#in my defense i was handing him request items

[cozyrosies]

stop why is this so funny??

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ8 MINUTES OF CUTE MOMENTS * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where a fan made an 8-minute video with a compilation of Chris and Y/N being in love.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The fans of the triplets simply adored Y/N and Chris together, and that wasn't news. The number of comments and likes doubled whenever the girl appeared with her boyfriend in a random picture in a photo dump on Instagram or when her voice sounded in the background of a video.

But what they loved most was when a cute moment of the two of them together was captured during a video on the Sturniolo channel or in a fraction of seconds on Y/N's TikTok, and they made this clear by making thousands of compilations of these little moments, long enough to even post on YouTube.

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8 minutes of cute moments between Chris Sturniolo and his girlfriend, Y/N.

1st minute:

The triplets and Y/N were walking down the sidewalk near the arena in Boston, where they played hockey with Nate.

Nick was recording himself with his phone, talking about how he had almost slipped on the ice several times, when Chris and Y/N's voices sounded, interrupting him. He focused the front camera on the two behind him, surreptitiously recording them.

"... But baby, it wasn't my fault." Y/N complained, her lips forming a pout as her eyes focused on the floor.

"Babe, I asked you to record the game, right?" Chris asked, an amused smile on his face.

They walked side by side, the girl's right arm around her boyfriend's slightly sweaty waist, while Chris's left arm rested on Y/N's shoulders, his fingers caressing her left bicep lightly.

"Yes, and I recorded it!" Her voice came out high-pitched.

"Okay, and how many times did I make a goal?" The boy asked again, raising his right eyebrow.

"Three." Y/N replied in an obvious tone, raising her eyes to look into the blue ones she loved so much. "You kissed me every time you did it." She smiles proudly.

"Yes, and how many of those three did you record?"

"None." She looked down again, her pout deepening. "But-"

Chris threw his head back, his laughter echoing through the night, interrupting his girlfriend's defense.

He leaned down slightly, sealing his lips over Y/N's head, an amused smile still on his face. Oh, how he loved his girlfriend.

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2nd minute:

The triplets were filming the video "A night at the North Pole with Larray and Nai!". The camera was positioned in a strategic point so that the lens captured all the camping items around the room, as well as the brothers and the two guests.

Y/N was in her shared room with Chris, already dressed in her - his - pajamas and with her skincare done, ready for bed. But sleep never came.

She knew she had trouble sleeping without Chris after her body got used to the boy's presence pressed against hers every night for 5 years, so her mind didn't seem to give in, begging for the warmth that Chris's larger body provided.

After a few long minutes of turning from side to side, Y/N gave up trying. Sleep was taking over her, and she was feeling more and more stressed for not being able to go into dream land, so she decided to just go to her boyfriend.

Y/N rose from the bed, their duvet wrapped around her body like a cape. Her hands reached for the handle of the white door, closing it behind her and climbing the stairs in slow, silent steps caused by the fluffy socks that covered her feet.

Larray was the first to notice her - sitting facing the top of the stairs. He smiled, amused by his friend's condition; her eyes slightly closed from sleep, her hair high in a messy bun, and her hands gripping the edges of the duvet tightly.

Not many seconds passed, and Y/N's figure was finally caught by the camera, the girl having entered the frame.

"Hey, zombie girl." Nick joked when he noticed her, raising his eyebrows in amusement.

Y/N completely ignored him, walking towards her boyfriend from behind the triplets, not wanting to step on the food that was on the floor between the five of them.

Chris's face automatically lit up when he noticed her after hearing his brother, a big smile taking over as his eyes sparkled. He opened his arms, already waiting for his girlfriend's next move.

The girl smiled lazily back, planting her feet on the floor on either side of her boyfriend's hips, before lowering herself with Chris's help, sitting on his lap.

The brunette quickly wrapped her in his arms, surrounding her torso covered by the fluffy duvet. He hugged her tightly, laying his head in the crook of her neck and exhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo momentarily, before resting his chin on her shoulder, being able to see everything in front of him.

"Sleep, pretty girl."

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3rd minute:

Chris was playing Fortnite live on Twitch. His camera was on and focused on his upper body. His head was covered by the hood of his hoodie, pressed against his ears by the headphone, from where muffled sounds from the video game were coming out.

Within 30 minutes of streaming, Y/N's figure shyly appeared behind Chris. Her hands held a tray with some snacks and an already opened can of Pepsi.

She walked towards her boyfriend, curving her spine slightly forward so that her face came into his field of vision, alerting him to her presence.

The boy's blue eyes widened in excitement almost instantly, a smile stretching across his face as his right hand worked on pausing the game, using the soles of his feet against the floor to turn his body towards her.

"Hi bubba, I just came to drop off some snacks for you. It's been a while since you had dinner, I thought you could be hungry." Y/N counted in a low tone, momentarily forgetting that Chris's headphones were of the highest quality, meaning it caught her every word.

The couple didn't notice the chaos in the chat, too focused on each other.

Chris bit his lower lip in an attempt to stop his smile from growing any wider, taking the tray from Y/N's hands and placing it on the free space on his computer desk.

He lifted his chin slightly in the air so that he brought his lips closer to hers, sealing them in a quick kiss, his eyes shining with intense love.

"Thank you, babe." Chris thanked in an equally low tone, adjusting himself in his chair again, ready to go back to playing.

Y/N smiled, caressing his shoulder lightly before turning to leave the room.

"I love you." The brunette shouted quickly before his girlfriend could close the door, receiving an "I love you more" in return.

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4th minute:

The triplets and Y/N were at an Italian restaurant, having decided to go out to dinner together that day.

Y/N was talking to Matt about one of the random facts that the boy knew and blurted out of nowhere, the two deeply involved in the conversation.

The dishes had just been delivered by the waiter, who placed them respectively in front of the person who ordered, leaving shortly afterward.

Chris quickly pulled Y/N's plate towards himself, grabbing his own knife and fork and cutting the sirloin steak into small pieces and separating them from the pasta, knowing how much his girl hated cutting meat and how she always ate too quickly.

What he didn't notice was that Nick took out his phone the moment he started the gesture, closely recording his brother cutting his girlfriend's food, practicing the act of service.

After finishing, Chris lightly pushed the plate in front of his girl, turning around to start eating his own.

The girl smiled shyly, turning to Chris momentarily, sealing her lips over his cheek before murmuring a "thank you, babe" against his skin, turning her attention back to Matt.

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5th minute:

The triplets were in their car, recording another car video. Y/N was their special guest, sitting in the backseat next to Chris, who chose to sit there just to be close to his girlfriend.

Y/N had just taken a bite of the pepperoni pizza that Nick took from the trunk, finishing chewing quickly so she could bring her point of view on something Nick was saying, gesturing with her right hand while her left held the piece carefully.

Chris watched her closely, his eyes fixed on her side profile as he listened, nodding his head.

Something the fandom loved was how Y/N was the only person Chris didn't interrupt all the time, showing himself completely interested in hearing anything his girl was saying, regardless of whether it made sense or not.

At one point, the boy lowered his eyes, stretching his right arm and taking one of the napkins that was on the car console, bringing it to Y/N's mouth, lightly wiping the corner of her lip that was dirty with sauce, but without interrupting her.

Chris folded the napkin, leaving it on his lap, knowing he would have to use it again soon.

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6th minute:

"Look, boys, learn from Chris how to treat a girl right." Nick whispered from behind his phone.

He was standing behind the kitchen table, holding his cell in his right hand, the rear camera focused on the living room couch, where Y/N was.

The girl was lying on her side, her knees bent so that her thighs touched her chest. Her back was facing the room, while her face was lightly pressed against the back of the couch. A Fresh Love sweatshirt set covered her body, keeping her warm.

Small sighs escaped her half-open mouth, her eyes moving behind her eyelids, showing how deep her sleep was.

Chris, who was sitting with her feet on his lap seconds ago, was now standing in front of the couch, curving his spine down so that he could reach his girlfriend, slowly passing his arms under her neck and bent knees, pulling her up.

On instinct, Y/N raised her left arm, surrounding Chris's neck and laying her head on his chest, waking up for just a few seconds, caressing his covered skin with the tip of her nose.

"Shh, sleep baby. I'm right here." Chris murmured in a low tone, sealing her forehead lightly, stopping his movements as he watched her close her eyes again, falling back to sleep.

Chris moved slowly, hugging Y/N's body against his as he walked towards the stairs, not noticing Nick recording them from afar.

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7th minute:

Y/N was sitting on the puff in front of her makeshift dressing table. Her phone was resting on it horizontally while her front camera recorded herself.

She was talking about the new trend in the fashion world, having as a hobby making videos for TikTok about fashion and makeup. While the girl explained in detail, her hands worked on doing her nighttime skincare, gesturing, and changing products alternately.

Chris's figure appeared behind her a few seconds after she started it, his hands holding Y/N's hairbrush. He was already ready to sleep, his eyes half closed with sleep and his hair slightly messy.

A habit created by the couple was that, while Y/N did her skincare before bed, Chris would carefully comb her hair, having always had a great love for her locks.

The boy approached his girlfriend, smiling quickly at the camera before stopping behind Y/N. His free hand parted her hair so he could comb it without hurting her or leaving any part behind.

Chris raised his hand with the hairbrush, starting to do it gently, untangling the knots created throughout the day and aligning the strands.

His eyes met Y/N's from time to time through the mirror, a small smile resting on his lips, adorning his passionate features.

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8th minute:

It was the Versus Tour; Matt, Chris, and Nick were playing the last round of Giant Jenga when Chris spotted a fan with a sign held up.

"Wait, before we continue, can I read a sign from a fan real quick?" The brunette interrupted the group, holding his microphone with his right hand and pointing at the crowd with his left one, receiving absurdly loud screams in response.

Matt shrugged, looking at Nick, who nodded, making a go-ahead gesture with his hands.

"Hi! Can I read your sign?" Chris turned back to the audience, pointing to a specific girl. The girl's eyes widened, her mouth opening in shock at being noticed by her idol, taking a few seconds to finally nod her head repeatedly. "Your sign says, "I'm only here for Y/N"-"

Loud screams interrupted Chris, fans going wild at the mention of his girlfriend's name. The brunette took the microphone away from his mouth, laughing in disbelief and looking at a specific area on the right side of the stage.

A fan, who was in the audience and recording the moment, focused the rear camera of her phone on the place where Chris looked, being able to capture the figure of Y/N, who was laughing loudly and clapping her hands in amusement, shaking her head.

"Well, I can't judge you. Everywhere I am, I only go for Y/N, too." Chris muttered into his microphone again, laughing as he received even louder screams in response.

His eyes met his girlfriend's, throwing an air kiss and an "I love you" with just a movement of his lips, before turning his attention back to the game.

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Extra minute:

The triplets and Y/N were at their house with Nate and Madi. Everyone was in the living room, talking about random topics while a movie played on the television at low volume, serving as ambient sound. Some board games were scattered on the floor, next to unopened or already eaten snacks.

Chris was sitting on a puff in front of the big windows while Y/N was on his lap. She had her legs thrown to one side while her torso was on the other, sitting sideways on Chris's thighs with her right shoulder resting on his chest.

Chris's arms encircled her body, his right one holding her waist while his left one caressed her thighs lightly.

The girl was talking about a situation she witnessed between a group of third-party friends, always keeping her boyfriend updated on the gossip.

What they didn't know was that Madi was recording their cute moment.

As Y/N spoke, Chris looked into her eyes intently, his gaze so full of love that Madi thought she could see hearts in the place of his pupils.

The brunette nodded from time to time, making it clear that he had his attention on her and understood everything she was saying, an almost imperceptible smile resting on the corner of his lips.

The two seemed to be surrounded by a bubble created just for them, the entire outside world completely forgotten.

That was their dynamic, and the triplets fandom loved it.

© vanteguccir

[cooliofango]

SEBASTIAN SOLACE FLUFF you walk into his shop looking like death, at first he acts snarky as usual, but he feels bad. you were never flashing him with flash beacons or pissing him off. he gives you a med kit for free, and lets you stay to rest. he lets you sleep cradled against his tail, and doesnt want to admit it but he enjoys it.

Not So Expendable

Pairing: Sebastian Solace x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Synopsis: Reader has had a bad run and needs to catch a break.

A/N: NERVOUS!!! 😂 I want this to be a good start to the Pressure fandom so I hope I did well! Thank you for requesting to help me get started! (And so quickly too!) I hope I’ve portrayed Sebastian well! If anyone who reads this has any positive constructive criticism feel free to share!

TW: Mention of injury, slightly graphic but nothing incredibly gory!

The familiar sound of someone pulling themselves through the vents pulled Sebastian’s attention towards it, the soft light blue glow of his three eyes settling on the rather ragged figure of the expendable making their runs for today. They breathed heavily through parted lips, a bloodied hand returning to their side to return to applying pressure to the deep red soaked material of their suit-- the right side, he noted.

“Oh my!” A baiting tone left his lips, sharp, pearly white teeth visible as he smirked down at them. “Aren’t you a sight to see?” A deep chuckle filled the air that quickly began to fill with the thick smell of iron. He’s seen wounds similar to the ones this expendable had on numerous occasions. This early in the run, they usually stem from a very specific monster here in the Hadal Blacksite. “I thought you would be smart enough to avoid such simple trickery. They’re only Good People, after all.” The emphasis on the monster’s name was spoken condescendingly, humming in amusement at his own play of words.

There was no response from the expendable. Their hand only pressed more firmly on their wound, limping towards him without so much as a glance in his direction. They only seemed focused on the items draped along the length of his tail. Sebastian frowned in slight annoyance, an emotion that showed vibrantly in his tone, “Fine, fine! Straight to business are we? And here I thought we had something special.”

That line was said tauntingly, though his frown softened. The expendable before him was definitely different from the others he has come across- special is quite the stretch, though, no? The first time you came with a group was a memory that stood out to him in that moment of reminiscence. A large and rowdy group of eight came in to purchase what they wished, with a rather infuriating kid thinking it was a good idea to use the flash beacon right there in the room with him. The sudden bright light stung his eyes harshly. He was about to lash out at the kid, a hand raised to rub the stinging sensation away. But a certain expendable’s voice beat him to it.

“Come on! Is that really necessary? You’re wasting the uses on it anyways!”

While it wasn’t necessarily a direct defense for him, there have been many other occasions where you would put your little group in line whenever you went out as a team. Likewise, you would remain courteous when interacting with him when you would make runs alone as well- no matter how much he would try to tease and annoy you.

A slight tug against his tail brought him back to reality, watching as your face went from relief as you placed a hand on the medkit settled dead center of all of the wares he had up for offer, to a heavy sense of worry as your hand moved to grab the price tag set above it. “Something not to your liking?” Though his tone still held a bit of mockery, it waned into something a little softer.

The expendable quickly shrugged off their bag, struggling for a moment to pull the zipper open with their free hand before digging through its contents frantically. Their face grew paler as an empty flashlight and old keycards toppled out the sides of the open bag. A few files were tossed onto the ground, as well as a couple of DNA samples- but they weren’t even half of what the medkit cost.

Sebastian cringed at the sight, an unpleasant feeling bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Sympathy? His jaw locked in place at the thought. No way. Sympathy for an expendable who will only be sent back once again when they’re on the brink of death, only to be healed to be good as new for the sole purpose of doing all again until the people of UrbanShade were satisfied? Absolutely not, was what he decided. It was nothing more than a slightly sick sense of pity.

The expendable in question dropped onto the ground, seemingly too weak to keep themselves up anymore. Their chest rose and fell with each heavy and shaken breath they took, leaning against an empty spot on his tail.

God, they looked pathetic..

Sebastian scoffed irritably, that same awful feeling that started within the pit of his stomach now crawling up his spine. They looked pathetic. He ripped the medkit off of its hook, tossing it in the expendable’s direction. It clattered loudly when the plastic box made contact with the stone floors, only stopping when it had hit the expendable’s leg and bounced off of it, landing it a few inches away from them.

Tired eyes moved quickly to the box and then to him, leaving only a second to wonder before it was hastily scooped up into their hands. Their hands shook from how weak their body was, and their hands slipped from how bloodied they were- but they managed to open it with an audible pop. The gauze wrap was in their hands in mere minutes, struggling to unzip the scuba suit they wore in order to make their most life threatening wound more accessible.

It was then that Sebastian was able to get a clearer view of the wound you so desperately were trying to keep from draining the expendable completely of their energy. He’s unable to tell if the wound was as deep as it looked, or if the wound was just large, causing the blood loss to make it appear deeper than it really was. It was definitely way worse than the smaller cuts littering their arms- most of which have already healed on their own- as well as the large bruise on the left side of their jaw.

Relief caused Sebastian’s shoulders to relax momentarily, his shoulders dropping with each second he watched the expendable patch themselves up to the best of their abilities. He scoffed at himself upon realization. He shouldn’t be feeling that way towards an expendable. He shouldn’t have helped them to begin with! He keeps telling himself this. And yet, here the both of you are.

The gentle pressure against his tail pulled him from his thoughts once more. The expendable rested against his tail again, eyes fallen shut and breathing more evened out than before. They looked far more relaxed than they were mere moments ago. They appeared almost too relaxed.

“Hey, now! Who said you could get some shut eye?” He initially began to tease, moving his tail to start wrapping around the expendable’s body with the intent on lifting them up to wake them. But he stops himself. His tail is wrapped completely around them, but it hadn’t tightened enough to safely lift them up without the risk of dropping them. The relaxed state, in comparison to moments earlier, eased his nerves. Much to his own dismay. A feeling of defeat washed over him, sighing to himself in slight annoyance as he crossed two of his three arms across his chest.

“Very well..” His voice was soft as to not awaken them, watching over them carefully as the room rumbled with the passing of an Angler just outside the room.

[pineconepie]

This is all so amazing but I have to have some more of Vincent talking care of us especially what happens with his mob and stuff like if he’s out how much defense does he know on you and if so how many of them are around our finger by our 2 meeting?

This isn't exactly what was requested, but I still like the way it turned out :3

TW: Mentions of violence, parental/platonic yandere, infantilization

...

You hold Vincent's hand as he steps out the limousine, gently tugging you along with him.

When he mentioned bringing you to his office and workplace, you had no clue what to expect. So far, most of what you've seen matches the theme of Cryo and their various properties and establishments - mostly sleek black and white, with hints of blues and grays thrown in here and there.

You look up at the building nervously, but he doesn't seem too worried about it at all.

In fact, he looks rather excited for this visit. "You'll love it! We have lots of nice stuff here," he reassures you. "I'll hire a babysitter for you soon, but for now I want you to stay with Dad some more before we separate too much."

Babysitter, huh? Well, it makes sense given how protective and controlling Vincent acts around you. Not that you'd complain too much, you're well fed and generally content, besides the occasional panic session.

He smiles widely, putting his hands on your shoulders and guiding you into the lobby area.

The walls are painted a light cream color, the floors tiled grey.

There aren't any windows on this floor, just doors leading elsewhere inside.

There are several men and women walking around wearing suits and carrying briefcases or files. A few glance at you curiously as they pass by, but otherwise they keep focused on their tasks.

They all move aside quickly upon noticing Vincent approaching with you, however. None of them want to get in your way or risk upsetting the boss by holding up traffic.

That must mean these people really respect him, or fear him.

Probably a little bit of both.

Either way, it gives you chills thinking about what kind of person could command so much authority without even raising their voice once.

Then again... You suppose that's part of being in charge of a massive organization like Cryo. Anyone who steps out of line gets dealt with accordingly. No questions asked.

A woman approaches him briskly. "Good morning, Mr. Brewer," she greets politely, bowing her head slightly as she does. Her gaze flickers to you briefly before returning back to him. "How may I assist you today?"

"Just making sure my kiddo settles in nicely here." Vincent pats your head affectionately. "Come on, munchkin." He guides you down the hall.

Everyone stares at you openly now, curious about the newcomer. You try not to pay attention, focusing instead on Vincent and where he leads you. Eventually, you arrive in front of an office door marked 'Mr. Vincent Brewer.'

Inside is an enormous space filled with expensive furnishings and decorations.

Huge bookshelves line one wall; another contains a large fireplace surrounded by comfy armchairs. The ceiling itself seems to stretch upwards forever, ending somewhere far above your head.

On the opposite side of the room sits a desk piled high with papers and other items that look like they belong to important meetings. A huge map covers most of the surface. Behind it stands a window overlooking the city below.

"I made sure the mini fridge is stocked full of juice boxes and snacks," he tells you, gesturing to the corner of the room. "Only the best for my baby."

You blush and rub your arm. "I-I'm not a baby..."

He smiles at you sweetly, booping your nose. "Aw, yes you are, sweetie. But its okay! You don't have to worry about anything anymore." He then scoops you up in his arms and rocks you back and forth, making you giggle. "See? You try to act all tough and grown-up sometimes, but deep down you just wanna be babied, right?"

"...shut up," you mutter into the fabric of his shirt.

He hums softly and continues to sway you back and forth for a few moments longer before finally setting you down again. Then he takes your hand and leads you towards the couch near the fireplace.

"Here's some blocks and crayons and stuff." He sets a box of toys on top of the coffee table, along with a coloring book. "I have lots of important paperwork to do, so play quietly and let Dad focus on work, okay?"

You nod obediently, already reaching for the box.

Your fingers brush against plastic bricks and cardboard books before pulling away again, grabbing hold of some colored pencils instead. You start drawing random lines and shapes onto blank sheets of paper, enjoying yourself more than you'd like to admit.

Meanwhile, Vincent sits down behind his desk and begins sorting through various documents, scribbling things down whenever he needs to jot something down.

Every now and then he glances over at you, smiling warmly each time.

When you finish scribbling aimlessly across the page, you glance up to see what else you could do. The idea of sitting still for hours while listening to Vincent shuffle through papers is boring beyond belief.

You wonder how much you could annoy him if you truly acted the child he's so keen to treat you like.

You crawl into his lap, giggling when he jolts in surprise, looking down at you.

"What are you doing, cutie pie?" Vincent asks. He wraps one arm around you protectively. His grip tightens slightly as he leans forward to get a better view of your drawings. "Drawing pretty pictures for Dad, hm?"

"Yep!" you chirp, smiling brightly up at him. "Wanna see?"

His expression softens further as he nods. "Yeah, sure! Come on, up ya go." He lifts you higher onto his chest so he can see everything clearly. Then he examines your artwork closely for several seconds. Afterward, he gives you an approving nod. "My baby is so talented! That's beautiful. Didn't know I was in the same room as an artistic prodigy!"

Your face heats up at the compliment, feeling embarrassed yet oddly pleased at the same time. "T-thank you..."

He ruffles your hair affectionately and sets you back down again. "Why don't you draw some more? Maybe make Dad a picture too?"

You were hoping he'd be annoyed with you, but he looks more happy than anything, even with how busy he must be right now.

Oh well.

Maybe next time.

You continue to doodle idly for a while longer. You find yourself wanting to push the envelope with Vincent's patience, see how much he'll allow before it becomes too much.

But then he stands, adjusting his tie. "I got a quick meeting to attend," he says, offering you a sad smile. "Wait here. I'll come check on you and bring you lunch after."

Disappointed, you nod, frowning as he pats your head and walks towards the exit.

The door closes behind him with a quiet click. Only then do you slump against the cushions of the chair you sat upon earlier. Now what will you do?

You return to your doodles, deciding that this is probably the best way to pass time while waiting for him to return.

Once you get bored with those, you wander around the office. You poke around his desk drawers, finding nothing interesting there besides the usual stuff like pens and pencils.

You sift through folders of documents, but its hard to understand any of it, since there's loads of big words you don't know and lots of numbers involved. You end up staring blankly at pages full of graphs showing lines going upwards and downwards, wondering how anyone could ever read such boring stuff without falling asleep halfway through.

When that gets boring, you go to the door, turning the knob, expecting him to have locked it behind him.

However, much to your surprise, it opens easily.

So either he trusts you won't run off while unsupervised, or he simply forgot to lock it due to distraction.

Whatever the case may be, it means you have access to explore the building freely...

With excitement bubbling in your stomach, you quickly step out of the room and shut the door carefully so it doesn't make a noise.

Oddly enough, you don't want to try escaping, even if the chances were in your favor.

You take the elevator up a few floors and look out the window.

The view up here... It really is breathtaking. From where you stand, you can see miles and miles away, watching the sky shift colors as clouds drift overhead.

"Oh, poor thing. Are you lost?" a gentle voice coos.

You turn to see a man who looks slightly younger than Vincent, with long dark hair and grey eyes. He wears a suit, but he has several bandages wrapped around his hands.

"N-no! I'm just..." You pause, unsure what excuse to use. "...I was exploring."

He frowns. "Is that so? I'm Trenton. What's your name, little one?" He kneels down, even though he isn't much taller than yourself.

Why is everyone so insistent on treating you as a child?! But you can't deny, it does make you feel smaller. "...(Y/n)."

Trenton blinks for a moment. "Ohh, you're Vincent's child! Oh, wow. I can tell why he dotes on you, you're adorable. What on earth are you doing here? It's dangerous and I know for a fact Vinnie wouldn't allow it."

Another group of people come over, before you get the chance to even reply.

"Woah! Why's a kid here?" a man with short messy hair asks.

"That's Boss's kid," a woman in a pinstripe suit remarks. "We shouldn't mess with them. He won't take kindly to us interactin' with them."

Suddenly, you feel tiny amongst these tall adults surrounding you.

Trenton notices your anxious expression. "That's just Quinn, don't mind her. Oh, and this is Phoenix."

"Heya, squirt," Phoenix greets. He ruffles your hair. "We should probably get them back to Mama Bear's office before he notices. I'd rather not have all my limbs broken today."

"Mama Bear?" you ask in confusion, tilting your head.

"The Boss," Quinn replies shortly. "Our new little code name for him."

"Because of youuu," Phoenix croons, pinching your cheeks. "Boss treats you like his baby cub. I think it's cute, personally."

"Okay, leave (Y/n) alone," Trenton scolds. "Come on, I'll lead you back downstairs." He holds out his uninjured hand for yours, which you accept. Not like you have much of a choice.

"I can come with you guys!" Phoenix exclaims. "And so can Quinn, right?"

The woman sighs. "Well, it beats working."

As the four of you begin descending the stairs, you look at Trenton's bandaged hands. "What happened?" You don't even realize its rude until you say it out loud. "I'm sorry if that was personal..."

He chuckles. "Aw, it's okay. It's fine." He stretches them out, examining the wounds beneath his cloth wrappings. "Just some... accidents in the workplace." He smiles faintly.

Phoenix elbows him roughly in the ribs. "You didn't tell em the best part! About the fork!"

"I don't want to traumatize the poor thing!" Trenton exclaims. "You know Vincent would kill me."

Quinn smirks. "The story behind it was pretty funny. Some bastard thought he could break in and steal some documents, but good ol' Trent here managed to take him out with a single fork. Very gory, very bloody. I sat and watched the entire thing. The best part? It was a Hello Kitty-themed fork."

Trenton glares. "It was actually Keroppi. Get your Sanrio characters straight next time."

She rolls her eyes dramatically.

You frown. "T-that's awful... is the intruder okay?"

Phoenix laughs loudly. "Pft— Hell nah! Boss had us kill the dude. None of us really like killing, but it comes with the job."

"I like it," Quinn shrugs, earning another glare from Trenton. "What?! Don't get a job here if you're squeamish about killing."

Trenton sighs, then notices your terrified expression. "I know that's probably scary... but we only kill the people who deserve it." He offers a small smile. "Don't worry, sweetie. We won't hurt you." He narrows his eyes at both Phoenix and Quinn. "Now please, they've already been traumatized enough. Let's talk about happier things, shall we?"

They hear yelling as they get closer to the hall you remember Vincent's office being.

"Someone had to see them! Are you all stupid?! They're so small, there's no way they got far! Fuck! Check the cameras!" Vincent bellows. "If they aren't found in the next ten fucking minutes, you're all dead!"

"Ohhh, someone messed up big time," Phoenix says under his breath, glancing over at you. "Lemme guess - you left while he went somewhere?"

You swallow nervously and nod.

"(Y/n)! Baby, where are you?! Please don't do this to me!" Vincent cries from afar. His tone went from livid to desperate in the span of just a few seconds. "Please, angel, if you can hear me, come back! Where are you?!"

Trenton grimaces. "This is the most upset I've seen him since... ever." He glances at Quinn and Phoenix. "I think you guys should leave if you don't want to face his wrath."

"Good plan. Seeya, squirt." Phoenix gives your shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "Bye, Trenton. Good luck."

When you finally reach Vincent, he's panting and pacing back and forth, gun in hand and eyes crazed. He looks genuinely terrifying right now.

"(Y/n)?!" He sprints over immediately, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. "Oh, oh thank god. Are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt anywhere?" He starts patting you down, searching every inch of skin for injury. "Where have you been? Do I need to kill someone?" He kisses your face all over, squeezing you impossibly tight in his embrace. "God, don't scare me like that!"

You glance at Trenton, silently pleading for help.

Trenton clears his throat. "Boss... I found them wandering around, they got lost. They were looking for you. Everything is okay."

Vincent stares at him, still clutching your trembling body tightly. "Is that so?" Then he returns his attention to you again. "Baby? Is that true?"

You hesitate, because that's far from true, but lying would probably spare you from his anger. "I got worried. You were gone forever." You bury your face in his shoulder, hoping he'll feel pity for you. "Please don't be mad at me... or Trenton."

Vincent sighs heavily. "Oh, pumpkin... It's alright." He kisses the top of your head lovingly. "Sorry I left for so long. I'll call my driver to pick us up early, then we can put this all past us." He leads you back into his office, passing Trenton a grateful smile. "Thanks, Trent. I'll buy you a new set of Keroppi silverware."

"...that would be appreciated."

...

"Boss's ride is here, where is he?" Phoenix tilts his head.

"In his office. I'll make sure he's okay," Trenton says.

Quinn and Phoenix follow. Trenton knocks gently and cracks open the door to check in on Vincent and his kiddo.

On the couch, you're sleeping soundly on his lap, a blanket draped across you and Vincent cradling you like you're the most precious thing in existence. Probably because to him, you are.

"Aww," Phoenix coos, leaning on the doorway. "Mama Bear and his cub!"

Vincent shoots them the middle finger, but they can all see the amusement barely hidden on his face. "Don't you three have somewhere to be? Get out before you all get demoted."

Trenton stifles a laugh. "Your ride is here, Boss."

"Hmm." He carefully scoops you up, rubbing your back soothingly when you stir awake. "Shhh, shhh, its okay, munchkin. Just me and Trent. And Phoenix. And Quinn, for some reason. Go back to sleep." You fall unconscious again, instinctively nuzzling closer to Vincent.

You hate to admit it, but you feel safe.

[shirefantasies]

Congratulations to you on your follower milestone! Can I request a part 2 of your "How they act around their crush" headcanons but with the characters outside the fellowship that you usually write for? Thank you so muchhhh

wAIT BECAUSE THAT'S SUCH A GOOD IDEA 🥺👀 And it's perfect to go from my first post to a 1500 followers post! Thank you for this so much anon 🥹 I'm doing everyone again because I like to think I’ve grown in my understanding and/or writing and also I LOVE EM

How LoTR Characters Act Around Their Crush

Aragorn

✧ Aragorn often invites you to sit by his side, often surrendering the most comfortable spot or ensuring yours is suitable by pushing aside sharper gravel or padding stones with moss.

✧ Tender gestures like pushing your hair off your face if it is long enough or straightening your clothing back out and dusting it off abound.

✧ The most comforting words ever uttered to you are by Aragorn, who wholeheartedly believes you are amazing and deserve a better fate; he would speak such even if not for his feelings for you, but they deepen his sentiments all the more.

✧ While you kneel by the river, preparing to clean the finally-still fish you’d caught, you hear a scuffle at your back; turning reveals the sight of Aragorn, who reaches over to offer his assistance. Silence or conversation, tools or just a pair of hands, he will remain by your side with whatever you need. You will see this time and time again in your travels together.

✧ "Your hands are cold," he will remark, immediately closing his around them to shield them from the night air.

Legolas

✧ Takes you by the hand and guides you over all the difficult terrain you cross, even doing his best to keep you atop the snow with him.

✧ Does, in fact, make a point to up the others’ showmanship in battle, even literally jumping over them sometimes if applicable. Symbolic? What an accusation!

✧ At the fire, he often drapes his cloak over your shoulders, surreptitiously scooting the smallest closer to you as he helps you keep warm.

✧ Is there when you fall, ready to catch you about the waist and right you once more.

✧ Teaches you the funniest phrases in Elvish, whether they are insults or nicknames for other fellowship members or even just a silly pun only you two will be laughing at!

Boromir

✧ Holds himself straighter, subconsciously all but puffing out his chest not in some grasp of vanity, but as a means to hold himself as a man strong enough for your defense and respect.

✧ Similarly, no one but him will be allowed to accompany you out hunting or seeking firewood; Boromir’s shield remains right by your side.

✧ Pats his lap to encourage you to sling your legs onto it at the end of the day, unlacing your boots and flooding you with relief and cool air.

✧ Unabashedly holds up a hand if someone interrupts you and reminds them that you are speaking. Among the many other things he does for you, Boromir makes it clear that you are one of his highest priorities.

✧ Boromir never allows you to carry any burden you cannot bear— or that would simply be difficult. Large items will be swung effortlessly over his back as he smiles over his shoulder at you, assuring you it is his pleasure.

Gimli

✧ Surprisingly flustered around you when you first meet, peering at you with wide eyes like he simply cannot believe you are real. That shock carries to his words as he breathes praises, disbelief that you are more than a vision to him, that he can look upon you freely.

✧ You gain a built-in protector, an axe at your service, as Gimli will not let harm come to you. He dubs you his good luck charm in battle, too, telling you that he cannot fail at anything if he can make you smile.

✧ Still his mind goes blank when you tuck strands of hair away from his face or fix his braid, eyes wide and breath hitching at your soft touch.

✧ Offers you the sweetest things, like when he sees you are cold at night and grants you use of a thick woolen blanket knitted by his mother!

✧ Habitually uses a sort of pet name for you, referring to you in conversation with whatever suits you best, a little title like ‘laddie’ or ‘my dear’.

Frodo

✧ Even if you hadn’t thought it possible, his voice and manner are even softer and gentler around you.

✧ Silently pulls your blanket up higher and tucks you in when he is on watch.

✧ Little comments from Frodo reveal how he feels about you. He is more than willing to note how you raise his spirits, your intelligence or how strong you are— anything in the moment he can compliment!

✧ Everyone looks to Frodo for advice, decisions, explanations, and anyone who knows him well can see how exhausting this gets. When you stand up for him, he is relieved nearly to tears and even as his cheeks flush, you’ll feel how tightly he clings to your subsequent embrace, breathing thanks all the while.

✧ Unthinkingly creeps a hand to yours, fingertips gingerly brushing, as you sit side by side, soaking in the reality of your new life and holding fast to you as a tether to a warm, joyous past.

Sam

✧ Clams up in your presence sometimes, voice faltering while your eyes are on him.

✧ Listens so intently, eyes soft and tender. Everything you say is committed to Sam’s memory.

✧ “I found these,” he’ll tell you sheepishly, head tilting momentarily toward the flowers in his hand, “Thought you might like them.”

✧ Takes your input first, sometimes even asking only you things like what he should make for everyone next or where to suggest you should stop.

✧ Shy about touch as he is, during the toughest moments or even just when it comes time to show he cares, Sam gently lays a hand over yours, hoping you feel the warmth of his heart through its own.

Merry

✧ “Come on, look here!” Taking both your hands, he’ll pull you over with such excitement to share in his latest discoveries.

✧ Invites you to spar with him, grinning teasingly up at you if he gets the upper hand and giving you the most awestruck deep blues no matter what if he gets to watch you fight.

✧ Your hobbies garner a great deal of interest from Merry, who eagerly asks you to teach him anything from painting to archery to pottery! Merry is not afraid to do his research if it is for your many facets. He may even genuinely develop an interest in it himself!

✧ The type who teases you a bit; you're going to catch Merry doing little things like taking or hiding away your things. Worry not, however, he almost always gives them up the moment you ask!

✧ You are going to be the first and only person Merry asks to be his dance partner.

Pippin

✧ Calls you to join him splashing anytime you pass remotely clean water.

✧ In said water you may also catch him checking his reflection and running hands through his curls before he talks to you. Just in case.

✧ Will come up to you with the most random questions in pursuit of starting conversations. Suddenly Pippin will be wanting to know what your favorite kind of pie is or if you were an animal, which would you be, or if you had to wear one color forever which would it be and why?

✧ "If you're worried you might get lost, we could always hold hands."

✧ Laughs at all of your jokes, takes your side in nearly any argument, and generally vies for your favor. When he tells a joke, you are the first one his eyes move to as he gives a hopeful smile.

Faramir

✧ Cautious at first, a bit shy; before any other sign you may notice Faramir sitting near you, but not right by you. He does not tarry and stare, in fact he is trying to do the very opposite and exist in your sphere without a chance of making you uncomfortable.

✧ Learns to mend clothing so as to grant himself an excuse to talk to you and be in your service. Approaching you is not unreasonable, after all, if he has something to offer.

✧ So caring! Faramir always makes sure you’ve eaten, had enough water, your lodgings are adequate if he has any say over it. One look is all it takes for Faramir to know what you need...sometimes before your own realization!

✧ Tucks flowers in your hair or buttonholes and smiles up at you with affection so almost otherworldly it pierces your eyes and diverts your gaze.

✧ Always compares you to his favorite old tales, the ones he pored over endlessly in childhood; you truly are a hero in Faramir’s eyes.

Eomer

✧ Shows off a bit sometimes, attempting riskier feats of riding or sparring extra hard once you appear, boosting his energy and showmanship tenfold!

✧ Silences anyone who speaks ill of you or otherwise bothers you with a scathing look.

✧ In moments when you two are laughing your hardest, you might just catch him slinging an arm over your shoulders and pulling you a bit closer in his mirth.

✧ Admittedly you may catch Eomer's eyes sliding up and down, surveying your form as you pass.

✧ Eomer will never allow you to walk at night alone or travel into dangerous woods or waters; always he will escort you as if he were your own personal night.

Eowyn

✧ If you have long hair, Eowyn will offer to help you braid it or tie it back before work or battle. Even if it is short she'll find a way to run a hand through or over it, ensuring you relax as she helps you look your best.

✧ If you leave, whether it is to battle or even just traveling to visit family, Eowyn will give you a token, something to carry in a promise to return.

✧ Fear takes Eowyn infrequently, but upon feeling its fingers take hold of her, she interlocks her own with yours and the feeling is dispelled instantly. If you sit close enough together, her exhale of relief is palpable.

✧ When she’s feeling especially playful, she’ll grin so wide and pull you by the arm to the dance floor, giggling if you give her a look of surprise!

✧ Hints at her feelings for you with little comments about how there will always be someone who cares for you.

Haldir

✧ Haldir has a habit of checking on you, inquiring as to things like your status and comfort level as often as he can even if he plays this off as common practice.

✧ Inspects your weapons under claims of appraisal, but his greatest concern is how well they will serve you. How safe you will be.

✧ His bold moves come in the form of guiding you, resting his arms atop yours or gripping your hands to help you aim an arrow or carefully embroider Elven patterns.

✧ Being more of a listener, Haldir expresses his desire to hear your story and what you love, all that which makes you yourself as his eyes fix firmly upon you.

✧ If he is feeling cheeky, then perhaps you will catch him challenging you to a friendly competition. Will he let you win? Depends on his mood and how much you goad him back!

Galadriel

✧ Steps toward you so slowly as if savoring every moment she gets to look upon you.

✧ Laughs more loudly and freely in your presence, a positive change those close to her are grateful to you for.

✧ Affectionately rubs your shoulder in passing or anytime you need comfort.

✧ Tours even the farthest bounds of her land with you, ensuring you see the most beautiful garden and at least dip your feet with her into the waters of Lothlórien’s calm rivers and pools.

✧ If you are to offer Galadriel your arm, even jokingly, you will see a small but triumphant smile arch her lips as she takes it.

Elrond

✧ Insists upon serving you himself in all ways decent, sending help only for things like bathing and dressing. Elrond himself pours your drinks, lays down your meals, and pulls out your chair for you.

✧ Sits back and smiles so serenely if you are to fall asleep with your head on his shoulder, even going so far as to hold it steady so your neck will not hurt and keep still himself.

✧ You may not realize it, but you are the only one Elrond allows to interrupt the time he spends thinking, his normally tired demeanor simply spreading into a smile at the sight of you.

✧ Rare indeed is the sight of Lord Elrond of Rivendell flustered, but you make the unthinkable happen when you catch him up into an unexpected hug and kiss on the cheek! His usual quiet is flushed with a new and unexpected joy.

✧ He always knows when you’ll be coming back, his foresight preparing him for your visit so he is always waiting with a pot of your favorite tea.

Arwen

✧ Cups your cheeks and tilts your head up to face her whenever you feel sad or doubt your beauty, eyes akin to those of Lúthien themselves shining with sorrow at the hidden beauty they witness.

✧ Likewise, Arwen's every word and action is a mirror to her belief in you: the awe tinging her tone upon addressing you, the way she presents you like a prize at every opportunity and looks to you in times of distress.

✧ In lighter moments, she’s one to tease, never letting her words hurt you but simply becoming more playful when you both have lowered your walls or simply engaged in conversation.

✧ When you are around, Arwen is much more likely to be seen applying some color to her lips or adjusting her dress— just little things to look her best around you.

✧ Meanwhile, when you look your best you will see the wide grin that spreads across her face as she approaches you, offering her hand and twirling you to see your outfit from all angles when you accept it!

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[cryoculus]

the art of war (and other distractions) ⟢

as a mandatory part of your post-grad program, you're required to log 200 hours as a teaching aide—which would’ve been fine, if you had any say in who you were working with. instead, you're assigned under professor jing yuan: esteemed war historian, charming bane of the faculty lounge, and the one man who makes grading ancient battle essays feel like a tactical skirmish of your own.

★ featuring; jing yuan x f!reader

★ word count; 11.1k words

★ notes; hiiii part two is finally here! quick note that there's a brief timeskip between this and part one, so you might want to read that first although imo it's not necessary. just puts more depth and context into jing yuan and the reader's relationship :3c i was supposed to have this up yesterday but #i forgot lol

MASTERLIST ✧ READ ON AO3

II. A (SLIGHTLY) FUTILE RESISTANCE

You’ve been living in Yaoqing for over three years, and the city still surprises you.

It’s quieter than the Luofu, more grounded—there are no sky bridges between buildings here, no gilded corridors echoing with history. What Yaoqing has instead are sun-drenched lecture halls with cracked windows, noodle stalls that open at sunrise, and students who never take office hours for granted. 

You like it. You’ve even grown fond of the bus ride from the apartment you share with Jiaoqiu downtown. It’s a little far from campus, but the rent is reasonable, and it’s walking distance from the hospital he works at. Your best friend is rarely home, always working rotations or crashing face-first into textbooks. But the place feels lived in and more importantly, shared.

That morning, like most mornings lately, you’d left before Jiaoqiu even stirred. Your coat still smells faintly of the congee stall you passed by on your way to the university gate.

Now, eight hours and three departmental fires later, you’re standing in the symposium planning room. You stare at a whiteboard, or what’s left of it. Beneath the mess of color-coded arrows, neon post-its, and someone’s increasingly unhinged handwriting, there might be a white surface. You haven’t seen it in three days.

But then again, this is the chaos that typically accompanies inter-campus symposiums at Xianzhou University. They don’t happen very often for a reason. 

“Yingyue,” you say slowly, “why does the keynote slot just say ‘??? + pray’?”

Across the room, Yingyue doesn’t look up from her laptop. “Because we’re still waiting for confirmation from the Luofu guests. And also,” she adds, tapping something out furiously, “because prayer is the only action item I can complete on time.”

You squint. “I gave you three backup names.”

“Two are out of town. One said he’ll only accept if we introduce him as a ‘transcendent thought architect.’”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Absolutely not.”

“Agreed,” Lihua chimes in from the corner, crouched over her laptop and what looks like a seating chart for a diplomatic summit. “You let one person change their job title, next thing you know Zichen will demand we call him an intellectual athlete.”

“I would never,” Zichen says, stepping through the door like he’s been summoned. He’s holding two cups of coffee—he hands one to you before continuing, “Though I do think ‘scholarly gladiator’ has a nice ring to it.”

You take the coffee. “You’re late.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies. “The line was twelve people deep and someone ahead of me ordered six oat milk lattes with the emotional weight of a thesis defense.”

The door slams open. You all flinch.

Feixiao storms in with a folder under one arm, a thermos the size of a fire extinguisher, and the kind of expression that makes grown men reconsider their careers. You instinctively straighten up, like all people do in the presence of the Dean of your department. 

“If the Facilities Manager tells me one more time that our lighting request is ‘aspirational,’” she announces, “I will replace every fixture in Lecture Hall Two with interrogation lamps from my uncle’s militia days.”

Silence.

Yingyue lowers her glasses. “Is… is that a real option?”

“No,” you say automatically. Then, because it’s Feixiao, you add, “…Probably.”

Feixiao tosses the folder on the nearest table and points at you. “Update?”

You resist the urge to salute. “We’re still locking in the final keynote, but everything else is on track. Zichen’s confirming the catering, Lihua finalized the panel schedule, and Yingyue—”

“Is praying,” Zichen offers helpfully.

Feixiao exhales. “Good. Because I just got the finalized guest list from the Luofu. And you,” she pauses before pointing another finger, “are going to love this one.”

She slides a printed page across the table toward you. One glance—and your stomach drops.

Professor Jing Yuan Department of History Luofu Campus

Guest speaker. Confirmed.

And just like that, the air shifts. You hear Zichen humming “Taps” under his breath. Lihua raises an eyebrow. Yingyue silently writes oh no on the whiteboard, underlining it twice.

Feixiao’s eyes narrow. “That bad, huh?”

You press your lips together and manage a steady, “It’s fine.”

She nods once. “Good. Because he’s giving a talk in the same time block as your keynote.” Then your superior smiles, just a little too sharply. “Think of it as healthy competition.”

“Healthy competition,” Zichen deadpans. “Sure. Like a knife fight with footnotes.”

You barely hear him. You’re still staring at the name on the page. The printed letters don’t blink, but they may as well. Professor Jing Yuan. You know the cadence of that name too well. Know the quiet weight he always carried into a room. The way he used to lean against the edge of your desk like he had all the time in the world—

“Right,” Feixiao says, breaking the silence with a snap of her folder. “Glad that’s settled.”

You blink. “What?”

“Oh, I mean I settled it,” she says, casually flipping to the next page. “He requested the keynote slot opposite yours. Said it would be a nice mirror—your work on literature and emotion, his on emotion in wartime. Complementary perspectives. Lovely, right?”

You open your mouth, close it again.

Yingyue is now pretending to type something on her laptop with the kind of focus that means she’s listening very hard.

Zichen stirs his coffee and doesn’t look at you. “So. Old mentor of yours?”

“Something like that,” you mutters, shifting your weight. “We worked together. Years ago.”

“And now,” Lihua says, “you’re crossing academic swords on your home turf. Classic.”

You shoot him a look, but Feixiao cuts in before you can respond.

“He mentioned you,” she says. Calm. Too calm. “Back when we were coordinating speakers. He asked how you were adjusting to Yaoqing, and maybe mentioned it’d be good to see you again.”

You glance at her. She’s not smiling, but there’s a glint in her eye like she’s waiting to see whether you’ll retreat or dig in. Classic Feixiao—direct, but never cruel.

“I’m sure he meant that professionally,” you say evenly.

“Mhm,” she replies.

The silence stretches. Everyone is trying their best to look productive.

But Zichen ruins the illusion by coughing into his cup. “So, any chance he’s hot?”

You nearly drop your coffee. “Zichen.”

“What? I like to be prepared for these things. If I’m watching an academic rivalry unfold in real time, I need to know if I’m rooting for drama or emotional devastation.”

“Academic ri—? I used to TA for him in grad school, not try to score higher than the guy in every exam. You think I’m that old?” 

Lihua giggles to herself. “Oh, he’s an older gentleman, then? I totally understand.” 

Sometimes, you think handpicking these idiots for the symposium task-force committee is a grave mistake. But you don’t have the energy to argue anymore.

Just when you thought you can get away with your non-rebuttal, Feixiao decides it’s time to give her own input.

“He’s six-foot-something, speaks like a poem, and has the kind of hair that makes old generals weep.” She smirks. “So yes, Zichen. He’s hot.”

Yingyue nods solemnly. “It’s true. I looked him up. It’s upsetting.”

“Great,” Zichen says. “So we’re definitely in emotional devastation territory.”

You groan and shove the folder back toward Feixiao. “Can we get back to the actual symposium planning?”

“You’re the one who got flustered,” Lihua points out.

You were not flustered. Probably. Maybe. You take a long sip of coffee and start listing panelist names under your breath like a warding spell.

Somewhere deep down, you already know the rest of this week won’t be easy. You’ve worked hard to build something new here—quiet mornings with students, long evenings working beside the hum of city traffic, lectures given with your own voice instead of someone else’s echoing behind it.

You’re not the same person who left the Luofu. And he’s not the same professor you walked away from.

But still.

You feel the shift in the air already. The pull of something unspoken, just ahead. You square your shoulders and reach for your notebook.

Let him come.

You get home just past ten.

The hallway light flickers twice before it steadies—just enough to remind you to finally submit that maintenance request. You kick off your shoes and lock the door behind you, shrugging off your coat with a sigh that seems to come from somewhere deeper than your lungs.

Your apartment is dim, save for the warm glow spilling from the kitchen. You catch the faint sound of a rice cooker ticking, something soft playing from Jiaoqiu’s old tablet speaker.

He’s leaning against the counter, dressed in hospital scrubs, one socked foot tapping gently against the cabinet. His hair is a mess and there’s a pen tucked behind one ear like he forgot it was there—which, knowing him, he absolutely did.

Jiaoqiu looks up when he hears you. “You’re late.”

“You’re one to talk,” you say, dropping your bag onto the chair by the door. “I thought you had a night shift.”

“Shift ended early,” he says, holding up a bowl. “I made enough rice for two. The stew’s reheating.”

You pause. “Did you actually make the stew or did you just add ginger to something frozen and call it a day?”

He doesn’t answer. Which means you’re right.

You smile a little despite yourself, dropping into the seat across from him. “Thanks, Jiao.”

He slides the bowl across the table, then leans on his elbows, watching you like he’s measuring your posture the way he does vitals.

“So,” Jiaoqiu starts. “You want to talk about it, or should I guess?”

You freeze for half a second. “Talk about what?”

He raises both eyebrows and flashes you a look that would've made a lesser person shy away from his gaze. Jiaoqiu is much too perceptive for his own good. 

You stir your rice. “It’s nothing.”

He waits.

“…Feixiao confirmed the Luofu guest list today.”

“Ah. For that symposium you mentioned.” He nods slowly. “And?”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to.

Jiaoqiu exhales and leans back, resting his head against the cabinet behind him. “He’s one of the guests in question, isn’t he?”

You glance at him, startled. “How did you—?”

“I’d have bet money,” he says simply. ���You’ve had the same expression since you graduated whenever his name comes up. Like you’re thinking too much and trying not to show it.”

You focus on your bowl. “It’s fine. It was years ago.”

“You left the Luofu literally a month after you last spoke to the guy,” he says, not unkindly. “And you didn’t tell me until after you got the Yaoqing offer. That was years ago.”

“I didn’t leave because of him.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

Silence stretches between you. The rice cooker clicks off.

He turns down the speaker volume and says, a little more gently, “You okay?”

You nod. Then hesitate. “I think I will be.”

Jiaoqiu watches you for another moment, then reaches for the ginger-stew and starts dishing out a second portion. “If he says anything dumb, or makes you cry again, I’m filing a patient complaint.”

“He doesn’t even live here, Jiao.”

“Details.”

You laugh—quiet, but real.

And for a moment, the weight in your chest eases.

Despite the looming symposium that’s got your attention pulled in ten directions at once, you’re unfortunately still a professor at Yaoqing.

Throughout the week, you had to manage your time between meeting student volunteers, making sure all the necessary permits are in order, as well as showing up to your own lectures with at least a thirty-minute power nap squeezed somewhere in your schedule. 

But come Thursday, things have started to mellow down and you can at least afford to grade assignments in your office without having to think about the Luofu delegation’s lodging. Yingyue told you she had it covered—something you were somewhat skeptical about, but were too exhausted to insist otherwise.

Just as you’re filing away this batch of papers, you hear a soft knock on your door. You glance at the clock—technically after hours, but you’re not the kind of professor who locks her door the moment class ends.

“Come in,” you call.

The door creaks open, and a student steps halfway inside.

You recognize her immediately—Yinyan, from one of the general lit seminars. Smart. Soft-spoken. Always takes notes like she’s transcribing scripture.

“Sorry to bother you,” she says, already fiddling with the corner of a printed essay. “It’s not for your class—I just... I didn’t know who else to ask.”

You motion her in, already reaching for a pen. “If you’re asking whether I’ll take a look, I will. But you might regret it.”

That earns a nervous laugh. “You’re just easier to talk to than—well. The others.”

You raise a brow but don’t push. Instead, you take the essay when she offers it, skimming the title.

‘The Evolution of Strategic Positioning During the Warring Alliance Era.’

Something tightens behind your ribs, but you flip to the first page without thinking.

The dates are off. One of the campaign names is misattributed. There’s a common myth included as fact about the Fall of Feilin Pass. You catch all of it, circling details and jotting a few quick notes in the margin before you realize what you’re doing.

It’s muscle memory. From another life.

From long nights in a military history seminar where the man at the front of the room spoke about tactical retreats like they were poetry. Where you learned to fact-check casualty records like you were tracing footsteps in the snow.

You blink, pen paused above the page.

You don’t touch this stuff. Not anymore.

“I—I didn’t expect it to be perfect,” Yinyan says, misreading your silence.

You look up, startled out of the haze. “No, it’s not that. You’re asking really good questions here. I just...” You set the essay down gently. “I don’t want to make learning harder than it already is. You’ve got strong instincts. This? This can be fixed. But I can’t go over everything right away. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

Yinyan’s shoulders relax, and you think yours do too. She nods, looking genuinely relieved.

“I’ll make sure to revise once you’re done,” she says. “Thank you, Professor.”

You smile as she leaves, but your fingers linger on the edge of the paper a second longer.

It’s been over three years since you last held a red pen over a passage about the Warring Alliance. But even now, part of you still knows the terrain.

You sit still long after Yinyan leaves, the door clicking shut behind her like a question mark you haven’t figured out how to answer.

The essay rests on your desk, marked in your neat red scrawl. You meant what you said—her instincts are good. But the familiarity of the content wraps around your thoughts like an old scarf, warm and unwelcome.

The Fall of Feilin Pass.

You remember the first time you heard that name spoken aloud.

Jing Yuan’s voice had filled the lecture hall—measured, deliberate, always just a little amused. He’d paced the front of the room with his hands behind his back, white hair catching the light like a lion in a sunbeam. You’d been his TA for almost a month by then, already accustomed to the way he made military maneuvers sound like the rise and fall of poetry.

He called it a masterstroke of misdirection, that battle. Pulled up diagrams, quoted journal fragments from commanding officers, invited students to challenge his interpretation like they were strategists themselves.

Not wanting to dwell, you get up and cross to the window like you can outpace the memory.

Outside, the Yaoqing campus is quiet. Students crossing the quad below, jackets pulled tight against the early autumn breeze. There’s a flicker of movement near the gardens—someone tending to the bonsai by the administration building.

You press your palm to the window’s cold glass.

You’ve worked so hard to leave all of that behind. And yet the facts still live in your hands. The timelines, the tactics, the battles—they never really left.

Just like he never really did.

That night, an unwelcome stranger infiltrates your dreams for the first time in months.

The city hum fades. The streetlight outside your window flickers once, and then you’re no longer in Yaoqing.

You’re somewhere else.

The light is too gold. The air smells of tea and spring dust. The walls are lined with old maps, books worn soft at the edges, a potted dracaena bending toward a narrow beam of sunlight. The desk is familiar. So is the man leaning against it, arms folded, eyes like liquid amber tracking your every move.

“You’re early,” Jing Yuan says, like he always did when you arrived exactly on time.

You open your mouth to answer, but your voice doesn’t come. You look down at your hands. They’re full of papers, disheveled in a way that reminds you of old habits. The syllabus, a half-graded quiz—fragments of a life you left behind, scattered at your fingertips.

When you look up again, the room is dimmer.

“You haven’t changed,” he says, his voice softer now, like it’s almost a confession.

You almost laugh. Almost. "I’ve changed a lot."

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, his eyes linger on you with that same unflinching focus, the kind that has always seen you too clearly. His gaze is unreadable, but his silence speaks louder than words.

“But not where it counts."

Your throat tightens, a visceral reaction, like there’s something he’s seen in you that you don’t want to face. You don’t want to ask what he means. You don’t want to know.

The documents in your hands flutter, and suddenly you’re outside—same campus, different time. The greenhouse near the old west gate. You recognize the planter box you tended to for a while, filled to the brim with daffodils that seem to mock you.

You don’t turn around when you hear footsteps. But he speaks anyway.

“Would it have been easier,” Jing Yuan asks, “if I hadn’t acted like I cared so much?”

The question burns in your chest, but you push it down, far down. Instead, you clench your fists, fingers digging into the soil as if you can anchor yourself to this moment, to anything other than the weight of his words. You can almost feel the sharpness of the past, the ache that never really went away.

You say, without turning, “It wouldn’t have mattered.”

The next moment, you’re in the lecture hall. His lecture hall.

It’s empty, save for the two of you. The rows of seats are abandoned, the air still, save for the faint echo of past voices.

He’s standing at the podium, his posture poised, authoritative, like he belongs there. Like this is still his domain. And you? You’re sitting halfway up the stairs, knees drawn to your chest, tucked into the corner of your old spot, as if you’re still his assistant. Still waiting for something from him.

He opens his mouth to speak—

—and then the scene fades, all of it washing to white like chalk under rain.

You wake to the sound of Jiaoqiu boiling water in the kitchen. The apartment smells faintly of ginger and morning mist. There’s sunlight on your curtains and a text from Feixiao already on your phone.

 

Feixiao: Your keynote segment for Day 2 has been moved an hour earlier. 

Me: Is it worth asking if that person’s segment has also been moved?

Feixiao: That’s a pretty cold way to address your old mentor.

Me: You’re just reading into it too much.

Feixiao: But, yes. Jing Yuan’s segment was moved as well.

Feixiao: At least the two of you can serve back-to-back cunt right after lunch.

Me: …who on earth taught you how to use those words?

Feixiao: Zichen.

 

You lie still for a moment. One breath. Then another. Though Feixiao’s attempt at imitating newer speech steals a chuckle from you, the dream you had still clings like mildew in the back of your head. Because part of it is true—you just didn’t want to admit it to yourself.

You changed.

But not where it counts.

You arrive ten minutes early and still feel late.

The banners are already up—elegant cream and crimson, catching the wind just enough to look important. A student volunteer is fiddling with a welcome stand, and Zichen is already leaning against the pillar near the humanities building like he got there by accident and decided to stay out of curiosity.

“You look like,” he says, tilting his head, “you’re about to face a firing squad.”

“Worse. I’m facing a university welcome committee,” you reply. 

He offers you a thermos. It smells like jasmine and guilt. “Feixiao told me to give you this.”

You take it with a sigh. “She thinks I’m going to choke, doesn’t she?”

“She thinks you’re going to be too composed and it’ll freak everyone out.” He shrugs. “Honestly, she might be right.”

Before you can reply, the last of the expected shuttles pulls up to the curb.

You see the rest of the Luofu delegation stepping out in stages: a couple of assistant professors, a senior archivist you vaguely recognize from an old conference, and—

Him.

He moves like he always did. Each step measured and easy, like gravity’s just a mere suggestion.

Jing Yuan steps out of the van last, adjusting the collar of his coat with that absent-minded elegance that fools people into forgetting how calculated he really is. His hair’s longer than you remember, gathered low at his nape, a few strands brushing his cheek like they belong there. His expression, as always, is unreadable.

And those eyes—golden, sharp, too steady for comfort—sweep across the campus like he’s surveying old battlegrounds. Taking stock. Mapping exits. You half expect him to start assigning formations.

Three years.

It’s been three years since you last saw him.

Then his gaze lands on you.

And for the briefest second, something flickers. Familiarity? Surprise? That strange, quiet relief that feels too much like longing?

You don’t know. Because just as quickly, it’s gone—smoothed away like it was never there, replaced by a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

He nods.

You nod back.

It’s all very professional. Very academic.

Zichen says nothing, but you can feel him staring like he’s watching fault lines splinter beneath centuries of pressure. Something in the stillness holds, but only barely.

Jing Yuan turns away first, speaking low to the assistant at his side. You can’t hear the words, but you know the cadence like an old song. That steady rhythm that always made his lectures feel like lullabies and warnings in equal measure.

The welcome committee descends on the group like a well-rehearsed ambush. Hands are shaken. Names exchanged. You feel someone clap your shoulder—it’s Feixiao, brisk and bright-eyed as always.

“Battlefield’s open,” she says under her breath. “You ready, soldier?”

You square your shoulders. “Always.”

Feixiao smirks and marches ahead, calling out greetings to the delegation with the booming energy of a woman who’s organized half a dozen international symposiums and never once let an itinerary slip by more than five minutes.

You fall into step beside her, thermos still warm in your hand, pulse ticking under your collar. Zichen stays behind, lingering near the edge like a cat who knows better than to step too close to a dogfight.

The introductions begin.

Names pass like ceremonial offerings—titles, departments, affiliations. You bow when it's appropriate, shake hands when offered, and smile just enough to seem gracious but not overly eager. It’s choreography you’ve mastered by now.

And still, you feel him.

Jing Yuan is silent at first, content to let the others go ahead of him. But when Feixiao gestures toward you with her customary flourish—“This is the stellar professor who’s been overseeing logistics from our side. She’s younger than she looks and deadlier than she sounds”—he steps forward.

You brace.

“Hello,” he says, voice as smooth as ever. “It’s an honor.”

There it is again. That pause. That moment where the rest of the world seems to blur just slightly out of focus, where the air seems to thin.

You extend your hand. “Professor Jing Yuan.”

His hand is warm. The handshake firm, but not too firm. His eyes hold yours, just long enough to make it feel like a conversation. Just long enough to remember.

Then the moment passes before he turns to speak to one of the archivists, asking about something on the schedule. Feixiao nudges you as she moves ahead, eyes gleaming with something suspiciously close to amusement.

You don’t look back at him again. 

Instead, you fall into line with the rest of the Yaoqing faculty, escorting the Luofu delegation across the stone path that leads to the main conference hall. The banners flap gently in the breeze, just loud enough to remind you that this is happening. That it’s real.

As the group moves ahead, you find yourself walking beside Yingyue and Lihua. The former gives you a look.

“Well,” Yingyue murmurs, “if that was just ‘professional,’ I’m very curious to see what unprofessional looks like.”

“Yingyue,” you hiss.

“I’m just saying,” she singsongs under her breath. “The air around you two felt… loaded.”

Lihua nods solemnly. “Like a scene in a film right before someone gets emotionally wrecked.”

You say nothing. You sip from your thermos. The jasmine tea is scalding, but you don’t flinch.

“Should we be worried?” Yingyue asks, feigning innocence.

You keep your voice neutral. “There’s nothing to worry about. He’s a visiting scholar. That’s all.”

Zichen catches up from behind with a smirk that suggests he saw everything.

“Right,” he says. “And I suppose I’m just here for the coffee and not the front-row seat to whatever this is.”

You walk faster.

But you don’t deny it.

The panel room is packed.

Faculty from both campuses line the rows, notebooks open, styluses ready. The translator charm hums faintly over the room, a soft shimmer in the air for any non-native speakers.

You’re seated at the center table beside Lihua and one of the Luofu delegates. There's a placard in front of you with your name and mastery in literature and cultural theory embedded with a glossy print.

You catch Feixiao’s thumbs-up from the sidelines and roll your eyes just enough to make her grin.

“Let’s begin,” says the moderator. “Our first discussion will be on narrative authority and the reinterpretation of classical texts in post-crisis literature.”

He calls your name, saying the floor is yours, and you stand. The mic hums to life.

You start by thanking everyone who graced the room, and by extension, the symposium with their presence. How honored Yaoqing is to host such a convergence of sharp minds and generous spirits, and how rare it is to see so many brilliant scholars under one roof without a single turf war breaking out over footnotes.

A ripple of laughter follows when you glance toward the back and add, “And if all goes well, I might finally convince Zhuming's Department of Humanities to participate next year—willingly, I mean.”

Then, you ease the audience into your piece for today's panel. Softly, yet also deliberately. 

“Don’t you think,” you say, letting the pause linger just long enough, “there’s something quietly liberating about rereading a nation’s pain through fiction?”

You catch yourself smiling when a few heads pop up to look at you. “Post-crisis literature doesn’t just record trauma. It reclaims it. It reframes grief into metaphor, and in doing so, it softens the blow. That’s not erasure—it’s survival. And survival, I’d argue, is the most honest form of storytelling we have.”

Your voice is steady. You speak like you belong here—because you do.

Gone is the girl who used to linger in the back of lecture halls, afraid her questions might sound too unsure. You know the shape of your own ideas now. You carry them without apology.

And when you speak, the room listens.

Until—

“Do you believe,” Jing Yuan begins from his seat near the back, “that fiction built on softened truths still holds moral weight?”

The room turns as one. And there it is—Jing Yuan’s unmistakable drawl, the one you used to hear more than you care to admit. It’s not challenging, exactly, but there’s something wry in his tone, a touch of that old teasing sharpness that used to curl around the edges of every conversation you had. A raised eyebrow, not a reprimand, but an invitation to push back.

You meet his gaze evenly. “I do. Fiction doesn’t owe us pain to be powerful.”

His eyes don’t leave yours, but there’s a subtle shift in his posture, a slight lean forward as if testing the ground. “But doesn’t the omission of pain risk distortion?”

The question hangs between you like a weight. You can feel the tension in the room, the way everyone has drawn closer, waiting for the next exchange.

A part of you almost wants to laugh, the absurdity of the situation rising in your chest. You’d thought this moment would come. You’d told yourself you were prepared. But facing him again—this way, in this context—feels like you’re falling right back into the rhythm of a dance you didn’t even realize you knew the steps to.

“It’s not omission,” you counter, before you can stop yourself. “It’s transformation. Rewriting the aftermath isn’t the same as denying the disaster.”

The room holds its breath. There’s a beat of silence, and then a quiet murmur ripples through the crowd. Someone behind you murmurs an appreciative “Mm,” as though savoring the taste of a well-crafted argument.

Jing Yuan leans back, fingers steepled. “And if a nation prefers the transformed version to the truth?”

You smile, and it’s not sweet. “Then the burden falls on the reader to know what they’re looking at.”

Another pause, this one heavier, stretched thin by the weight of your words. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife. You could almost hear the collective breath being held in the room.

Then, from somewhere behind you, Zichen mutters, “...Hot.”

The moderator coughs, startled. “Err—thank you, Professors. Let’s open the floor for questions?”

There are questions. Thoughtful ones. Smart ones. You field them with practiced ease, each answer flowing naturally from the previous one. You’re in your element now, calm and controlled.

But part of your mind stays on him. On that deliberate little push. Those questions with too much timing to be innocent.

Jing Yuan remains quiet for the rest of the discussion, and you can’t quite tell if he’s satisfied or just waiting for another opportunity to test you. But every time your gaze flickers toward him, you feel that familiar spark, that old pull that neither of you has ever fully escaped.

After the panel, as the crowd disperses into murmurs and clinks of tea cups, you feel a soft tap on your shoulder.

It’s him, standing beside you now. Closer than the panel format allowed. You try not to dwell too much on how warm his hand is in the vastly air-conditioned space, but the sensation lingers in your chest, distracting you.

“You’re scarier than you used to be,” Jing Yuan says, his tone soft, a hint of something almost nostalgic in his words. His smile is small but real, like a shared secret between you both. “I didn’t expect that.”

Instead, you arch a brow. “And you’re exactly the same.”

“Am I?” His smile is quiet. “That’s disappointing.”

You don’t answer, feeling the weight of those words more than you should. Instead, you take a sip from your water, a small, nervous gesture to buy yourself time, before turning to walk toward the exit—where your team is waiting. Zichen’s face is aglow with the joy of watching chaos unfold, and Lihua gives you an approving nod.

But as you pass by them, you can still feel Jing Yuan's gaze on your back, trailing after you like the start of a new chapter you didn’t agree to write.

There’s a shaded bench under a plum tree that your team has unofficially claimed.

Zichen's sprawled across one end like he owns the place, Lihua’s nibbling on a red bean bun she definitely smuggled in, and Yingyue’s already pulling up the playback recording from the symposium like it’s a drama she can rewatch at leisure.

You sit with your back against the cool stone ledge and let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“So,” Zichen says casually, “on a scale of one to scandalous, how inappropriate is it to ask if academic foreplay is a thing?”

Lihua nearly chokes on her bun.

“Zichen,” you groan, covering your face. “I’m begging you.”

“What? It was electric. That entire back-and-forth was like watching two swordsmen flirt via carefully cited historical examples.”

“I was defending a thesis,” you protest. “Not flirting.”

Yingyue taps her screen. “Okay, but the eye contact? The tone shift? The part where he said ‘that’s disappointing’ and you visibly inhaled like you were about to bite back something unholy—”

“You guys were eavesdropping?” You scowl. “And no! I was going to tell him he hasn’t changed since he assigned three chapters of military ethics over a long weekend.”

Zichen gasps. “Three chapters? Oh, no. You were in love.”

That gets them both going. Lihua’s laugh is high-pitched and unfiltered, and Yingyue is practically vibrating. “Wait, wait—so is that a yes? Was there, like, a thing?”

You hesitate.

Not long. Just enough to betray yourself.

“He was a professor. I was his TA. That was it.” You keep your tone light, looking down at your hands. “...But maybe I respected him more than I wanted to. Maybe I admired him a little too much. It wasn’t anything serious.”

There’s a pause, heavy with understanding.

Then Lihua asks gently, “Did he know?”

You smile. Not sad, exactly. “He didn’t act like it. And I didn’t want him to.”

There’s a quiet empathy in the air now. They all know that it’s not as simple as that, that it’s not something that can be neatly wrapped up in a few words.

Zichen, always the one to break the tension, swings an arm over the back of the bench, his gesture surprisingly soft. “You ever think he figured it out anyway?” 

You look across the courtyard, past the rustling trees, where the symposium banners are fluttering gently in the breeze, and the familiar silhouette of Jing Yuan can be seen through the glass window of the atrium. He’s talking to someone, calm and composed, exactly as he always is.

It’s hard to ignore the way your heart catches in your chest for a split second, or how your breath hitches just a little when you see him.

You shrug. “It doesn’t matter now.”

But it does.

A little.

And they all know it.

Day Two sessions are always where the real academic showdowns begin.

The scholars who flew in just to be seen have already made their exits, leaving only the ones who care too much—the ones who take themselves and their work just a little too seriously. You arrive before most of the others, coffee in one hand and your tablet in the other, already reviewing the panel order for the day. 

This morning was calm—enough time for polite discussions over coffee, for setting the tone. But now, with the afternoon panels, the real program begins to take shape. You can feel it in the air, in the way the faculty members file into their seats, the way the hush of conversation spreads across the room like a slow tide. There’s an edge to the anticipation. Today’s centerpiece? The keynote speeches.

One from the Luofu. One from Yaoqing.

You.

And him.

You move toward the large hall, where the cream-and-crimson banners hang tall behind a dignified podium. Rows of lacquer-backed seats stretch out beneath cool, carefully placed lighting. The hall feels both expansive and intimate, the kind of space where every word carries weight, where every gesture is scrutinized.

As you settle into your seat near the front, you can’t help but notice the faint hum of excitement that permeates the air. Most of the audience knows what’s coming. There’s a buzz of whispered names, of scholars shifting in their seats, adjusting their glasses, preparing for the intellectual clash they’ve been waiting for all day.

Then, the doors open, and Jing Yuan takes the stage.

His entrance is the same as always—unhurried, graceful, and deliberate. It’s as if he’s stepping into a rhythm only he can hear. The murmurs in the room settle almost immediately, like the air itself is being drawn into his orbit. Someone behind you whispers his name in reverence, the tone respectful but edged with a quiet awe.

You don’t turn.

His voice fills the room with the same calm authority it always has. “Thank you to the organizers, to the faculty members, to my colleagues, and to everyone who has come today.” He nods to Feixiao in the front row, offering a smile that’s both respectful and distant. Then, he begins, his words measured and steady, like a soldier reciting a well-practiced speech.

His topic: Strategic Retreats in Military History: Calculated Loss, Preserved Legacy.

You want to laugh.

Of course it’s that.

He speaks of war, of victory and loss, of the delicate dance between pride and pragmatism. But what stands out to you, as it always does, is his discussion of restraint. The power of stepping back. The clarity of knowing when to withdraw, not out of fear, but out of a clear-eyed understanding of what matters most.

It’s a subject he’s always been passionate about, and as he talks, you can hear the deep layers of memory in his voice, the weight of years spent navigating both war and peace.

You try not to dwell on the subtle way he emphasizes “timing,” “discipline,” and knowing when to act, when to hold back. You feel it, though. It’s there, tucked into the cadence of his words. Meant for you, even if it’s not obvious to anyone else.

Your hands are folded neatly in your lap. You’re aware of Zichen sitting beside you, his posture a little too eager. He leans in, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

“He’s quoting your old seminar discussion notes,” he whispers.

You don’t answer. You don’t need to look at Zichen to know that he’s right.

Of course, Jing Yuan would bring up those discussions. The ones you had, years ago, when the subject of strategic retreats was just a theoretical exercise for you both, a way of dissecting history without fully acknowledging how personal it might feel.

It was one of those days when he got close to converting you into becoming a history major. Luckily, you didn't.

He finishes his speech with a bow, not too deep, nor too distant, the same kind of gesture that’s both professional and intimate in its simplicity. The applause that greets his exit is raucous, as expected of a seasoned scholar. But you don't let it deter you. 

Because it’s your turn.

You rise from your seat with practiced grace, your body moving automatically, every step taken with a spine straight and sure. You can feel the gaze of the room settling on you. Every eye is fixed, waiting for your words.

The podium is yours now—not as a reply, not as a counterstrike to what he’s just said.

This is your space. Your voice. A place for you to carve your own place in the conversation.

Then, without missing a beat, you guide them into the heart of your keynote.

The Intersection of Literature and Human Emotion: Love and Loss as Universal Themes.

Your thesis.

The one that earned you the best dissertation award back in grad school. The one you bled into for months, and stayed with you even years after. Every line of it felt like a scar you chose to wear. You don’t need your notes for this. You know it the way you know your own name—intimately, instinctively.

Because it’s not just an argument you once defended. It’s a piece of you.

A truth you lived.

You speak of the silence between words, the unsaid things that carry just as much weight as the spoken ones. You discuss the way ancient texts often depict longing, exile, and loss—not as clear-cut emotions, but as complex tapestries woven through silence and space. You talk about the characters who would rather suffer in silence than confess their feelings. You talk about how those unspoken emotions still speak louder than any words ever could.

When you speak of unspoken affection in the epics—of missed chances and deliberate distance—you don’t look at him. Not once. But you feel it. The air tightens. The weight of his presence is undeniable. You know exactly what he’s hearing.

There’s a subtle power in the silence you speak of, and you feel it intensify when you near the end of your speech.

It’s not a grand flourish you’re after. No dramatic exclamation. Just one quiet line from a favorite text, a line you’ve always held close to your heart:

“Some wars are won not by holding the line, but by stepping away from it.”

The silence stretches after you finish.

It feels more like the world is catching its breath than anything else. The weight of what you just said settles, deeper than you anticipated, heavier than you thought it would feel. You stand there for a moment, just letting the words linger in the air, letting them settle.

Then the applause begins.

At first, it’s hesitant. Measured. But soon, it builds—slowly, steadily—until it becomes something real. Something you feel in your chest. 

You bow—not to Jing Yuan, not to anyone in particular, but to the room, to the audience, to the words you just shared. To the fact that you’ve made it here, and you’re standing on this stage; that your voice, after everything, is still your own.

You step down from the podium, each movement graceful but touched by a quiet fatigue—the kind that settles in only after you've laid your heart bare beneath a roomful of lights and eyes.

The stage lights stretch your shadow long across the floor, following you as you make your way down the aisle. You don’t look at him—not at first. But you feel the depth of his gaze. Steady, unmistakable, like a thread pulling gently at something deep in your chest.

Against your better judgment, you glance his way.

Just once. Just long enough.

What you find isn’t surprise. Not pride or regret either. It’s something gentler. Something unguarded. A look that holds recognition, yes—but more than that, reverence. Like he’s seeing you not as you were, but as you are now. And somehow, that means everything.

Maybe, just maybe, he is seeing you for the first time.

And perhaps that’s the moment you’ve both been waiting for all along.

When night falls, so does the final curtain on the symposium.

The function hall glows in soft amber light, casting delicate shadows on ivory linens and polished glassware. It’s elegant by design—curated to impress, to invite conversation between brilliant minds across disciplines. But beneath the laughter and clinking glasses, something else simmers: rivalry dressed as camaraderie, nostalgia edged in ambition. A quiet current running just under the surface.

You find yourself by the refreshment table, fingers curled loosely around an untouched glass. The keynote glow has worn off, and what’s left is a strange sense of dislocation. You were just on that stage, commanding the room. And yet, now, surrounded by colleagues and strangers, you feel slightly out of place. Like you’ve slipped back into an old version of yourself, ill-fitting and over-aware.

You’re still replaying that moment—after your speech, when everything in the air felt thick with something unspoken—when someone steps into your orbit.

Zichen, drink in hand, angles in with that lazy, knowing grin. He doesn’t need to say anything—you already know that look. But of course, he says something anyway.

“So,” he says, his voice loud enough to cut through the quiet room, “was I right? Was it like watching a pair of sparring poets trying to outwit each other with footnotes?”

You don’t roll your eyes, but you definitely feel your chest tighten. “I think I’m going to need a second drink to survive this conversation, Zichen.”

“Can’t blame you.” He leans closer, still grinning. “If I were you, I’d need several. Honestly, though, I started wondering—were you two that in sync, or is there something else going on?”

You sigh, half-laughing, half-groaning. “You’re infuriating.”

Before he can needle you further, Lihua materializes, her presence like a breeze. She’s trailed by Yingyue, who offers you a small smile as she cradles her glass.

“Alright,” Lihua cuts in, no-nonsense and warm, “let’s not corner her before she’s even had dessert. We’ve pulled off something incredible, and that deserves more than your conspiracy theories.”

Yingyue’s laugh is softer, but no less amused. “Honestly, we’ve earned this. Two full days of chaos, zero disasters. Let’s just bask in that.”

You smile, genuinely this time. The four of you raise your glasses—an unspoken toast. To the symposium. To the effort. To being seen and recognized, even if only by each other.

But Zichen isn’t one to let the moment pass without his usual jab.

“So,” he drawls, swirling his drink, “now that we’ve toasted… is it safe to ask the real question? You said it wasn't anything serious, but why does it feel like you two were reading off the same script?”

Your stomach twists. The weight of his words lands, heavier than it should.

Your thoughts ricochet back—to that look from Jing Yuan, the stillness between you, the way his gaze lingered like he hadn’t meant to.

“I’m getting some air,” you say quickly, voice light but clipped, and step away before anyone can follow.

You step into the evening, where the air is crisp with the kind of quiet that only comes after too much noise. The campus is still now, wrapped in the soft hum of cicadas and far-off footfalls, the faint lights casting long shadows over stone and grass. Out here, the symposium feels a thousand miles away.

You lean against the railing, hands curled loosely around the cool edge of the stone. The stillness should be a relief, but your chest is too full—of adrenaline, of memories you’d meant to leave behind. You exhale slowly, letting the silence wrap around you.

And then, footsteps.

You don’t turn. You don’t need to.

“Shouldn’t you be inside?” Jing Yuan’s voice drifts through the quiet, low and unhurried, like it always is. But there’s something else there—hesitation, maybe. Or restraint. It ripples across your skin like a breeze you weren’t expecting.

You don’t answer. Just breathe in the night and hope that if you stay silent long enough, he’ll take the hint and go. That you won’t have to open the door to this—whatever this is.

But the footsteps don’t fade.

There’s a rustle, and then he’s there, beside you, not quite touching, but near enough that you can feel the heat of him. The railing holds both of you now, like a boundary you’re pretending not to lean across.

Neither of you speaks. The silence stretches, but it's not awkward. Just... thick with things unsaid.

When Jing Yuan finally does speak again, it’s softer. Not the voice of a professor or a speaker. Just a man beside you.

“Your friend’s right, you know,” he says, a touch of amusement coloring his words, though it’s tempered by something deeper. “You and I... we’ve always been in sync. Even if only for a short while.”

You let out a breath that’s almost a laugh, but not quite. Yet another person has eavesdropped into your conversations.

“I think Zichen’s just trying to make something out of nothing.”

“No,” he says, and there’s a subtle warmth to his tone that catches you off guard. “It wasn’t nothing.”

You glance at him, finally, but don’t quite meet his eyes. The tension you’ve been carrying since his keynote, since the moment your speeches mirrored each other, is there. In the air between you. And it feels like a weight you can’t lift.

Jing Yuan doesn’t press. He simply waits.

And somehow, that’s worse.

The air hangs thick with unspoken words. You can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you, as if the entire day has led to this. It’s not just the speeches, or the research, or the people inside—the real conversation has always been between you two. You just haven't been able to face it until now.

You finally look at him. It’s hard to miss the way his expression flickers when he sees you meet his gaze—golden eyes heavy with anticipation. 

You exhale slowly, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

“You know, Zichen also said,” you begin, “that it was like we were reading from the same script today.”

He arches an eyebrow, but doesn’t interrupt.

“You and I… we’ve always had this thing, haven’t we?” you continue, your gaze not leaving his. “This back-and-forth. This... tension. You could say that some of your habits rubbed off on me while I was your assistant. That I carried them further down my career. But it's always been more than that, isn't it?

"And I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t exist.”

His jaw tightens. The calm façade he always wears is slipping, but you push on.

"Three years," you say, voice barely above a whisper. "Three years of silence and distance and professionalism, and still—this. Us. Whatever it is, it’s never gone away. And maybe that’s what’s so hard about this."

The quiet between you pulses with meaning, full and sharp.

Jing Yuan finally steps closer—not quite touching, but close enough that the night feels smaller now. His voice, when it comes, is rougher than before, stripped of its usual polish.

“I never meant to make you carry it alone,” he says. “I just... didn’t know how to be close without crossing a line.”

Your breath catches. “And now?”

His eyes search yours. “Now I'm certain we both crossed that line a long time ago. We just pretended we hadn’t.”

The words hit you like a tide—relief and fear, ache and recognition.

You don’t know how to answer that. Your throat tightens, and for a moment, you feel the sting of old memories—those days spent working together in his office, when things were easier, but so much more complicated beneath the surface.

Instead of speaking, you just take a slow breath, willing yourself to steady your shaking hands.

“I’ve always been good at distance,” you say, your voice steady despite the tremor inside. “I made a whole life out of it. But standing here with you… I don’t think I want to be good at it anymore.”

And this time, when his eyes meet yours, you feel it. No more games. No more pretending. Just the quiet recognition that something has shifted between you two.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks.

Then, Jing Yuan leans in just slightly, his breath warm against your skin. A large hand cradles the side of your face, and you instinctively lean into his touch. 

You can feel his lips almost brushing against yours, the tension so thick it’s almost unbearable. He smells like cedarwood and rain and everything you shouldn't even want. 

But just as it feels like he’s about to close the distance completely...

“Ahem!”

You both startle, just slightly. And then she appears—Feixiao, with that all-too-familiar grin, already stepping between you and the moment like it’s nothing at all.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” she says, tone breezy as she links her arm through yours and casually steers you away from Jing Yuan. She gives him a polite nod, her eyes sharp with mischief before turning back to you.

“Dinner’s starting soon,” she adds, a playful lilt in her voice, followed by the faintest nudge. “And you’re not about to keep me waiting, are you?”

You blink, still caught somewhere between heat and hesitation. “Feixiao, I—”

You glance over your shoulder. Jing Yuan hasn’t moved far, but the look in his eyes says enough: the moment is slipping, and he’s letting it.

Feixiao keeps her arm linked with yours as she walks you a few paces away, lowering her voice just enough to keep it private—but not too serious. She never does serious unless she has to.

“Look,” she says, “you’ve always been the type to stay sharp, keep your eyes on the goal. Not a bad thing. But if you’re thinking about sorting things out with him... don’t rush it.”

You shoot her a look, still reeling. “What are you talking about?”

She hums, thoughtful. “Just saying—he’s not going anywhere. You don’t need to run headfirst into something before you’ve figured out what it means to you.”

You pause, the words landing somewhere heavy. Shame creeps up, uninvited and quiet.

“Yeah…”

Feixiao softens then, rubbing your shoulder in easy circles, a rare gentleness beneath all the bravado. “I don’t know what’s between you and Jing Yuan,” she says, “but whatever it is? It’s been cooking a while. So don’t serve it half-baked.”

Her words pull at something deeper—something buried. A memory: something Professor Fu Xuan said, years ago, over noodles and pork dumplings.

He’s not built for half-measures.

Neither are you.

Before you can speak, Feixiao’s already shifted gears. She pats your arm, a bright smile smoothing everything over.

“Anyway! You’re still coming to dinner, right? Or would you rather stay out here and stew in all that dramatic tension?”

You hesitate, heart not quite caught up with the rest of you. But she’s already tugging you gently toward the building, her cheer disguising something more careful beneath it.

You glance back, just once.

Jing Yuan is already gone.

The key clicks in the lock.

You step inside, letting the door fall shut behind you with a soft thud. The lights are low. Your heels echo dully against the floor, and your bag slips from your shoulder with a sigh that feels like it came from your chest.

Then you hear it: bright, canned laughter drifting from the living room.

Jiaoqiu is half-swallowed by a blanket on the sofa, legs tucked under him, a bowl of popcorn in his lap. His eyes are fixed on the TV and you don't have to glance to know he's watching his favorite sitcom.

He jumps a little when he sees you, fumbling for the remote. “Hey,” he says, voice too casual, as if you haven’t just walked in with the weight of a night trailing behind you. He pauses the episode mid-joke. The room goes still.

“You’re back.”

You nod faintly. But for a moment, you don’t move. You just stand there, the quiet thick between you. Your thoughts are a thousand miles away, still chasing the afterimage of something you almost said. Something he almost did.

Jiaoqiu watches you carefully. “Bad night?”

You shake your head. “Not bad,” you say, low. “Just… a lot.”

He doesn’t ask. Just shifts over and lifts the blanket in silent invitation. “Come sit.”

You cross the room and sink down beside him, shoulder brushing his. The couch cushions exhale. He presses play again without a word, as if the hum of dialogue and background laughter can buffer the ache you brought home.

The screen flickers.

A punchline. More laughter. Someone throws a pillow on-screen. Someone dodges it.

Then, softly, without looking at you, Jiaoqiu says, “You don’t have to talk about it. But if you want to…”

You let out a shaky breath, then press your face into your hands. “Jing Yuan.”

He nods impercetibly, like that name holds all the answers to life's curiosities. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“Did he say anything stupid? Make you cry?” he asks, reaching for the popcorn.

You manage a breath of laughter—thin, but real. “No. Worse. He didn’t.”

That gets a knowing hum out of him. Jiaoqiu holds out the bowl like it’s an offering. “Popcorn therapy. It’s not peer-reviewed, but I’ve had great results.”

You take a handful, the corner of your mouth twitching. “Thanks.”

Finally, he turns to look at you fully, expression careful. “You okay?”

You pause, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I think so. Or I will be.”

Jiaoqiu doesn’t say anything else. The sitcom carries on, voices flickering in and out, but neither of you is really watching.

And that’s okay. Some nights aren’t for talking.

Some nights are just for not being alone.

The final day of the symposium begins with brisk air and brisker goodbyes. Yaoqing runs like clockwork, and the send-off is no different—efficient, unceremonious, almost surgical in its precision.

Delegates file out one by one, boarding shuttles with handshakes and nods. You’re stationed nearby, clipboard in hand, checking names against lists, pretending you don’t feel the knot in your stomach.

You know he’ll be here.

You expect him to be cordial. Maybe even distant. You expect him to act like last night never happened.

But Jing Yuan isn’t predictable in the ways that matter.

When his turn comes, he’s not alone—his aides beside him, belongings packed. The lines of his coat are as neat as ever, but there’s something softer about his expression when his amber eyes find yours.

Jing Yuan steps forward, says something low to one of the attendants, then turns to you.

Before you can speak, he holds out a small pouch made of familiar linen. Twine wrapped neatly around it. You don’t take it right away, but your fingers brush his when you do.

I've seen this before...

He doesn’t explain. Doesn’t try to. Just watches you, gaze steady.

Then, just as he’s about to leave, Jing Yuan offers you one last look—a long one.

And says, quietly, “Be well.”

The words hit harder than you expect.

Because that’s what he said to you the day you graduated, three years ago. Beneath that shade tree in the Luofu courtyard. Your last conversation, before the silence settled between you like dust.

You don’t reply. Can’t trust your voice to hold.

He nods once and walks away.

You stand there long after the shuttle door hisses shut behind him, the pouch clutched in your hand and that old goodbye echoing through your ribs like a bell you’d forgotten how to hear.

Later in the day, you hole yourself up in your office—avoiding your colleagues (even Feixiao) to the best of your ability. You’d told yourself you’d get started on writing the midterm; outlined three prompts, even booted up the document

But the pouch sits in your drawer like a challenge, and your curiosity, traitorous thing that it is, wins out.

You untie the twine.

Inside, you find once-vibrant blossoms that have faded to a muted violet, their edges curled inward like they’ve been holding their breath for too long. You know these flowers. 

Scutellaria lateriflora. Skullcap.

You inhale, and there it is again—that same earthy, herbal scent. He gave you this once before. Years ago, when you were still his teaching aide, and he’d just started that absurd little project at the Luofu campus greenhouse. He's still tending to it, from the looks of it. 

Your hands are steadier than you expect as you unfold the linen further. Tucked beneath the sprigs is something else.

A calling card.

It’s plain. Cream cardstock, gold embossed lettering. You find it almost funny.

Jing Yuan used to scoff at these, said they were for pretentious academics and bored aristocrats. “Too performative,” he’d once told you, half-asleep in his office, tea cooling by his elbow.

You flip it over.

There, scrawled in that infuriatingly elegant handwriting of his:

I'd love to speak with you—about this, and whatever else you've been stockpiling behind that diplomatic smile. On your terms, of course. If you prefer the art of futile resistance, by all means. But if not... I'm just a correspondence away. — JY

You stare at the words for a long moment, unsure how he even squeezed all those words in such a tight space. Only then do you let the card fall flat on your desk.

The dried skullcap rests beside it, patient. Familiar.

And you—

You sit back in your chair, heart too full of memory to be still, and let the thought bloom quietly in your chest:

He remembered.

Subject: Follow-up on the Symposium From: Me To: Jing Yuan

Dear Professor Jing Yuan,

I hope this message finds you well. I wanted to extend my thanks again for your presence at the Yaoqing symposium. Your insight during the panel sessions was both illuminating and deeply appreciated by the faculty and students alike.

If you ever wish to collaborate on a joint lecture or discussion in the future, please don’t hesitate to reach out.

Warm regards.

 

(You stare at the draft for a long time. Then delete “Professor.” You don't send it. Not yet.)

 

Subject: About the Gift From: Me To: Jing Yuan

Hi,

I wasn’t sure whether to write at all. But the pouch you left... I remember it. Of course I do.

I haven’t decided what I want to say, or how much. Only that I don’t want to pretend it meant nothing.

 

(…You get this far and stop. You never hit send.)

 

Subject: Your Dramatic Correspondence From: Me To: Jing Yuan

Jing Yuan,

Only you would make dried herbs feel like a grand confession. Should I be flattered, or concerned that you're now resorting to calling cards?

...I haven’t thrown it out, if that’s what you’re wondering.

 

(You read it back, scoff at yourself, but save it as a draft anyway.)

 

Subject: Fine. Let’s talk. From: Me To: Jing Yuan

You said you’d wait until it was on my terms.

Well... I’m writing, aren’t I?

Just tell me you meant what you said. That it wasn’t just leftover sentiment from too many missed chances.

If you do, then maybe we can talk. Really talk.

 

(You go over it twice, heart pounding. Then close the laptop before you can think too hard.)

It’s been a month.

The pouch still sits in the top drawer of your desk, tucked beneath a stack of grading rubrics and office supply receipts. You haven’t moved it since the day you opened it. Some part of you thinks if you don’t look at it too often, the weight of it will lessen. (It hasn’t.)

You never sent the emails. Not the formal one, not the funny one, not the almost-brave one. They’re still sitting in your drafts folder like ghosts.

And you—well. You haven’t changed as much as you wanted to believe.

You still choose silence when things get too complicated. Still fear the what-ifs more than the what-is. Still worry about what others might say, what the faculty might think, what it would look like to the world if you stepped just slightly out of line.

Maybe you're still that same graduate student��ambitious, yet scared. The one who looked at Jing Yuan like he was both everything she wanted and everything she couldn’t let herself want.

The one who left before it could become real.

A knock on your office door brings you back. You straighten, push the drawer closed, and return your attention to your laptop.

You half-expect a student with late homework, but when you glance up, it’s Feixiao, leaning in with a grin and a folder tucked under one arm.

“I come bearing gifts,” she says, stepping inside without waiting for permission. “Or at least, a very polite summons.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Another invitation?”

She waggles the folder. “Guest lecturer. Luofu campus. Smaller-scale than the last one, but good turnout.”

You sigh. “Feixiao…”

“I know, I know.” She plants herself in the chair across from you before you can object. “You were going to say no. Again. But hear me out.”

Your silence is permission enough.

“It wasn’t Jing Yuan,” she says plainly. “Not the invitation, not the event, not the committee. It came from their Literature Department directly—someone named Ying, I think?”

Professor Ying.

The instructor that you were supposed to TA for, before all the administrative mishandlings. You want to laugh. The universe really does have a sense of humor sometimes.

“...He doesn’t know?”

Feixiao shakes her head. “Not a clue. And if you go, you’re under no obligation to see him. I’d bet he’d rather vanish into the stonework than bother you uninvited.”

You study her face. “You sound sure.”

“I am. Military kids don’t grow up without learning who respects a line in the sand.” She pauses, then adds, “Besides, my uncle served with his father. That family’s got a reputation—long memory, even longer patience.”

You let that settle for a moment.

Jing Yuan wouldn’t push. He never has.

Still, your mind flickers. You remember Yanqing, all sharp edges and earnest questions. Jing Yuan mentioned that he was close to that boy's family through their ties in the military as well. You wonder how old he is now. Then you recall the literature department where you once spent late evenings with your peers, poring over old poetry and marking drafts by hand.

Lastly, you think of Jing Yuan himself.

And how—despite everything—you miss the way he listened when you spoke, how he salutes the dracaena in his office like it's a real person, and the fact that he never once called you foolish for drawing back.

The silence stretches.

Feixiao quirks an eyebrow. “So? You going to keep saying no to opportunities just because they come from the same direction?”

You look down at the folder, then up at her. “Tell them I’ll do it.”

She smiles. Not triumphant, but satisfied. It feels like she knew you’d say yes eventually.

Your superior rises, flicking a casual salute. “Knew you were smarter than you looked. Not that it would've mattered—I already filed your leave request with HR this morning.”

You gape. “You what?”

Feixiao just grins. “Contingency planning. If you’d said no, I would’ve told you after the paperwork cleared.”

You want to be annoyed. You really do. But instead, you laugh—quiet, incredulous, warm.

She’s halfway out the door when she glances back. “Don’t overthink it, okay? Just go. See what happens.”

The door clicks shut behind her.

You look down at the folder again, fingertips brushing the corner.

Maybe it’s time to stop holding your breath.

MASTERLIST ✧ READ ON AO3

© cryoculus | kaientai ✧ all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my work on other platforms.

[shockercoco]

Excuse Me?

Benny Cross x reader

Warnings - just fluff, dad!benny, some swear words

Word count - 2105

a/n - read the full request here - this was supposed to be posted a couple days after I got the request, but my headaches decided to come back, so here we are 2 weeks later lol. I hope you enjoy :)

“Sweetheart, you can’t just grab everything you see and throw it into the basket,” Benny sighs as he looks down at his daughter.

Little Violet was standing on her tippy toes trying to put a bag of chips inside the basket Benny was holding, but she froze at the sound of Benny’s voice. She drops her hands to her sides before pouting up at Benny. 

“Don’t give me that look. Mommy gave us a list and told us to only buy what we need. We don’t wanna make mommy upset do we?” Benny gives Violet a look, causing her to stomp back down the aisle to put the chip bag on the shelf. 

Benny held in his laugh because he knew it would only upset Violet more. 

Before you left for work that morning, you had looked through the pantry to see what you needed to buy from the store on your way home. The grocery store was right next to the cosmetics store where you worked, so you didn’t mind stopping by after.

Benny thought it would be a good idea to get some fresh air with Violet, so he offered to go shopping for you — this way, he could kill two birds with one stone and also give you a ride home. 

You were hesitant at first because Benny wasn’t the best at picking out the correct items, and you knew Violet would give Benny a hard time and beg him to buy anything that looked interesting to her four-year-old eyes. Since you were running late and didn’t have the time to mull it over, you agreed and quickly jotted down everything you needed on a piece of paper.

So now here the troublesome pair was in the store making their way down the list and the aisles. 

“Do you wanna help daddy finish the list?” Benny asks Violet, trying to cheer her up.

She was still pouting, but now she had her arms crossed as she walked alongside her father. Violet shook her head at Benny and kept looking down at the ground.

It’s obvious where Violet gets her stubbornness from..

Benny rolls his eyes as he bends down to Violet’s eye level. “You know it’s not nice to ignore someone, we’ve talked about this,” Benny says, but Violet still doesn’t look up at him.

Then he gets an idea.

“Okay, how about this. You help me, and I’ll let you pick out something for yourself before we leave,” Benny tells her, and that catches Violet’s attention.

Violet looks at him for a second, before holding out one her hands and offering Benny her pinky. 

Benny smiles as he wraps his own pinky around his daughter’s. “I pinky promise.”

The rest of the grocery list gets crossed off easily — with Violet’s help — and as promised, Benny lets Violet roam the aisles to try and figure out what she wants. He thought it would be a quick thing, but Violet has been walking around for at least ten minutes.

“Sweetheart, it’s not that hard to make a decision,” Benny tells her as he glances down at his watch.

“I’m thinking!” she huffs. Benny throws his hands up in defense.

“What about the chips I told you to put back earlier, why don’t you just get those?” he suggests, growing impatient.

“No,” she glares up at him, before continuing down the aisle. Benny runs a hand down his face as he reluctantly follows her.

Finally, after a long process of elimination, Violet settles on a bag of candy. When Benny offers to hold it for her, she quickly draws her hand back, wanting to hold it herself.

“Okay miss independent,” Benny mumbles, but ignores her and heads towards the check out line.

Violet proudly hands the cashier her candy, which the girl gladly scans before handing it back to Violet with a smile.

“What do you say?” Benny asks Violet as he pulls out his wallet to pay.

“Thank you,” Violet smiles up at the cashier.

“Well, you are most welcome,” the cashier gushes at her, before looking back at Benny, “She is so cute.”

Benny quickly thanks her as he hands her cash for the groceries.

The cashier takes the money and counts it, and just as she begins to give Benny his change back she innocently asks, “Where’s her mother, is she around?” 

Benny was grossed out — one: because the girl looked kike she was in high school, and two: because the girl had the audacity to ask a question like that.

“Yeah,” he curtly says as he tucks the change back in his wallet. 

The girl seemed disappointed at Benny’s answer, but Benny didn’t care. He grabs Violet’s hand in one of his and grabs the grocery bags in the other before heading out the store.

“Why did she ask about mommy?” Violet asks, looking up at Benny.

“Don’t worry about it sweetheart, it’s not important,” Benny shakes his head. He’s glad when Violet quickly dismisses it and directs her attention to a tiny dog in some lady’s purse walking past them. The lady sees Violet eyeing the dog and stops to let her pet it.

After putting the groceries in the car and prying Violet away from the dog, Benny motions for Violet to hold his hand so they could start walking to your job and wait for your shift to finish.

 “Daddy, can we get a dog?” Violet asks as they walk, her bag of candy still in her other hand.

Benny’s about to respond and tell her no when a middle aged woman steps into his path. The lady had a couple bags of groceries in one of her hands and one hand on her hip, an unpleasant look on her face. Benny goes to step around her, but the lady quickly blocks him. 

When she opens her mouth, Benny expects her to address him, but instead the lady bends down to become eye level with his daughter. His grip tightens on Violet’s hand, but doesn’t make a move to do anything else, wanting to see what the woman has to say since it’s clearly important to her.

“Hey, sweetie, where’s your mother?” the woman asks Violet and Benny’s face contorts in frustration.

“What is up with these women today?” he thinks.

Violet opens her mouth to answer, but before she could get a word out, Benny speaks up. “Violet, we don’t talk to strangers, remember?”

Violet looks up and gives him a nod, quickly closing her mouth.

“Is there somethin’ I can help you with, ma’am?” Benny asks, trying to keep his tone pleasant in front of his daughter.

“Yeah, is this little girl yours?” she glares, standing back up to look at Benny.

What the fuck?

“What does it matter to you?” Benny asks, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I just want to know what someone like you is doing with a child,” the woman says.

“What? Do I know you or somethin’,” Benny questions.

“No, but I know all about you Vandals, and I know that you guys are nothing but trouble with all your motorcycles and drinking. Riding a bike is too important to you guys, making it impossible for you men to care about anything else, let alone a family.”

Benny wasn’t even wearing his colors today. After Violet was born, he stopped being so reckless and decided to stop riding so much. He didn’t want to be thrown in jail and have his daughter start her life without a father, not to mention the fact that he would be missing out on the beginning of her life.  

He rarely wears his colors or any type of leather in public anymore, so Benny’s confused on how this lady knows who he is. Then again, he used to cause a lot of trouble back then to the point where everyone knew who he was as soon as he stepped foot inside of a bar or restaurant. That was a long time ago, though, and Benny isn’t that lost soul anymore.

“Listen lady, you have no idea what you’re talking about, so if you’d please move out of the way, I’ll go about my day,” Benny says. He doesn’t wait for her to answer and tries to walk around her once again, but of course, she stops him.  Benny clenches his jaw.

“You’re not going anywhere until I know that this child is yours,” she folds her arms.

A few people stare at them as they walk by or get into their cars. 

“That’s none of your business,” Benny scoffs.

“It is when I’m concerned for this child’s wellbeing,” the lady states matter-of-factly, pointing down at Violet.

Violet looks up at her father in confusion. She’s not sure what’s going on, but since it’s obvious that Benny doesn’t like the lady in front of her, she decides that she shouldn’t like her either.

Benny lets out a frustrated sigh and looks at Violet to ask, “Violet, do you feel safe with me?”

Violet just nods, moving closer to Benny’s leg.

“See,” Benny says to the woman, “she’s fine.”

“That doesn’t mean anything at all,” the lady says.

“Listen, I don’t have time for this. Please move,” Benny tells her through gritted teeth. His patience is wearing thin.

But the lady doesn’t move, and instead continues to stare Benny down.

“What’s going on here?” you ask as you walk up behind the lady.

Benny and Violet were so occupied with the woman, that neither of them realized you were walking toward them. 

“Thank god, someone else is concerned,” the lady mumbles before turning to face you. “I just want to make sure that this little girl belongs to this man, but he’s being difficult.”

“The little girl looks fine to me,” you tell her, giving Violet a smile to which she happily returns.

“But you can’t be too sure of that, the man is practically squeezing this little girl’s arm to keep her next to him,” the lady says.

Your eyebrows furrow and you look over at Benny in confusion. Benny just shrugs and rolls his eyes.

“Well, I think it’s obvious that nothing strange is going on here, so why don’t you go,” you try to reassure the woman.

“I’m not going anywhere until I’m certain, I’ll call the police if I have to.”

“What’s your name?” you ask the lady, taking a couple steps closer to her.

“Cheryl,” she answers. 

“Listen, Cheryl, I don’t know why you think you’re trying to do, but it’s time for you to walk away. That man is my husband, and the child is mine. If that’s not enough for you, I don’t care. You clearly need attention so go find it from someone else, or better yet, get a life,” you say, walking past the lady to go stand next to Benny.

Cheryl’s mouth parts in disbelief as she looks between you and Benny.

“Is there anything else you’d like to say? Did you want to bitch and complain some more?” you ask. Benny's eyes widen in surprise, you rarely swear. He has to bite his lip to stop himself from smiling.

Cheryl holds her head up high and clears her throat to reply, “I’ll be on my way.”

“Good. Go play vigilante somewhere else, bitch,” you roll your eyes.

The lady looks like wants to say something else, but she doesn’t. You watch her let out an annoyed breath before turning around and walking away.

When she’s out of earshot, you look up at Benny. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know. She knew I was Vandal and just assumed the worst. It doesn’t really matter anymore,” Benny answers, watching the woman walk away.

“Looks like your past is coming up to you,” you let out a laugh resulting in Benny sending you a playful glare.

As you all start walking back to the car, Violet comes to your side and tugs your hand for you to look down at her. Benny watches as Violet holds her bag of candy up for you to see. 

“Uh oh,” he mumbles and pretends to be distracted by the keys in his hand.

“A whole bag, Benny? You couldn’t have just bought her a lollipop or something?” you look over at him and wait for him to look back at you.

“Well what was I supposed to do, say no?” he throws his hands up.

“Yeah, I do it all the time,” you nod.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’d actually like to stay on her good side,” Benny says, placing his hand on top of Violet's head.

like what you see? check out my masterlist :)

[helaintoloki]

Now that we know how Ben was a bit rebellious when he was a teen, how are we feeling about a fic where he used to sneak out to meet with reader, who is very much a sunshine person?

a/n: ty for requesting and i hope you enjoy ! also to clarify the ben in this piece is the original ben and not the sparrow

warnings: language

summary: ben manages to sneak out and pay a visit to his favorite person

At the exact stroke of twelve o’clock, three pebbles are thrown against the glass of your window to alert you of the waiting presence below. You’re quick to drop the book you’d been reading and lift the glass to greet your midnight visitor who immediately begins to climb through and into your bedroom.

“You’re late,” you tell him with an impatient look as he finally sets foot on your plush rug.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Ben confesses apologetically before dusting himself off and removing his shoes. “Dad stayed up later than I thought he would.”

“What about Luther?”

“He swore to secrecy after I threatened to tell Allison he wet his pants last week because he couldn’t get his uniform off fast enough to use the bathroom,” the boy explains with a cheeky smile, laughing at the playful nudge you give him.

“That’s evil,” you scold him with a giggle that conveys your lack of conviction.

“Sometimes a man just has to resort to blackmailing his brother in order to successfully sneak out,” he expresses with an innocent shrug before enveloping your frame into a tight hug to emphasize his point. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. It’s been lonely without you around,” you admit as the ghost of a frown begins to form on your lips.

“Are your parents gone again?”

“Another business trip,” you confirm as nonchalantly as possible in hopes of masking your hurt at their neglect. “Won’t be home for at least two weeks, so it’s just me here.”

“I promise to sneak out and see you as much as I can,” Ben vows earnestly, carefully cupping your cheek in his hand and pulling your face closer to his own so that he may press a comforting kiss to your forehead.

“It isn’t so bad,” you admit with a lighthearted smile as you pull away from him and move towards your closet to retrieve something. “You want to see what I found at the bookstore today?”

Ben isn’t given a chance to answer your hypothetical question as you display the said item for him to see. It takes a moment for the boy to realize what it is he’s looking at, but once it processes an unamused huff of air leaves through his nostrils in response.

“Please tell me you didn’t actually spend money on that thing.”

“Technically I stole money from my mom’s purse to buy it, so no, I didn’t,” you correct him defensively before proudly holding up your purchase. “I figured if the real Ben can’t keep me company twenty-four-seven, then action figure Ben can.”

“That’s ridiculous!” He cries out indignantly before snatching the thing out of your grasp to scrutinize the details. “It doesn’t even look like me!”

“Of course it does!”

Shaking his head in bewilderment, Ben can only sigh and hand the doll back to you before moving to make himself comfortable on your bed. Having decided you’ve teased him enough for one night, you set the figure on your nightstand before moving to join him. It’s almost as if you naturally fit perfectly into his side when you curl up next to him and bask in the warmth of his arms around you. Nights like these have become more rare with time, so you like to make the most of it while you can.

“We should run away together,” you suggest casually after a comfortable bout of silence. You feel Ben’s chest rise beneath your fingertips with the amused laugh that leaves him in response.

“And where would we go?”

“Anywhere we want.”

“As enticing as that sounds, I can’t,” he reminds you. Frowning, you shift your frame and prop your head up on your hand so that you’re facing him.

“Why not?” You retort indignantly, almost offended by his immediate rejection. “My parents constantly forget that I exist and your dad is a complete asshole. Why should we stick around?”

“Look, my dad is a jerk, and I would love to just drop the whole super hero thing and never look back. But I can’t… I can’t just leave my siblings behind,” Ben explains gently while reaching out to push a stray strand of hair away from your face.

“So you’ll just wait for them to leave you behind instead?” You retort, aggrieved on his own behalf at the thought.

“They wouldn’t do that-“

“Five already did.”

A tense silence follows your words, and you bite your lip in regret at having let it slip. You know you’ve gone too far judging by the flash of hurt that passes on Ben’s face, and you’re quick to apologize for your lack of eloquent conversation skills.

“I don’t mean to be harsh,” you quietly clarify as you meet his understanding gaze. “I just don’t think it’s fair we both have to stick around and suffer because we got stuck with shitty parents. I want to get out of here, Ben. Don’t you?”

He pauses for a beat, his voice soft as he finally answers, “I do. And I promise you that one day we will. We just have to hold out for a little longer is all.”

“You swear?” You ask meekly, almost afraid he’ll change his mind and take it back. However, Ben takes your free hand in his own and gives it a reassuring squeeze before replying, “I swear on my life.”

Placated by the sincerity of his words, you’re happy to resume your previous position of being nestled into his side as he begins to tell you the latest tales of the Umbrella Academy, and you can live comfortably without the knowledge of knowing that Ben has made a promise he soon won’t be able to keep.

[fayes-fics]

Absolution

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: After an argument, Benedict seeks forgiveness.

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI. Sub!Benedict, domme!reader, established relationship. Strip tease, slight begging, praise, massage, sexual tension.

Word Count: 2.0k

Authors Note: Anon request fill from HERE, where sub!Benedict begs reader to let him touch her. I'm not sure this is begging enough for you, Nonny, but it's what my muse chose - and after being unable to write for 2 months, I went with it. I hope that's okay. Unbetaed, cos if I ask someone to read this, I will chicken out of posting it. Errr, enjoy?

You feel as much as you see him—a hovering, hesitant presence in the doorway.

“May I… join you?” 

His request is sotto voce, tinged with a gauzy hope that pulls your attention, eyes flicking to his reflection in the mottled glass of your vanity table mirror.

“You are not yet forgiven….” 

Your response is a touch sharp, perhaps, as you restart your motions, untangling your hair with an ornate silver brush, the bitter edge of your dispute still ringing in your ears, even now, hours later. Yet there’s a metallic taste of victory on the tip of your tongue that he is the one attempting to broker the peace between you. 

“Understood.” 

Benedict nods, stepping fully into the bedroom now, the door clicking closed behind him as he continues talking. 

“Perhaps I may find another way to apologise?” 

He bows his head, lacing his fingers together loosely in front of him as he looks upon you through his lashes—a gentle, reproachful demeanour that softens the sharper edges of your irritation. After a beat, you twist around and stand up, moving towards him, the silk of your night robe a balm on your flushed skin, your body reacting to him in this room as it always does, despite what has transpired, something very Pavlovian about it. His light eyes seem to dance with the reflective candlelight from the nearby sconce as you stop just beyond touching distance.

“What are you proposing?” 

You don't miss the way his gaze is drawn to the pull of fabric taut over the swell of your breast as you cross your arms, perhaps still a shade defensive.

“I seek absolution…” 

His words are a sighed exhale, eyes pleading. You know precisely what he is referring to—that power dynamic play that neither of you can resist. And sure enough, a twitch of a smile ghosts over your lips in spite of yourself.

“And will you do as I tell you?” 

You don't mean your voice to be quite so throaty, but the rapid dilation of his pupils and the jump of the vein in his neck speaks volumes.

“I will do anything for you…” His murmur draws attention to his pink, damp, plush, distracting bottom lip as if he has bitten it for your delectation. “My Lady.” It’s a goading, blatant addition, an invitation you are powerless to turn down, especially when he looks at you like that, all large pupils and quivering lip.

“Strip for me,” you command, a surge of want in your veins as his lip quirks up, his hands flying to his buttons instinctively. 

You watch greedily as he fights off the cropped jacket, and his dextrous fingers start to pluck at the pearl buttons upon his paisley silk waistcoat. He is always so exquisitely wrapped in jewel-toned fabrics that it seems nearly a shame to ask him to remove them. As both items fall to the thick rug with an audible thump, you take a step to the side and sit in a comfortable chair in the corner of your bedchamber. You cross your legs, enjoying the bob of his Adam's apple as your legs are revealed through the parting of your robe. He has probably correctly guessed you are naked underneath; a keen flare of his nostrils as you sit back to get comfortable, gesturing for him to continue. 

You lick your lips reflexively as you watch his elegant hands unwind his soft gold cravat, the candlelight catching the signet ring upon his little finger as he throws it to the floor and takes a step towards you, a nascent trace of that troublesome smirk toying at the corner of his lips.

“All of it, Benedict,” you warn, taking the upper hand as he seems to be advancing upon you still in his boots, shirt and trousers. 

He stops short when he is a couple of paces away, close enough you can scent his cologne but too far to touch—perhaps an intentional tease. He will sometimes push up against your boundaries, that cheeky nature flaring under those beseeching, wanton looks. He follows your command, though, your skin flushing as he obediently pulls off his boots and tosses them aside haphazardly.

He takes another half-step forward, watching your eyes tracking the movement of his hands as he pushes down his braces, bouncing once on the outside of his upper thigh as they fall. Subconsciously, you squeeze your thighs together, tamping down the pulse of arousal, the sensual tension between you already heady and delicious, thick in the air, despite so many crossed words earlier.

“May I touch you, My Lady?” 

His soft, yielding tone makes a thrill prickle across your scalp, but your tongue is still sharp with a barb.

“Earn it.”

His eyes flash at your challenge, and there is a flutter behind your ribs—you are as under his thrall now as he is yours. 

And then he does something that makes your body surge with want. He suddenly buckles to his knees before you, looking up at you imploringly again through those long lashes.

“How may I earn it, My Lady?” 

His ask is tender even as he makes short work of the buttons of his frilled shirt, kneeling temptingly beyond your kneecaps.

“I am still awaiting your fulfilment of my last command…” Your response is accompanied by a raised eyebrow, emphasising your point. Benedict is indeed still in shirt and trousers, although the shirt now hands lose from his broad shoulders, framing that lithe, toned torso.

“And once I am naked, what then, My Lady?” 

“Patience, my love…”

Your tone is portentous, but you don't miss how something warm melts in his expressive eyes at the term of affection. His shirt sails down onto the rug, his movements carrying more urgency than before, keen to here your subsequent plans for him, no doubt. 

With him still upon his knees, your breath quickens as he reaches for the buttons of his trousers, knowing as you do what lies beneath. Indeed as the front falls away, you are unsurprised to see he is without underwear as usual, a thatch of dark hair teasing before his cock springs free before you, you canting yourself forward slightly to see.

As he pushes the trousers down around his bent knees, you see the little half smile, noticing your lean-in, your eager stance to see him nude as requested—the flash of that playful nature, which makes his obedience so much more delicious. Your eyes focus upon the constellation of freckles upon his left shoulder as he does, temporarily transfixed by the play of muscle under his skin as he fights off his trousers the rest of the way while still on his knees. His triumphant huff and hurling aside of the item snaps you back from your short reverie, and indeed, what a sight it is to behold. A beautiful, toned, naked man before you on his knees, raptly awaiting your next word, his smooth chest rising and falling a little with shortened breaths of anticipation.

“My lady…” he prompts, but there is a trace of prideful preening, knowing he has you captivated, your legs uncrossing reflexively as you lean in further, your eyes drinking in the sight before you, his gaze falling briefly to your lap, hoping for a glance under your ribe.

“You may touch my feet, my love,” you offer, and you let out a ragged sigh as those large hands cup your arch and a thumb presses into a sensitive spot that makes you collapse back, putty in his hands already. 

“Thank you, my lady; I hope I can soothe you…”

His light whisper falls onto your skin like feathers, your eyelids fluttering shut as his hands work their magic upon your feet. Indeed, you have been promenading today and his assured touch seems the perfect salve to the ache of miles walked. Tension drains through the soles of your feet as he works. 

Before you know it, his hands have moved up, and you do not protest as he starts to massage your ankles and the lower part of your calves. Your whole leg becomes less stiff, your eyes still closed, breathe deep and even until he makes a sharp inhale that has your eyelids flying apart.

In your relaxed state your thighs have parted, and your robe following suit. His heated gaze is upon the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs, not yet open enough to betray how aroused you truly are.

“You may not touch.”

It's a clipped statement, an attempt to wrestle control when he had you compliant under his touch. A slight pout claims his handsome face as if hoping a puppy dog expression will make you yield.

“You are the most beautiful creature, please, please, My Lady…”

“Not yet,” you modify, his adulation weakening your resolve a touch.

He massages your left calf muscle, placing your foot upon the warm fuzz of his bent quad muscle, feeling the warmth emanating from his nearby cock, a temptation you resist moving your foot to brush against. But you can no longer tamp down the need to moan gently as your body responds to his expert touch. It makes his fingers dig into your flesh temporarily, and you hear him take a steadying breath, knowing he is fighting his desire to pick you up and take you to the bed—a desire raging just as brightly in you.

And so, as if catharsis for your earlier argument, you tease him more. Begin to writhe slightly in your seat, an undulation that inches your foot higher on his thigh, your toes curling into his flesh there as your noises become less restrained, his touch heavier, still soothing but with an undercurrent of urgency that speaks of pent-up passion. You can almost feel the increase in his heartbeat, the blood thrumming through his body, his cock no doubt leaking even though you dare not glance at it—too tempting a prospect, wanting to elongate this tease, this foreboding simmering between you ratcheting up the tension between you.

“You are heaven itself, My Lady, I live to bring you succour….”

There is nothing like his lilting, wanton poetic praise. When his hands round your kneecaps, you let him continue higher, dextrous hands cupping your lower thigh and squeezing the tension from your muscles there. His breath is laboured as the movement parts your legs, and he can see what he has wrought, a glistening warmth you can feel deliciously as the cooler air swirls between your now parted thighs.

“Please, My Lady…. Please let me touch you there…”

His tone is broken now, fawning words tumbling from him between deep breaths as if scenting you, his whole body tilted over your lower half, looking up at you from your lap, supplicant arousal humming in his being, feeling the heat of his cock against your toenails as he leans in.

“Undress me.” your voice a breathy whisper.

The tiny noise of victory he makes has your heart skipping a beat as his fingers instantly fly to the sash, holding your robe cinched at your waist. Watching him work through a hooded gaze and a fluttering chest as he unloops the knot and then, as if unwrapping the most precious gift, parts the material from around your body, pulling it down from around your shoulders until you are as naked as him.

“My Lady…..”

It's a stuttering, wrecked sigh, trembling hands ghosting over the quivering of your stomach, your ribs—not touching without permission, but still making your pulse race, your skin tingle. And you hunger for him like nothing else, uncaring of the disagreement you had earlier, irritation and pride usurped by the burning need you have for him as much as he has for you.

And so you relent.

“You may touch me anywhere, my love.”

Your greenlight has him almost howling, and before you know it, you are scooped up from the chair and carried to the bed, his body flexing deliciously against yours, your lips meeting in a hungry, inelegant kiss, tongues tangling. Words of apology will come later—after your bodies have what they crave.

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[jim-the-simpleton]

Fallout 4.

There is a settlement in Fallout 4 called Spectacle Island. It's situated off the coast of the southern half of the map, and is one of the largest settlements you can acquire in the base game.

Fallout 4's settlement system allows you to set up supply lines between settlements, which allows them to share basic resources like food and water, as well as component items you need for crafting. This will also set up a settler on that supply line who can be encountered in the world moving between the two settlements, which can create some interesting encounters.

You can set up supply lines to and from Spectacle Island, but the game doesn't have any functioning boats and NPCs aren't supposed to swim, so the settlers will just kinda hang out on the coast with a brahmin. Fallout 4.

Functionally, the supply line still works and the settlement will share resources with wherever you set it up, but cosmetically it isn't a great look to have someone longingly look out to the coast with a pack brahmin.

However, if the settler is wearing power armor, they can just walk along the bottom of the ocean between Spectacle Island and your other settlement just fine. Fallout 4.

The problem is, you can't assign settlers to power armor. Fallout 4.

Well, I know for a fact that settlers CAN get into power armor, as it's happened to me and several other people in the past. If the settler is engaged in combat and if they have a fusion core, they will- sometimes - enter an empty suit for the fight.

However, they have to be close to the power armor (which, I mean, yeah), and Spectacle Island is one of the largest settlements in the game, so the chances of a settler being close to the power armor while they're in combat is low. Thankfully, in workshop mode, you can tell settlers to go to a certain location. Less thankfully, they will walk as slowly as possible to where you need them to go, and they tend to get distracted on the way by anything and everything, requiring constant guidance the entire path. On top of that, as soon as they reach the requested destination, they will wait there for all of two seconds before getting bored and going back to wandering aimlessly. Fallout 4.

Well, I put a fusion core in the settler's inventory and hold their hand as they walk to the shed where I'm keeping the power armor. There are ways of bringing enemies directly to a settlement thanks to a DLC I have installed, but it's a long and slow process that I really didn't want to have to deal with, so I used console commands to spawn in a Deathclaw Matriarch, a high-level enemy. However, at my high level and with the defenses I have set up, the deathclaw takes about all of thirty seconds to take down, which isn't enough time for my settler to decide to get in the power armor. Fallout 4.

After this, I start spawning Deathclaw Matriarchs in 2-4 at a time. My settler keeps running out of the shed to fight the deathclaws with a base-level pipe pistol and getting knocked down instantly, which prevents him from entering the power armor. I decide to use the power armor to trap the settler inside the shed, so that the only way to leave us to enter the power armor. The deathclaws are still dying too fast, and I still have to spawn them in multiples to keep combat going as long as possible. The settler simply won't get in the power armor. He's clipping through and getting stuck on the power armor, but not entering it. Fallout 4.

Miraculously, after about 12 Deathclaw Matriarchs had their lives taken as unceremoniously as they were given, my settler finally decided that now was the time to enter my power armor. I could now safely assign him to a supply line. I usually liked to give my supply line settlers higher-level weapons since they tend to encounter enemies pretty frequently. Plus, basic pipe weapons look really small and awkward when paired with a beefy suit of power armor, and this entire endeavor has been for cosmetics' sake, so I walk up to my settler and press the talk key. Instead of hearing my character ask to trade a few things, I instead hear:

"I need you to get out of your power armor."

My settler agreed and was more than eager to hop out of a top-of-the-line suit of T-45d Power Armor. Fallout 4.

I gave him the weapon I wanted him to have equipped and started the entire endeavor over, with another dozen Deathclaw Matriarchs dying for the express purpose of forcing a settler into a suit of power armor. But, well, it worked again, and he had the Assault Rifle I wanted him to be using. I hit the quicksave key as fast as I could because if Fallout 4 knows you've done a lot of things since you last saved, it will crash just to make you do it all again, because Fallout 4 is a vindictive and spiteful force of evil.

All of this so I could see my settler do this:

Fallout 4.

[randomshyperson]

Best (Girl)Friends - Wanda Maximoff x Rogers!Reader

Summary: Wanda sympathizes with your willpower. 70 years on ice is a long time to wait for an intimate touch. And being the good friend that she is, Wanda offers you some help.

Warnings: (+18), some vague plot, smut with virginity loss, Rogers!Reader following all Wanda’s wishes, power bottom!Wanda, kissing, friends to lovers, mutual pining, explicit consent but Wanda being a tease and a bit possessive. | Words: 4.893k

A/-N-> I’m pretty sure this was a request, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. 

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad |

-&-

Shield acted as if they won the lottery.

In a way, it felt like that. Two Rogers siblings found on the same day would probably yield some promotions within the teams responsible, and a nice image bonus with the US government. 

But while Captain America was found in a negative temperature on the other side of the planet, his sister destroyed an entire building with her sudden appearance inside a blue explosion a few hours later.

In your defense, you had no idea what was about to happen. 

One minute, you were inside a Howard Stark-designed marine suit at the bottom of the ocean. But in Shield's defense, you were disobeying the orders of your director, that is, Margaret Carter on the phone, who five minutes earlier insisted that she would not risk losing another Rogers and that reaching the cube was not worth the risk to your safety, but you still put on the prototype underwater suit and dived in search of the item, which, to you, was the key to finding your brother.

You were right, in a way. Touching the cube with the determined idea that you would like to see Steve again really worked. The problem was how it happened. 

The explosion was all around you, and you saw nothing but the beam of blue light that forced you to close your eyes. One moment you were deep in the sea, and the next you were in the middle of one of the Shield Secret Bases, a thousand of bricks flying around with the force of the explosion.

Your presence in the secret room of Project PEGASUS caused Shield to be on high alert, and a dozen rifles to be pointed in your face.

But it was all cleared up in no time and ended with your figure handcuffed on the seat of a government Jet on its way to New York.

Unlike Steve, you were awake. And not the least bit in the mood to follow Nick Fury's theatrical demands.

"That's to avoid shock, Miss Rogers-"

"Absolutely not, Nicholas." You cut him off impatiently, your hands-free since Shield had clarified exactly who you were. "The first thing I'm saying to my brother won't be a lie."

Nick sighed. "I understand it's a delicate situation, Miss, but Captain Rogers has been frozen for too long. An innocent fantasy is meant to lessen the shock of the truth."

You skirted Nick without caring about the speech. "There's no way to lighten news like this one. We're both in the future, for Chris’s sake! That it's absurd enough. No more lies, and let me see my brother for once. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for that." 

Fury didn't have the heart to insist, not only because he had another supersoldier getting him out of the way, but because of the emotion in your voice. He waved in dismissal to any soldier more curious about your determined walk, and no one interfered as you made your way to the room where they placed your brother.

Shield had begun to create a scenario around him that made you chuckle in irony. You dismissed the agent posing as a nurse with a look, and Nick allowed you to be alone in the room, and without wasting any time, you made your way to the bed.

Steve looked the same as he did the day he disappeared, and you felt a sob break in your throat. Maybe the sound woke him up.

He opened confused eyes at you, and unlike him, you had aged a lot since the last time he had seen you when you were still a child. 

"Hey, Stevie." Your greeting came hoarsely, laden with emotion. Steve took a moment to recognize you.

"Y/N?" He asked, tense and startled. You could almost see the gears of his brain working, the way he tried to recognize his surroundings as well. "God, how long have I...?"

"Longer than you can imagine, big brother. Much longer." You replied before hugging him tightly. 

This must have been the last entirely friendly interaction you had with your brother, a reunion bittersweet for its peculiarities that was unable to conciliate years of differences between the two of you. Nor did the ice erase your hurt over Steve sending you away from the war when your parents passed away, or make you forget the years of training and working for Shield in search of him once you were back in Brooklyn. Nor did it change Steve's view of how he wanted to protect and keep out of trouble - which included superhero work - his younger sister who he had vowed to take care of.

But it was indeed an undeniable amusement to the rest of the team that the personalities of the Rogers siblings were so blatantly different, and it caused some apprehension every time Steve had to witness you leaving the tower in some sports car borrowed from Tony Stark while dressed in leather jackets borrowed from Natasha Romanoff.

The apex that you were entirely corrupted for all that he expected from a proper 1950s girl came in the addition of a certain angry witch to the team a while later.

Of course, the close age - if one ignores the years between the time jump and your arrival - you and Wanda had made your friendship an inevitability. But this doesn't mean that witnessing your clear crush on the new Avenger wasn't giving your older brother a headache.

Natasha thinks he deserved some credit. Considering he was a white man from the 1950s who was frozen before appearing in a new century, Steve was pretty open-minded. She was pretty sure this was due to the closet years of keeping a secret crush on his best friend, but she wouldn't be mean enough to torment Steve with that. 

And besides this, you were also getting used to the new century. And with the possibility of being able to have feelings for Wanda in an open and free way, so different from the world you lived in before.

The witch, on the other hand, had the greatest of fun tormenting you as much as she could while she waited for you to be ready.

And these teases came at every opportunity Wanda could take, from summer days at the tower pool where she had an excuse to wear bikinis around you and make a complete mess of you with the "friendly cuddling" which is how she came to justify the fact that your room was hers now and that there was nothing more platonical than sleeping cuddled up to your best friend.

With each passing moment, you grew comfortable and certain in your own feelings, parallel to which you became more confident in your powers and Wanda began to feel that the tables were turning on her every time a tickle war ended with you using your super-strength to pin her to the bed or you could effortlessly carry her away from a training session or conflict.

It didn't take long for the situation to become unbearable - Wanda was sure she would combust in the next cuddling session if she felt your body against hers again without that leading to what she really wanted, so now she had to take drastic action.

Communication was always the key to everything.

"Have you ever had sex?"

Your cell phone fell hard on your face. Wanda giggled at the mirror reflection: she was on her back brushing her hair and stealing glances at your figure lying on the bed, still learning to use the current technology but definitely loving the whole thing.

Snorting in embarrassment, you pushed the electronic device down onto the mattress and massaged your sore face. "I'm beginning to think you enjoy seeing me like this."

"What do you mean?" She asks innocently, turning her attention to the ring drawer. 

"Disconcerted."

Wanda chuckles mischievously, running her fingers through the options and trying to decide between the items as you stare at the ceiling. "I know you're like 100 years old, but won’t you tell me that it never happened? Not even when you became a hottie super soldier?"

You grunted in shame, covering your face with your arm. Wanda giggled again, this time putting on one of the silver rings. You were too far away to notice how her fingers were slightly trembling, giving away how she was equally affected by the conversation. But unlike you, Wanda knew how to keep it cool very well.

"Wandaaa." You grumbled, and she almost dropped the subject when you added. "No."

"No, what?"

With a sigh, you removed your arm from in front of your face but didn't risk looking at her. "Back then...I just, I didn't have the courage I guess. You know, girls were supposed to be virgins to marry, in theory. And well, I wasn't going to marry anyone because I was too busy working. And when I got into the army, the vast majority of the guys I knew started looking at me with contempt and indignation, and then came the serum I just...didn't know how to handle the attention."

Wanda spun the stool she was sitting on toward you, listening closely to your words. 

You sighed shyly. "I mean I had opportunities, but I just didn't feel comfortable following them. I wanted... to be with someone who liked me. Not the super serum, you know? Most people were only talking to me because of it. They hoped to gain some kind of benefit from meeting the American Soldier. I don't know, maybe it's just me trying not to sound so... cowardly."

Wanda stood up with a sigh, and you swallowed dryly, keeping your gaze on the ceiling until her face appear in your field of vision.

"Detka, you are literally the bravest person I know." Reminded the witch, bringing a small smile to you. "And there's nothing wrong with not being ready, or waiting for the right person. Sex is intimate, it makes sense that you want it to happen with someone you like and who likes you back."

"Thank you for being understanding." You muttered, swallowing dryly when instead of returning to her previous activities, Wanda sat down on the bed next to you. With a sigh and shifting your gaze to the ceiling again, you ventured, "Have you?"

Wanda's teasing giggle brought a deep color to your face. "Have I what?"

Snorting, you retorted, "Come on, you're the one who brought this up."

Wanda pinched you gently on the belly, smiling at your complaint. “A few times, actually.'"

It made no sense at all to feel jealous of a time you didn't even know her, and that you were somehow in the past, but still, a bitter burn filled your stomach. Wanda, the telepath that she was, seemed to know exactly what you were thinking, and without caring whether it would make your heart stop or not, approached you to use your torso as her personal pillow. With two legs on which side of your hips, she stared down at you.

"But it was nothing outstanding." She began, using her fingertips to wander all the exposed skin of your neck and shoulders through your pajamas and having the best time in the world in watching every single hair of you shiver. "I kept making the same mistake in settling down for mediocre sex. No real feelings, no passion, much less love. Always end up frustrated and having to finish the job alone."

You frowned in confusion. "Alone...?" But it only took one look from Wanda for you to understand what she meant and choke, your face pink again. The younger girl giggled, leaning her elbow on you to rest her chin on her own hand and take a closer look. 

"Eyes on me, baby." She asked, hoping you would overcome your own shyness to do so. When you follow her request, Wanda was ready to risk everything. "You know I love you, don't you?"

You sighed, nodding. "I love you too, Wanda." Your confession was huskier than hers, and she had to ignore the sincerity of what that really meant in order to stay focused on that afternoon's goal. "Kind of the essential thing on the best friend package, isn't it?"

Wanda chuckled, rolling her eyes. 

Of course, you would make a joke to lessen the intensity of the moment, if she was nervous in all her confident glory, she could have sympathy for you, who was literally having to deal with your long-time crush practicing lying over you.

"Friends help each other, don't they? Especially best friends." She retorted, and you frowned in confusion.

"Yeah, I guess… why, did something happen?" Before your confusion could turn to worry entirely and you could finish the movement of getting up, Wanda pressed her hands on your shoulders and pushed you back on the mattress.  "Hey." You chuckled puzzledly, but the laughter died into an affected sigh when Wanda simply shifted in your lap completely, in a very non-platonic way.  "Right, whatever makes you comfortable." You mutter, very aware of the heat radiating from the girl's body on top of you, who just chuckled mischievously at your shyness.

"Relax, dorogoya." Wanda reasserted in a low, dangerously seductive voice. Her hands were on your shoulders still, rubbing your loose pajamas and somehow pushing them down to the limits, exposing as much skin as Wanda could manage. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to...but I also need you to tell me exactly what you wanna do and how ready for me you are."

Your throat went dry, and Wanda's dilated pupils were not helping the words to form. She bit her lip, seeming to have the best time with your clumsiness.

"I-I... god, Wanda..." You gasped and she leaned in completely until her breath was hitting your cheek.

"How about a kiss? Don't tell me you never got one?" She mocked and you had to chuckle dryly.

"You can be quite an ass, Maximoff." You murmured with your eyes closed, risking moving your hands to her thighs around your hips, the action making you both hold your breaths for a second. "I've kissed before."

"Hmm, I see." She hits back, deviating from the original path and letting her mouth tease your jaw, feeling your hands squeeze her thighs gently with every kiss across your skin. What Wanda wouldn't do to see you lose control...

"I like kissing." You confess hoarsely, mostly because she’s making you so nervous that the words are simply spilling. You kept your eyes closed and your neck stretched to give her more room to don’t stop. Aware of your words, Wanda hums again as she keeps depositing chaste kisses on your collarbone. "I like...kissing girls."

It should be a heartfelt confession, one that Wanda theoretically knew about but that you've never put into words before. But suddenly, Wanda bit down on you, hard enough for you to grunt in pain, opening your eyes. She grabs your cheeks with one hand, a hot fury in her eyes that makes you shudder.

"Rule number one, don't talk about other girls when you have one on top of you."

You open your mouth like a fish, babbling nonsense for enough time for Wanda to make a motion of leaving. But that makes you react. "I didn't mean to upset you!" You try quickly, hands moving on an instinct to hold her by the waist on top of you. Wanda has to bite her lips hard to keep from letting out a much more submissive sound than she would like when you just squeeze her firmly to keep her there. "Wanda, please forgive me! I-you caught me off guard, alright? I’m nervous… We’re friends and suddenly… you’re so close and I’m talking nonsense! Please, just… tell me what you want to hear.”

She huffs impatiently, crossing her arms and turning her face away as you sigh in defeat. Wanda wants to be annoyed, but you're so lovely when you lean your face into her, trying to ease her anger with chaste kisses on her cheeks and neck until you manage to get from her a stubborn smile. She has no choice but to uncross her arms to slide her hands up your shoulders, wrapping herself around your body again. 

She feels you smile and relax completely, the kisses getting firmer on her neck until they tickle and elicit a husky giggle from her. Still, Wanda settles a hand in your hair, and the slight tug to bring your faces close together again draws a deep sigh from you.

"I don't want to hear about other girls, detka. This is your last warning." She says seriously with eyes glowing red for a moment. Wanda had hoped to have a direct effect, but to her surprise, a teasing smirk began to form on your lips.

"Wow, you're totally jealous." You accused and she grimaced, trying to pull away once more. But that only made you burst out into a teasing giggle, while your strong arms wrapped around her torso, bringing her back to you effortlessly while keeping her locked into you. Wanda was clearly aware of how shaky her legs were with the motion, and trying to walk away again would only result in her falling to the ground. "Wanda, darling, the girls I kissed must be a hundred years old by now."

Reluctantly and with a rosy tinge in her cheeks, she mutters, "Honestly, I was hoping to be your first."  Her confession makes you rise your eyebrows in surprise, only to smile fondly next. Your hands moved again, caressing her back in an attempt to relax her as well. 

"Hey, look at me." You call out gently, waiting for the girl's stubbornness to subside with the help of your caresses. Wanda has a stronger color on her face when she finally raises her eyes to you again. "I didn't imagine this was anything of relevance to you. But I haven't lied before, I've never been with someone intimately. If you still want to, you can be my first... everything else."

She twitches her nose softly. "You’re making it sound like it’s a favor for me. I only want to... if you do too." She retorts with a certain determination in her gaze, and though you feel your cheeks burn with the ultimatum, you nod foolishly before breaking the distance.

It catches Wanda by surprise, the sudden kiss, and you're despairing when she doesn't respond immediately, pulling away at the same speed you approached. "Sorry." You say mortified and breathless, your lips tingling. "I like you, Wan. I really do. I just thought you should know before..."

She places a finger over yours, shushing your nervous anticipation. Her free hand goes to your cheek and Wanda pulls you close again, her eyes darkening in a way that makes you shiver entirely.

"Like I said before, just relax, baby. Stop overthinking." She whispers before she firms her mouth over yours. It's a sensual, intense kiss unlike any you've ever received. Wanda seems determined to drive you to complete insanity. She kisses you unhurried, waiting for permission to slide her tongue into yours, and giving you no room to breathe properly, head spinning with those new yet so familiar needy feelings. She kisses and kisses you until you're restless beneath her, your body burning and your hands curious testing limits that she doesn’t impose, only encourages you to break. Her taste and smell intoxicate your every sense, the feel of her body molded to yours, teasing your reactions and almost making you lose control of your strength. The tight squeeze you give her when she sucks your tongue earns a whimper from her that sticks and echoes in your mind, making you dizzy with lust. When she finally breaks the kiss to breathe, her lips are swollen like yours, and her pupils are so dilated that there is no green left in them. Your face burns for the matching fire you find in her gaze.

You are unable to find any words to describe this moment, so you only stare at her, blushing over the smirk that starts to form on her lips once she catches the adoring look you’re giving her.

Licking your lips to try to gain some focus, you dare to ask: “Was it…good?” You would have added “Did you like” or “Was I enough” if Wanda didn't break into a giggle that shut you entirely, your cheeks burning. Before the shame could surface, she grabbed your cheeks again. “You’re too cute, darling.” She says, kissing you again more quickly than before. Her hands move to yours then, intertwining your fingers together to drag them on her thighs, down, and then back up, this time under her skirt. Your heart stopped, and Wanda turned her dark eyes back to yours, her voice so low you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't so close. “Don’t be shy, see for yourself how much I like kissing you.” She whispers darkly.

When she kisses you again, her hands guide you under her skirt until you're in her front. The mere contact of your fingers with the wet spot on her panties makes you groan and break the kiss, needing a moment to just take a breath and calm your nerves. Wanda doesn't wait long, releasing your hands to move hers to your shoulders, needing firm support now that you're so close to where she needs it so badly. She gasps in surprise when your hand gives a quick tug that rips her panties off at once, a wave of new wetness running down her thighs in the same second.

You don't say anything about it, just turns your face to kiss her again, the same way she did before, and somehow even dirtier and more sexual, drawing gasps with every flick of your tongue against hers.

Because Wanda's your best friend, she wants to taunt you - tease you about being better at this than you let on, but all the words fall away at once when your fingers fill her in one go. All Wanda can do is moan, choking on the kiss as she feels you slide into her with such ease. 

"Fuck, detka." She moans with her eyes tightly closed, just as she pulls away to breathe. Your response is to just continue your movements, in and out of her without haste, feeling every mention of her warm walls squeezing your fingers. Wanda is burning on top of you and the sound of her drenched pleasure echoes low. You hum contentedly, nipping at her neck as she can no longer match the kiss, so close to her own climax. Your hand adjusts, increasing its reach, and when your thumb gives her clit the attention it needs, Wanda lets out an affected squeal. "W-wanna cum, baby. Please!"

You bite back a smile, surprised and impressed by the question hidden in the statement. You adjust to face her and wait for Wanda to feel the change to look at you too. The dark, lust-filled pupils leave you breathless.

"You can cum, sweetheart, you don't even have to ask." You assure her softly, never stopping your movements inside her. "I'm here to please you." You whisper, and it's enough for Wanda to break into an affected moan, hips thrusting helplessly against your hand until she arches her back and lets out the longest, dirtiest moan you've ever heard. 

Her eyes flutter shut as she rides her high on your soaked hand, until she finally opens scarlet pupils for you, a long groan leaving her lips as the last sensations of the best orgasm she ever had fade away.

Wanda turns her full attention to you in the next second, stealing quick but intense kisses until a husky giggle leaves her lips and tickles yours.

"You're too good at this for your own good." She prompts, and the compliment takes a heartfelt giggle from you. You try to relax under her gaze but Wanda's dilated eyes have a different twinkle as she holds your cheeks more firmly. "I think I want to keep you all to myself. Without sharing with anybody else. What do you say, baby?"

You swallow dry, suddenly quite vulnerable "H-hm, like... dating?" You retort in a weak tone of voice because you need to confirm and well the idea that someone as unbelievably awesome as Wanda Maximoff is actually asking for exclusivity with you seems too freaking surreal not to confirm. As many times as necessary.

Wanda giggles mischievously, settling herself on top of your fingers that never left her and sighing as she feels you even deeper than before. "Yeah, just like that." She moans, and you're not sure if she's answering your question or guiding you through the motions, but you get the impression that the answer goes both ways. 

It's not like you will contradict your new girlfriend any further.

Before Wanda could indulge in the sensation again, however, she stopped you with a gentle grip on your wrist. Raising curious eyes to the breathless flushed girl on top of you, your first reaction was to check if you had done something wrong, and by god, hurt her. But Wanda bit back a smile, her other hand going down to your belt.

"We're overdressed, honey." She whispered against your lips, red sparkles playing with the edge of your shirts, teasing them upward. " Strip."

Moaning low against her mouth, Wanda almost didn't let you pull away. In record time, your clothes were off and so were hers, between stolen panting kisses you fell to the mattress again, curious hands urging together.

Wanda pinned you beneath her with no effort despite your super strength, and feeling her naked against your skin drove you to the brink of insanity. She swallowed each moan with her mouth, appreciating the increasingly needy sounds as she fit against your hips, and began to move hers.

Soon, the friction became unbearably arousing and you had to clutch at the sheet, and the headboard. A hot, tight knot at the tip of your stomach left you breathless, every movement of Wanda's hips into yours, the perfect fit between your cunts was enough to make you choke. 

You practically meowed when she got the rhythm right. "O-oh god Wanda! T-there's something... fuck, I can't-"

"I know baby, just let go for me." She panted, her hands clenching the sheet on either side of your head, her hips frantic against yours. "Fuck, you feel amazing" She moans a confession, smiling satisfied at your expression of pure bliss beneath her.

Suddenly the knot bursts, and you're blinded by the pleasure of your first orgasm for a full moment. The headboard snaps in your left hand and Wanda cums in a loud, animalistic moan, spilling herself down on you before collapsing heavily onto your torso, your panting breaths mingling like your juices.

You try to recover together from the intensity of the climax, your hand finding her back on instinct to stroke her as Wanda nestles closer against you, an exhausted, satisfied smile on her lips.

She barely had a chance to lift her face to kiss you when the bedroom door suddenly opened.

"Kid, is everything all right in here I heard something breaking-'" 

You nearly knocked Wanda off the bed in an attempt to cover the two of you with the comforter - and the mattress lost a few springs in the process.

The two Avengers who'd entered the room covered their faces with their hands, but unlike your brother, Natasha was holding back her laughter.

"I'm sorry. We... I... you-"

"Come on Captain, we're leaving." Natasha cut Steve off with a pat on the shoulder, leading the way backward. "Sorry girls, lock the door next time. And well, use protection!" She burst out laughing, ignoring the embarrassed grumbles from you and Wanda, and closing the door.

With the safety of a locked door, you hid your face in your pillow.

"Great, the best day of my life might be ruined because my brother is going to have a stroke."  You grumbled, getting a hearty laugh from the other.

Wanda adjusted herself, stroking your hair until you looked at her again. "Best day of your life, huh? I'm flattered." She teases, smiling at the red that appears on your cheeks.

"As if you weren't cocky enough." You retort in the same tone, adjusting to hold her by the waist and pull her to you, getting on top now. Wanda sighs softly, even warmer with the addition of the blanket now, she finds it kind of hard to concentrate, much more talk. "Thank you, Wands."

Your line surprises her. "For what?"

"For being my first time." You clarify with a shrug, though your gaze was intense. "I've always wanted it to be with someone special, someone I like and trust. And there's no one I love more than you."

Wanda kisses you because she doesn't want to be the type to cry during sex, and she's pretty sure she would. You don't mind, she transmits the feeling through action and well, there are other things you're dying to do other than talk.

There will be time for confessions later.

[reputationfairy]

duke oneshot pls 🙏 (not smut)

Agora Hills - duke dennis x reader

─⋆♡ an: based on this ask. for future reference if you have a request, specify smut or no smut like this person did or imma do whatever tf i want. y'all can't cap, i've been on a fucking roll this weekend. hopefully y'all like it. ★ ˙ᵕ˙ via

─⋆♡ summary: you and duke are in an established relationship. he decides to surprise you and ball the fuck out.

─⋆♡ warnings: dual pov (the pov changes with the pink headers, the divider gifs just mean a bit of time has passed), language, all fluff no smut, softdom!duke (he doesn't like when the reader talks back), 18+ black!writer, alcohol, physical descriptors (brief)

⋆word count: 4.5k ⋆ masterlist ⋆

y/n

I jolt out of sleep, and the feeling of the cool air of the hotel room kicks on. Duke’s hand rubbing my leg makes me relax a little, and my eyes move to him, seeing that he's still right where he was when I fell asleep.

“Hey, baby. Time to wake up,” he says quietly, kissing me on the cheek, and then he returns his attention to his phone.

I yawn, looking up at him, recalling that he’s probably been working all night. He doesn’t look like he slept much, making me feel worse. “How long have you been awake?” He needs to prioritize his sleep.

Duke shifts, pulling me further up so he can rub my ass. “It’s 7:30 a.m., so 30 minutes. I already got up and showered,” he explains and I look up at his freshly moisturized skin.

I inhale his cologne and hum. He smells so fucking good. I grumble, annoyed at how early it is. He takes notice and spanks me lightly, and I gasp at his forwardness. “Duke, you did not just slap my ass,” I scold.

His laugh reverberates through his chest. “Yes, the fuck I did. Let me worry about you, not the other way around,” he matter-of-factly states.

I roll my eyes and sigh. “But I'm supposed to worry about you, too. It’s supposed to be equal.” I’m making valid points here.

Duke slips out from under me, standing up. He puts his hands up in defense, and he turns to walk into the bathroom and turns the shower on. I crawl to the end of the bed, stand up, and follow him into the bathroom where he’s leaning on the wall with his arm on top of the small door. Straightening, he extends his hand and pulls me into the bathroom. 

“Take your time, babe. Call me if you need me,” he instructs and leans down to kiss me before brushing past me and exiting the bathroom. 

My eyes watch him as he goes, drinking him in. I know he already showered, but some part of me wants him to just stand in the shower with me and hold me.

“Are you sure I look okay?” I ask Duke for the hundredth time in the last hour, holding his hand to stabilize myself as I descend the steps of the hotel.

He puts his hand on the small of my back when I’m grounded, and gently pushes me forward towards a truck near the entrance. “Yes, baby. You always look beautiful,” he responds, opening the passenger door, and extending his hand again so I can use it to climb in.

I slide into the seat and turn my head towards him, raising my eyebrows. “So that’s a no, then?” He rolls his eyes, reaching in to put the seatbelt on me. “I got it,” I snap, putting my hand on his arm. I fucking hate when he does the child thing.

Duke doesn’t say anything, just turns around to the two men who I hadn't noticed, letting me finish buckling myself. One is holding a big pastry box, and the other is holding two drinks. Duke takes the items from them, putting the box in my lap first, and then the iced drink into my hand. “I didn’t know we had security today,” I grumble. They slide into the back seat silently and I shift a bit.

Not that I mind it, I just know that the surprise will be public. “Where we’re going, we’ll need it,” he tells me before shutting the door.

As he jogs around to his side of the truck, I take a sip of the brown liquid, throwing my head back to moan as the drink washes down my throat. Bringing the cup up to my face, I look at the label that’s on the side. An iced vanilla latte with almond milk. One thing I love about Duke is that he always gets my coffee order correct. I smile and continue to sip.

Duke slides into the driver's seat, putting his drink in the cup holder. “You haven’t had your coffee, so I won’t spank you for that little attitude just a second ago.” He smirks at me and starts the truck.

Fuck. I am so fucked. I want nothing more than to straddle him right now and say fuck the surprise. But, there are two security guards in the back seat effectively stopping me from having any extra fun.

I look down at the box, noticing a giant donut with pink icing and lots of sprinkles. 

“That’s your hint, baby. You’ll probably get it before I even drive off.” He smirks again, shifting the truck into drive.

I gasp in realization: warm weather, huge pink donut you can only get at one place, lots of walking…

“You are not taking me to Universal Studios for the surprise.” I whip my head over to him, eyes going wide and excitement bubbling beneath the surface. I feel like my ability to function has left this vehicle.

Duke turns at me and grins, leaning over to plant a kiss on my cheek. “You’re damn right I am, baby. Now, eat your donut.” He puts his free hand around the back of my neck, and I feel my body melting into him. 

The biggest grin takes over my face as he starts driving. This is going to be the best surprise ever.

duke

My girlfriend is practically hyperventilating as I pull the car into the parking lot at Universal Studios. I turn to look at her, and she’s squirming and squealing in her seat. 

“Do we need to go through the five senses again, baby? Or are you good?” I inquire, fearing that I’ve completely jump-started her heart. Whenever she gets like this, we use the grounding technique so she can calm herself down.

She whips her head in my direction with the cutest smile on her face. “I’m good, baby. I’m just really excited.” She leans over the console to kiss me, and I know I’m going to be spoiling her for the rest of our lives.

She reaches down to undo her belt and I pull the handle, stepping out of the car. As soon as I open her door, I notice she’s looking over my shoulder. She’s seemingly weary of the two big men coming with us, so I lean in to speak into her ear. “They won't bother us, baby. They’re just here to make sure niggas don’t talk to you,” I reassure her before helping her slide out of the truck. 

She places her hand and mine and we begin walking towards the entrance. “It would be you they’re talking to and we both know it,” she says.

“I don’t know about that. They practically foam at the mouth every time you’re on a stream,” I tell her, lightly swinging our hands between us.

She scoffs, flipping her long her over her shoulder. “I think you’re forgetting about filming the vlogs. Women love being in that shit,” she complains.

I smirk and lead her over to the entrance–it took everything I had not to rent the park out for her today. “We’re not filming today. I’m focusin’ on you. And I love yo ass,” I try to reassure her jealous side.

She reaches her hand up and smushes my face together. “I love you too, Dukey,” she smiles before placing a quick kiss on my lips.

Once we get through security, I lace my fingers with hers again. “What do you wanna do first?” I place a kiss on her hand, feeling her shake with excitement.

She starts bouncing up and down, her breathing picking up once again. “Can we pretty please do Harry Potter stuff first?? Everything else if we have time. I really wanna come back for the light show! Oooo! Der, can we please go get Butterbeer and Lemon Sherbets?? And then we can ride the Incredible Hulk roller coaster! PLEASE, Please, please, please-” She's speaking so fast that I end up kissing her to shut her up. I can't get in a word any other way. 

She moans in my mouth, and I grip her ass, pressing her front to me. She’s so fucking hot when she’s passionate.

My hands fly up onto her shoulder to stop her incessant bouncing. “Yeah. One thing at a time, though.” I exhale. Her brain moves a million miles per second, and it’s impressive she’s been able to keep all those thoughts in her head since we got into the car and she found out where we were going.

Our private guide ushers us to the cart which drives us straight through the New York and San Francisco attractions. When she spots the Knight Bus, she begins bouncing again in her seat. “Duke, Duke! Let’s talk to it!” She has a twinkle in her eye as she cheers at me. 

The cart stops and the security guards get off before us. I extend her hand for her to slide out and stand behind me. Although I have a hat and sunglasses on, if anyone notices us, I don’t want her to be bombarded.

She tugs on my arm and I look back at her bug-eyed face, chuckling at her excitement. “Alright, baby. You want me to record you?” Leaning down, I kiss her on the cheek.

The pupils in her hazel eyes dilate. “Yeah,” she chirps and I pull my phone out of my back pocket, getting it ready. 

I film her, amused by her excitement. Then, my girlfriend does something that shocks the absolute shit out of me. “Excuse me, can you point me in the direction of Diagon Alley?” she asks the park employees in a British accent. 

Holy shit, who knew British accents were this hot? I have got to remember that for later.

The shrunken head turns in her direction, and I zone out. “Right through that broken brick, little witch.” 

It’s been stream after stream. 24/7 content. I’m fucking tired and I just needed a fun day with her. I black out as she finishes the rest of her conversation with the conductor and shrunken head. 

My baby girl waves a hand in front of my face and brings me back. “Dukey, baby…” she calls, and I snap my eyes in her direction.

I breathe in to center myself before smirking down at her. “I’m here.” My hand moves to her neck. “Just thinking about how a ring would look on your finger the next time you wave your fucking hand in front of my face.”

She blushes, and looks down at the ground, kicking her feet. “Duke, you know I don’t believe in marriage…” She lets her words trail off as we continue to walk toward the brick wall.

No, I most certainly did not know that. I reach down to yank on her hand, stopping her dead in her tracks before she can take out her phone and start recording for social media. 

“What do you mean you don’t believe in marriage?” I press, raising my eyebrow. Fuck, we haven’t had this conversation yet. I just assumed.

She tugs my arm, urging me to keep walking, but my feet stay firmly planted. “I mean, I believe in a life partner. It’s just that I see marriage as more of a business contract,” she explains, refusing to make eye contact with me. “Like, if anything happened to me or you, we’d have a say in each other’s affairs.” Shrugging, she turns to walk towards the broken brick wall without me.

I jog to catch up with her, putting my hand on the small of her back. Okay, so she would marry me. “So when I ask you to marry me, you’ll say yes?” I grumble, unsure of what her response will be. She’s the one I want. I want her to be my life partner, my wife, or whatever she deems appropriate.

She giggles, spinning around to kiss me as we enter Diagon Alley. “Duke, I’d marry you if you ask me.” Her breathing picks up again as she turns around and takes in the attractions. “Duke… DUKEY! DUKEY!” she shrieks, slapping her hands on my arm. “It looks so real!!” She begins bouncing up and down again, grabbing my face to turn it in the direction she wants me to look in, smashing it until my lips are puckered. If I asked her to stop, I don’t think she would. 

I'm too lost in my thoughts anyway. I’m going to marry her and give her at least 5 children. I wanna show her off to the world as long as I live. 

She tugs on my arm, pulling me out of my trance and further into Diagon Alley. Suddenly, we’re stopped in our tracks by a younger group of boys. “Excuse me, are you Duke?” one of them asks.

I look at Y/N for permission and she smiles and nods. “What’s going on my boy,” I link my hands with each of theirs and shake up.

A woman steps forward behind them with her phone out, already recording. “They’re so nervous to meet you,” she says behind them and I assume she’s their mom.

I become uncomfortable finding out she’s already recording before asking. Lady you’re fucking grown, you should know better. Before I can fume at the bitch, my girlfriend puts her hand on the small of my back. “Oh, he’s nice. You wanna take a picture with him?” she asks the group.

They collectively sound off yes’s and she stands on her tip toes to talk to me. “Here let me get out the way,” she says, knowing the fans probably don’t want her in it.

But I don’t give a fuck. She’s with me and the world should know that. I want to show her off every moment I get. “No, I want you in it,” I tell her, wrapping my arm around her and pulling her into my side.

“Baby it’s okay. Trust me,” she murmurs, pushing off of me and standing next to the mother.

She snaps a couple of pictures of me and the guys in different poses before lowering her phone and showing off her odd smile. If it weren’t for the kids and my girlfriend, I would’ve put her in her place. “Thank you,” I hear one of the kids say.

I shake up with him one last time, ruffling his curly head. “You’re welcome, big dog. Nice to meet y’all,” I say. 

“Bye, Duke!” another screams and it warms my heart. This is why the fuck I do this shit.

My eyes wander up and catch with my girlfriends. She beckons me towards her and I trail behind her as she enters Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and her eyes widen when she spots a purple pygmy puff. “Dukey, Dukey! I need it!” she squeals, jumping up and down. The security guard tries his hardest to keep up with her as she sprints across the room, picking it up and squeezing it in her arms.

I sigh and pull out my black Amex card, before grabbing her hand and slapping it down. “Get whatever you want, baby,” I mutter, closing her fingers around it.

Her jaw drops and she looks down at her hand, then back up to me. “You’re fucking with me,” she retorts, shoving her hand back in my direction with it open.

I close her hand again, and shove it back towards her, “I’m being for real. Whatever you want from here on out is on me.” 

She blushes at my words and I smirk, taking a step forward to kiss her soft lips. “I wanna spoil you, baby. I want you to be happy and enjoy yourself.” Hopefully, she just takes the damn card and stops arguing.

I spin her around and push her toward the cash register. She sets down the plushie and waits patiently for the cashier to finish ringing the item up. When the employee tells her where to put the card, she freezes as if the card will bite her. Cute. She feels bad for “taking” my money. She could ask me to buy her a private plot of land for her garden, and I’d have it done in seconds. 

I come up behind her, towering over her small frame, and help her push the card into the chip reader. When the pin prompt comes up, I don’t cover the code. What’s mine is hers–now and forever. The machine beeps, but she doesn’t move to grab the card. So I release her hand, leaning over until my lips touch her ear. “Pull it out, baby,” I whisper into her ear, and she shudders. 

Reaching to pull the card out, she silently smiles and thanks the cashier, before turning around and pushing both hands on my chest to pass me. I follow her out of the small gift shop into the street where she abruptly stops, whipping around and slamming the card onto my chest. I go to grab it when I notice her clenched jaw. 

“I know better than to talk back to you, Duke. But so help me god, if you do that again, I’ll piss in the store and make you clean it up,” she seethes, her face turning red.

Fuck, she’s hot when she’s pissed off. 

I throw my head back in laughter, sliding the card back into my wallet. Sage stomps her foot on the ground, grabbing my hand. “It’s not fucking funny, Dontavius,” she grumbles but pulls me into Quality Quidditch Supplies.

My eyes take a bit to adjust to the dark store. By the time they do, my girl is releasing my hand and going to grab a Slytherin backpack, whizzing around the store to grab more collectibles. I lean against the talking mirror for around 10 minutes before she comes up to me, sliding a heavy bag on my arm. Looking down, I see she’s grabbed a Slytherin tote bag and filled it with merchandise. 

“You said I could buy whatever I want,” she shrugs, turning around to try on a Slytherin robe. She’s correct, and she’s got me by the balls.

She struggles to shrug on the robe, so I cross the small distance to help her, pulling it on around her. I step aside and she looks in the mirror. “You look like a bright young witch.” The automated voice compliments her, and she jumps, startled.

A chuckle erupts from my chest as I bring my hand to her back, rubbing it to soothe her. “Not a fucking Gryffindor,” I tease, smiling at her, and bring her into my side. 

y/n

Three Wizard's Brews and some wand shopping later, I’m moaning while eating butterbeer ice cream. We’re waiting in line at King’s Cross Station with our Hogwarts robes on. I was proudly wearing my Slytherin ones. Meanwhile, I had to force Duke to buy a Gryffindor one and wear it just for me.

I scoop some of the ice cream up, holding the spoon to Duke’s lips. “Want some?” I ask with a childish grin on my face.

He leans down to take the spoon in his mouth, refusing to break the intense eye contact with me. I pull the spoon out of his mouth, and he swallows the ice cream. “It tastes sweet, just like you,” he murmurs in my ear, caressing my cheek with his hand. 

Hoping it stuffs the urge to whine down my throat, I shove the last spoonful of ice cream into my mouth. “Dontavius,” I finally let slip, shifting to lean on my left leg.

He forcefully grabs the back of my neck, and I look around at the other people standing in line, nervous that they’re going to see him dominating the shit out of me right now. Our bodyguards don’t seem to notice which is the least I can be grateful for.

“What did I say about whining, Y/N?” His voice is so deep that I swear I can feel the vibrations in my spine.

Standing on my tiptoes in an attempt to save myself some embarrassment, I whisper into his ear, “You said if I whine, you’ll bend me over and give me something to whine about.” I know Duke won’t let up on my neck until I say the words.

He quietly groans, and releases his hold on me, leaning down to kiss my forehead. “I’m proud of you. You’re learning. Don’t do that shit,” He speaks so sternly that I know it’s not a threat–it’s a promise.

Shit, Shit, Shit. I’m so intoxicated by him right now.  

His hand comes up to rest on the small of my back, ushering me forward in the line. I look down at the ice cream cup noticing it's crushed. Duke notices too, and takes the cup from my hands, tossing it perfectly into the trash can a couple feet away. He brings my finger up to his lips and slowly wraps his tongue around it, making me quietly moan. I never considered someone could have me weak in the knees, fully clothed at that. But here we are.

We make it to the front of the line and I lace my hand in Duke’s again, pulling him into the train. I go to Cabin F, where a group of teenagers sit inside, and walk in to see there’s only room for one of us to sit. Turning around, I hear the girls giggling behind me when Duke bends down to get through the door. 

I put my hands on his chest, lightly pushing him. “Turn around, there’s no more room.” 

Duke turns to slide the door to the cabin shut, shutting the guards out right behind the door. He sits down in the space before looking up at me with dark eyes. He sets the bag on the ground between his legs and pats his lap. “Looks like enough room to me, Y/N,” he declares, shrugging like it’s no big deal. He used my government name, which means ‘sit the fuck down.’ 

I turn to bunch up the robe in the back and grab my wand out of my pocket. As soon as I have it in my hands, Duke grabs my waist, pulling me forcefully down into his lap. He peppers kisses on my neck and it's definitely not helping with the intensity of haze in my brain.

duke

Y/N’s screams on the drop of the roller coaster put me on edge. 

“Again, Dukey!” I turn to her and see that she's currently having the best adrenaline rush of her life. 

She’s now five wizard brews in, and this is the third time we’ve been on The Incredible Hulk Coaster. She kicks and swings her legs, grinning at me, waiting for the ride to come to a stop. I look at my watch, seeing it’s well past 8:30. Earlier, she said that she wanted to watch the light show on Hogwarts Castle in Hogsmeade, so that means we should start heading over there now. 

“Baby, you don’t wanna go back to Hogsmeade and watch the light show?” I all but beg, hoping this will get her, and me, off of this bitch ass rollercoaster. 

My girlfriend continues squirming in her seat until the ride stops. “Ooo, Ooo. Yeah, let’s go back,” she exclaims as the attendant lets us out. 

I get out first, turn to her, and lift her out of the safety seat. I set her down on the platform and grab her hand. The security guards keep some distance between us as we walk in silence for a little while, swinging our arms in between us. She spent the day experiencing everything this park had to offer. She’s had an endless amount of food, which I’m proud of her for. I’ve never seen her eat this much, and that eases my anxiety to know that she has a strong appetite.

She suddenly starts dragging her feet, walking slower than before. “I don’t wanna leave. And I’m tired, Dukey.” Her voice is so quiet that I barely hear her.

I stop walking, turning to stand in front of her. “You want a piggyback ride?” 

She yawns, nodding. 

Turning around to squat, she climbs onto my back. Once she’s secured, I continue the walk across the park to Hogsmeade. Her body goes somewhat limp, her head resting on my shoulder, and I know she's about to knock out. So, I walk into one of the shops and begin grabbing the souvenirs I know she wants. 

When I get up to the counter, I shift and pull my wallet out of my front pocket. “Is she sleeping?” I ask the guard at the register, just to be sure. Y/N is so quiet and her breathing is so steady, so I assume she is, but I don’t turn back to look.

The cashier accepts the cash I give him, typing the amount into the register. “Yeah, she’s knocked out,” He chuckles, looking back and forth between her and me.

The cashier hands the guard a plastic bag with the receipt in it. “Sometimes she acts like the fucking energizer bunny in human form. But the energy eventually runs out,” I remark, tucking my wallet back into the front of my jeans. 

“I feel you,” he snickers in response before we turn around to walk back out onto the cobblestone. 

When I get in front of the castle with a good view, I tap my girl’s thigh. She stirs before burying her head further into my neck, groaning. 

“Wake up, baby. It’s time to watch the light show,” I say melodically, trying to coax her out of her sleep.

She jerks on my back, tugging on my robe, signaling that she wants to be let down. “Thank you, Dukey,” she murmurs while sliding down my back. 

Y/N comes around to stand in front of me, standing on her tiptoes to kiss me. Then, she turns back around and leans back with her head on my chest, turning her attention to the show. Her eyes are wide as she watches the lights dance on the castle, amazed. She's watching the lights, but my eyes are completely on her, drinking in her beauty. 

When it's over, she turns back around and stands on her tiptoes to lace her hands behind my neck. "Dontavius Tony Dennis. Thank you for the perfect day." She kisses me sweet and deep, and I can taste the butterbeer on her tongue.

Anything for you, Y/N. Anything.

[1pepsiboy]

Walking in on You - Matt Sturniolo Smut (request)

Matt Sturniolo x reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: eating out, riding, profanities, and more...

A/N: Uhm... yeah, this one got away from me. I did not plan for it to be this long, but here we are lmaooo Thanks for the love recently, hope you enjoy this one!!

***

You laughed as you and Matt entered the backstage room. 

“Why did you have to mention my biggest fear? You know they’re going to use that against me now.”

Your boyfriend chuckled. “You don’t know that, babe.”

“But you do.” You shot him a look, both eyebrows raised and your lips pressed in a firm line. “They’re going to pull a prank on me.” 

His blue eyes looked deeply into yours as a smirk set on his lips and he rested his hands on your shoulders. “They’re not going to, (y/n).”

You rolled your eyes with a small scoff. You turned the TV on and put on HULU, then grabbed your laptop out of your backpack by the couch. Was it an item you should’ve left lying around here? Probably not, but you only left to go eat food after the three did a soundcheck and rehearsal. 

“What should we watch?” You asked as you signed into your account. 

Matt narrowed his eyes at you and sat down on the couch. “Don’t you have writing to do?”

You thought about it, then shook your head. “Nope.” 

“I think you do,” he replied, a little knowingly. “Look, I’ve never been, like, good at getting work done, but you should do it.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Now Matt shoots you a look, similar to yours earlier, but way more sassy. It was sexy the way he crooked one brow and slightly scrunched up his nose. 

Once again, you rolled your eyes at him, and removed your shoes. Basically your way of doubling down on the fact you didn’t have work to do. (But you did, definitely did. That paper was due at the end of the week, and it was Tuesday.)

“Matt, watching one episode won’t kill me. How about Rick and Morty?” You clicked on the resume button for Rick and Morty and it began to play the next episode from where you left off. 

Matt sighs heavily, being dramatic, and glides a hand through his hair, failing to keep it out of his face. “Yeah, yeah… But after, okay? The agreement was you’d keep up with classes if you came on tour, babe.”

You put your hands up in defense. “Okay.” You smiled and cuddled up next to him to watch your thirty minutes of freedom before homework. 

***

You groaned as you saw the ending credits roll and the next episode got ready to play. It was writing time, or maybe not. You had your mind on naughty things since he made that sexy expression. 

Matt looked down at you. “Homework time.”

“Or…” You moved to straddle him and lazily draped your arms on his shoulders. “We could make out a little. That always gets the juices flowing.”

He giggled under his breath. “You really don’t want to do it?”

“Hell no. It’s too much thinking, but this isn’t.” You leaned in, closing your eyes, and kissed his lips softly. As your kisses continued, you tangled your fingers in his fluffy collocks and brushed against his covered cock. You released your hair out of its pulled back style as you repeated your slow, pressure intensifying movements. 

Your hair slightly fell in your face, but instinctively, Matt brushed it back with his hot hands. You loved his hands. You’d love him to touch every square inch of your body with them. 

“I want you,” you breathed, twirling your tongue with his. 

In one fairly swift movement, Matt had you lying on your back and he was on top. Your lips smashed together, more feverishly now. His throb rested against your covered heat. You couldn’t stop the small moan from escaping. Fuck, he made you go crazy. 

Suddenly, Matt pulled back and he attempted to catch his breath as he shook his head. “You need t- to do homework.”

You scoffed a little. “Matt, for fuck sakes. You’d rather watch me write an essay than fuck me?” You tugged him back down by his sweater and kissed him. “I’d rather fuck first,” you whispered into his ear. 

The two of you tug his sweater and tee combo off and brushed your lips together again. Fuck, they melted with yours so easily and tasted so sweet. It helped that he had ice cream for dessert. 

Matt’s lips curled into a small smile against yours and, without notice, his hand rested on your heat beneath your jeans. Soft circles from his hand caused your insides to burn. You still wanted skin contact though. When you were going to reach down to take his hand and slip it underneath your lace, he pulled back. 

“Matt,” you whined. 

He chuckled as he made hot butterfly kisses down your neck. His slight facial hair tickled and you tried not to giggle. He stopped short because of your sweatshirt. He pushed it up and you took the liberty to tug it off from there. Now, Matt continued his kisses as he played with the straps of your tank, revealing the straps to your bra. He placed kisses on your mostly exposed chest. 

“Matt, I love your lips, but I’d rather have your hands.”

“You sure about that?” he asked, eyeing your lower area and licked his lips. 

You let out a slow, low breath and swallowed hard. “I feel like my answer is irrelevant either way.”

He smirked and his hands found their way to remove your jeans. His face disappeared between your legs, all you could see was his hair. It wasn’t long before there was the sensation of his tongue and lips. Every little flick, lick, and kiss caused your body to shake, and you tried to control your breathing. You didn’t want to come too early and give him that satisfaction. But fuck he was so good and knew exactly how to play with your pussy. 

“I… I want you… inside. Not thi- Fuck. Yes… Yes… Matthew!” You reached down to grip his hand that held your hip as your toes curled. You grunted to suppress the urge to moan loudly. All the aches rolled into pleasures.  

Matt reappeared, wiping his mouth, and a cocky grin was placed on his face. He moved back up to kiss you on the lips. 

“Fuck you.”

He laughed under his breath as he unbuttoned and unzipped his baggy jeans, and then he pushed them down. Your kisses were getting sloppy, but that didn’t matter as you felt him push his tip in. You grabbed his shoulders and pushed him in deeper. 

A sweet groan escaped Matt’s lips. “Fuck, baby.”

His skin against yours riveted as your motions worked together. Matt started to speed up, but you shook your head. You breathed, “Keep it slow, baby… Oh, god, keep it slow.” 

You moved to sit up so you could ride him and control the grinds more. You whipped your hair back as you kept the pulses going. Your body screamed in the hot flesh. Matt’s hands found their way to your back and unclipped your bra. You let it fall and he pulled you in to place kisses everywhere on your chest; taking more focus on your sensitive nipples. His tongue flicked them and it caused your body to shudder. 

It suddenly occurred to you that anyone out in the hallway passing would most likely hear you. At least the sound of the TV drowned you out a little. 

You could feel yourself ready to come. You were so close. “Babe, come with me.”

“I’m fucking trying, babe.” Matt laughed under his breath. He seemed to focus more and he lightly moaned as he tilted his head back with his hands on your divots. His rings were going to leave imprints on your sides for sure. 

For his benefit, you made your thrust pace a little faster and, instantly, he picked back up. You gripped onto anything you could as pants barely escaped your lips. 

“Fuck, (y/n),” he whimpered. 

You giggled breathlessly and it was then you both reached your heights. You enclosed him as he stiffened. You felt the lower half of your body shake as aching moans left your hot lips. Your eyes studied each other before you kissed again, and danced your tongues together slowly. 

You cradled into him as you sat on his lap, enjoying some small silence and you lightly tangled your fingertips in his messy hair. His fingertips brushed on your shoulders and drew designs.

“I love you, Matt,” you sighed contently, snuggling your head into the crook of his neck. You closed your eyes and hugged your arms. Matt’s arms instinctively wrapped around you and he kissed your forehead. 

“I love you too, (y/n).”

The door to the backroom swung open and your eyes cracked wide open. “Don’t come in!”

“Don’t look, bro!” Matt exclaimed, his voice cracking a little. “Get the fuck out!” 

“What? Why?” Nick questioned, not pleading to your warning. He took one glance, an immediate disgusted look crossing his face, and yelled, “No. Absolutely not. What the actual FUCK is wrong with you two?” Then he slammed the door shut.

There was another yell, “THE BACKROOM HAS BEEN TAINTED. NO ONE GO IN THERE. I REPEAT, DO NOT GO IN THERE. UNLESS YOU WANT YOUR EYES TO MELT INTO YOUR SOCKETS.”

The two of you gave each other nervous looks and then laughed.

“Should we, like, go after him?” you asked. 

Matt kissed the side of your head, then your nose, and then your lips. “No, that was a sign. Homework, babe.”

You made a long, dragged out huff. “Fine.” You got up to put your sweatshirt and panties back on as he also got slightly more decent. Then you pulled your laptop closer to you. “Can I sit on your lap and write?” 

Matt giggled and waved you over. “Always, babe.” 

[zombieluvrgrl]

˚₊ · »-♡→ dating toki wartooth !

⟢ havent written in yearss so im rusty, sorry if theyre ooc!! please reblog, like and comment if you enjoyed it really helps me! :)

(also accepting requests! sfw & nsfw so send them my way)

ps. these are LONG! under the cut <3

⟢ expect cuddles whenever physically possible - i mean this guy is the type of bf to hold your hand while youre on the toilet just bc he misses you

⟢ toki's also incredibly generous, forgiving and loving, showering you with sweet and innocent gifts and always excited to suggest cute dates together!

⟢ he loves to treat you with plushies of your favourite shows and games as well as special candy (maybe his favourite Norwegian candy so you two can bond over it?!)

⟢ at mordhaus expect board games, DDR battles and taking the lunchables away from toki before his dumbass burns them on the stove again. oh and getting super sloppy drunk in the hot tub

⟢ outside, he loves shopping with you, visiting the zoo and hanging out at yours watching shows together!

⟢ OBVIOUSLY you get free tickets to every show and has the kloketeers get you anything you want; a comfier seat? snacks? merch? booze? on it!

⟢ youll be introduced to the rest of dethklok (if you dont already know each other!) early on, about a month in - yes its intense but the man loves you and knows youre the one for him! he wants his family to love you too!

⟢ you two are definitely cheesy and theres no escaping the allegations. nathan thinks its cute and deep down just wants the little guy to be happy, murderface has to hold in his throw up and skwisgaar as already thrown up from cringe like three times. get away from skwisgaar yous twos

⟢ lets face it you two have lockets with each others pictures inside

⟢ toki is absolutely a hopeless romantic and it may have negative consequences but he definitely over romanticises relationships in a very naive way

⟢ but that doesn't mean he isn't extremely loving and caring! toki is so much so it could be considered overwhelming;

⟢ he feels safe with you so expect to see him vulnerable; you may be the person he confides in the most out of anyone he knows- this can be both good and bad! let me explain:

whenever he experiences night terrors youre the first to know, whatever is on his mind he'll bring straight to you! hes not afraid to cry on your shoulder or ask you to pet and brush his hair when he feels anxious. But because youre his no.1 confidant this also means there might be times where he unloads a lot of intense feelings onto you because he doesn't know what to do when he's experiencing side effects of trauma and stress. he doesn't do it maliciously but he doesn't see how this potentially could be overwhelming and exhausting

⟢ on the plus side, he's an amazing listener because of this. i think out of everyone in the band (besides nathan, who i'd say he's on par with), toki is least likely to get defensive or argue whenever you two disagree or need to communicate- he takes everything on board seriously because he wants to please you and make things work (hes not in this for a short time, hes in it for life)

⟢ at his core he is insanely dedicated; youll never worry about being outshined by groupies or fangirls, matter of fact once youre in the picture toki can barely tolerate touchy fans because all other people pale in comparison to his beautiful wonderful amazing partner!!

⟢ as busy and troubled as he is, hell always make time for you! if you also struggle with your health (physical or mental) hell help as much as he can. therapy? paid for. comfort items? he got them for you. your favourite/safe foods? ALWAYS stocked up in the kitchen!! need a hug? you dont even need to ask

⟢ and last but not least, he loves playing with your hair and LOOOVES when you do the same! play with his mustache, he gets so giggly. he adores how cute you are together. if you ever do his hair or corpse paint he'll never want to take it off

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

thank you for reading! im thinking of making a part 2 because i love toki sm and i have so many ideas <3

[distantdarlings]

BENEATH HIS SHIRT // t. nott

RATING: PG-13 / 3.7K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Female Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* When Theodore Nott discovers an old artifact with interesting properties, known as a Time Turner, he comes up with the idea to use it to perfect his asking you out. (Romance)

+ WARNINGS - Language, using Time Turner, lots of thinking about reader, fem reader insert, not proofread! nothing else (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

All My Love - Noah Kahan

- - -

(Note: Hello there, all you beautiful people! I am finally back and ready to knock out the rest of your requests! I am so sorry I was gone for so long but I’ve had a lot going on in my everyday life. Thank you all for being so patient and please enjoy the story!)

Theo’s leg bounced beneath the desk, the wooden floorboards creaking every so often. His fingers nervously drummed against his notebooks. His eyes darted around. The teacher droned on and on.

Every so often, he felt his hand raise to his chest to gently nudge the cold weight that rested beneath his shirt. He figured it was a bit of paranoia stemming from the valuable thing around his neck, but he couldn’t stop it. He wasn’t even supposed to have it.

He’d found it when rooting through Professor McGonagall’s office last week. He knew how bad that sounded, but, in his defense, he didn’t mean to grab it. He was trying to grab the small chain he’d gotten at Hogsmeade last year—he’d been playing with it during class, and McGonagall had become annoyed with him. She had said he could have it back at the end of the month, but he wasn’t going to wait that long. He’d spent his money on that necklace, and he’d wanted it back.

The realization that he’d grabbed the wrong necklace hadn’t hit until he’d finally gotten back to his dorm. He’d run the whole way and failed to look down even once.

The item he’d held clenched in his fist was a golden chain with a single spherical charm at the end. It was golden, as well, with intricate carvings encasing it. He didn’t know what the hell he’d grabbed and figured it was some girl’s that McGonagall had snatched up, just like his.

He had rolled his eyes in annoyance, promising to head back tomorrow to go grab his necklace and return the one now settled in his palm.

Except he hadn’t gone back the next day. In the midst of getting ready for bed in the empty bathroom that night, he’d begun to mindlessly fidget with the golden object whilst brushing his teeth.

His fingers had traced the end of it, watching the rings around the charm twirl in on each other. The minty suds had spilled over the edge of his bottom lip, and when he had gone to catch the mess, his finger had jerked against the side of the charm just barely, and he was standing straight up again.

The suds still sat on the edge of his lip. They slid slowly, slowly, then pushed over and hit the ground with a wet splat. His eyes stared forward at the reflection of the necklace in his hand.

He didn’t know what the hell happened. It felt like his body had glitched out of reality for a moment. Surely it was just a coincidence, and he’d just had some more minty mess dribbling from his lips than he initially thought. But then, where had the original bit of toothpaste gone? He surely hadn’t caught it. He stepped back and looked around, searching over the stone floor and his person, attempting to find the missing blob of toothpaste. What the hell was going on?

His eyes found the necklace clutched between his fingers. He brushed his thumb over the golden jewelry just as he’d done the first time.

The earth glitched again, and the toothbrush was back in his mouth, and he was a step forward, closer to the mirror. He’d gasped and dropped his toothbrush and the jewelry in the sink, backing away wildly.

And after he’d played with it a few more times, he had decided to research it in the library. And now, as he sat in class, waiting for it to end, he felt as if it couldn’t come fast enough. He needed to get to the library so he could figure out what exactly this necklace did.

If he had to guess, he’d imagine that it turned the world back a bit at a time. Every time he touched the charm in a specific way—a small knob-like detail on the side of the globe itself—the day would jump back, and he’d be standing where he had been a few minutes before.

He was unsure of the extent of its power or if it really even did turn back time, but he intended to find out.

“Class dismissed!” McGonagall’s voice flashed through his mind.

At the sound of her announcement, he quickly gathered his things and rushed off toward the library, not bothering to excuse himself.

His breaths came out in quick, rasping pants as he appeared before the main entrance to the library. The hands that grasped his coat and bag collected beads of sweat rapidly, the small droplets slipping down his fingers.

“Nott? Everything alright?”

He whipped around, searching for the owner of the voice that had just grabbed his attention. Just before him, nearly a foot shorter, was Hermione Granger.

She stared up at him—eyes concerned, lips parted, hair bushy and wild, arms gripping a large number of books. One of her eyebrows quirked as if she was awaiting his response.

“Oh, sorry, Granger,” he chuckled nervously. “I was just trying to get to the library ahead of everybody…I’ve got some studying to do.” Wow, what a pathetic lie. Hermione knew it, too.

“Okay…did you need any help?” she asked. “I am a library ambassador.” Her voice was proud, chest perked out.

Just before he was about to blurt a loud, suspicious ‘no!’, he had a revelation. Hermione Granger was a Gryffindor and a tad annoying, but she was also one of the smartest students in the entirety of the castle, perhaps even in the Wizarding World. If anyone was able to help him at this moment—who wasn’t a professor and/or blatant snitch—it was her. He swallowed thickly.

“Actually, yes,” he said, nervously toying with the shoulder straps on his bag.

“Perfect, let’s get set up at a table!” she smiled widely, gently pushing past him and leading the way.

Theo had not been wrong in recruiting Granger’s assistance. She was bloody brilliant. The only information he’d given her, as suspicious as it had sounded, was he was doing a project about “magical objects—specifically jewelry” in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class. As dumb as the cover was, it seemed to work.

She’d set to work instantly, selecting tens of twenties of thickly bound books that had to be at least a hundred years old. When she pulled them from the shelf, her fingers fell away from them, allowing them to fall down to about waist height, where they would catch themselves in mid-air. As she scanned the shelves, they floated alongside her.

Theo was in awe of her incredible knowledge; he actually found himself interested in the millions of side tangents she went on. It was clear she was very intelligent.

The two of them had sat at a quiet table and set to work, with Hermione leading the way. She had pored over each book she’d decided upon, choosing between a number of fantastical objects, including a goblet that never let itself empty and a collection of garden tools in Sweden that did their own work without ever having been tweaked by a Wizard. It was fascinating.

Theo had even started working his way through one of the books when he’d spotted it. On a dusty, yellowed page, he saw a near-perfect sketch of the object now strung around his neck. Time-Turner. A small gasp left his lips, and his hands went to clutch against the necklace. It was an involuntary reaction, but one that hadn’t gone unnoticed by Hermione.

“Interested in the Time Turner?” she asked. “Would you like to use that one for your project? It’s quite brilliant.” Her eyes glanced down to his clutched fist, fingers still curled around the Time-Turner through his sweater. He let go and dropped his hand to his lap.

“I just thought it sounded very cool…” Theo said, sounding very unsure of himself. “Do you have any more books on it?”

“Um, I could search about if you wanted to look over that one a bit more,” she offered. Theo nodded, his eyes avoiding hers. Despite his obvious avoidance of her gaze, she set herself back down at the table and forced his eyes to find hers once more.

“Theo?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” he asked, trying to appear nonchalant. He felt as though he was sweating profusely.

“I’m going to ask you a question, and it’s not meant to upset you, but…are you currently in possession of any school-banned objects?”

His eyes flickered up to hers in shock. He hadn’t expected her to ask that if he were being honest. She hadn’t even skirted around the subject or anything. He paused for a moment, trying to find the words.

“No,” he breathed, his chest tight. He could barely look at her.

“Okay,” she said, expression unconvinced. “Well, so that you know—for your project—Time-Turners can be dangerous if not used properly. Your past self can never see your present self.” Oh. That was good to know.

She nodded her head slightly, eyebrows still furrowed tightly, before turning to walk away. She left Theo staring blankly at the open book before him. She definitely didn’t believe him. He hoped she wouldn’t rat him out.

He got to his feet and quickly exited the library.

***

Once back in his dorm, a thought washed over him. He could use this Time-Turner to benefit himself in an extreme amount of ways. He could go back and fix tests he’d failed, he could correct arguments with his family, he could—

A knock came at the door. He quickly shoved the object back beneath his shirt, shouting a brief invitation at the door.

The first thing he saw was your eyes as they poked through the door. He sat up, tugging the comforter over his naked chest.

“Oh!” you giggled, stepping back behind the door. “You’re naked!”

“No, not naked! Just need to grab a shirt!” Theo said, frantically searching about his bed for a stray tee shirt. He noticed one strewn over the back of his desk chair.

“Accio!” he hissed. The gray fabric tossed itself towards him, allowing him to sling it over his head and down his torso. “Come in!”

You pushed back through the door, a sly smirk printed on your lips.

“Shut up,” he laughed, patting the bed beside him. You jogged over to his side of the dormitory and hopped into his bed, sliding your legs beneath the covers. Your cold skin raised with chill bumps at his warmth.

Theo asked you about your day, and you asked about his, and he contemplated telling you about the Time-Turner for over two hours before you finally disappeared back into your dorm. In your absence, he realized something he hadn’t before.

He could use the small golden jewelry rested around his neck to finally confess his feelings for you—and he could make sure it was perfect no matter what. He just had to make sure his past self did not see his present self.

---

And that mission consumed the rest of his week—or the rest of his Monday. At the start of the first day, he’d found himself approaching you and then flaking out; or starting to tell you, then changing the subject; or telling you he loved you! (but as a friend). He groaned and rolled his eyes at himself.

At this point, there were going to be ten little Theos running around Hogwarts. Now that it was Tuesday, all of them should have been swept away with the passage of time, but he wasn’t certain he’d gone completely unspotted by everyone around him. He could’ve sworn Mattheo, a close friend of his, had mentioned how impossibly fast he’d gotten from one side of the castle to the other.

With a clenched jaw and stern eyes, Theo told himself he wasn’t going to push this little journey past Tuesday. He was going to get it done today.

In the midst of his repeated attempts, he’d gotten creative to avoid being seen by his past self. He’d snuck little tips written onto notes in his dorm, pretended that students could not go into certain rooms so his other self could be alone with you, etc. He knew that that could be dangerous, and he definitely didn’t understand the full capabilities of the Timer-Turner, but he realized that if there was one thing he truly wanted at the moment, it was you.

This was the last time.

He pinched the Time-Turner’s little knobbed bead and turned—24 times. That should put everyone back on Monday morning, at exactly ten o’clock in the morning.

Theo watched as the air around him in the boys’ lavatory began to shift—little flashes of passersby sped around him; Professor Snape even pushed through the door at one point. The day became darker and darker until the whole bathroom was plunged into an inky blackness. Then, it began to leave quickly, becoming lighter and lighter until the rushing stopped. The lavatory was silent. It was ten o’clock on Monday morning.

He had Potions right now, but he’d already written a note to Professors Snape and Dumbledore, asking to be excused from all of his classes due to a raging stomach ache. He’d gotten unfortunately detailed in the letter and hoped they’d leave him to attend the hospital wing on his own.

He watched before him as ten Theos seemed to step out of his body and walk toward the lavatory entrance. These were his previous attempts trying to make you his.

An idea popped into his head—one that may not work the way he planned. He had failed to ask Hermione how exactly any incidents would affect his present self, but he figured he’d come out alright.

“Petrificus Totalus!” he hissed, then watched as all ten of his other bodies froze suddenly and collapsed to the ground, falling like dominos. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, dragged them over to one of the stalls in the furthest corner, and propped them up against the wall. Despite their eyes still staring right through him, they were not able to see his face. He was appalled at the way he was treating himself, but he figured if he wasn’t able to remember it, it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like he’d killed himself or anything like that; he’d likely just be a bit sore in the morning.

Still, perhaps he should have thought that through a bit more… It didn’t matter. This was the last time he was going to create more of himself for no reason. He should have successfully asked you out the first time, but, for some reason, he kept seeming to screw it all up. He was pathetic, using a magical object to ask someone out.

If any of his mates knew about this…he’d never live it down. He took a deep breath, straightened his tie and robes, and stepped out of the bathroom.

You were in Defense right now and would be going to your free period directly afterwards. He knew this because this was his eleventh time trying.

He pulled himself behind one of the enormous stone pillars holding the castle up and waited for your voice to come. Every single time, you walked out of your class, your laugh jingling like a chime through the halls and melting Theo’s heart down into his stomach. He anticipated the start of the sound.

When it began, Theo poked his head around the corner and saw you there—arms clutched around books, gorgeous hair framing your gorgeous eyes, your beautiful body on display as your group of friends turned to walk towards him. He gulped, standing back slightly.

“…and I was just wondering if he was, you know—”

“Hey,” Theo stepped out of his hiding place, interrupting you. Your shining eyes met his. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Your mouth slacked open for just a moment before you blinked a few times and nodded slowly. The two girls on either side of you seemed to be suppressing smirks and eyeing you intently. He took a shuddering breath, hoping that these girls would not be making fun of him some time in the future.

Theo had told himself that this was the last time, so if he fucked this attempt up, that was it. He would throw the Time Turner away.

One of your friends offered to take your books and bag back to your dormitory. You turned back to Theo and smiled shyly.

Gently, he led you away from the gradually increasing wave of Hogwarts students and down a mostly empty corridor.

You followed him in silence until he turned the corner, and brought you out into a silent courtyard. The sun above twinkled over the fountain in the center of the blooming area.

Theo saw you smile a bit.

“Uh, I’m sorry to have pulled you away from your friends, I just wanted to talk to you about something…” he trailed off nervously, his palms already beginning to sweat. Your eyes watched him so closely—it was becoming hard to breathe.

“I wanted to tell you that I’ve developed feelings for you—ones of, uh, a…romantic…nature—wait, that’s awful… I meant I think you’re absolutely gorgeous…uh…” he stuttered endlessly, his perfect plan drowning. “I’m sorry, can you just please forget I never said any of this?”

“Theo, why would I want to forget any of this?” You chuckled gently, a small well of tears in your eyes. “You’ve been nothing but sweet and romantic and loving these last eleven days.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve just wanted to ask you out properly—hey, wait. What did you say?” Theo stopped, blood draining from his face.

“Oh,” you frowned a bit. “I wasn’t going to tell you, but…”

You reached beneath your sweater and slipped a silver chain over your head. At the very end of the links, glistening in the sun, was a deep emerald stone, hard-cut and encapsulated in silver linings. A rough breath left Theo’s lips.

“It’s a Reversal stone,” you explained, “a stone meant to protect me from any charms, curses, or illusions placed on or around me. There’s only a few of them in the world but my family happens to be the ones who originally discovered them and their immunity to magic.”

Theo wanted to throw up. He was sure he had glimpsed one of these in one of the books Hermione had brought to him. He had never been so embarrassed in his life.

“So, you’ve seen everything?” he asked, wincing a bit.

“And remember it all—but don’t worry, no one else will.” You flashed him a dazzling smile.

“So, I guess you know about the—”

“Time Turner?” You answered. “Yeah, I do. But your usage of it was very impressive; it’s almost like you’ve used one for years. Where did you get yours—oh, wait, I’m sorry. I’m getting ahead of you. Go ahead!” You urged him along with your hands.

Theo chuckled at your natural curiosity. His eyes traced over your small smile as you awaited his prepared speech.

“Do you even want me to go through with this?” Theo asked.

“I’d love to hear it again,” you said sincerely. Theo refrained from cringing at the ‘again.’

“It’s going to be the same thing you’ve heard every time,” he laughed nervously. “Is your answer going to change at all?”

“Well, to be fair, I didn’t get to answer the first times. You always cut me off and got to work spinning on that necklace of yours.”

Theo paused and thought back to each instance he’d reversed time and attempted to ask you out. He slowly realized that he'd never actually waited for your answer. He’d gotten too embarrassed and walked away.

“If you would have let me finish the first eleven times, you would’ve known that I couldn’t have cared any less about how you asked me out,” you smile flirtatiously. “All I cared about was the fact that you were asking me out.”

“So, does that mean…?” Theo trailed off.

“I’d love to be yours, Theo,” you laughed. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask for forever and—while I didn’t think you’d need an infamously enchanted object to ask me out—I would never have said no to you.”

Theo’s eyes lit up and his lips parted in a giddy smile. Despite his nerdish attempts at proposing the perfect question to you, you still wanted him. Had wanted him for a while. At least that was what you’d implied. Theo could barely force the words from his lips.

“So, we’re dating, then?” Theo asked dumbly. “You’re my girlfriend now?”

“Of course…if that’s what you’d like to call me, that is,” you smiled, sending a wink towards the tall boy. His cheeks flushed slightly as he slowly slid his hand towards you. You accepted the invitation by sliding your fingers against his, intertwining them lovingly.

Theo thought his heart might explode. He was already thinking of kissing you. Your lips looked so perfect and lush… He imagined you’d taste like the sweetest of fruits in the summertime, like the entirety of Honeydukes, like—

“Would you like to kiss me, Teddy?” You asked. Theo swallowed thickly. Could that damn necklace of yours allow you to read minds as well? “I’d just very much like to kiss you, and thought that I’d ask.”

“Uh, I’d love to,” he smiled nervously.

“Theo,” you breathed, resting your lips just above his. “Relax. You don’t have to be so nervous. Is this the first kiss you’ve ever had?”

“No, but—”

“Then you’re alright,” you laughed.

His eyes were wide and frightened, his lips parted in a perpetual sigh. He could barely contain himself as your hand trailed up and along his chest before sweetly reaching his face. Your soft fingers caressed the flesh around his ear and then across his mouth. Theo’s breath caught in his throat at the sensation.

You gave him a small smile before lightly dragging your fingers under his chin and disappearing back through the entrance to the courtyard.

Theo remained standing, amongst the stone and the vines, with only his breathing and the trickle of the fountain behind him. His deep exhales brought him back to the present. He blinked sharply and laughed a bit at your boldness.

He was going to get you back.

*Tag List: @mypolicemanharryyy, @lilymurphy03, @clairesjointshurt, @bunbunbl0gs, @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303, @thestarlithideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw, @yhiiil, @ravenclawprincess33, @xxrougefangxx, @thatblackthorn, @robinyx, @starsval, @jolly4holly, @blvebanisters, @chgrch (If you would like to be added to the tag list for any future works, please comment on this post, dm me, or send me a message in my inbox. Thanks!)

[dixons-sunshine]

hi!! i absolutely adore your writing, could i request daryl and gn!reader celebrating the reader’s birthday (fluff please)? it’s my birthday and i’m a very guilty lover of self-indulgent fics 💗

Happy Birthday, Bug | Daryl Dixon x Reader

A/N: Happy birthday, my love! I’m sorry this is so rushed and not my best work, and probably not what you had in mind, but I hope you like this! (Also, I feel like Daryl is a bit ooc in this, but I’m rolling with it lol.)

“Daryl, where are you taking me? We’ve been walking forever,” Your voice rung out through the air. To say you were confused about the archer’s behaviour would be an understatement. Having been together since the fall of the farm, you had slowly but surely started chipping away at his walls, worming your way into his heart and soul. Due to that, you could read the huntsman quite well.

However, at that particular moment, as you followed Daryl deeper into a part of the prison that you had yet to explore since it had been cleared out, you realized that there were still moments where you just couldn’t decipher what was going on in his complex mind.

“Jus’ follow me, Bug,” Daryl chuckled, his crossbow lifted in front of him in case the two of you encountered any threats that could potentially be lurking in the shadows. “Promise we’re almost there.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said ten minutes ago,” you mumbled, grimacing at the pain that shot through your elbow when you accidentally hit it against the side of the wall when you and Daryl took yet another turn.

Daryl heard the slight hiss that left your mouth, and he shot you a concerned look over your shoulder. “Y’alright?”

“I’m fine,” you reassured him with a small nod. “I’d feel even better if I knew where we were going and why I was dragged out of our cell at...” You checked your watch, one of the few items that somehow still worked after all that time. “Eight in the morning, when I was asleep after getting back from my watch shift.”

Daryl simply turned his head, not trusting his face to remain neutral, and he was correct in his mistrust; a small smile spread across his face. You didn’t even realize what made this particular day so special. That just added to the element of surprise. “S’a surprise,” he mused, taking another turn down a corridor. The surprise was set up quite a bit away from the main part of the prison, due to the fact that Daryl didn’t want anyone, especially not the newest additions to the group—the Woodbury residents—interrupting what he hoped would be a good moment.

“Wha—” Your response to his words were cut off when the archer came to an abrupt stop. You collided against his back, nearly falling flat on your behind. You would have, had it not been for the fact that Daryl turned around caught you just in time. You sent him a grateful smile, although a tinge of playfulness was laced in it. “Is my surprise being in the arms of the man I love? Because if it is, I can tell you that you didn’t have to go through all of this. I gladly would’ve let you hold me if you just asked.”

Daryl rolled his eyes affectionately and stepped away, before walking to stand behind your back. “Nah, s’not yer surprise.” He covered your eyes with his hands, ignoring your sounds of protests as he slowly and carefully led you a few steps further, guiding you down a final turn, right to your surprise. “This is.”

His hands fell away from your eyes, and you gasped at the sight in front of you; rose petals littered the ground, leading up to a table that held two bowls of what you assumed to be some sort of stew, a bottle of whiskey resting in the middle, and the scene was illuminated by a few candles surrounding the table.

“Happy Birthday, Bug,” Daryl whispered in your ear from behind, his hands rubbing up and down your arms in a soothing manner.

A surprised laugh escaped your chest, and you shook your head at yourself for forgetting what day it was. However, in your defense, with everything going on, it was a bit hard to keep track of the days, so you were pleasantly surprised to know that Daryl had done so. You turned to him in surprise. “How’d you know it was my birthday?” you questioned, still amazed by the effort your partner had put into his surprise for you, one you greatly appreciated.

Daryl shrugged nonchalantly. “Beth’s been keepin’ track’a the days in that diary of hers. Asked her to tell me when yer birthday was comin’ up, so that I could do somethin’ special for you.” Unbidden, a look of insecurity flashed through his eyes. Did you hate the surprise? “M’sorry this ain’t exactly like those movies. I asked Carol to help me set this up, and we did the best we could with the things we could find. I wanted this to be at night, like the movies, but I have to keep watch tonight, so I figured—”

You cut Daryl’s rambling off by pressing a soft, tender kiss on his lips. When you pulled back, you gave him a big smile. “It’s perfect,” you reassured him softly, your hands gently cupping his cheeks. “It’s absolutely perfect. Thank you.”

Daryl smiled bashfully. “Ain’t nothin’.” Suddenly remembering something, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out, and you gasped at the object in his hands—it was a bracelet with little bees and fireflies as the charms, and the sentiment, the callback to the nickname he so affectionately called you, made you tear up. “I, uh... I got this for ya.”

You pulled Daryl in for a hug, one that took the archer off guard, but he reciprocated nonetheless. “Thank you,” you whispered, nuzzling your face into his chest.

Daryl rested his chin on top of your head, his heart swelling with love for you. “‘Course,” he mumbled, placing a kiss on top of your head. “I love ya, Bug.”

“And I love you, Daryl. I love you so much.”