#at first he wasn’t supposed to interact with anyone

[stuckinmymind22]

On The Run (part three)

ngl i wasn’t planning on putting this out until next week but im in a good mood today so here you go 🤠

part one | part two

🚨🚨🚨MARINEFORD SPOILERS🚨🚨🚨

shanks x afab! reader (she/her)

tags: lovers (intimate) to lovers (romantic)

tw: use and misuse of alcohol, drunk sex (both parties), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it babes!!!!)

wc: 17.6k (i am a woman of the people)

a/n: we got smut baby!!!!! i promised this one would be lighter than the last and it really is i swear, it's v cute and has a lot of shenanigans and just interactions with the crew (who are becoming meddlesome lol)

also i am trying out a way to write slurred speech and i think it's readable but in case it isn't i have a cheatsheet nearby the examples

summary: after a hard night of nightmares, you feel embarrassed to be around shanks and avoid him, at least until the crew stops at an uninhabited island for the night and does what they always do (party). you and shanks are naturally drarwn to each other and with the help of alchohol you become stuck together at the hip.

WARNING: DRINK RESPONSIBLY!!!!! ALCOHOL IS A POISION! It can and will kill you. If you’re drinking like this you’re either seeing a dr or whatever higher power you believe in. Im just not having a guy who can do oneshot kid tap out so fast. 

The next morning, you woke in Shanks’ bed and thanked the stars that he had already left the room. After last night, you weren’t sure if you could face the man now — possibly ever again. You ran your hand through your hair roughly as you came to terms with what had happened.

You were pretty sure that you had cried yourself to sleep in his arm. The idea of anyone seeing you in the state you had been in mortified you to say the least. What the hell had gotten into you? It had been bad enough relying on him after you were shot, but now you had gone and bothered him with your emotional problems too? Recalling how he had treated you, by just being there, created a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest, one you were not prepared to deal with in the slightest.

Truthfully, you were disappointed in yourself. Getting any deeper emotions involved was a bad idea waiting to happen, but you did it anyway. You already liked the man, how could you not? He was charming, handsome, a hell of a lover, and above all else, you were comfortable around him. It was dangerous. He was dangerous.

You had just sent yourself down a slippery slope. And for what? You were still rattled to your core by the memories that had resurfaced. You were still a complete fucking wreck. It didn’t help that you were in intense physical pain either. You groaned as you placed your feet on the ground — your body hurt like hell, it was like you had, well, gotten shot, which was an accurate assessment. 

What you knew is that you had to stay away from Shanks and you had to get the hell out of his room. And shit — you had come in there without any pants. In distress and under the cover of night, you supposed it hadn’t mattered to you then, but the sun was bright through the room’s window, and neither excuse worked anymore. You considered taking the risk and running back to your room, but that idea was thrown out when you heard footsteps approaching. Fearing the worst, you prepared yourself to come face to face with the man you were hoping to avoid, but the steps stopped shy of the room. You were in the clear, at least for the moment. 

Reconsidering your options, you scanned the room and noticed a discarded pair of pants — that’d work for the time being. You were grateful that his pants were cropped; if they were full length for him, they’d be a tripping hazard. Your ambition to dash back to your room died instantly when you opened the door and made eye contact with Hongo. It seemed like the doctor had been looking for you, and, well, he found you — it was unfortunate that he’d caught you leaving his captain’s room. First thing in the morning. Clad head to toe in the man’s clothes. Great, that didn’t have any other implications at all. 

Before you had been given the chance to explain yourself, someone else came down the hallway. Of fucking course it would be him. This morning kept getting better, didn’t it?

“So we’re sharing closets now?” Shanks asked you with a goofy grin. He knew the whole outfit was his, not that he had any issue with that. The obnoxiously loud print of the pants made it hard to mistake them for anything but his own. “Cause if we’re doing that, I wanna borrow that one shirt.” You knew exactly what top he had been talking about. It made your tits look incredible, and, incidentally, you got the best tips wearing it. If you hadn’t been so flustered you would’ve made a comment about how he’d be the prettiest thing on the ship.

“I’m gonna give ‘em back. Just not tryna walk around in my underwear,” you said, forcing your composure. The pants you would return but that shirt was now yours. It was really comfortable, and because it was so loose it didn't put any pressure on your injury like the rest of your clothes did. 

“You totally could if you wanted to,” the captain responded cheekily. You glared up at the man. Shanks raised his hand in defense, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t done. “All I’m saying is you wouldn’t hear any complaints from me, I appreciate a nice view.”

You would throw something at him if you could. Was he really flirting with you now? Out of all times? Had he even noticed Hongo, who looked like he was trying and failing to not be uncomfortable, standing less than three feet from you both? You knew the doctor had already come to his conclusions of what he’d seen, which you’d have to dispel later, but this fucking man wasn’t making it easy.

“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter, squeezing between the men to get to your room and put on your own damn pants. 

“What’s up?” You asked Hongo. To your relief, Shanks was already gone by the time you had finished changing. “Uh—“ Hongo started, sounding uncomfortable. “While you’re healing, you should refrain from…{strenuous activities.” You groaned and covered your face; you’d forgotten about that. You did have a history with Shanks, so you really couldn’t fault Hongo for thinking as much. Honestly, you would’ve laughed at how uncomfortable he was if it hadn’t been so damn embarrassing. Once you had regained your composure, you explained to the doctor what had happened the night before.

~~~~~~~

After you had gotten your wound checked and redressed and obtained the all-clear, you went to wander the ship, looking for something to pass the time. You had realized that you weren’t even sure how far away you were from the next island, so you made a mental note to ask about that sooner rather than later.

You had successfully evaded Shanks at least three times on your stroll before you stumbled into Lucky Roux talking to an apprentice. His signature smile broadened when he saw you. “There ya are. Saved you some food,” the head chef told you. It was midmorning, well after breakfast, so you’d figured any food would be long gone. Your surprise must’ve shown because Lucky clarified, “Figured you’d be hungry. Come on, let’s get ya fed.”

The smiling man let you into the kitchen where you had found Yasopp looking through cabinets. The sniper snapped his head to the door when it had opened, pausing in his actions. “Hey friend, was just lookin’ for ya,” the sniper played off, unsuccessfully. Lucky Roux didn’t look remotely fazed at catching his friend and fellow officer very obviously about to raid the pantry. Instead, the happy-go-lucky man ducked under the doorframe and entered the kitchen like normal.

Lucky pulled out the plate he had saved and went to head the food back up. It was an unusual move for the man, not that you would know that. The two men started to talk about nothing in particular (they loved to do that) as you looked around the galley curiously. It was almost too small for the size of the crew in both number and height — the poor cook’s head was dangerously close to the ceiling with only mere inches to spare.

The reheated food was passed your way, pulling you from your observations. You took it eagerly, hoping up onto a counter to eat, placing the plate on your lap. After a few bites, you asked the question that had been on your mind, uncaring that your mouth was partly full. “So when we gettin’ to the next island?”

Lucky Roux, who had found the rack of meat he’d been missing, responded to you in kind. “Two to three days. Depending on wind,” his words were garbled on account of his mouth being stuffed, but you’d understood them.

Two to three days? You could do two or three days.

“Hol’ on, Luck. Next one’s deserted, ‘member?” Yasopp interjected. “Oh yeah,” the cook said, taking another large bite of meat.

“Well shit. Hope that’s not where you’re planning on leaving me then,” you joked. Your deal with Shanks had been just to bring you to the next island, but you also knew he wasn’t the type to leave you stranded somewhere. {Maybe that was why you liked him so much.}

The two men shared a look that went unnoticed by you. The senior officers had been made aware of Shanks’ intention to ask you to join the crew, but it seemed that you hadn’t been made aware of that. It was entirely possible that you had turned down the offer as Yasopp initially had many years before. However, if that were the case, they would expect the yonko to be in a much more sour mood. It was likely that he had yet to broach the topic with you. Either way, it wasn’t the officer’s discussion to have with you. Despite being the easygoing, fun-loving pirates they were, the crew harbored a deep respect for their captain. If he hadn’t talked to you about it yet, they weren’t going to bring it up.

“Let me try that again. How far’s the next inhabited island?” You rephrased your question, unaware of the silent conversation the men had just had. “Now that, I do not know. Gotta be at least twice as long though,” Yasopp answered.

“Ain’t that the one with the shitty marine outpost?” Lucky asked. “Oh shit. Think you might be right,” Yasopp agreed. “Let’s go find Building Snake; he’d know.” Both men went to leave, but when you made no effort to move, the snipper took it upon himself to ask if you were coming. You raised your half-eaten plate in response, which was met with a theatrical huff, but they chose to stay with you. 

“Why’d ya wanna know in the first place?” The marksman questioned. If you had learned one thing about these two back at the bar, it was that they loved to talk. You swallowed your food before you responded, “Was just curious.” Gathering more food on your fork, you continued, “I only asked Shanks to get me to the next island. Didn’t expect it to take that long, though.”

“Ya don’t gotta sound so disappointed,” Yasopp frowned, crossing his arms. “Yeah! And on the bright side, you got us,” Lucky Roux chimed in. The cook threw his arm around Yasopp, throwing the snipper off balance while he pulled him in. You smiled and shook your head before taking your final bite. It wouldn’t be too bad, you realized. 

Hopping off the counter, you went to wash your dishes in the sink. “Don’t worry ‘bout that. Come on,” Lucky urged you. You followed the boys (grown-ass men) out the door, departing on an adventure you didn’t know you were partaking in. It seemed that neither Yasopp nor Lucky had any idea where the ship’s navigator had been “hiding.”

Unfortunately for you, you had yet another run-in with the one man you were hoping to avoid. You tried to hide behind Lucky Roux’s hulking frame when Shanks approached your team, but your cover was blown damn near instantly. “Sorry, Captain, on an important mission. No time to talk,” Yasopp said, pulling you out from behind the chef by hooking his arm around your shoulder. “Ain’t that right, Princess?”

You were too busy glaring at the sniper to notice how Shanks’ nostrils flared and his gaze hardened at the action. The men you were with, however, did not miss it, and later they would tease him about it.

“Call me princess again and I’ll fucking kill you.” Yasopp only grinned brighter at your threat. Glares came at him from both sides, but he stayed standing tall. “See? We’re very busy.” Shanks rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath. There wasn’t anything specific he’d been trying to talk about so he just dropped it, offering a nod and walking away. Once you were no longer in his presence you let go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Did ya see that?” Lucky said to Yasopp, looking happier than usual. “Yeah I did. I knew we were onto somethin’,” the man responded. You gave them both a questioning look and they went quiet, but their smiles proved that you had something to do with whatever they were talking about. 

After another couple of minutes of an unfruitful search, Yasopp took to yelling out the navigator’s name. A man nearby winced at the sudden noise — you thought he was one of the swabbies, but you weren’t sure. “Too much to drink, Buddy?” Yasopp questioned, roughly clapping the man on the back. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Sun’s miserable enough, don’t need your ass yelling in my ear too.” The quip made the senior officer let out a boisterous laugh, making the poor, deeply hungover man grimace. You did your best to hold back your laugh out of consideration — you had been there before.

Once you found Building Snake, the ship’s navigator, you learned that the upcoming island was indeed two to three days away. You also learned that it was dangerous and best to stick near the ship. Many years back, there had been a failed attempt to settle it, which had left a rotting and unusable port behind. The bad news was that the island after that (the inhabited one) was at least a week out. 

Being faced with such a long trip between viable ports reminded you of all the provisions the pirates had taken before they’d left your island. It wasn’t your island anymore… it couldn’t be. That realization put a damper on your mood. Noticeably so. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that your life had been majorly and fundamentally altered for the second time. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that everything you had had been ripped out from under you.

You had hoped to ignore it until it went away, it was what you did best, but it was in times like this where you were forced to face it. It was Building Snake that asked if you were okay and you put on a smile and told him you that other than being shot, you were fine. But you weren’t fine. In all honesty, you couldn’t wait until the booze came out.  

~~~~~~~

That night, you found yourself playing cards with some of the crew, a new favorite pastime of yours. The sky had been growing darker faster than the sun was setting. A card you had just placed down got caught in the wind and was lifted from the table. Shanks, who had happened to be walking by, caught the card mid-air. “Careful, don’t wanna lose that,” he laughed, passing the card by to you. You didn’t have the time to get stuck on that gesture because the waters rapidly became choppy and the clouds above you swirled. A storm was forming.

Like a well-oiled machine, the crew dispersed, knowing exactly what to do. You quickly stored all the cards away before they could become victims of the wind, standing up to do so. A rough wave hit the Red Force, seawater splashed onto the deck as the ship was thrown about. Despite all of your time on dry land, your sea legs were still strong. While you were able to stay upright through the ordeal, others weren’t as lucky. You saw someone get wiped out by the abrupt off-kiltering of the vessel. With the others all occupied, you rushed over and pulled the man to his feet before the next wave came. 

Orders were barked out, and you escaped the path of the storm far faster than it had seemed. Once past the storm’s edge, you heard a chuckle beside you. “I was just thinking it’d been too boring,” the man you had helped up earlier said. “I’d forgotten how violent the sea can be,” you responded in kind. You looked around you; water was still pooled in low spots on the deck, slowly being bailed out, and crates and tables had been knocked around. It seemed like you were lucky that no one had gone overboard.

A laugh of relief echoed throughout your body. Your hair completely drenched, soaked clothes molded against your body. From across the deck, Shanks turned to the sound instinctively, his easygoing smile slipped into a more serious look as he scanned your body. Confused, your eyes followed his gaze down. Great, you’d forgotten you were wearing an off-white shirt, but that thought didn’t stick in your mind for long when you saw what he’d been looking at.

There was red.

“Well, shit,” you muttered. The immense amount of seawater and rain had diluted your blood down to a bright red, almost pink stain. Somewhere in the chaos, you had torn a stitch or two and managed to reopen the injury. You had fucked around and you had found out — Hongo was going to give you so much shit for this. You applied pressure to the wound, scanning the men for the doctor. 

“Alright, let’s go stitch you back up,” Hongo said, touching your shoulder. He had appeared behind you, as if the thought of him alone had made him materialize. You nodded and started walking towards the infirmary. The doctor followed close behind. Unusually close, uncomfortably even.

“The fuck are you doing?” You questioned the man, turning your head back to look at him. “Your scar,” he responded quietly. You hadn’t even thought about that. The now near-clear fabric of your shirt was practically plastered to your body, which would make the raised brand more noticeable. “Thank you,” you whispered, continuing on your way, this time faster.

Shanks’s eyes never left you as you moved about, baring the brief, harsh stare directed at the doctor. “Careful, Captain, you’re starting to look jealous,” Yasopp said as he walked by, earning himself a glare that only made him laugh. 

Shanks wasn’t jealous; he was just…concerned.

~~~~~~~

Ever since Yasopp had made the off-handed remark about him being jealous, Shanks had been stuck on the idea. Now it was well into the night and Shank lie perfectly awake, all of his thoughts circling around you. What was it about you that had him hooked?

All your past interactions had been replaying in his head as he attempted to pinpoint what was different. Something he really liked about you was how you only ever saw him as “Shanks,” not as a yonko, not as a captain, not even as a pirate, just as a man. It was refreshing. Even though you were fully aware of who he was before he’d opened his mouth, somehow, his reputation hadn’t proceeded him with you. He remembered meeting you.

On the crew’s way back from Marineford, after both Edward Newgate and Portgas D. Ace had been laid to rest, the Force was caught up in a nasty storm, leaving it in crucial need of repairs. It was decided to head to the closest island to get supplies. When Whitebeard’s Jolly Roger was spotted still flying high in the harbor, Shanks knew he had to take a different approach than normal.

Not wanting to cause problems with the locals, only Shanks and Beckman departed the ship. The rest of the crew could join once the captain could prove that they posed no threat to the inhabitants. 

By the time the two men had made their way up the hill and found the town, it appeared to be deserted. Doors and windows were tightly closed, which was a stark difference from the lively streets they had seen through the spyglass. This might be harder than Shanks had thought.

The sole sign of life was the sound of whistling. Following the noise, the pirates found the one and only place open for business. The only person there was the most breathtaking woman Shanks had ever seen, sweeping the floor while whistling.

As if you had sensed their presence, you looked up from your task and smiled at them. “Took you a while. Shore’s not that far, I was starting to think you had left,” you spoke loud enough for the pair to hear you from outside. Even your voice was beautiful. 

“You boys coming in or you sightseeing? Fair warning, it’s a bad day for tourism. Rumor has it there’s pirates.” Shanks smiled over at Beck; he liked you already. The captain sauntered into the bar with his first mate close behind him. Without being asked, you poured out two drinks, saying they were on the house. It wasn’t exactly the kind of hospitality Shanks had been expecting after finding the town on lockdown.

“So Shanks,” you said, looking him in the eyes with no sign of being intimidated. It both surprised and amused him that you had jumped to first name basis before he could even introduce himself. “What brought you to this little corner of the world? Feels like it’s quite a ways from where you belong.”

“Well damn, Darling, I thought we started with introductions before jumping to questions,” Shanks joked, watching the smile that pulled on your lips.  “You’re right. Go ahead,” you apologized, waiting for the captain to introduce himself. Shanks chuckled at your behavior, eyes sparkling with glee.

From there, you had been the one to reassure the townspeople that everything was alright and that the pirates meant no harm. You’d pushed the mayor to talk with the yonko and to work out a new arrangement for the island’s protection.

Shanks couldn’t help it; he’d been drawn to you almost instantly. He would linger at the bar longer than needed just to see more, and the more you had talked, the more he enjoyed your company. You had never complained about his prolonged presence; in fact, you had always looked as excited to see him as he was to see you.

Then there was also the fact that you were so beautiful, and he was a man of the flesh after all.

At least he had been.

Before you, it had been a while since he had been with anyone. The (shocking) truth was that he could probably count the number of people he’d been with since earning the title of “Emperor of the Sea,” and it wasn’t a lot. Sure, part of the reason was that he was constantly busy, but the big reason was how others treated and viewed him.

It was damn near impossible to want someone who only wanted you because of your name. And worse, on the opposite of the spectrum, were the people who were clearly afraid to tell him “no.” Both were consequences of power that he’d never thought about before, and neither were things he could stomach. If chasing his ambitions meant he had to sacrifice sex, then he would, no matter how much he liked sex, and he really liked sex.

Somehow, you fit into neither category. Shanks recalled how once you had made a jab at him and he’d joked that not many people would dare to speak to him that way. You had looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Like a person?” That moment had stayed vivid in his mind — he didn’t even remember what had been said to prompt the interaction, but those three words and your confused face were burned into his head.

From that point on, you had him wrapped around your finger in a way that neither of you could comprehend. It hadn’t been interest in a traditional sense (at least that’s what he thought); he’d known that there was no point in an actual relationship with you or anyone. Yet, he couldn’t get enough of you.

Not even the long last night on the island, when you had both thought it was the end, had satisfied his fill of you. He’d known that as soon as he woke up the morning after to an empty bed and a note with a short thanks {for all that he had done}. But that was just the name of the game, and he knew that.

Initially, he had chalked all of it up to lust; given his track record, it would make sense that he’d be insatiable, but now he was starting to question it.

Ah fuck. He did like you.

There wasn’t any other conclusion to draw, but what the hell was he supposed to do now?

Shanks didn’t have any more time to dive into it before there was a knock at his door, and you stood there with puffy eyes. There was no point in worrying about the future when you needed him now. 

~~~~~~~

It had taken three days for the cry of land to come. When the alert sounded, a childlike excitement grew inside you. You hadn’t realized how antsy you had felt stuck on board the ship; you might not’ve been able to take much longer. Avoiding Shanks had been hard work. The man was everywhere (it was his ship after all). The embarrassment you had felt your second morning on board, after you had spent the night crying in the captain’s arm, hadn’t dissipated— in fact, it had gotten worse.

The nightmares had continued to plague you, and while you spent your days steering clear of the redheaded man, you had found yourself at his door every night, and he welcomed you in every time. Come morning, the unspoken understanding of not mentioning the night would kick in, and you would go back to avoiding Shanks like the plague. You appreciated him for helping you when you needed it most, but you hated the way it messed with your feelings, which only made you distance yourself further.

As the island came into view of the naked eye, Shanks called the crew together to address the plan. He told everyone to stick to the beach in order to avoid a repeat of the last time (a story you didn’t know nor bother asking about). The captain declared that they’d be setting off in the morning, warning the men against getting too hungover. The rest of the time was free for them to do as they pleased, which apparently was code for a banquet. After the announcement, the captain delegated tasks to the crew in preparation for landfall. 

You were only half paying attention to his words, knowing they didn’t really apply to you. Your focus instead rested on the speck of land growing closer. The lush green island stood out against the pale blue sky. Details became clearer, and the view was damn near breathtaking. The tall, towering trees were speckled with colorful patches, signaling that the island was in bloom. Segmented cliffsides set the boundaries of the land, and in most places, the island’s foliage butted up to the drop. 

“Beautiful, ain’t it?” Shanks said, appearing next to you. The sudden interruption from your thoughts had you jump slightly, causing the man to laugh. It was quite rare for you to be taken off guard like that, but you’d been so lost in thought you weren’t paying attention to anything around you, which said a lot about your comfortability with the crew.

“Yeah,” you smiled up at Shanks. It had been days since he’d been blessed with the view directed towards him. He had to manually tear his eyes away to avoid staring. Tapping the railing you’d been standing at, he excused himself, citing “captain duties.”

As the Red Force circled the island, looking for a place to rest for the night, you started bouncing on your feet, growing antsy. So far, the majority of the coastline looked impossible to land on. The sun was bright and the air had grown hot; the sea started looking more and more tempting. When a strip of beach came into view you had started to weigh the pros and cons. 

It had been a long time since you were in the sea, but you were a strong swimmer. You frequented a large lake near your town that took up half of the island, with tides that rivaled the ocean. The potential consequences meant nothing to you, you felt like you existed on borrowed time anyway, might as well have some fun. You checked where you were set to settle for the night and finalized your decision.

Removing your shoes and rolling out your shoulders, you climbed onto the railing and dove into the water before anyone could object. Shanks witnessed you jump into the sea and was left surprised. After the shock left, a smile grew on his face and he shook his head. He didn’t need to check to know that you were okay. Besides him, Hongo, who he had been talking to, shouted out a warning about infections, but it was in vain; you had already been in free fall before he had started.

“Let ‘er have her fun, Hongo,” Shanks told the doctor. “‘Sides, we got you, yeah? You wouldn’t let ‘er get an infection.” Somehow, it was a statement both showcasing the captain’s trust in his crew’s doctor and a warning to not let it happen — not that Shanks had noticed the veiled threat he’d made. 

Avoiding the ship’s path, you swam ashore, reaching the sand. Even over a hundred meters [a/n: like a football field] away, Shanks heard your laugh ring out. A warm feeling in his heart formed at the sound. His eyes were locked on you, watching the pure joy radiate off of you. You looked beautiful.

“Boss,” Beckman said, touching the captain’s shoulder as he passed by, pulling him from the trance you had unwittingly put him in. Right, he had things to do. With one last look, Shanks went about his duties.

~~~~~~~

By the time the pirates had arrived at the island, you were halfway through building a fire pit. The emperor found your initiative charming. Truthfully, ever since Yasopp’s comment on his jealousy days ago, Shanks had been more aware of how you made him feel. He feared he really did like you a bit too much, but he refrained from acting on it — no matter how hard it was. The last thing he wanted to do was to put you in a situation where you had no out and felt like your back was to the wall, so he had kept his distance and had let you avoid him.

“Doll, you ain’t gotta do all that,” Shanks said, approaching you. With a sideways glance, you saw that he held your shoes to his side; the gesture made your stomach flutter. “Gotta get done, don’t it?” You replied, staying crouched over a pile of sticks you had been arranging. You were right, and you both knew that. “But not by you.” You huffed in annoyance, standing tall and brushing off your hands to look him in the eye. “Let me help. I’m not about to be some dead weight.” The look in Shanks’ eyes changed, softened. “Y/n, you’re not dead weight. You’re injured; there is a difference.”  With a wave of his hand, two apprentices took over the job before you could protest. 

“Now, think you forgot these on the Force,” he said, switching subjects and holding out your shoes. You were annoyed that you couldn’t be annoyed with him — not after he’d taken the effort to bring you something you’d left behind (in all honesty, you had not thought that move through). That feeling was short-lived when you heard your name being called. 

“Oi! Y/n, c’mere!” Yasopp shouted. You took your shoes from Shanks and put them on as you walked over to the sniper with curiosity. Shank’s eyes stayed glued on you, as they often did. “Wanna do the honors?” He asked, extending one of his guns to you. The offer created a sense of pride in the captain’s chest; he was happy to see you be accepted by the crew like this, even though he knew you already had been. 

You looked to the gun then back at Yasopp, confused. “It’s tradition to fire a shot at landfall,” he explained. That explanation only shifted your question. “If it’s tradition, why didn’t I hear you when you arrived at [ISLAND NAME]?”

“Wouldn’t’ve been wise,” Shanks said, coming to your side. “And we don’t really do it in populated areas; civilians tend to get scared of gunfire.” The notorious man smiled down at you in a way that could make glaciers melt. “But you should try it, Doll,” he encouraged, nodding to the gun extended your way.

Hesitantly, you picked up the weapon — it was the same one that you had used mere days ago when this whole mess or adventure had begun. “What do I shoot at?” You were smart enough to know what goes up must come down, so shooting blindly up in the air would be dumb. Shanks shrugged. “Up to you.” You turned around in a circle, looking for a target. “Just not at the ship,” he specified. You gave him a look. “I know better than that, Captain.” When was the last time you had called him that? He wondered. 

Still facing the water, you shot the gun at a large fish right under the water’s surface.

“Typically we go for somethin’ on land, but that counts, I s’pose,” Yasopp said. “Well I just caught us dinner, so, you’re welcome,” you retorted, handing back the weapon. “That case, go get it ’n Lucky can cook it up,” he teased back.

Before you could commit to the bit, you heard your name being called again. “Don’t go in the ocean again, dumbass,” Hongo said from a few yards away. “Already gotta change your bandages ‘cause you ‘cided to go swimming,” he complained. To be fair, he had just finished checking and redressing your bullet wound less than two hours prior. And he had been using twice as much gauze as needed to cover the scar on your back to avoid another incident.

“Killjoy,” you pouted, but excused yourself to go get patched up by the doctor. Again.

~~~~~~~

Over an hour had passed and most of the pirates had settled out on the beach, very few lingering on the ship. 

Some crates and barrels had been brought out with supplies for dinner and plenty of booze, and logs pulled from the forest for seating. The crew had reached the point where they were just killing time, all chores were done and dinner wasn’t for a while. Drinking seemed to be the preferred pastime, but there were still others doing various other antics.

It was midafternoon, the sun still high in the sky. Your clothes had long dried; the intense rays had made quick work of that, but the heat was borderline unbearable. You had found your spot in the shade, accompanied by some of the senior officers. All sat on miscellaneous crates and barrels. The past couple of days had taught you how much Yasopp and Lucky Roux loved to talk, and that still stood true. Peacefully, you had been listening to the two men tell you stories with such precession that it had to have been rehearsed. 

“Yasopp never misses, ya know?” The chef said proudly, clapping his best friend on the back with one hand and taking a bite of the hunk of meat he held in the other. “He can hit anything. Any target you ask, you should try it.” You looked to the marksman on your left to see if he was willing to do so, but the man had already started loading a gun, exchanging his handmade rounds for standard ones. “Pick somethin’.” 

You scanned your surroundings, looking for something that would pose a challenge but also visible. “See that fruit?” You said, leaning into him to point to a spot across the beach and in the trees. The fruit looked like it was juicy and would explode dramatically if hit, which would be fun. Yasopp grinned at you. “Watch this.” The shot rang out and the fruit blew apart in a violent display. You clapped and cheered excitedly, pointing to something else farther away. “Try that!” The same thing happened and you were just as excited.

It had been a long while since Yasopp had gotten that kind of excitement at his skill. While the display was novel to you, the pirates lived with it; it was ordinary to them. The crew, especially the senior officers, were all extremely powerful, but had been surrounded by each other for so long that the level of their skillsets was no longer impressive. Seeing your reaction was just as entertaining to the men as the marksmanship was to you. 

The show had continued until the barrel had been emptied, twice. Even afterwards, you were singing the praises of the sniper. It hit you that they all were like that, with just as much interest you went around asking what they could do. Finding out that Lucky had developed a technique called “self-bowling,” you begged him to demonstrate and it lived up to its name. 

“Heard you know how to use a sword,” Yasopp said after you had cycled through everyone in close range for their talents. You raised a brow. “Where’d ya hear that?” The sniper grinned, “You’re a loud drunk.” You should’ve known. 

Two nights back, you had been dangerously near tears talking about how you missed Fluffy. Fluffy was the name of the blade your father had gifted you when you were a child, and not the name of some long-dead pet like it had seemed, but you had been just as attached as if it had been alive. It hadn’t left your side until it had been taken from you when you’d been kidnapped.

“Time for you to show us whatcha got,” Yasopp challenged, pointing to a sword nearby. The blade wasn’t too far off from what you had grown up with, but you could just tell by looking at it that the weight distribution wouldn’t be the same. “It’s only fair,” the sniper encouraged further upon noticing your hesitation, even enlisting others in his peer pressure tactic.

With a sigh, you stood up. “It’s been years,” you admitted, rolling out your joints before picking up the sword. You tossed it lightly to get a feel for it, and your assessment had been spot on, but it would work enough for a demonstration. Once you familiarized yourself with the blade, you grinned back at the group of men you were with. “Who's up?”

The confused looks brought your own brow up. "You telling me you wanted to see me swing a sword around in the air like a dork? I'm not doing that," you said while doing just that. "Now we fighting or am I going back to my drink?" 

Yasopp called over an apprentice who wore a sword at his hip. You vaguely recognized him but didn’t know if you had met. He couldn’t’ve been much older than twenty, he had soft brown hair and his eyes were lit up in fear. The sniper introduced him to you as Dime, which made you wonder how he had earned that name, and instructed the poor guy to fight you. The young pirate looked conflicted, his eyes went from the senior officer to you to his captain and all over again. And again. While you understood his apprehension it bothered you.

“Should I be offended you think I can’t hold my own?” You asked, trying to force some humor into your voice. It wasn’t the kid’s fault, but you were incredibly sick of being treated like glass. Dime looked more panicked after your comment and started to stutter. Yasopp got what had been happening but was too busy trying to hide his laugh to help.

Lucky was the one who gave the poor apprentice a break. “Aye, Boss! Can we fight?” Despite the man staring directly at the scene, he didn’t answer as if he hadn’t heard the question. Truthfully, the second you had picked up the sword Shanks had stopped paying attention to the conversation he’d been a part of so he could focus on you. You were going to be the death of him. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

It took Lucky repeating himself for Shanks to register that he was being talked to. His eyes reluctantly left you to look at the chef. The captain shrugged. “It’s not my call. Ask her.” You smiled at his response, and his heart rate increased. He was becoming hyperaware of how you impacted him, and, at least for now, it seemed that everything you did affected him. He had respected your wish to maintain distance and to get his fix he had become an expert at stealing glances when you weren’t looking.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” you reassured Dime. “That’s not what I’m worried about,” the kid mumbled, likely not intending for you to hear it. His words made you laugh. “Believe it or not, but I know what I’m doing. Now stop being a coward and come at me,” you goaded him. With a level of reluctance the man complied. He had barely taken two steps before you had disarmed him, sword at his throat.

“It hurts my feelings when you don’t try,” you complained to the kid. The attack had taken him by surprise and he was frozen in place. “It’s not as fun either. Now grab your sword and let’s go again,” you instructed, lowering your blade.

“Can already tell you’re impressive,” Yasopp praised from the sidelines, a sentiment that Lucky Roux echoed. You turned to them and flipped your hair in a faux display of pretentiousness. “I was the best in the country at one point.” Your father had been an excellent swordsman and had taught you nearly everything he knew. “Which one?” The sniper inquired. “Doesn’t matter,” you dismissed, not willing to recall nor recount bits of your past. You shifted your focus back onto your opponent. “You ready for real this time?”

The next round took less than a minute. Shanks watched you the entire time. You were fast, but slightly clumsy with your movements as your muscles worked to recall techniques, but he was hooked. During your fight, you caught the captain’s eye, seeing how he’d been looking at you, and you winked. Fucking winked. Shanks almost choked on empty air. Were you trying to kill him? What made it worse was how you had won immediately afterwards.

“Rematch?” You questioned Dime, who agreed. You went three for three, after he had started trying. It was a brutal defeat that the kid took with more grace than you had been expecting. “I forgot how much I love this,” you said, nearly jumping in your excitement. You were more alive and animated than you had been in years, certainly more than any of them had seen you. “Anyone else wanna go?”

Behind your back, Shanks signaled for someone to take up your offer. You were elated when you had gotten another opponent. That was how you started cycling through opponents; after the third or fourth one, they came naturally. After you had proved yourself, it became a feat of strength to face you — but no one was able to defeat you. You were busy having the time of your life; the whole thing had reminded you of doing something quite similar as a teenager. 

If he hadn’t been so entranced, or perhaps if he were wiser, Shanks would have walked away from the show, but he couldn’t. And he wouldn’t. He had thought your display with the Marines had been hot, but this made that pale in comparison.

It hadn’t been a question of if you would win, but how long it took you to. You were truly in your element. Sweat dripped down your face; your hair and shirt had become weighed down by the effort you’d exerted. Your muscles were already starting to ache, but the fatigue wasn’t going to stop you.

An hour in, the lack of a challenge started to bore you, and you started thinking of ways to make it more interesting. If he was anything like the legends, you didn’t stand a chance, but damn, you wanted to try. “Shanks,” you sang out, turning to the man who had you as his sole focus. You weren’t blind; you’d been cognizant that his eyes had followed your every move. What you weren’t aware of, however, was how it made him feel. You had never looked so captivating: the joy in your face, the sword in your hand, and the sweat on your brow. Everything about it made him want you more.

“‘M not fighting you, Doll. You’re not ready for me yet,” Shanks answered before you could ask. Frankly, he wasn’t ready to fight you either — if he could barely handle simply watching from a distance, how the fuck would he have enough self-control to witness it face-to-face?

“You’re no fun,” you said, turning away to find someone else. He’d only pointed out the obvious, but that didn’t mean you were happy about it. “I didn’t say never, just not now,” Shanks clarified. The addendum brought a smile to your face. 

Someday.

Wait, were you even in a position to think about someday? You didn’t have much time left with him, there was no way you could progress that far that quickly, you were still injured. 

Your thoughts were pushed away when a new challenger approached — a more senior member of the crew — and for the first time you were on even playing ground. The winner was no longer guaranteed, going back and forth between the two of you, but you had jointly called it quits after only a few rounds for dinner. 

~~~~~~~

Later that evening, while the sun was still out and you were a few drinks deep, your mind started to get fuzzy. The alcohol in your system was providing a pleasant buzz, enough to stop worrying but not enough to lose yourself entirely, just where you liked to be. Once your cup had run dry a fourth time, you went back to the source for more. Near the barrel, the Red Hair’s first mate stood.

“Fun night?” Beckman asked you after you had lightly stumbled your way to him. It wasn’t even night, what was he talking about? “You guys sure know how to throw a party,” you laughed. Beckman lightly chuckled. “It comes from years of practice.” There was a pause before he spoke up again. “S’pose this is your first time out on the sea in a while.”

You weren’t sure what he was aiming for, but something was up. “Yeah. Sure as hell my first time sailing with a bunch of pirates willingly.” You used your mug to gesture to the crew who were scattered over the beach. Beck nodded, taking a drink. The casual implication that you had been held against your will on the ocean hadn’t gone past him, although the fact that you had let the information slip was beyond you. 

“How’s your side?” You narrowed your eyes at the man, your suspicions mounting. “’S fine.” Beck nodded again. “What are you dancin’ around? Let’s cut to the chase.”  Beck cracked a smile at your ability to see through it, even the way you had confronted him about it was familiar.

“You don’t need to avoid him. He’s not judging you.” 

You didn’t need to ask to know who he was talking about, but your gaze followed his anyway. Shanks was standing a few feet away from the large fire you had helped create. His back was turned to you, but you could pick out that fiery red hair anywhere. From where you stood, his boisterous laugh echoed, and you watched as his shoulders shook. Something about the way you had been looking at the captain caused Beckman to lightly snort in amusement.

A part of you had considered lying and playing it off, but you knew that Beck was incredibly smart and wouldn’t have confronted you if he hadn’t known better. Plus, the second part of his statement interested you, although you weren’t sure how much you believed it.

You let out a heavy sigh and turned to face Beck. “The nightmares have been getting worse lately,” you started, your voice significantly quieter than before. “I can’t make it through the night on my own anymore. I’m a grown-ass woman acting like a child. Do you know how many times he’s held me as I cried my eyes out? Because I sure as shit don’t. It’s hard to look him in the eyes after he’s seen me like that. It’s easier to stay away altogether.” You would have to blame the alcohol in your system for your extreme honesty, but deep down, you knew you had simply wanted to get it out. 

“The fact he continues to do it is proof in itself that he isn’t judging, ain’t it?” You hated that he was right; it made things more difficult. 

“But that ain’t the real reason, is it?” Beck followed up as he casually lit up a cigarette like he hadn’t seen right through you. The truth was that you were scared. Scared of getting too attached. Your whole life had just fallen apart, and you couldn’t risk heartbreak on top of that. That was a danger you weren’t ready for. 

“Is it that obvious?” You asked.

“No,” he smiled, relieving some of the tension in your shoulders. “I just have my ways.”

“That’s cryptic and not concerning at all,” you joked. Beck smirked a little — that was exactly what his captain would say. He’d been right about you; you were cut from the same cloth.

“You ever notice the way he looks at you?” Beckman asked after taking a drag from his cigarette. You put your attention back on the man who had captured your mind. He was staring right at you with the same soft eyes you found every night. 

“Oh,” you breathed. A feeling of excitement started to bubble in your chest, but you were quick to squash it. You shook your head to release yourself from the spell he had you under. “It’s not a good idea,” you said, sounding almost defeated as you put your focus back on the man next to you. “I’ll be gone soon and I can’t do that to myself — or to him. This way no-one gets hurt.” Your eyes returned back to Shanks as if he was magnetic.

Beckman hummed, contemplating your words before he spoke. “Sometimes you gotta take risks. When’s the last time you tried living in the moment?” Then, yet again, he left you alone with his words.

~~~~~~~

You ruminated on the first mate’s words for a while, eventually coming to the conclusion that you were being unfair to Shanks. Going out of your way to avoid someone who was helping you, sheerly out of pride, was not how you had been raised. The question of whether it was worth the risk still lingered in the back of your brain. Maybe you could let yourself have the night. A little risk wouldn’t hurt, and you had always been one to gamble. 

As an act of apology, you filled up another tankard before heading his way. The man liked his alcohol. Shanks was talking with Limejuice, another senior officer, with his back to you. When Limejuice started looking past his shoulder, he spun around to see what was behind him. And there you were, a few steps away, wearing a pretty smile.

You extended a cup of something his way once in arm’s reach. “That for me?” He questioned, eyeing your outstretched arm. You hummed and nodded in response. It was impeccable timing on your part, because the captain’s cup had just run dry. “Why thank ya, Doll,” Shanks grinned, accepting the new glass after setting his old one down nearby.

“How ya enjoying the island?” He asked you, grinning. You watched Limejuice slip away When Shanks’ attention had switched to you, almost as if he’d been giving you privacy. “I like it,” you nodded, trying to shake off the awkwardness. “’S gearing up to be one of the better nights I’ve had in a while.” 

The redhead raised a brow. “One of? What else it competing with?” As far as he had been concerned, you had recently been plagued by sleepless nights, most of which he had borne witness to. 

You hadn’t meant anything by the comment initially, but when he questioned it, you saw an opportunity. “Yeah, had a few good ones last week.” You masked your delight with innocent eyes. Closely, you gauged his reaction, finding humor in watching him piece it together. 

What had happened a week ago? He wondered. Oh. Oh. That was when you had been seeing each other. Shanks coughed when he understood what you had been hinting at. He had been spending half of the day trying to get those thoughts out of his brain, and less than a minute into a conversation, you had brought them all back.

“Saw you earlier today,” he pivoted after clearing his throat. He quickly realized that thinking back to you using a sword was not the right direction to go in when he was trying to steer clear of those thoughts. You had caught onto the fact that his statement hadn’t been going anywhere and grinned. It was a rare sight to see the man flustered, something you had only managed to accomplish a few times before. “You were—you were impressive.”

Choosing to spare him, you took the innocent route, using humor to break the tension. “Now imagine what I could do at my full strength.” You were aware you had much more practice to do to get back to the level you had once been, but you had already decided you were determined to surpass your younger self when you had picked up the blade. “A force to be reckoned with, that’s for sure,” Shanks added, falling back into your standard dynamic. 

“Oi! Lovebirds!” That call drew your attention. It wasn’t hard to know who it had been directed at. You followed the noise to find Yasopp snickering to himself. “‘Bout to start a game,” he continued, waving around a pouch of berries. “Want in?”

Glossing over the “lovebirds” comment, you couldn’t help but get the feeling that he was up to something, but you were willing to ignore it. A good game of cards always drew you in — especially when there was money involved. In the few short days you had been at sea, you had managed to more than double your starting funds gambling with the pirates. 

You had been told that Shanks wasn’t one for cards, but you still jumped at the money to earn some easy money. Before you could apologize for ditching the man, he was already ahead of you. He spun back around, offering you his hand and a charming smile. “Come on, Doll. I hear you’ve been wiping the floor with them. Do me the honor of seeing it firsthand.” Unable not to, you grabbed his hand and tried to ignore the way it felt in yours.

Full of excitement, you pulled the emperor along as you rushed to follow Yasopp’s footsteps. You arrived at the makeshift table (a crate with miscellaneous logs and barrels as seats) where the usual culprits had gathered; Yasopp, Lucky Roux, Hongo, Limejuice, Dime, who was the first you had spared with earlier, and two other lower-ranking members you had forgotten the names of. Beckman sat at the table but didn’t always participate.

Grins greeted your arrival, but you didn’t connect them to how you had the captain of the Red Hair pirates in tow, smiling like a fool. You also missed the faint pout that formed on the man’s face when you dropped his hand to sit down.

“Cap’, you playin’?” Limejuice questioned. The redhead came to the card table less than once a blue moon. When it came to gambling, Shanks would rather wager than play a game of cards — it didn’t help that he (allegedly) had a bad poker face. There was also the fact that playing cards got a hell of a lot more difficult with only one hand, so he’d stopped playing; he didn’t miss it either.

“Can’t ‘member the last time you joined us,” Hongo commented. Shanks only smiled back at the men, in a significantly better mood than he had been in days. 

“Boss, ‘m I dealing you in? Ow—“ Unbeknownst to you, the dealer, Lucky Roux, had just been kicked in the shin to quiet him. Yasopp faked an apologetic look, regretfully informing the captain that you had put them at the max amount of players, which likely meant that Beck (or someone else) was playing. The sniper did offer an alternative, suggesting that you two could play together.

“Whatcha say, Love? Can I join your team?” Shanks asked, sliding in next to you. At your hesitation, he released the puppy dog eyes and you crumbled. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the underhanded tactic, but secretly your heart raced at the idea — or maybe that was the alcohol, yes, that was it.

“Only if you get me more when I ask,” you said, nodding to your drink. It had been a while since you had drank like this and it probably wouldn’t happen again, so you had already chosen to make the most of it. It wasn’t on your dime, and you also knew your limits. “Deal,” he grinned in victory and moved in even closer to you.

Before the shuffling had finished, you had realized that all of your money was in your trunk, in your room, and a frown formed on your face. “What’s wrong?” Shanks asked, watching your expression fall. “I don’t have anything on me,” you told him, double-checking your pockets.

“I gotcha, Doll,” Shanks said, pulling out a full coin purse. You eyed the bag with skepticism, unsure if you should use his money. You hated owing anyone anything, especially money. Shanks spotted your internal turmoil and slid the berri your way. “If we’re a team, consider this our money.”

You glanced between the coins and the man, eventually meeting his eyes. “I pay you back and keep anything we earn.” Shanks laughed. “Sure, you can keep it all if you want.” That idea was promptly shut down. You knew you needed the money much more than he did, but you weren’t about to owe him more than you already did — you didn’t even know how to repay him for his kindness yet.

You grab a modest amount of coins from the sack, barely half of what the other players had pulled out, before you passed it back. If he was an insecure man, he’d be offended, but instead, he just looked at you amused. “You know I got more, right?” The man was a yonko, he was not going to flinch if you lost everything that he had on him. “And?” You raised a brow, prompting him to laugh again. “There’s no need to be stingy, take some more. Everyone else got twice as much as ya,” Shanks tried to reason, gesturing to the table.

“Okay,” you grinned, picking up the bag — only to put back a couple of coins and close it. Reaching over to Shanks, your fingers lightly grazed his exposed chest, and he hoped he hid the shiver your touch sent up his spine well enough. You opened up his cloak and returned the coin purse to where he’d taken it from. Patting his chest, satisfied that the money was secured, you whispered to him, “’s more fun this way.” You pulled back from him, wearing a satisfied smirk that only grew when you saw his expression. “Now watch and learn, Baby. Watch and learn.”

~~~~~~~

It turned out that you hadn’t thought this “team” thing all the way through. “Team” was doing a lot of heavy lifting because Shanks hadn’t contributed shit — beyond the starting funds. The two times he had tried, he’d given you advice so terrible it made you question if he knew how winning worked. He also was significantly more distracting than you had calculated, and not just because you could feel his body heat and hear his breathing (although that was a part of it). 

While you were normally great at the game, you had been slipping up more than usual. Shanks kept leaning over and whispering things in your ear, mostly ridiculous commentary or dumb thoughts. In the beginning, you had been able to get him to knock it off with a short glare, but it never lasted long. He was so lucky he was funny. In his defense, it was hard to show irritation when you kept laughing. When he asked you about the anatomy of a sea king, you damn near kicked him off the team, but his pleading eyes had driven a hard bargain. You were annoyed that you weren’t as annoyed as you should be — you were almost enjoying it.

Remarkably, even embarrassingly, fast your team was standing on its last leg, barely able to afford to play. You had lost way more than you should have, but part of that was on you for following his advice. “I fear you might be a bad luck charm, Captain,” you teased solemnly. “How could you be so cruel, Darlin’?” Shanks said, dramatically placing his hand over his heart. He was also lucky he was cute. He may be a dumbass at times, but he was a cute one.

“Well, Darling, just look in front of you.” You gestured to the dwindling amount of coins keeping you in the game. His frown literally turned upside down. “I like it when you call me Darlin’.” You gave him a daring look. “Then earn it. Be quiet while I fix this mess.” “Yes, ma’am.”

To his credit, Shanks had managed to stay quiet for two rounds while you made a comeback. Then, you made the mistake of initiating a side conversation with him between hands, and you fell victim to his charm and brown eyes once more. To make matters worse, the sun was on its last legs of the night, and the golden hour’s light painted him like a god. It wasn’t fair. How could you not stare?

You were too sober to be thinking like that.

He paused, looking to you as if he was waiting for an answer — you didn’t even know what he had said. You held his gaze for a second too long; it nearly felt like you were drowning; you couldn’t think. A cough from across the table brought you back to reality, but that wasn’t too much better. Shanks was close, too close, too far in your personal space.

It was too much. Feeling his body heat, hearing him breathe, his scent surrounding you. God, the way he smelled, [DESCRIBE???? Maybe alcohol and sea salt, and a third secret thing], it was intoxicating. You needed a break. 

Slamming back the rest of your drink, you passed the glass over to Shanks, telling him to get you more. “Yes, M’lady,” he said, complying quickly. You rolled your eyes but bit back a smile.

~~~~~~~

The only times you had made any advancement were when Shanks left to get you another drink, but every time he returned you lost your focus. Each time he’d come back, he would sit closer and closer to you until you were pressed up against each other. Alcohol itself made your body run hot, but being that close to him had been setting you ablaze — a distinction you chose not to make. 

Feeling his every move and hearing his every breath did more to throw you off than any comment had. On more than one occasion, you had sent him off so you could breathe right for a moment. But all that alcohol was starting to catch up to you. Your head was fuzzy, which made the game harder to follow, even if Shanks’s fingers hadn’t been accidentally brushing against your thigh. The first time he had done it, you tensed up, so he leaned in to ask if you were okay, directly in your ear. Needless to say, you sent him away again, but that was a double edged sword.

As you drank, you cared less and less about the game, opting to humor the captain more and more. A part of you was shocked that you had managed to stay in for so long when you had been playing like shit. What you didn’t know was how there had been outside interference keeping you afloat, but even if you had known, you couldn’t have brought yourself to care. Shanks had taken it upon himself to match your level of intoxication because “you were a team,” something that’d made you giggle when he’d said it. Inside jokes that wouldn’t make sense to anyone, sober or otherwise, started to be developed between the two of you. 

The last time you had sent him out for refills you knew he’d gotten distracted. Faint sounds of music started to make its way over to the cartable. Following minutes behind the sound, Shanks stumbled slightly on his way over to you. He, very haphazardly, set two half empty glasses — no doubt spilt on his way over — onto the table from behind you before he used your shoulder for support.

“Hey, Doll, wanna dance?” The man whispered into your ear — well, “whisper” was a relative term, anyone in a ten-foot radius could hear him. You grinned up at him at the offer.

“Yeah, get away from us. You’re gross,” Yasopp said, his smirk growing wider when he received the exact same glare from both of you at the same time. 

Opting to ignore the comment any further, you craned your head up to look at the man now above you. “I don’t know why, but I gotta feeling you’re a bad dancer.” “I don’t think I can prove you wrong,” Shanks admitted. “’S okay, I kinda hate dancing.” You spun around to face him, still looking up. 

“But as long as it gets us away from this sorry excuse of an audience, I’d be happy to,” you continued, emphasizing the jab. Shanks pulled you up, wearing a broad smile that matched your own. A hint of mischief twinkled in his eyes. 

“Plenty of other things we could do ‘sides dance,” he said, offering his hand and pulling you to your feet. Someone at the table gagged at the comment. You sucked in your lips to stop yourself from laughing. Instead, you chose to make the situation worse. “We know a lotta ‘bout that, don’t we?” You pointlessly adjusted Shanks’ collar as you spoke. 

Shanks decided to fully milk the situation and take it one step further. “Wanna refresher?” He said, swiping hair out of your face. You only wished you didn’t have your back to the table to see the reactions, but the shouting to get a room satisfied you enough. The compliant finally broke the dam, and both you and the captain burst out into laughter, creating a bit more space in between.

“Bye guys. Thanks for keeping us in the game,” you winked. You might be drunk, but you had noticed a hand slip a couple of berries into your pile moments before Shanks returned, and while they thought you weren’t looking. The rest of it you had put together. You turned back to grab the fresh, half-empty drinks that had just been sat down, then you ran back to catch up with vibrant redhead.

“They’re insufferable,” Yasopp complained in an exaggerating tone once you were far enough away. He was not so secretly happy that the meddling had been effective. 

“What they are is idiots,” Hongo grumbled into his cards. There were several comments in agreement before the matter was dropped and the card game resumed.

~~~~~~~

On your way out from the card table, Shanks realized that you had yet to meet everyone on his crew and took it upon himself to introduce you to every person he could track down. For at least the past hour, you had been making the rounds, learning names and promptly forgetting them. All while drunk, so a great first impression. But you couldn’t be bothered to care.

There were also plenty of people that you had met before, but each time you were introduced to a familiar face, you acted as if you had never seen them in your life. If they didn’t pick up on the act themselves, the look you gave them was enough to get them to play along. He was so excited to have you meet everyone, and you weren’t going to dampen that by revealing you’d talked to at least a third of his men.

As the alcohol flowed, the two of you had gotten closer and closer. It was in how you found yourself leaning into him as you sat or how he’d mindlessly swing his arm around you while talking. After a while, you both decided to plant it by the fire. 

At some point, you had ended up sitting in his lap. How you had gotten there, you weren’t entirely sure, but it was comfortable, so you didn’t mind, and judging from the way he held you, neither did he. PDA had never bothered you all that much. In your eyes, if someone didn’t want to see it, they didn’t have to look.

You and Shanks exchanged stories. You weren’t sure what, but something had prompted you to open up about your past again, this time the good parts. You’d seen it before, but Shanks truly was a natural-born storyteller. He recounted some of his favorite and greatest adventures in a way that had you hanging onto every word — and not just because he was the one speaking.

On occasion, people would stop by to talk. It surprised you how common it was for someone to strike up a conversation with you as you sat perched on their captain’s lap. It also confused you every time, but you didn’t really mind. When it happened, Shanks would rest his chin atop your head, and his arm would tighten a little around your waist. He enjoyed watching you talk with his crew, almost like you belonged.

Once your cups ran bone dry, you made a move to stand but were quickly pulled right back onto Shanks’ lap. Before you could scold him or complain, he’d asked (instructed) someone nearby to get you refills. “That’s an abuse of power,” you said, and he grinned down at you. “Perks of being captain,” he said and booped your nose, bringing a smile to your face. Even inebriated, you saw through what he was doing; he wanted you to stay. But you left it alone — you also didn’t want the moment to end.

His trick had worked for several more rounds until the night had grown colder and darker, and suddenly, your little spot by the fires wasn’t so private anymore. You stood up out of the blue. In an attempt to stop yourself from falling, you grabbed onto Shanks’ head for support, which, naturally, caused the man to look up at you with a laugh on his lips. The tilt of his head almost threw you off balance.

“Careful now,” Shanks warned. You giggled at his concern. “I’m the carefullest,” you informed him, speech slurred. You tried to downplay the stumble you’d made taking a step back. Whatever you had been drinking had hit you harder than you had expected, you weren’t even sure what glass you were on. The last time you had been this sloshed had ended with you getting taken off the street, but you knew you were safe this time. For the first time in years you felt comfortable with where you were and didn’t feel the need to stay on edge.

“Come on, Darling,” you drawled out, extending your hand. “Let’s go exploring.”

~~~~~~~

The first place you decided to explore was over by the alcohol. You claimed that it was crucial for hydration on your quest as you gleefully snagged a few bottles of sake, three to be exact, before running off.

Shanks, who had been going one-for-one with you despite having a much higher tolerance, decided he had some real catching up to do. He grabbed an opened, but most full bottle (probably for the “reasonable drinkers” among the Red Hairs) and polished it off. Whatever it was had been much stronger than standard sake, but he appreciated the burn down his throat. Plus, once it hit him, you’d be even. The captain returned the now-empty bottle to where he’d found it and raced after you, quickly catching up.

“Where we going, Doll?” Shanks asked in amusement as you stood still in the middle of the beach. You started spinning around, searching for something. “I don’t know. But I’ll know it when I see it.” 

It took a little bit of wandering for you to find a place you approved of, but Shanks happily watched your every move. Around a bend and out of sight of the ship and crews was where you had decided to stay. You sunk the bottles you had snagged into the sand for safekeeping before rethinking and grabbing one out. 

With your teeth, you uncorked the bottle, but before the bottle reached your lips, you stopped with a pout. “What’s wrong?” Shanks questioned, mirroring your expression. In the time it took you to find a place, the drink he’d consumed beforehand had reached his veins. “I gotta pee,” you said, frown deepening, only for it soon to be replaced with a look of determination. “Gonna go piss. Be right back.” On your way past him, you shoved the opened bottle into the redhead’s chest prior to disappearing into the tree line.

Shanks laughed and shook his head, taking a swig of what you’d passed him. This was standard sake. Granting you further privacy, he turned to the sea. Salt air ran through his hair as he looked out at the open water. Somehow, his mind circled back to you — it was confusing how it always seemed to do that as of late. He had already accepted the fact that he liked you, but the extent remained unknown and unexplored. Days had passed since his realization, and the emperor still had no fucking clue what to do about it. For now, all he could do was live in the moment and see what was to come, and for that, he took another long drink. 

Soon enough, you came rushing back to him, wearing a smile that could take a man out. Not slowing down, you ran directly into Shanks at full speed. Unexpectedly, you wrapped your arms around his torso and dug your chin into his chest to look up at him. "I don't think I've told you yet, but thank you." Sincerity sparked in your eyes.

He looked down at your face, unsure of what he should do. You had taken the man by surprise, and that was not an easy thing to do. Then, further throwing off his game, you buried your face into his chest.

You deeply inhaled the scent of the man who had captured more of your mind than you'd willingly admit; you never wanted to forget that smell. With time apart, it would be inevitable, but you wanted to cling onto the memory as long as you could — you were just greedy like that.

Before Shanks' brain could catch up to how you had your arms around him, you took a step back. As if it had been no big deal when he was sure that what had just happened would be permanently etched into his mind. What were you doing to him?

You pulled the bottle from the redhead's hand, realizing that a significant amount of the alcohol was missing. "You drank half of it," you frowned. The pouty complaint finally snapped him out of it. Shanks grinned. “Sorry, Doll, ya took too long." That hadn't been the case; it had functioned as more of a distraction from questions he could not answer than anything. 

You scrunched up your nose in response, more playful than anything, but you still spun on your heel and went off to the water. His laugh rang out from behind you, and you covered the smile it brought with it by bringing the mouth of the bottle to your lips.

After a long swig, you looked out at the scene in front of you. Really looking at it for the first time. Wow. You stared in awe at the moon and how it reflected in the water. It felt so familiar. The way that the stars danced on the broken mirror of the water’s surface was stunning. You had a strong urge to get closer.

Temporarily setting down the sake, you kicked off your shoes and rolled your pants up for good measure. Grabbing the large bottle by the neck, you walked over to where the tide met the beach. The waves lapped over your feet, barely cresting the tops; the water was beckoning you in.

Slowly, you chased the ebbing tide. As you progressed further into the sea, it amazed you at just how clear the water was, well, had been before you kicked up sand walking. From behind, you felt Shanks approaching. He had preemptively removed his signature sword and cloak before joining you, not wanting it to become waterlogged.

You took one last sip of the drink, then extended your arm backwards, eyes not leaving the water. "Want any?" His fingers brushed against yours as he accepted the offer, and you pretended to yourself that the shiver it sent up your spine had been from the wind. The two of you stood side by side in silence.

Shanks had been trying his best not to stare at you, but under this light, it was difficult. It was difficult for him in general, but there was something unique about the glow of the moon and the way the water reflected its light back onto you that was mesmerizing.

"What?" You questioned with a smile after catching him looking. "'S nothing," he tried to dismiss. "Gotta be something. But 's 'right, you don't gotta tell me." You peeled your eyes off of him, returning them to the sea.

"Can't 'member the las' time I saw someone so 'cited 'bout the sea," Shanks admitted. The copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed had him dropping more syllables than usual. "Ya lived in a costal town. 'T's gotcha so int'rested now?" [1]

"I tended to avoid ports and beaches where I could. In my mind, sea's where the Marines are. I've missed it a lot, I grew up on the sea." You had been more honest with him over the past two weeks than you had been with anyone in years, possibly your entire life. But it felt natural. You knew you were going to miss him, deeply. Both of those things scared the ever living shit out of you. 

There were too many people you missed, starting over time and time again was the hardest thing you have ever done. The first time you'd thought a lot about giving up entirely. You couldn't intentionally put yourself through that again. 

But, you were letting yourself have this one night. For once you weren't going to let yourself worry about the consequences.

Turning your head from him, you blinked away the threat of tears before you grinned at him. "Almost drowned a couple times cause I'd go to the beach unsupervised like a dumbass. I was a menace as a child."

"You can be a menace now," he teased, thinking about how you were so completely and blissfully unaware of the turmoil you had stirred within him. 

You laughed, wholeheartedly. "Fair enough." You started walking backwards, further into the depths of the sea. A hint of mischief sparkled in your eyes, drawing him in. "I'd like to think I'm a bit smarter now. Still, my hard work paid off. You up for a game of chicken?" You pointed to a large, oncoming wave, and without waiting for an answer, you fell down into the sea.

Shanks had followed your finger and saw what you had. Instantly, the man plopped down next to you, unintentionally splashing you and grinning as an apology. The water was nearing your shoulders but only met the bottom of his ribs. He might be too tall for this. You watched the wave closely and became delighted when you realized that it would stay tall enough to completely cover the redhead. 

When the time came, neither of you so much as blinked. The wave crashed into you both, the surge of water having nearly a sobering effect. Spitting out the seawater from your mouth, you laughed with your whole body. It was dumb, but it was fun. You checked on Shanks to see water streaming down his face as he blinked it away. He beamed down at you. “I believe we call that a tie,” he said slowly to enunciate clearly. “That we do,” you conceded happily, holding his gaze.

Then, something happened, and the atmosphere shifted. It was no longer playful like it had been. The way you looked at each other had changed. You were suddenly a lot more aware of his proximity, and your tongue flicked out to moisten your lips. Shanks’ eyes followed the action but stayed in place. When he managed to move his focus back to your eyes, he found a new hunger lying within them.

This wasn’t going to end well. He knew that it would be a mistake, but damn if it wasn’t one he wanted to make. With the way you were looking at him, it seemed like it was one you wanted to make too. Shanks tried to reason with himself, tried to remind himself how messy things could become, but logic flew out the window when you started to lean in.

Following your lead wasn’t a bad idea, now that he had thought about it.

The permission you had given yourself earlier, along with the way drinking messed with your mind, created the perfect storm for how you had found yourself closing the gap. Shanks was doing the same. Before you could crash into each other like a wave, a tingle went up your spine.

“Oh shit, ‘nother one’s comin’. ‘Ome on, Darl’,” Shanks warned. Both of you scrambled onto the shore. The oncoming wave biting at your ankles as it died out. [2]

“Fuck, we’re all wet now,” you said after a moment, stating the obvious. Waterlogged fabric clung to your bodies, dripping onto the sand. “That — that we are,” Shanks smiled lazily. “I don’t think I thought this through,” you admitted and he laughed.

“Y’know how to build a fire?” You questioned. An idea was forming as you remembered seeing some excellent fuel for a fire on the outskirts of the tree line. Without the warmth of the sun you knew it would take forever for the fabric to dry out and you weren’t willing to stay in wet clothes for that long.

“‘Lieve it or not, I do got some ‘urvival skills,” the captain joked. “Then prove it handsome, help me make a fire.” With that you peeled your drenched clothes from your body, not noticing the way his pupils dilated. [3]

“‘at’s better,” you grinned, left only in your undergarments and the tightly wound bandages Hongo had applied earlier. A part of you knew that the doctor would be annoyed with your antics, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Putting back on your shoes you set off to collect firewood, leaving Shanks behind. The man shook his head, but followed you lead, removing his own wet clothing. [4]

It didn’t take long for the two of you to get a fire started. When the flames were born you laid out the clothes nearby to get them to dry faster. Once that had been done you laid down at the edge of the fire’s warmth, uncaring of how grains of sand clung onto your still damp skin. It was the perfect temperature; not too hot and not too cold. 

Staring up at the stars, you felt Shanks join you. His presence contributing to the sense of calm you felt. For a moment, the two of you existed in silence.

You pointed up at a constellation, “See that right there? That’s the cat riding a horse.” The cat riding a horse? “What?” You smiled and repeated yourself. “Never heard of that one before.” “It’s an original,” you told him, sliding closer so that he could follow where you pointed. “Yep. See? There’s the horse, then you have the little kitty — he’s a true cowboy, got the hat, the boots, and even the lasso.” 

He saw what you were seeing. “Well, I’ll be,” he grinned over at you, an expression you mirrored. “How’d ya find that?”

“Used to do it with my family all the time. Sometimes we’d make stories for ‘em, and that lil guy has epics about him. He’s one of the few I really remember. When I was first out on my own, I tried to use the lasso for navigation, and it worked a little, but I got lost more than I got to where I wanted to that way. Stole a log posse and that fixed the problem, but it hurt my pride. Kinda crazy that I wouldn’t know where to go without one. For all the time I’ve spent staring at the night sky, you’d think I’d at least know where the North Star is, but nope, no fucking clue.”

“’S a bit hard to see right now, but it’s way o’er there, at the edge of the sky,” Shanks answered, pointing to the horizon line where a small dot shone. “We're near’y too low for it. Down 'ere it's a lil bit tricky. There's not one specific point of reference to follow. 'S why most people rely a’mos’ entirely on the lo’ posse. But wayfin’in’ ain't imposs’ble on the Line, ju’ takes some knowledge." [5]

You had turned your head to look at the man, his face wearing a calm expression. It wasn’t fair that he was so pretty — it could be so distracting. Intently, you listened to Shanks as he talked, trying to behave like it was a natural conversation when you could easily get lost in his voice alone. You were realizing that Shanks had a hold on you that you had never seen before. Whatever that meant, you didn't know, and for the night, it didn't matter. 

~~~~~~~

The two of you laid there and talked for what had to have been hours, finding your way into a game of connect the dots. Together, you painted pictures in the stars, creating your own, new, constellations and crazy stories to go with them. You could not recall the last time you had laughed this hard.

In all that time, your liver had been pulling its weight, your brain no longer foggy. Still, you were nowhere near sober, a familiar buzz going strong. Shanks seemed to be in a similar boat; his speech had evened back out, but there was still a slight flush in his cheeks.

At a natural lull in conversation, your eyes wandered the beach, catching on something shiny. Intrigued, you slowly crawled towards it.

Shanks had made the mistake of looking over at the movement in his peripheral and groaned audibly. In next to nothing, you were on all fours. Your ass looked incredible; you were not making this easy for him. The way you didn’t even have to try to have him wrapped around your finger should be concerning to him, but it wasn’t. Instead, he was trying to not let his mind fall into the gutter. Truthfully, he had been trying to for a while, but damn it was hard. Ever since that day on your island, you had been stuck in the back of his mind and fighting for the spotlight. He couldn’t help but be drawn to you. His eyes always found you first — something that hadn’t gone unnoticed by others, but he was fine with their teasing, because that was of you as he would let himself have. Until you made a move, otherwise it was all he could get.

“You good?” You called out, looking back at the noise. Quick on his feet, Shanks made up something believable. "Yeah, just hurt my back." He heard you snort before turning around. "Old man," you teased, and he rolled his eyes. 

"Oooh!" You excitedly exclaimed. "I almost forgot about these." From the sand, you pulled out two bottles of sake before you turned around, heading back to where you were. 

Damnit. Once again, Shanks had made the mistake of looking your way. The bra you wore felt like more of a suggestion than a viable piece of clothing. He had managed to ignore it up until this point, but it was hard to tear his gaze away. Why weren't you walking like a normal person? It felt cruel to do this to a man. The worst part was he doubted you even were aware of what you were doing to him.

When you returned to your spot by him, you passed him a bottle and planted the other nearby back in the sand for safekeeping. Shanks had sat up and became overly concentrated on opening it, but doing a shit job at doing so, you understood why though.

It hand’t been lost on you that his eyes kept slipping to your chest. All night you had been thinking about how you had almost kissed, imagining all the ways it could have gone, the way he’d been looking at you had been involved in nearly all of them. Seeing that desire reciprocated meant that you were now treading in dangerous waters. 

He finally managed to open the bottle, and you witnessed him take the first sip. Only some of the booze had missed his mouth and landed on his chest. Your eyes honed in on the drop as it slid down his bare chest, and your throat went dry.

“You’re a dangerous man.”

Shanks, who assumed he’d imagined your tone, chuckled. “Darlin’, you know who I am.”

“That’s not what I meant.” You hadn’t even meant to say it out loud but now that it was out there, there was no going back. You were too far gone and you knew it. There was no lifeline, no way back out, but that was okay. All you wanted to do was go deeper anyways.

Shanks looked into your eyes and saw the hunger in them. His self-control was crumbling. He knew it wouldn’t be wise; he knew it would complicate things. The last thing he wanted to do was add more to your plate, but when you looked at him like that? He was holding on by a thread, readying himself to let go.

Before anything could happen, approaching voices snapped him out of your heated gaze. Shanks was very much so annoyed that members of his crew picked that moment to show their ugly faces (affectionate). You looked just as annoyed as he was.

When the spell had been broken, your shoulders deflated. You plucked the opened sake from redhead’ hand and took a large gulp before setting it down between the two of you. Then, you crossed your arms over your chest. That was when Shanks became protective (possessive).

“Go away,” the captain said clearly, his voice audibly rougher than it normally was. His words had been for the men but his eyes were firmly locked on you. Your heart rate sped up and for a moment you almost forgot other things existed.

“Guess that’s where they are,” a voice you couldn’t quite pinpoint said under their breath. “Oh gross, they’re doing it, aren’t they?” That voice you did know, and at this rate you might strangle the sniper before you set sail.

Your annoyance did not go unnoticed. A quiet surge of energy filled the air, and it wasn’t their boss’, but they got the message. “Fuck, I was just joking. Now I’m not so sure.” It was rare for you to leverage your will, but lowered inhibition and hot-headed desire did not have you acting rationally. “We’re leaving, sorry Boss, Y/n,” Yasopp announced loudly before he got hit on the head from the sound of it.

Shanks looked at you amused and proud, but you didn’t see it; you were too busy waiting for them to disappear. Eyes affixed on the bend until the voices died out and your privacy had been reinstated. You knew that would be a bad idea, but that had never stopped you before. Once you were in the clear, you turned to Shanks with a smile. You had decided that it was worth the risk, at least for the night. “So, you wanna do it?”

“Do what?” He asked, confused. You just smirked at him in silence, waiting for him to put it together. He grinned devilishly when he figured it out. “Oh?” He moved in a little bit closer. “Wanna use your words, Darlin’, ’n ask me properly?”

“Shanks, wanna fuck me?”

"It'd be my pleasure." With that you crawled over to him, your whole body alight and it wasn't just the drink. "Been wanting to a while now," the redhead continued. You gave him a look of question. "Can you really blame a man?" Shanks said, gesturing at you, his lustful gaze covering the length of your body.

To hide your blush, you grabbed him by the neck and crashed his lips into yours. The familiar taste of him mixed with alcohol overwhelmed your senses and you grew greedy for more. strong taste of alcohol on his lips. Sensing your uptick in urgency, or perhaps just having some of his own, Shanks pulled you into his lap. 

With greed, your hands roamed over his upper body where his skin was entirely exposed — you weren’t sure if you would be content until you had touched every square inch of him.

His arm around your waist anchored you to him while his tongue explored your mouth with familiarity. Hs hand snaked its way up your back, unhooking your bra. As soon as the clasp had been undone, you removed the fabric from your body like it had burned you. You didn’t grant Shanks the chance to appreciate the view he'd unlocked before you pulled him back to your face, chest to chest and lips to lips.

You kissed him like you needed him to survive, like you had been wanting to for days, just like he had. It damn near made him dizzy. He could live like this. 

“Is it bad to say I missed this?” Shanks asked against your mouth when you had pulled back slightly to catch your breath. “I did too,” you admitted, starting to kiss and nip at his neck. He tilted his head, opening up his neck for your advancements. “Then it sounds like we got some lost time to make up for.” You nodded, still on his throat, moving your way up to that one spot below his ear you knew he loved.

“Shit,” he softly cursed when you had hit your mark, pulling you closer. He craved to have your lips back on his. Taking the initiative, he lightly redirected your mouth to his with his hand around your chin. He'd been thinking about this moment and if it would ever happen again for days, there was no way in hell he was going to mess this up. 

While you were lost in his lips, Shanks slipped his hand underneath your underwear get a fistful of your ass. A sound of approval emanated from your mouth and transferred to his. One of your hands gripped at his fiery red hair and the other ran over the large muscles on his back. It took very little encouragement from him for you to move against him. Feeling his need grow underneath you as your lips were locked was exhilarating. You needed more, and so did he.

To your surprise, he stopped your hips, holding you still against him. Concerned, you pulled back and gave him a questioning look. Shanks smiled down at you, “Wait ‘ere a sec.” He gingerly moved you off of his lap and you watched his movements with curiosity. It didn’t take long for you to understand what he was doing.

Shanks had taken his cloak, which had been pooled in a pile, and laid it out flat; a makeshift blanket. Your heart squeezed at the gesture. Regardless of how you had been lying on the beach largely bare skinned for hours, he wanted to give you a barrier from the sand while he fucked you. When he had finished, he motioned down to fabric and looked at you with a lopsided grin. “Thought this might be better,” he said as you rose to your feet. What was he doing to you?

“You’re such a gentleman,” you told him. It was in jest, but you had meant it. As you spoke, you walked to him, dropping your panties along the way. You took pride in the way his eyes darkened further as he looked at you. As soon as you were within reach, Shanks grabbed you by the waist and pulled you flush against his body. 

“I dunno ‘bout that,” he said, his voice deliciously deep. “What ‘m ‘bout to do to ya ain’t very gentleman-y.” He licked his lips in anticipation. The idea made you bite your lower lip. Using his thumb, Shanks coaxed your bottom lip from between your teeth while he firmly grasped your jaw, tilting your head all the way up. Then, he crashed his lips into yours, his tongue not far behind. Reflexively, you threw your arms around his neck, standing on your tippy toes to get closer.

The way Shanks kissed you, so messy and intense, was a direct contrast to the way he softly laid you down. Once you were on your back, he settled between your thighs. The powerful man above you took a moment to appreciate the view. “Always so pretty,” Shanks muttered to himself, but you’d heard it. The way he’d said it, coupled with how he was looking at you, set your body alight and your brain into overdrive. All of your complex thoughts died out the second he touched you again. 

He left a series of sloppy kisses down you neck while his hand trailed roughly up your left thigh. At your hip, where the juncture of your skin and bandages lied, he paused. “Shit,” he cursed into your skin. Reluctantly, Shanks pulled back from your enticing body entirely.

“Y/n,” he said, looking in your eyes. When he used your name it was serious. “This ain’t gonna be too much, is it?” Shanks asked you, his eyes flickering down to the spot where you had gotten shot. You vigorously shook your head. Earlier in the day you had been scolded about “strenuous activities,” but right now, under this man, you didn’t give a fuck what the doctor had said. If you bled out right now it would’ve all been worth it to have had his hands on your body. A heated pool of desire had been brewing in your belly for a while — you needed him. “I’ll be fine,” you breathed out before he could ask you to use your words. “If I don’t do much it’ll be okay.” He didn’t look entirely convinced by your words. 

“Please, I need you.” All of his resolve vanished. How could he say no to a beautiful woman under him, begging?

With a growl and renewed hunger, Shanks descended upon you. You welcomed him eagerly, leaning up to meet his mouth in the middle. Desperate to touch him, a hand of yours worked itself into his vivid red hair, and a small tug was enough to send him into a frenzy. The man might only have one hand, but you would never know it by the way it touched every part of you. Your other hand made the journey down the contours of his chest to his cock. It still wasn’t enough — it never was with this man. 

Finally, he reached between your legs and a small smirk formed on his lips at what he found. “Oh lord,” he said, encouraging you to spread your thighs further with a nudge of his elbow. You were dripping. “Is that all for me?” His long fingers dipping into where you wanted him most, but only for a moment.

“Shanks, you know the answer,” you whined, followed quickly by a groan when he brought his fingertips to his mouth.

“Mmhmm,” he said in both confirmation and as a reaction to how you tasted. “Doesn’t change the fact that I wanna hear it.” 

““Yes! It’s for you! Please!” You were at your limit, your pride was now gone. You’d do or say anything he asked at this point.

You watched him entranced as he freed himself from his underwear. Shanks grinned down at you and gave his hardened cock a couple of pumps, lining himself up with you, but he held back. “What’s for me, Doll?” If he didn’t start fucking you soon you might lose your mind.

“All of it! Me! I don’t know! I just. Need you—oh.” Apparently you had the right answer, because you were cut off by a moan when he sunk himself into you. Before you had adjusted to the stretch, your legs had locked themselves around his waist and your hands found his broad back. Shanks slowly rocked into you while you got reacquainted with his size. He watched your face closely, monitoring your reaction. When you opened your eyes and gave the slightest nod, he really started moving.

The way he was fucking you told you haw much he had been desperately wanting this too. That just made you even more turned on. What had started as gentle turned into something more wild, he was taking what he wanted and you were wanting more. 

Shanks had taken it upon himself to adjust the angle of your hips and your eyes rolled back when he nailed into the spot that had you seeing stars. In the isolation, your moans were unrestrained and loud, the climbed in pitch and volume as you approached the edge, egging him on. Shanks was just as vocal, his heavy breathing, praises about how good you felt, and appreciative groans.

The lewd sounds and the overwhelming sensations were becoming too much and you came without warning. You were always so beautiful when you came, the captain thought to himself. Shanks continued to fuck you through your high. You clawed at his back, nails biting into his skin, needing something, anything, to keep you grounded. He let out a hiss when you reopened a nearly healed scab you had accidentally given him days before, but it only pushed him further. A few more thrusts before he pulled out and came over your stomach, breathing heavily.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out after a moment. Shanks laid down next to you. “Holy shit,” he agreed, his breathing still ragged. How could he forget this feeling? Was it new? Fuck if he knew. 

You were still in too much of a high to think about the implications of what had just happened, all you knew is that he fucked you like no one else had before and you were going to miss it. 

Regaining his composure, Shanks reached over and grabbed his shirt. “You ‘kay?” He asked as he started to wipe clean the mess between your thighs. “Better than,” you said, eyes shut in bliss. He laughed and moved to remove his cum from you, some of the liquid had seeped int the bandages, but he did what he could.

“Gonna walk weird in the morning if that’s what you’re askin’, but ’s ‘kay. Got an excuse anyway.” You told him wearing a big, loopy smile as hormones overpowered your mind. “What’s that?” He asked, rising to rinse his shirt off in the ocean. “Haven’t done this much exercise in years. Been a long while since I picked up a sword. Everywhere ‘ready hurt.”

“Don’t forget ya went swimmin’ too,” Shanks reminded you as he laid his shirt out by the dwindling fire. “Yeah, but I did that ‘nyways.” He had no idea that you regularly went swimming, learning that made him curious about what else he didn’t know.

“Can ya grab those?” You asked him as he passed by your panties. “Don’t want sand up my ass if I can help it.” God, he had missed talking to you. “Good goal,” he said, complying with your request before lying back down next to you on the edge of the cloak

Shanks pulled you into him and you let him. The both of you internally praying that you hadn’t just catastrophically messed things up, but deep down knowing that you almost certainly did. For the moment, however, nothing else mattered.

thank you for reading!! i hope you enjoyed it 💕

~~~~~~

end a/n: there wasn’t supposed to be any smut in this but i was possessed or something i don't know, anyways i can make things messier this way so yay!!!

Lowkey think he only likes “captain” in terms of role play and not irl remember he is the most diplomatic yonko by farrrrrrr

tags: @screw-real-life-i-pick-fandoms @eravariety

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It’s because it was an AU thing but I literally only had that drawn out and now you get some context at least:

In this universe Sonic is an assassin/bounty hunter/whatever you wanna call a guy that is hired to specifically to kill other Entities. He meets Shadow when they run into each other because they’re both following the same Avatar. Then they do the normal canon sonadow thing where the first interaction they have always ends with them fighting and beating the shit out of each other. And then they kinda calm down but then Shadow has a similar moment from the beginning of the IDW Sonic comics where he gets absolutely pissed that Sonic managed to distract him from catching the bad guy and zooms away before the two have another chance to speak again.

Here Shadow is a GUN field agent except in this universe GUN isn’t really military and it’s more focused on not only investigating (like the Magnus Institute) but also actively dealing with the Entities. Which sounds great except remember how I said they aren’t military well actually they kinda are because “dealing” with Entities and Avatars just means: throw it in the high-security prison that is guarded by other various Avarars that all work for GUN because it means they don’t have to get thrown in prison. So GUN is kinda like The Magnus Institute + Section 31 working together. So actually I guess it’s like the SCP Foundation.

One day Shadow goes into work and Sonic and there and I’m not really sure on what I’m gonna do in the plot to make him end up there (like maybe he’s undercover and just using GUN to get to his next target or maybe GUN does the “hey we’re gonna throw you in jail if you don’t agree to work for us” idk again not sure yet) but now he’s working with Shadow because they still need to catch that Avatar.

So now we’re sorta caught up, they’re at Club Rouge (and I realized I didn’t specify which Entity she serves in my drawing of her but people who guessed the Stranger ding ding ding here have some sonadow) because Sonic and Shadow need to kinda interrogate Surge and Amy, who are associated with the Slaughter. They have a band called Poison Rose and it’s basically just Grifter’s Bone but they perform rock music instead. And are also probably dating.

Anyway the Big Case™️ Sonic and Shadow are working on is investigating a bunch of spooky murders and they’re pretty sure whoever’s behind them is a Slaughter avatar. But not specifically Amy and Surge☝️ They’re kinda “allowed” to perform the Music That Makes You Die because GUN also has like an “informant” group of avatars they can rely on. These avatars don’t work for GUN, but they agree to chill out on the spooky stuff if it means they don’t get arrested for spooky crimes. So for Poison Rose, “chilling out” on the spooky stuff means that they have to force people to wear earplugs while they perform, which wasn’t specifically stated in MAG 42 if that works or not, not really sure of the magic rules of the Music That Makes You Die phenomena but yeah they gotta do that and probably some other stuff so GUN doesn’t arrest them. Like maybe no swearing or something lol.

Okay gonna stop there before this gets even longer explaining my AU because this was supposed to be just a normal sketch post but whoops.

Oh also I made a playlist for the kind of music Poison Rose performs but it was made private because I didn’t want anyone to stumble across it and be like “pshhhh this dumb person who makes public playlists of their AU that no one knows about what a loser” (me when I make up completely unrealistic scenarios in my head) but now here’s a post explaining that part of my AU so that person can’t make fun of me anymore

[bunnis-monsters]

What about a princess bunny-hybrid! reader (chubby like always) that has a secret romantic affair with a wolf-hybrid knight?

Nothing too original lmao but.... Maybe NSFW involved, please?

NSFW

warning: dubcon, somno, breeding, pregnancy

You had always been taken care of with a tender hand, your wolf!hybrid knight never letting you feel alone or afraid for even a second.

He absolutely adored you, that was clear to anyone that watched him interact with you for more than a minute… but unfortunately for your poor knight, you were oblivious to his romantic affections.

That was until the day your knight went into rut. Usually, he locked himself away from the world, not wanting to harm anyone… especially you.

But this time he had been on guard duty, staying by your side constantly due to a recent assassination attempt.

So when he watched over you sleeping, defenseless body as he stroked his fat cock, knotting his hand, he couldn’t help but gently press his tip to your tongue that poked out of you mouth.

It was straight up sinful. Knights were supposed to protect the purity of their princess and make sure they remained untainted… but here he was, using your thighs to get off as you snoozed peacefully.

It wasn’t long before that wasn’t enough. Your knight watched you like a predator watched its prey.

But you weren’t afraid. Your fluffy bunny ears twitched happily every time you saw him. After all, the two of you had been close since childhood.

“H-hey, you sure this is okay?”

Your knight licked your neck, your bottom lifted in the air and cotton tail wagging furiously as his cock rubbed against your bunny cunt.

“Of course it is, princess… just… trust me okay..?”

He panted, his tail swaying as he pressed against your tight hole. “Be a good girl for me, I always take care of you, don’t I?”

That was the first time he sunk his cock into your pretty pussy, starting off your love affair.

You’d think as a knight he would already be protective enough, but it only increased tenfold now that the two of you were mates.

He was able to keep it a secret for a while, excusing the issue of scenting you by saying it was for protection, and mating you in secret.

It got a bit harder when your belly started to swell with his pups and all you wanted to do was nest and be mated.

“Mmm!!”

He sighed as you tugged on his shirt, your chubby cheeks puffed out. His hand immediately moved to rest on your swollen belly as he began to groom you.

“What is it, my princess?”

You only whined at him some more, pulling him to your nest. These days he had been spoiling you rotten, unable to leave his precious mate upset in the slightest.

“Wanna mate…”

Your fluffy bunny ears twitches as you tried to get into a position so he could mount you, but lying on your belly wasn’t an option.

He quickly grabbed you by the hips, laying you on your side. “Shh, shh, careful now, my princess… you’re carrying our pups, okay?”

The feeling of his fingers slipping into your fat cunt made your cotton tail wag furiously, and his own tail began to thump against the bed.

“That feels good, princess? Sweet girl getting all wet got me, huh?”

Being stretched out just enough for his cock to slip into you made your body shudder. If he could, your mate would keep you on his knot all day…

Soft whimpers left your lips as he tried to be gentle with you, the tight grip on his hips telling you how much he was restraining himself from pounding into your sweet pussy.

Your scent was so intense now that you were pregnant, he couldn’t help knotting you within minutes. If anyone knew how often he had the princess of their kingdom blubbering in pleasure as he bounces you on his knot, they’d be shocked.

His claw circled your swollen belly. In reality, he feared his pups may be persecuted once they were born due to him not being of royal blood…

“My princess… I love you more than anything, you know… but some people wouldn’t want us to be together.”

The fog keeping your mind fuzzy cleared at his words, and your eyes twitched nervously. “Why? I love you, you’re my mate…”

You were too innocent, unaware of the implications of being impregnated by a commoner like him.

“I am, my princess… but they want to take you away from me. They are beginning to become suspicious of your growing belly and our close relationship…”

When tears began to fall down your chubby cheeks, he cursed under his breath. He felt terrible for being so selfish, putting you in harms way because he wanted something he wasn’t supposed to have… you.

“N-no, I wanna stay with you! You’re all I know…”

As you cried and sniffled, he licked your cheek before pulling you closer to him.

“Shh, shh… oh my love, don’t you know I am your knight? No need for years, they can never take you away from me. I will fight for our love until my body gives out.”

He sat up, causing you to whine and reach for him. “My love, if you want us to stay together, we must leave before your pregnancy is uncovered.”

Your bunny ears flicked, and you looked up at him with your teary eyes. “Are you asking me to run away with you?”

He pulled you to your feet, helping you stand on your wobbly, post breeding session legs.

“Will you?”

You answered by clinging to him and butting your head against him affectionately. After scooping you up, he covered your soft cheeks in kisses before setting you on your bed.

“Sleep, my dear. I’ll take care of all of the preparations.”

With that, he tucked you in, leaving the room to prepare for your future together.

He would have you, and no one would get in the way of his love for his princess.

After all, a knight was supposed to protect his princess and make sure they remained happy.

And you were happy in his arms…

Part 2?

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @buckoothecow @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @midromiell @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree

[coralaura]

Primadonna

"You say that I'm kinda difficult”

Your father was never a present figure; sometimes, he would see you, give you a pat on the head, and disappear into the darkness of the mansion.

In reality, he vanished for the entire day, especially when the sun set, and the moon greeted the sky. Like all the other inhabitants of the mansion, nighttime was when you were left alone and could wander without anyone noticing or caring.

Every now and then, you’d see Alfred, but he, too, would soon disappear. It didn’t bother you; in fact, it gave you free time, allowing you to take late modeling jobs without anyone asking the typical questions: “Why are you coming home so late?” or “What were you doing outside so late?”

Sometimes, you went out with friends (if you could call them that people you used and who defended you when someone doubted your innocence). Rarely, you stayed in the enormous mansion, but honestly, you didn’t care where you were.

And it wasn’t like they cared about what you did or where you were, so maybe that’s why you didn’t care when Dick left the mansion. When Jason arrived—his unwanted presence and lack of manners—it was annoying, especially when he dared to compare his mother to yours. How dare he compare the two?! Despite that insult, spoken right to your face, you simply smiled. But inside, you were about to beat him senseless, to put that fool in his place for comparing your beloved mother to his and when he died, you cried at the funeral, pretending to be in pain, mourning the loss of a life.

But deep down, you felt nothing for him. Sure, his death was gruesome and ruthless, but it wasn’t like you felt anything beyond antipathy for the poor devil in the coffin. When Tim arrived at the mansion, you couldn’t have cared less. After all, you would only see him for a few weeks before heading off to university, so your interactions were minimal, barely enough to count on one hand.

Alfred saw you off with a smile, though there was a hint of sadness in it. He didn’t try to stop you or convince you not to move out; in fact, he encouraged you to pursue your career, as long as you sent some sign of life a letter or a text message. But let’s be honest, student life was expensive, and as a model, you made little money for just a few hours of work. So, when you had to choose between your studies and a full-time modeling career, the choice was obvious you went with the long-term option and pursued your modeling career. No one was supposed to know. You’d write to Alfred, telling him you were still studying, just to keep him from worrying.

In reality, you could have been in Metropolis, about to step into a photoshoot. But of course, things couldn’t stay perfect forever. Some idiot spotted you and then compared you to Bruce Wayne. And for the first time in years, people seemed to have more than two brain cells because the question immediately popped up all over the internet:

"Is it just me, or do Bruce Wayne and Y/N look alike?"

And unfortunately, they attached your image right next to that billionaire’s. To say that the media explosion and the interview requests for both you and Bruce were the worst possible thing that could happen was an understatement. As headlines and news reports flooded in, you bit your nails in frustration, enraged by your inability to control the situation.

So, when they asked about your parents or if you were a poor orphan, you responded with a warm smile—though deep inside, you were disgusted that you couldn’t just avoid answering or shut those nosy reporters down.

"I have no parents."

Most people, moved by your kind smile and the false tears welling in your eyes, dropped the subject and moved on with their lives. But the press always loved fresh, juicy gossip, especially when it involved Bruce Wayne.

Since your father didn’t comment or give an interview, part of you assumed he either didn’t care or considered it a minor issue his PR team could handle. For a moment, you thought you had dodged this problem. Until you saw him in the middle of a photoshoot—waiting for you to finish so he could talk to you. And, of course, right behind him was his family… or rather, his walking orphanage.

Alfred believed in you. He loved you like a father loves his child. You were practically the normal kid he had always wished Bruce could be so sweet, so innocent. But when he saw your face in the morning paper, next to your father’s, with the full story laid out, for the first time… he felt disappointed in you.

Why would you hide something like this?

Did you not trust him?...

It hurt him, but deep down, he knew you must have had a reason for keeping your modeling career a secret. Maybe his thoughts consumed him for too long because Damian’s voice pulled him back to reality.

“What are you reading, Pennyworth?"

“It seems the press has discovered the connection between Master Bruce and Master Y/N.”

Damian frowned in confusion. He had never heard of you. Taking the newspaper from Alfred’s hands, he scanned the headline and the full story, noting your features and how similar you looked to his father. The picture they used of you was… bold, striking. He wondered if you were really family, but Alfred had called you "Master Y/N," so you must have been. Damian didn’t waste time.

He stormed to his father, slamming the newspaper onto his desk, demanding answers. Bruce raised an eyebrow at his behavior until he read the headline and saw your picture. The only thing Bruce thought in that moment was how much you had grown.

How tall were you now?

He picked up the paper, reading the article, noticing how you denied any connection to him or his family. He didn’t understand.

Had he done something to make you reject him?

Thinking about it left a bitter taste in his mouth. The more he read, the more that bitterness spread.

“Who are them, Father?”

Finally, Damian asked. The answer was simple yet so complicated. You were his child, his firstborn, and yet he had no idea how to be a proper father. He had never seen you in the mansion, maybe because he never had time, maybe because he felt guilty, knowing he could never raise a normal child. He could only raise someone to become a vigilante.

"They are your siblings."

And that was the beginning of the end of your modeling career. Because, in the end, it was only natural for your father to crave control, both as Bruce and as Batman. It was something you had inherited from him.

When you saw your father there, standing in the middle of your shoot, clearly annoyed that you had noticed him and yet continued with your session, you knew he would eventually step in. Still, you wanted to push his patience, to see how long he could endure before leaving. But you hadn’t counted on your manager asking you to stop the session to talk to him instead. You sighed. He was just doing his job, though a part of you couldn’t help but glare at him, hating that he was wasting your time.

"What is it, Ethan?"

You didn’t even acknowledge Bruce. Instead, you spoke to your manager, Ethan, who forced a tense smile, silently begging you to be respectful.

"Bruce Wayne is here to see you."

He emphasized the last name, almost as if reminding you of your place beneath the great Wayne name. Not that he knew the truth, that Bruce’s blood ran through your veins and that your striking resemblance was nothing but shared genetics.

"Mr. Wayne, Mr. Grayson, and company, what brings you here?"

You didn’t bother greeting them. You recognized a few faces, but most were either forgotten or simply unknown to you. And honestly, you didn’t care.

"Y/N, we need to talk."

Your father's deep voice and condescending gaze turned to you, hating that he spoke to you that way, as if you were a child, when in reality you were more than him, more than any of them, you were Y/N, the person that everyone would pay for because at some point you would look at them or simply greet them, there were people who would kill for a simple touch from you.You hid your displeasure in the mask that you always wore on your face that was difficult to remove, the one that had buried itself in your face and had taken root until you simply couldn't get it off, at least not until you were alone and no one could see your true and unpleasant personality that eclipsed your cute face and false golden boy personality.

You thought about the possibility of being rude to them, after all it's not like they could prove that you were something of theirs, you still had your mother's last name and they had never seen you with the Waynes until now, besides, who could blame you? Being rude was your privilege for being a model and also being attractive, it would be your first time being rude to someone, besides, everyone knew you, you were so kind that the ones who would end up being reproached for things would be the Waynes, so you decided.

“I don’t want to and if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do”

For the first time, your father stopped looking at you with that condescending look and in its place there was something you couldn’t identify. Anger? Indignation? Frustration? Surprise? You didn’t know and honestly you didn’t care, you were surely the first or at least one of the few people who says no to your father’s face and in front of so many people, that thought made you smile to yourself, it was the satisfaction and pride of making that cold expression of your father go away.

“But it's always someone else's fault”

[foolinafable]

squeeze you in

SYNOPSIS: Viktor barely has the time, but he makes it for you PAIRING: Viktor x reader WORDCOUNT: 5.2K TAGS: S1 Arcane, set around Act 1 and before Act 2, 5 year age gap, assuming arcane uses weekdays and seasons. Fem pronouns towards the end NOTES: spent all weekend writing this, hope you all enjoy. try not to mind any editing errors

This was decidedly a bad idea. Wandering the halls of the academy at night wasn’t dangerous, even with the recent attack from the undercity, that's if you could even really call it an attack. To you, it seems to be children getting involved in things they shouldn’t. You could remember them now, the swirls of brown, red and blue running along the roofs of Piltover after the explosion in the apartments of the academy. While many around you felt fear, all you saw were children. Sure, they looked only a few years your junior, but even Heimerdinger tells you that you are only on the cusp of adulthood, still shadowed by childish tendencies. You suppose that he is correct; twenty is only one year off nineteen, and that age is considered a teenager despite its adult allowances. 

You take a deep breath as your hand curls around the handle to Heimerdinger's office, unsure as to why you feel so nervous. It’s not as if you're stealing anything but rather retrieving it. You had foolishly left behind your notebook during your meeting with him when it had been interrupted by the council having an impromptu meeting, something you are sure had something to do with Talis. You needed it for a meeting the next morning with another professor about your dissertation, your last piece of work as a student at the academy, and you couldn't go to the meeting without it. Least you look unprepared, surely your job offer as a researcher for the academy could be rescinded if you didn’t appear completely committed.

So, despite your better judgement, your anxiety outweighed it as usual as you slowly opened the door to the dean, your mentor's room. You crept inside, even though nobody was around, afraid even the slightest noise could get you caught snooping after hours. Quickly, you found your notebook on the chair. You had left it opposite Heimerdinger's desk; he preferred it when you told him of your research and studies without the aid of your writings, so you had placed it next to your body on the chair. You picked it up, signing in relief that this was as easy as you hoped, when another notebook caught your attention, one that certainly wasn't on the desk when you left. Curiousity about getting the better of you as you reach for it, opening it to the first page, eyes widening at the text ‘If found, please return to Jayce Talis'. Your mind quickly remembered an interaction you had overheard in this very office earlier that day.

You were walking the path towards Heimerdinger's office, only this time it was daytime, the sun was out despite the slight winter chill warming anyone in its path. You slowed as you got towards your mentor's office, frowning at the sound of voices coming from inside. Did you get the time wrong? You wondered, looking down at your watch, showing that you were, in fact, on time. Your hands are sweaty now, anxiety crawling at the idea of interrupting, deciding to stay outside for a few moments to calm down.

“Why can’t I read it?” An exacerbated voice rang out, his accent making your face feel hot

“That Talis’ work was dangerous; the explosions in the city were proof of that; you don’t need to be involved, Viktor”, Heimerdinger's voice rang out, proud as always

“I hardly see how simply reading what he was working on is such a bad thing. I thought the greatest scientific ventures were the ones that bent the rules of the institution.” The man Viktor, you assume, tries to manoeuvre the conversation to his favour, but Heimerdinger is seemingly having none of it. Moving closer to where you are by the door as if to get the boy out of his office, you quickly knock on the door, worried that he would open the door and see you eavesdropping. Both voices stop at the sound of the knock, and Heimerdinger quickly opens the door. You awkwardly smile at the dean, eyes rising to meet the amber ones of the other body occupying the room.

“Can I come back later?” You twiddle your fingers, nervousness wracking your body at interrupting whatever this is

“No, no, come in”, Heimerdinger exclaims, pulling you by the hand into his office, yelping at the sudden contact as he continues to speak. “We were done here anyways”, his eyes solely on Viktor, who seemed to have mellowed out your presence, quickly giving his goodbyes before leaving the room, closing it behind him.

So this was what the man was interested in, what he was forbidden from reading. You tap your fingers on the book cover before quickly placing your notebook on top of it, drawing your bottom lip into your mouth with your teeth as you quickly depart from the office, might as well make all your worries worthwhile. 

—

It wasn’t until later the next day you saw the man you were looking for; it was early afternoon, and you were packing up after having lunch when a head of unruly brown hair caught your eye, sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, coffee in one hand sandwich in the other. Grabbing Jayces book, which you had procured the night before, you quickly made your way towards the man before you lost your cool. Unceremoniously dropping the book in front of the man whose eyes darted from you to the book, mouth opening and closing in clear shock. 

“I hope whatever is in there is worth it,” you muttered, adjusting your bag on your shoulder before turning to leave.

“I-how?” Viktor called out, but you only replied with a cheeky smile, finger covering your mouth in secrecy as you walked away, thinking that to be the only interaction you would have with your mentor's other protege when his voice called out to you, not so far behind

“Wait” 

You stood stock still as he approached quicker than you would’ve thought given his cane, but you suppose it was a silly thought that an ailment could stop a man on a mission. Once he catches up with you, he continues to walk, so you join him, slightly confused as to what he may now want.

“Have you read it?” he asks. 

“It would be a lie to say I don't know of its content,” you replied, noticing his smile at your remark, eyes sparkling with wonder.

“What did you think?”

“I think...” You trail off, trying to come up with the right words as you both round a corner. “What he wants to do is revolutionary...” Your words scamper off slightly as you notice his eyes on the side of your face.

“But” he reads your mind.

“But”, you echo “I am unsure if he completely knows what he is doing or how he plans to do it”, trying to be as vague as possible due to the students scattered all around “I wrote some notes”, you gesture to the book “Things I thought could be helpful, I assume that's why you wanted it, to learn” 

“And how did you get it?” he wonders aloud. “Last time I checked, Heimerdinger wasn't giving out illegal independent research to anyone”, he said with a smile on his face.

“Let's just say it certainly wasn't by asking nicely,” you tease, matching his grin with one of your own “Well, you should probably go read and hide that before Heimerdinger sends out a search party for it.”

“I probably should” Viktor smiles as he turns back the way the two of you came, the book held tightly in his unoccupied hand. 

Continuing to walk the way you had been, you couldn’t help but feel relief at the fact that the book was now out of hands and the man, Viktor, seemed just as keen to keep this a secret as you did, even if you did spend all night essentially peer reviewing Jayce Talis’ work, unfortunately, your need to stay out of trouble with your superiors greatly outweighed your want to indulge in what he and assumedly Viktor was planning, you could only hope that your words you had spent all night working on where a help instead of a hindrance. You especially wanted to know how Viktor would take the words you wrote specifically for him at the front of the book: 

‘The greatest scientific ventures are the ones that bend the rules of the institution’   

—     

One of the benefits of being the dean's newest protege was that the academy gave you your lab, a small space just for you, it even had your name on a metal plaque on the door, probably due to the academy's narcissism, thinking that they would keep you even after your graduation, not that they were wrong. A fact that slightly irritated you. 

You didn’t usually get many visitors, just Heimerdinger, to see what you were working on, but those meetings were usually scheduled so he could ensure you were tallying in your lab and not at one of your usual haunts like the library. So you couldn’t help but jump at the sound of a knock on your door, eyebrows furrowed as you called out to whoever stood outside your door.

“Come in!” 

Your confusion lingered as Viktor walked in. It had only been a few days since you’d given him Jayce’s book, and from what you had heard, the two were now employed to continue Jayce’s studies non-illegally this time, being funded by Councilwoman Medarda, which they have named ‘Hextech’

“You’re not an easy woman to get ahold of”, Viktor claims as he takes a seat at your desk “I have been stopping by your room for a few days, but you were never in”, he continues, eyes piercing as he takes in the view of you, stood by another desk filled with colanders and Bunsen burners

“You sound like Heimerdinger when you say that” You smiled slightly in truth, scoffing at the face he made, clearly not appreciative of your parallel “What?” you laugh “he has said similar things on various occasions”

“I understand why,” he remarked.

“I spend a lot of time in the library, researching. Especially at the moment with final deadlines coming in, as I’m sure you remember,” he hummed at your explanation “And it’s not as if I’m a professor with allocated office hours, I don't need to be here,” you tell him passively looking back at your work at the table, deciding to turn off the flame not going to get any worthwhile work done until he's gone.

“So what can I do for you?” you asked when the man still sat in silence, seemingly comfortable to just watch you work he blinked, taken away from wherever he went upon registering your words.

“Oh well, I just wanted to thank you, Jayce, as well, for getting his book and your notes, they were more than helpful with working through the kinks in his theory- instrumental really to the breakthrough”, he admitted somewhat bashfully, stumbling over his words a little not that you noticed nervousness crawling up your spine at his approval of your words.

“Oh, um, you're welcome. I mean, a fresh pair of eyes is always helpful..” you murmur, unsure of yourself now as he stares at you, not daring to make eye contact, knowing it will only make your nerves worse.

“We were wondering, Jayce and I, if you would read some of our other research in the future, help us out. We would give out any references in the future for any work you do after study” he speaks delicately, soft and slow and if worried, he would scare you off like a child being caught doing something they shouldn’t. Your heart seems to slow from its anxious thumping as you contemplate his offer.

“I don't see why not”, you ponder absentmindedly, but your mind is already made up.

“Really?” he asked, though he didn’t sound shocked, more like he was trying to egg more words out of you.

“If you can find me, that is” You smile, the nerves falling away from you as he laughs a little 

“I’ll go tell Jayce the good news; he's going to be over the moon. You didn’t hear it from me, but he has always wanted to work with you. He said something about loving your approach in an article about the arcane:” You looked at the man again, but he simply walked out of the room, not sparing you another word. You had honestly forgotten that your last article had been published, and the fact that academics that you knew had read it and enjoyed it made a smile appear on your face, maybe this was going to be better than you had thought. 

—

A routine had been established this past few months, as winter made way for spring, you had found yourself in a comfortable pattern with the boys.

Once a week, on a Wednesday, you would spend the entire day in your lab working, and at some point, Jayce or Viktor would drop by with some work for you to look through and maybe a comment or two on things you had written the week before. These meetings were usually brief as they quickly needed to get back to work, so you would spend hours going through papers, tweaking diagrams, and sometimes even trekking to the library for a book that might help them. It wouldn’t be until the sun had made way for the moon in the sky that you would be done, taking the work down several corridors and stairs to get to their workspace, where they would still be working to drop them off. The two would then call it time for a break, so the three of you would scamper your way to the cafeteria for a change of scenery while you all ate the food you packed for lunch but had yet to get to.  

Today, however, Viktor seemed hellbent on breaking the schedule the three of you had unknowingly created. He had appeared at your lab, maybe a little earlier than he or Jayce usually decided to grace you with their presences, but it was of no matter to you, honestly, the earlier, the better, as it meant you may finish earlier than the hour of the wolf. He did bring a stack of papers with him, but instead of dropping them at your desk, sharing a few complimentary words, and then leaving, he dropped the work at your desk and then sat himself in the new chair he and Jayce had procured that was placed on the other side of your desk so they would have somewhere to sit, not that either of them had used it up until now. 

“You alright?” you ask, grabbing the top paper from the pile, you could immediately tell this was Jayce’s as the handwriting is much neater and the use of a very inky pen you quickly grabbed your pink pen and started to read the words on the page only to look up and give the man a sarcastic glower at his lack of words to which he simply smiled, not even the slightest bit disheartened by your look. 

“Jayce is off for the day, something to do with his sponsorship with the Kirammans. Told me to take the day off” he shuffled in the chair, attempting to get comfy as his hand grabbed at your notebook, deciding that he would read through some of your work for once

“And you have decided to spend your time here? Doing more work?” you questioned, though not paying the man much attention, mumbling to yourself on the words on the page, completely unphased by Viktor’s lack of decorum, it’s not as if it’s the first time he got bored and decided to read it. “Would mixing it with metal only make it more unstable?” you mutter, not expecting an answer “As an alloy, maybe, or would that make it worse..” you tap the pen on your cheek in thought before scrambling to write your thoughts in the margins of Jayce’s research

“I don’t see reading through your essays and research papers as work”, he admits, a shameless smile gracing his face as he watched you mumble to yourself “More of a palate cleanser, really”

“I just thought that a rest day was supposed to be resting, like having time away from work?” you tried to put the idea of leaving and maybe getting some sleep into the man’s head, his eyebags were becoming a permanent feature on his face like a shadow he cannot be rid of. 

“Quite hypocritical, don’t you think?” a teasing look on his face at your words “Is today not also your day off?” he questioned even though he knew the answer. You simply rolled your eyes, trying to smile as he barked out a laugh.

While today was your break from lessons, it had quickly become anything but a rest day after you took the boys up on their offer, there was no way that you could complete your last year's work and help them if you didn’t give up your rest day- so undoubtedly you were a hypocrite, much to your chagrin. 

“Just because I give up my days off to help you doesn’t mean you need to do the same,” you tell him, not wanting the man to feel obligated to help you.

“Maybe I want to?”

Well, you can’t argue with that.

The two of them work on your rather small desk with an ease you wouldn’t expect, but you find yourself very comfortable working alongside him and somehow, the work seems to go by faster.

Maybe it was because you wouldn’t need to spend countless hours trying to figure out what chicken scratch either of them had written on your own. Instead, a second pair of eyes, Viktor’s eyes, made the process go by much faster, albeit with some laughter at what on earth either of them had written. You had even managed a trip to the library, something you rarely had time for, usually going to pick up books for the boys the day after, or Jayce would go the day after with a slip of paper. Not only did you and Viktor have the time to pick up some books, but you also went through and verified if they could have something useful inside. 

The sun was still shining bright in the sky when you and Viktor had dropped everything off at his lab, still a few hours left of the day. It was an uncharacteristically nice day outside, certainly warmer than you would’ve expected from the spring in Piltover, so the two of you decided to eat your packed lunches outside on a bench within the academy grounds, both too tired to bother going exploring the city for somewhere nicer. 

“Now you have helped me, do you think I could convince you to go home and get some sleep, the bags under your eyes are also large enough to be considered their entities” You smiled, laughing quietly at the man sitting next to you as he coughed back his food, clearly not expecting your smartmouth  

“As if you’re one to talk”, he quipped as you let out a shocked gasp, though quickly matching his smile

“How about I promise to go back to my apartments and take a breather if you go to yours?” you propositioned. Honestly, some time in bed sounded heavenly

“Only if I walk you back, I don’t want you to sneak back to your office, I hear you can often find yourself in places you aren’t supposed to”, he joked

“It’s a deal then” Both of you chose not to comment on the matching grins on your faces. 

—   

When Heimerdinger said your last year of study would be the hardest, you believed him. But never did you imagine you could be so swamped.

 This past week, you had corralled a table in the library to yourself, spending more time sitting in the uncomfortable seat than anywhere else. It was deadline season, and to say it was hitting you hard was an understatement. No matter how well prepared you thought you were, the workload was unimaginable, leaving you with barely enough time to sleep or eat. Jayce had joked that during his last year, he essentially became a book within the library, and while it was funny at the time now, you understood why, feeling more and more like an encyclopedia by the day. 

Luckily for you, your self-imprisonment was soon coming to an end; all you needed to do was read through your coursework one more time, and it would all be done, your last piece of work as a student of the academy. You would dwell on its bittersweetness another time as you read through another paragraph, completely absorbed in your work, completely missing the familiar sounds of footsteps and the tapping of a cane coming your way.

“I swear I need to get a tracker on you” Your head shot up at the sound of Viktor’s voice

“I’m not that hard to find”, you complain as he sits himself down in the chair closest to yours, cane leaning against the table 

“I don’t think you get much of a say on the matter, your not the one who has to aimlessly wander around the academy” 

“Whatever”, you glower, attempting to get back to your reading when his hand reaches out to grab yours. you jolt, looking up as he intertwines your fingers

“How are you doing be honest” he holds eye contact as his thumb rubs at your index fingers, stopping just after he knuckle before traveling back up 

You smile “I’m drowning” 

he hums “I can tell” You slump rather unceremoniously into your chair, eyes closed as he continues to rub affectionately at your knuckle, a half-hearted attempt to seep all the tension away from you “Have you got much more to do?” he questions voice soft 

“No, just need to read through it once more, then it should be good to submit” You let out a large breath of annoyance, wishing you were finished, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep

“Then you’re done?” he probes 

“Completly done, well, until my contract starts as a researcher in the summer”, you clarify, eyes opening slightly, not missing the slight smile on his face, looking down when you heard a rustling of papers only to see Viktor’s non-occupied hand grabbing at your work.

“Take a break; I’ll give it the last read-through. Knowing you, it’s already perfect.” his soft yet stern voice didn’t leave much room for argument, so you closed your eyes again, only for a moment letting the constant feel of his thumb lull you into a calm you had never known. 

It was only, however, when you heard the unmistakable voice of Jayce that your eyes opened again, you sent a sheepish smile his way at the admittance that you had, in fact, fallen asleep, trying not to laugh too loudly at his remarks on how much Viktor must have been boring you, if only he knew.

—

Since you had officially handed in all your work and your classes had finished, you now found yourself with a lot of free time, a prospect Viktor and Jayce very much enjoyed. Coming every morning to your door to walk you to their lab for a day of work. Not that you minded, but before Hextech, your plans for the summer would’ve been reading or doing whatever Heimerdinger would see as befitting, so the work was beneficial to you, stopping you from going extensional on what it is you want to dedicate your academic life to, especially since you had no ideas, other than those to help the boys revolutionalise hextech, their current program with the hexgates you were sure was due a breakthrough any day. 

You found yourself sat at Jayces desk, him gone for the afternoon schmoozing with some counsellors to try and get as much funding off them as he could. You found yourself tapping along to the melody of the song Viktor had put on, the only time you could have music was when Jayce was out, as he claimed it was too stimulating for him. Working exactly where the man had left off, creating a small prototype of the hexgate, one of many that were to be used in tests planned for later in the week. You barely batted an eye as Viktor appeared next to you, used to him appearing closer than most would

“It’s looking good”, he gestured to the model in your hand you simply hummed in response, adding the final gear, shoulders slumping when you put it down. 

“How many do we need again?” you ask, hands rubbing at the tension in your neck from huddling to get a good look at what you were doing.

“Too many”, you groaned at his sheepish admittance. It was silent for a moment or so before he spoke again, an unknown quality to his voice that made you look up at him in confusion. 

“Jayce and I were thinking..” he trailed off slightly 

“Oh no”, you joked, smiling when you caught the amusement now on his face 

“I know, how scary”, he smirked “Anyway, as you’re coming back as a scientist for the academy, we thought, why not make your place with us permanent.”

“Really?” you questioned, do they honestly want you to help them all the time with the work that could improve lives and be the history pages? 

“I don’t think we’d be able to function without you now” he admitted 

“I’d love to,” you tell him smiling 

“Good”, the relief flooded the man “Because we already asked and got the go-ahead from Heimerdinger”, he confessed

“That confident?” you teased

“Obviously” 

—

You thought you had done a good job at pretending that today was just any other day, but clearly, as Viktor sat next to you with a cupcake with a candle in it - you had been wrong.

“How did you know today was my birthday? I didn’t tell anyone?” you asked, astonished. 

“Heimerdinger told me”, he revealed after you stared at him, clearly pleased with himself 

“How does that end up in conversation?” you wonder

“Don’t be so nosey”, he teases, hand coming to grab at your nose 

“Says the one who went to our mentor to ask about my personal life”, you accused, but the large smile on your face showed no malice in your words

“Touche”, he forfeited this round, lighting the candle on the cake before pushing it back into your face you simply sent him a look of victory before blowing out the candle, he quickly disposed of the candle before giving you the cake to eat  

“Got any big plans for twenty-one?” he wondered aloud 

“Work with you” You shrugged your shoulders, laughing lightly as you dug into your birthday cake

“A noble pursuit, I’m sure” It was silent for a short while as you finished your cake, but you didn’t make a move to speak, knowing the look on his face, he wasn’t done “Not going out celebrating? With a boyfriend, maybe?” 

“No, no boyfriend, never had the time for any of that. Heimerdinger told me that when a woman dedicates her life to academia, she does not bother dreaming of a family or a relationship, and I agree not many would be able to handle it. Why do you ask?” you admit

“Don’t want to be stepping on anyone’s toes is all”, he speaks nonachanlty despite his words being anything but  

“Well, your not”, you promise, lacing a hand with his

“Good” he brings your hand up his lips

—

You both had way too much stuff. The prospect of moving in together while still exciting the amount of work you had left made you gnaw at your bottom lip. You had a lot of help from Jayce and a rather reluctant Caitlyn to get the boxes into your and Viktor’s new home, and while she commented on its quaintness, it was certainly bigger than anywhere the two of you had ever dreamt of living in

“A family home”, Heimerdinger had teased the two of you when you told him, and you suppose he was right. You didn’t think much about the two spare rooms when you had purchased the house, thinking they would probably be offices, but Viktor absolute reluctance and disdain at your idea to turn one of the rooms into a library after looking at the sheer amount of books the two of you owned made you think differently, it wouldn’t take a smart man to know what he wanted to do with them. 

“Stop that” Viktor pulled your bottom lip away from your teeth, an annoyed glint in his eyes, clearly thinking about how many times he had told you those same words you simply kissed his thumb, making him smile at your affection

“There’s so much to do”, you inwardly groaned as you rested your head on his shoulder, making sure not to put too much of your weight on him

“We have the week; don’t need to do it all tonight”, he reminds you, giving a kiss on the top of your head

“Come on, I’ve already started in our room” You straighten up and follow him into your room looking at the picture frames he had already put around the room, one was placed on his bedside table, a photo Jayce had taken at your graduation with your cap and gown arms warped around Viktor a huge smile, all teeth as you look at the camera while Viktor is smiling proudly looking at you, smiling at the photo you move on to the frame he placed on the dresser, a piece of paper framed within it your hands grip the frame looking at the familiar words you had written:

‘The greatest scientific ventures are the ones that bend the rules of the institution’  

You turned to the man who was busying himself with a box filled with jumpers you had never seen him wear 

“You kept this?” you smile as he turns around, noticing his bashful expression at being caught. 

“You holding it, arent you?” he asked, trying to drive the conversation 

“Why,” you asked, not giving up so easily even as he caressed your face in an attempt to distract you groaning, he relented, he could not give you what you wanted, ever so spoiled by him you were

“At first, it was to remind me that it was all worth it” 

“At first?” you echo

“Then I kept it because it reminded me of you, of the future I want us to have, and that will only be possible if I kept working, even if it means going beyond the council and what they want.” 

“I was only shadowing your view, what you had said to Heimerdinger, something I wasn’t even supposed to hear”, you remind him.

“Well, I’m glad you did”, he admits “And I’m even more glad that you stole Jayces book because bending the rules is what brought us together”, his hand not on his cane gripped at your hip.  

“I’m glad I did, too”, you confirm your words with a kiss.

[hoe4hotchner]

hi! can i request a hotch fic with shy!reader? like the reader has been in the BAU for a while and is known to be quiet and they start trying to open more to the team (specifically hotch) and the reader jokingly keeps calling hotch “oldman” or “grandpa” and like they get rlly close and the team wonders if their dating or not? thank you!! :))

Old man | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader CW: Fluff, Alcohol consumption somewhere in the middle, one kiss. WC: 1.3k

           Working at the BAU had been a whirlwind for you. You’d joined the team a little over a year ago, but even after all this time, you still found yourself feeling quiet and reserved around your colleagues. While they were all kind and welcoming, it wasn’t easy for you to open up, especially when everyone else seemed so close-knit. You were known as the team’s quiet one - efficient and hardworking, but not particularly outspoken.

           Your interactions with Hotch, however, had started to shift things. At first, you admired him from afar, his calm and composed demeanor had made you both nervous and intrigued. He was older, wiser, and had an air of authority that made you hesitate to speak up. But slowly, something began to change.

           It started with small things. Hotch would catch your eye during meetings, offering a slight nod or a barely-there smile when you shared an idea. You noticed how he’d linger after team briefings, giving you subtle encouragement in his own way, telling you that your insights were valuable. It was these small moments that made you feel more comfortable, and a little braver around him.

           Then, one day after a particularly grueling case, you found yourself standing by the coffee machine with Hotch. You were both exhausted, the silence between you comforting. You took a sip of your coffee and glanced at him, noticing how the lines around his eyes seemed a little deeper, the exhaustion written on his face.

           “You alright… old man?” you teased quietly, barely looking up from your cup as you spoke.

           For a moment, you weren’t sure how he’d take it, but when you glanced up, Hotch was smiling - an actual, soft smile that made something in your chest flutter.

           “Old man?” he repeated, with an amused arch of his brow.

           You shrugged, suppressing a grin. “You’ve been at this a lot longer than the rest of us, I mean except for Rossi,” you said, feeling a surge of bravery. “Just calling it like I see it.”

           Hotch chuckled, a sound you rarely heard from him. “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, his voice warm. “Though I don’t feel that old.”

           It was a small exchange, but it opened the floodgates. After that, the teasing became a regular occurrence. You’d throw in a playful “old man” here and there, and Hotch would respond with a dry comment about your youth and energy. The team noticed, of course they did. Morgan would give you side glances, smirking whenever you slipped the nickname into conversation, while JJ and Emily exchanged looks with each other.

           The banter became a way for you to feel more at ease, not just with Hotch but with the whole team. But there was something special about the way you and Hotch interacted, a certain closeness that wasn’t there with anyone else. He’d seek you out in quieter moments, asking how you were doing, offering advice on cases or just sharing a cup of coffee during the rare downtime. You started to open up more, sharing little pieces of yourself that you’d kept hidden for so long.

           Then the team began to wonder. You could see it in the way they observed the two of you. During briefings, when Hotch would speak directly to you, his voice a little softer than usual, you’d catch Morgan’s raised eyebrows or Rossi’s grin. JJ had asked you once, out of the blue, if you were seeing anyone. When you’d said no, she’d hummed in response, her eyes darting briefly to Hotch’s office.

           But you weren’t dating. At least, not in any official capacity. Sure, there were moments that felt like something more - like when Hotch would brush your hand as you passed files to each other or the way his gaze lingered on you a little longer than necessary when you were deep in thought. But neither of you had acknowledged it, not yet.

           One evening after a case, the team had gone out for drinks. You were sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of wine, when Hotch slid into the seat beside you. You smiled at him, feeling the familiar warmth of his presence, and leaned in slightly.

           “Old man, out at a bar? Didn’t think you had it in you,” you teased, bumping your shoulder against his.

           He chuckled softly, his dark eyes gleaming in the dim light. “I’m full of surprises,” he said, his voice was low.

           You sipped your wine, feeling bolder than usual, perhaps from the alcohol, or maybe just because it was Hotch. “Guess I’ll have to stick around long enough to see them,” you replied, your tone playful but with a hint of something more.

           Hotch turned his head slightly, his gaze catching yours. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, something that made your heart skip a beat. He leaned in just a fraction, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’d like that.”

           Your breath hitched, your pulse quickening as you stared at him. There it was again - that tension, the unspoken connection between the two of you that was growing stronger by the day. You smiled softly, the warmth in your chest spreading.

           The team noticed. Over the next few weeks, the teasing from Morgan and Emily grew more frequent. “So… you and Hotch, huh?” Morgan had asked one afternoon when you were both working late.

           You’d blushed furiously, stammering something about it just being a joke, that you and Hotch were just colleagues, but Morgan didn’t seem convinced. “Sure, whatever you say, kid,” he’d said with a wink, leaving you flustered.

           But the truth was, even you weren’t sure anymore. You and Hotch had grown close - closer than you’d ever imagined when you first joined the BAU. He made you feel seen, appreciated, and more comfortable in your own skin. And as much as you teased him about the age gap, there was something about Hotch that made you feel safe, cherished.

           One evening, after the rest of the team had gone home, you found yourself in Hotch’s office, helping him sort through case files. The room was quiet, the only sound was the rustling of papers and the occasional hum of the air conditioning. You’d just handed him a report when his fingers brushed against yours, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm.

           You looked up, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt charged, heavy with something unspoken. Hotch's gaze softened, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “We’re not… you know, dating, are we?”

           The question hung in the air momentarily, and you immediately regretted asking it. But then Hotch smiled a soft, almost tender smile that made your heart race.

           “Not yet,” he replied, his voice low and steady. “But I wouldn’t mind if we were.”

           Your breath caught in your throat, and you stared at him, wide-eyed. He stepped closer, his fingers grazing your hand, and you felt the familiar warmth of his touch.

           “Well… what are you waiting for, old man?” you teased, your voice shaking slightly with nervousness and excitement.

           Hotch chuckled, leaning in just a little closer. “I guess I’ll just have to stop being so old-fashioned.”

           And with that, he closed the gap between you, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It was gentle, sweet, and everything you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting for. When he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, you smiled, your heart pounding in your chest.

           “So… we’re dating now?” you asked softly, your fingers curling around his.

           He nodded, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “Looks like it.”

           And from that moment on, the team didn’t have to wonder anymore.

[rositaslabyrinth]

Don’t open that drawer - Dean W

Dean x fem!reader

While patching yourself up after a rough hunt, you find yourself in Dean’s room late at night—only to discover a drawer he forgot to close.

Content warning ; canon typical violence, emotional vulnerability, smut, oral (f!receiving) but nothing to crazy, dean being a sweet coward <33

Word count ; 1,511

Minors please do not interact !!

You never meant to find them.

It was late—past midnight—and the Bunker was unusually quiet. Sam had already gone to bed, the echoes of his footsteps fading down the hall hours ago. You’d stayed up patching your jacket, a fresh tear sliced through the arm from the hunt earlier that day. Dean had said he’d help, but he never came back from the garage.

You figured he was brooding. He did that, after a close call. And tonight had been closer than usual.

The kitchen light flickered as you passed, mug in hand. You made your way to Dean’s room instead—mostly because it was closer than yours, and partly because you were tired of pretending that wasn’t a habit.

He always left the door unlocked.

The room smelled like him—leather, old cologne, whiskey, something earthy underneath. You set your mug on his nightstand and dropped into the chair by his desk, rubbing your sore arm. His flannel was slung over the back of it. You pulled it on without thinking.

That’s when you noticed the drawer.

The bottom right. Slightly ajar. Not enough to catch the eye unless you were sitting this close.

You didn’t mean to open it.

But there was a curl of paper sticking out.

At first you thought it was one of his old case notes, shoved out of sight. But the handwriting was neater. More intentional. And then you saw your name.

Your name. On the top of the page. Centered. Underlined.

Your chest tightened. You knew you should stop. But your fingers moved on their own.

“You had blood on your cheek tonight. You didn’t even notice. I wanted to wipe it off, but I didn’t. I just watched you laugh with Sam like we hadn’t almost died. I think that’s what kills me. That after everything, you still know how to laugh. You make the worst parts of this job feel less like hell. And God, I want to tell you that. But I never do. So I’m writing it down, instead.”

Your hands trembled. You unfolded another.

“I had a dream about you. You were wearing one of my shirts, standing in the library. You didn’t say anything. You just looked at me like you already knew. And for once, I didn’t feel like running.”

There were more. Dozens. Some torn out of notebooks, some written on scraps of diner napkins, lined legal pads, the backs of maps. Your name on every single one.

And they weren’t just sweet, or romantic. Some were angry. Frustrated. Devastated.

You walked into the room today and smiled at me like I was someone worth loving.

“I don’t know what the hell I did to deserve that, but I know I’ll never be brave enough to say what I should. So this’ll sit in a drawer. Just like the others.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until a drop hit the page.

“Hey.”

You jumped, heart thudding. You hadn’t heard the door.

Dean stood in the doorway, keys in hand, jaw clenched, green eyes locked on the drawer you’d pulled open.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t rush to snatch the papers away.

He just said, quietly, “You weren’t supposed to read those.”

“I know,” you said. Your voice cracked. “I didn’t mean to. I just… I saw my name.”

Dean stepped inside slowly, closing the door behind him. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he leaned back against it like he needed something to hold him up.

“I wrote them when I couldn’t say it out loud,” he admitted. “Didn’t think anyone would ever see them. Especially not you.”

“Why not?”

He looked down. “Because if you knew how long I’ve felt this way, you’d either hate me for keeping it quiet or pity me for being too much of a coward to do anything about it.”

You stood, slowly, letter still in your hand.

“You’re not a coward.”

Dean gave a soft, broken laugh. “You don’t know how many times I almost told you. How many nights I sat right there—” he nodded toward the desk—“and thought about knocking on your door. But I’d look at you the next day, and you’d smile, and I’d think… if I tell her, she might stop smiling at me like that.”

Your chest ached.

You crossed the room and stopped in front of him. The silence was thick—too full of everything unsaid.

“I never would’ve stopped,” you whispered. “Not ever.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. And all the years of buried emotion hit the surface like a storm breaching a dam.

“God, I’m in love with you,” he said. “I’ve been in love with you since you walked into that diner in Nevada with a busted lip and a silver blade and said, ‘You boys need backup?’”

You smiled through the tears. “I remember that. You said, ‘Only if you’ve got whiskey.’”

He huffed a soft laugh. “You had some in your boot.”

“And you smiled at me like you hadn’t done that in years.”

Dean stared at you. “Because I hadn’t.”

You reached for his hand, gently, lacing your fingers with his. “Then stop writing me letters you’ll never send.”

He squeezed your hand like he never wanted to let go. “Can I kiss you now?”

“You’d better.”

When Dean kissed you this time, it wasn’t restrained. It was everything. The hesitation was gone, stripped away by years of closeness, tension, aching want, and love too long buried. It was the kiss of a man who had written you into the quiet spaces of his life, who had bled feelings onto paper because his mouth had failed him too many times.

His hands cupped your jaw, thumbs brushing tears you didn’t remember falling. You melted into him, fingers fisting into the front of his henley like your body finally recognized where it was meant to belong.

The kiss deepened — slow, hot, careful, then not-so-careful.

Dean pulled you flush against him, one hand sliding down to rest at your waist, gripping tight like he couldn’t believe this was real.

You let out a soft, shaky sound into his mouth — something between a gasp and a whimper — and felt his whole body tense in response.

He pulled back just enough to search your face. “Tell me if this is too fast. I mean it.”

“It’s not,” you said. “Dean… I’ve wanted this for so long.”

His expression softened. “Me too.”

He kissed you again — more urgent now, more certain — and walked you back toward the bed. His hands were everywhere, warm and calloused, reverent as they slipped beneath your shirt, memorizing the feel of you like he’d dreamed it more times than he could count.

When your shirt came off, he stared like you were sacred.

“God,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

Your hands trembled when you pulled his shirt over his head. The soft light of the bunker caught the scar across his collarbone, the curve of muscle, the slight freckle near his ribs you’d noticed years ago and never forgotten.

You touched him like the letters — slow and sure and aching. He groaned low in his throat when your palms slid across his chest.

“Lie back,” he said, voice thick. “Let me take care of you.”

You did.

Dean kissed every inch of skin he uncovered — from your collarbone to your stomach, your hips, the inside of your thighs. His hands gripped you like he was terrified you’d vanish if he let go. He kissed like he was still writing to you, but now with his mouth and body — all the things he couldn’t say poured out in sighs and touches.

When his mouth found the place between your legs, you gasped — arching into him, fingers buried in his hair.

“Dean—”

He groaned against you like your voice undid him.

You tried to speak — to tell him how good it felt, how long you’d dreamed about this — but your words fell apart under the heat of his tongue and the rhythm he set. Slow. Devoted. The kind of touch that said I’ve thought about this a hundred different ways, but nothing compares to the real thing.

When you came, it was with a cry of his name, your thighs trembling around his shoulders, your whole body curling in on itself.

He kissed your inner thigh, then crawled back up your body and kissed your lips like he wanted to taste the sound you’d just made.

“Still with me?” he asked, eyes full of warmth and wonder.

You nodded, dazed and smiling. “Still here.”

“Good.” He kissed your forehead. “Because I’m not done.”

Later, when he finally wrapped you in his arms on that old mattress, the letters still sat on the desk. Open. Read. Finally seen.

“I was gonna burn them one day,” he murmured into your hair.

“Don’t,” you whispered. “They’re part of us now.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he said, “You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“I don’t need the drawer anymore.”

Liz talks : GUESS WHOS BACK!! HEYYY did you miss me cause i missed all of you <33 I am so sorry about being away for so long but this app was lowkey draining me, but we should be all good now !! I hope you all enjoy this sweet little thing :))

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To check out my masterlist look at this post !!

[flwrkid14]

Please please please give me tim drake who has always wanted a little brother. Give me tim drake who was so excited to have damian as a little brother. Give me Tim drake who was heartbroken that damian hated him. Give me Tim drake who gave up on his dreams of being the best older brother.

But also give me Tim drake who was so happy when duke came into the family and was happy to meet him. Give me Tim drake who has to experience the awe and admiration Duke has for him because HE is Duke's robin. Give me a Tim drake who FINALLY gets to be the older brother he always wanted to be.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GIVE ME A TM DRAKE WHO TEACHES DUKE HOW TO BE A DRAKE, WHO TEACHES DUKE HOW TO ACT AT GALAS AND INTERACT WITH HIGH SOCIETY LIKE JANET TAUGHT HIM.

(No pressure, I love your work so much)

hi anon !! tysm for the ask and sorry it took me a minute to get to it, but I had so much fun writing this, and this was such a brilliant idea! <3

Tim always wanted a little brother.

Not to boss around or dump chores on—he just liked the idea of it. Someone to look after. Someone to share things with. To protect. He grew up alone in a house full of silence and secrets, and maybe he thought a little brother would make it all feel a little less cold.

So when Damian came into the picture, Tim was excited. Really, genuinely excited. Damian was younger. He was new. He was Tim’s chance to finally be the older brother he’d always wanted to be.

Except Damian… hated him.

From the start. Didn’t even hesitate. It was instant, razor-sharp disdain. Like Tim had done something unspeakable just by existing. Just—rage and rejection and contempt.

And Tim—he didn’t know what to do with that. He tried, at first. But everything he did just seemed to make things worse. So eventually, he stopped trying. He let the silence settle between them again, let the distance become a wall, and then a canyon.

And eventually, it just felt like—he’d never had a little brother at all.

Then Duke joined the family.

Younger than Tim. Bright. Smart. So much potential. And Tim didn’t let himself hope. Didn’t reach.

So he stayed polite. Friendly. Civil. He helped Duke when he asked, guided him when it was needed. But he kept that emotional distance. Just in case. Just in case Duke ended up hating him too.

Except… Duke didn’t.

Instead, Duke started standing by him at events. Letting Tim take the lead. Letting Tim show him the ropes of high society and backhanded condolences.

Tim noticed the way Duke mimicked his posture, his cadence, his etiquette. Like he trusted him.

And something in Tim—hope. It sparked again.

He started softening. Started doting. Just a little. Then more. Checking in. Saving him the good snacks. Making sure he wasn’t left behind in the chaos of everything.

And one day, Duke tells him— “You were my Robin. Not Dick. Not Jason. You. I always looked up to you.”

And that—Tim has to sit down. Because. No one’s ever said that to him. No one’s ever meant it like that. He’d never expected to hear it from anyone, let alone from Duke—the kid he hadn’t let himself hope for.

Duke likes when Tim teaches him how to be a Drake. When Tim smooths his collar and reminds him to arch one eyebrow when a socialite says something snide. Duke notices the difference, too. Damian learns how to be a Wayne. But he learns how to be a Drake.

And Duke thinks he might actually like being a Drake, even more than he would a Wayne, at least. There’s something gentle about it. Something warm.

Tim looks at Duke and thinks: maybe this is what it’s supposed to feel like. Maybe this is what having a little brother feels like.

And it’s not perfect. It’s not how he pictured it when he was ten years old and lonely.

But it’s real.

And he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[yukioos]

shoto is nervous to ask to cuddle with you

shoto wasn’t showered with love when he was a child, only praised when he did exactly what his father wanted him to do. he didn’t have much interaction with his siblings or even his mother to give a simple hug or have a conversation with them. according to his father, hero work was more important, and he wasn’t even a teenager when he had to go to extreme measures to become the best.

he was always training and was never taught or shown real love, too busy to receive it from anyone. the first person he received true love from was you, and yet he was so scared to initiate any act of intimacy, whether it was kissing, hugging, or hand-holding. words of affirmation came easily from him, as he was shown praise for doing well as a child, but he gave you compliments frequently. that was one of the few romantic acts he was good at.

but when shoto began to date you, he never knew what a proper relationship should look like, so he asked the boys in your class for advice.

he walked up to eijiro and stood in front of him with a blank expression, causing the redhead to ask, “‘sup, todoroki? you need anything?”

shoto stated, as his eyes darted back and forth between the man in front of him and the ground, “y/n and i are dating, and i don’t know how to show… love to her.” he paused, staring at eijiro’s widened eyes and a sharp tooth poking out, “i see couples holding each other in movies, normally in a bed or on a couch, is that normal to do with your lover?”

eijiro nodded, “yeah, dude! that’s totally normal, almost all couples do that with each other!” shoto’s eyes widened, and eijiro sighed, “you aren’t worried about it, are you? you don’t have to show pda if you aren’t comfortable with it, just show her love in different ways!”

“no, i want to,” he shook his head, “i want to hold her like that, but i don’t know how to initiate the act.”

eijiro exclaimed, “normally couples cuddle in bed, and there’s a lot of different positions too! one of you can spoon the other, which is where you hold each other, or you can be face to face. there’s a ton of positions, just find out what you wanna do by experimenting. most people cuddle when they’re super comfortable with each other or are resting in bed together, you don’t even have to say anything while doing it, it’s just a really intimate act. don’t feel pressured to do it though, dude!”

shoto nodded and said goodbye to him before retreating to his room, where you lay on his bed, watching television. when you heard the creaking of the door, you smiled and turned your attention from the large screen to him.

you grinned up at him, “hey handsome,” and scooted closer to the wall, patting down the sheets under you.

he hesitatingly walked over and sat down, staring deep into your eyes when you casually kissed his cheek, then his lips, and then his neck all in the span of a second. the tips of his ears turned red and his eyes were widened, how did you do that without a thought? how were you so natural at it?

shoto wanted to feel you, feel the natural warmth radiating off of you, and your body weight comfortably lying on his. he couldn’t wait any longer, and wanted to feel as close to you as possible.

he mumbled, “can i hold you?” and averted his eyes from your intimidating, loving gaze.

you tilted your head and looked into his heterochromic eyes, which were looking down at his sweatpants. you moved your head to get into his sight of view, and smiled, holding his cheek in your hand. he subconsciously moved closer once he felt your touch, and let out a soft sigh.

you then responded, “yeah, sho, you don’t have to ask.” then paused, “you don’t have to be shy around me, you can just do whatever you want. if you want to hold me, you don’t need to ask, it’s okay.”

he nodded and panicked for a second. how was he supposed to initiate the cuddles again? was he supposed to lay out his arms so you could crawl into his grasp?

suddenly, all his worries were swept away once you placed yourself into his arms. you wrapped your arms around his torso, slinging a leg over his. he felt your head lying on his chest, feeling his heart rate pick up and race quicker and quicker. he didn’t know what to do with his arms but remembered a movie once. the boy placed his hand on the girl’s back and rubbed it up and down, so he did as he remembered.

shoto’s mind was clear and calm for the rest of the night, feeling secure as long as he could protect you. he felt so loved, and as if he could show love as well as you do.

yay i love shoto

[leriexoxo]

KISSING 101

Bff! Seungmin x Reader

Tags: smut, first kiss, first time, unprotected sex (i cant help it), lots of kissing, seduction, feelings realization, bestfriends to lovers

Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: It was supposed to be a kissing lesson , just a friend helping his best friend out. What you didn’t know was that no one else’s kisses could be like seungmins, and that automatically switched everything up…

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

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

“Min, I’m serious. I don’t wanna mess this up.”

You sat on the floor, legs crossed, back pressed against the side of your bed as you stared at him—Kim Seungmin, resident menace, relationship cynic, and unfortunately, your best friend.

He was sprawled across your mattress, long legs hanging off the edge, hoodie half-rumpled from how many times he’d rolled his eyes and flopped around like you were torturing him with this whole conversation.

“You really want me to teach you how to kiss,” he said flatly, his voice dipped in disbelief. “Like, actually kiss. Lips. Tongue. That whole deal.”

“Yes.” You hesitated. “I just… I don’t wanna screw it up. He’s cute, and I’m nervous, and if I freeze or, I dunno, bite his nose or something—”

Seungmin snorted. “Bite his nose?”

“I panic!”

He sighed, sitting up, arms resting over his knees. For a moment, he just looked at you—long enough that you started to regret even asking. Then he rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, “This is so weird.”

“I know,” you groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “You don’t have to—”

“—But I will,” he cut in.

You blinked. “Wait, really?”

“I mean, yeah. I’m not gonna let you bomb your first kiss on some random guy who probably wears too much cologne and says ‘vibe check’ unironically.”

A soft laugh escaped you, but your chest was tight. This was Seungmin. Your ride or die. And now you were asking him to kiss you like you were… anyone else.

“Okay,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Seungmin shifted, sliding off the bed to sit in front of you. It was quiet—too quiet—until he cleared his throat and gave you the most serious look you’d ever seen on his face.

“I’m not gonna make this a thing,” he said, like a warning. “We’re not making it weird, alright?”

“Right. Not weird. Totally educational.”

He raised a brow. “Kissing 101 with Professor Kim.”

You laughed nervously, and he didn’t. He was watching you again, eyes flicking down to your mouth for just a second—barely long enough to catch.

“Okay, first—breathe.” His voice had dropped an octave. “You’re tense.”

“I’m literally about to kiss you, of course I’m tense!”

“Fair,” he murmured. Then he leaned in, slow and deliberate. “So I’m gonna go in—just a little. You don’t have to do anything yet. Just follow my lead.”

Your heart was in your throat as he tilted his head, his hand coming up to cup your jaw gently. His touch was careful. Measured. You could feel the heat of him, the scent of his cologne—clean, warm, familiar.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered, so soft you barely heard it.

And then… his lips brushed yours.

It wasn’t a kiss—not fully. Just a featherlight press. Testing. Patient.

He pulled back the tiniest bit, eyes scanning your face.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded, breath shaky.

This time, he closed the distance fully. His mouth met yours, firmer now, and you felt his fingers flex slightly at your jaw. The kiss was slow, almost too slow—each second stretched like he was making sure you absorbed every movement, every shift of his lips against yours.

When your mouth parted slightly, unsure, he made a soft sound in his throat and tilted your face a little more.

“Good,” he whispered against you. “Relax your lips—don’t overthink. Just feel it.”

You mirrored him instinctively, letting your lips follow the rhythm he set—soft, exploratory, unhurried.

Your hands had somehow found their way to his hoodie, clutching it lightly. You didn’t even realize until he broke the kiss, just a few centimeters away, his breath brushing your lips.

“That,” he said, voice husky and quiet, “was your first real kiss.”

You blinked, dazed, still holding onto him.

He let his hand fall away and cleared his throat like he was resetting his entire soul.

“Next lesson’s gonna be about tongue,” he added, glancing away like he wasn’t dying inside. “If you don’t chicken out.”

But neither of you moved.

Neither of you said the part out loud—that something had shifted, cracked open just a little.

But it hung there.

Between you.

Heavy and undeniable.

⸻

You didn’t talk about it.

Not that night, not the next morning, not even after he left your place with a dumb excuse like “I have to go reorganize my playlists.” You both pretended it hadn’t happened—even though it definitely had. Even though your lips still tingled, and every time you touched your face, you could feel the ghost of Seungmin’s mouth there.

It was just a kiss.

Just a favor.

Just a lesson.

Totally normal best friend behavior.

Right?

The next few days were… weird.

Seungmin was still Seungmin—still teasing you, still stealing your fries, still sending you TikToks at 3AM. But there was something different now. Like something was sitting between you, invisible but very present. A pause too long. A glance that lingered. A laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

And maybe you were overthinking it.

Or maybe he was doing the exact same thing.

But neither of you brought it up.

You tried. Once. Sort of.

You’d both been hanging out in your room again, him scrolling through his phone while you fidgeted with the edge of your hoodie. You opened your mouth to say something—you didn’t know what—and then he looked at you and said, “You’ve got that face.”

“What face?”

“The face you make when you’re about to overthink yourself into an aneurysm.”

So you shut your mouth.

And the moment passed.

But it didn’t go away.

It settled—simmering quietly under the surface, waiting.

And then—a few days later—you snapped.

It was late. Too late to be texting anyone but Seungmin. You stared at your phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard for a solid minute before you typed:

you up

His response was instant.

Always. What’s up, panic princess?

You chewed your lip. Then:

I want lesson two

You sent it before you could back out.

The typing dots popped up. Disappeared. Popped up again.

And then—

You’re joking

You rolled your eyes.

Dead serious

This time, the dots stayed.

…be at your place in 10

Your heart plummeted. Spiked. Did a triple backflip. You suddenly regretted everything.

You barely had time to throw on something semi-decent before your doorbell buzzed.

And when you opened the door, Seungmin just stood there, hoodie up, face unreadable.

“You really wanna do this?” he asked, voice low.

You swallowed. Nodded.

His jaw tightened—just for a split second.

“Alright,” he said, stepping inside. “Lesson Two. Let’s make it count.”

And for the first time since you’d known him, he sounded nervous.

“Sit.”

Seungmin’s voice was steady, but his hands were shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie like he didn’t trust what they’d do if he let them hang free.

You sat down on your bed, heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. You tucked your legs under you, back straight, trying to look composed even though your stomach was doing somersaults.

Seungmin stayed standing for a second too long. Like he was deciding whether to bolt or go through with it. And then, with a quiet sigh, he moved to sit in front of you again—closer this time. Too close.

He rubbed his hands together like he was warming up for a test. “Okay. So, Lesson Two.”

You nodded, unsure if you were breathing right.

“We’re covering tongue today,” he said flatly, like he was announcing the weather. “Pacing. Pressure. How to read the other person. And, y’know… not slobber all over them.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “Great. Just what I needed. Anti-slobber tactics.”

But he didn’t laugh this time.

His eyes met yours, and something in his expression flickered—like he was feeling it, too, whether he wanted to or not.

“You sure you’re good?” he asked, voice quieter now. “Because once we do this… it’s gonna be hard to pretend it doesn’t mean anything.”

You paused. Swallowed. “I trust you.”

That got him. You saw it in the way he blinked—once, slow. Like your words knocked the wind out of him.

He nodded once. “Okay.”

Then, slowly—so slowly—he leaned in again.

You expected it to be like last time. Soft. Easy.

It wasn’t.

This kiss was different the second it started. Still gentle—but deeper. More sure. His mouth moved against yours with that same maddening control, but this time, there was a thread of tension under it. Strained. Taut. Like he was holding back something.

You felt it when his hand came up again, cupping your cheek with a featherlight touch. His thumb brushed along your jaw as he shifted closer, chest almost brushing yours.

“Open your mouth a little,” he murmured against your lips. “Let me lead, yeah?”

You did as he said, nerves buzzing like live wires.

And then you felt it—his tongue, tentative at first, just a soft flick against yours. Testing. Inviting. He pulled back slightly, giving you space to follow, and when you did, he let out the quietest sound—half a hum, half a sigh—like he hadn’t expected you to match him so easily.

“Good,” he breathed. “You’re a fast learner.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, tongue gliding slowly against yours—exploring, guiding, teaching. You weren’t just kissing—you were listening to him through every movement, mirroring the way he tilted his head, the way he used just the barest hint of pressure, never too much, never too fast.

It was intoxicating.

He broke the kiss gently, but didn’t move away. His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing a little harder now.

“That’s how you kiss with tongue,” he said, voice husky, still close enough to taste his breath. “Controlled. Intentional. Not messy. You listen to the other person.”

You nodded slowly, dazed. “Got it.”

You were still breathless when he pulled away.

Seungmin’s hand lingered against your jaw for just a second longer than necessary, before he finally dropped it like it burned him. He cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair, and shifted back a bit—not far, just enough to pretend like there was still space between you.

“That’s, uh…” His voice cracked slightly. He tried again. “That’s pretty much it for Lesson Two.”

You could feel your heart pounding. Your lips were still tingling. And somewhere deep in your stomach, something uncoiled. Something bold.

You stared at him for a beat, and he avoided your gaze, blinking down at the floor like it had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the room.

And then, softly:

“Can I try?”

He looked up fast.

“What?”

You wet your lips. “Can I try it again? Initiate this time. I want to see if I learned anything. I mean… if that’s okay.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes—panic? surprise? hope? He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing.

“I—uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly thrown off his axis. “Yeah. I mean. Sure. Yeah. That’s—you can. It’s just a lesson. It’s fine.”

But he didn’t sound fine.

His usual sarcasm was gone, replaced with something unsure, guarded. You could tell—Seungmin was fighting a war in his own head. Trying to stay still. Neutral. Unaffected.

You leaned in slowly, giving him the same caution he’d given you. Testing.

His eyes flickered down to your lips—and this time, they stayed there.

When your mouth brushed his, he inhaled sharply, his body going rigid. But he didn’t stop you.

You kissed him—soft, slow, learning the curve of his mouth, the way he responded when you tilted your head a little, when you brushed your tongue lightly against his.

You felt it—him—tense under your touch. Like he was holding back everything in him not to grab your waist, not to pull you in closer, not to deepen it like he wanted to.

Because this was a lesson, right?

Not a real kiss.

Except it felt real.

Too real.

And when you pulled back, just a little—just enough to breathe—his eyes were still closed, lips parted like he didn’t want it to end.

You whispered, “How’d I do?”

He exhaled shakily. “Dangerously well.”

Your heart skipped.

And then, he opened his eyes, looking right at you.

“This was a mistake,” he said, barely above a whisper.

But he didn’t move away.

Neither did you.

Because even if he said it was a mistake—he wasn’t stopping it.

⸻

You stared at yourself in the mirror.

Lips glossed. Heart pounding. Breath shaky—but this time, not from nerves.

You were thinking about him.

Not your date.

Not the guy waiting for you in the living room with his too-white sneakers and perfectly tousled hair.

You were thinking about Seungmin.

Again.

You shoved the thought away.

This isn’t about him. This is about me. About confidence. About finally doing this.

So you walked out, smile practiced, and let yourself fall into the rhythm of the evening—small talk, laughter, the occasional graze of a hand that should’ve made your stomach flip but… didn’t.

You kept waiting for the click. That moment where your heart would stutter, where your skin would buzz like it had in Seungmin’s room. But it never came.

Still, when the night started winding down, he leaned in, eyes warm and expectant.

And you didn’t pull back.

You let him kiss you.

His lips were soft. His hand found your waist. He moved like he knew what he was doing.

But the second his tongue brushed yours—

Nothing.

No butterflies. No sparks. No breath stolen from your lungs.

Just… static.

You tried to match him. Tried to remember what Seungmin taught you. The rhythm. The pressure. The way he’d murmured “Good. Relax your lips.”

You tried to feel anything.

But it felt like going through the motions of a dance you didn’t want to be performing.

The guy pulled back, smiling. “You’re a really good kisser.”

You blinked. “Oh. Thanks.”

You smiled too, because you were supposed to. Because this was what you’d wanted, wasn’t it?

But inside, your brain was in freefall.

Why didn’t it feel the same?

Why did it feel like I was kissing a stranger when I was trying to recreate something that came from someone I’ve known forever?

You excused yourself shortly after.

And the moment the door shut behind you, you leaned back against it, heart racing for all the wrong reasons.

Because now you knew the truth.

You’d kissed someone else.

But all you could think about was Seungmin.

The way he’d held your face.

The way his breath hitched when you kissed him back.

The way your name had sounded on his lips when he whispered, “Dangerously well.”

And worst of all?

You realized it wasn’t just a lesson.

Not for you.

⸻

You were curled up on the couch, pretending to scroll on your phone while Seungmin half-watched something on TV. Just like old times. Normal. Comfortable.

Except it wasn’t.

Because every time your eyes flicked to his profile, every time you caught a glimpse of his fingers drumming against the couch cushion or the way his lips parted slightly in thought, your chest tightened.

You were trying to be chill. So chill.

But your brain was still stuck on that kiss from two nights ago—and the complete lack of anything it made you feel.

And the one that still haunted you every time you closed your eyes.

Seungmin glanced over suddenly, like he’d caught you staring.

“So,” he said casually, “how’d the date go?”

You stiffened.

He smirked. “You’re making that face again.”

You tried to shrug it off. “It was… fine.”

“Fine?” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not very convincing. You kissed him, right?”

You looked away, heat rushing up your neck. “Yeah.”

“And?”

You didn’t mean to say it.

But it came out before you could stop yourself.

“It wasn’t the same.”

The smirk disappeared. His face stilled. “What?”

You swallowed. “I mean—it was fine, technically. Good, even. But it felt… off. Like I was doing everything right and still nothing clicked. Like I was kissing him but thinking about—”

You cut yourself off.

Shit.

Silence.

Seungmin just stared at you. Eyes unreadable. Chest rising and falling with something you couldn’t name.

You panicked. Backpedaled. “Can I—can I show you?”

His brows furrowed. “Show me what?”

“How I kissed him. I just—I want to compare, I guess. See if I’m crazy or if it really was that different.”

His whole body went still. You could feel the tension suddenly pulsing off him like heat.

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

And then—quietly—“Okay.”

You moved closer. Slowly. Carefully.

Your heart was thudding so hard it hurt.

You leaned in—soft, hesitant—and kissed him. The way you had the guy on the date.

No passion. Just technical. Controlled.

And still—even like this—your body betrayed you.

Because the second your lips met Seungmin’s again, everything tilted.

Your fingers twitched. Your breath hitched. Your lips parted without thinking, already chasing more, instinct pulling you in like gravity.

Seungmin didn’t move at first. But then—he kissed you back.

Just a little.

Just enough to shatter your nerves.

Because the moment your mouths slid together, it was everything.

Warmth.

Electricity.

The pressure you didn’t know you were holding finally releasing.

You gasped against his mouth, overwhelmed by how different it was. How real. How right.

And that’s when it hit you.

The problem hadn’t been the guy.

It was the connection.

And the only one you wanted it with…

Was him.

You pulled back, breathless, lips parted, eyes wide.

Seungmin stared at you like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

Because now you both knew.

This wasn’t about lessons anymore.

And maybe it never was.

⸻

The silence was deafening.

You were still close enough to feel his breath on your lips, the ghost of the kiss hanging between you like a spark that refused to go out. And Seungmin?

He wasn’t moving.

His jaw was clenched so tight, you could see the tension rippling under his skin. His eyes were locked on yours, dark, stormy, confused as hell. Like he was trying to convince himself this hadn’t just happened. That this wasn’t real.

But it was.

And every second you sat there, not saying a word, the weight of it got heavier.

You could feel it in the way his fingers twitched against his knee. In the way his lips stayed parted like he was still tasting you. In the way his chest rose and fell—too fast, too uneven.

Your breath caught.

You could practically see the war happening behind his eyes.

And then—

He lost.

Without a word, without warning, he reached for you.

His hand slid around the back of your neck and he pulled you in—hard, needy, like he’d been holding back for weeks and couldn’t anymore.

His mouth crashed into yours, nothing like the slow, calculated kisses from before.

This one was different.

Feverish. Starved. Real.

His lips were hot and rough against yours, his tongue sweeping in deep, hungry, taking what he wanted without hesitation. He kissed you like he meant it. Like he’d been dying to. Like he’d thought about this—wanted this—dreamed of this every second since Lesson Two.

His hands weren’t teaching anymore.

They were claiming.

One curled at the base of your neck, the other gripping your waist, dragging you closer, like distance itself was offensive. Your body melted against him without question, instinct kicking in, your hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt as your mouths moved together, in sync, like your bodies had always known each other better than your minds did.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t because he wanted to.

It was because he had to.

His forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged, lips swollen.

You could feel his heart pounding through his chest.

And when he spoke, his voice was hoarse, rough, wrecked.

“That—” he rasped, eyes still closed, “—was not a lesson.”

You nodded, unable to speak. Still dazed. Still burning.

“No more pretending,” he said.

You didn’t even argue.

Because you didn’t want to pretend anymore, either.

⸻

You didn’t talk about it.

Not the kiss.

Not the way Seungmin kissed you like he was on the edge of burning alive.

Not the way you kissed him back like you wanted to be the one to set him on fire.

The next morning, he was already in his kitchen when you came down, acting like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t dragged you into him and kissed you senseless on the couch just hours earlier.

“Want toast?” he asked, like his hands hadn’t been on your waist. On your neck. Like his tongue hadn’t been in your mouth.

You blinked. “Sure.”

He nodded. “Cool.”

And that was it.

He didn’t look at you. Not really. Not for longer than a half-second at a time. But his jaw kept clenching. His fingers were tapping the counter like a metronome ticking faster than the silence could fill.

You pretended you didn’t notice.

You pretended the toast was the most interesting thing in the room.

But you could feel it—his eyes on you when he thought you weren’t looking. Heavy. Hot. Confused.

Days passed like that. Tiptoeing. Dancing around the moment like it wasn’t still echoing in every glance, every brush of your arms when you walked too close.

And then—finally—he cracked.

You came over after he texted you and found him in his room, pacing.

“Can we talk?” he asked, voice tight.

You nodded. Heart pounding.

He didn’t meet your eyes.

“That kiss… it shouldn’t have happened.”

Your throat tightened. “Oh.”

“It just—it got out of hand. That was my bad. I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have—” He broke off, swallowing hard. “We’re best friends. You’re—you’re not supposed to be…”

His eyes finally lifted to yours.

And froze.

You’d been sitting cross-legged on his bed, shorts too short, one of his hoodies swallowing your frame. It should’ve been harmless. Should’ve.

But it wasn’t.

Not to him.

You weren’t doing anything. Just breathing. Just being.

But in that moment, Seungmin saw you differently. Felt you differently.

And something inside him snapped.

He stepped closer.

“You’re not supposed to be…” he repeated, voice lower now. Tighter. “So fucking hot.”

Your breath caught.

His eyes dropped to your lips.

He clenched his fists like he was holding himself back with everything he had. “You’re my best friend. You’re not supposed to look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you whispered.

He stared at you—eyes dark, full of conflict, full of want.

“Like you want me to ruin you.”

Your stomach flipped. Heat bloomed low in your belly.

“I don’t want to want this,” he said, each word shaking loose from his throat like it hurt to admit. “But fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

His eyes dropped lower. “About that kiss. About your lips. About the sounds you ma—”

“Seungmin—”

He stepped closer again. “I can’t unsee it. I keep trying to look at you like before. Like just my best friend.”

His voice cracked.

“But all I see now is someone I want to devour.”

You were quiet for a moment.

Seungmin stood in front of you—shoulders tense, chest heaving, eyes blown wide with everything he didn’t want to feel but couldn’t escape.

He’d just said it. All of it.

Every word you’d been too afraid to speak out loud.

And that power? That admission?

It made something in you shift.

You reached for him—slow, deliberate—and placed your hand gently on his chest. Felt the frantic beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“I’m not trying to ruin us,” you said softly. “I don’t want to lose you.”

His jaw flexed. “Then don’t do this.”

“But I haven’t even done anything,” you whispered.

And you watched him break again.

His eyes shut tight like he was trying to will away the image of you sitting there, loose-limbed and unbothered, voice soft and sinful. Like you weren’t right there, fingertips now trailing slowly down the center of his chest.

“Seungmin,” you said, voice lilting, teasing. “You think I want you to ruin me?”

He opened his eyes—barely.

“Maybe I just wanted to know if it was you feeling it too.”

He swallowed hard, backing up half a step, like distance would protect him.

It wouldn’t.

You followed. Just enough.

“You kissed me first,” you reminded him. “And you kissed me like you meant it.”

“Don’t,” he warned, voice a low growl now.

“Why?” you asked, cocking your head. “Because I liked it?”

His breath hitched. You saw it.

“Because I’ve been replaying it in my head every night since?” You leaned in slightly, just enough for your breath to graze his throat. “Because the date kiss was nothing compared to you?”

“Stop,” he hissed, but his hands had curled into fists at his sides. White-knuckled.

You smiled—just the slightest twitch of your lips.

“You don’t get to say all that and expect me to sit here like it didn’t fuck me up, too.”

Then—because you couldn’t help yourself—you reached up and brushed his hair off his forehead, fingers lingering.

“I’m not going to kiss you again,” you whispered. “Not yet.”

Seungmin exhaled, a sound that was half frustration, half relief, all pain.

“But I’m not going to pretend I don’t want to.”

You stepped back. Just one step.

Watched him chase the space you left behind with his eyes, like he hated the distance and needed it all at once.

“Go back to calling me your best friend if you want,” you said softly, voice like a promise and a threat. “But you and I both know it’s not that simple anymore.”

And with that, you turned.

Left him standing there.

⸻

Seungmin was spiraling.

He didn’t show it, of course. On the outside, he was calm, composed—maybe a little quieter than usual. But nothing out of the ordinary.

Except for the way he couldn’t look at you for more than three seconds without losing his grip on reality.

You were ruining him, and you didn’t even seem to realize it.

Or maybe you did.

You had come to his place to stay the weekend like you usually did, nothing out of the ordinary.

You wore his hoodie again that morning. That stupid, oversized hoodie that always used to mean safe and familiar and best friend.

But now?

Now it was just soft fabric stretched over bare legs he couldn’t stop fucking looking at.

You’d bend to grab something off the floor and he’d have to look away so fast his neck cracked.

He found you in the kitchen that afternoon humming to yourself, licking a little bit of jam off your thumb.

And he had to leave the room.

Just left, no explanation.

Because his brain? His brain didn’t see his best friend anymore.

His brain saw you on your knees in that hoodie with nothing underneath, lips slick and inviting, waiting for him to cross the damn line again.

He barely spoke to you that whole day. You noticed.

That night, you cornered him.

“You’re being weird,” you said, standing in the doorway of his room, arms crossed. “You won’t even look at me.”

“I’m not—” He sighed. “I’m trying to keep my distance.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re dangerous now,” he muttered, finally meeting your gaze.

And the look you gave him?

Sweet. Curious. So fucking inviting.

“I’m not trying to mess with you,” you said softly. “I just… I liked what happened. I liked what you said.”

“That’s the problem.”

Your head tilted.

He groaned, rubbing a hand through his hair like he was seconds away from combusting.

“I used to see you as this untouchable little idiot who couldn’t even flirt without blushing,” he muttered.

You smirked. “And now?”

“Now I look at you and all I can think about is pinning you down and making you forget every single lesson we practiced.”

Your breath hitched. You didn’t expect that.

“Seungmin—”

“I dreamt about you last night,” he said, voice suddenly low. Raw. “And I woke up hard as hell and so fucking pissed off because it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

You stared.

He took a step toward you.

“You think it’s funny to tease me like this?” he said, eyes flashing. “Walking around in my clothes, whispering shit to my face, telling me you think about the kiss, then pulling away like you’re not doing anything wrong?”

Your lips parted.

“I’m trying so hard to hold it together, but you’re not helping.”

And then you smiled. Innocent. Sweet.

“I could help.”

That was it.

His self-control?

Gone.

Seungmin grabbed the doorframe over your head, caging you in without even touching you.

His voice was a warning and a plea all at once. “If you’re gonna keep playing with fire…”

You looked up at him, unblinking. “Then what?”

His jaw tightened.

“Then don’t blame me when I finally burn us both.”

—

Sunday night…

It was late.

Too late.

The apartment was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the fridge and the patter of rain outside. You’d both been watching a movie on his laptop in his bedroom, your backs against the headboard, but Seungmin was stiff beside you, arms crossed, eyes locked on the screen like it owed him money.

You didn’t say anything.

Not until you shifted—just enough that your bare thigh brushed his.

You felt him freeze.

“Still trying to keep your distance?” you asked, voice low, teasing.

His jaw flexed. “Don’t start.”

You turned your head, smiling, chin resting on the back of the couch. “What if I want to?”

He didn’t answer.

So you leaned in.

Slowly. Carefully. Eyes never leaving his face.

You were close enough now that you could feel the warmth of his breath, see the way his lashes trembled when your hand ghosted over his wrist.

“Hey, I’m not trying to ruin anything,” you whispered.

“Then stop playing with me.”

“I’m not playing.”

You moved your hand again—this time over his chest, fingers tracing the edge of his collarbone through the soft cotton of his shirt.

Seungmin exhaled sharply.

Your touch dropped lower.

And that was it.

He snapped.

One second you were teasing him, and the next?

You were flat on your back, Seungmin hovering over you, hands on either side of your head, eyes wild with something dark and deep and so far from platonic it made your pulse skyrocket.

“You really want to know what happens if I stop holding back?”

Your breath caught.

He leaned in—so close your noses brushed. “Because I don’t think you understand what you’re asking for.”

You stared up at him, completely still, heart hammering against your ribs.

“I do,” you whispered.

His lips twitched—something between a smirk and a snarl. “No, you don’t.”

Then he kissed you.

Hard.

Nothing gentle. Nothing careful.

This wasn’t a lesson.

This wasn’t even a mistake.

This was everything he’d been dying to do wrapped in heat and teeth and hunger. His mouth crashed into yours like it had been waiting for permission for years. And now that he had it?

He wasn’t stopping.

Your fingers clawed at his shirt, dragging him closer, and he groaned into your mouth—a sound that vibrated through you, dark and needy and possessive.

He shifted, pressing his body against yours, and fuck—he was hard. So hard. You felt it grind against your core, slow and deliberate, and you gasped, breaking the kiss for air.

But Seungmin wasn’t done.

His lips moved to your jaw, your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he growled. “How hard it’s been trying not to touch you, not to taste you—”

You whimpered, and he groaned, rolling his hips against yours again.

“Is this what you wanted?” he rasped. “Me like this?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Seungmin—yes.”

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, thumb brushing your lower lip.

“You’re not just gonna be my best friend anymore,” he whispered. “You’re gonna be mine.”

His thumb was still pressed against your bottom lip, his chest rising and falling like he couldn’t catch his breath.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, voice trembling.

That broke something in him.

He kissed you again—deeper this time, slower, but with the kind of hunger that made your head spin. His tongue slipped past your lips, exploring you like he was learning, memorizing, branding every inch.

You moaned into him, and he felt it—groaned back, like the sound lit something inside him.

His hands slid down your body, pausing at the hem of the hoodie—his hoodie, still hanging off you like a sin. He pulled it up just enough to touch your waist, thumbs skimming your bare skin.

“You wore this just to mess with me, didn’t you?” he murmured against your lips. “Knew what it would do to me?”

You blinked up at him, breathless. “Maybe.”

He huffed a laugh, low and dangerous.

“Yeah. That tracks.”

His hands moved to your thighs, spreading them with a quiet urgency. You felt the weight of his hips press between them, and your whole body arched at the contact.

“Fuck,” he muttered, “you feel too good.”

His lips returned to your neck, dragging down to your collarbone, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. A claim.

You gasped, nails digging into his back, and he growled against your skin.

“I’ve been patient,” he murmured. “I’ve been trying to be good.”

“But you don’t want to be good right now,” you whispered, daring.

“No,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “Right now I just want to be bad.”

Then—his hand dipped under the hoodie again, sliding over your stomach, up—up—until his fingers brushed the curve of your breast.

You shivered.

“Can I?” he whispered.

You nodded, too breathless to speak.

He slipped his hand beneath your bra, groaning the moment he felt your skin. His thumb brushed over your nipple, slow and deliberate, watching the way you reacted—how your hips lifted, how your lips parted.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmured, eyes flicking down. “God, I barely touched you.”

You tried to speak, but all that came out was a breathy whimper.

He smirked, then leaned down to kiss the swell of your chest, open-mouthed and filthy.

“I want to take my time,” he said, every word pressing into your skin. “Want to learn every part of you. What makes you squirm. What makes you beg.”

You were already there. Already trembling.

His hips ground into yours, slow, delicious friction making your brain go blank.

And then—his voice again. Low. Rough.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered. “Let me be the one who teaches you everything.”

You nodded again, breathless, desperate, eyes wide and wild.

“Seungmin, please.”

His forehead dropped to yours, breathing heavy. “Then don’t stop me now.”

And just like that, his mouth was on you again—kissing, tasting, claiming—

Ready to show you exactly how long he’s wanted this.

Exactly how much he’d held back.

And how there was no going back now.

His lips were on your neck again, tongue dragging slow, reverent patterns while his hands mapped your body like he was memorizing it cell by cell.

You were panting now, arching into him, needing more.

“Still with me?” he murmured against your skin, voice thick and low.

You nodded—barely. “Please.”

That word. That voice.

He kissed you again—this time softer, slower, almost reverent. “Okay, baby. Let me take care of you.”

His fingers dipped beneath your panties—finally—and when he felt how wet you already were, he groaned.

“Fuck. All this for me?”

You whimpered, cheeks flushed, thighs already trembling from just his touch.

“You’re so warm,” he murmured. “So soft. So ready.”

His fingers moved gently at first—testing the waters, dragging through your folds with aching precision, just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Relax,” he whispered. “Just feel me.”

He circled your clit with maddening patience, lips never leaving your neck, and your hips bucked instinctively.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “There you go.”

Then—a finger. Slowly easing inside you. You gasped, back arching, and he kissed your cheek.

“Just one for now,” he soothed. “Gotta get you ready.”

His voice—soothing, tender—was at complete odds with the way his hand was working you open. He curled his finger just right and you moaned, gripping his wrist.

“That feel good, sweetheart?”

You could barely speak, but you nodded, breath caught in your throat.

He added another.

And another.

Soon you were writhing, panting, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in the world. He kissed your lips—slow, deep, filthy—while his fingers fucked you open.

“I want you to remember this,” he breathed. “Every second. Every touch.”

You were soaked now, hips moving against his hand, whimpering his name over and over like a prayer.

And when he pulled his fingers out, you whined at the loss—until you saw the way he licked them clean, eyes locked on yours.

“You taste so good,” he said. “Can’t wait to fuck you and have it all over my cock.”

You shivered.

He reached for his sweats, pulling them down, and your breath caught when he revealed himself.

Thick. Hard. Heavy.

Bigger than you expected.

He noticed your reaction and chuckled, a low, sinful sound.

“I’ll go slow,” he promised. “I’m gonna take my time.”

He lined himself up, pressing the tip against your entrance, and waited.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “Seungmin—please.”

And with one slow, careful thrust, he pushed into you.

Your whole world snapped.

He filled you, inch by inch, your walls stretching around him, and you gasped—full. So full.

He groaned, burying his face in your neck.

“You’re so tight,” he growled. “So fucking perfect.”

He stayed still, letting you adjust, kissing your shoulder, whispering praise into your skin.

And when you finally moved your hips—giving him the okay—he started to thrust.

Slow. Deep.

Each stroke dragging against your most sensitive spot, each one pulling little moans from your lips.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered. “Taking me so well.”

Your hands clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist as he rocked into you, slowly building a rhythm that had your toes curling.

But then—you rolled your hips.

And Seungmin snapped.

“Shit,” he cursed. “You want it harder?”

You nodded, desperate.

He grabbed your thighs, spreading you wider, and slammed into you.

You cried out, stars dancing in your vision as he fucked you—properly fucked you—his grip bruising, his breath ragged.

“This what you wanted?” he growled. “Me ruining you? Making sure no one else gets to touch you like this?”

“Yes,” you whimpered. “Only you—only you.”

He lost it.

His pace turned brutal, hips snapping into yours with every thrust, and all you could do was take it.

He reached between your bodies, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing tight circles until your body clenched.

“Come for me,” he whispered. “Come on, baby. Let me feel it.”

And you did—with a cry of his name, your whole body trembling as you shattered beneath him.

He fucked you through it, chasing his own high, moaning your name like it was salvation.

And when he came—deep inside you, hips pressed hard to yours—you felt it.

All of it.

The heat. The weight. The absolute claim.

You got it.

Let’s take it home—soft, sweet, utterly wrecked but in the best way possible. No more pretending. No more lines.

Just Seungmin and you, tangled in sheets and breath and something dangerously close to love.

⸻

The room was quiet.

The only sound was your breathing—slow, heavy, uneven. The aftershocks still rolled through you in waves, little shivers making your muscles twitch as Seungmin collapsed onto his forearms above you, chest heaving.

You stayed like that for a moment.

Still joined.

Still trembling.

Still barely believing what just happened.

And then his forehead dropped to yours.

“You okay?” he whispered, voice raw. “Did I hurt you?”

Your fingers found his hair, soft and messy and damp with sweat. “No,” you whispered back. “You were perfect.”

He sighed—relief, guilt, and something else all tangled up in one sound.

“I didn’t mean for it to go that far,” he murmured. “Not tonight. I just—once you started touching me like that I—” He broke off, lips brushing your cheek. “I lost it.”

You smiled, turning your head to catch his mouth in a gentle kiss. “I wanted it.”

His eyes flicked open—wide, dark, and full of something he was too scared to name. “Yeah?”

You nodded, thumb brushing along his jaw. “I wanted you.”

His whole body softened.

He kissed you again—slow, warm, with none of the hunger from earlier, just something quiet and vulnerable. When he pulled out, he moved carefully, like you were something precious, something fragile.

And maybe you were.

He cleaned you up without a word, stealing one of his old shirts from the floor and tugging it over your head with the softest smile you’d ever seen on him.

Then he climbed back into bed, pulling you into his arms, tucking you right under his chin like it was instinct. Like you’d always belonged there.

Your fingers traced lazy lines across his chest, your legs tangled with his under the sheets.

It was comfortable.

Safe.

But it was new, too. Raw. And real.

You could feel the way his fingers kept twitching where they rested on your hip, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold you like this now. Like maybe he was still scared he’d crossed a line he couldn’t uncross.

So you whispered, “Seungmin?”

“Yeah?”

You looked up at him. “We’re not pretending this didn’t happen, right?”

He stilled.

Then—slowly—his lips curved.

“No,” he said softly. “We’re not.”

“Good,” you whispered.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “But I need you to know something.”

Your heart jumped. “What?”

“That wasn’t just sex for me,” he said. “That wasn’t just… helping a friend. That was me giving you everything I’ve been holding back.”

You swallowed hard.

“And I don’t want it to be a one-time thing,” he added. “Not if you don’t.”

You didn’t even hesitate.

“I don’t.”

He exhaled—shaky, like you’d just lifted a thousand-pound weight off his chest.

“Then I guess we’re not just best friends anymore,” he said with a grin.

You smiled. “Guess not.”

He tightened his arm around you, pulling you closer until your head was on his chest, your body curled perfectly into his.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

And you did.

For the first time in forever, you fell asleep with a full heart—warm, safe, his—wrapped up in the arms of the boy who taught you how to kiss, and ended up showing you what love feels like instead.

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

Authors note: That was a lot of kissing 😍 also i think its cute how seungmin was her first everything!

If you loved this, give it a like and comment and REBLOG!!

[carlossainzlusciouslocks]

Just us

Max Verstappen X Reader

Synopsis: Max wins his fourth world championship title and decides to throw caution to the wind

Warning: None. This is basically just fluff lol

Word Count: 638

I’ve had this idea in my head for MONTHS and finally decided to write it. This is my first ever fanfic ahhh! I hope you all like it! I would appreciate any comments or criticisms and feel free to request anything you would like me to write!

He had done it! Not that it was really a surprise to anyone. Everyone knew that it was going to happen. It was just a matter of when in the season would he do it.

He had won his fourth consecutive championship title and you couldn’t be prouder of him.

You had never enjoyed being in the spotlight. Only a few people at RedBull knew that you were Max’s girlfriend and not just a fan that was there to watch the race. Which is why when Max’s race engineer, GP, had convinced you to watch Max’s celebrations from the pit lane alongside everyone else from the RedBull garage, you made sure to stand off to the side of the barrier. Far away from prying eyes but still close enough to see Max drive his car up to the number one spot. You watched in awe as he stood on top of his car and held up four fingers to remind everyone of his most recent championship win.

The laugh that you let out when he ran and jumped on top of his awaiting mechanics, was lost in the noise of the fans. Max walked up to anyone in a RedBull shirt and hugged them, sharing his record breaking win with them. He saw GP and Christian Horner stood at the forefront of the makeshift barricade and made his way over to them, his helmet still firmly on his head as he was in no rush to take it off. Instead choosing to celebrate with his team first.

You watched as Christian hugged him and congratulated him on his amazing win. You couldn’t stop the smile that crept into your face as you watched Max interact with his boss. You then watched in slight confusion as GP interrupted Christian praising Max to point at something over Max’s shoulder. Max turned around slowly, unsure of what he was supposed to be looking at until his eyes locked with your own.

Still stood firmly in place, Max ripped his gloved off of his hands and shoved them into GP’s chest. He then started walking towards where GP had pointed, walking towards you. Every single camera present followed Max as he raced towards you.

He pulled frantically at the strap of his helmet, undoing it quicker than you thought was humanly possible. He pulled the helmet off of his head with the urgency of a man being hunted. He ripped his fire-resistant balaclava off of his head and threw it, along with his helmet, onto the floor behind him. It didn’t matter where it went. He didn’t care.

Max raced up to you, coming to a stop in front of where you were stood. He gently placing both of his hands on either side of your cheeks and feverishly pulled your face to meet his own. Your lips crashed together in a hungry, race-win fuelled kiss.

He kissed you like he was starving and you were the only thing that could stop his hunger. He kissed you like you were air and he couldn’t breathe. He kissed you as if he had never been allowed to before.

He kissed you in front of all of his engineers, all of the press. None of that mattered though. Every single camera was turned towards the two of you, catching the intimate moment and broadcasting it to people worldwide. It wasn’t something either of you had planned, you definitely didn’t expect Max to be the one to expose your relationship to the world but despite you wanting your privacy, you didn’t mind that he had kissed you in front of all of these people. You didn’t mind that he had so openly declared his love and commitment to you. You didn’t mind because the world finally knew that Max Verstappen was yours and yours only.

Note: I apologise for any mistakes!

[ferrstappen]

all because i liked a boy l MV1

a/n: so... hey, its been SO LONG! this is a series i've been thinking about since like September last year?? and it's been sitting on my drafts forever and finally got the inspo and some help to finish it <3 i really hope you like the concept <3 i have the idea for a fourth song but i'll wait to see if you guys like it <3

pairing: Max Verstappen x female!singer!reader

word count: 5.3

summary: three songs summarize your relationship with Max.

first song: into you - ariana grande

There wasn’t a single person who didn’t wish to be a fly on the wall everytime Max Verstappen met his fellow Tag Heur sponsor, a true pop star, and the stuff of all his problems. 

Max had never been too fond of all the publicity that came with his job, he mentioned it every time there was a chance to: “I’m only here to race”. His statement remained truthful, but he couldn’t deny he now looked forward some events, dressing up and showing up. 

He met her the same week she was announced as a brand ambassador in the middle of her world tour. It had been during the Monaco Grand Prix weekend, thousands of cameras on them while posing. Max was never rude, but he noticed she looked almost nervous to meet him and anxious every time someone from her or the Red Bull PR team asked for some kind of contest, it all made sense when she apologized to him at the end.

“I know you’re not fond of these things so I hope you don’t hold it against me,” Those were the first words she said to him when there were no microphones on their clothes. Maybe someone was recording their interaction, but it wasn’t important. 

“What? I know you don’t have anything to do with it, I’m sorry if I came across as if I was bothered or something, I promise you I wasn’t. Plus, you must be exhausted as well,” Max said earning a smile from her and it was beautiful, kind. 

It made his own smile reach the crinkle by his blue eyes, lasting a bit longer than necessary for someone he just met, the taste of his champagne a little sweeter. 

(Y/N) spent the night stalking him and his girlfriend, she was stunning and they even had a small family of sorts. She had to remind herself he was just being nice, maybe too nice, but the adoration came from her part after hearing his laugh and realizing the smile reached his eyes, and the way his tongue pressed against his lips when his smile got too big, or how he held his breath every time he said something funny, waiting for her laugh.

And she was so weak for it, for him. Even if she wasn’t supposed to, but the events kept coming, the silk dresses and bold lipstick every time they saw each other, posing together, feeling Max’s big, warm hand on her back, hiding from the world to see. 

There was something quietly cinematic about hotel lobbies after midnight; the way the light softened, the silence pressed in, footsteps sounded hesitant, taxis coming and going every few minutes. Max wasn’t supposed to be there, not anymore at least. He’d said goodnight hours ago, disappeared into the elevator with a tired smile and the promise of an early flight.

But there he was.

Still in his suit, tie long forgotten, blond hair a little messier now, he sat at the far end of the bar with a half-finished gin and tonic and that unreadable look on his face, the one he always wore when his mind was loud but his words weren’t exactly ready.

(Y/N) hesitated in the entry to the lavish hotel bar, silk dress and Crocs, makeup a little smudged at the corners. She hadn’t expected anyone else to still be up, let alone him, but something about the way he looked at her: just once, then away, like it stung, made her cross the room anyway.

(Y/N) sat down two stools away, close enough to hear him breathe, far enough that they weren’t really next to each other, allowing to feel the space left between.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked softly.

Max didn’t look at her at first. Just shook his head. “No. Happens after race weekends sometimes. My brain doesn’t shut off, it’s annoying”

She nodded like she understood. Because she did, but still needed to add something. “Maybe if you didn’t spend your free time sim racing…”

He glanced over at her, briefly before chuckling. “Your performance was great tonight, I meant to tell you earlier.”

Her laugh was soft, tired. “You looked miserable the entire event.”

He smiled at that. A real one. The kind that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I was,” Max admitted. “But that part? I liked that part.”

Silence wrapped around them again, not heavy, just full; full of things they’d never said out loud. Full of questions neither of them had the right to ask.

She traced the rim of her glass with one finger. “She seems really lovely.”

Max’s jaw twitched, dreading the subject. “She is.”

(Y/N) didn’t look at him. She just nodded.

“You two look like you’ve got it all figured out.”

There was a pause.

Max exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

Another pause.

She turned her head slightly, finally meeting his eyes. “I hate how easy it is to talk to you.”

Something flickered in his expression. “I know,” he said quietly. “I hate it, too.”

That was it. That was everything.

No closeness. No touching. Just two people sitting in the space between what they wanted and what they’d already promised to other people. His fingers tapped against his glass. Her foot brushed the leg of the stool, never his. 

They never touched.

“I should go,” she said eventually.

Max nodded, blue eyes unreadable again. “Yeah.”

But neither of them moved right away. It was always like that, every moment together stretching a little too long, never enough to say it out loud, just enough to feel it.

“Goodnight, Max.”

As he listened to those words he looked at her, really looked. Eyes searching, almost soft, like if he were someone else, or if this were some other life, he might have reached for her hand.

But this wasn’t that story.

“Goodnight,” he said, voice low. “Get some sleep.”

And she walked away, yearning and aching, while he sat there and tried not to watch her go, downing the gin and tonic.

-

It had been weeks since Monaco, since the late-night conversations, the unspoken things that lingered between them like ghosts. Weeks since they’d exchanged half-joking texts about everything, from memes about their awkward PR moments fans were always catching to random race weekend observations. She had a unique way of making him laugh, of sending him a meme at the perfect time, of pulling him out of the swirling thoughts in his head, the never-ending doubts. 

They hadn’t met again. She’d been on tour, he’d been in the midst of a brutal racing schedule. Texting became their way of staying connected; casual, light, a little flirty at times, but never anything real. Max never tried to cross the line, he had a girlfriend after all. It wasn’t fair to her, to her daughter, maybe even the cats. And yet, a part of him couldn't shake the pull he felt toward (Y/N), the spark that crackled just beneath the surface of every message.

Tonight, though, something was different. He had his phone in his hand, staring at the screen, unable to stop scrolling through social media. Her new song had just dropped and everyone was talking about it.

Into You was everywhere. Fans were loving it, critics were praising her for its rawness, the production, the passion. But Max couldn’t ignore the comments, somewhere, buried among the endless comments of hearts, praise, flames and verified accounts, there was a new question being whispered in his direction.

Is this song about Max Verstappen?

At first, it was just one or two fans joking around in the comments, but the more he scrolled (something he wasn’t proud of), the more the question popped up. People started comparing lyrics, dissecting moments they’d shared, and the strange way they’d clicked, not the pairing people would expect. 

Max’s thumb hovered over the screen and his heart kicked up a little. He couldn’t shake the idea from his mind. 

Was it possible? Was the song about him?

It didn’t help that he hadn’t heard from (Y/N) in a few days. Maybe she was busy just like him, tour life and all that, but now the questions on his mind felt heavier. He clicked into their text thread, reading through the last few messages. She’d sent him a meme a couple of days ago, a funny one about him winning the race in Japan. He’d replied with a laughing emoji, as usual. It felt like the normal thing between them, but now everything felt loaded.

Max felt a sudden need to reach out, to ask her, but at the same time, he hesitated. What if he was just overthinking it? What if it was nothing? She was a pop star, a professional, she was just being friendly. He was that guy, the guy who made it awkward, not very expressive, with a girlfriend…

But then again... He had to know.

He tapped out a message, then deleted it, then tapped it again.

hey

I know you're busy, but are you okay? Haven't heard from you in a while.

A beat passed before he added another text, the words lingering like a weight on his fingers.

btw, i've been seeing a lot of stuff about your song.. people are asking if its about me.

Max thought his heart was going to explode, feeling the beating on his ears.  

Is it?

He immediately regretted it, his fingers hovering over the screen as he debated whether to just delete it all and pretend he didn’t do it. But before he could second guess himself, the text was gone. 

(Y/N) had just finished a soundcheck when she saw the notification. 

A new text from Max. 

Her heart had dropped when she saw his name on the screen. She had been trying to ignore the way people were talking about her song, trying to stay focused on the tour, but now? The thing with Max had been gnawing at her for weeks. They had their moments, maybe too many moments, and now the world was starting to ask if it was all more than just playful text exchanges and rare promo outings.

She took a deep breath and opened his message, quickly scanning the words. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the last question.

Is it?

She should’ve been surprised by the question, but she wasn’t, she’d been expecting it to come up at some point. People weren’t stupid, they saw the chemistry between them, the tension in the air that neither of them had really addressed. Not out loud at least. 

But she hadn’t planned on answering this way. She’d wanted to pretend it was nothing. She wanted to deflect, to tell him it was just a song, a moment, nothing more. But that seemed... dishonest.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She should just say it was nothing. Keep it professional. But she couldn’t lie. Not to him. Not to herself.

I don’t know what people are picking up on, but I’ll be honest

i wrote it about someone who... made me feel things I didn’t expect??? Things I wasn’t sure I could handle

but it’s not just about one person, you know? 

It’s about that feeling of wanting someone who feels just out of reach, even when they’re right in front of you. Yearning, you know??

She stared at the text, the words too real, too raw. She didn’t hit send immediately. 

What if he thought she was talking in circles? What if this was just a terrible idea?

She hit send anyway.

Max read her reply, and for a moment, his heart stopped. He could feel the weight of her words even through the screen of his phone. There was no denying it now, she’d just put it all out there: the feeling, the pull, the tension. It was all there in the lines between the words. And in that moment, Max knew he wasn’t the only one who’d been holding on to something unsaid, that he tried to convince was only in his head.

His thumb hovered over his phone as he thought about his reply. Should he be honest? Should he ask if what they both felt was the same thing? Or should he leave it alone?

He texted her back quickly, without thinking. I’ve been feeling it too. More than I should, probably.

He sent it before he could stop himself.

The text was out there now, and there was no taking it back. He waited, heart in his throat, as the dots on her side of the conversation appeared and disappeared. 

But this time, when her reply finally came, it wasn’t a meme. It wasn’t a joke.

It was the truth.

i know

and i think that's why we both keep avoiding it.

Max stared at the screen, his heart racing, the world outside disappearing as he thought about the next step. What would happen if they really admitted everything they’d been dancing around? Would they be able to keep pretending? Would the media and fans turn their attention into something they couldn’t control?

He didn’t know.

But for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure if he cared anymore.

second song: touch it - ariana grande

The weeks that followed were torturous.

Max couldn’t stop thinking about (Y/N), about their conversation, the way her words had lingered long after their texts had stopped. He couldn’t ignore whatever it was happening between them, the ache that grew every time he saw her name pop up on his phone, every time she sent him a meme or just a quick check-in. Their playful banter had always been a way to keep things light, but now it felt like they were walking a razor-thin line between friendship and something far more dangerous.

He’d tried to push it all away, focusing on the races, the endless press obligations, the girlfriend who had been by his side for years. He couldn’t just throw everything away, couldn’t tear apart the life he had, the one that made sense, the one that was steady, reliable. His girlfriend didn’t deserve to be hurt, he knew that.

But the more he tried to ignore it, the more impossible it became to escape.

And then, "Touch It" came out.

(Y/N)’s voice poured through his speakers one late night in a hotel room, and it hit him like a punch to the gut. The song wasn’t subtle. It was a breathless anthem of need, of longing, of reaching for something that was just out of grasp. She had written it, and he knew—he knew—it was about them. About him. About that feeling they couldn’t escape. The way she felt when they were together, the way they both held on to the tension between them like it was a lifeline.

It was a confession in a song, raw and unfiltered, and it echoed everything that had been simmering under the surface for weeks.

Max couldn’t stop listening to it. Couldn’t stop hitting replay as he drove through the city streets, as he sat in his hotel room preparing for the next race. Every time the chorus hit, he could feel the burn in his chest. 

Cause every time I see you, I don’t wanna behave. I’m tired of being patient so let’s pick up the pace.

The words raked across his skin, and for the first time in a long time, the temptation felt overwhelming, his skin felt too warm, his hands aching. 

He wanted it. Wanted her. Wanted to be close to her. He was drawn to her like he was drawn to the track, fast, reckless, and completely out of control.

But he had a girlfriend waiting at home.

And they both deserved better.

Max had tried. He really had, but every time (Y/N) popped up in his messages, it was harder to fight it. Texts were more frequent now, words lingered longer, carried more weight. The emojis felt heavier, the tone of the messages softer, more intimate.

They were dancing around it, playing with fire, and neither of them had the courage to admit what they both wanted.

It had been a long week of racing, and Max was exhausted when he arrived back at the hotel, the weight of the world on his shoulders. He stepped into his room, the familiar quiet pressing in around him. His girlfriend was waiting in the room next door. She was asleep when he checked in, and for the first time, the thought of being with her didn’t bring him comfort. Instead, he felt restless, empty in a way he couldn’t explain.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, and of course it was a text from her.

I know you’re tired but I miss you… 

You ever feel like something’s just too hard to let go of, even if it’s the right thing?

The words hit him like a ton of bricks and suddenly the room felt too small. Too quiet. The space between was non-existent, and every message, every word they shared, felt like walking straight into a precipice, the bottom just waiting for what was inevitably going to happen.

His fingers hovered over the screen for a long moment. She was waiting for him to respond. But he knew if he answered this text, it would change everything.

Max ran a hand through his hair, staring at the text. The sound of the rain tapping against the window was the only thing filling the silence. He could hear his girlfriend moving in the other room, soft noises of her trying to sleep, but the distance between them felt miles wide.

Finally, he typed.

I can’t stop thinking about you

I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop.

He hit send, heart pounding in his chest.

(Y/N) didn’t reply immediately. The anticipation gnawed at him. Was she thinking the same thing? Was this going to go too far? Did she want the same thing he did?

Minutes passed, and just when he thought he’d made a mistake, his phone buzzed again.

Then don’t. 

Come to me, come see me. 

I’m not the one who’s going to stop you

The words burned like fire, sharp and undeniable. He couldn’t breathe.

He stared at the message, every part of him screaming to throw caution to the wind. To give in, just this once. To take what he wanted without thinking of the consequences. Without thinking of his girlfriend, of the other life he had built, the life he was supposed to protect.

Max stood up, pacing across the room, his mind whirling. The song, her words, her invitation. It all came rushing back, like a flood he couldn’t stop and temptation was too much, unbearable. 

Without another thought, he grabbed his jacket, keys, and headed out the door.

She was waiting when he arrived. There was a calmness in her eyes when she opened the door, but Max was able to see through it, the way her lips parted when she saw him, the slight tremble in her breath, it was too much to ignore. She knew. They both knew what was about to happen.

“You came,” she whispered, stepping back to let him in.

Max didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. The words were lost to him as his body moved forward, drawn to her like a magnet, like he couldn’t stop himself anymore.

Because he couldn’t, he had crossed the line. 

When their lips met, it was everything he had been denying. The kiss was slow, hungry, desperate. It was everything they had been holding back for weeks. Every unspoken word, every glance, every text, they were all there, alive in this single moment.

But as their hands roamed, and the world outside seemed to disappear, the weight of it all began to sink in. He was betraying everything. Everything.

It wasn’t just the physical act, it was the knowledge that he’d crossed a line, that the thing he’d feared, even if it was inevitable, was now real.

But in that moment, with (Y/N) on his arms, his blue eyes finding hers, he didn’t care.

The next morning, Max woke up to an empty room. 

She was gone, all trace of her gone, leaving the Monte-Carlo hotel room empty.

The sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the bed, but everything felt wrong. The space next to him was cold.

His phone buzzed again, and for a brief moment, he hoped it was her. But it wasn’t. It was his girlfriend, asking if he was okay, asking why he hadn’t answered her texts.

Max swallowed hard, guilt and shame rising in his chest. The weight of what he’d done, the mess he’d created, crushed him in an instant.

And in the silence that followed, he realized: He couldn’t run from this anymore.

He was caught. And it was only a matter of time before the truth came crashing down.

The break-up wasn’t loud.

Max had expected yelling, accusations, maybe tears, but when he told her,  when he finally looked her in the eyes and said he couldn’t keep pretending, she just sat there. Quiet. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, like she already knew.

“Is it her?” she asked, not even needing to say the name.

Max looked down at his hands, jaw tight. “It’s... not just about her.”

But it was.

It always had been.

He didn’t say he cheated. He didn’t say what happened the night before, hours ago. But maybe he didn’t need to. Maybe she saw it in his face, in the guilt buried behind his eyes, in the way his voice cracked when he said, “I haven’t been fair to you.”

She didn’t cry. She just stood up, nodded once, and walked away. Max didn’t try to stop her.

After that, everything changed.

He stayed away from (Y/N).

No texts. No emojis. No late-night memes. Not even a “hey” when she posted behind-the-scenes shots from her tour.

He watched, though.

Watched her perform, watched her smile through interviews, watched the fans scream her lyrics back to her like they knew her pain, like they knew him. Every lyric felt like a reflection, like a memory wrapped in melody so beautifully created by her. 

The rumors exploded overnight.

Max Verstappen and (Y/N): Something More Than Friends?

New Song “Touch It” Sparks More Speculation About F1 Star

Inside Their Secret Friendship—And What His Ex-Girlfriend Might Know

Social media ate it up. Paparazzi started showing up at both their events. Journalists tried to sneak questions into press conferences. He could hear it, feel it, the way people looked at him now.

Every time a camera flashed, every time someone said her name around him, his chest tightened.

Because what could he say?

Yes, I wanted her. Yes, I kissed her. Yes, I broke someone’s heart. Yes, I broke my own too.

But he kept quiet. Let the world build its version of the story.

And the worst part? She did too.

(Y/N) never spoke about him. Not in interviews, not in casual conversation, not online. She posted photos of her tour crew, messy dressing rooms, crowded arenas, sandy white beaches, but all trace of him was gone, the subtle ones only he knew existed, as if erasing him from the narrative could somehow erase the way he had touched her life and body and then left it in pieces, because she never thought leaving that morning meant leaving forever, that he would just disappear.

But Max missed her, constantly, and it wasn’t like the word let him forget either. 

He missed the way she teased him in texts, the way her voice softened when she said his name. He missed how easy it had felt to just exist with her, no performance, no pressure. Just them, in the quiet in-between spaces.

He told himself staying away was the right thing. The honorable thing. That maybe it was better this way, if she hated him a little, if she moved on without him. Maybe she should hate him. He’d touched something sacred between them and let it fall apart.

But then he’d hear her songs about him on the radio, and it was like the ache rewrote itself all over again.

They saw each other once.

Weeks later.

By accident.

At a TAG Heuer event in Paris, neutral ground, surrounded by cameras and managers and fake laughter. She was dressed in a black suit, her hair slicked back, red lipstick like a warning sign. She looked stunning. Powerful. Untouchable.

Max didn’t know she would be there.

And she definitely hadn’t expected him.

Their eyes met across the room. Just for a second.

And everything came rushing back.

The tension. The pull. The memory of hands on skin and words they couldn’t take back.

But they didn’t speak.

Someone stepped between them, an assistant, a handler, and just like that, the moment passed.

She turned first. Walked away like he was nothing.

He didn’t follow.

Later that night, she posted a photo from the event. A carousel: behind-the-scenes snaps, her laughing with her stylist, a close-up of her heels, her red lips, her watch.

He wasn’t in any of them, not even his shadow.

Max saw it at 2 a.m., lying awake in his hotel bed, the room too quiet, too cold. Thinking that maybe they could be spending this time together, holding her in his arms.

He stared at the screen for a long time.

Then he put his phone down.

And didn’t text her.

Not this time.

third song: because i liked a boy - sabrina carpenter

It started with a post.

Black and white. A photo of her in the studio, headphones half-off, mascara smudged, eyeliner sharp. She wasn’t posing for the camera—just staring at the wall like she was somewhere else entirely.

The caption was short:

“they wrote the narrative. i just sang the truth.”

And then the song dropped.

Because I Liked a Boy wasn’t subtle. It was messy. Angry. Beautiful. A punch to the chest. She didn’t name names, but she didn’t need to.

“Now I’m a homewrecker, I’m a slut I got death threats fillin’ up semi-trucks Tell me who I am, guess I don’t have a choice All because I liked a boy…”

The internet exploded.

Max watched it all unfold from behind his screen. Headlines flared. Twitter caught fire. Her name was trending for days, right next to his. Theories. TikToks. Threads with screenshots, breakdowns of their eye contact, fans zooming in on the way his smile lingered in her direction.

His ex girlfriend didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. The silence said enough. The world filled in the blanks for her.

And (Y/N)?

She said only what mattered. Through the lyrics.

Max played the song again. And again. And again. He could barely breathe through it.

It was all there, how they’d stolen moments, how she’d been painted as the villain for something they both started. And he’d let her take the fall. He let the world chew her up while he stayed silent, tucked behind PR teams and blank expressions.

But he missed her. God, he missed her.

He hadn’t texted her. Not since that night were his body was faster than his brain.

But he started watching her again, quietly.

He liked one post. Then another. A photo of her in a studio. A video of her laughing backstage with her team. Then a blurry mirror selfie with no caption.

The fans noticed. Of course they did.

max verstappen liking y/n’s post after 84 years??

he’s lurking and she KNOWS.

just date already omg

But she didn’t follow him or whatever it was he was doing; didn’t like his photos, did her best to avoid all the edits and side-by-side comparisons of her lyrics and his interviews. She was silent. Untouchable.

And maybe she was done with him. Maybe he’d hurt her too much. Maybe her silence now was the same silence he gave her when she needed him most.

But Max couldn’t stop.

He typed out messages at night.

I miss you.

I was a coward.

I should’ve defended you.

I still think about you. All the time.

He deleted them all.

Until one night, after a difficult race in Brazil, in the middle of a triple header, exhausted, emotionally wrecked, sitting in a hotel room with rain sliding down the windows, he typed something different.

Simpler. Honest.

I listened to the song.

A minute passed.

Then five.

Then ten.

No reply.

He let the phone sit beside him, the silence deafening, preparing himself for nothing, trying to convince himself it was for the best.

But then, finally, it buzzed.

Of course you did, everyone did. 

His heart clenched. The coolness in her message cut deeper than a scream would have. But he kept going.

I know I should’ve said something

I should’ve protected you

There was a pause.

He stared at the screen like it was going to fix everything, like honesty could undo what silence had cemented.

Finally, she replied.

You didn’t have to protect me, I never wanted that from you and you know it

I just didn’t want to be alone in it

That was it. The wound, wide open.

Max closed his eyes. He wanted to call her, to get on a plane, to show up at her door. But it wasn’t his timing anymore. It was hers.

So, he sent one last message.

I don’t want to be someone you used to write about

And this time… she didn’t reply.

But a week later, she posted a photo of her hand, a lyric scrawled across her palm in messy sharpie:

we don’t talk, but i still feel it.

And Max knew.

Maybe this wasn’t over. Not yet.

But they needed time, he needed to give her the time to heal, and come to terms with what happened.

It had been a year.

Twelve whole months since “Touch It.” Nine since “because i liked a boy.” Three since Max’s last like on her post.

No texts. No calls. Nothing that would hint to the world that they’d ever known each other beyond a photo op. But they had. They did.

And the thing about time? It doesn't always heal, but it softens.

It was late November in Amsterdam when it happened. Off-season for Max, cold air, breath in clouds, hands shoved deep in jacket pockets. The kind of day that begged for quiet.

(Y/N) was there for something private, a writing session tucked away in a borrowed flat, no press, no fans, no distractions. Just her and a piano and the kind of weather that made you remember things you’d spent months trying to forget.

She didn’t plan to run into him.

And Max definitely didn’t expect to see her when he walked into that café, hood up, head down, just trying to disappear for a few hours. But there she was, sitting in the back with her coffee half-finished and her fingers tucked into her sleeves, eyes locked on the window like she was waiting for something that would never come.

For a second, he froze.

He could walk out. Pretend he didn’t see her, save them both the awkwardness. But then she looked up, and those eyes, the ones that had haunted him in lyrics and dreams, locked on his blue ones.

Neither of them smiled. Not yet.

But she tilted her head. Gave him the smallest nod, maybe it was permission. 

So he walked over.

They didn’t hug. Didn’t even shake hands. Just… sat across from each other in a corner booth, sharing a silence that didn’t ache the way it used to. Not angry. Not painful.

Just real.

“I didn’t know you were here,” she said after a minute, voice soft.

“I could say the same,” Max replied, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie.

A pause.

Then she smiled, just barely. “Guess we were always good at showing up in the wrong place at the right time.”

He laughed. Quiet. Honest.

They talked.

About nothing, at first. Racing. Music. Amsterdam traffic. Coffee that tasted like burnt toast. It was easy, eventually, familiar. The kind of conversation that only happens when you’ve known someone without ever really knowing what to do about it.

And then, when the cups were empty and the daylight started to fade, he looked at her.

Really looked.

“I listened to the album,” he said. “All of it.”

She didn’t flinch. Just held his gaze, brave as ever. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “I think I needed to hear it.”

Silence. Then, gently: “I’m sorry I let the world chew you up.”

She took a breath. Slow. Careful.

“I was angry,” she said. “Not because of what happened. But because you left me standing in it alone.”

Max blinked: “You told me you didn’t need protecting.”

“I didn’t,” she said. “But I wanted to feel like I mattered. That what happened between us mattered.”

It hung in the air between them. Heavy. But not unbearable.

He nodded: “You did,” he said. “You still do.”

And this time, she smiled for real.

They left together, slipping out the back door like two people who weren’t famous. Just (Y/N) and Max. Just a girl and a boy walking side by side through cold streets, their hands brushing once, twice, then finally lacing together, without a word.

There were no cameras. No press releases. No grand declarations.

Just a quiet choice to try again.

Not the way they used to.

Not in stolen glances and broken promises.

But something slower. Softer.

Real.

And maybe this time?

They'd get it right.

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

Coffee and Journals

.・゜✭・. Spencer Reid x F!Reader .・゜✭・.

Summary: You step out of your comfort zone and meet a guy in a coffee shop who you somehow befriend, and end up in the theaters with him translating a Russian film.

A/N: omg this one is so cuteee, I love it lmk your thots<3

BYR(b4 u Reid): use of y/n, mentions of anxiety, readers never had a bf, inexperienced reader & Spencer, can be season 1 & 2 Spencer | none <- [warnings]

It started with a trip to the coffee shop.

You weren’t supposed to be there, at least, not alone. You didn't go places alone. That was just how… things were. But it was a new year, and you were tired of every year being the same.

No new friends, no love interests, no new experiences.

You knew, deep down, that you couldn't keep living like this. The loneliness was starting to feel like a weight pressing down on you, making everything dull.

So, here you were, Ordering a drink at the register, by yourself. God, was your voice shaking?

“Um, can I get a-a regular iced latte?” You asked, trying not to sound as nervous as you felt. The cashier nodded, you paid, and that was it.

It was such a small thing ordering coffee, and you’ve done it a lot of times just this time you didn’t have the comfort of a friend right beside you. You were all alone.

You felt proud, proud that you left your home, came to the café alone, and now you were going to enjoy it at the shop.

You picked a small table, hands gripping your journal as you sat down, waiting for your order to be called. The café was a little too busy for comfort. Too many eyes, not on you, you knew that, but… it felt like they were.

You took a deep breath, opening your journal.

Do I look weird?

No, no. There were plenty of people doing the same thing. You weren’t standing out.

After a few moments your drink was finally called, you stood up, going to grab it, only to find there was two.

The man beside you just looked at you unsure of which one was his and which one was yours.

“Oh- um, I’m not sure which is which.” He said, glancing between the two drinks. You looked at him, then at the cups, trying to find anything that could differentiate them. Nothing.

“Uh, excuse me, which one is the iced coffee?” You asked the barista. “They both are.” She answered flatly, like it was the dumbest question she’d ever heard. Your stomach twisted immediately.

Great, now I sound stupid.

“Which one has non-dairy milk?” The guy asked

The barista sighed, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know, maybe that one.” She pointed to the cup on the right.

You and the guy exchanged a look.

“Um… I guess I’ll just take this one.” You mumbled, grabbing the drink you had originally reached for. You don’t have any dairy problems, and didn’t care for the kind of milk used so it wasn’t too much of a problem.

You can hear the guy sigh as you walked away.

You sat down, watching him talk to the barista, clearly trying to get his order fixed. You couldn’t blame him for being frustrated.

You refocused on your journal, writing down your thoughts about stepping out of your comfort zone. About how weird it felt. How anxious you still were, and how you hoped this wouldn’t be another failed attempt at trying to change.

“Hi, I’m sorry, but do you mind if I have a seat?”

You looked up.

It was the non-dairy guy.

Your first instinct was to say no. You didn’t want anyone sitting with you. This was already too much social interaction for one day.

Or you could just leave, but if you let yourself retreat, wouldn’t that be losing? Wouldn’t you end up right back where you started, lying in bed tonight, frustrated with yourself for failing at something as simple as existing in a public space ?

“Of course.” You said instead, nodding toward the empty chair.

He gave you a polite smile and sat down. You stole a glance at him. Tall, kind of lanky, brown hair, sharp features, hazel eyes. He didn’t seem much older than you.

You tried to focus on your journal again, but it was hard with someone new in front of you.

“You know, an iced coffee isn’t something I normally get.” He said suddenly

You blinked, looking up.

He was talking to you.

“I usually just get a regular hot coffee.” He continued, like this was a totally normal thing to say to a stranger. “Today I wanted something different. And, well… you saw how that went.”

You let out an awkward little laugh, like the ones you give people when you aren’t sure what to say.

Is he crazy? Why is he talking to me?

“I get it.” You said after a pause. “I don’t usually get coffee on my own, and the one time I do, my coffee gets mixed with yours, and then the barista has a shitty attitude.”

That was relatable, right? That made sense?

Stop overthinking.

He smiled. “I’m Spencer Reid.”

First and last name, who does that?

“I’m y/n.” You said, giving him a small smile in return

you didn't give him your last name, it felt too formal, you guys also didn't shake hands which relieved you because those were always so awkward for you.

Almost all physical touch was awkward with you.

“I'll let you get back to work.” He said, pulling a book out of his bag.

“It’s not really work.” You admitted, which shocked you because you were trying to continue this conversation. “Just journaling.”

He glanced up again, nodding slightly. “Studies show that journaling can improve working memory, reduce stress, and even strengthen the immune system,” he said. “James Pennebaker, a psychologist at the University of Texas, found that expressive writing helps people process traumatic events by organizing thoughts and emotions, which can lead to improved mental health and reduced anxiety.”

You stared at him.

“Yeah… That’s kind of why I’m trying it.” You said, giving a small smile.

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “How do you know all that?” He just shrugged as if it was nothing “I read alot.”

“That’s cool.”

“Really?” He smiled a little. “A lot of my friends think I’m crazy, and that I should be spending more time doing other things.”

You shook your head. Well… okay, you did think he was a little crazy. But only because he could start a conversation so easily. You couldn’t imagine doing that.

“Not crazy, I think it’s fascinating your brain is able to retain all that information.”

The two of you settled into silence after that. You wrote, he read. You noticed he was flying through pages at an insane speed.

Curiosity got the better of you.

“How are you reading so fast?” You blurted out.

He looked up. “I can read 20,000 words a minute.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you lying?”

He laughed. “No. I uh… I have an IQ of 187, so I think that helps a lot with my reading abilities.”

“That’s like a superpower.”

“Some would say it’s the lamest one to have been given.” He joked, you shrugged. “Maybe. But I think it’s cool.”

And, honestly?

You were surprised by yourself.

A simple conversation. With a stranger.

A man, even.

ʚɞ

Over the next few months, you found yourself at the coffee shop at least three times a week. And almost every time, Spencer was there too.

At first, it felt like a coincidence, like an unspoken routine you both had fallen into without realizing. But eventually, he started waving you over when he spotted you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he gestured to the empty seat across from him. And, recently, you had started doing the same for him.

You’d sit together, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking about what you were reading, new movies, or random events happening around town. It felt… easy.

“How’s journaling been?” Spencer asked as he took a sip of his coffee and looked at you.

You glanced up from your book. “Oh, it’s been really good. It actually helps a lot more than I thought it would.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “Yeah, it helped me a lot too.”

“You journal?”

He shrugged, shifting slightly in his seat. “I used to. Not as much anymore, but when I have the time, I try. I think it’s a good outlet, especially for people who struggle with intrusive thoughts, or high stress levels.”

“You think only people who struggle journal?” You questioned

“Not necessarily.” He said, tilting his head slightly. “I mean, anyone can journal. But research suggests that people who journal regularly are often those who need a way to process their thoughts. It can help regulate emotions by engaging the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain responsible for rational thinking. That’s why it’s often recommended for anxiety, PTSD, and even problem solving.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. “Yeah… I think it’s helped me a lot with my anxiety.”

You weren’t sure why you would say it, you never really talk about what you struggle with but somehow with Spencer it felt safe.

You looked up at him, Spencer’s eyes had softened, his expression shifting from analytical to something gentler. “That’s good.” He said sincerely. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

You let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “I think it’s obvious. I mean, I’m constantly fidgeting, can’t make eye contact, let alone hold a conversation with people.” You say as you look down at your hands

He shook his head. “You don’t seem that way with me.” His brows furrowed slightly.

“Well, yeah. Not anymore.” You admitted “When we first met and you asked to have a seat, I wanted so badly to say no, and even get up and leave.”

His mouth parted slightly before he quickly recovered. “Really?”

You nodded. “Yeah. But I had to let you because if I hadn’t, I would’ve felt like I lost that day, and definitely would’ve felt horrible about it. But… thankfully I did.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, processing your words. Then, the corners of his lips lifted into a small genuine smile. “I’m glad, glad that you let me sit with you.”

“I’m glad too.”

It felt strange, strange in a way that made your chest feel light and unfamiliar warmth settle in your stomach. Having someone new to talk to, someone who, despite barely knowing you, felt like they had been in your life forever.

Spencer made things easy. Talking to him didn’t feel like a struggle, like you had to overthink every word before you said it. He listened. He never made you feel awkward or unsure.

Somehow, being around him made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you were figuring yourself out.

Both of your coffees were nearly empty now, the melted ice clinking softly against the cup. It meant this little hangout, or whatever you can call it, was coming to an end. And you didn’t want it to.

Spencer shifted slightly in his seat, his fingers tapping lightly against his cup before he cleared his throat.

“Um, Y/n.” He said, voice softer than usual. You looked up at him, giving him a small, curious smile. “Yeah?”

He hesitated for half a second, then pushed his hair behind his ear, a habit you noticed. “There’s this old film playing at the theaters. It’s not far from here. I was wondering if you’d like to go?” He paused, glancing down at his hands before quickly adding “It’s in Russian, though, so if you’d like, I can translate it for you.”

“Russian?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, his lips twitching up slightly. “Yeah. If you don’t want to, that’s fine, I just- I thought it would be nice.” He said as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a smile. “I’ve never seen a Russian film before, but I do like the theaters. And if you’re offering to translate, I’d love to go.”

Spencer let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing like he had been holding it in without realizing. “Yeah?” His voice was lighter, hopeful.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

His lips parted, like he was about to say something else, but he just nodded quickly instead. “Alright. Um. I can pick you up? If you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

You could see the way he was watching you carefully, waiting for any sign of hesitation. But there wasn’t any. Not with him.

“No, yeah, I’m fine with that.” You said, a soft warmth settling in your chest.

Spencer’s fingers tapped against the table before he spoke again. “Can I-uh-can I have your number? Just so we can communicate better.”

You smiled, reaching for your phone. “Yeah.”

ʚɞ

Spencer arrived at exactly 8:00 p.m, right on time. When you opened the door, he stood there with his hands in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels before offering a small, shy smile.

“Hi.” He said softly

“Hi.” You echoed, feeling your pulse quicken.

You both walk towards his car, and to your surprise he opened the door for you. It was a small gesture, but it made something warm settle in your chest.

Was he just being polite, or did it mean something more? You didn’t want to overthink it, didn’t want to confuse kindness for something else.

At the theaters, Spencer insisted on paying for your ticket. When you offered to cover snacks instead, he shook his head. “No, really, it’s fine.” He said, handing over his card before you could argue.

“Okay, well, now we have to go somewhere else after this. My treat.” You said, crossing your arms.

He tilted his head, considering for a moment. “We could get ice cream after?” He suggested.

You smiled. “That sounds nice.”

As the movie started, Spencer leaned in slightly, quietly translating the dialogue for you. At first, it was just a whisper here and there, but soon he got really into it, his voice subtly changing to mimic different characters, his hands gesturing slightly as he explained a scene.

You let out a small laugh.

“What?” He asked, turning to you with a small smile.

You shrugged, grinning. “You’re so good at translating. And getting into character, it’s honestly amazing.”

His expression shifted, something like pride flashing in his eyes before he looked down for a second, almost bashful. “Oh. Thank you.” He said, meeting your gaze again.

You hadn’t realized how close the two of you had leaned in until the moment. His hazel eyes held yours, the sounds of the movie fading into the background. Your breath hitched, and you quickly shifted in your seat, breaking the moment.

Spencer cleared his throat softly before returning to translating, but you could tell he’d noticed it too.

When the movie ended, you tossed the empty popcorn bucket and drinks into the trash bin. “So how’d you like the movie?” Spencer asked as you both walked towards the exit.

“It was really good, I didn’t expect to like it as much as I did.” You truthfully answered.

Spencer smiled, as he opened the door for you to exit the building. “They play foreign films here once a month. I’d be happy to come with you again. We could watch together.”

“I’d love that, it’ll be really fun.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I love films, and translating stuff.”

“I could tell.” You teased, giggling softly.

He glanced at you, something hesitant in his expression. “Still up for that ice cream?”

“Are you?” You asked. “If you don’t want to, it’s okay.”

“No-no I want to.” He assured you quickly. “I just wasn’t sure if you still wanted to.”

“I do.”

He nodded, a relieved smile tugging at his lips. “Perfect. I can leave the car parked, and we can walk to one?”

“That sounds good.”

As the two of you walked side by side down the sidewalk, you glanced up at him. “Do you usually go to these movies alone?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Sometimes my friends join, but most times, it’s just me.”

That made you frown slightly. You didn’t understand how someone like him, someone so interesting, so kind, could go alone so often.

“Well, now you won’t have to.” You said looking up at him. He turned his head to you, a flicker of something soft in his expression. His stomach fluttered at your words.

As you both walked, your hand brushed against his. Instinctively, you pulled it back, quickly intertwining your fingers together in front of you. “Sorry.” You murmured.

Spencer shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”

You nodded, slowly letting your hands fall back to your sides. He noticed the way you kept fidgeting.

“You don’t have to be nervous.” He said.

You blinked. “Hmm?”

He glanced at you, his brows slightly furrowed in thought. “I can tell you’re nervous.”

Your stomach tightened slightly. “How?”

“Little things.” He said simply. “Like biting your lip, looking around a lot, touching the hem of your shirt.” He pointed out each thing, and you hadn’t even realized you were doing them.

“Oh.” You laughed softly, a little embarrassed. “I just- I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve ever gone out with someone who isn’t my friend.”

Spencer tilted his head, his lips twitching up slightly. “Oh? I thought we were friends.” He teased.

Your eyes widened slightly. “No-no, we are friends! I just meant my other friends.” You rushed to explain.

He chuckled. “I know what you meant. It’s okay.”

Then, he stopped walking.

You took a few more steps before realizing and turned to face him. “What?”

He shook his head, his gaze fixed on you with something unreadable.

You frowned. “What?” You asked again, playfully nudging his shoulder.

Spencer let out a small laugh, but then his expression grew more serious. “I like hanging out with you.” He admitted. His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful.

“And I don’t want to scare you, but… the little time we’ve spent together, at the café, and now today watching this movie, it’s made me just want to be around you more.”

Your breath caught in your throat. No one has ever said something like that to you before.

Your heart pounded as you swallowed, suddenly unsure of what to say. “Oh. That’s…nice.”

Spencer’s lips pressed together, and you could tell he was waiting for something more, something deeper. And you wanted to say more, you really did. But fear gripped you.

“Spencer, I-i feel a lot of things right now.” You admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I feel nervous, scared, excited, happy- I can really go on. But I’ve never had a male friend before, never been in a relationship, and what am I saying? I could be misinterpreting this whole situation, you meant as a friend right? Like- you don’t mean romantically want to be around me more?” You were rambling, your words spilling out before you could stop them.

Your face was flushed, ears burning.

Spencer took a small step closer.

Your breath hitched.

“I’d like to get to know you better.” He said carefully, his voice steady. “And… see where we go.”

His hand found your elbow, gently squeezing it, his touch was warm and reassuring.

Your lips parted slightly. “Really? With me?”

It felt unreal.

Unreal that anyone could possibly see you in a romantic way, no one ever has.

Spencer nodded “With you.”

You exhaled, your heart racing. “I’ve never, I’ve never been in a situation like this. No ones ever wanted something with me before.”

“Well…I do.” He gave you a small, soft smile.

Your hands trembled slightly as you rubbed your face. Your chest felt tight, and your mind raced with thoughts you couldn’t untangle.

“Spencer, you don’t understand.” You whispered, your voice barely holding steady. “I don’t know how to be with someone. I don’t know what people do when they’re getting to know each other, I don’t- I don’t know.” Your words tumbled out, laced with panic, with doubt.

Spencer took another step closer to you, his expression soft but steady. “You do.” He said gently “We do it all the time. Every time we sit together in the café, every time we talk, every time we share something about ourselves, that’s us getting to know each other.”

You swallowed, looking at him, searching for some kind of reassurance in his face. He seemed so sure of what he was saying, so certain.

“But I don’t know what I’m doing.” You admitted, your voice cracking. “I could mess it up.”

Spencer shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours. “Y/n, I’ve never been in a relationship either.” His voice was soft but unwavering. “I don’t have all the answers, I know just as much as you do. But that’s okay. We can figure it out together.”

Your breath hitched as you stared at him. He meant it, every word. There was no hesitation, no doubt in his voice.

“All we have to do.” He continued “is keep doing what we’ve been doing. Spending time together, learning more about each other. And when we’re both ready, we’ll navigate whatever comes next. There’s no pressure, no expectations… just us.”

Something inside you shifted, something warm, something terrifying, something new.

You looked into his eyes, trying to believe in what he was saying. In him.

“Okay.” You whispered

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, his shoulders relaxing just slightly, as if he’d been waiting for that answer.

“Okay.” He echoed, as if sealing the moment between you.

For a few seconds, neither of you moved. The streetlights cast a soft glow around you, the distant hum of the city filling the silence. Then, without thinking, Spencer reached out, not hesitantly, not awkwardly, just gently, and let his fingers brush against yours.

It wasn’t a grand gesture. It wasn’t overwhelming. It was just enough. . .

hope you guys enjoyed this one <3

Tag list

@alastorssimp

~ also if you guys want to be tagged in all of my SR fics just lmk and I would love to ~

read all my other works here<3

[maxlarens]

CL: guess the heat drives people crazy

pairing(s): charles leclerc x artist!reader

summary: you’re not used to having a boyfriend, let alone having a famous one. though you’d like to think you’re taking your new found status as a wag in your stride. charles certainly thinks so. [smau] [part 2 to this fic]

fc: faceless and some alexandra saint mleux

a/n: sorry this took so long! i was honestly kinda unsure how i wanted to do this. i wasn’t sure if i wanted to do a little storyline but i basically ended up just doing a bunch of little snapshots of their relationship 😇

@ynusername just posted…

liked by @rowan, @charlesleclerc and others

ynusername wildflowers, the waves where we met, on the way to our first dinner

chloegarelli i did that!☝🏻☝🏻

⤷ ynusername okay 😐 dont get too big for ur britches

user1 is that……..?

⤷ user2 CHARLES RIGHT?

⤷ user1 yes wtf!?

⤷ user3 you are delusional you can only see his hands

⤷ user2 AND?? he is in her likes

rowan we did it joe‼️

⤷ chloegarelli four years in the making iktr

⤷ chloegarelli i’d like to thank the american people and i’d like to thank democracy for this win

⤷ ynusername we are MONEGASQUE?

⤷ ynusername anyway u guys are the most insane couple i have ever met

⤷ rowan and you’re stuck with us foreverrrr

user4 no one is talking about how adorable this is. the waves where we met like UR KIDDING!

⤷ user5 if she is actually dating charles then he is literally the luckiest man alive

@f1wagupdates just posted…

tagged @ynusername @charlesleclerc

liked by @chloegarelli, @ynusername and others

f1wagupdates ‼️🚨 new wag alert 🚨‼️ monegasque painter yn yln has been spotted getting cozy with charles on his yacht. it’s believed they met while on holiday in italy several months ago🥺

user1 fell to my knees in the grocery store

⤷ user1 THAT SHOULD BE ME

⤷ user1 but if it had to be anyone else im glad its her

user2 oh i KNEW that was him on her instagram three months ago. vindication.

user3 stop she is so pretty

⤷ user4 like attracts like

rowan cats out of the bag @chloegarelli

⤷ chloegarelli WE DID THIS EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU

⤷ user5 thank you oh my god

⤷ user6 THANK YOU

⤷ charlesleclerc thank you😁

[❤️ by f1wagupdates]

user7 need to see them together at a race

⤷ user8 CHARLES GET HER ON THE PADDOCK

⤷ charlesleclerc 🫡

ynusername oh my god. not the picture of him pushing me into the water😐

⤷ user9 OH i love her ur honour

⤷ f1wagupdates I’M SORRY!

⤷ rowan don’t apologise its so perfect

⤷ charlesleclerc Stop I tripped!!!!!!!!! I told you!!!!!

⤷ ynusername u did NOT trip!!!!

⤷ user10 they are my everything wtf

@ynusername just posted…

tagged @charlesleclerc

liked by @charlesleclerc @f1 @scuderiaferrari and others

ynusername charles, the week we met we talked about what the monaco gp meant to you. the place your dreams took root, the one race you wanted so badly it hurt, the city you wanted to love you back. i could feel your yearning for that win as deeply as i feel for my own ambitions. i knew then that we understood each other like i have never understood anyone else in my life. and i knew, somehow i knew, that you would be on the top step of that podium. charles, i am endlessly proud of you and all the hard work you did to get here. you deserve this. i love you. and monaco loves you.

user1 charles monaco gp win you are everything to me

user2 they’re in love in love!!! WTFFFF

scuderiaferrari ❤️

user3 god let me have what they have i cant handle this

chloegarelli im tearing up yall are like my babies

user4 HE DID IT!!!!

charlesleclerc oh I love you I love you I love you

⤷ charlesleclerc How would I have done this without you?

⤷ ynusername I am so proud of you baby. I love you ❤️

⤷ user5 this interaction changed lives

⤷ user6 how do i reasonably find love after this. how am i supposed to be satisfied with anything less???

🎨 i just KNOW her caption would make the rounds on tumblr

[atlabeth]

plastic hearts

pt 2

pairing: spencer reid x fem!gideon reader

summary: spencer gets a front row seat to some gideon family matters.

a/n: full 100% credit to @hotchfiles for her gideon!reader idea and thank you sm for allowing me to take a stab at her w spence, i love messy women and this was actually so fun for me lmao. i owe you everything for getting me out of this mini writing slump!! this just reinforces the fact that arguments are my fav thing to write bc this came out of nowhere lmao

wc: 1.1k

warning(s): very messy family relationship lol gideon and reader argue the whole time. reader's got daddy issues and a one-sided grudge against spence. drama and tension and not a good time for anyone but me

“Gideon, I was looking over the most recent case file and I—” 

Spencer is just barely able to avoid stumbling over both his words and himself only after he’s walked halfway into Gideon’s office. He’s nowhere to be found, only a pretty girl around his age sitting in the chair across from his desk with taut lips and a frown that you turn on him. 

“You’re not Gideon,” Spencer says dumbly. 

“Very astute,” you say. “They clearly hire the best here.” 

“W— who are you, exactly?” he asks. “And why are you in Gideon’s office? And where is he?” 

“That’s a lot of questions.” You tilt your head to the side. “Not surprised he hasn’t talked about me.” 

And once again, Spencer finds himself just staring at you. He’s pouring over every interaction he’s had with Jason Gideon since he started working here, every knickknack and tchotchke he’s ever seen on his desk, any pictures he might’ve seen from glimpses at his wallet. 

“You’re Reid, right?” Your eyes narrow in, and despite being around you for no more than a minute, he already feels like he’s doing something wrong. “He talks about you a lot. Probably more than me.” 

“Spencer Reid,” he says. “Uh— Doctor Spencer Reid, actually, but—” Spencer blinks and shakes his head, because why are you the one leading the conversation here? “Who are you, exactly? Because Gideon doesn’t really like visitors and he never really has them anyway and I really have to talk to him about something, so if you could just tell me where he is that would be great.” 

“I don’t know, but I’m surprised you don’t. He seems to like you a lot more than he likes me.” You huff a laugh. “I’m supposed to be here. He probably just forgot about it.”

Spencer opens his mouth to ask you again to just please say your name because the last thing he needs on his hands right now is a security hazard with him as the first line of defense, but he’s saved by the bell, because Gideon walks in right at that moment. 

He stops in his tracks as soon as he crosses the threshold, the pile of files and folders in his hands losing his interest—Spencer doesn’t even think he sees him, the way his eyes immediately lock in on you. He says your name, and Spencer doesn’t have to be a profiler to pick up on the annoyance. He swears he gets a hint of guilt, too. 

“I didn’t know you were coming to the office today,” he says. 

“Figures,” you remark. “We only made plans a week in advance and I only emailed you three times and called you today to make sure. How could you possibly remember?”  

“I never got a call.” 

“You never picked up.” 

“I was busy,” he says. “This job—” 

“I know,” you intone dryly. “It’s always the job.” 

“Gideon, I have a question.”

Spencer knows it’s not the best time, but the tension has shot up and the temperature has shot down, and he would really like to get out of here as soon as possible. Gideon frowns as he looks at him, and if Spencer didn’t know who he was working with he would have thought he was noticing him for the first time. 

“How rude of me.” Gideon walks over to his desk, and his voice is oddly restrained as he gestures at you. “Reid, meet my daughter.” 

He doesn’t even get the chance to say that wasn’t his question, because his eyes nearly burst out of his head as Gideon says your name and, more importantly, your title. 

“Your— your daughter?” 

“There it is,” you say wryly. “It’s heartwarming to know how much you talk about me, Dad.” 

“We don’t need to do this right now,” Gideon says as he sets his files down. He looks more tired than usual. 

“No, I think we do.” You lean forward, resting your elbows on your legs. “Because you finally agreed to fit me into your schedule for once, and instead, I meet boy wonder before I meet you.” 

“You don’t need to bring Reid into this,” he says. 

“I think I do,” you repeat. “Because I know about him and his three PhDs and how he’s the youngest agent here, and he doesn’t even know my name.” You look at Reid, a falsely disarming smile spreading across your lips. “You didn’t know my name, did you? I mean, based on that reaction, I don’t think you knew he had a daughter.” 

Spencer’s mouth opens and nothing comes out. He looks at Gideon for help, and he lets out a deep sigh as he says your name.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Can we reschedule?” 

“No,” you say. “I have a job of my own too, y’know. This was the only spot I could carve out to come see you—I’m blocked in for the next month.” 

“We just got a case,” he says. “We have to brief everyone and be out within the hour.”

“Of course,” you say bombastically. “You always have a goddamn case, Dad.” 

“I have no control over it,” Gideon says, his voice pained. “You know that.” 

“Maybe not over the case, but you have some pull here,” you say. “And you’re in full control when you decide not to pick up the phone.” 

“I didn’t ignore you,” he says, but you’re already shaking your head. 

“That’s not good enough.” You pick your purse up from the ground and sling it over your shoulder, and your glare shifts to Spencer. “Maybe I should get a job here. Maybe you’d give me the same attention you give to him.” 

Spencer blinks. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been more uncomfortable in this office, which is saying something with their field of work. 

“I— I’m sorry,” he stammers, because what else is he supposed to say?

You huff a mirthless laugh and shake your head. “At least one person is,” you mutter. 

You walk out without another word, and Spencer sees Gideon’s jaw clench for just a second. 

He calls out your name, mostly in annoyance with a hint of desperation, and he starts towards the door. He pauses before he can cross the threshold, and he looks at Spencer. 

“Not a word of this leaves this office.” 

Spencer nods far too many times in confirmation, and then Gideon dashes out. He hears him calling your name yet again in the distance. They have a new case, they’ll probably be on the jet within the hour, he still has these files in his hands and that unanswered question, and yet he’s rooted in place with wide eyes. 

“Gideon has a daughter?” he repeats quietly to himself.