking, connecting, but never making plans outside of the walls of academia. And that was fine, for a time. But as the end of your freshman year loomed closer and summer break approached, the thought of leaving and not seeing Spencer every week weighed on you more than you’d expected.

One Thursday, when you could barely focus on your notes because of it, you found yourself fidgeting, chewing on your pen cap as you tried to summon the courage to speak. Eventually, you couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“Spencer?” you asked, your voice quiet over the hum of the library around you.

“Mhm?” he responded, not looking up from the papers he was reading through but giving a small nod to show he was listening.

You swallowed, nerves bubbling up, but pushed through. “Would you, um, want to come over after exams end? You know, to... say goodbye to the year?”

Spencer paused, his pen freezing mid-note, and he looked up, surprise flashing across his features. He hadn’t expected that, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind as he considered your offer. The idea of spending time together outside the library, beyond your weekly tradition, was both tempting and concerning for him. He’d grown fond of your friendship, of the way you made him laugh and didn’t expect anything from him except a shared space and genuine conversation. But, deep down, a part of him still feared being used like so many others had. 

Yet, there was something earnest in your eyes, something that made him think maybe, just maybe, you really did just want to hang out. To be friends, and nothing more. He let out a small breath, nodding slowly. “Sure,” he said, offering a tentative smile. “What did you have in mind?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you hoped the heat wasn’t too obvious as you scratched the back of your neck, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “Uh, I didn’t plan that far ahead,” you admitted with a nervous laugh. “Maybe... a movie? Just something casual.”

“Casual,” he repeated, almost as if testing the word out, and then his smile widened, a bit of relief and something like excitement brightening his eyes. “Yeah. A movie sounds good.” 

And just like that, you found yourself looking forward to what might be the start of something new—something beyond Thursday study sessions, something more than a quiet routine.

The Friday after final exams, you paced your dorm room, nerves buzzing through you like electricity. You'd barely slept since inviting Spencer over—second-guessing every detail, every word you’d said. But now, as you checked your phone again, you reminded yourself that it was just a movie, just two friends hanging out to say goodbye to the year. Nothing more. You tried to convince yourself that it was normal to be this excited.

And right on time—exactly at 7 p.m.—you heard a knock at your door. Spencer's punctuality didn’t surprise you, but it did send a rush of excitement through your veins. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, before walking over to the door and opening it.

There he stood, dressed in casual jeans and a plain button-up shirt, looking somehow both effortlessly put together and adorably uncertain all at once. His curls were a bit messy, his glasses slightly askew, and he clutched a bag of something in his hands, which he immediately offered up to you with a slightly bashful smile.

“Um, I wasn’t sure if I should bring something, so I, uh, brought snacks?” he said, holding up the bag like it was a peace offering. You could see a mix of candy, chips, and a few other treats inside.

You grinned, stepping aside to let him in. “You didn’t have to bring anything, but thank you—that’s perfect.” You felt a wave of relief wash over you as he stepped into your room, glancing around with curious eyes as he took in the posters on the wall, the books scattered on your desk, the remnants of your rushed packing for summer break.

“Your roommate left already?” he asked, looking over at the other, empty half of the room.

“Yeah, they went home the day after finals,” you said, trying not to sound too relieved about having the room to yourself. “So it’s just us.”

“Just us,” Spencer repeated, the words hanging in the air with a nervous tinge in his voice. He smiled softly and set the bag of snacks on your bed, taking off his shoes and settling in as if he were almost comfortable—almost.

“So,” you began, moving to sit beside him, your nerves starting to subside as you relaxed into the familiar presence of your study partner turned friend. “I thought we could just pick something light to watch, you know? Nothing too serious.”

“Light sounds good,” Spencer nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose, and for a moment, there was that playful glimmer in his eyes—the same one you’d seen during your library sessions, when a joke or comment would catch him off guard. 

You leaned forward to pick up the remote, scrolling through the options until you landed on a few comedies and light-hearted movies. You tossed out a few suggestions, and eventually, the two of you settled on a movie neither of you had seen before—some easygoing, feel-good flick that you knew would make you both laugh and not require too much thinking. You hit play, and as the opening credits rolled, you sank back into the pillows, side by side with Spencer.

There was a comforting quiet between you, a sense of familiarity even in the newness of the situation. And as the movie played and the two of you slowly started sharing the snacks he’d brought, laughing at the jokes on-screen, you felt that same feeling you always did on Thursday nights—the calm certainty that, somehow, this was exactly where you were meant to be.

The movie had been on for about thirty minutes, and both of you were already lost in the silly over-the-top humor. It wasn’t long before the playful energy from the screen found its way into your own conversation, and you couldn’t resist teasing Spencer a little every time he laughed at something you found particularly cheesy.

“Oh, come on,” you grinned, nudging his shoulder with yours. “I can’t believe you’re actually laughing at this. I thought you had... you know, a refined sense of humor.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, I can appreciate a good joke, okay? Even the dumb ones. It’s called versatility,” he said, giving you a sidelong glance before popping a piece of candy into his mouth.

“Uh-huh,” you said, leaning closer as if you were about to share a secret. “You’re just pretending to like it so you don’t hurt my feelings.”

He chuckled, turning to face you, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him as his knee bumped lightly against yours. “Trust me,” he said, voice low with that familiar teasing lilt, “I’m not pretending. I genuinely think this movie is... absurdly entertaining.”

“Absurdly entertaining, huh?” you said, narrowing your eyes as you leaned in just a little more, close enough to see the golden flecks in his hazel eyes. “I think that’s code for ‘terrible but in a fun way.’”

“Okay, maybe it is a little terrible,” he admitted, laughing openly now. “But in the best way.”

The lightness in his voice, the ease with which you bantered—it felt effortless. And then, suddenly, there was a shift. His laughter trailed off as he looked at you, his gaze lingering just a beat longer than usual. Your faces were so close, your knees brushing, your shoulders almost touching, and you noticed the way he was looking at you—like he was trying to decide something.

Spencer’s mind was a whirlpool of conflicting thoughts. He wanted to flirt, to let the playful banter turn into something more, but a voice in his head reminded him of past experiences—where interest in him was just a prelude to sex, a quick thrill before moving on. He didn’t want that with you. You were different—kind, genuine, and he didn’t want to ruin whatever you had by crossing a line.

And ever since meeting you, Spencer hadn’t slept with anyone. Your study sessions, conversations, and simple presence filled a void in him; being around you was all the release he needed. Now, sitting beside you, he just wanted to keep this intact, afraid that taking a step further might shatter what he cherished so much.

Little did Spencer know, your own thoughts were tangled with doubt. You'd been excited for this night ever since he said yes, but now, sitting so close to him, you wondered if he'd only come over for the same reason he might have gone to others in the past: sex.

The whispers around campus about Professor Reid’s quick, casual flings were hard to ignore. Reconciling that with the sweet, earnest man beside you felt impossible, but still, the thought gnawed at you. What if, to him, you were just another fleeting encounter before summer ended?

You wanted to believe that your Thursday study sessions meant more than a prelude to something casual, but the worry hung there, making your hand pause before reaching for the snacks. What if you were misreading everything? And if this was just casual to him, could you handle it, or would you rather preserve what you had now?

You glanced at Spencer, who was focused on the movie but stealing nervous glances your way. It was clear he was treading carefully, and you could feel the irony—both of you caught on the edge, too afraid to find out what the other truly wanted.

When the movie ended, the credits rolling silently on the screen, neither of you moved to turn it off or get up. There was an unspoken tension in the room, a pull that made it hard for either of you to suggest that this night should end. 

“Do you want to watch another movie?” you blurted out just as Spencer said, “I really like hanging out with you.” 

You both paused, your words colliding mid-air, and then burst into laughter. It was awkward, sure, but it was the kind of awkward that felt endearing, pulling you closer instead of apart. The kind that made you grateful for the comfortable silence that followed, where you both sat smiling like fools.

“Another movie sounds great,” he said, the grin on his face not fading, and you nodded in agreement. You both took a break—stretching, refreshing snacks, and using the restroom. When you returned to your dorm room, you found Spencer sitting more toward the middle of your bed, and when you slid in next to him, your bodies ended up pressed tightly together, the heat of his side warming yours through your clothes. You were hyper-aware of every place where you touched, but neither of you pulled away.

“Your turn to pick,” you said softly, handing him the laptop.

Spencer flipped through the options with focused eyes, and finally, he settled on a film—a foreign romance, its title scrolling across the screen in delicate script. You raised an eyebrow, curious but also a little lost. “Spencer,” you said, trying not to sound too nervous, “I, uh, don’t speak French.”

His eyes met yours, and this time, the way he looked at you was different—more intense, like he was seeing something in you that hadn’t been spoken aloud. It sent a shiver down your spine. “That’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and almost intimate. “I can whisper translate for you... if you don’t mind.”

The idea of Spencer leaning in close, his voice softly whispering translations in your ear as romantic lines played out on the screen, made your heart race in a way you couldn't control. You could practically feel his breath on your neck already, the warmth of his words settling into your skin. 

“Okay,” you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper, the word catching on your lips as you tried to keep your composure. 

You pressed play, and as the opening scene unfolded, you found yourself sinking deeper into the bed, Spencer’s body comfortably close to yours, and your heart pounding in anticipation of every word he would breathe into the small space between you.

The movie’s soft music and dreamy cinematography made it easy to get lost in its world, but it was Spencer’s voice—low, rich, and soothing—that anchored you. He leaned in, and his breath brushed against your skin as he whispered the translation, his tone low and almost reverent.

“Élise tells her...” he began, his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket, “‘When I'm near you... everything disappears. The whole world, the sounds, time... there's only you and me.’”

The words hung in the air, and your senses were drawn to the way his lips moved against you as he concentrated on the words. You couldn't help but feel mesmerized by the way he brought the romance to life, the intensity in his whisper making your skin tingle with every syllable. 

“Juliet replies...” he continued, not yet noticing how your attention was fully on him now. “‘You are the reason I breathe, Élise. Every beat of my heart... it whispers your name. If I could, I would spend every second of my life looking at you.’”

And that’s exactly what you did now—look at him. His eyes were still on the screen, but there was something in his expression that felt vulnerable, open, as if he wasn’t just translating lines, but baring something deeper, something unspoken between you. You couldn’t resist leaning in just a little closer, every inch of your body hyper-aware of the closeness between you.

“‘Then look at me... and never let me go,’” he whispered, and when he finally turned to meet your gaze, the intensity in his eyes nearly took your breath away. His voice was softer, more intimate, as if he was no longer speaking for the movie characters but for the two of you alone. “‘Because without you, I'm lost. You are my everything.’”

Your heart raced, pounding in your chest as you stared at each other, your faces so close now that you could see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, the way his breath came out just a bit more quickly. Spencer’s eyes searched yours, and you could see the hesitation in them, the question he didn’t dare ask.

“‘I promise you... never, ever will I let you go,’” he whispered, his voice barely audible, his lips only a breath away. “‘Because I love you... more than anything in the world.’”

Neither of you moved, frozen in that charged space between a word and a touch, every part of you yearning to close the gap as the rest of the world fell away.

The words hung in the air, your shared gaze brimming with something unspoken and heavy. And then, as if on cue, both of you turned your eyes back to the screen, where Élise and Juliet leaned in, their faces close, the tension snapping as they fell into a deep, passionate kiss. The soft sounds of the movie filled the silence between you.

“Do you want me to translate that?” Spencer asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath warm on your cheek. The words were teasing but tentative, laced with a hope that sent a shiver down your spine.

But before he could say anything more, before you could second-guess the pounding of your heart, you closed the space between you. Your lips met his in a sudden, breathless kiss that left no room for doubt or hesitation. The taste of him, soft and warm, was everything you had imagined it would be. You felt Spencer’s sharp inhale, the surprise in his body, but then he melted into you, his mouth moving against yours like it was something he'd been waiting for all along. 

His hand came up to cup your cheek, gentle but sure, pulling you closer, and the world disappeared—just like Élise had whispered—leaving only you and him in the electrifying moment of finally letting go.

Deep down, both of you felt that nagging worry—was this just a fleeting moment, a one-time thing? But as your lips moved together, those thoughts slipped away, overwhelmed by the heat of the moment, the desperation in every kiss and touch. Spencer laid you back gently, his hands trembling slightly as he held you, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you wanted to stop. But there was only desire and your verbal confirmation, and so he continued, showing you the skills he’d learned over the past year.

And when the clothes were shed and the vulnerability became all-consuming, you allowed him to take your virginity, holding back that delicate truth out of embarrassment over your own inexperience. You didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want to add more pressure to a moment already so fragile and important to you both. Spencer, in turn, treated you with a reverence that spoke to his genuine care, his every touch slow and deliberate, like he was savoring each second. 

It was the most passionate, mind-blowing experience Spencer had ever had. Every gasp, every whispered name, every shared look made it clear why—it was you, and it felt like something more than just sex, something deeper, like he was baring his soul alongside his body. When it was over, the two of you lay tangled together, hearts still racing, bodies wrapped around each other like you could hold the moment in place forever. And in that perfect silence, Spencer’s arms became a haven, and you drifted off to sleep, feeling safe, happy, and loved.

But morning came like a cold shock. You reached out across the bed, seeking his warmth, and found only emptiness. The sheets were cool, and Spencer was gone—no note, no sign of him ever having been there. The joy, the love, the comfort you’d fallen asleep to vanished with the sunrise, leaving behind an aching emptiness and the haunting fear that maybe all your doubts were true.

—

Summer came and went, and though the days were warm and filled with distractions, nothing eased the emptiness Spencer left behind. The pain of waking up to find him gone never faded, and as you returned to campus for your sophomore year, the ache of his absence settled in deeper, an open wound that wouldn’t heal.

You looked for him—hoping to see that familiar face in the library, in a lecture hall, anywhere on campus—but every search ended in disappointment. It was like he’d vanished, leaving not a trace behind. Over the next three years, you went through the motions, diving into your studies and trying to let go of what happened, but the memory of him never left, haunting every quiet moment and making you wonder what you'd done wrong.

The truth was clear to you now: Spencer had used you, filling some void in himself for one night, and then disappearing, leaving a much larger void in your own heart.

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tag list <333 @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance 

[goosewizard]

hc that tubbo is REALLY insecure about his missing eye, so he wears an eyepatch in new l’manberg and absolutely hates it. it’s too big and garish, it rubs up on his wounds all wrong, he hates seeing himself with it. it makes him feel weak. ranboo notices (of course he does) and thinks that tubbo deserves to feel handsome again. they set off after a cabinet meeting to see if ghostbur has any books on prosthetics.

it should be noted that ranboo has no fucking clue what they’re doing. in the weeks after the plans inception, he has amassed over fifty handcrafted glass eyes, of which exactly zero will work. they’re too big, too small, not the right color. he even managed to make one with a rectangular pupil before they thought better of it. it's a shame, too, that was his best one yet. they're tired and frustrated and the eye collection is really starting to creep him out. ranboo considers asking for help.

ranboo remembers the tumultuous political state of new l'manburg.

ranboo thinks this may be a one-man project.

it really shouldn’t be a surprise that tubbo finds out. they've been practically attached at the hip since ranboo joined, and he was never any good at keeping things from tubbo anyway. they're popping over to ranboo's to get supplies for whatever adventure they're going on today, and the little chest labeled SECRET DO NOT OPEN is too full, propped open with dozens of lumpy glass spheres. tubbo notices (of course he does) and gets halfway through a i can't believe you have an eye fetish before he realizes. ranboo thinks it's a bad sign when he goes silent and an even worse one when his eye goes all misty and aw shit he made the president cry.

he's stuttering through an apology when tubbo's one eye meets their two and he asks is this for me? did you make these for me? ranboo nods and tubbo smiles like a kid on christmas, watery and bright. they've missed that smile. before he knows what's happening, tubbo's tackled them into a hug, sending both of them careening to the ground. ranboo vows there and then to give the man anything and everything he desires now and forever, just so he can feel like this again. not a veteran, not a politician, just tubbo, carefree and kind.

yeah, that sounds like a good life.

as quickly as ranboo went down, he's being pulled back up with tubbo insisting that they try every single eye, previous adventure abandoned. they spend the day like that, going through the chest, laughing at some of ranboos earlier attempts, and screaming with excitement when one managed to fit.

he looks beautiful. more confident, brighter, somehow. they burn his eyepatch that night. ranboo had already gotten him a better one anyway.

part 1 | part 2

[velvetcrimsonkisses]

PAPA GOJO

Note: scenario based on this smau

Masterlist Discord

Satoru crouches down to his daughter's height, flashing her a warm smile, “Okay, girlie,” he says softly, voice full of love for his little girl. “Worms or bears?” he asks her, a bit of mischief laced in his words. 

“Hmm…” The little girl, no more than five years old, thinks deeply about the question her father asked her. She brings her tiny finger to her lips, tapping thoughtfully, contemplating which candy she should pick. “I take the worms, papa!” Her small joyful giggles fill the room as Satoru hands over the candy with a pout. 

“I wanted the worms…” he laments, flashing her a frown. The little girl giggles at her father’s antics. She shakes her head with a toothy smile, clutching the candy closer to her chest. “Papa no, you can have the bears,” She reaches her little hand out, pointing at the bag of gummy bears that rests in her father’s palm. 

“Okay…” Satoru coincides with a dramatic huff. He flashes his daughter a wink letting her know he was serious, at least not completely. He stands back at his full height, taking her small hand in his, both of them making their way over to the couch. Satoru plops himself down first, the cushions sinking under his weight. His daughter climbs up beside him, nestling into the crook of his arm.

“Papa open, please?” She raises the bag of treats up to her father’s face. Satoru’s heart melted at the sight in front of him. Something about helping his daughter out with anything she needs always made him feel useful. He gently takes the bag from her small hands, “Of course,” he says with a smile, his voice filled with affection as he begins to open the bag.

“There you go,” He says, handing the bag back to her. “Thank you, Papa!” she exclaims, her voice bubbling with happiness. Without any hesitation, her little hand reaches into the bag and pulls out the first piece of candy. She pops it into her mouth, savoring the fruity taste of the gummies. 

She really was a carbon copy of her father, both with a raging sweet tooth. That you curse Satoru everyday for, so much so you had to limit the amount of candy in the house. But for Satoru the look of delight on her face as she chews is priceless, and the way her little feet swing happily back and forth as she enjoys her treat. It was definitely worth disobeying his wife’s rules for once in a while. 

Satoru watches her with a smile, feeling a wave of contentment take over him. It was moments like these, the simple moments, that made him feel at peace with life. “Papa… want one?” The sounds of his little girl snaps him back to reality. He sees his daughter holding up a gummy worm. 

He smiles again, nodding his head. “Of course,” and with that Satoru opened his mouth, leaning down slightly, moving closer to her hand. With great care, he takes the candy into his mouth, chewing on it with exaggerated satisfaction. “Mmm, delicious,” He chuckles, his daughter following with a fit of laughter at the faces her father makes. 

Both of them sit in the comfortable silence while finishing their snacks. “Now if your mother asks what you ate for lunch… what are you going to say?” Satoru grins, his eyes twinkle with mischief. Your daughter looks up at him, her eyes fill with awareness. She knows her father and she knows this tone, the one that means they’re in on something together. A little secret just between the two of them.

Her lips curl into a smile. “Ramen!” she yells out, looking up at her father again, confident with her response.

“That’s my girl,” Satoru smiles warmly, reaching out to ruffle her hair. She knew the perfect answer. 

[carmenberzattosgf]

Smut request! I just had the thought, what if you started seeing Carmy and for some reason you actually kind of expected him to be *smaller* due to his shorter height (but nevertheless love his huge biceps and how gorgeous he is) ...so when you're about to have sex for the first time, you're stunned into surprise and into a sudden massive size kink when you realize how big/thick he actually is... Like an "I don't know if that will fit" bit 😵‍💫🥵💀

Yeah, the first time he pulls down his boxers… you’re a bit shocked. The surprise must show on your face, because a small chuckle leaves Carmy’s lips.

“Like what you see?” He’s well aware of how attractive his body looks. Carmen’s not confident in much, but his physique is an exception. He’s also well aware of how big he is, and he has every reason to be proud of it.

“You’re like a fucking Greek sculpture or something. So pretty.” Carmy blushes at your praise. He’s never had someone look at his body in such a daze before. He naturally takes a step towards where you sit on his bed, completely bare.

“I should be the one complimenting you, pretty girl.” Carmen’s within arms reach now, and you can’t resist reaching your fingers out to touch him. His muscles tense when your nails graze across his abs. He can see how blown out your pupils are as your fingers trace his happy trail right down to his cock.

You take him in your hand, and your fingers barely touch around him. “So big—never taken anything this big. Do you think it’ll fit?” You gaze up at him, breathing heavily. You already looked fucked out, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“I’ll make it fit. We’ll go slow, yeah? M’not gonna do anything that’ll hurt you.” He brings a hand up to cup your cheek. God, even his hand engulfs your face. He needs to be in you, now. “If you wanna stop, tell me, and I’ll stop. Okay?”

“Okay. I trust you, Carm.”

Within minutes, he has you underneath him with your legs open wide, waiting for him. Carmy strokes his cock gently to spread the precum that had collected at his tip over his length. He wastes no time, lining up to your entrance.

“Still feeling okay?” It must have been the fifth time he’s asked by now, but he wants to make sure you’re completely comfortable. He’s so sincere it makes your heart flutter.

“Mhm—please, Carm. Need you in me—“ A moan cuts off your sentence as Carmy presses into you. Carmy grits his teeth; it’s taking all the power he has not to just plow into your warm cunt.

“So fucking tight—god, baby. Relax—I gotcha,” he coos. He moves his hand to press his thumb into your swollen bud. Your hips twitch as he runs slow circles onto your clit. “There we go. That’s a good girl.”

Carmy’s thumb distracts you enough that you don’t realize he’s nearly half way inside of you. You’ve never felt so stretched full before. “So—so big, Carm. S’much—holy shit,” you whine. Your hands frantically reach out for him, desperate to feel his skin. They end up settling on his waist. Carmy winces when your nails dig into his skin, but he already knows he’s going to love looking at those scratch marks in the morning.

“Shh—I know. You’re taking it so good, baby. So fucking good.” He lets his hips sink the rest of the way down after you adjust. Tears pool in the corner of your eyes as he bottoms out.

“Please fuck me, I can’t—need to feel you. Please.” You beg.

“Let me know if it’s too much.”

Carmy fucks you deep and slow that night. Every single thrust is deliberate to bring you pleasure. He’s barely even pulling half way out of you, instead focusing the movement of his hips to grind his cock deep inside of you.

The pleasure is mind numbing. Carmy’s cock hits spots that you’ve never felt before, and it makes wild and desperate sounds leave your mouth. “Carmy, Carmy, Carmy. S’deep. Feels like you’re in my stomach—fuck.”

Carmy’s not doing much better. The way your squeezing around him feels like heaven on earth. His hand leaves your throbbing clit to rest right below your navel. Carmen splays his palm and presses down firmly. “Yeah? Can you feel me right here?”

“Mhm—“ a sharp whimper escapes you as he picks up the pace. “Shit—C-Carm. Close—I’m so close, please.”

“Go on, baby. Cum around my cock for me. Been such a good girl; you deserve it.”

With his permission, you hit your peak. Your legs tremble as your wrap them around his waist in a last ditch effort to get him even closer. That’s what sends Carmy over the edge, spilling deep inside of you. Your hips twitch against his as he pumps you full of cum.

You don’t realize you blacked out until you suddenly feel a warm wash cloth between your legs, cleaning you up. You’re still too fucked out to speak properly, so you just look at him with a giddy smile on your face.

The next morning you can barely walk, legs shaking with every step. Carmy profusely apologizes, feeling like absolute shit for not taking more time to stretch you out.

However, you whispering in his ear that you like being reminded of how good he fucked you with ever step you take shuts him right up.

[thought--bubble]

Upon his Brother's Table

Aemond X (Aegon's betrothed Reader)

Warnings below

Word Count: 1,748

Canon Aemond Master List

Full Master List

MDNI Banners & dividers by @arcielee

*Just a little something i put together for @queen--kenobi 's table sex event. I had to contribute to the petty. It was too good!

Warnings: Infidelity, choking, unprotected P in V, Dub-con. Potential spoilers of future events

Aemond paces back and forth, his heels clicking against the cold stone floor in the council room, his face is flushed, and his composure is nearly gone. Not a look one would usually see on Aemond, but his patience has been pushed to the brink.

"I served him... LOYALLY!" The anger radiates off him in waves as you stay seated, quietly allowing him to vent his frustrations.

"I gave everything for his cause. Would have died for his cause. Almost did die for his cause and this ...... this is how he repays me? By taking from me that which is rightfully mine?"

You flinch as he brings his fists down harshly upon the council table.

You were speechless, shocked by this turn of events. Your betrothal to Prince Aemond at the start of the war was nothing more than a political match. A way for the crown to guarantee that your father's armies and banners would ride for King Aegon II and not the pretender Queen Rhaenyra.

When Queen Heleana perished during the war, you never thought King Aegon would then change your betrothal from his brother, the prince, to himself, though your father was elated. With the deaths of his sons, the King needed an heir, and with you as his betrothed and soon to be wife, it would be your duty to give him one. Putting your family's blood on the throne. A thought that had your father salivating but had the one-eyed prince seething.

You sat disinterested as Aemond hisses in anger, pacing the length of the council table in continuum.

"All of these things are his because of me." The amount of hatred stitched into each and every word that comes from his mouth is evident.

"The red keep is his because of me, the kingdom is his because of me, the throne is his because of me......"

He stops in his tracks and turns to look at you. His one violet eye pierces through you, causing you to stiffen in your seat.

"You are his because I dragged him from death's door and brought him here." He clenches his teeth tightly, the muscles in his jaw flexing with the tension.

"And he sees fit to take you from me? As if I lost nothing fighting this war in his name!" He stalks toward you, pulling you up to your feet by the thin material of the front of your dress.

"My prince!" You squeak out in shock at his brazen move.

"I will have what is mine." With a growl, he lifts and tosses you on the table. Papers and other random items scatter to the floor as he climbs up onto the table, hovering above you.

"Your maidenhead was promised to me." He shuffles the layers of your dress up to your hips hurriedly as you lay still beneath him.

You know you should scream, kick, tell him to stop, but a type of morbid curiosity keeps you silent. Your eyes follow his fingers. Making a mental log of each movement they make from rucking up your skirts to the quick movement of curling around your small clothes and the subsequent tug of the material down your legs.

"Will you not try and stop me then?" He huffs as his grip tightens around the flesh of your thighs.

"I believe you are a good man, Prince Aemond. I do not believe you will go through with this. Thus, there is no need to fight. " You portray confidence in your words, only the slight tremble in your legs gives away your nervousness, yet the clever Prince Aemond is never one to miss signs such as these, no matter how subtle.

He smirks, it would be beautiful if it weren’t so condescending.

"Then you are more of a fool than I took you to be," he pulls your thighs up around him, resting one on each side of his hips while he leans back on his haunches.

"I am going to take you, my lady. Right here upon my brother's table." He lifts one hand from your thigh and slides it against the sleek treated wood of the table beneath you. "The table that is his only due to my own efforts."

He brings one hand to the laces of his breeches, skillfully taking apart the small knot, keeping them closed and tight to his lithe frame. His other hand remains on your thigh, intermittently squeezing at the soft flesh there.

He grunts quietly as he frees his cock from its confines, slowly pumping himself to full hardness.

"I will not be gentle, so I advise you to hold on."

He reaches down to your heat with his free hand, rubbing your clit with his thumb in rough circles.

You can't help but release a small gasp at his touch.  As your brain was telling you to stop this, to make him stop, your body was betraying you.

Your back arched up off the hard table beneath you, your hips canting into his rough touch.

"We...... should not. " You finally huff out between wanton sighs.

"But we shall," he growls back, removing his hand from your heat and gripping your hips tight, slightly lifting your bottom half from the table and into his lap.

Your eyes slightly roll back when you feel him press the fat, throbbing tip of his cock against your entrance.

"You mustn't!" Even as you say this, you make no moves to get away from him, even as you feel him continue to push into you, splitting you apart in a way that is painful yet satisfying.

"Oh, but I must," he says through gritted teeth, pushing himself further into your clenching tunnel. "A point must be made."

He lets out a low growl as he bottoms out, stilling inside of you. You take this as a small gesture of kindness. He must not want to hurt you. That is, at the very least, a good sign.

As the pain starts to subside and is replaced by an overwhelming feeling of fullness, you move your hips, and he chuckles.

"Ahh, I see you are ready now, my lady" he pulls his hips back his cock sliding effortlessly out from you before he pistons himself back into you, his pace growing more fervent with every thrust.

The sound of skin hitting skin echoes through the otherwise quiet space, the only other sounds being your heavy breathing and the squeaking of the table legs beneath you.

"Tell me, sweet girl," he snarls as he grips your hips tight, slamming into you harshly. "How does it feel to be fucked by the great Prince Aemond? Mighty warrior? Hmm?"

You attempt to focus your eyes on the ethereal man above you, sweet drips down his brow, and his eyes rest on the place where you are so intimately connected.

"I....... I" your words fail you. Only a stutter and moans can be heard.

Aemond licks his thumb before bringing it against your pearl, resuming his earlier ministrations, and chuckles darkly as your legs twitch around him.

"Speechless, I see... it gladdens me to know how grateful you are, that I have allowed you such an experience" his other hand leaves your hip and slides up the length of your body until it rests upon your throat which he uses to hold you in place, thrusting into you ever harder.

Your legs clench around him tightly as a pressure builds in your lower stomach, as unfamiliar as the feeling is you find the stronger it gets, the more desperate you become clawing at the prince attempting to bring him closer to you, to feel more of him on your skin.

"Aweeee," he coos, "and now you beg for me? How darling." His condescending smirk returns as his thrusts get harsher, and the grip around your throat tightens.

"Now thank me," he demands, his hips moving faster and that coiling in your stomach reaching a fever pitch.

"T-thank you!" As the words leave your lips, the coil snaps, and your entire body tenses.

Your back arches off the table as if you are being lifted by something unseen, and the control you have over your own body has been snatched away from you.

 Aemond throws his own head back, gripping your throat tightly as he chases his own end.

"And here is yet another gift I bestow upon my ungrateful brother." his words come out as a hiss, his thrusts getting sloppier and more desperate.

He gasps loudly as his hips still pushing himself into you as far as he can possibly go.

A warmth can be felt spreading through you, a strange yet calming sensation that sees your limbs finally settle back on the hard table beneath you.

As quickly as your calmness came, it was gone, Aemond pulled himself from your body, quickly pulling up his breeches and getting off the table.

As he fixes the strings and his doublet putting everything back into place, he finds you still sprawled across the tabletop, his spend dripping from your abused cunt.

"You need to get up and compose yourself. Someone could enter at any minute." He says gruffly while tossing your small clothes onto your stomach.

You sit at the edge of the table and slide the fabric back up your legs covering the sticky mess he had left behind.

When he was confident you looked presentable, he took a few quick strides toward the council room doors, no doubt making a hasty exit.

"What was the final gift?" The words flew from your mouth before you had a chance to think it through.

"Come again?" He turns back to look at you, his one violet eye meets yours. You see no guilt, no pride, no anger. Indifference is what it looked like. He had returned to that emotionless stoic prince you had seen haunting the halls of the red keep like a specter.

"You said earlier. That you were bestowing yet another gift upon your brother. What was the gift?"

He chuckles again, a smile that actually reaches his eyes.

"An heir, planted in your womb this day, to sit upon the throne I won him." He doesn't wait for any further response from you and opens the door, escaping out into the corridor and disappearing from sight.

Leaving you alone and visibly shaken. Your body is held up only by leaning on your arm that rests upon his brother's table.

To be added to taglist click here

[risuola]

ENTRY #9 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // I know you're lost, please take my hand.

contents: arranged marriage!au, fluffy — wc. 672

a/n: i wrote it before jjk261, let's pretend the chapter never happened oki? oki.

series masterlist

“When you look at me, what do you see?”

He asked and you hummed.

You were looking at him and his eyes were fixed on you — studying, searching, questioning. Despite the faint light of a candle that danced across his features, the intense blue stood out as beautiful as ever and there was hope lingering inside of it, floating on top of the crystalline surface. You touched his face, his cheekbone and nose. You touched his lips. Your gentle fingers were exploring, admiring, because he was a piece to admire.

His features were neutral, almost relaxed, but there was a shadow of vulnerability that the world didn’t see often. Satoru wore a mask in his life, he learned at the earliest age of his life that emotions are there, bubbling inside his chest and that’s where they are supposed to stay, never reaching outside of his heart. He was taught that weakness is bad, that what he feels inside is not for the others to notice. That fear and love are death. But you—

“I see a boy.”

—you made him want to push the doors that for nearly three decades of his life were closed shut and very carefully locked away. Meticulously, you made your way through the difficult labyrinth of his personality and knocked, and pulled the handle, and rung the bell. You got there and stood, tall and confident, waiting for him to open, determined to see what’s inside.

And he let you.

“I see a boy who’s lost. Who cares so much about the others and so little about himself. Someone, who despite the fearless exterior is petrified to feel, to attach himself to someone, to open up and be vulnerable and weak. When I look at you, Satoru, I see a man who’s carrying a baggage of very difficult events that no person should carry alone and yet, he’s too stubborn to allow anyone’s hand to help him,” you were talking, letting your thoughts out and he was listening. Those eyes, full of blue and sparkles, were fixed on you, on your eyes and lips. He kept your hand to himself, brushing idle circles over your wrist and holding you near his face where your fingers were soothing his skin. “I see a boy that craves touch and love, longing masked as indifference and wit.”

“Perceptive, aren’t you?” He mused, but despite the teasing comment, his voice was soft and gentle, barely above whisper.

“I also see a sweet tooth like no other.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” His chuckle vibrated against the heel of your hand where he pressed his lips. “So, that’s who I am if not the strongest? A lost boy in need of attention?”

“To me, you are Satoru. You are my husband who blushed and got flustered each time I as much as brushed my fingers against you. Who got so lost in your own infinity that a simple touch startled you.”

“I can’t help but feel like you’re teasing me right now but I don’t mind it,” he said, nuzzling into the warmth of your hand and then, his arm wrapped around your middle, pulling you closer until there was no space between you and him.

He exhaled and relaxed, securing his grip around you and he melted with his nose against the top of your head, in your hair. Your breath tickled the bare skin over his shoulder, your fingers found the lines of his back and he wanted more. Satoru felt a rush of warmth shot throughout his body, he could smell your skin, a scent of the tastiest of desserts that filled his nostrils and it sent a shiver down his spine.

You felt perfect in his arms. As if you were meant to be there and your frame was carved out by gods just so you could fit against him like a piece of puzzle.

“You make vulnerability seem less scary,” he whispered into your hair and you hummed softly, allowing him to continue. “And I’m grateful for it.”

taglist: @kinny-away @anan-baban @lotomber @netflix-imagines @kawliflo @nishloves @ghostfacefricker6969 @thejujvtsupost @yozora7154 @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost @stuckinmoilalaland@ae-mius @ropickle @chokesonspit @lansy-4 @mo0sin @just-pure-trash @foliea @bakarinnie @big-booty-joe

[hannieehaee]

Ahhh I’m so excited that your requests are open, you’re like my fav fic author!! If it’s alright would you be able to do a fic where Wonwoo proposes to the reader please? Thank you!

content: bf!wonwoo, established relationship, fluff, proposal, etc.

wc: 1368

a/n: thank u so much u are so so sweet T-T i used a few of wonwoo's own quotes to carats in the confession hehe hope u enjoy!! <3

masterlist

for the first time in his life, wonwoo's brain had completely shut off.

he had no plan. he was completely unaware of what his next move should be. the ring had been purchased exactly two weeks ago (wonwoo knew you so well that he was extremely confident you'd absolutely fall in love with his pick), but no further steps had been taken after that.

it's not that he was an anti-romantic or anything like that. you'd always let him know how loved his words made you feel. you had singlehandedly revealed to the world a romantic side of jeon wonwoo that even he had been unaware of. it was always just so easy with you. loving you was the easiest thing he had ever done. there was never any thinking behind the loving gestures he gave you, nor behind the fondness in his eyes every time they met your own. which was why he currently stood once again with no plan in mind.

there was just no perfect way to ask you to be his forever when he already thought the two of you to be imbedded to each other in all ways possible. although a ring on your finger would make wonwoo the happiest man alive, he already knew you were his as much as he was yours. however, he wanted nothing more than to give you a grand gesture as he expressed to you how badly he wanted to spend every one if his remaining days by your side.

but being wonwoo, he knew no grand gesture would do. he was certain that he would not be able to go through with a grand gesture without throwing it all aside to pour words straight from his heart as he expressed the purest of love towards you. there was no possible way for him to hold back the moment he finally pulled that tiny squared box from the bottom of his sock drawer. the mere thought of looking into your eyes with the intention of making you his would have a plethora of love confessions flying out of his mouth without him even realizing.

despite all this, he had formulated some sort of plan to propose.

tonight was the first time his busy schedule would allow the two of you to share a bed due to the short break he had from tour. he figured that since he finally had you in his arms for the whole weekend, he would cook you a meal (courtesy of mingyu's training) and get on one knee afterwards. it was very simple, but he knew you'd appreciate an intimate setting for such a moment.

however, that had been the plan for tomorrow. today he was simply meant to finish brushing his teeth and join you in bed, finally able to hold you through the night as your breathing soothed him to sleep. yet this was, unsurprisingly, an impossible task for him to complete, as his mind became blank the moment he stepped into your shared room and saw your soft figure waiting for him in bed.

how was he supposed to hold back from begging for your hand in marriage when you were already so fully his? when he knew that a ring would bring him a promise to end his days in your arms until the end of eternity? it was as if time had slowed as he stepped into the room, his eyes full of love as they refused to look away from your form perched in bed, making just enough space for him to fit in there. and he knew that the moment he laid in that bed you would shape yourself to fit perfectly against him. he knew that you'd place yourself in his hold and play with his hair as he told you about his day (despite already having shared bits and pieces of it with you throughout the day), commenting on the things he did today and making plans with him for tomorrow. he knew you were completely unaware of his feelings in this moment as you laid there as soft and pretty as you always did.

yet knowing all these things did not prevent him from from making a quick stop at his drawer and hiding the tiny little box in his pajama pants – pants you would later insist he takes off because you love the feeling of his bare skin against yours. you still hadnt realized he'd been watching you this whole time, as your gaze was still on the tv in front of you. this gave wonwoo the perfect opportunity to nervously approach you as he called your attention away from the screen.

like always, you met his eyes with a smile full of interest for what he was about to say. if he wasnt sure before (which he completely was), then he was sure now. he needed to propose to you right in this moment. he needed to remember the mundane, the day by day that he would have with you for the rest of your lives. his heart was beating for you, and his lungs pumping out air just so he could breathe out his next words.

"marry me?", completely out of breath and with nothing but love in his eyes, he dropped to his knees next to the bed, his extended hand holding your own while the other pulled out the boxed ring from his pocket.

your eyes jumped out, but you didnt seem too exalted apart from that. you scoot over to sit at the edge of the bed, speechless as your eyes began to cloud due to the tears that would soon begin forming in them.

before you could say anything, wonwoo spoke up once more.

"im sorry. i didnt plan it like this, i just ... i couldn't help myself. i couldnt watch you be the love of my life for another moment without making you as mine as humanly possible. i know i couldve given you a dinner and fireworks, or even brought the guys out for a serenade ... but that's not us. this. this is us. this is what i want for the rest of my life. you in my bed, ready to hold me in your arms at the end of the day, letting me do the same any time you come home tired from work," he paused to hold onto both of your hands, looking up at you with adoring eyes as he inhaled, "i hope to become your daily confort in the way you have been mine. even when i'm not tired, i can lean on you. i always know happiness is just around the corner, because you are all i see ahead of me. you are my youth, my past, my future, you are everything. will you please become my forever?"

it was hard for wonwoo to put his feelings for you into words. his relationship with you had always been an enigma of emotions for him; emotions that left him feeling a level of comfort he never thought possible. he had always chased for happiness. he'd always been of the philosophy that one must build their own happiness; that one must live and experience life in order to discover the meaning of the word. except you had thrown him a curveball somewhere along the way and shown him what it truly meant to be happy pretty early in his life.

and now he felt the most happiness he had ever experienced in his many years of life. no matter how many accomplishments he achieved, nothing had thus far compared to seeing you smile with tears in your eyes, nodding crazily at him as you threw yourself into his arms, completely disregarding the ring in his hand. because you didnt care about a ring or a title. he knew you simply wanted to be his in the same way he needed to be yours. there was no better scenario in wonwoo's mind than your enthusiastic approval and the promise of a lifetime chasing happiness together. and now wonwoo would get to have you in his bed, waiting to love him every day for the rest of his life. just like today.

[acotarxreader]

High Lord of Game

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis: Cassian and Azriel use a simple competition to decide who deserves the title of High Lord of Game, but at what cost to you?

Warnings: Light smut, males being males

A/N: I hope you enjoy this, my first fic away from my beloved Shadow and Flame. I described this once as "silly goofy" but I was sleep-deprived and I'm no longer sure if that fits it best. Let me know what you think!

If you would like to be added to a general tag list please let me know as I didn't want to tag those who asked to be tagged on Shadow and Flame because I was unsure if that was just for that series

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“Az, give it over, I am the High Lord of Game” 

“Don’t flatter yourself Cass” Azriel shoved his best friend across the path as they walked through the streets of Velaris, Winter coming to a head . 

“Rhysand would agree with me” “Fine, you're the biggest whore” Azriel laughed, Cassian feigning offence, striding toward the city centre. 

“I think I should wear the crown of High Lord”

“Do I sense a coup amongst my friends?” Rhysand winnowed in between the two, both laughing at the idea.

“Azriel believes he is High Lord of the Game when we all know it's me” Rhysand rolled his eyes nearly from his head at the prospect. 

“Surely I am High Lord, I have a mate, therefore I've won the game” silence followed before both Illyrains locked eyes behind Rhysand, both then shoving him forward laughing. 

“Don’t depress us while we have our competition Rhys”

“That's it, a competition! Az, I will choose a female for you to pursue and you for me, that will decide it once and for all” Rhysand shook his head side to side gently, happy to have Feyre but ever so slightly missing his single days, the thought dissolving almost instantly as he saw Feyre come out of her gallery laughing with another Fae. 

“It's a deal” “A deal” the two shook hands, Rhysand rolling his eyes again. 

“Right, that female there Cass, off you go” Azriel pointed to a fae he recognised, Cass not taking a second glance overly confident as always. He sauntered over to the fae sipping lemonade at a table outside a cafe. 

“Wait isn't that-” Rhysand was cut off by Azriel laughing at Cassian and the Fae. In one swift movement, the female sloshed her full drink up and into Cassian's face before standing and storming off. Both Azriel and Rhysand were doubled over howling as Cassian stomped over soaking wet.

“Unfair, I already slept with her” Cassian scolded his two friends as they tried to gather themselves together again. 

“Oh, you think you’re so funny! Fine, fine, Az your challenge is ... .YN” Azriel and Rhysand immediately stopped laughing, looking towards the Fae Feyre had left, smiling to herself, cracking open a book as Feyre winnowed away. 

“Cass, give Azriel at least a small bit of a chance” 

“Nah, he set me up for failure, his turn” the three stared at you again, flicking through your book.

“Fine, what are the terms?”

“Great, you have until Starfall, that gives you a chance-” Cassian beamed nudging Rhysand “-to bed her and I will crown you High Lord of Game” Azriel took a moment to ponder these words before shaking his wings slightly and striding over in your direction. A little over four months, easy he thought. Azriel hadn’t really ever taken much notice of you before, only hearing of you from Feyre talking about you volunteering with the outreach programmes. He knew she was fond of you but never introduced you to the group, he was unsure why.

“Hello” he gave his best coy smile towards you, no response from you. 

“Hello there” he tried again. No response. Azriel looked over his shoulder to where his brothers stood laughing some distance away. He rolled his shoulders back undeterred and cleared his throat, raising his hand slowly to lower your book from your face.

“Hello YN” you threw him a look through your eyelashes, already over the conversation before it began. Azriel nearly forgot why he stood in front of you, captivated by your eyes.

“Yes?” you raised an eyebrow, Azriels throat completely dried out and he began to cough causing you to scoff lightly before passing him the canteen of water you had in your bag, he politely declined.

“I’m Azriel” he managed with no reply from you. Perhaps this wasn't going to be as easy as he thought. 

“What are you reading YN?” “Why does it matter Shadowsinger?” you almost purred sarcastically, tucking the book into your bag. 

“Just making conversation” Azriel couldn't help but come off as over it, perhaps this wasn't worth the title he’d win but then you smiled at him and he felt all the tiny hairs on his neck stand with excitement. You stood, throwing your bag across your body.

“Well thanks for the sparkling conversation Shadowsinger” you patted his shoulder pushing past him and back into the street. Azriel turned on his heels to face his smug friends. 

*******

For the next two weeks, Azriel made it his mission to show up wherever you did, trying to play it off as the Gods intervention and not his careful planning and reading of Feyre's planner. 

“Are you stalking me, be honest” you whipped around to him one day as you left Rita’s having met Feyre and apparently Azriel, for a drink. 

“One date and I'll leave you alone” “Why?”

“Why not?” you clicked your tongue at him, thinking of the millions of reasons why not and yet you couldn't help but be pulled in his direction, to his magnetic energy.

You agreed and that's when things began to change so rapidly in both of your lives and by the one-month mark you were accompanying him to family dinners and welcomed with such open arms. Azriel had coaxed you out of your self-inflicted solitary confinement but couldn't get you quite to fully engage with his family, still that air of caution lay within you. 

At Feyres birthday dinner Azriel felt it was time to be bold. Something about you, the way you smiled, the way you looked at him, he was becoming putty in your hands, hearing you laugh made him never want to hear anything ever again. Azriel sat next to you at that dinner as he did at every other meal with you, the table’s conversation ebbing and flowing around you both as always, happy to just sit in one another's presence. He couldn't help it, time to be brazen he thought. 

Azriels hand found its way slowly to the top of your thigh, almost afraid as though his touch would hurt you and you'd shatter in his hands. He quickly removed his hand at the feeling of you tensing next to him, internally reprimanding himself. Azriel felt a smile grow on his face as your hand gently unfurled the fist he had made with his hand and interlocked your fingers with his, all without breaking eye contact with whoever was speaking. You were glowing, Azriel thought. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt the party but I must make tracks for home” You gave a smile to the room sometime later, slipping your hand from Azriel again where he instantly missed it.

“I'll walk with you, I could do with the stretch after the meal” You gave a small smile to Azriels words, fetching your jacket. Cassian gave Azriel a coy smirk causing Azriel to send a shadow to knock Cassian's wine into his shirt. You both left River House as Cassian gave out loudly.

You both idly walked down the winding streets of Velaris, entirely comfortable in the silence that surrounded you until you both reached the bottom gate of your small townhouse.

“Well I had a really nice time YN, maybe see you tomorrow” Azriel moved from you, happy to leave it there, not wanting you to feel pushed.

“Wait Az” you reached, catching him by his suit jacket collar, pulling him down to meet your lips. Electricity coursed through Azriel’s veins, electric, he was being electrified by you.

“Well goodbye, see you tomorrow” you pulled suddenly from him, hurried words spoken as you released his collar and moved to run and hide. His turn to catch you by surprise, he almost swept you back to meet his lips again, every nerve buzzing to life, every cell wanting more. 

That set off the whirlwind relationship you both deserved. By February you had both learned to trust one another entirely. He confided in you about his difficult childhood and you about your violent tumultuous previous relationship. In three and a half months you both became inseparable, teaching and taunting one another and so entirely happy whilst taking things slow as you worked through your leftover relationship issues. 

Azriel sat in the booth with his friends, you working late with Feyre one weekend evening.

“So should we be getting you fitted for a crown yet Az?” “What are you talking about?” Azriel laughed, Cassian raising an eyebrow, going to explain before you came into the bar with Feyre, instantly joining the friend group, and pulling Azriel to the bar top with you.

************************

Azriel stood with his brothers in their coordinating gem-tone suits basking in the moonlight of Starfall. You arrived with the rest of the females but Azriel didn’t see any of the others the moment his eyes landed on you. A simple slip dress the silver colour of the very stars that shone above. He found his throat dry out again as it had that very first time he looked into your eyes. You kissed his cheek and smiled, he couldn't quite believe his luck to share this night with you. Azriel took your hand, twirling you while you laughed before escorting you to the dance floor where you stayed for what felt like hours. 

Azriel showed you around The House of Wind, arriving at the balcony of his room as the spirits began to transverse the sky above. You both radiated such pure peace as the sky filled with lights, Azriel caught your hand in his, pulling you into his chest. You leaned up kissing him, the sky illuminated. His hands went to your hips as yours went around his shoulders, deepening the kiss further. 

“I think I’m in love with you Azriel” you said so quietly separating briefly.

“I know I’m in love with you YN” He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before you backed away leading him by the hand back towards his bed. You both kissed there for a moment, growing hungrier and hungrier for one another. Usually, you would have stopped by now, feelings of unresolved trauma in you taking the reins. But not this time.

“Are you okay YN?” you just nodded at him before pulling your slip dress over your head, turning and crawling deeper into the bed, beckoning Azriel with you. He hovered over you, taking you all in, his very own Goddess. He kissed down your neck, checking in with you before removing his own shirt. You traced up the grooves of his abdomen, sending a shiver through his wings as you smiled.

“I wish I could look at you smiling forever” “Maybe you can” he lowered back down to kiss you at your words. 

A screech of rusty hinges being twisted separated you both as the door of Azriels room swung open, a very very drunk Cassian stumbling in. Azriel threw his shirt to cover you, launching himself towards the door. 

“Get out Cass!” “Oh A-zzz I did-n’t know you wer-e in here” he slurred, Azriel catching the door trying to close it in Cassian's face.

“YN- heeeeeey. Oh shit! A-m I interrupting the cr-owning of the High L-ord of Game” a shiver shot down Azriel at these words, he had forgotten. He had totally and utterly forgotten. You pulled your dress back over your head, slipping from the bed almost laughing in confusion.

“What Cassian?”

“It's gonn-a be your weddin-g story! How roman-tic a bet turning in-to lov-e, who’d have though-t it '' The giant Illyrian took another deep sip from his cup, one he definitely didn't need, your laughter coming to a complete halt. 

“Get the fuck out of here Cassian!” Azriel gained the upper hand finally slamming the door in his drunk brother's face. He turned to look at you, sheet white like you’d seen a ghost. You took deep measured breaths, trying to prevent full scale hyperventilation.

“YNN”

“Don’t call me that”

“Please listen to me” you were hurriedly searching for your bag, Azriel had his arms out as though he was trying to stop a wild horse.

“Az-Azriel, was there or was there not a competition or bet or what-the-fuck-ever based around our relationship” you stood before him, wild-eyed, begging and wishing and hoping that what came out of his mouth next would make this all go away.

“Yes…it's why I talked to you that first day- but wait please!” You had pushed past him at these words, straight for the bedroom door, needing out. 

“-But YN then I fell for you! I forgot about the stupid competition! I swear! I promise, please, I need you” your back was to him as he spoke these words, fist around the door handle.

“What you need Azriel is for someone to build your fragile masculinity and I’m sorry but I am not the Fae for you” you whipped the door open, stepping over a passed out Cassian and running down the hallway from the mess. 

************************

A week had passed, Feyre practically forbidding Azriel from seeing you after hearing of the whole ordeal. Azriel still was yet to speak to Cassian but really his anger was mostly at himself. He completely messed up. 

You opened your front door a week after what happened to find Azriel sat at your garden gate. You went to close the door again but he shot towards you.

“Azriel” you glared.

“Please speak to me YN” you sighed, closing the door on him, not ready for it all.

“I'll wait here for you! I’ll wait forever for you” he sat back down on the step and there he stayed for almost 48 hours. 

You looked out through your bedroom window at him sitting below in the rain on your doorstep. You sighed before heading down the stairs, opening the door and staring down at the soaked Illyrian. 

“Can I please talk to you now?” you sighed at his words, just stepping back from the door beckoning him in. He didn't need to be told twice, darting into your living room. You crossed your arms as you watched him shake the water from his wings. 

“I know you probably have questi-” “Why Azriel? Tell me why! I've been racking my brain for over a week and I can’t figure out why you would do this to me” you raised your voice to him, something you’d never done before to him and it rattled him slightly.

“To build my fragile masculinity” he attempted a joke, gaining a pillow thrown at him by you for him to dodge. 

“Okay, because I am a big Illyrian idiot who had no idea how hard I’d fall for you! I had no idea someone like you would fall for me! I completely just lost all sense of judgement! He practically slumped to the floor, tears brimming in his eyes.

“Are you…are you crying?” you moved slowly towards the slumped Shadowsinger.

“Yes! I completely fucked up so bad YN and I am so beyond sorry for even causing you any ounce of pain!”

“Get up off the floor Az, you're destroying your fragile masculinity” you gave a small smile, reaching out your hand and pulling him to his feet. You sat down on your sofa, still holding his hand, nudging your head to the side indicating for him to sit. He then explained the details of the competition at your request. 

“I know I am the scum of the earth but I promise I totally forgot about it when I started to get to know you and it was beyond the furthest thing from my mind when we…when last week happened” his voice shook at the end of his tale of betrayal.

“I must be crazy” you shook your head side to side.

“No you’re not YN”

“Yes, I am because I believe you” he met your eyes frantically as you rubbed the back of his hand. 

“So you still want to be with me?!” “Yes, stupidly” you half laughed and he matched you.

“But you or Cassian pull anything even close to this shit again and I'll castrate you both and throw you into the river” “I'll lend you the blade to do so” Azriel smiled.

“I love you YNN” “I- I can't say that back right now Az” his heart sank for a moment before he spoke again.

“That’s alright YNN, I love us enough for the both of us anyway” Azriel moved to kiss you in the way he dreamed of since that night.

“Ah ah ah-” you pulled back and shook your finger at him smiling. 

“-Back to hand holding Az” “Okay, great, I can do that” You both sat there for a moment in that familiar comfortable silence you both thought you'd never feel again. 

“Okay that’s enough hand-holding,” you said hurriedly, pushing yourself on top of him to straddle his lap as he sat, kissing him deeply. 

“Thank the Gods” he laughed into the kiss.

“You wouldn't have lasted with just hand-holding anyways” you nudged him.

“Wanna bet?” he grinned, gaining a hand into the chest again before sharing a searing kiss once again.

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

[trulyumai]

belittling the reign

synopsis: the people began to doubt Geta, and in return, so did members of the senate. The emperor began to act wildly, his temper just a reach away. It all came crashing down when a man of the senate brought the empress up and how she would fall with the emperor.

pairing: Emperor geta / empress! reader

Warnings: Violence, anger, choking, death. Protectiveness/Possessive.

The room was dim, save for the flicker of torchlight dancing across the stone walls. Geta sat at the long table, his goblet half-full, eyes fixed on the dull gleam of his dagger. He had been deep in thought, tired from the endless political maneuvering of the Senate, when the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his silence.

The door creaked open, and a figure entered—Marcus, a senator known for his sharp tongue and sharper ambitions. Geta didn’t look up as the man approached, choosing instead to swirl the dark wine in his cup.

“Geta,” Marcus began, his voice oozing with false politeness. “I trust you’re well this evening.”

Geta grunted in response, not bothering to hide his disdain. He knew this man all too well—his visits were never without some form of scheming. Marcus circled the room slowly, his fingers tracing the edge of the table as he moved closer.

“You know, it’s funny,” Marcus continued, his tone casual, though laced with something more sinister. “There’s been a lot of talk in the streets lately. The citizens are starting to wonder how much longer Rome will have to bear the burden of a violent ruler.” The man let out a chuckle, it reverberated through the room and Geta swore his fingers shook with an emitting anger.

The emperor’s eyes flicked upward for the first time, meeting Marcus’s gaze with a steely intensity. The senator smiled, a smirk dancing on his lips as he leaned against the table, arms crossed.

“They say,” Marcus went on, “that there will soon be a new emperor. A man who leads not with blood, but with wisdom. One who doesn’t lose himself to rage every time a senator dares to speak out. The people... they’re excited, Geta. They’re waiting for the day Rome is free of your wrath… Maybe Caracalla would be a better fit?”

Geta’s grip tightened on the goblet, the muscles in his arm tensing as he fought to contain his growing anger. “You tread on dangerous ground, Marcus,” he warned, his voice low and cold.

Breath in. Breath out. Remember your wife, the sweet laugh, those little dimples that littered your face when he told a good story.

But Marcus was undeterred. He leaned in closer, his breath hot and smug as he whispered, “Perhaps you’re the one who should be careful. People don’t fear you anymore, Geta. They’re waiting for your death. And when it comes, oh how they’ll cheer. Finally, a ruler worthy of the Empire will take your place.”

A dark laugh escaped Marcus’s lips, but it was quickly cut off by Geta’s sudden movement. In a flash, the emperor had risen from his seat, standing tall over the senator. Marcus stiffened, but continued, confidence seemed to block the mans rational fears. “What will your pretty little wife do when you’re gone, I wonder? Maybe she’ll find solace in someone with real power.”

That was the last mistake.

Geta’s fury ignited like a wildfire, burning through every shred of control he had left. Before Marcus could react, Geta’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around the man’s throat. The senator’s eyes widened in shock as he gasped for breath, his hands clawing uselessly at Geta’s iron grip.

“You dare threaten my wife?” Geta growled, his voice trembling with rage. His face was twisted in a snarl, the veins in his neck bulging as he squeezed tighter. “You think you can speak to me of death? Speak to me of weakness?” He spat the words with venom, his grip tightening as Marcus’s face turned pale, then purple.

The senator’s eyes bulged, and his mouth opened and closed in silent pleas for mercy, but Geta’s rage was far beyond words now. He lifted Marcus off the ground, the senator’s feet dangling as he struggled weakly. The torchlight flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls as Geta’s expression darkened with each passing second.

“You thought you could replace me? With my own brother?!” Geta whispered, leaning in close to the dying man’s ear. “There will be no one else, dear Marcus.  I am Rome, hm? I. Am. Rome.”

Marcus’s body jerked one last time, and then he went still. Geta held him there for a moment longer, the senator’s lifeless eyes staring into nothingness, before finally letting the body fall to the ground with a heavy thud.

The room was silent, save for the sound of Geta’s ragged breathing. He stood over Marcus’s corpse, his chest rising and falling with the aftershocks of his rage. Slowly, he lowered his hand, twisting and turning the jeweled rings around his fingers while wiping the sweat from his brow. His gaze dropped to the dead man at his feet, his heart still pounding in his chest, though calmer now.

A twisted calm, one born of violence.

“Threatening my liege. My Wife,” Geta muttered to himself, stepping over Marcus’s body as he made his way toward the door. “They will all burn before I leave the throne.”

-

The hallways were dimly lit, the flickering flames of the torches casting long, distorted shadows along the stone walls. Geta’s breathing was still ragged, his pulse pounding in his ears as he moved through the empty corridors. His hands, still tingling with the memory of squeezing the life out of Marcus, twitched at his sides. Sweat clung to his brow, slicking his skin and making his tunic stick to his chest.

He could feel the weight of what he had done. The senator’s limp body, the satisfaction that had come when his struggles ceased. It was a different kind of battle—one where no soldier could see him, and no one could speak of it.

Yet, the thrill of victory felt different this time. It wasn’t the fight he was used to. He wasn’t on the battlefield, brandishing his sword, earning the respect of his men. This victory had been personal, quiet... but more satisfying than he could have imagined. Marcus had been wrong—there would be no new ruler. Not while Geta breathed.

He thought of the senators who whispered behind closed doors, plotting to strip him of his power. He thought of the citizens who questioned his rule, who had dared to entertain the idea of another emperor, a more peaceful one. And now he thought of those who might still move against him. They had made one fatal error—they underestimated his resolve, his willingness to do whatever was necessary to protect what was his. He had been lenient for too long.

His footsteps echoed in the silence as he neared the door to his chambers. The weight of his actions, the violence he was still capable of, burned beneath his skin, but as he pushed open the heavy wooden door, the tension seemed to soften.

There, lying in the massive bed, was his wife—your form draped in blankets, the soft rise and fall of your chest showing the example of a  peaceful slumber. You were so..  completely unaware of what he had just done, unaware of the thoughts that now consumed him.

Geta stood in the doorway for a moment, simply watching. His wife had been the one constant in his life, the anchor to his rage. You had calmed him when no one else could. 

His breath still came in short bursts, his chest tight with the remnants of his fury. Slowly, he approached the bed, his legs heavy beneath him as if the weight of the world had finally caught up with him. He collapsed beside you, the bed creaking under his weight. He was slick with sweat, the heat of the earlier confrontation still radiating from his body. He exhaled deeply, his muscles sagging as he sunk into the mattress.

His wife stirred slightly, your hand brushing against his arm as she mumbled something incoherent in sleep. Your touch was soft, gentle—so unlike the violence that had consumed him only moments before. For a moment, Geta considered waking you, telling just what had transpired, but no. You didn’t need to know about the bloodshed, the threat to their life. You didn’t need to carry the burden of his thoughts.

But in the stillness of the night, with his wife sleeping so peacefully beside him, his mind churned with plans. He would not be overthrown. He would not be replaced by anyone who dared to dream of ruling Rome in his stead. Geta would seek out the usurpers, one by one. He would find every senator, every noble, every conspirator who dared question his rule, and he would deal with them the same way he dealt with Marcus. There would be no mercy.

His wife shifted again, pressing closer to him, your hand now resting on his chest, and for a brief moment, the thoughts of violence faded. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her warmth, the way your perfect body curved against his.

But even as his breath steadied and exhaustion began to pull him into sleep, one thought remained clear in his mind: no one would threaten his reign. No one would ever threaten you again.

And when the time came to deal with the rest of them, Geta knew, deep down, he would not hesitate. Rome was his. And he would destroy anyone who thought otherwise.

[halfvalid]

Hey! Since your requests are open, may I request opla!Zoro x reader (established relationship) where the reader has a lot of self doubt (not only in their looks, but their abilities and their place in the crew) since it’s, unfortunately, been shoved done their throat by pretty much eveyone they knew, even their parents, that they would never be good enough? Maybe Zoro figures out that they have sort of been spiralling lately and they have a talk about the readers past and the problems they’re facing and he comforts them? Maybe it ends sort of spicy or turns out full on spicy, if you’re comfortable with that!

daybreak

ABOUT

alternate title: some fluffy established relationship hurt/comfort to save my soul

rating: teen & up

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 2.9k (short; sorry!)

description: zoro notices you've been seeming off recently, and you confide in him your insecure feelings of self-worth. he comforts you.

tags: strawhat!reader, established relationship, fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, kissing, no use of ‘y/n’, soft zoro, ridiculously stupidly absolutely horrifyingly fluffy. 

author’s note: thank you so much for the very lovely request! i hope i did your prompt justice; i ended up not writing any spice at the end (just slightly suggestive) since i didn't think it fit the story but i hope you like it anyway ^^

it feels slightly ooc, but i also wrote it in the span of two hours at 1:00 am so can you really blame me. 

It was morning on the Going Merry, and you were cleaning up the wreckage that had been scattered along the deck in your last battle. The crew had gone up against some other pirates; it’d been late at night, and the attack had come suddenly, what you’d thought would be a peaceful docking turning combative quickly. 

You barely remembered the fight. One moment, the warning bell had sounded, and the next Zoro was rolling out of bed beside you, grabbing his swords and darting out of your bedroom before you could even register what was happening. The fight had gone in the Straw Hats’ favor, thankfully; Zoro, Luffy, and Sanji had fended off most of the threat, and you were back on the open sea, safe from enemies for at least a little while now. 

You let out a sigh as you swept shattered glass into a dustpan, shaking out the collected trash into a nearby empty barrel. None of the men usually bothered to start cleaning up—typical—so you’d pulled yourself out of bed as early as possible to get the ship looking a little more like normal. 

Zoro had left some corpses on the deck for you to deal with, and you’d had to toss them overboard, a grimace tugging at your lips as blood stained the white of your blouse. No matter. You’d finished sweeping, at least; all you had left to do was mop, right as everyone else was waking up. 

You filled a bucket with warm water and soap, and were just grabbing the mop from the closet when you heard footsteps. You glanced up, surprised to see Zoro heading towards you, one hand grasped loosely around his sword handle as always. “You’re up early,” he said, casual as ever. “Woke up and you were gone.” 

“Figured I should get a head start on cleaning,” you answered quickly, not meeting Zoro’s eyes as you dunked the mop into the bucket. His brows creased as he watched you start mopping, pushing the handle along the deck to wipe it clear of bloodstains. 

“How long have you been doing this?” Zoro asked, after a few seconds of delayed silence. You shrugged, dunking your mop again before going for another few swipes. “We can help clean too, you know.” 

“It’s the least I can do,” you protested. You moved past him, trying very hard not to meet his eyes—but Zoro didn’t let you pass, one hand going out to grab the mop rod and stopping you in your tracks. “What?” 

“What do you mean, least you could do?” Zoro asked blankly. 

“I mean—” you shrugged, muscles limp like your entire body was sagging you down. “You and the others were the ones to deal with the pirates, so I figured I could at least—”

Zoro still looked confused, brows pulled together, forehead taut with a frown. “I distinctly recall you throwing a pirate twice your size overboard. Unless I was imagining things.” 

You sighed. “Not what I meant.” You tried to push past Zoro again, but he didn’t let you, hand still tightly grasped around your mop handle. 

“Okay, what did you mean, then?” 

“Nothing. Will you just let me finish cleaning so there aren't blood stains all over Luffy’s ship?” You sighed again, even as you attempted to keep the sound inside—but you couldn’t help it. It was like there was an anchor stuck inside of you, pulling everything from your feelings to your body down, the weight of gravity tugging at your features. 

“Luffy’s ship?” 

You shrugged. “The Straw Hats’ ship. Whatever.” 

“Our ship,” Zoro said. There was a certain twinge of something in his words; still blankness, but laced with a dawning realization that you weren’t sure you liked. “You’re upset.” 

“Nope.” This time you really did manage to get free of Zoro’s grasp, yanking your mop out of his grip and starting back on cleaning the deck. The acrid smell of iron hit your nose as you scrubbed the dried blood off—you’d have to go back in later with a sponge to get all the cracks and crevices, but for now this would be okay. 

Zoro followed you, unceasing with his interrogation. “Yes, you are. I know when you’re upset, and you’re upset. What happened.” It was more of a statement than a question—Zoro didn’t often doubt himself, really, which was one of the many things that’d helped make you stumble into falling for him. “Was it about last night? You know the cook's just making fun when he keeps a counter, right? It doesn’t matter if he brought two or five more men down than you.” 

“It’s not about that,” you insisted. 

“So you admit you are upset.” 

You groaned, finally turning to look Zoro in the eye. He’d stopped walking, the dawning sun glinting hazey gold onto his skin in the early hour. There was still an overcast of blue from the night in the sky, and it made the heavens look ethereal, watery and glittering. 

“Come on,” he urged. “Just tell me what’s wrong.” 

“It’s really nothing you need to be concerned about,” you attempted, but your voice was weak now. Zoro stepped closer to you, gently pulling the mop out of your hands. Your fingers let go easily. “It’s silly.” 

Zoro gave you a look. “Out with it.” 

“I don’t know, I just—” your fingers clenched, like your hand was trying to find something to do now that Zoro had rid you of your mop. “Comparatively I just don’t do much. So I want to help out as much as possible.” 

“Who said you don’t do much?” 

“What?” 

“I don’t think I need to repeat myself,” Zoro said. He let the mop fall to the ground, arms crossing over his chest as he watched you. “Who said you don’t do much?”

“I mean, nobody. It’s just true.” You shrugged, distinctly uncomfortable with the way Zoro was looking at you—all attentive, like he was trying to strip you raw with his eyes, uncover whatever secrets might be hiding in the pores of your skin and the gaps of your teeth. “Luffy’s the captain, we wouldn’t be able to do anything without Nami, you and Sanji are the fighters, and Usopp’s everyone’s favorite. I’m just kind of… filler?” 

The more you spoke, the worse your words got, your tone turning more desperate as the sentences fumbled out of your mouth. Zoro’s eyebrows raised higher as you went on, and you flushed, red prickling all over your skin. 

“First of all,” he started, “Usopp is not my favorite. That’d be you. And—where are you getting this from?” 

You shook your head, trying to backtrack. “Nothing. Nowhere. It’s not that import—”

“Yes, it is, and we’re talking about it.” Zoro pulled a nearby barrel by the side of the ship, plopping himself down atop it and gesturing for you to sit. You didn’t, but you did move over to the railing, hands curling around the painted wood. “Speak.” 

“I have nothing to say,” you tried. Zoro just shot you an unimpressed look, and you squirmed. “Fine. I don’t know. I joined last, so I just figured… you were all kind of already set without me, right?” 

Zoro shook his head. “We’re a crew,” he said, voice strong but somehow still gentle. “You’re part of us for a reason. What, this entire time did you think you were—expendable?” 

You fidgeted uncomfortably, weight shifting from one leg to the other. “No.” 

“Don’t lie.” 

“Yes. No. I don’t know. Last night—I only got, like what, two guys? And you reacted way faster to the situation than I did,” you started, words flailing around on your tongue as they rushed out. It was indelicate, for certain, and you yourself couldn’t make sense of most of the words—but once you started, you couldn’t stop, even as they slurred together. “I was still getting out of bed and grabbing my weapon when you’d already dealt with half the enemy crew.” 

“Don’t compare yourself to me,” Zoro said with a shake of his head. “That’s not fair. I’ve been training since I was eight. It’s different.” 

You huffed out an exasperated breath, trying not to let your frustration get the best of you. “I can't help it sometimes. It’s a bad habit.” You loosened your grip on the ship railing, staring out at the golden clouds hovering over the sky.  “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Zoro answered. He didn’t say anything after that—giving you a space to talk, you supposed, in case you wanted to. But his hand did reach up to press against yours, pinky brushing against your finger as he held onto the railing beside you. 

“I guess I just always had these standards back at the village,” you managed out eventually. Your island had always been one of the more traditional places in the East Blue, and there were plenty rules and guidelines abound. One of the many reasons you’d left the place in favor for Luffy and the Going Merry, really. “So I just… always want to do more. It’s not that bad.” 

“Right.” Zoro’s pinky looped around your finger, now, holding it close in a soft kiss of the hands. You sighed. 

“My parents were kind of rough on me, I guess,” you tried, sneaking a glance over at Zoro’s face to see if it satiated his curiosity at all. His expression remained as steel as ever, so you just continued. “They wanted me to be the best I could. But their standards were too high, even when I was little.” You found yourself rubbing circles into the back of Zoro’s hand with your finger, more so to comfort yourself than for any other reason. “Just normal stuff, like being upset about my school grades or my combat training levels being too low. Nothing that terrible.” 

“But…?” Zoro asked, tilting his head up to look at you. You smiled, but the action didn’t reach your eyes—it was all mouth and jaw, cheeks lifting but eyes glinting with the same glazed stare. 

“It just affected me a lot, I suppose,” you answered. “Always trying to get better. Never satisfied. And I guess now—I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll ever be good enough.” 

“For?” Zoro asked. His voice was low, soft, all hollow and empty inside. There was a tinge of roughness lacing it, like he’d forgotten to clear his throat, and the scratch of his vocal chords had surfaced up along with the words. 

“Myself. My parents. Luffy. You.” Your lips tightened into a line. Vaguely, you could feel the warm pinpricks of tears starting at your waterline, and you tried to will them back, letting out a little laugh. “Everyone, I guess.” 

Zoro’s hand had come to hold yours fully, fingers woven in between yours, thumb pressed firmly against the joint of your thumb. Somehow, that one motion managed to force the last of the words out of you—all wet and soft, eyes glued fiercely to the horizon in fear of seeing what was etched on Zoro’s face. 

“We do arranged marriages back at home,” you started, trying very hard to keep your voice from trembling. it worked only marginally—there was a tiny quaver in your tone, but it was soft, not noticeable unless you were really listening hard. “And my mom used to tell me I’d die alone. Because I wasn’t pretty enough, or smart enough, or anything enough for any of the boys there.” 

“Oh,” Zoro said. It was quiet; barely a whisper. You tried for a wry smile. 

“I like helping, though. I don’t mind cleaning up or whatever. It makes me feel more useful.” You tried to tug your hand out of Zoro’s grip, but his fingers tightened, keeping you in place. A nervous laugh escaped your throat. “And I know I’m part of the crew and all of this is just silly. So it’s really fine—”

Zoro tugged your intertwined hands to his chest, causing you to stumble and glance down at him in surprise. His expression was nearly unreadable. It’d darkened, and there was a contemplative gaze in his eyes, lips parted with invisible words perched on his tongue. “Don’t do that,” he whispered, and your stomach dropped, the nervousness that had gathered inside during the conversation tightening up into a hall. “Don’t say it’s okay or that it’s not important. If it’s making you upset, then it matters.” 

“I guess,” you tried, and Zoro’s gaze lifted to fix you with a glare. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay, I just…” Zoro shook his head. “Look, whatever your parents used to tell you, whatever you have ingrained in your head—it’s not true. And there’s nothing wrong with wanting to do more, but… you don’t have to do it. You’re enough already.” 

Your gaze softened, lips falling open to say something, but Zoro wasn’t finished yet. “You shouldn’t come out here and force yourself to clean up just to make up for your—waste of space, or something. You’re not a servant. And you’re not wasting up any space. I think everyone would agree that you’re a very important and vital part of the crew.” 

“Thanks,” you whispered. Zoro’s hand was warm around yours, and you felt the threatening droplets of tears start to rise up at your waterline, ready to fall at any moment now. Zoro just nodded. 

“You’re a great fighter, and way smarter than what you give yourself credit for,” he said firmly. He raised your hand to his mouth, then, leaning over to press a feather-light kiss to your knuckles. “And the boys on your island have to be blind, because you’re pretty enough. You’re more than pretty enough.”

He whispered the last words, all soft and sacred on his tongue. “You’re beautiful.” 

That was enough to drive your tears over the edge. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to stop the flow as the warm sensation of liquid streaking down your cheeks began. Droplets caught in the crevice of your lips, and at the hinge of your jaw—Zoro brought a hand up to wipe them away. “Are you okay?” he whispered. 

“Yeah, I just, um.” You shook your head, sniffing. “Thank you. That… helped. I think.” 

Zoro bummed out his response. “Of course,” he said easily. “You’re my girl. It’s my job to cheer you up.” He kissed your knuckles again. “And you can talk to any of us. I’m not really the best at this, but everyone else…” he shrugged. 

“You’re doing just fine,” you assured him. Zoro nodded, tugging you down until you finally took a seat on a crate beside him. “I think it’s just been worse lately.” 

“If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re better than the waiter,” Zoro said. You just laughed. 

“I think you’re biased, but thank you,” you said. “Here, I, um, I promise I’ll let you know if I’m feeling down, I guess. If you don’t mind.” 

“Definitely don’t mind,” Zoro answered. This time he placed a gentle kiss on your neck, somewhere at the bottom near the back. “Leave the mopping for someone else. You’ve already done a lot.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, eyes fluttering closed as Zoro kissed the rest of the way up the back of your neck. He placed a final one right below your earlobe. With that, Zoro stood up, sweeping one arm under your legs and hoisting you up. You cracked open an eye to regard him with a blank look. “What are you doing?” 

“Bringing you back to my room,” Zoro answered. “You didn’t get much sleep tonight. And I doubt anyone wants to watch me kissing you on the main deck anyway.” 

That was fair enough reasoning, so you didn’t complain, letting him carry you all the way to his cabin and gently lay you down onto his bed. He leaned over to press a gentle kiss to your lips—you could still taste the saltwater from your tears from before. “Want me to stay?” Zoro asked. 

“You don’t have to,” you said automatically, and Zoro raised both his eyebrows. You let out a sigh. “Okay, I get it. Yes. Please stay.” 

“All you had to say,” Zoro said, shedding himself of his shoes and swords before leaning over the bed to watch you. He didn’t slip under the covers or anything, just propped an arm up on the mattress, kneeling beside the bed. There was tender silence for a few moments before Zoro spoke again. 

“I love you,” he said abruptly, voice rough but somehow still soft. Your heart beat too fast in your chest, ribcage squeezing in on the organ and making it skip. His hand slid along the mattress to find yours, and you took the offer, fingers clasping around his palm. 

“I love you too,” you whispered back. Zoe leaned over, then, the hand not intertwined with yours tilting your jaw over just so to allow him better access to your mouth. He kissed you full-on, tender but firm, mouth working against yours in a way that unraveled you entirely. Your grip on his hand tightened as he deepened the kiss, a soft sound emitting from low in your throat. Finally you broke apart, heaving for breath, exhales mixing together midair. An exchange of souls, you’d heard once, somewhere. 

“Come on,” you murmured, tugging Zoro closer to the bed so he got the hint. He slipped beside you onto it, turning your head again to meet you in another kiss. His hand drifted down to your waist, holding you securely in place.  

“I don’t think anyone should need us for a few more hours, right?” Zoro asked, and you laughed. He swallowed up the sounds with his mouth, tongue licking languidly into you as he rubbed delicate circles into the skin of your waist. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and then he was kissing you again. 

You let him siphon the soul out of your lungs, knowing you were getting his right back. 

© halfvalid 2023