#maybe tell you to say thank you . because he knows you can remember your manners…… etc . who knows but hes a good bf ok

[parfaitblogs]

in a world of boys, he's a gentleman ❀ s. reid x reader

in which your night out comes to an end, and your boyfriend has to try to keep your wandering hands off of him. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff tags: alcohol consumption. reader is drunk. reader is a brat. spencer is so exasperated. but he loves you so bad. age gap probably. suggestive content. word count: 2.1k a/n: oh my god i miss having a man to pick me up and love me when im drunk #thisshouldbeme final boss level 1000. simple fun fluff i love when he's nice to us i should do this more often. circa summer 2024 ass title i'm rebuilding spencer reid tumblr brick by brick. 

You were never meant to be this drunk. 

Truly, you had grandeur plans for it to be a one and done night. Entertain the birthday girl — your best friend — with your presence and take care of her, for it is her night, and then go home and pass out early enough in dark green sheets and the sound of your boyfriend sleeping next to you. 

You'd even told him about these plans. 

Instead? He's staring down at his phone with a locked jaw, and four different messages from you glaring back up at him. Incomprehensible, if he weren't as smart as he were. If he weren't as attuned to you and your mannerisms down to the way you text. A man who doesn't even like texting, and he's memorised how you do. 

Something about him picking you up,��maybe, if he wants. Another thing about you finding him pretty. Another with a photo of the — and he quotes — really good vodka coke the bartender made you (he's certain it tastes the same as the last three you mentioned drinking). Finally, a photo of you in the bathrooms, arms around your best friend, grinning at the mirror through your phone, showing off your outfit to him. As if he hadn't memorised, documented, the way the skirt looked on you when you left hours earlier. 

When he doesn't reply to a single message, you call him, and endearment for you grows, for he can hear the pout on your lips as you speak into the phone. 

"Why're you ignorin' me?" you mumble, which isn't much help considering how loud the world around you is, your voice nearly drowning out. 

"I'm not, honey," he says. "I only just checked your messages. I was about to respond."

"Liar. You're ignoring me. You hate me."

"I can assure you I don't," he's amused. He's so stupidly amused, you want to kick him for it. You don't. You can't. Instead, you let him keep sweet talking you out of your predisposed anger. "Are you having a good night?"

"Yes!" you brighten almost immediately. "Did you see the photo I sent?"

"Of your outfit? Yeah, angel. You look pretty," he's practically perfected how to talk to you when drunk. You're oblivious to it, always too intoxicated to register he is extra nice when you're barely able to hold yourself upright. 

"Thank you," you reply, and he can hear the fluster. "Look prettier in—in person."

"I know. I saw you before you left, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah," your cheeks heat, and you roll your bottom lip between your teeth. The bricks are a juxtaposing cold against your back. Rough, too. Oddly comforting. "Are you busy? Am I keeping you from somethin'? S'that why you were ignorin' me?"

"No," he replies. "I'm waiting for you to be ready to come home. Is that why you're calling?"

"Mm-mm," you shake your head, giggling to yourself because you remember he can't see that. He doesn't know why you're laughing, but he smiles at it nonetheless. "Jus' wanted to hear your voice. Miss you."

"I miss you too, honey," he says, and you can hear that smile in his voice. 

"What're you doin' then?" you ask, staring at the door to the club you had deserted, keeping an eye out for your friends to emerge. 

"Reading."

"Reading what?"

"Sofia Petrovna," he tells you, and, as if he can see the way your eyebrows furrow, he adds, "Russian novel by Lydia Chukovskaya. I'll find a translation so you can read it, I think you'd like it."

"You should jus' read it to me right now," you mumble, crouching down to the floor, resting your head on your knees. "Translate for me."

"You most certainly won't remember a thing I'm saying. Where are your friends?"

"In the club. It got overstimulating," you tell him. 

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and an excuse about how you can actually see your friends still — you can't — manifests on your tongue, preempting the scolding he's no doubt formulating. 

However, two simple, stern — but not too scary — words kill the faux reassurance immediately. "You're alone?" 

You hesitate. "...No?"

"Can you go find your friends, please? I don't want you outside alone."

"Yes, sir," you stand back up. His jaw clenches, biting back his reprimand. He doesn't have the energy to lecture you about the dangers of being this drunk alone, and he's sure you wouldn't appreciate it anyways. Or remember it. "I will call you back later! Bye! Love you!"

He continues to hear from you for the two hours following. A photo once you find your friends to assure him you're safe, a mistyped message about how you love him more than anything in the world, another asking if he's mad at you when he doesn't reply. Eventually, you're calling him again, chatter from the smoker's lounge you'd disappeared into loud, but he can faintly make out you asking him to pick you up. 

He finds himself in an empty enough street just a block away from the last club you told him you were going to, waiting. 

There were people everywhere, just past the corner of the street. Girls with their bags hanging limply down by their calves, fast food paper bags held up to some of their mouths. Never his scene, but he's shown up enough for you since you started dating to know what he's looking out for. 

He can see you before you spot him, but when you do, he can't fight the smile at the sight of you brightening up in an instant. Distantly, he hears you call his name, pointing him out to your friends and stumbling towards the car. 

"Hi!" you collapse against the passenger's seat door, window open and waiting for you, as you lean into the car. 

Recognising the offer for what it was, he leans across the console to kiss you before you can start drunkenly accusing him of not loving you. Or whatever you can come up with to start a baseless, completely harmless argument with him. 

"Hi, honey. Good night?" he asks as you finally pull open the door, settling into the seat with a sigh, head nodding as you peel your shoes off of your feet and curl up. 

"I think so," you murmur, hair covering your face as you drop your head, and a yawn stretches your mouth open. "I'll tell you all about it t'morrow."

"Can't wait," he muses. 

"You never answered me," you then say — which is generous, considering he could barely make out a word — looking over at him. "'Bout if you're mad."

"I wasn't mad," he reassures you. "Just worried. Thought we talked about not being out and alone when you're this intoxicated?"

"Yeah. I know. Sorry."

Tomorrow, as it turns out, follows a quiet drive home for you to collect your thoughts, and his helping hands at removing your makeup and getting you into the shower. A year old promise that he will always force you under the water before bed no matter what protests you come up with.

Now, here you are, rambling his ear off animatedly on the edge of the bathroom sink, as he brushes a wet comb through your hair. 

He's listening intently, soaking in every word you were saying about your night out, even if it entirely made no sense to him. Your attempt at stringing together your night's events was poor at best, and he's pretty sure you've re-explained four times that you went into then night with fake names and backstories to try and fool everyone.

"And then we went to... um... I forgot the name. But it was free entry, so we went in, obviously, and this guy bought us drinks because of the birthday sash she was wearing, so that was awesome. That was the vodka coke I sent you, it was so goo—can I have a kiss?"

Your request catches him off guard, and the comb clatters to the basin beside you when his hand drops from your hair. 

"Is that all you want?" he hums, leaning forwards. His lips brush against your own, and you smile.

"Yep. Just a kiss," you chirp, slouching your shoulders so you could look up at him with wide eyes you know all too well he can't deny. "Please?"

You just had to ask so nicely, and he was left with very little choice in the matter in the end. 

He kisses you for only a second, aiming to pull away and successfully get you into bed before you can take this any further. 

Ever so sneaky, though, you catch your fingers into his hair and tug him back into you, legs hooking around his waist to keep him locked. His hips knock the cabinets, but he's distracted by your lips back on his to fully register the hit. 

"Honey," he mumbles against your lips. A warning, you think. It sounds it. 

You don't listen. 

Instead, you inch closer to the edge of the basin until he's forced to roll his hips into yours to push you back, saving you from falling off. 

You whine, and the sound has him coming back to reality, deftly pulling away from your lips. You protest, quietly, and he's forced to tangle a hand in your hair to tug your head back, keeping you away from him.

"No," he says, firmly. If you were sober, maybe you'd back down under the demand. Then again, if you were sober, he wouldn't be saying no to you. Instead, his tone of voice only makes your smile widen, and your skin tingle. 

"It was just a kiss," you protest, slipping off the sink once he steps back, letting him guide you like a lost puppy back into his bedroom. "Spencer?"

"No it wasn't," he says, hand on your back as he navigates you over to his bed. "We've talked about this."

He sits down before you, and despite the scolding, lets you climb over him into the bed anyways, hips straddling his waist as he lays back on the bed. 

"Just a kiss. I promise," you affirm, breath warm against his lips. 

He gives in, as he always does, and lets you kiss him again. 

Hips square above his, chest pressing on his, fingers ruffling the sheets beside his head. You kiss him until you're out of air, and convinced he's drunk enough on your taste to let you go further. 

He isn't. 

"Behave," he quips when your hand drops to his waistband, his fingers catching your wrist and lifting it back up. You're too focussed on the way his hand fits around the joint to argue. 

"I am," you huff, tilting your head with a lopsided grin. "Didn't do anything!"

"Brat," he pinches your hip, and you squirm, bursting into a fit of giggles. "Go to bed."

"Can't. You've got me caged up on top of you," you jut your chin out. "Maybe you're the problem."

"Yep. Sure am," he confirms, letting his arms around you go slack, just to watch you fall off his chest and to the mattress beside him. "Sleep."

"Or what?"

He pushes air out of his nose, but it's all too difficult to stay frustrated with you when you're staring up at him with the hugest smile on your face. You know exactly what you're doing — and he's just letting you.

He thinks he will forever.

He pauses in choosing a response. "Do you want me to be nice when I wake you up tomorrow?"

"Depends," you study him, eyes narrowing; drunken skepticism. "What's your version of nice?"

"You're a smart girl. Figure it out," he kisses your nose, "and go to sleep."

"Are you being suggestive?" you sit up abruptly, and his palms find comfort in his face, running down it. "Spencer."

"I'm not answering that. Go to sleep, honey."

"I can't. Why would you say that? You're such a tease. Oh my God. I hate you," you moan, dramatically falling back down to the bed, head finding the space between his shoulder and his neck. "Do you promise?"

It's like he knows you're giving up, for his voice has dropped into a drawl, exhaustion he'd been expertly masking coming out as he speaks. "Promise what?" 

"To wake me up nicely?"

"If you're good and go to sleep now, yes."

"Pinky promise?" his eyes are now closed, but you still search his face with keen interest. He smiles. He can feel it. 

"Pinky promise," he affirms, and he finally — finally — fully relaxes as he feels you curl into him. "Goodnight, honey."

"G'night, Spence."

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

bllk men who u can boss around without consequence: reo . ness . some of the others i guess

[noisilyscreechingsong]

It’s canon that Jason Todd had a brother named Danny Todd. All we know is he died being a look out for a local gang. Who’s to say he didn’t die at the age of fourteen and come back? Maybe the Fentons were investigating the levels of ectoplasm in the area and somehow got their hands on an amnesic kid who died and didn’t quite stay dead? Perhaps they wanted to make him their side experiment, or they wanted to see if they can teach it to be good and not evil. Who knows. But as soon at Danny steps foot in Gotham, the entity of Gotham is there to greet him, welcome him home and remind him of who he was. And does he remember.

Danny is just a year or two younger than Dick and he was supposed to be starting a new job in the R&D department of WE. Instead he’s pushed back his start date to do research.

Of course, the first thing he looks up is his family, his original family that he can’t believe he forgot, to find out his mother, his father, and his little baby brother are all dead and buried. He has to take a break to sob uncontrollably on the kitchen floor for a while before gathering himself back up to find out what happened. He is unimpressed with the lack of information on Jason’s death, but he did find lots on his adoption to mister rich guy Brucie Wayne.

So it’s with almost no hesitation that after finding every single article and snippet he can on his brother and still find it lacking, he drives his motorcycle, that he built himself thank you, to Wayne Manor where he rang the buzzer repeatedly with a little too much force.

It takes him a while to finally bully his way through the gates, arguing with the butler and telling little white lies of ‘of course I don’t want to harm Mr. Wayne, I just need to ask him some questions’.

Sure he could have waited and got close to him through his new job or had some other cunning plan, but Danny has always been a straightforward kind of person and that didn’t change after his death. No, he prefers to get what he wants straight from the source.

That’s how he ends up pacing the length of the sitting room the British guy left him in with a deep glare and tense shoulders.

It was a nice place. Clean. Taken care of. Expensive. Jason lived here once upon a time. Too bad it didn’t last.

Mr. Wayne does show, surprisingly, and takes the time to assess him like a threat as he BS’s him with a ditzy expression.

Danny walks right up to him and sticks out his hand to shake because Jazz raised him with manners.

“Mr. Wayne,” he greets with a stiff nod.

Mr. Wayne hesitantly takes the offered hand.

“Uh, nice to meet you, I’m sorry, Alfred didn’t tell me your-“

As soon as the handshake is over Danny socks him with a right hook straight to the face. The force throws him back a few steps but he recovers quickly. Danny shakes out his hand.

“My name is Danny Fenton. Before that though my name was Danny Todd.” He sees Wayne’s eyes widen a bit in recognition. The next part didn’t really need to be said but he did it anyway. “My little brother was Jason and no I don’t have proof so you’ll just have to take my word for it. You are going to tell me exactly how he died and I’m not leaving here until you do.”

His words had fallen back into his Gotham Crime Alley accent with how emotional he was. He forgot how he even used to talk. How does that even happen?

He walks back to sit on the couch, getting comfortable because he has a feeling this guy will drag this out like pulling teeth.

“I’ll ask Alfred to get some refreshments,” Wayne says after several minutes of silence.

“You do that.”

[seungfl0wer]

*Daddy Jeongin*

Daddy Series:

Bangchan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

Contains Smut

-💜

•Protective.

•Very protective over you.

•I don’t think he’s a very confrontational person.

•However someone so much as looks at his baby the wrong way and suddenly he’s ready to go to jail.

•Likes to do the whole sharing location thing.

•Not in a controlling way, more so he knows if something happens he can help.

•Or especially when he knows you’re home he can send you stuff.

•Loves surprising you with little stuff like sending you lunch.

•Although he’s not a big touchy person I feel like with you he’s the complete opposite.

•You’re one of the only people that he craves touch from.

•Sitting on the couch? He wants you in his lap.

•Out on a date? He’s got his arm snug around you.

•Loves to match with you too.

•Has a whole arsenal of matching PJs, and Shirts.

•He also absolutely loves picking outfits out for you. Putting you in all sorts of cute things.

•Anytime you’re giving him attitude he’ll put his pretty hands under your chin.

•Making you hold eye contact telling you “Bring back my sweet baby”

•If you continue he’ll withhold cuddles from you.

•Or on the rare occasion that you’re being extra bad he’ll pull you away bringing those pretty finger back to your face.

•He’ll apply a little more pressure and give you his scolding voice telling you that you need to behave.

•Doesn’t like to do spankings as a punishment.

•He’s one that rather talk it out.

•He’s definitely the kind to push his fingers into your mouth to shut you up too.

•He’ll leave you little gifts too, he loves spoiling you so much.

•He definitely is the type to get you a necklace with a J as a way to say who you belong too.

ੈ♡˳Smut Below

•He’s a menace.

•Likes to toy with you a lot.

•Overstimulation, Orgasm denial or his favorite temperature play.

•Ties you down put an ice cube in his mouth and running it over your body.

•Enjoys the little whines that come from your mouth because it’s cold.

•He’s even tried a glass dildo he stuck in the freezer to see how you’d react.

•Daddy jeongin has this certain look he gives you.

•It’s a wild feral look that you know you’re in for it.

•Although he doesn’t like spanking as a punishment he’ll definitely use a sexual one.

•Like keeping you tied down having a vibe on low and just leaving you.

•Things he says a lot are

•“Maybe you’ll learn some manners hmm?”

•”See what happens when that pretty mouth turns bratty”

•“Daddy wants to play with what’s his”

•Aftercare is always filled with soothing breaths.

•He’ll bring you one of your most comfy PJs dressing you.

•He’ll reassure you a lot and ask if you’re alright.

•Soft I love yous as he’s kissing over little marks he’s left.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp @ldysmfrst @felixleftchickennugget @0omillo0 @jellymochii @stilltrynafuckingtumble @catlove83

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part thirteen

I don't even have anything to say besides good luck reading this one...and the next one...and the next... 🫣 Remember that I love you guys!

Warnings: ANGST!!!, panic attack, Richard Monroe being creepy and weird

“So,” Hotch checks his side mirrors before merging onto the interstate. “Strauss said she had already discussed this with you.”

You sigh, checking your watch. You’ve been on the road for barely twenty minutes. So much for the coffee being a peace offering.

“Yes,” you answer finally, rubbing your forehead. The caffeine did absolutely nothing for your headache. “When we had lunch before the last case.”

“Two weeks ago?”

“Yes,” you repeat, irritation rising already.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Sorry, is that a rhetorical question?”

If he wasn’t driving, Hotch would’ve glared at you. Hard.

You roll your eyes, continuing anyway. “Because a new case came in, so we had other priorities — and Strauss didn’t say it was a sure thing. It was only a maybe.”

“If she mentioned it, it was already a sure thing.”

“Well, pardon-fucking-me.”

Hotch says nothing. You say nothing.

Maybe the coffee did do something, because for some reason, you break the silence. And give him a genuine answer.

“I didn’t think you needed to know— Don’t make that face.”

“I’m not making a face.”

“Yes, you are,” you hiss. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. Because I knew you’d act like I didn’t tell you as a purposeful slight against you and for once, alright, that wasn’t my intention, I just—” You pause, voice quieting, “I didn’t want to think about it.”

Hotch stays quiet for a moment. “Are you nervous?”

“Yes, Hotch, I’m nervous about talking to a serial killer who seems obsessed with me and recognized me for some goddamn reason that I can’t place and it kept me awake last night — is that what you wanted me to say?”

The admission feels like you’ve cracked your chest open, baring your heart to him, goading him, daring him to make fun of you. You half expect him to, or you at least expect him to ask more prying questions, but he doesn’t.

He doesn’t do any of that, and it shocks you so bad that it takes a minute to register what he’s actually just said to you.

“You don’t have to do this. I won’t force you.”

It’s not said in a teasing manner, or even the least bit condescending. It’s soft, genuine.

You sigh, wishing you could take him up on his offer and ask him to turn the car around. “I do. I do have to. I want him to keep cooperating in the investigation because…I don’t know, maybe it’ll lead them closer to who kidnapped Lila.” You turn your head, looking out the window. “But yeah, I’m scared. He creeps me out.” 

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” Hotch says, still so genuine.

In any other circumstance, that would not have comforted you. You’re surprised that it comforts you right now. 

Part of you expected Hotch to force you to speak to Richard alone, just to watch you have another freak out, just so he can say he told you so. Admittedly, that doesn’t sound like something he’d do. Because as much as the two of you argue and get under each other’s skin, he isn’t a cruel person.

“Thank you,” you say, turning to look at him.

He glances at you for only a second, keeping his focus on the road. But he nods. “Of course.”

You let the silence hang for a bit, broken only by the soft sounds of The Beatles still playing on a low volume. Traffic is moving steadily; you’ll be at the prison in no time.

You contemplate telling Hotch the truth right now — ripping the band aid off, getting it over with before it can come out of Richard’s mouth. But then again, you don’t know if Richard will say the truth. He seemed to enjoy having one up on Hotch in the interrogation room, having a secret only the two of you knew, especially considering it was clear you weren’t going to disclose it.

You think of how Hotch has been the past few days. Reassuring you that you’re valuable to this team and deserve your place here. The peace offering of coffee that he somehow remembered correctly. The strange reassurance now, that he won’t force you to do this if you’re uncomfortable.

You think of what Rossi said that night at the hotel bar. How do you know that it’ll make Hotch look at you differently? You don’t know for sure.

But it’s all easier said than done. When it comes down to it, the words refuse to escape your throat, even as you’re finally giving them permission. It would be so simple to say it now, while you’re in the car, in private, and Hotch is behind the wheel so he’d be forced to control his emotions. You could say it right now.

You could.

But you don’t. You reach forward and turn the music up slightly, glancing in Hotch’s direction to see the tiniest of hints of a smile crawling up his lips.

That’s enough to make you stay quiet. You’d rather not ruin what little peace the two of you have found right now.

+++

You’re shaking like a leaf but doing your damnedest not to show it when Hotch parks at the prison. You unbuckle and go to open your door when Hotch places his hand on your arm, effectively bolting you in place. Slowly, your eyes drag over to his.

“The second you want to leave, you tell me,” he says, sincere and firm. “Okay?”

You nod, swallowing around the traitorous lump in your throat. “Yeah. Okay.”

He nods once to confirm, then removes his hand and steps out of the car, leaving you staring at the empty space. But you know if you don’t get out of the car in the next second, he’s going to make the executive decision that you can’t do this, and that’ll just piss you off. 

You can do this.

You force yourself out of the car, shutting the door mechanically. You reach into your pocket and find your badge, clipping it on the outside of your blazer. They’ll give you visitor badges when you head inside, but it’s easier to have this out. And somehow it makes you feel safer.

You follow Hotch to the entrance of the prison, going through the motions of checking in and locking your weapons away. You both knew you’d have to leave them at the door, but neither of you wanted to make the drive without them, just in case.

After finishing check in and sticking your visitor pass next to your FBI badge, you walk through the large steel doors. An officer waits just inside to guide you and Hotch to the block where Richard Monroe is already in a small room for you to speak with him.

“We didn’t think you’d come,” the officer says casually. “He’s been asking for you for weeks.”

You can practically hear Hotch’s scowl.

“Yeah, I know,” you reply, trying to sound just as nonchalant. “We had other pressing issues. He’s lucky I had a free afternoon.”

The officer chuckles, but says nothing else, weaving you and Hotch through other doors. You forgot how much prisons can feel like a labyrinth. You’re aware that that’s the point, but it does nothing to soothe your nerves.

You reach the final door standing between you and Richard Monroe, and it’s like your nerves skyrocket in one second, nausea threatening to buckle your knees.

Get yourself together, you scold internally. He can’t hurt you.

You mean for it to be reassuring, but your doubt creeps in. You don’t know for sure that he can’t hurt you. Physically, sure, he can’t, because he’s cuffed to a table that’s bolted to the floor and there are two officers standing guard directly behind him, and you have Hotch with you. But verbally? You have no idea what is about to come out of his mouth when he sees you.

“Ready?” the officer asks.

You nod, and Hotch does as well, only after seeing you do it.

The buzzer sounds out as the door unlocks, and the officer pushes it in, letting you and Hotch pass through.

“You came!” Richard’s voice echoes as soon as he spots you. “I told you she’d come!” he says, seemingly to the two officers standing behind him. He looks back at you, eager gaze hardening into a frown when Hotch appears behind you. “Oh. You brought him.”

Your mind finally kicks into gear, your countless hours of interrogation training flooding you as you offer a polite smile. “It’s nice to see you, Richard.”

His frown melts away just a fraction. “It’s nice to see you! I’d stand and properly greet you, but,” he holds up his hands, chains clanking when he reaches the end. “You know how it is.”

“That’s alright,” you say, pulling the chair out across from him and sitting down. “I heard you’ve been asking for me.”

“Took you long enough to answer,” he replies, only slightly bitter. His eyes flick toward Hotch who no doubt looms behind you. “Does he have to be here?”

You chuckle, threading your fingers together and resting them comfortably on the table. “Richard, you had to know there was no way I’d be allowed to speak to you alone, right?”

He practically pouts. “But why?”

You ignore him. “What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” you ask, checking your watch. “I don’t have long.”

Richard seems unphased  by this, but his eyes glance back at Hotch. “Can you at least make him sit? He’s making me nervous.”

His tone isn’t at all serious, but still you oblige, turning to look at Hotch and nod for him to sit next to you.

You know Hotch doesn’t smile that often, but the frown he’s sporting on his face right now looks deeper than any others. You knew already, obviously, that he doesn’t like Richard Monroe, but it’s starting to feel a lot more serious than what he’s letting on.

When Hotch sits next to you, he leans on his forearms on the table, staring Richard down.

On second thought, maybe you should have fought harder to speak to Richard alone if Hotch is going to act like he’s trying to set the man on fire with only his eyes.

“Richard,” you say, gaining his attention so he’ll stop looking at Hotch with his taunting gaze. “What is it you wanted to speak with me about?”

“How’s Lila?” he asks.

“She’s fine, as far as I know,” you reply. “I haven’t spoken with her.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” you shrug. You’re not going to bother explaining yourself to him. You know these aren’t the real questions he wants to ask. “Anything else?”

“How are you?”

Hotch tenses just a little, enough that only you would notice. Richard clearly doesn’t because he keeps his focus on you.

“I’m fine,” you say. “Thanks for asking. How are you?”

“Fine,” he shrugs, then goes quiet.

You sigh. “Alright, if that’s all, then we should be going, we have other—”

“Wait,” Richard nearly jumps forward, chains rattling. The officers behind him take half a step toward him, but you shake your head, telling them it’s fine.

“What?” you prompt. “As much as I love catching up with you, I can’t do this often. So ask what you need to because I can’t promise I’ll come here again.”

Richard glances at Hotch, then back at you. “Does he know?”

You hardly register what he might be getting at, so you parrot his question stupidly. “Does he know what?”

Richard smirks, eyes falling back on Hotch. “She hasn’t told you.” He pauses, smirk deepening the more he studies Hotch’s face. “Oh…but you do know,” he hisses, not unlike a snake. “But does she?”

Your eyebrows furrow, the panic starting to creep in. “Do I know what?” you ask, your voice firm. You turn to look at Hotch, finding him glaring at Richard, his jaw tense. “Hotch.”

He won’t look at you.

No. No.

“I think I know who kidnapped Lila, and why you haven’t found him yet,” Richard says, ever so casually, looking back at you, still grinning like the fucking cheshire cat. “And I think you know, too. Deep down. You just haven’t admitted to yourself yet.”

You don’t know what comes over you. The words fly out of your mouth before you can stop them. “My father is dead.”

“Oh, I know that,” Richard scoffs. “Not him, silly. Sorry for your loss, by the way. Well, for both losses.”

You feel Hotch’s gaze flick toward you for only a moment, but he doesn’t turn his head, keeping his glare leveled at Richard.

“Who, then?” you snap, barreling past all the emotions he’s dredging up, letting anger cover them all like a shield. “Give me a name, Richard, don’t fucking play with me.”

“Why not?” he starts to pout again. “It’s oh-so fun.”

“A name,” Hotch repeats, much harsher than you. “Now.”

“I don’t know his name,” Richard says, and you don’t believe him for a second. “Just that he was close with your dad. A little too close, I think, but,” he pauses with a dramatic sigh, lifting his fingers as much as he can to wave, “what do I know, right?”

“Anything else you’d like to spill?” you fume. “I’m not coming here again.”

“I’m surprised you came in the first place,” Richard taunts. “Though I’m not surprised you brought him. Bit of a guard dog, isn’t he?”

You clench your jaw so hard you’re worried you’re going to crack your molars. “That’s enough.” You push your chair back and stand to your feet, forcing your knees not to shake. “Thanks for wasting my time.”

“Always a pleasure,” Richard grins. “And please, shoot him when you find him?” he asks, bitterness curling his tongue. “The bastard was supposed to leave my daughter out of it.”

You have no fucking clue what that means, but you’re damn sure not sticking around to ask. 

You don’t even look behind you to see if Hotch is following you, but you know he is. You know his footsteps, especially when he’s irritated and walking briskly.

You stomp your way through all of the doors, saying nothing to the officer as he guides you back to the exit. 

You check out at the front, signing your name and collecting your belongings, securing your gun back on your hip. You rip the visitor badge off and hand it back to the officer at the front door.

You’re outside in the fresh air before you start breathing normally — if your deep, heaving breaths can be considered normal. You’re pacing in circles outside the car when Hotch finally catches up with you.

You brace yourself for some snide remark. For some prying questions. 

You brace yourself so hard for these things that you flinch when instead Hotch asks, “Are you okay?”

“Don’t fucking ask me that right now,” you snap, halting your steps just to glare at him. “How much do you know?”

“Get in the car.”

“No,” you say through gritted teeth. “Answer me.”

“Y/N.”

“Aaron.”

It’s the first time you’ve used his first name, and it causes him to physically take a step away from you. 

Somehow that’s as damning as when he wouldn’t look at you inside the prison with Richard.

“Unbelievable,” your voice is hoarse, breaking and tripping over every syllable. “I can’t— Oh my god, you—” You shake your head. “You’ve known—”

Alarm flashes over Hotch’s face. “Y/N…” he says, slowly stepping toward you like you’re a wounded animal that might flee. “You need to breathe.”

“Don’t,” you swat at the air, thinking he’s closer than he is. “Don’t.”

Hotch opens the passenger door, trying to herd you toward it. It doesn’t take much effort, your instincts acting on their own and forcing you toward a place where you can sit. It’s either the concrete of the parking lot, or the comfort of the car seat. You opt for the car.

He keeps his distance, standing at the edge of the door as he watches you sit and try to control your breathing again. You suck in gasps of air before you stop breathing entirely, and just when he thinks you’re going to faint, you exhale. 

It goes on, and on, and on, for what feels like hours. He stands there, helpless, knowing if he moves closer it’ll only make it worse. He will only make it worse.

Eventually, you gain control again and you turn, facing forward in the car, your knees pulled up to your chest. Hotch takes the opportunity to shut the door.

When he gets in the driver’s seat, you’ve let your knees down and buckled yourself in, and wrapped your arms around your middle.

He wants to hold you instead. He wants to make it better. He wants to fix this. He knows where he went wrong, but it was tearing him up inside, not knowing what was going on with you, and it’s tearing him up now, seeing you like this. Knowing now that you’ve been feeling this way this whole time, and you haven’t let anyone in. Haven’t let anyone help.

He wants to help. He wants you to want him to help. He wants you to let him in.

But you won’t. And he’s ruined all chances of that, and he has no one to blame except himself for the fury you’re about to rain down on him.

If you ever start talking.

You’re completely silent, and somehow that haunts him even worse than anything you could say or have said to him in the past. This silent rage where you stare straight ahead, not moving — he has to check to see if you’re even breathing — it’s terrifying. 

It’s like you’re not even in the car with him.

[strwberri-milk]

Hi! I know mc forgot all their memories from other lives and all, but how would they react if the reader got into an accident and had amnesia ? Thank you

*intense flashbacks to rick grayson* anyway i did this w the assumption that zayne is the only one unaware that this isnt the first time you lost your memories bc i think. he also lost his memories so yall are in the same boat lmaoo

He is absolutely devastated. He blames himself for your injury, feeling that he should have been there to protect you. He should have taken your injury, done something besides just happen to be there when you finally woke up in the hospital bed. He hates how tired you look, the way you glance at him as though he were nothing more than a stranger. That look haunts him, and he finds himself stuck in place as the doctor gently pulls him aside and tells him it seems you're suffering from amnesia. The doctor reassures him that it's most likely temporary but they're going to keep you in the hospital for monitoring.

The others all need a moment to process the news. He's upset, sure, but he also hates that sense of familiarity that settles in his chest at the news. It's not to say he isn't surprised, just that unfortunately, a part of him knows how to receive this piece of information.

He's going to be at your side no matter what, this dull ache in his chest only slightly abated at the doctor's promise that this is temporary. Sylus and Xavier take the news better than Rafayel, keeping conversation light and easy with you. You can see the pain in their eyes at not remembering him but he won't say anything to you about it. You wish that you could remember him now but you also know that rushing things won't do any good. Instead, you decide to ask him questions about your life together, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as you realise even if your brain doesn't remember him, your body seems to feel comfort in his presence.

Zayne wishes for a moment he didn't spend so much time focusing on cardiology. Maybe, if he swapped to neuroscience he would have an answer right now, or if he focused more on becoming a general physician he'd know more. He hates the not knowing, understanding on a technical level what the doctor is telling him but none of it fully processes, not until he's at home without you because they thought it might stress you out too much to come home to a strange place.

He comes to visit you every day, not insisting on your time but comforting enough that you don't really mind. You're also glad to know he's also a doctor, feeling safe that if something were to happen to you he'd be able to help until your primary doctor appears. You find it hard to believe that this incredibly handsome and talented surgeon is your lover but he shows you some photos that prove the fact.

He's very patient, only able to be so because the doctors have agreed to show him the scans of your brain to calm his nerves. He's sure that even if your symptoms continue to persist he'd be able to keep you in his life, whether that be as his lover or just as a friend. Simply being able to be with you is all he ever wants, whatever that means.

Rafayel is pissed beyond belief. You don't recognise the man standing in front of you but you can tell by the quirk of his brow and the way his fingers tap against his thigh that he is not happy. Despite his turmoil, it only takes him about a second before he sighs tiredly, kneeling at the side of your bed and asking if you seriously don't remember him. The slight shake of your head is enough for him to understand the gravity of your injury, making his heart break.

This time he feels like he has more control over it, thankfully. He decides that despite your amnesia he'll do his best to make a stronger impression on you this time. He's not overbearing but he is consistent, keeping you company in a friendly manner. He doesn't want to scare you off by being too attention hungry but he also misses your touch, trying his best to keep his hands to himself as he tells you about what the two of you did last week.

[crusty-chronicles]

Hiei Courting Headcannons

In honor of the Live Action series (Even though I don't Have High Hopes For It)

Now, we all know Hiei is a very stubborn demon. Especially when it comes to his feelings. When he realized he liked you and didn't just tolerate your presence, he fought hard to deny it.

So what if he spent most of his time with you? Who cares that the first place he goes to after coming back from the demon world is your house? It didn't matter that his eyes seemed to soften whenever you were around.

No not one bit.

But the second Kurama threatened to court you himself, well Hiei couldn't just sit down and let that happen. Didn't that fox understand he shouldn't touch what wasn't his.

1. Showing off to see if you're interested

Hiei may be a demon, but he has some semblance of manners. His pride wouldn't allow him to claim you until you accepted his advances. Any creature who dared force themselves onto another was the lowest of the lowest.

So, his first step is showing off during fights.

Letting the enemy bloody him up more to show that injury didn't affect him.

Using more spirit energy than was needed to end another demon with just one blow

Stopping you from fighting because he'll "take care of it. You humans are too fragile."

He'll also use his Jagan more frequently.

You lost something?

Well look no further, he can track it down precisely and easily.

Praise him even once or say in passing he's really strong, and he'll take that as you being interested.

Even if you're just trying to be nice.

2. Wearing Richer Colors

I firmly believe Hiei courts more like a crow than the usual beast. He's sleek like one anyways.

Now if you didn't know, most birds attract mates with their bright feathers.

In Hiei's case, he'll start to wear dark, yet rich colors to get your attention.

Strength is one thing. Any low-class demon can demonstrate strength and be happy about it.

What Hiei is looking for is to see if you're attracted to him. If you find him visually appealing.

Though he's not a vain creature, he still yearns for the confirmation that him and him alone captivates you.

He'll start with darker blues. Maybe change up his cloak a little.

And when that doesn't work, he moves onto purples. Getting teased by Kurama for 'changing up his style.' But he stays determined.

Eventually moving onto a burgundy. And the way you were immediately drawn to him then made it worth it.

Relishing in your compliments on how 'the color really suits him' and 'it matches his eyes perfectly.'

Letting you grab at the fabric and inspect it until he asks why you like it so much.

"Well I always thought your eyes were pretty. It's nice to see something that reminds me of them."

He's a prideful smug bastard after that. Not even comments from Yusuke can tick him off that day.

3. Bringing You Shiny Objects

Once again, he courts like a crow.

Now that you've shown interest in him, it's time to properly start showing his affections.

Hiei isn't one for flirting or compliments. He's more prone to showing rather than telling. And in this case the way to do that is to bring you little trinkets that catch his eye.

Usually, it'll be small gems he stumbles across in demon world.

Rubies, diamonds, and emeralds. All things he knows where to find thanks to his prior occupation as a thief.

He's not trying to buy your affection. He knows you're not that vain judging by the pushback you always give when he presents you with a jewel.

No, rather he's trying to show that he can provide for you. That you'd never have to worry about scrounging around to survive as long as he was with you.

A protector and a provider.

He also notices how you treasure the less valuable items with as much fondness and care as the others.

He had asked you why you slept with a chunk of pyrite on your bedside one time. And your response let him know he wouldn't give up on pursuing you anytime soon.

"Because it was one of the first things you gave me. Don't you remember? You said something along the lines of fool's gold for a fool's heart. I think it's sweet you even got me something at all."

You didn't care about what he brought you. All that mattered was that it came from him.

If that didn't mean you accepted his advances, then he didn't know what would.

4. Scenting

Ah, yes. Back to the classics

Once you've accepted the gifts he's continuously given you, Hiei takes it as you liking him back.

He's aware human and demon courting processes are very different from one another.

But he's exactly not human, is he?

When it comes to demons, once you've accepted their advances, your mates.

In a sense, it's like dating. Only except a dissatisfied partner will kill the other in most cases.

With this in mind, Hiei happily accepts the fact you're his and immediately moves onto the final stage of courting.

Scenting you so that other demons know to back off.

Think of it as your last out if you realize what's happening and actually don't have feelings for him.

The scenting process will start with Hiei showing up to your place of residence and staying with you.

Not yet following you around, but making sure to spend time in each room.

If he has to leave somewhere, he'll leave either an article of clothing or his sword.

It confuses you at first and you think maybe he just trusts you.

But you start to think otherwise when he starts getting touchy.

Laying in your lap and ordering you to stay still, only to find out he's fallen asleep on you.

Or letting his face rest against the crook of your neck. Which you didn't mind all that much.

It was quite funny to see someone as tough as Hiei become completely docile around you.

You weren't too worried until he followed you out when you went to buy groceries.

"You don't like being around people. Don't you wanna stay home until I get back?" You asked him.

"I've already shown you that you're a very fragile creature compared to me. It's best I accompany you so you don't hurt yourself."

Usually you would have argued back, but it was clear something was off with him.

These past few months had been strange with him either trying to get your attention or trying to stay directly next to you.

You wouldn't figure out what it was until your other three friends showed up.

Kuwabara wanting to have a movie night and you offering your home to do it.

When the three of them arrived, you noticed Kurama and Yusuke hesitate by the entrance.

"Something wrong?" You questioned.

" I can't put my finger on it, but something's telling me I shouldn't go in." Yusuke responded.

Unawares it was Hiei's scent warding him off.

But Kurama knew. He'd known since you opened the door.

It seems Hiei had staked his claim on you.

Yet judging by your calm demeanor, you didn't know that yet.

"Have you noticed Hiei acting strange lately?" Kurama asked.

"Yes! I thought I was the only one. He's been really clingy. I mean at first it was odd he kept bringing me stuff like gems, but then he started following me around like a house cat. It's endearing, but honestly what's going on with him?" You ranted. Prompting a laugh from the redhead.

"I see. Good luck on your new relationship."

Before you could question him about what he meant, a gentle grip around your waist stopped you.

"What're you doing inviting these fools to our home. You know how long it took me to get rid of their scent the first time? It's like you want me to start the whole courting process all over again."

Courting?

Oh.

Oh.

You couldn't say you minded now that you knew what was actually going on.

[hanihazeljade]

Forced Playdate

Timothy is good at keeping good boy image in his appearances in public vicinity but somehow this girl that he was forced to get along with, frustrates every single neuron he has and things go awry.

Part 3 of Disgustingly Green , Skill Issue

(CW: mean, mean, mean Timothy)

Timothy was called one day and he was forced to be nice with this girl, her named is probably Maya or Gia? He didn't remember, she was named in his head as a rambunctious brat.

Well apparently, the brat's father and the weird man that throw him are friends, probably the father is also a weird and idiot person, because birds and their feathers.

Lunch with the kid is a disaster. She use her hands to eat her food like a baby and the food sometimes fly around his plate, making his appetite finally left him. Thank goodness he was not put in a high chair or else he will just drop himself and hope he will die.

If such a kid don't have manners, and the father's friend don't have manners, then by analytical and statistical basis, the father is also a rambunctious brat that doesn't have any manners, and Timothy will do his best to avoid those people.

But of course, the Waynes are twats that doesn't make his life any easier.

Tim doesn't know why he was being forced to be buddy buddy with this uncivilised monkey. At first he can tolerate it as maybe she is just really got a lenient parent, a single father even, but as time goes by Timothy starts to get irritated by passing second.

The little girl, Sophia(?), he still can't remember and he rather stays that way, kept asking him so many questions and kept telling him that they should play. Rolling his eyes internally, he rather jump to Gotham Bay instead of playing with this monkey.

"Didn't your parents taught you manners?" Timothy suddenly asked, losing his cool altogether. The girl just tilt her head. She is already six and yet can't articulate her words better, His mother wouldn't be proud if he was this late bloomer.

"Manners?" she finally replied, titled her head in a manner that some people will say it's adorable, still kind of dumb answer but at least she kinda shut up for now.

"You are a lady, you need to act like one. Not an uncivilised homosapiens." Tim rolled his eyes. The little girl definitely didn't understand what he said, but her father did and boy, was he pissed.

"She's six!" Roy growled, obviously not fancying the idea his daughter is not allowed to be a little kid and be a stuck up spoiled little brat.

Tim just scoffed, like how her mother would whenever his father said something dumb, "And when I'm six, I know how to behave like a decent human being, not some animal who acts on it's instinct." Timothy said as he glared sharply to Roy. The kid was cute but those eyes are not. Roy never thought that he can see the Tim's eyes like that. It was always light and some life in them but now, Tim is like those pretentious rich people he met during Ollie's parties.

"You spoil her too much, but what should I expect to someone who befriend a failure like that man." Timothy rolled his eyes, "You people disgust me."

Tim sighed, he didn't give anyone a chance to speak as he announced, "I will be in my room. I am exhausted dealing with people like you." Timothy said with disgust as he left in silence.

[eustasskidagenda]

omg hi hi! i adore your writing so much :3! if its alright with you, could i get headcanons for how crocodile, law, kid, and ace would be with an autistic s/o who loves to infodump, but is nervous to do so. theres always this odd bit of shame that accompanies infodumping for me because i get so excited i cant properly articulate myself *lays down* its just a mess of stimming, stuttering, and laughing at my own jokes. i feel embarrassed after, even if its totally an illogical response. im unsure if you write for autistic y/n so feel free to ignore this if you dont. thank you so much <33

☆Crocodile, Law, Kid & Ace with an autistic s/o who loves to info dump 

Hello, dear anon! I'm not used to write autistic y/n, because I don't know enough about this and I wouldn't like to be harmful. However, the situation you're describing is something close to ADHD, which I know well. So I've made some additional researches to be sure and come up with something, I hope you will like it. Thank you for your request, it was a sweet one ♡

CW : g/n reader, slight curses for Kid, fluff 

WC : Around 1,500 words

Crocodile 

Crocodile doesn't talk much, he's always serious and quiet. It's just that he's often thinking about his business and plans. But he's a good observer and would immediately notice if you want to say something but are too nervous to do it. He knows you perfectly, so he would recognize the way you're fidgeting.

He's a man with good manners, so his first reflex would be to lock the door and make sure no one can enter and destabilize you. When it's done, he will point his chair towards you.

"Sit. I'm listening, y/n." 

Actually, he likes hearing you speak during hours. He knows it's a way to express your love and feelings. He's flattered that you want to share your world with him. Go ahead and speak, he will listen. Even if he's just nodding or commenting short sentences in response, he has a good memory and will remember everything you said to him. 

If you're talking too fast and start to get really flustered, he will let you know that you're speaking too fast, like 'y/n, what did you just say?' 

Your hyper-focus and info-dumping are appreciated by Crocodile because he enjoys learning new things and you're a source of knowledge. Maybe he's impassive and struggles to express his feelings, but sometimes you will hear him talk about what he learned with you, so clearly he listened to every single word. 

"Don't be ashamed, it was interesting. Can we talk more about this specific point?" 

If you say something that he is really curious about, he has no shame asking for more. It's a way for him to express his genuine care for you. For him, it's a way to prove to you that even though he's always quiet, he cares.

Law

Law is similar to Crocodile in his lack of emotional expression and limited speech. He is always busy, struggling with his parasitic thoughts and taking care of his patients. Finding some private time with you is a challenge for him. 

If you run into Law with excitement about your passion or new hyper-focus, he may feel embarrassed because it's not the perfect time for him. Autism is something he knows about, and he is an intelligent and educated man. And, he wants to make you feel safe and comfortable. 

"I'll be yours in a moment, y/n-ya."

He has a complete understanding of you and is an excellent observer. The way you're already blushing, fidgeting, and swallowing nervously. He can even hear your heart racing. So first thing first, he will tell you to take a deep breath. After all, he’s a doctor. 

"What do you wanna talk about?" 

As Crocodile, he's a great listener. When you're full of passion and excitement, he thinks you're cute. He likes the sound of your voice. He loves when you want to find him and talk about your passion, because you're offering him a break from his work. If you weren't there, he would be stuck either in work or in his own head. When he's with you, he can forget about his dream of avenging. You're his safe place, truly. 

He doesn't speak a lot. But he is listening.M and asks questions from time to time.

"Yn-ya, there's been no urge. Take your time." And if you're stuttering a lot, he would just say nothing because it's pointless to make a remark, as long as he can understand what you're saying, he will never say something about your elocution. 

"That's interesting, where did you learn that much?" 

Law is a curious and intelligent man, so he likes to learn more about almost everything. If it can help him with his plans or maybe his patients, it might even be beneficial for him.

During your bedtime together, he would ask you to talk about your passions. The way you talk and laugh is like his own lullaby. When you speak, he can find inner peace because it shuts down all the voices in his head. He might fall asleep sometimes when he feels tired. It's just that you're providing him with some relief. When he wakes up, he would be deeply sorry. "So, yesterday, you stopped at this precise point… what were you trying to say after?"

Kid 

Kid is so goddamn loud. And really passionate. He's focused on his goal of becoming the next PK and has loved mechanics and robotics since childhood. He would be aggressively sweet, like frowning when he notices how stressed and nervous you act towards him. "Hey, Y/N, why are you so fucking nervous? Just speak" 

He thinks you're cute with your cheeks all red. On the flip side, he's a bit confused. Why are you nervous? Is it his fault? He knows he's loud, hard to love and rough, but he cares about people he likes. Have you seen how he acts with Killer and his crew? He loves his people. 

And, as a punk, Kid is marginalized. He knows a lot about being different, and if you feel ashamed about it, he can understand. "Come on y/n, let's find a private place" 

Grab your wrist in an aggressive yet sweet way and lead you to his workshop or bedroom. He sits you on the bed with his arms crossed and eyebrows raised. "Now we're alone." 

So, you start talking nervously. It doesn't matter if the topic is interesting to him or not, he will listen. Because as I said, Kid is a passionate. Everything can be made interesting by passionate people. So, yeah, talk about birds, cakes, plushies, or anything stuck in your head. He will like it. And he enjoys the sound of your voice. He’s even flattered to be your special someone, the one you’re looking for when you need to talk. It fuels his ego and pride.

He will deal with your stuttering as he deals with Killer's laugh. He'll shut up and smash all the people making fun of you if there's something you hate about yourself. You're his s/o, no one can laugh at you and continue to live without facing his rage.

"Goddamn, slow down" yes, not the best with kindness, but at least he's paying attention. 

He wouldn't help but think you're really cute, with your eyes shining as you finally manage to relax and express how passionate you are. He understands your excitement because when he talks about robots, music, punk or weapons, he's exactly the same. 

Kid is not the most culturally advanced, it depends on the topic. He enjoys learning new things thanks to you or Killer, it's important for him to be credible, and he hates looking inferior in front of others. 

"See, there was no reason to be that nervous" When you finished speaking.

Just poke your cheek, grin and leave a mark of lipstick on your front-head before returning to his activities and yelling proudly to everyone he knows everything about the subject you just info-dump about.

Ace

The sweetest. Ace's personality is both compassionate and protective. He grew up with Luffy, so passionate and talkative people are something he knows a lot about. As he's proud of his brother, he's proud of you and can listen to everything you say for hours. 

"Y/N, is there something wrong?" 

Yeah, he would immediately notice that you're starting to get nervous. His first reflex is to find a more private place, if that's not already the case. He wants to do everything to make you feel safe and loved. If it's winter or just cold, he would even use his DF to warm the room. As soon as you're all comfortable, he'll run his fingers through your hair. "You know I will always listen." 

Ace doesn't speak a lot about what's on his mind. He's way too stubborn and always struggles with guilt due to the blood running through his veins. So he enjoys having someone like you. Your voice is soothing him, and he loves how passionate and honest you are always. 

For him, it's even amazing and unreal to have someone talk to him. You're treating him like a normal human and not a failure, because he feels like it often: unloved, unwanted and unworthy.

"Sweetie, you don't have to rush, we have the time, I'll always listen" if you start to speak too fast.

Would entwine his fingers with yours when you're stuttering and laugh heartily at your jokes. You remind him of his dear little brother. He feels lucky to have you by his side. 

"I could listen for hours." And he's totally honest.

If someone makes fun of you, he's truly mad. You are as significant to him as his brother or Whitebeard. And if someone makes fun of his loved-one, Ace is merciless and really impulsive.

"Please, say more about this specific point!", "Oh, really, that's so funny?" He wants to make you talk even more. Until you're finally relaxed and able to speak without stuttering, blushing, or anything else. He doesn't mind it, even if it lasts for hours. Once you're done, he has his usual sweet smile on his face. "That was so interesting, why are you so embarrassed?" 

So you explain to him that you feel embarrassed about your info dump because you're afraid to annoy people or talk too fast etc." It's alright, you won't bother me." 

You're his sunshine. He feels loved with you. He feels more than just the son of someone; he's just Ace, and that's the most beautiful thing in the world for him.

Such a sweet boy. ♡

[jcollinswrites]

I just can't stop smiling at Narmer's manner. When he was extremely direct about whether we were interested in him or not, my poor male MC was about to throw himself in the water XD

I just love the fact that Narmer is straightforward about things, it makes my shy MC's life so much easier. Sure, he turns red like a tomato but it makes it easier to avoid paranoia.

I've lost count of how many times I've been frustrated with a RO because he just wasn't direct about his feelings. Like, man, it's not that hard. Just tell me if you're interested or not. Luckily with Narmer I don't run that risk

And I also don't intend to judge his relationship with his wife or anything like that. I just don't like to judge a person based only on part of a conversation I heard and I don't even know the whole context. So suffering on my route? I'll be dodging as much as I can Imao.

Also, from what I understand, he is not officially married to his supposed wife, or is he? Considering that apparently no one knows about this woman except those closest to him or maybe Ahmose if he talks about his mother. I confess that I was a little confused in this part but it's probably because English isn't my first language and sometimes my mind just freezes haha. So I didn't understand if he wasn't officially married or the MC simply didn't know this information.

If that were the case, would we be able to marry him or would we be something like a concubine or something?

If he wasn't, and it was possible to marry him, what would your reaction be if the MC left a ring in your room surrounded by flowers with a little card:

Will you marry me?

( ) Absolutely

( ) Of course

( ) Yes

( ) No (Optional)

While hiding behind the door watching your reaction?

⁄⁠(⁠⁄⁠ ⁠⁄⁠•⁠⁄⁠-⁠⁄⁠•⁠⁄⁠ ⁠⁄⁠)⁠⁄

Anyway, I love your IF please never stop with it 🥹💕 I've never smiled as much with a character as I am smiling right now! I can't wait for the next update. As far as I remember, this is the one where we blocked the route, right? Please Narmer, give me more kisses on the forehead and your hand in marriage 🥹🫴

(I got a little carried away and it got bigger than it should have, sorry XD)

Yes, Narmer wanted to be very straightforward in letting the MC know that he is not uninterested, but it's going to be hard to be in any sort of relationship with him for many reasons. So he (and the partner) are either all in, or no deal.

The wife business was probably confusing because I didn't write in detail yet about the king's marriage rights. This will be explained a bit more in Narmer's route, so things will get clearer later if you choose his romance.

The king is the only person in the country who can have more than one spouse. Narmer is officially married to Nefru, but being married to the king doesn't automatically make someone a queen consort. The king has to give out that title. So Nefru is a consort, but she is not the main consort, and was not given any title, nor does he go anywhere with her in public, so that's why most people don't know about her. Simply for being married to the king, her official rank is princess.

Narmer could technically marry anyone else he wishes without getting a divorce. He can also make anyone else his queen consort. It's his right. (for a male MC, Narmer will figure out another title)

It will be possible to marry him, if you manage to reach at least a neutral ending with him. In the scenario you mentioned, Narmer would smile and say, "Let's not get the word out that you were the one who asked me and not the other way around, but... yes, I've been thinking about it too."

Thanks for the sweet message 🥰 The romance lock-in choice will come in the next public update (probably in a few weeks I think), so not long to wait now :)))

[sectumsempraaa]

Cheat Sheet

Pairing: Draco x fem/Slytherin reader

Summary: You and Draco have always been especially good friends to each other, and this time is no different. But when you step in to save him in potions class, you both start to realize that maybe, it is.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: None, mostly fluff, some cursing and kissing

Behold, my second fic! Let me know if y'all want a part 2 for this one or my first fic, And Now I Do. Thanks for being so sweet and supportive, y'all are the best :)

If you watch HOTD, you'll enjoy a quote I pulled from a recent monologue 🐉

“Sssshh, ssshh, it’s okay.” You say calmly to the first year Slytherin crying in your arms. “I get homesick, too. But soon you will make great friends here who will feel like family. I promise.” The young boy pulls back, eyes puffy and cheeks stained with tears, which bled onto your shirt, but you don’t mind. You’ve been an older sister all your life, anyways. 

Draco had been made a Prefect this year and advanced his position on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Tonight, their captain has them practicing until nearly midnight. A bit excessive to you, but the Championship tournament against Ravenclaw is coming up and they’re hungry for victory. 

Because he’s always been able to rely on you, and your generally brilliant standing in your year, he’s asked you to take over his Prefect responsibilities for the night. This really only means keeping an eye out for students after curfew and tending to any notable incidents. You like to poke fun at Draco sometimes, calling him “the Slytherin-sitter.” This job couldn’t be easier for you.

“Can you walk me back to my dorm?” he asks through gasping sobs. You feel for the kid, remembering back to when you first started at Hogwarts and were nearly shaking on the train ride over. As if that wasn’t enough, you got sorted into the world’s most hated house. But eventually, you found your group when you beat the infamous Harry Potter in a wand duel in second year in front of your Defense Against the Dark Arts class. You remember turning back to your house and seeing your four new favorite smirks: Draco, Pansy, Theo, and Blaise.

You wonder how Draco would have handled this boy’s breakdown. What is Draco like around kids? It’s hard for you to imagine Draco being sensitive to a first year’s emotional needs. Your only frame of reference is when you ended up in the hospital wing in third year when you and Pansy thought it would be fun to try a fire spell on the Whomping Willow. Needless to say, it backfired… badly. But you remember Draco’s bedside manner when he visited you in the infirmary. You remember him being impossibly gentle when helping you stand up, laughing to tears with you when you told him what happened, and sneaking you some of your favorite desserts from the Great Hall. Ultimately, you’ve always been there for each other.

After you drop the student off at his dorm, you scribble some notes on the incident to have on record and spend a few minutes reading on your favorite couch in the common room. Around 1AM the door opens and Draco steps through, absolutely covered in sweat, cheeks blotchy and hair soaking wet. You jump off the couch and meet him halfway through the room, grabbing his broomstick for him and leaning it up against a table. Despite still catching his breath, he manages to speak, placing a hand on your shoulder first. For balance or for affection, you couldn’t tell.

“Thank you so much for covering tonight. Anyone give you trouble?” He asks you with genuine concern.

“Let’s not worry about my completely uneventful night and instead get you out of this uniform.”

He smirks and you drop your head, immediately regretting your statement.

“Now now darling, I know you’re eager, but I’ve worked out well enough for tonight.” He replies to you with a cocky tone, winking at you just before you scoff and hit his shoulder. You turn to walk back to your dorm, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you back towards him. His demeanor shifts, eyes like ice looking down to meet yours.

“Really, thank you. I have a lot on my plate right now and you’re the only one in our band of idiots I can rely on.” He says, and you swear you can see a soft smile forming while he talks. His delicate grip on your arm and the sincereness in his voice are all you can focus on. You notice how the chill of his ring against your skin contrasts with the heat radiating off him. There it is again, that compassionate side peeking out from behind his hardened exterior; temporarily abandoning the Slytherin king for Prince Charming. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” You’re fully aware you’re batting your eyelashes up at him, but you can’t help it. You feel special seeing this part of him he normally hides from others.

“Consider yourself the least idiotic of us.” He says, and you feel his thumb graze over your wrist. You think to yourself, we’ve never stood this close before. The two of you laugh and drink in this moment for another few seconds. When you both turn towards the dorms, you relay the incident with the crying boy and just like that, the classic Malfoy everyone knows shifts back, his exhaustion making it hard to keep up the act.

“Better you than me. Can’t stand it when they cry. Insolent pups.” He scowls. You roll your eyes and sigh as you lean on the threshold of your dorm room.

“Such a mother hen.” Your voice drips with sarcasm. You know he likes it when you challenge him. Not many people would. 

“You know, now that I think about it, I can recall you crying on multiple occasions in first year, not excluding the time you lost that fight against-” He cuts you off, swiftly closing the door to his room. But that doesn’t suppress the sound of the laugh he lets out on the other side.

You smile, shaking your head and mumbling to yourself.

“Insolent pup.”

—

The next day, you’re in Potions class and it is glaringly apparent from the moment you sit down that Snape is in a terrible mood. Typical. You’re used to this but it doesn’t make life any easier. An angry Snape is usually accompanied by some random and unnecessary punishment.

He remains silent for a minute while staring down the class, scanning the room with eyes like daggers. Draco stumbles in the door, noticeably disoriented. You practically feel the relief emanating from him when he sees the empty seat next to you. He drops into the seat like dead weight, rubbing his bloodshot eyes that are wrapped in gray circles.

“Hey, you okay?” You whisper to him, not daring to stand out amongst the quiet class. When he doesn’t respond, or even so much as look at you, you reach to place a hand on his back.

“Draco.” He lazily turns his head towards you, finally getting his attention.

“What can I do?” You ask. Your heart sinks a little looking at your friend who is physically drained beyond repair. Moving your hand in circles on his back, you reach over to take his robe off for him, laying it on top of yours on the bench in between you. He doesn’t utter a word but you know he barely slept last night, if at all. With quidditch practice going so late and his attempt to catch up on homework until the sun reappeared, he was doomed today.

You look past Draco towards Theo, sitting at the table diagonal to yours. You watch as he shakes his head slowly, as if to warn you. Just as your gaze trails back to Draco, Snape’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife.

“I would like to assume you all completed the assigned chapter twelve reading this week.” He grimaces. No one is brave enough to speak up, not even Hermione Granger.

“But that would be foolish. However, I will know whether you read the material or not when I ask each pair to come up here and create a Sleeping Draught potion.” He drags on.

“...successfully.”

The class releases a collective chorus of groans and gasps, some frantically looking around for help, others using every ounce of concentration to remember the ingredients from the chapter. Your studious nature and vivid memory serve you well as you start to mentally list the instructions. Recalling Snape’s demand in your head, you repeat the words out loud.

“Each pair.” You whisper. Without giving any thought to it, you instinctively grab Draco’s hand and dip your quill in ink, lowering it to his palm that you’ve rested on your thigh. You don’t have time to notice the layer of visible panic etched on his face.

“Sorry if this hurts, hun.” You say while looking down at his hand, keeping your touch light as a feather. You’re too concentrated to acknowledge the nickname you used, but he notes it with a subtle glance.

Biting your lip, you try to make the instructions as legible as possible on his skin. Meanwhile, Draco doesn’t ask a single question, just completely submitting to you taking control. His eyes scan over your face in awe, eyelids hanging heavy, as he mentally catches up to the present moment. Here you are, saving his ass once again.

“How come?” His whisper takes you by surprise considering his defeated state.

“How come what?”

“It’s always you. How come it’s always you?” His voice is rough from fatigue, but not enough to hide the sliver of his sweeter, softer side that seems to be creeping back out of its cage again.

“Malfoy and Y/L/N, such exemplary Slytherins.” Snape remarks. ”You will go first.”

Swallowing the tension in your throat, you nod reassuringly to Draco before lifting you both to your feet, cautiously walking up to the front of the class. When you reach the table, you take in the sight of dozens of ingredients before you. The six you need stand out to you immediately, but you aren’t so sure about your partner. Truthfully, your end goal was to make it through this excruciatingly public test without him collapsing. It will be a miracle if he even remembers the answers are literally written on him.

You choose a few ingredients and nudge an elbow to Draco’s side, urging him to participate. He remains still, only turning his head towards you. You see a weakness in his eyes that breaks your heart, that makes you want to hold him in your arms, but you snap yourself back to reality. You know you have to do something. Before he can give up, you open your mouth and let the words fall out with confidence. Your voice slices through the stillness of the room, creating a sea of surprised looks. But you keep your piercing eyes directly on his.

“Lucky for you, Severus, we know this one like the back of our hand.” Your smug tone earned a hushed grumble of laughter from the class. Draco’s eyes widen with pride and realization, darting back down to his hand, gracefully hiding the cheat-sheet you inscribed on it. Your heart swells as he correctly reaches for the lavender, wormwood, and valerian sprigs.

From there, you take turns adding and mixing the components. The two of you find a rhythm and work seemingly in sync with each other. Skillfully glancing down to your discreet notes, he returns your elbow nudge from earlier while smiling down at the finished product as if to say, “Look, we did it.”

You turn to your professor and are instantly met with a cold, stoic death stare. Your heart jumps.

“10 points for the potion, 5 taken for addressing me by my first name, which you will never… utter… again… Miss Y/L/N.” He sneers.

You both nod and make your way back to your desk, taking a deep breath and finally relaxing. As the next pair hesitantly rise from their seats, you turn to each other in your seats and nearly burst out laughing immediately upon making eye contact, the both of you covering your mouths like little kids. Trying to suppress his outburst, he grasps your hand, intertwining your fingers. You’re both squeezing with enough pressure that some of the ink on his palm imprints onto yours.

Finding some energy, Draco pulls your hand towards him and reaches for his quill. He starts to reciprocate your earlier gesture, gently writing on your palm, though the writing is a little less… neat. You read the words etched messily on your skin. So, how come?

A blush creeps onto your cheeks as the moment forces you to confront the feelings you’ve developed for him. He hasn’t completely let go of your hand yet, letting his fingertips linger on yours. Still committing to the dead silence of the room, you pull his hand back towards you once again, continuing your strange and intimate game of tug-of-war. Lifting his hand to your face, you place a gentle kiss on the back of his hand. Your confidence from the stunt you pulled starts to wither away, an abundance of nerves catching up as Draco’s hand suddenly releases from yours. Panic floods your body. 

Fuck.

But he doesn’t let it drop. No, instead, he reaches to cup your cheek, his other hand propping his head up on the desk. Your heart flutters as you relish the feel of his affectionate, gentle touch, his fingers just barely grazing your hair. There it is again. Prince Charming.

He lowers his hand and grins, pointing to the spot where the ink from his hand rubbed off on your cheek. He takes out his wand and whispers a spell to clear it, removing the evidence. He takes your hand in his again and rests them on his lap. He closes his eyes and drifts off, never letting his grip falter.

And that’s how you spent the rest of the potions class.

—

Heading back from dinner in the Great Hall that night, you spot Draco sitting on the stairs that lead down to the dungeons. You break away from the crowd, telling them you’ll catch up in a minute. You take a seat on the stair below his, facing him while resting your hands on his knee.

“I keep replaying the image of you calling him Severus in my head. There isn’t even a Gryffindor out there that could match your bravery.” He says, looking down at you with pure adoration.

“Well, I had to act quickly considering my partner was barely conscious. You were about to go down and I wasn’t going with you.”

He laughs shyly and rests a hand on top of yours.

“I got you something,” you say as you reach down to your robe pocket. In your fingers is a tiny vial of potion with a small bit of parchment tied to it with purple string, displaying his name. “It’s a bit of the very successful Sleeping Draught we made. I snuck some while you were mixing. You were a bit too… out of it to notice.”

You drop it into the palm of his hand, watching the grin on his face grow wider at the sight of the gift.

“We have a three day weekend starting tomorrow and you are going to take that and sleep through the whole thing.” You demand.

He remains quiet for a moment before moving himself down to the stair you’re sitting on, turning his body to face yours.

“To say I owe you is an understatement. I can’t possibly ever repay you.” He stores the vial in his pocket and looks back up to you.

“I don’t expect anything from you, Draco. I’m not doing you a favor. I’m just looking out for you.”

“But that’s just it, love. I rarely ever ask for your help, and yet you’re here… all the time.” His words slow their pace as he inches closer to your face, gazing down between your eyes and your lips.

You shrug with a small smile, giving him a look you know will melt his heart.

“Guess that’s what makes me such an ‘exemplary Slytherin.’” You smirk, referencing the title Snape had called you from class. And that does it for him.

He takes your head in his hands, cradling your face for a moment. He scans you over, like he’s taking a mental picture, examining your every feature. Within seconds, he’s pulling your face to him, claiming your lips with his. This isn’t a tender kiss, this kiss is everything. This kiss holds years worth of longing and laughter and gratitude. His lips move against yours slowly with no intention of breaking anytime soon. You feel your heart explode, a million little butterflies bursting from it. One of his hands moves to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. He feels you smile against him, which he sends right back to you.

You feel his mouth open slightly between kisses and take the opportunity to slide your tongue in his mouth, earning a soft, satisfying groan from him. The vibration from his voice sends chills down your body, and you savor every second of it. Your tongues and lips dance with each other with hunger, claiming each other’s territory as your own. The soft texture of his lips, the rough movement of his mouth… It's almost too much. You want to get closer to him. You have to be closer to him.

You break the kiss for a second, lifting yourself up to land on his lap. As you settle down on his thighs, you run your fingers through his hair and catch glimmers of light and lust in his eyes as he continues to fall for you. Straddling him, you feel his hands immediately grabbing your ass, pushing your chest against his and crashing your lips together once again. Your arms wrap around his neck as he swallows the moan you let escape your throat. The bond between you feels electric, every thought in your head replaced by tiny, vivid sparks.

In the midst of your embrace, he detaches your lips momentarily, catching you by surprise. He maintains the intimacy, leaning his forehead on yours and nudging your nose with his.

“How am I supposed to sleep now?” He jokes and you can feel his hands move up to your waist, tightening their grip as if you’d ever try to leave.

“And I’m the eager one?” You scoff at him playfully. With your eyes so close to his, you can sense the depletion in them. That heavy-hearted feeling you experienced earlier, just when you thought he was about to give up, rises in your chest again.

“Let’s get you to bed before we get stupid and you fall apart.” You comfort him, kissing one cheek and then the other. You feel him sigh, knowing you’re right. He doesn’t have it in him to argue otherwise right now.

“Sorry, love.” He says modestly under his breath, the words laced with shame. “Promise me we can get stupid when I feel like a living person again.”

“You said it yourself, Draco. I’m here all the time. I’ll be there when you fall asleep and I’ll be ready,” you break mid-sentence to kiss him once more with vigor. You send the rest of the thought into his mouth, your voice drenched with desire.

“...when you wake up.”

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[zurzolo-riddle]

made a neville mood board to go with the small fic i wrote for him! this is my first attempt at writing so let me know what you think!!

summary: you spend an unpleasant amount of time waiting in the cold library for the chance to get to talk to your crush. however, after all is said and done you decide that the pay off was more than worth it.

You couldn’t help but shiver from the shrill chill in the air as you sat waiting, tucked away in one of the many vast isles of the Hogwarts library. Though sitting in one of the deeper and darker isles of the library left you freezing, your placement was nothing but intentional. You purposefully chose to wait in the sector dedicated to books and essays on magical plants because you overheard a certain someone say they intended to study in the library after dinner. And you were sure of where this certain someone would visit first in the library on their studying endeavors.

You want to scoff at yourself for putting yourself in such an uncomfortable situation of waiting in the damp, cold just for the off chance that you might get a few minutes alone to speak to the boy you like. But you don’t have it in you to be annoyed at yourself. He’s just too sweet. And kind. You remember the way his messy brown hair brushes down towards his blue eyes. The same blue eyes that have an adorable glint to them everytime you make small talk during class or the way they light up when you get him on his favorite subject. Herbology. Which is why your placement in the herbology section of the library was nothing less than strategic and optimal.

Your ears perk up as the sound of footsteps on the polished wood floor draw nearer to the desk you’re sitting at. You pretend not to notice them as the figure turns the corner of the isle.

“Oh hey, y/n! You’re here late this evening.” Neville says clearly surprised by your presence compared to the general vacantness of the rest of the library. You plaster the most pleasant smile on your face that you can conjure and look up from the book you had placed in front of you. It was, admittedly, one you had already read before. Grabbing it from the shelves upon your arrival for the purpose of looking as if you were there for actual intellectual purposes.

“As are you, Longbottom.” You reply, softening your eyes as you bring them to meet his.

“That’s true.” He says sheepishly, pulling at his sleeves in a nervous manner. “But I need to cram for the darks arts test tomorrow.”

“So you came to the herbology section?” You question, an eyebrow quirking up in the process. His face flushed a shade of red and it makes your heart flutter. His meekness is always something you’ve found so endearing about him. He was one of the most benevolent and intriguing people you knew of and he had the audacity to hide it behind his bashfulness.

“Well, I-… I just wanted to check something out to read before bed.” He stutters to you. You hummed an understanding response.

“Perhaps you would like this.” You say closing the book you had opened to a random page in front of you. “Professor Sprout had us read some excerpts from it a few years back for a project in her class but, there’s actually a lot more fascinating information if you’re interested in delving deeper.” you tell Neville as you reach to hand him the book, hoping he’d take it.

“S-sounds perfect. Thank you, y/n” Neville says as his eyes cut to meet yours and take the book from your hand. You can tell he wants to avert his eyes from yours, as he typically does when he’s nervous, but he makes himself hold your gaze. And the thought of him putting such effort in an a minor exchange with you makes your heart swell. In the few seconds of silence that follow you contemplate that maybe, just maybe, this consuming crush of yours isn’t completely one sided. That maybe he values these small exchanges the two of you often have as much as you do. And as much as the thought fills you with warmth you couldn’t help but to shiver again from the unrelenting chill in the air of the library.

“You’re cold.” Neville says, his eyebrows scrunching together slightly. His tone sounds a mixture of matter-of-fact and concerned.

“Well, it is freezing in here.” You say huffing out a low laugh.

“Here take my jumper.” He says reaching for the hem to pull the article of clothing off.

“No!” You exclaim slightly louder than you intended. Neville pauses and looks to you with slight confusion etching his features.

“Why not?” He ask, his tone uncertain. Was it disappointment you heard in his voice? Perhaps he wanted you to wear his sweater. To find comfort in something that came from him. Or perhaps he was being his usual gallant self. “He’s too selfless for his own good” you think silently to yourself.

“Because then you will freeze, Neville.” You say.

“I’m down here all the time. I’m used to it by now.” He says determined and reaches to take his sweater off again. This time you don’t protest. I mean you’re only human after all. And if the boy of whom you’re irevabicly infatuated with offers you his sweater, who are you to deny him? Neville’s hand reaches the hem once more and you can’t help but let your eyes slide over his form. You admire the way his white button up is messily tucked in his trousers, in true Neville fashion. It was your turn to sport a flush on your checks as Neville so often did. Though your cheeks were more light, dusted with pink compared to Neville’s typical dark, red flush.

“Thank you. You’re too gallant for your own good.” You tell him, aloud this time.

“If being gallant means not letting a lady freeze to death in the library then yes, I suppose I am.” Neville says with an eerie amount of confidence. Yes, his voice did waver slightly but he held your gaze the entire time. Never backing down.

“Yes, that’s actually exactly what gallant means, Neville.” You say with a playful roll of the eyes. You slip the sweater on and can’t help but admire it. It’s in line with his usual fashion. It was brown with a black, excessive pattern upon it. When you look closely you notice slight frays in the fabric, insinuating that the sweater had been worn a long time. That it had been well loved. And as you tug your head through the neck hole you’re overwhelmed the scent of the green houses combined the lavender and cedar scented shampoo he used. You could bask in this scent forever you think to yourself.

“Consider it payback in exchange for the good book recommendation then” Neville retorted.

“It’s hardly a helpful recommendation if you’ve already read it some of it” you respond softly, a sweet smile tugging your lips as you lock eyes with the tall, brown haired boy.

“That was fourth year. I was due for a reread of it.” he says, waving his hand dismissively. He smile at him in response and he smiles back in return. A small silence envelops the two of you and you can feel the conversation starting to drift away. Feeling as though everything that needed to be said was already spoken. Your mind starts clawing at ways to keep a discussion between the two of you going. After all, you didn’t wait in this fridged library for an hour just for a small exchange of words. No, you needed to relish in his presence just a little longer.

“It is unusually cold to be so close to the beginning of the term. I feel bad for all the people that are going to outside in the quidditch stands tomorrow.” You say in a feeble attempt to make this fleeting conversation last a little longer. You’ve resorted to talking about the weather. Merlin, how pathetic you’ve become. How pitiful this boy has made you.

“Are- Uhm did you plan to go to the game tomorrow?” He ask you. His eyes leave yours and dart around the room as he timidly awaits your answer. The question takes you aback and you try desperately to keep the surprise off your face. Though your eyes widen and your small smile stretches a little larger.

“I haven’t decided.” You say honestly. “I do enjoy attending the occasional match but I sometimes favor staying in the castle and catching up on my reading.” In the few seconds of silence that follow your mind is flooded with so many questions. Was this his way of inviting you to the match? Did he want to attend the game with you? Was he simply being curious? You did bring up quidditch first, after all. Perhaps he was simply humoring your attempt at conversation.

“Well I- I mean if you’d like to go… maybe I could save you a seat. O-only if you wanted to attend I mean.” Neville stammered. The confidence he earlier displayed when insisting you take his sweater seemed to have escaped him as he nervously fidgeted with his hands. His gazed turned down to the floor, looking anywhere expect to you.

“You want me to go to the quidditch match with you?” You softly ask, seeking confirmation. His nervous eyes finally meet your wide, hopeful ones.

“I would- I mean yes I do. Only if attending seems fun to you, of course. I usually go to all the Gryffindor matches. House pride and all, ya know…”Neville answers meekly.

“I’d quite like that, Neville.” You say reassuringly. You try to remind calm and quiet but enthusiasm radiates from your eyes, smile, and voice. And it doesn’t go unnoticed by you or Neville.

“Great! I’d like that too.” Neville says offering you a crooked smile. Another blushed creeps on his cheeks and you wonder how he manages to look so flushed in such a cool environment. You stand and push your chair back to its proper place under the table.

“I suppose I won’t keep you from your studying any longer. I hear the dark arts test is going to be a doozy. Goodnight, Neville.” You say as you take your leave. Though your steps seem calm and collected your mind is simply racing with giddiness. You can’t help but hope the chill in the air stays. After all, you have the perfect sweater to wear to tomorrow’s game if it does.

As you turn the corner of the isle, almost out of his eyesight you hear Neville call out to you “Goodnight y/n, stay warm!” And it was that moment that you realize patiently waiting in the emptiness and cold of the herbology section of the library was more than worth it.

[padawan-snack-packer]

Hey, i’ve discovered your writing quite recently, but I already enjoy it so much.

Okay soooo, for your clone x Reader requests, I was thinking of maybe doing something with Kix, with a reader who is maybe being treated for an injury, and like, he really wants to get her on an IV so he can sedate her because of how much pain she’s in, but she’s trying to be so determined to stick it out, because she doesn’t want to tell him that she’s afraid of needles cause she thinks he’ll think less of her for it. And maybe he’s able to put her at ease and help her through it.

Whether it’s platonic or romantic, you choose. As long as it’s full of comfort, i’ll be happy🤗

"Nothing We Can’t Patch Up", a Kix x Reader Ficlet!!

Hi there @ireadwithmyears !!!!!

Awwww 🥺💛 thank you so much, that means a lot!! I'm so happy you're enjoying my writing, seriously, it makes my day 💫

And omg this prompt??? This is peak hurt/comfort and you know Kix would handle it with the gentlest, most understanding bedside manner — meanwhile Reader’s being stubbornly brave like “no no it’s fine I’m fine I’m just… resting my eyes from the pain 🥴✨” and he’s over here trying to save lives and also not let her see how worried he is 🥹💉

There you go then!!! Hope you enjoy it!!!

Title: "Nothing We Can’t Patch Up" Pairing: Reader x Clone Medic Kix Tags: fluff, comfort, medical settings, did i mention fluff?????

You didn’t mean to get hurt.

Really, you hadn’t even meant to be in the way — it just kind of happened. One minute you were hauling a supply crate out of the medcenter’s hallway, and the next, there was an explosion outside the perimeter wall, a rain of debris, and something — metal, maybe? duracrete? — caught you across the side.

You don't remember falling. Just the ringing. And then hands. Loud voices. A blur of movement and lights and a very firm, very familiar voice barking over someone’s shoulder:

“Get her inside. Now.”

When you wake up, your side feels like it’s been set on fire. Every breath pulls sharp against it, like something raw and splintered is still moving under your skin.

And Kix is there.

Of course he is.

He’s standing next to the bed with his gloves already off, sleeves rolled, medkit cracked open beside him. His brow is furrowed, mouth set in a line that says ’you’re scaring the hell out of me but I’m going to pretend I’m calm about it.’

He’s good at that.

Too good.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice goes soft as soon as your eyes open. “There you are. You’re alright. You’re in medbay, we’ve got you. You’re safe.”

You nod. Sort of. It’s more of a vague, pained tilt of your head.

He notices anyway.

“That was a stupid move,” he says, but it’s not harsh. Not really. He’s already reaching for something in the tray beside you — a small vial, a clean syringe, a tangle of clear IV tubing that makes your stomach do a nervous little twist.

“You were hit on your left side — got a few deep lacerations and some internal bruising. Nothing we can’t patch up, but you’re gonna be down for a bit. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

You try to nod again. Still not great at it.

Then you see the needle in his hand.

And something cold curls low in your gut.

Kix catches the change in your face instantly. His eyes narrow just a fraction. He pauses, holding the needle still.

“Alright,” he says slowly. “What is it?”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. “Try again.”

You shake your head a little too fast. “It’s—nothing. Really. I just—um—”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I just—haven’t eaten. That’s all. You know, low blood sugar. Could be messing with my—uh—nerves. Or vision. Or both. Or neither.” You laugh, a short, awkward puff of air. “Maybe I’m just a little lightheaded. Pretty sure that’s normal when you’ve had, like, blood loss. Or trauma. Or... falling on your side really hard.”

Kix doesn’t interrupt.

He just stares.

You keep going. Your voice pitches up as your brain scrambles for something that’ll sound more plausible than what you really don’t want to say.

“Honestly, I think it’s just adrenaline still wearing off. Happens all the time, right? Like, weird body reactions? Post-injury tremors, all that stuff? Pretty textbook, if you ask me. Which you didn’t. But I—”

“Hey.”

You stop. Mostly because he finally speaks. But also because his tone has changed.

It’s softer. Slower.

Still calm — always calm — but he’s not looking at your chart anymore, not moving to prep anything. He’s just watching you.

His voice drops, careful.

“You’re stalling.”

You blink. “What?”

“You’re stalling,” he repeats, gently. “Not very well.”

You go quiet.

And now he’s the one who exhales, just once, as if something’s clicked into place.

He sets the needle down with deliberate care, like he’s trying not to spook you.

“You’re not scared of passing out. Or side effects. Or blood sugar. You’re scared of this.” He taps a knuckle gently against the tray, near the syringe. “Yeah?”

You say nothing.

Which is apparently enough.

He doesn’t look judgmental. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease.

Just nods, like he understands something important now.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Thank you for trying. But you don’t have to make up reasons. I’m not gonna think less of you.”

And stars, that’s what breaks something in you a little — that he knew you were afraid, and waited until you were ready to stop hiding it.

You’re silent for a beat. The pain in your ribs is starting to spike again, sharp and deep. But still, your hands curl into the blanket on instinct, and your voice comes out smaller than you mean it to:

“I just don’t really... like needles.”

There’s a pause.

Then:

“Okay,” he says, voice completely level. “That’s fine. You don’t have to like them.”

You blink at him.

“I mean it,” he says. “You don’t have to explain it. You don’t have to justify anything. But I do need to get some fluids into you, and a sedative, if I’m gonna work on those deeper wounds. You’re in a lot of pain. You’re trying to hide it, but your whole body’s doing that little shake thing you do when it’s bad. You’re allowed to be scared. That’s not weakness.”

Your throat feels tight.

You hate this part — the part where you feel like a coward for something so small. Where everything in your chest twists up with embarrassment before you can stop it. You’re not in battle, not under fire. You just... hate the idea of something sharp in your skin, hate the helplessness of it. The way your fingers go numb and your stomach knots up and suddenly you’re not in control anymore.

Kix sees it all. You don’t even have to say it.

He sets the needle down.

You look up, surprised.

“I’m not gonna force you,” he says gently. “We can do this together. If you need a second — or if you want me to talk you through it — I’ll be right here the whole time. You’re not alone.”

There’s something in his eyes that makes your chest ache in a different way. Not sharp. Not painful. Just... held.

Like maybe this doesn’t have to be a fight.

Not with him.

You exhale slowly. Your voice is still a little shaky, but it comes out.

“Okay. Just... talk me through it?”

And he smiles.

Soft and steady.

“I can do that.”

He doesn’t move right away. Just stays where he is, warm eyes steady on yours, like he’s giving you time to change your mind if you need to.

“You tell me the second it gets to be too much, alright? Doesn’t matter if we’ve already started. Doesn’t matter what part we’re at. You just say the word, and I stop.”

You nod, a small one. It feels heavy with the ache in your side, but it’s enough.

“Alright.” He pulls up the stool beside the medcot, not looming over you, just settling at your side so you can see his face. So you don’t have to look at the tray. “We’ll go slow. Just the IV for now. I’ll keep the needle out of sight, you won’t even have to see it. And I’ll tell you everything before I do it. Sounds good?”

Another nod. Still nervous. But something in your chest loosens a little.

“Okay. I’m gonna clean your arm first. No needle. Just antiseptic. Cold swab. You’re good.”

You brace. The swab is cool against your skin, but he was right — no pain, no pinch. He talks while he does it, voice low and even, like he’s narrating a recipe.

“You know, I once had a patient try to bribe me to skip an injection with two ration bars and a bottle of hot sauce. She really hated needles. Swore up and down she’d rather have a broken leg than a shot.”

You huff — not quite a laugh, but it pulls a shaky smile out of you.

He smiles back, just barely. “Didn’t work, by the way. But I gave her the hot sauce back after.”

He sets the swab aside, keeping his hands slow and visible. “Alright. I’m going to insert the IV now. It’ll be one quick pinch and then we’re done. Less than five seconds. You want to hold onto something?”

You hesitate — then your hand curls into the blanket again, and you shake your head.

“Okay. That’s good too. You’re doing great.”

You shut your eyes.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” His voice is gentle, coaxing. “Just look here, alright? You don’t have to watch what I’m doing — just focus on me. Can you tell me about your favorite spot on Coruscant? The place you always go when you need to breathe.”

You blink at him, confused, but he gives you an encouraging look. And you realize he’s stalling for you — giving your brain somewhere else to go.

“I… there’s this rooftop,” you murmur, voice thin. “Little one above an old bakery, near the 131st level. Smells like bread all the time. Nobody goes up there.”

He nods, listening like it’s the most important intel in the galaxy. “That sounds perfect. Bet it’s quiet.”

You nod. “Warm, too. They bake late into the night.”

“That’s a good spot. Bet the stars look decent from there.”

You hum, too tense to answer — then—

“Done.”

You blink.

You hadn’t even noticed.

The IV’s already in. Secure, taped gently against your arm. Kix is just smoothing the line now, careful not to tug.

Your breath shudders out. He didn’t lie — five seconds, maybe less.

“You did great,” he says softly. “It’s over.”

You swallow hard. Your eyes are hot, stupidly — not from the pain, but from the relief and the quiet kindness in his voice.

“You alright?”

You nod — but this time, it’s a real one.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Yeah, I… thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says, reaching for the sedative now. “You were brave.”

And somehow, you believe him. Not because you didn’t flinch, or because you were quiet, or because you didn’t cry.

But because he saw your fear and stayed beside you anyway. Because he met you there, without judgment, and held the line with nothing but calm and care.

“Let me know if it stings,” he says gently, injecting the sedative into the IV. “Should just be a light floaty feeling — like your body’s sighing out all at once. No pressure to stay awake. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Your limbs are already starting to feel lighter. Not numb, just distant. Like the pain’s drifting down the hallway and out of reach.

Kix shifts closer, brushing a cool hand gently across your forehead. Not clinical. Just kind.

“You’re safe,” he says quietly. “Get some rest. I’ve got you.”

[bubbbii]

..Princess?

title : …Princess?

pairing : Jungkook x reader

genre : kpop smut, jungkook smut, dirty content

warning : friends to lovers, doggystyle, name calling, degrading, daddy kink, choking, multiple orgasms, spanking, fingering, blowjob, handjob, spitting, sucking out, hickey kink, very dirty content

summary : she’s still stuck on her and her best friend’s magical night the night before, can’t believe he took control over her. Y/n stands on her ground tonight and confronts Jungkook for what happened. But one thing led to another, and she can’t help but fall into the same trap again…princess? Jungkook didn’t think so.

[REQUESTED]

!PURELY FICTION! !NOT REAL!

do not steal story or idea without permission please and thank uu :)

Let’s go <3

________________________________________________

The others went out to get food and shopping, telling the two who was stuck to the couch for an hour and a half that decided to stay back. Well, one of them decided to stay back. Y/N’s house, they were staying at for the weekend. Jungkook, who decided to stay back to stay with Y/N…both of them, remembering the night before all of this was planned. Both of them were itching to talk about it. And Y/N went first.

“Ok, we need to talk about last night” “What about it?” “Jungkook! Come on! I can’t be the only one who’s wondering what happens next!?” Jungkook chuckled, pausing the tv series and looked at Y/N in her eyes. “What? What do you wanna talk about baby hm? What could we possible talk about?” Y/N scoffed, huffing at the nickname she heard. “D—Don’t..don’t call me that” “Oh really? Last night said otherwise” “And this is why I wanted to talk about it! You and..seducing me! I don’t understand!” Jungkook smirked, chuckling again as he scooted closer to y/n. He looked at her, snaking his hand down his inner thigh.

“H-Hey..hey, no. What are you doing? Why are you so close” Jungkook could tell she liked it, despite her pride. Y/N liked it for sure..but she didn’t like the fact Jungkook could see through her, the only person who didn’t follow her around. He didn’t fall for her..she fell for him. And that was only because Jungkook didn’t treat her like a princess like everyone else did, he treated her like she was his own..and that’s what y/n liked, but didn’t like.

And that made Jungkook like her for sure.

“What’s wrong? You wanted to talk about it, so talk” “I just - why do I have to be the one to beg? A-And chase you!? You’re different-“ “And you don’t like that. Well baby sometimes there’s gotta be a someone who teaches you that you can’t be bossing everyone around, nor..act like you’re a princess. And that someone was me” Y/n gulped, feeling his hand massage her thigh as it crossed over his leg. “N-No, it’s not fair..this isn’t fair - I am a princess! And i deserve to get treated as so!” “True..but you won’t be bossing me around” Y/n huffed, rolling her eyes a little.

“Well i have all of the boys swoon over me, it can happen for you too” Jungkook chuckled, making y/n get taken back. “What-“ “You’re cute sweetheart..but that shit don’t work with me” Y/n sighed, knowing it wouldn’t on him. “By the way..you looked very gorgeous sucking my cock” Y/n scoffed at Jungkook’s say. “I did not! No!” “Oh let’s be real..you loved getting eaten out by me” Y/n poked her cheek with her tongue, not denying the fact.

It was the truth after all.

Y/N couldn’t get enough of Jungkook, and vice versa as they stared at each other. “Just kiss me already what are you waiting for!?” Jungkook scoffed, smirking as his eyes were still on her. “That’s not how you ask baby” “Don’t make me beg! Why are you making me beg!?” “Maybe because you don’t know your godamn manners” Jungkook responded softly, raising an eyebrow at her. “..no, please” Jungkook gave her that look. That look…makes her fall every time.

“..please?” He smirked, kissing her, feeling her immediately respond, moaning at the contact. They kissed for a while, not getting enough until Jungkook broke it. “Good hm?” “No..no - why are you doing this to me!?” Y/n fought, standing up as she stood in front of him. Jungkook sighed, rolling his eyes as he leaned back on the couch, his legs spreading apart normally. “Doll” “I mean - why can’t you just beg for me!? Why am I the one being token advantage of?” “Babe-“ “Like why?! You’re acting so different I don’t understand!” Jungkook looked at y/n, seeing her clear her throat and straighten herself.

“Ok..I see” Jungkook slowly nodded, making y/n whine and throw her head back. “I just don’t get it!” Jungkook chuckled, smiling at her cuteness. “Come here” Y/n followed, jungkook pulling her down on his lap. Jungkook made her feel at ease, looking up at her. “You do realize..that sex, just means more to me right?” “Well..all of those other girls meant something to you!” “No..every girl was a distraction from you” y/n blinked, her mouth parting. “So how about this. We’re not thinking about, who can fall in first. We aren’t thinking about none of that. We’re gonna think about us, right now. Ok?” Jungkook whispered, his hands traveling up her thighs and to her ass.

Y/n sighed, finally letting go of her pride and nodded as Jungkook kissed up her neck and to her naked shoulder. Y/n started to feel a little desperate, rolling her hips a little. “W-What about the others?” “Don’t worry, they won’t be here until..another hour or so” Jungkook assured her, kissing her making her immediately respond as her hands went through his long black locks. Jungkook’s hands were gripping y/n’s hips and took control over them, rolling them in a circular motion. “F-Fuck..oh my god” “feel that? Feel that hard cock hm?” He made her hips go faster, making y/n’s moans progress as her pussy managed to create a wet patch on her shorts.

“Mmh..kook-“shh it’s ok I know, I know that pussy’s soaked. She’s soaked isn’t she” he slapped her ass, making y/n jolt at the move. She nodded, speechless at the pleasure she was feeling from beneath her. “I cant..I can’t take it - shit!” Jungkook flipped the two of them over. Jungkook now hovering over her and kissed down her neck and collarbone again, creating hickeys and love bites. He tore her shirt, her shorts, only leaving her with matching bra and panties. “JUNGKOOK!” “I’ll buy you more calm down princess”

Y/n hummed at the nickname, quickly covering her mouth as Jungkook looked at her with an eyebrow raised. “What-“ “You’ll buy me more, good” Jungkook smirked, his fingers playing with her soaked pussy as he rubbed up and down. “You like that princess?” Y/N moaned at the name, getting her more wet than she already was. “Yess, yes i love it..fuck” jungkook ripped the panties as well, throwing the item on the floor before sticking 2 fingers inside. “Mmmh fuck yes yes yes yes - kook!” “You’re doing great baby girl take them for me” Jungkook scissored his fingers like nothing, hearing y/n’s moans and whines fill the room.

“Fucking shit - i’m not gonna last long. I’m not gonna last long” “You wanna come for me? How do you wanna come baby” Y/n whined, throwing her head back at the pleasure she was feeling. “You know…you loved my mouth last night, you came almost too quick” Jungkook said cockily, taking out his fingers and sucked them clean before getting on his knees. Jungkook pulled y/n closed to him, her legs over the muscular shoulders of his before making eye contact with her.

“Look at me, and don’t look away” He sternly instructed, and dug in her pussy, still keeping the eye contact. “Fuckkk kook! Oh my god - it feels so good, your tongue!” “Stop squirming princess” He muffled out, eating her out like it was his last meal on earth. The eye contact was still held as he vigorously sucked her pussy, the moans and whimpers and whines filling his ears. He loved it. “I’m gonna come.. i’m gonna come - jungkook!” “Come for me baby” Jungkook focused on a specific spot and never stopped, keeping the same pace and y/n came on his face, keeping her body still as it jolted at the orgasm she was having.

“Ooh good girl, that’s a good girl for me” Jungkook whispered, sucking all of her juices before backing away and placed his hand on it. “You’re still wet angel?” “F—For you, only for you” “that’s right glad you know” Jungkook’s hand slithered up her neck, gripping it as she felt kissed on her cleavage and exposed parts of her bra. Jungkook un clipped it with ease and saw the hard nipples that the bra was hiding. “Who’s bitch are you?” “I’m your bitch..I’m daddy’s bitch” “oooh that’s right good job” he kissed on her chest lightly, making hickeys here and there and finally took the nipples in his mouth.

He gave them a bit of love, taking his precious time with both of them before bringing his cock out of his pants and boxers. Y/N loved when he stroked it in front of her, her pussy clenching for dear life as she wanted nothing but for him to fuck her brains out. “You want it?” “I want it” “How bad you want it?” “Badly daddy please, fuck me until i’m..fucking numb” “mh pleasure” he smirked, sticking it inside of her.

Oh what did she get herself into.

“Fuck that pussy tight. That pussy clenching on me not letting go huh?” Jungkook rammed into her, his pace steady as his hips snapped against her making his cock hit all of the right places. Y/n gripped the muscular arms, trying to keep her noises in..even though it was hard as hell too. “Don’t fucking keep your noises from me” Jungkook slapped her thigh not giving a care in the world if it hurt or not just to hear her squeal at the hard slap she received. “FUCK! Oh my god - Jungkook! JUNGKOOK!” “There you go im fucking that pussy good aren’t I? I’m fucking that pussy like she deserves it. My princess deserves getting that pussy fucked doesn’t she”

Y/! moaned and whined at the dirty words, noticing it went straight to her throbbing pussy that clenched more around him. “Stop clenching me like that - fuck” His pace quickened, the skin slap heard loud and clear as jungkook’s hand never left y/n’s throat. The grip got tighter, y/n’s moans turned into choked out moans and jungkook loved to hear it. “You-You’re so big in me…I feel like coming again” “Oh you wanna come again yea?” Jungkook stopped, turning her around and propped her hips so she was doggy styled.

“You’re gonna fucking come” Jungkook slapped her ass making y/n whine at the slaps. “And you’re gonna come remembering who’s fucking bitch you are understand?” “Y-Yes!” “Yes what!?” Jungkook slapped her ass again making her squeal out. “Yes daddy! Y—Yes daddy i’ll come for you” “Good girl, now make it happen” Jungkook fucked her vigorously with no mercy shown, doing low moans himself as his ears got filled with Y/N’s loud and pleasurable ones. “I’m getting close, daddy i’m getting close - fuck!!” Y/n yelled out, clenching the couch below her. Jungkook pulled her hair, making her look all the way back until they met eyes upside down.

“You’re gonna come for me slut hm? You’re gonna come for daddy i’ll make sure to fuck this pussy raw, until you got no more come left in you you hear me? I’ll make sure you remember nothing but my fucking name, i’ll make sure you cream on this dick, making that pussy cream over and over and over again because you’re who’s bitch?” “I’m Daddy’s bitch!” “WHOS BITCH ARE YOU?” “I’M DADDY’S BITCH OH MY GOD IM COMING, IM COMING’ Jungkook got faster and Y/N for sure creamed his cock white, soaking every inch he had making him smirk.

“That’s my princess. That’s my princess good girl” Jungkook praised, giving y/n’s neck a tight squeeze before taking the cock out. “Forgetting someone?” y/n immediately got on her knees, taking the whole thing in her mouth making Jungkook hiss at the move. “Yea you know what the fuck to do - make me fucking come bitch” Jungkook thrusted in her mouth, keeping her head down at the base and still as his orgasm built up inside him. “Yes yes yes yes fuckkk i’m coming baby, i’m coming - shit” jungkook soon came in y/n’s mouth, feeling her swallow it all.

“Swallow it all angel good girl” Jungkook peaked again, rolling his hips before slowly taken the cock out. Y/N stood, Jungkook immediately holding onto her and kissed the marks he made on her neck. “I-I’m still horny” “I was never done in the first place” Jungkook rasped before picking her up and took her to the kitchen.

The kitchen

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“YES YES YES YES FUCK ME! FUCK ME LIKE THAT - OH MY GOD! KOOK!” “Shit. you feel so good. Oh my god” Jungkook wrapped a good amount of hair around his fingers and yanked making her head yank back and her back to arch. “Fuckkk yes daddy harder, harder daddy please! Please I need you” “Ooh my baby’s a desperate bitch tonight. You wanna come the 4th time for me tonight? You wanna cream this dick again hm?” “I do! I do daddy fuck me, fuck me im getting close!” “You dirty whore who would’ve known you were such a bitch for me. But I love it, i’ll give my princess what she wants and let everyone know who fucked her so good”

Jungkook’s hands gripped her already bruised hips and fucked her like there was no tomorrow, sending her over the edge. “Ooh fuck fuck fuckkk that pussy feels amazing. That pussy feels so fucking good - that’s my pussy, that’s my fucking pussy isn’t that right doll?” “YES! This pussy belongs to you it’s your pussy it’s your pussy - fuck i’m coming! I’m coming again!” “Me too baby girl come for me come for daddy angel” His hips fucked into me with 10x much effort and we both came together, Jungkook fucking into y/n harder than before.

“Yea yes yes - fuck..daddy” “Good girl, that’s my good girl you did so good for me” Jungkook rasped. He hummed, slowly taking the cock out of her and turned her over to her back gently. “You ok?” “Mhm..best sex ever by the way” they laughed, kissing each other gently. “..so-“ “I wanna be with you. Spend the rest of my days with you - you’re the only..one, i want. Can you give me a chance?” y/n smiled, cupping his sweaty cheeks. “It’s almost like you read my mind” they smiled at each other, kissing each other once more.

“We gotta lot to work on” “And you’ll help me do just that. I rather work on it with you than with anyone else” Jungkook whispered, kissing her cheeks and neck making her giggle at the tickled spots. Then the door opened. “KOOK! Y/N! YOU HUNGRY?!” their eyes widened, looking at each other.

“Let’s get to cleaning”

[unsolvedjarin]

Can we have more mentor!Seb x Ferrari driver!reader? Maybe she wins in Monza the same season as the last fic? 👀

note: sorry it took me so long to get to this request, life has been KILLING me lately. this one is pretty short but hopefully you enjoy!

FOCUS.

part one here but can be read without <3

pairing: (mentor! sebastian vettel x ferrari driver! reader) (mick schumacher x ferrari driver! reader AT THE END)

summary: monza was never an easy race, and that certainly wasnt changing anytime soon. but maybe some luck is on your side this year— and a supportive mentor.

content warning: none besides my verb tenses being all over the place

Max had gotten pole. So not good for you.

You lost P2 as well to Lewis by two-tenths of a second, but P3 was fine, P3 was good. Hopefully good enough for today. It was finally Sunday, and you couldn’t be more excited— it was finally Monza.

“Well the goal is to win,” you say, although it comes out muffled with food in your mouth. Sebastian had invited you to paddock brunch on race day, and you were not one to turn down free food.

Swallowing, you add, “I mean obviously the goal is to win. We’re in Monza, that’s every Ferrari driver's goal.”

The Aston Martin driver had been listening intently to your complaints about Ferrari’s performance recently, and from what he’s hearing, it’s not looking good. Not only was the car lacking in pace, the team itself had bad strategies left and right. While you had gotten a podium back in Spa, it was starting to look like it'd be the last podium for Ferrari for a while.

Charles had DNF’ed last race, and you ended up P9. Not a great result, but it still kept you third in the Construction Championship. This race, however, was too special to have a mediocre result.

It was the home of the Tifosi; the people, the cheers, the chants, it was all for Ferrari— all for you. You couldn’t lose in Monza.

“So you think you’ll win later then?” Sebastian asks, taking a bite of his own food.

“Well I don’t don’t think I’ll win, so there’s that.”

“What a strange type of confidence.”

“Thanks, I try.”

Sebastian laughs, a genuine one that makes you smile as well. You’d been spending more time with him since learning about his retirement at the end of the season, which says a lot when you were already always together. He didn’t mind though, he loved spending time with you above all the other people on the grid– well, except for Mick. He tagged along sometimes when he could. You liked having him around too.

“If it amounts to anything, I think you can win it.”

He always says that. ‘If it amounts to anything’ or ‘If it matters,’ as if everything he says wasn’t important to you when it was. “Thanks Seb, but save that optimism for yourself, you need it,” you tease.

You say it in a joking manner, but Seb knew there was a hint of seriousness to your words. Aston Martin hadn’t been performing well either, and if you considered Ferrari’s performance bad, then you could call theirs atrocious. You knew it wasn’t Seb’s fault, he had been trying to contribute to the efficiency of the car with his knowledge and he pushed it every race.

Nodding, he sighs, and you can sense the tiredness in his breath. 2 years of a slow car will do that to you. Before you could give him any comfort, however, a Ferrari employee calls out your name for you to get ready for the race.

“Good luck Schatzi, I believe in you,” Seb says, getting up from his seat. You get up and hug him tightly, smiling when he hugs you back just as tight.

“You too Sebby.”

“Do what I couldn’t,” you hear him whisper.

You don’t reply. You don’t tell him, ‘I’m sorry,’ because he already knows. He knows because you’ve told him it before many different times on many different races when he used to drive for Ferrari– but you’ll always remember Monza.

It was his dream, the most important thing he wanted out of joining Ferrari besides winning the championship with them. But he never got it. Every year he was there, something took the win out of his grasp. Engine failure, collision, slow pace, no grip, it didn’t matter what the reason was. He never got it.

You separate, both going to get ready. You’ll make him proud, you think to yourself.

The race was tight. Lewis was giving you a good fight, always just less than a second away, but conveniently farther whenever you were in a DRS zone which meant you couldn’t overtake him. Thankfully, he slipped up during a straight, and gave you enough slipstream and space to pass him.

Then it was just you and Max. He was 10 seconds away, and you were so sure it was over. But then he pitted a little too long, giving you enough time to take his position.

And then you were leading.

You were leading in a Ferrari in Monza.

Holy fucking shit.

Just one more lap, one more and you could see it– you could see the end.

“...Y/N L/N SEES THE CHECKERED FLAG, AND COMES TO WIN THE ITALIAN GRAND PRIX! FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2019, FERRARI WINS IN THEIR HOME RACE!”

You couldn’t believe it.

You won. You won in Monza. In a Ferrari.

You did it.

If the screams of the fans were loud in Spa, the cheers of the emotional Tifosi were deafening here. Exiting your car, still shellshocked, you’re immediately approached by Max, who gave you a quick hug in congratulations.

Slightly snapping out of your buzzed state, you run towards your crew who was on the other side of the barrier, practically jumping into their arms. They couldn’t believe it either. When you finally removed your helmet, the muffled sounds of everything else suddenly became clear, and somehow the already thundering roars of the crowd had gotten louder.

Despite all that commotion, all that chaos and celebration, there was only one man you were looking for. You heard he had DNF’ed, which meant he would be in his garage, but you didn’t care. You were going to look for him before you got on that damn podium.

While Max and Lewis went to the cooldown room, you got ready to sneak out and go to the Aston Martin garage, when a hand grabs yours and spins you around to face them. It takes you a second to realize what was happening, but when you did– “SEBASTIAN!”

He enveloped you in a hug, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around. You could hear his proud laughs, and you started laughing as well. You had done it.

“I ca-”

“I-”

You both start at the same time, making you both laugh even harder. You gesture for him to start first, and he does. “I can’t believe it. You actually fucking did it,” he says, the joy evident in his cussing.

He walks with you back towards the Podium, an arm around your shoulder looking proud. When you get to the side stage you pause in protest, but he reads your mind before you can say anything. “Go, we’ll talk later.” He gives you a little nudge, and off to the platform you go.

You asked Charles once, and he told you that when you get up there on the platform, everything goes quiet. You would see the crowd, the fans clad in red, and you would feel the love, but you wouldn’t hear it– as if all their cheers mixed together into a large vast silence. One thing would come into focus, and when you see what you’ve focused on, it’ll all make sense. For him, it was a man wearing a shirt with the number 17 on it. In the large mobs, it was the one thing his eyes had focused on.

For you, however, it wasn’t in the crowd. It wasn’t in the endless support of the Tifosi, nor the trophy given to you. No, it was in the man you could see in your peripheral vision, standing on the side, clapping proudly and looking at you as if no one else was on the podium.

Sebastian. It was him. Your mentor, your father figure, your friend. You finally understood what Charles was always rambling about. That loving feeling— not one you feel with a romantic partner, but the one that buries itself deep into your soul and grows over time, unseen and unnoticed, but when you finally focus on it, everything makes sense.

The second the podium festivities ended, you ran into Sebastian’s arms and hugged him tightly, not minding the cameras all around you. He didn’t understand what was happening, but he hugged you back, not letting you go.

Tomorrow— not today while the chaos of the fans was still ongoing— the media will spew rumors about you and the older driver, but you don’t care. Not when you’re finally happy here; content.

With content tears flowing freely down your face— along with some champagne from earlier— you finally disconnected from the hug, looking at Sebastian with a grin.

He looked confused, “What’s happening? Are you alright? Is everything okay?”

Shaking your head with a laugh, you reply, “It’s fine, everythings okay. I just— I can’t believe I did it. And with you watching. I couldn’t be happier.”

Sebastian takes a moment to intake what you said. He had never felt this way before. Never felt so utterly proud of someone. You had done what he never could, had finally achieved the Ferrari dream he had always wanted for himself. He could see himself in you now, the sheer joy of a win with a team he always wanted to win with. He couldn’t be more happy for you too.

“Sebastian?” you ask, worried about his silence. Maybe what you said was too much, too forward. But then he smiles softly at you, and you can see the tears welling in his eyes.

“You have no idea how proud I am of you.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, “Oh thank god, I thought you were thinking of scowling in disgust or worse; not hearing what I said and making me repeat it.”

He laughs, a hearty one, and you laugh as well. The roar of the crowd was still loud, but amidst all the chaos, your eyes still only focused on one person.

“Dinner?” he asks softly.

“Yeah, let’s get dinner.”

a bit of bonus for my mick girls out there:

“Y/N!” you hear a voice shout from across the paddock. It catches your attention, and you turn your head to the Mercedes hospitality where the voice came from. Sebastian is beside you, an arm around your shoulder, accompanying you for a post-race dinner.

“Mick! What’s up?” you ask, disconnecting from Sebastian’s hold to walk towards him. He meets you in the middle, giving you a quick hug before smiling.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on your win. We should celebrate!” he says, pausing for a moment as if thinking how to word his next sentence. “I was thinking— just a random thought really— we could…go out to dinner to celebrate? I mean just throwing ideas out there, you don’t have to.”

He’s looking everywhere but at you at this point, his eyes pointed down at his shoes and you can see his hands fiddling in his pockets. You notice Toto Wolff watching from the hospitality, but you pay no attention to him, instead keeping your eyes on the man in front of you.

“I’m sorry Mick I would love to, but I’m actually going out to dinner with Seba—”

“He can come,” Sebastian butts in. “He can join us, I have no problem with it.”

“Oh, then great!” you exclaim, nudging Mick softly. He looks up at you with a slight red dusting on his cheeks you don’t notice. Oblivious, you intertwine your arm with his, walking with Seb tailing the both of you.

You ramble on about the race to him and don’t notice when he turns his head around to face Sebastian quickly, who was giving Mick two thumbs up with a cheeky grin. The younger driver blushes softly, before going back to facing you and listening to you talk.

Unbeknownst to the both of you, however, the older driver was already secretly thinking of an excuse to get the two of you alone at dinner.

[moneyndior]

୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫and i promise forever.⋄ 𓍯

…IN WHICH! percy, hypothetically, confesses his feelings.

tags/warnings: percy jackson x reader, tv!percy for the theme, however, book percy was in mind, reader is hyper aware of what people think, awkward teenagers interacting, friends to lovers, the lake kinda rats percy out, not proofread.

ೃauthor notes⁀➷: take a shot everytime hypothetically is in this fic

—

“hypothetically, how well can you keep a secret?”

“i’ve been your friend for god knows how long and you don’t know how well i can keep a secret?”

you asked, snickering as you hugged your knees closer to your chest. the sun was starting to set over camp half-blood and the last thing on your mind was getting to your cabins on time.

watching the lake’s waves splash against each other, the leaves in the trees whistled together. you two were relaxing after what feels like years.

you two didn’t particularly ask to be demi-gods.

“‘oh, very well, percy. thanks for asking!’ would’ve worked too.”

he mumbled more to himself than you, mimicking your voice as he made the pitch in his higher.

“oh, very well, percy. thanks for asking!”

you mocked, blinking in an over exaggerated manner. curiosity began to fill your head, questions racing in your mind. however, with how you are, you didn’t wanna come off annoying. so, deciding to kill two birds with one stone, you just asked,

“why?”

“because i have another hypothetical question to ask you.”

you rolled your eyes, another chuckle leaving your throat. percy was never the type of kid to just ask one thing and move on.

“wow, shocker.”

“shush. anyways—hypothetically speaking here—i have a crush. and, remember..all hypothetical, the crush was you…”

percy mumbled, breaking eye contact to look at the lake, the waves in the water beginning to splash a little faster and a little more hectically.

your mind went blank as you tried to process what he was saying. even if it was all hypothetical, hypothetical wouldn’t change the false hope he was feeding you.

“and i asked you out. because i, technically, really like you. would you say yes?”

percy asked, his words coming out jumbled and frantic, matching the water in front of you two.

“hypothetically, of course.”

he added, his tone still fast, his heartbeat speeding up along with it. the silence from your end made his blood run cold from embarrassment.

“uhm,”

you managed to squeeze out, your voice way more unstable than you’d like it to be in this situation

“hypothetically…i’d have to ask how well you keep a secret.”

well, shit. if this isn’t the start to a rejection—percy doesn’t know what is.

“pretty well.”

you gulped, biting the inside of your cheek as you went through every possibility and every word in any dictionary ever to find the perfect words to use.

“i’d tell you that in this hypothetical situation…i, also, really liked you and that i’d say yes any day.”

percy didn’t know what to do in all honesty. all he could do was grin from ear to ear as the sound of the waves getting quicker blocked out any other background noise.

“seriously?”

“yup.”

you nodded, your eyes shifting down to the ground for a second or two.

“well, uhm, would you like to go out? maybe? non-hypothetically?”

percy asked, his small flush across his cheeks making his face feel hot. he, unconsciously, leaned closer to you in anticipation.

“yeah, i would.”

with your confirmation, percy felt a bolt of energy enter his body. he nodded, chuckling to himself as his smile begin to hurt his cheeks.

“cool.”

he muttered, feeling anything but cool as he leaned back away from you. the both of you sat in silence until you stood up, dusting yourself off.

percy looked up at you, his knees to his chest, lips slightly parted. you bent down, brushing his hair behind his ear, kissing his temple lightly.

“can’t wait, percy.”

you mumbled before walking off, leaving percy alone with his thoughts and the way-too-out-of-control lake. as what happened slowly proceeded in his mind, a wave hit his legs.

sure, his pants are now wet. sure, he looks like a goddam dork right now. but who cares? he just got a date with the girl of his dreams. all he could do his care about you and only you.

not something silly like water, or the hypothetical, or what lie he’s gonna use to explain why his pants are wet.