#caution: math | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fligniuz · 2 months ago

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playing favorites

luigi mangione x reader

｡𖦹°‧ your cute new tutor takes quite a liking to you. (or: four times luigi kept his feelings to himself + one time he didn’t)

word count: 10.8k • part of my study buddies series (read here!) • nsfw (with some fluff) • read on ao3

tag list : @mangionebabymama , @mangobabygirl , @jenisaswift13 , @mangionesdaisy , @iinfinitelimits , @daydreamingwithluigi , @nephris , @mashkatzi , @straw8berry , @bean-is-reading

warnings : f! reader; EXPLICIT; unprotected (PRACTICE SAFE SEX); creampie; oral (f! receiving); luigi being a frickin nerd🤓

notes : this one is a BEHEMOTH sorry…mcdonald’s 1974 garfield lead cups my beloved. also tumblr wouldn’t let me format the math right sorry :-(

— 1 —

The weather is clear and sunny on the day that Luigi Mangione first meets you.

Which makes quite a lot of sense, in hindsight, because an entrance so poetic was fitting for you. If there were storm clouds hanging over him prior, then your rays were the straw that broke the camel’s back, parting his stress and his loathing to make way for a new feeling, something fuzzy and sickly sweet and warm to the touch. Something that eats at him like moths biting holes into throw pillows. Something that most people might call attraction.

Luigi is not most people. No, he is one of his own, a contrarian at heart—but a sensitive one, someone with guts and a brain equipped to handle nuance, a quality he has always taken pride in. He thinks for himself and is careful with the words he uses and he takes this much caution for one reason only: the world is unpredictable, far too large and far too fast for one man to make sense of all at once. Nothing in life is truly simple.

That’s why you scare him so much, at first. Because what he feels the moment he lays his eyes on you is simple. And it shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t be able to pin his immediate impressions down with one word, one noun, let alone one with such a heavy and yet universally understandable significance.

You defy all of his expectations. And at first, he is not so fond of it.

He thinks of this day often, and so he remembers nearly every detail: you’re at a house party, some stupid fucking house party, and so is he—what can he say? There isn’t much he wouldn’t do for free booze and an excuse to not think for a few hours. Tonight is not as fun, though. Several problems: the friends he’d care to hang out with are already sloshed (annoying) or sneaking off with someone (scandalous), everybody else here is only interested in doing much the same (boring), and the booze in question isn’t even that good (disappointing). So he resorts instead to his next favorite thing to do: snooping, of course.

Well, he prefers the term investigating. Makes him sound like the Pink Panther and not a nerd with ridiculously high standards looking for something to do.

This place is big, and about five minutes before you walk into his life—or, rather, before he walks into yours—he finds himself in a hallway with far too many rooms to pick from. Some doors are cracked open, some are shut, almost like his own little haunted house. He’s still trying to calculate what his chances of meeting you would have been had he opened a different door that night.

It’s not often that Luigi is distracted by a woman, but something about you catches his eye. Probably because he doesn’t find you among the action. No—he finds you curled up in the corner of a spare bedroom, with a notebook in your lap and a pencil in your hand and, of course, a red Solo cup filled with something amber in color and bubbly. You’re wearing a striped tank-top and some jean shorts, your boots off and to the side of you, hair tied into a loose updo and wispy around your face. You have your jewelry on, and some mascara, and some ankle-length socks printed with Garfield’s face. Garfield socks. You have on Garfield socks.

The moment he saw you he thought of one word only: trouble. You were going to be trouble for him.

“Sorry,” he says abruptly, still fisting the doorknob. “I didn’t know someone was in here.”

Yeah. What’s next, he was looking for the bathroom? Good one, Mangione.

You look up at him, face motionless, then back down at your notebook. “Now you do.”

Uh oh. Do you want him to leave? Is this your room? Your house? Who the fuck are you? He asks you just that—not verbatim, of course, but politely, subtly, a meek little “is there something more exciting happening in here?” Smooth. Not accusatory, he hopes.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Do you find math exciting?”

You’re doing math at a party?

“Actually, yeah,” he laughs. “It’s my minor.”

“Oh, great, you’re just the little freak I need. You can help me with my homework. If you’re not doing anything better.”

You’re flicking your pencil back and forth between your fingers, and he really can’t identify the look on your face. Luigi has encountered an enigma in this mystery bedroom. It’s not like he came here to take on the complex world of mathematics with a stranger—quite the opposite—but he can’t possibly think of anything better to waste his time with than whatever this is going to become.

Sitting down criss-cross in front of you, he asks, “do you always do your math homework at parties?”

“Not on purpose,” you say, scribbling something. “I was expecting this to be more fun. But my friend just invited a bunch of frat guys and some girls she thinks are cooler than me, and I had my backpack in her car, so now I’m making better use of my time.”

Ah. Perhaps your circles are more interlinked than he first thought. There is an odd sense of kinship that he feels at your words; as if the roles you occupy in those circles are not so different, either.

“Would you still want my help if I was one of those frat guys?” he asks.

You look up. “You’re in a frat?”

“Phi Kappa Psi,” he affirms.

“I’m employed. I don’t know what any of those words mean.”

“The words are Greek,” he says uselessly, adding, “we’re just a bunch of nerds, honestly. Like, I’m into Pokémon and statistics and books, for the most part. Probably not the kind of frat guy you’re used to.”

“So I was right!” you exclaim, grinning. “You are a little freak!”

Oh, you’re funny. He doesn’t know who you are, or where this is going, but he knows that you’re funny and that he likes you. Likes your company.

“Which means…” you flip back a page in your notebook and then set it down in front of you, mirroring his posture. Pointing at a problem (labeled with an aggressive and thickly-drawn question mark), you ask, “you can help me factor these stupid polynomials, right?”

Luigi knows a lot about factoring polynomials. And, much like he hinted, he knows just about everything any human being could stand to learn about mathematics before either pulling their own brain out of their skull or just falling asleep. So after nearly two hours of helping you with algebra you’re finally packing up your things, just seconds before you do something that changes him forever: you hand him your phone, opened up to an empty contact page.

“What’s this?”

“Put your number in, dork,” you explain. “I’m gonna need your help again eventually, and I don’t want to have to hunt you down. So give me your number.”

Oh. Wait. Is this a thing now? Oh, fuck. He has to swallow his excitement and steady his hands when he grabs your phone, typing quickly.

Chuckling, he quips, “am I tutoring you now, or something?”

“Call it whatever you want,” you sigh, shrugging your backpack over your shoulders. “My professor sucks and you’re good at explaining things. I’m gonna take advantage of that. Is that cool with you?”

It’s cool with him, alright. He proudly hands you your phone and shoots you an emphatic nod.

Your brows furrow at the screen. “Your name is Luigi?”

And there it is.

“Not the one you’re familiar with, I take it?” he jokes.

You look him up and down, then, surveying him. “Well, you don’t have the mustache,” you note. “And you’re not as tall as him, either. So…nope. Not familiar.”

You’re walking away. You’re walking out the door and just leaving him with that, leaving him with possibly the biggest ouch to his ego and a racing heartbeat and something warm and fuzzy in his nerves. The memory plays out in his head like it’s a videotape of his own wedding day; each second is a frame burnt into his mind’s eye, your features bouncing off the television screen, your smile, your eyes, your hands, swallowing him whole. Some days he has it on repeat. Some days he hates it, hates the way you make him feel. Some days he never wants it to end.

He doesn’t know in that moment what you’ll do to him over the following months. What he does know, unequivocally, is that he likes whatever you’ve got going on.

— 2 —

One Thursday night, a number he doesn’t quite recognize sends him a curious text:

(###) ###-#### : yo yo yo

Hm. It’s difficult to theorize from just three short words. Only way out is through:

Who’s this?

And a few moments later:

(###) ###-#### : OMG i’m so rude i’m sorry!! this is the girl you helped with math at that party last week? idk if u remember

If he remembers? If he remembers? He doesn’t really expect to hear from you again, but alas, you continue to surprise him.

You are just full of surprises.

Speaking of, he still doesn’t know your name. Or really anything about you. But for whatever reason he can’t get his mind off of you, your banter, your handwriting, the face you make when you’re concentrating.

Some of that might be why he shows up at the campus library at 5:30 p.m. that evening, searching for you amid shelving and occupied tables. Some of it might be motivated by the fact that you sent him this text, verbatim, when he asked you for your name:

Garfield Girl : help me study for my unit test tomorrow and i’ll tell you >:-)

He doesn’t find you easily. Probably because you show up five minutes late, panting, apologizing profusely.

“Fuck, sorry, I am so sorry,” you whisper-speak, shrugging your backpack off your shoulders and plopping into the booth across from him. “I ran, like, so fast to get here on time, but my lit class is all the way across this building—”

Luigi shakes his head, brows furrowed. “Nah, don’t apologize, I honestly—”

“How long have you been waiting?” you frown.

“Not long at all. I just got here. I was about to tell you.”

Your demeanor now is quite different from the one he got to see when he first met you. The contrast between your cool, unbothered, solitary self at the house party and you now, stumbling over yourself in embarrassment and practically vomiting apologies, is an experience that not even the word whiplash can adequately convey. Anxiety is a motherfucker, he guesses; either that or he can blame it on the alcohol, since you were drinking. Do you make a habit of doing drunk math? He wonders what other habits you have in store. The quirks he’s borne witness to so far have only failed to deter him from what is quickly becoming a problem, emotionally speaking.

“Do you want to show me what you need help with?” he asks.

You fumble through an unlabeled folder and whip out a stapled packet of papers as well as the same notebook you had with you the night of the party, setting them out on the table and planting your backpack next to you. He can only imagine what the hell you have stuffed into that thing. It’s beat up, fraying around the edges, perhaps a relic from high school that you never bothered to replace. You have some keychains hanging from a front pocket, which you pull a pencil and a red pen out of: a braid of colorful yarn, a beetle-shaped Tamagotchi, a figurine of a cat laying atop some nigiri. He spots some pins in various places, too; he can’t quite read all of them from where he’s sitting, but he can make out one with Garfield and Odie clearly. You love Garfield. So cute.

“Right! Okay.” You clear your throat and twirl your pencil between your fingers. Another tic of yours. “We have a study guide, and I’m almost finished with it but I wanted you to look my answers over. And help me with the ones I get wrong.”

Luigi frowns. “You’re assuming that you got some wrong.”

“Well, yeah,” you say simply, handing him your pen. “I’m no good at math. It’s my worst subject.”

“Lots of people think that about themselves…” he starts, folding out the study guide so that he can look over the first page while you finish up the last. “…until they meet me.” Then he flashes you a proud little grin. “So I’d say you’re in good hands.”

Ugh. Corny. Maybe too cocky? You give him an uncertain smile and shrug, leaning forward on your elbows to look at the problems you haven’t solved yet. As he’s looking over your study guide he starts to realize that maybe you’re not that far off—you seem to struggle a lot with graphing (who doesn’t, though?) and systems of equations specifically. But it’s nothing he can’t fix! He draws a little star next to the problems you get wrong so that he can explain them to you later.

As you’re filling out a table of coordinates you perk up. “Luigi?”

“Hm?”

“I wanted to apologize,” you start, “for, um, the way I acted when we met.”

He pauses, looks up at you and watches as you continue to work. “What do you mean?”

You stay silent for a moment, deep in thought, before confessing, “I feel like I made a bad impression. I was kinda short with you, and I wasn’t having the best night anyway, and I just feel embarrassed about it.“

Luigi blinks at you. It kind of breaks his heart that you’re this insecure. Beer must make you confident, he deduces, since this anxious, squirrely mood seems to be your natural state.

“I don’t know if you got that vibe from me,” you add hesitantly.

He offers a firm shake of his head, curls bouncing. “I didn’t.”

“Oh,” you mutter. “Well. Okay. I’m sorry.”

For what? You’re hard to pin down. And, distantly, Luigi gets the feeling that maybe you aren’t even sure what you’re so worried about, or why you need to be so concerned with his perceptions of you. He considers a class insecurity on your part—it was no secret that Luigi came from money, that he had gotten most of what he wanted throughout his life, no ifs, ands, or buts. Maybe you had become acquainted with that fact. Maybe it made you feel some sort of way about yourself, no matter his own flaws or faults. Was it his salt of the Earth comportment? His seemingly boundless wisdom? His charming, boyish good looks? He certainly hoped for none of the above.

He read once that anxious people yearn most for comfort—that the best remedy for confusing or seemingly needless “I’m sorry”s was simple reassurance.

“That’s alright,” Luigi says. “No need to apologize. Want to go over your study guide?”

At your nod he flips back to the second page, where most of the issues lay in front of him.

“So,” he starts, pointing at problem #9. A word problem. Great fun. “Everything else you’re doing fine with, from what I see, but you struggle with questions like this.”

“Word problems?”

He grins. “Nah. Those are hard for everybody. What’s this one asking you to do?”

How much pure acid should be mixed with two gallons of a 40% acid solution in order to get a 70% acid solution?

“It’s a mixture problem,” you observe, “so we have to make a chart.”

“Right,” he nods. You draw out a new one on a blank page in your notebook, a three by four table labeled accordingly: # of Gallons. Acid %. Amount of Acid.

“I can fill it out from here,” you say, adding, “but I can’t figure out how to solve these.” You’re scribbling numbers into the chart, correctly converting your percentages into decimals and noting the necessary two gallons of 40% acid.

Luigi gestures toward your notebook, and you slide it to him. He leans in close to write a basic equation into your chart.

“If we need two gallons of 40% acid…” he muses, “...then we can let x equal the amount of 70% acid we need to mix it with, right?”

“Mhm.”

“So, if we combine these two columns,” he gestures, “and add two to 0.40, then we get this equation.”

He copies it in chicken scratch below your table: x + 0.80 = 0.70 (2 + x).

“Did you catch all of that?”

You look positively flabbergasted. “Wait. So you just basically add the columns together? And then make them equal to each other?”

“Yup. Basically.”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you say, “nobody’s ever broken it down like that before.”

Leaning toward your notebook, you start working out the equation the two of you came up with—you distribute, combine the like terms, isolate the variable…and in less than a minute, you have an answer: x = 2.

“Oh,” you gasp. “Oh! Oh my god! You got me an answer! Like, one that works!”

Luigi smiles, and he can already feel the tip of his nose flushing. Ugh. “Nah, you got that answer. You worked it out yourself.”

“I know, but…” You’re already working on the next mixture problem, drawing out another chart, this time with three rows by three columns. “You showed me how to put the equation together. I didn’t know how to do that. Thank you.”

You tuck your hair behind your ear and flash him a meek little grin.

Goddamnit. Goddamnit.

It hits him then that you’re beautiful. Devastatingly beautiful.

“By the way,” he straightens up in the booth. “You didn’t make a bad impression. When we met, I mean.”

Glancing up at him, you punch some numbers into your phone’s calculator.

“I think you’re intriguing,” he says, trying hard to focus on breathing steadily and keeping his tone even. “I like spending time with you. And I like helping you with math and watching you figure things out.”

The smile on your face haunts him in the weeks that follow.

You never tell him your name. But lucky for him, you don’t really have to, because before you can stuff your study guide into your backpack he catches a glimpse of the first page, sees your name printed in your script in the far left corner. To learn something new about you sends his heart soaring.

He changes your contact as soon as he gets back to his dorm, but not before you can send him a text:

Garfield Girl : thank you so much for helping me on such short notice!

i am foreva indebted to u ^_^

Luigi sleeps soundly for the first time in a while.

— 3 —

By the time your meetings become a regular thing Luigi is in far too deep to pull himself out.

Thursdays quickly become his favorite day of the week, because he gets to meet up with you—in the library, at his dorm, at yours, and, much to your chagrin, sometimes at the Phi Kappa Psi house—to talk about one of his favorite things in the world: mathematics. He gets to show you how to rationalize radicals and solve right triangles, watch you twist your pencil and quirk your brows in concentration and giggle with joy when you finally understand something he’s taught you, and he gets to do it every week. What could possibly be better?

The problem is that he’s expected to keep himself under control simultaneously. That is a more difficult ask. And he feels awful, really, because even though this isn’t technically official and even though he’s technically never acted on his feelings it feels so, so wrong to be so into you. So wrong on so many levels.

…Perhaps playing out every memory of you that he’s bound to his hippocampus in his own personal chimera of a jerk-off reel isn’t the best way to relieve the stress that comes with this predicament. But he’s a man with very natural and very vivid desires, and what he does in his own shower is his business. He can’t help but think that you’re a dream. He can’t help but beat his dick to the fleeting, gentlemanly glances he’s caught of your ass in those tight jeans, the thought of you taking him in your perfect mouth, spit dribbling from the corners of your lips, down your chin, between your tits. There is a particular image he has of you on your back with him fucking you, your legs tossed over his shoulders, your face flushed and your hair wild and your voice in his ear, whimpering, chanting “yes, yes, yes,” in time with his thrusts, arching into him and gushing all over his cock—

And he could never have any of it, any of you, because there’s no way in hell he would ever let this progress past whatever it is right now. Luigi is completely fine with coming in his hand until the end of time if it means that things stay exactly as they are between the two of you. You seem to be benefiting quite a lot from your meetings with him; you have a much better grasp on the concepts that confused you before, your confidence is building, and, best of all, your test scores have reflected your improvements. No, it’s not official, but breaching this boundary that he’s set as your tutor would eat at him for the rest of his life, and all of his guilt would be earned, in his eyes. He has a sort of power over you, at the very least an influence, and it would be against every moral he’s ever held himself to if he were to use that to fulfill his perverted, intimate fantasies of you. You’re doing well, all thanks to his help and your willingness, and he would hate to ruin that for you.

But if you felt the same…

No. That would be ridiculous. You’re a smart woman and a very responsible one at that—you’re focused on your schoolwork and your job and working toward a better life one step at a time, just as you should be, and the last thing you need is some lovesick boy interrupting everything for you. But when Luigi lets himself dream, just for a moment, in a world where you felt the same and wanted the same, needed it like he does, he would let you have control over everything you do together, let you make your own choices at your own discretion. He would only let you fuck him if you asked for it. No exceptions.

So, for now, he can indulge on his own and keep this problem under wraps—his own little secret.

Most of the time, when the two of you aren’t talking math, you’re talking about each other. Especially yourself.

But sometimes, you ask about him. Once, towards the beginning of your relationship, you asked what kind of ice cream he liked and brought some to your next meeting to celebrate passing a test. Another time you asked about his family: if he had any siblings, what his parents do, where he was raised. Sometimes you inquire about things he doesn’t expect—what cartoons he watched growing up, if he likes pineapple on his pizza, the exact time and place of his birth. Sometimes you ask about his studies. Sometimes you branch out into the weird and nerdy: his favorite Pokémon, countries he’s seen and would like to see, potential AI world domination. Luigi has never liked talking about himself, but when it’s you showing interest, you wanting to know, he feels like he could run his mouth for hours. And you actually care. You listen to what he has to say and genuinely process it with your ears and your brain, and then you respond with your mouth (and your hands, when you’re really worked up). You are uniquely human. You are autonomous and brimming with ideas and he loves every single one.

Today, you’re interested in his linguistic abilities:

“Luigi.” You’re sitting across from him on your bed, scrawling notes on a worksheet that the two of you have been banging out for the last half hour or so. You put your pencil down and rest your head in your hands. “You’re Italian, right?”

“Who, me?” Luigi grins. “Yeah, I am. Why?”

“I was wondering if you can speak Italian.”

He quirks his eyebrow and tilts his head to the side, shaking his hand, as if to say it’s so-so. “Kinda? Not really. I have a very basic understanding, but I’m definitely not fluent.”

“Basic?” You pull your knees up to your chest. “Define basic. Like, ‘¿dónde está la biblioteca?’ type stuff?”

He giggles. “I can say please and thank you and, yeah, I can ask to go to the bathroom and all that shit. Beginner level. Easy stuff.”

It’s probably better to leave out the fact that he’s specifically learned a few pet names, too. Just in case.

“My mom tried to teach me some when I was younger, but I never really took to it,” he adds, scratching his palm. “She has this YouTube channel where she teaches Italian.”

“Whaaaat? That’s cool. Your mom sounds cool, I mean.” You pick up your pencil again, pausing, cocking your head. “Actually, I probably would hate it if my mom was on YouTube. I feel like that’s either really dope or really humiliating.”

“She’s niche,” he shrugs. “Nobody has ever asked me about it before, so she can’t be that famous.”

There is another little fidget that you do when the two of you are alone together: you bite the end of your pencil, chewing carefully on wood and polymer. Each little detail Luigi notices about you strokes a notch in his heart that he never knew existed, one that you carved with your bare hands the moment you met him.

“I think it’s neat that you do know some Italian,” you say, smiling meekly. “I’ve always wanted to learn another language, but I’m not sure if I have the brain capacity for it. Even knowing basic stuff is impressive.”

He smiles—probably blushes, much to his horror—and lightly nudges you with his foot and tells you that your brain has plenty of room for other languages, that he’s nothing special. That you think of him as such has his own brain melting in his skull, burning from the heat of his attraction to you. Somehow you achieve something Luigi thought he’d never find in another human being: you make him feel good about himself. He dedicates so much of his time to bettering himself and it’s nice, really fucking nice, to have that hard work affirmed by someone he’s so drawn toward. Someone so beautiful and witty and silly and kind. Someone who pushes his boundaries, challenges him, makes him want to do things unbecoming of an accomplished valedictorian with notable manners and a leveled head on his shoulders.

You make it exceedingly difficult to not break the rules.

“So, this one would be an ellipse, right?”

You’re pointing at a question:

What is the shape of the graph indicated by the equation?

x to the 2nd power/16 + y to the 2nd power/4 = 1

Correctly, you’ve noticed that the equation is in the same formula as an ellipse: (x - h) to the 2nd power/b to the 2nd power + (y - k) to the 2nd power/a to the 2nd power = 1. Before you met him you always confused ellipses with hyperbolas. It seems you’ve overcome that tendency.

Luigi smiles. “Yeah, that’s right.”

He’s observed that you’ve had much less trouble lately, as evidenced by your superb test scores and your professor’s feedback; Luigi is a people pleaser at heart, and so it warms him to have been able to help you so much with a subject so troubling for you—but he can’t help but wonder if maybe your use for him has passed. It seems that most of your recent meetings have gone quite well without much of his guidance, a stark contrast to your first sessions, when he essentially had to reteach basic algebraic concepts to you. And yet, you still call him every week. Every Thursday he still meets up with you wherever you please, even though you don’t seem to be depending on it to pass your class.

What’s up with that?

“Hey.” He rests his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands under his chin, eyes narrowed at you. “You don’t need me much anymore, do you?”

You quirk your eyebrows; there’s less anger and more concern in your expression. “What do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t have been able to get that question right without my help a few weeks ago, and here you are nailing it on the first try,” he starts, leaning back against the wall. “You’ve been doing a hell of a lot better on your tests, and the things you do still struggle with aren’t likely to show up on your final exam.“

“Are you upset that your efforts have paid off?” you ask, smirking. You turn back to your worksheet, plotting intercepts on a small hand-drawn graph.

Upset is not the word. Anticipant? Conflicted? Elated? Luigi needs a pocket thesaurus when it comes to you.

“No,” he shakes his head. “I’m just wondering what gives.”

What gives? Maybe he sounds too hostile, not appreciative enough. It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy any of the time he spends with you—far from it. Perhaps if he were educated in the humanities as opposed to the inner workings of inanimate objects made of wires and buttons and not flesh and blood he would know how to approach this ache that you’ve instilled in him, this itch he can’t scratch, this shadow that lurks around the corner of every room he walks into. You demand an expertise that Luigi does not possess and the flutter of his heart when he’s near you scares him; the stalling of his brain when he lays his eyes on you scares him; the immediate response of his groin at the thought of you in a less than academic nature scares him. You scare him, you electrify him, you make his bones shudder and his teeth grind and his throat close up like never before. You are the nucleus of his universe. You, you, you.

“You are the best tutor I’ve ever had,” you say, like it’s nothing, like those very words haven’t been spoken in every dream he’s had for the past month and a half. “And I like having an excuse to hang out with you. What’s wrong with that?”

Oh.

Wait.

What?

You like hanging out with me? he doesn’t ask. You’re the best student I’ve ever met, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t kiss you, or throw up, or do anything, despite every impulse. Luigi is speechless for what must be the first time in his life. Bewitched. Wooed. Are you flirting with him?

No way. Not a chance. Your probably meaningless compliments are getting to his head and he feels like a bumbling fool just sitting here staring at you. How do you possibly respond when the girl of your dreams turns your world around with three sentences and goes back to her math homework like it’s just another fucking thing?

“Nothing wrong with it,” he mutters. “Nothing wrong at all.”

Neither of you speak for the next few minutes. You answer the following five questions on your worksheet with no problems, just scribbling and circling and plotting in silence, while he watches your hands move and your eyes focus. And Luigi just sits there and thinks, thinks about his first memories of you: that night at the party; when he met sober you in the library; your irregular text conversations throughout the semester; his not so irregular showers, steaming hot and infiltrated with thoughts of you, naked and soft and oh so warm and begging for him, bent over and on your back and on top of him, every little fantasy he’s ever dreamed up since he found you.

And then he says: “You don’t need an excuse to hang out with me.”

“Yeah?” You look up at him, playing with your pencil.

“Yeah.” Luigi clears his throat. “We don’t even have to do math.”

Good. Simple. Jovial. You don’t have to know that he’s been dying to do far more than math for quite a while now.

You only have to know that you don’t need an excuse. Not with him.

— 4 —

There is one time that the two of you meet to do something other than math.

Once, you ask Luigi to join you at an antique mall, some little place a few miles out of town. And, to be completely honest, it’s not quite how he imagines he’d be spending his Saturday afternoon—but he’s always been up for trying new things, and he’d go just about anywhere if it means getting to be with you.

So you pick him up and you drive him to the outskirts of the city where there’s dirt roads for miles and only little strips of shops every so often; it’s at least an hour away with traffic and he worries at first that he might make things awkward, but much to his comfort, it’s easy to be a passenger in your car. The drive is smooth and the small talk is evenly paced and you even let him play a few songs on the aux—when you start singing along to some of his choices he decides you’re (officially) one of the coolest people he’s ever met.

The shop is small, smack dab in the middle of a rural paradise, with porcelain dolls and cases of themed pins lined up in rows and old telephones wedged in groups in front of the display windows. It’s old, with fraying roof tiles and cracked paint on the walls, but sort of charming, a bit mom-and-popish. You had mentioned it’s one of your favorite places in the world. Luigi feels honored that he gets to accompany you this one time.

“I don’t like those dolls,” he says.

You shake your head in agreement. “Me neither,” you mutter. “We won’t look at them.”

He wants to open the door for you but you beat him to it. When the two of you step inside, him following behind you like a lost child, the cashiers warmly greet you and you wave back with just as much enthusiasm.

This store has three floors—three!—and you aren’t wasting any time. First up is…well, the first floor, of course, where all the floral-print couches and gumball machines and butter churns are waiting. Butter churns! Luigi has never really been in an antique mall before this, and it’s not what he expected; there’s stuff everywhere, in literally every corner, like one of those disorienting and downright incomprehensible pictures that someone posts on Twitter with the caption “name one thing in this photo”. It’s overwhelming in probably the best way possible. There are bins with folk records and little dishes shaped like fruits and veggies and a whole crate of billiard balls and a wall of vintage Elvis posters—who is bringing this shit in? He hardly has time to think about it, because each way he turns there’s just another thing to look at: a collection of earrings hung on a lamp shade; shelves with sculpted forest animals and little replicas of bikes and Rolls-Royce models; a whole section of spoons; not one, not two, but three cases of rings that you spend a predictable amount of time browsing. As if you don’t have enough.

From over in a far corner, you chime, “Gi! Come here!”

Gi. Fuck. You’re calling him nicknames, an old one, at that. One he hasn’t been called since he was still a boy.

You’re pointing at a figurine: a pair of bears, dressed in checkered sweaters and sitting together with books in their laps.

“It’s us!” you beam.

Fuck.

Luigi wants to kiss you. He wants to kiss you right here in this store, right here in front of everyone, slowly. And he’s never had to deal with these gripping, effusive, all-consuming feelings hitting him so quickly, so all he can do is smile sheepishly at you, sweating bullets in his jacket, heart thump-thump-thumping in his chest like a Lambeg drum. He feels stupid. Stupid and so nutty over you and everything you do to him. There is no proof or formula that can save a smitten boy, and Luigi is living proof.

The second floor is more books and toys and furniture than anything else. He quite enjoys looking through every shelf, each with their unique organization—cookbooks to novels to nonfiction to textbooks (most of which are very, very outdated). You become enamored with a section of glassware, colors and shapes galore, a rainbow of vases and cups and bowls. When you have your back turned to him he sneaks a picture of you, body shaded by the daylight streaming through each carefully crafted piece. He likes this floor the most. It’s kitschy and vintage and sort of hip, and he can observe one thing clearly: this place is like home for you. You embrace each corner with the nostalgic grace of a child, like you yearn for something unspoken and so obstinately heavy on your shoulders.

Something catches his eye by the stairwell: there is a wall of mugs and dishes, and one in particular has a familiar face painted on its glass front. The one and only Garfield. Riding triumphantly on a skateboard, pulled on a string by beloved lapdog Odie. Use your friends wisely, a thought bubble reads.

A bit familiar, no?

“My professor sucks and you’re good at explaining things. I’m gonna take advantage of that.”

On the way up to the third floor Luigi pauses. “Hey.” He pats you on the shoulder. “I should use the bathroom.”

“Yeah, alright,” you nod. Then, smirking: “Don’t fall in.”

So corny.

He finds you again looking at some paintings and prints, shifting back and forth on your feet.

“Hey, cowboy,” you greet. “I’m ready to bounce if you are. I’m overstimulated and hungry and I think I’ve seen everything my brain can handle today.”

Luigi laughs. “Let’s bounce.”

You don’t buy much—just a few rings, of course, and a deer Beanie Baby with spots on its rear. The cashiers wish you both a good evening and safe travels, and he just about explodes when you link your arm with his and skip out of the door, smiling ear to ear.

The drive back to campus is quite moody with the sunset overlaying the view. He lets you control the aux, tapping his fingers along to each beat, watching trees and buildings fly past him out the window. Spending time in this peaceful silence with you is nice. Relaxing. Schmaltzy. He feels almost like he could doze off, wake up to his mother carrying him inside, fall asleep in his childhood bed. You make him feel safe.

When you pull up to his dorm complex, Luigi doesn’t want to leave your car. Or your presence, really. As you shift the gear to park he takes a deep breath, smiles at you when you slap your hands against your thighs conclusively.

“Um,” he starts, reaching into his deep jacket pocket. “Here.”

Normally he’s much better at words than this. You curiously take the brown paper bag from his hands, feeling the shape of the object cupped in your palms.

“I thought you didn’t get anything,” you say, opening the bag.

Luigi shrugs. Grins a little. “Got something for you.”

You’re pulling it out now, the Garfield mug, still stuffed and wrapped with some tissue paper to protect the glass. Your jaw drops when you peel it apart.

“Oh. My. God.”

And then you reach over and hug him. It’s a bit awkward with him beside you in your little car, and he has to maneuver himself around to return it, but you work it out, and you’re hugging him. You’re warm and soft and you smell like paradise—he wants to snuggle into the crook of your neck. If only.

“Luigi, this is, like—oh my god. Holy shit.” Your smile is unbelievably wide, and all Luigi can think is aw, shucks. You’ve got his heartstrings in a death grip. “This is awesome. This is literally the best day of my life.”

He giggles. “I didn’t realize a mug could mean so much to you.”

“No, this is a huge deal,” you rebut, eyes brimming with joy as you explain: “this isn’t just any mug, pal, this is a mug made by McDonald’s in 1974 and it is pumped full of lead—”

“Wait, what?”

“Oooooh yeah. This baby has, like, ten thousand times the legal limit of lead and cadmium in it, it’s so dope.” Examining it in your hands, you add, “how the fuck did I miss this?”

“Please promise me you won’t drink out of that,” Luigi pleads.

You roll your eyes. “I won’t! I’m not that crazy. I have the perfect place on my bookshelf to put it.”

Together you sit in your car, smiling at each other, him basking in your happiness.

“Thank you for coming with me today,” you say. “I had a really good time.”

If only. If only you knew.

“Anytime,” Luigi nods, giddy and grinning. “I had fun too.”

For the record, he did actually stop by the bathroom when he bought that mug. To splash some water on his face and calm his nerves, of course.

— 5 —

The weather is dark and stormy the night that Luigi decides he has to do something.

Something to fix this ache he holds for you. Something to get his mind off of every second of his life spent with you so far, repeating incessantly in his brain’s playback, the memories of you untainted and raw. Something he can keep all to himself. Something just for him.

So he shows up at your apartment during your roommate’s night shift, having made the trek just minutes after you confirmed to him that you were home. He’s standing in the pouring rain when you open the door, like a sopping wet stray begging for your attention. Or some food.

He feels fucking pathetic. And maybe he is. Maybe you’ve ruined him.

“Luigi, what’s wrong?”

“No, no, nothing’s wrong,” he reassures you, but he isn’t entirely certain that it’s true. “I’m—um—can we talk?”

“Jesus, come inside, weirdo.”

You grab him by his shoulders and drag him into your home, practically into your arms—but not before you can tell him to take off his sneakers and leave them on the doormat to dry. Then you take a step back, giving him space, your eyebrows quirked and your posture cautious.

Fuck. Where to start? Writing an essay is a walk in the park compared to verbalizing feelings you hardly understand.

“What am I to you?” he asks, voice soft and sappy.

He regrets it the moment the words leave his mouth. Too vague. Too cliché. If he were better at feelings he might’ve had half the mind to write something out before coming here and blabbing to you, before practically cutting his heart out of his chest and handing it to you with bloodied, trembling hands.

You think in silence, and Luigi almost can’t stand it. Seconds feel like hours. Then:

“…You’re my, uh, unofficial tutor,” you say, adding, “and…I’d like to think you’re my friend, maybe.”

Your tutor. Sure, it’s appropriate, but if any higher ups were to ever peer into his mind, see and hear the thoughts he has of his tutee, the things he’d like to teach you, the veracity with which you occupy every corner of his brain, he’d most certainly be accused of any number of ethical violations, not to mention playing favorites.

“Is that all?”

You blink. “What else were you expecting?”

Luigi has his hands in his jacket pockets, now pacing around your living room. “I just need to know if you feel anything else for me so that I can either get over you and move on with my life or make more room for you in my fucking head.”

In this moment of the two of you just staring at each other he actually looks at you, takes you in, and you’re wearing some pajama shorts and a thin white T-shirt, and your nipples are fucking hard in the chill of the room and he can see it and fuck, it’s taking every atom of strength in his body to will away the blood rushing to his cock. Not now. Not yet, anyway.

“What are you saying, Luigi?” you ask, standing stiff and straight in front of him. You still have to crane your neck up just a little to meet his eyes. It drives him nuts.

Oh, god. What is he saying?

“Fuck, I don’t want to just be your tutor,” he starts, unsteady. “I’m—I want to be your man, I want to be yours, I want to be so much more than just this. And if you don’t feel the same then that’s okay, but if you do I have to know. I have to relieve whatever it is that makes me feel this way for you.”

You’re just staring at him, like a deer in headlights, and so he continues, even though he probably shouldn’t: “We don’t have to put a label on it, or anything like that, we don’t even have to tell anyone, I just—I need to know if I can have you. Please.”

If he could peer through your skull he thinks he’d see all the gears turning inside your brain. Wires cross and trickle into flames. Buttons are pressed. Levers are flipped. Attraction is mechanical, in some ways.

“I want you to kiss me,” you say.

Oh, god. No way. No fucking way.

“What?”

“I want you to kiss me,” you repeat, adding, “and we can see where it goes.”

Oh. Oh.

Oh, the places he’ll go—if you’ll let him.

So he steps forward and kisses you, carefully, lips meeting quickly and softly. He doesn’t pull away from you. His forehead is against yours and he can look you in the eyes, and he does just that until you’re leaning in again. He’s kissing you, he’s finally fucking kissing you, and it hardly feels real, so he grabs your face with both hands and threads his fingers through your hair, feels the silky smooth strands brushing against his skin, hears the way you sigh into his mouth. Making out with you must be heaven on Earth. He drinks in every little detail of you; licks into your mouth and pulls your bottom lip between his teeth to know exactly how you taste, cherishing the sickeningly obvious wet sounds of your kisses. His hands begin to roam, moving from your hair to your back to your hips, and then down to your ass, grabbing a handful of you through your cotton shorts. You raise a hand to unzip his jacket, tugging it down hurriedly, and Luigi groans against you.

He shrugs it off his shoulders, kisses you, lets it fall to the floor. “Is this really happening?” he asks.

You smile, giggling at him. “Yes, stupid. Is this okay? I thought you wanted this.”

“Fuck, yes, I do,” Luigi stammers, fingers tracing up your spine. “I really do…”

He still thinks that maybe you’ll float away or disappear into thin air if he lets go of you, but by the time you start to lead him towards what must be your bedroom the doubt starts to dissipate. You lock the door and his heart skips a beat.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispers, backing you up against your bed.

You shake your head.

And then he grabs your hand and plants it right on his very obvious and very hard cock, swelling in his jeans, just so you can feel the direct consequences of your affections, hear the way he groans when you grope him. Your hand moves to unbutton his pants but he is quick to stop you.

“No,” he grunts, guiding you to lay back on the mattress. “Wanna take my time with you, pretty girl.”

He truly does. He’s spent nearly a whole semester building up to this very moment, and if a single millisecond of it goes to waste…Well, he’ll have to make up for lost time, of course.

Hovering over you, Luigi’s hands glide up your body to cup your breasts underneath your shirt, thumbs tweaking your nipples. You moan and arch into his touch like you need him, nothing but him, nothing but his hands exploring and finally becoming familiar with how beautiful every inch of you is. Your shirt is quickly pulled up and over your head so he can see you in full, and fuck, he had never realized how perfect your tits are. He’d gotten quick glances before, had stolen a particularly delicious look once when you leaned over in front of him to grab your pencil, had definitely imagined them more than a few times, in his hands and in his mouth and pressed against his chest—but the real you beats every dream his brain has ever conjured up. By a long shot.

Still playing with your tits and your nipples, he kisses down your jaw, your neck, his lips finding purchase in a particular patch of flesh that you respond curiously to. His name sounds glorious in your mouth. You pant and sigh and gasp, the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard, and he works overtime to kiss you into a bliss so intense that you’re left entirely at his mercy.

Not that you aren’t already.

Experimentally, Luigi’s tongue teases a nipple, licking slowly, before both lips suck. You cry out and thread your fingers in his tight curls.

“Fuck,” he mutters, circling his thumb where his mouth once touched you, watching your hips move in sync. “Baby, you’re gonna kill me. You sound so beautiful.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. Resting his forehead against yours, he slides one hand down your stomach, under your waistband, and then against your pussy, and he fucking shivers when he feels your slick enveloping his fingers. You’re so warm. So warm and wet and sweet like sugar, coating him with your hunger.

“Oh my god.” Luigi shakes his head in disbelief. “Do you always get this wet?”

He wants to know just how sticky you get when you’re touching yourself late at night. He wishes he could watch you, let you show him how to please you just the way you like.

You shudder, shaking your head. “Just for you.”

“For me?”

At the sound of his low voice in utter astonishment you bite your lip and nod. “Luigi, I’ve been needing this, so, so long—”

“Oh, you need it, huh?” Luigi’s teeth graze your skin just below your collarbone before he bites down, groaning. As he pulls back, leaving you aching and weak, he playfully chides, “you dirty girl. You never mentioned how bad you needed your tutor to play with your pretty pussy.”

Right then he makes a note to say the filthiest things to you when you’re vulnerable like this, because the fucking face you make is the cutest little wince he’s ever seen. When you buck your hips he hooks his fingers under your waistband and pulls your shorts and panties off with one swift tug, parting your legs and pushing them back so that your knees are bent in the air.

And then his ring and middle finger swirl over your clit, applying gentle pressure, relishing in your sobs.

“Luigi,” you’re moaning, swearing, singing his name to the heavens. He’s a well-traveled man—he’s seen beaches galore, the mountains of Japan, the ruins and castles in Puerto Rico, the sunset at Ke’ana Point, and yet, by far, you are the most gorgeous sight his eyes have ever known the honor of beholding.

“Shh, I know,” he hums. “You’re such a good girl, bella.”

You shiver throughout your whole body. Bingo. He suspected that you might be weak for a sprinkle of Italian, but the whole ”good girl” thing was a shot in the dark, and it fucking worked, because your cunt is gushing.

With his thumb replacing where he once rubbed your clit, two of his skilled fingers slide inside of your cunt smoothly, filling you just right. Luigi feels like he’s going to explode right here knowing that he’s touching the most sensitive, secret parts of you, feeling every ridge and fold squeezing him, drawing him in. He is curious at his core—and that certainly doesn’t end with you. Those incredible fingers work you open with ease, pushing in deep and scissoring back and forth inside; they must be much longer than your own (or god forbid anyone else’s) because you’re a complete mess underneath him, literally sobbing into your pillow like you haven’t been touched since hell froze over, and Luigi is wondering how you’re even going to handle his cock if just two of his fingers has you this worked up.

His name leaves your mouth in a delightful yelp when he curls his fingers up, his other hand situated on your abdomen, applying the slightest pressure. Luigi’s eyes are fixed on your hole, watching those two digits plunge in and out, down to his knuckles. You have to reach up and grab the headboard when he presses against your G-spot experimentally, teasing at first, then massaging you with full force—his cock is about to burst in his fucking pants watching you, white knuckled and keening. It’s driving him crazy to know that this is real, that he finally has you, that you’re making every wet dream he’s ever had come to life without even trying.

You whine when his fingers slide out of you, glistening with your milky arousal, and he holds them there between your bodies for a moment so that you can see what he’s doing to you. “Fuck, bella,” he moans. “You’re making such a mess on my fingers. I can’t wait to feel you all over my dick.”

It’s in moments like these that choosing his words carefully pays off: you squeeze him tight, eyes shut and legs trembling, and you wrap your fingers around his wrist, moaning, “oh my god—“

“Are you going to come?” Luigi asks, slowing his fingers. His smile is mischievous, prideful, daring. “Already?”

All you can do is nod with a shrill moan, your back arching, hand coming up to pinch your nipple. There’s lightning in your veins, bright and hot and flashing, rumbling through you, and you’re making the prettiest sounds—

And then he pulls his fingers out of you, this time all the way, and you groan.

“Oh, don’t cry, baby,” he coos, bringing his slick fingers up to your lips. “I just want to feel you come on my dick, yeah?”

You wrap your lips around his two digits, sucking your own taste off of him, and he moans appreciatively. Luigi thought for sure that you couldn’t possibly be any more beautiful—and now he’s seeing you with his fingers in your mouth and, once again, his assumptions about you are challenged effortlessly.

“Girls like you usually have to work for this kind of thing, you know that?” he says, drawing his hand up and down your stomach, wet fingers leaving a trail of your spit along your skin.

You pout. “Haven’t I?”

Luigi smiles wide, cupping your face with his big hands. “You’re cute.”

He decides to not yet tell you that no, you didn’t have to work for it—because he wanted you the moment he found you in that guest room at that stupid fucking house party. And he’s always known it.

Regrettably, he pulls away to tug his shirt off, making sure to flex his biceps and his abs for you just to hear how your heavy breathing stutters at the sight. You’re sitting up and reaching for the button of his jeans quickly and this time he lets you pop it open and work them down his legs, running your nails over his thighs deliciously. You’re needy. You’re flushed to all hell and your hair is messy, eyes lidded and bare chest heaving with your panting—the beautiful curves of your body belong in a museum, lit up and posed for his eyes only. Luigi thinks of Venus, of Ives’ Undine Rising from the Waters, of Aphrodite, of Goya’s La maja desnuda. If he had the skill he’d make a model out of you.

“How long have you been needing your tutor to fuck you, baby?” he asks, taking handfuls of your tits. Only his boxers are left and he’s grinding into you, hard and heavy, pressing against your stomach.

You bite your lip. “Fuck, forever, oh, god…”

“Forever?” Luigi giggles. His cheeks are rosy red and pleasantly warm against your palms. “That’s a long time.”

As he kisses you, you nod, hands gripping his curls and his strong arms. When your fingers dip underneath the waistband of his briefs he guides you to lay back again, pulling your hips flush against his so that he’s hovering over you perfectly. And then his boxers are coming down, his cock springing free and smacking against his abdomen, vein prominent along the length and pre beading at the bulbous tip. For a few moments he just kisses you, tongue meeting yours with exuberant titillation, licking and sucking—and both of you have to take a deep breath when that big dick slides up between your asscheeks and nudges your slick cunt, pressing against your folds and quite literally collecting your need all over him.

Then he winces. Before you can check in on him, he murmurs, “I don’t have a condom.”

He feels like an idiot. It’s not like he was expecting to get his dick wet tonight, but it’s probably good practice for a gentleman to carry protection, not to mention smart—and, by all means, Luigi considers himself a rational, logical man, who thinks with his brain and most certainly not his cock. Right. He’s definitely not tempted by how warm you are or by your hand guiding him back and forth through the weeping creases of your pussy.

“I’m clean,” you say simply. His forehead is pressed to yours. “Luigi, if you stop right now, I’m going to—”

“Fuck. Fuck.” Luigi pumps himself in his hand and circles the tip of his length over your clit. “I—Um, I am too, but this is…”

“What?” Your thumb grazes his ear, his sideburn, and oh, man. You’re really going to kill him. “This is what?”

He swallows. Blinks. “Do you really want me to—?”

You nod keenly, eyes focused on his lips, slick with your spit. “Please. It’s okay.”

A kiss. A nudge to your entrance. And then he’s filling you, all at once, every inch stretching you impeccably. You grip onto his bicep and dig your nails into his skin and furrow your brows, and it takes every ounce of self-control that Luigi can muster to not give it all to you right then; to not slam into you with no mercy just to watch your face contort; to not show you exactly what you do to him.

Oh, god. He feels like he’s losing his virginity all over again with you.

“Fuckkkk,” he sighs, bones sagging. He’s already as deep as he can get, the curly hairs on his pelvis pressed against you, and you’re dragging your nails down his back—

“How’s this? Are you okay?” Luigi asks.

You exhale with a nod. “Very okay. You feel really nice inside of me.”

Oh, god.

“Baby, you feel really nice. Fuck.” He kisses you, deep and sweet. When he pulls away he hooks one of your thighs under his shoulder, enhancing his angle for you, and you shiver.

And then he’s moving.

Luigi is fucking you. He’s finally fucking you—it’s been almost a year of knowing you and seeing you and craving you and this very thing occupied his mind for just about eighty percent of it, and he’s finally inside your cunt. Deep inside, pumping without hurry, just feeling your wet pussy yield to his girth. All while your mouth is on his and your legs are wrapped around him and your hands are on his back and his arms.

“You feel like heaven,” he whispers against your lips.

All you can do is moan, a little mhmm.

“All those months you spent doing math with me, reeling me in, and you could’ve been taking me just like this.”

He’s not entirely sure where this silver tongue came from. But you respond delightfully, whining and gripping his cock. Desperate and greedy. All his.

You arch your back, squeeze your eyes shut. “Luigi, oh—oh my god…”

“Hmm?” He swings your other leg over his shoulder so that your feet are in the air and you’re stretched perfectly around him. “Does this feel good, bella?”

“Yes, fuck, it’s good, I just—I want you to—faster…”

You’re clawing at his curls, pulling tight, and Luigi can’t help but groan. “What’s that?”

Face twisted, you moan, “faster, I can take it—”

He grabs your chin, holds you steady. “Ask nicely,” he orders.

“Please fuck me faster, pleaseee…”

Luigi is a sucker for your pleading. So he rocks his hips quickly, and you’re gripping the sheets and moving with him, practically fucking him back; and when he spreads his hand over your abdomen he can fucking feel his cock pushing into you, and he realizes that he isn’t going to last much longer.

“I’m—“ His hand finds your clit, tweaking you with two fingers. “I’m gonna come, baby, fuck…”

With your hand at his hair pulling him close to you, you whisper in his ear, “inside, come inside of me.”

He must be fucking dreaming. His own insecurities force him to consider the possibility that he’s lost his mind for good, that this is all his wild imagination, but it’s not—you feel hot and snug around his dick and you’re keening and he’s so, so close—

“Are you—oh, fuck—are you sure?” Luigi, calm and sensible and sophisticated, trying to have half the mind to confirm that what you want is really what you want; that he’s not coming undone in pieces on top of you.

“You’re too prudent,” you mutter, smiling. “Give it to me, big guy.”

And then his balls are drawing up and he’s flooding you, mouth agape, hips still pumping sloppy and unbalanced into yours. It’s unbelievably warm and tight and slick and he can’t even comprehend how good you make him feel.

He has to catch his breath, but the moment he pulls out of you Luigi is quickly getting on his knees between your thighs.

“What—“

You try to inquire, but he shushes you. “You didn’t get to come, did you?” he asks, thumb toying with your clit. “I’m just helping you with the mess I made.”

What he does next is quite unfamiliar but surprisingly exciting: his tongue peeks out to taste, collecting his own essence and your slick before licking straight up the length of your cunt. He can’t stay away from your entrance; the taste of himself and you together is almost enough to have his cock rising again, certainly not helped by your fingers in his curls and his name in your mouth as you jitter and buck your hips into him. His tastebuds are buzzing with joy as he licks and sucks you to your climax.

As you lay back and relish in your pleasure, Luigi wipes his mouth and pulls his boxers back on, settling next to you and watching you catch your breath. He has learned something new about you—you look beautiful after getting fucked. Your hair is messy and your chest rises perfectly with each inhale and exhale, eyes shut in pure bliss. It’s not like you don’t look beautiful all the time, but right now, under the glow of the sex and the high of your orgasm, you look angelic.

“So,” you mutter.

“So?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you ask, “you can still help me with math, right?”

Luigi chuckles. “Yeah, of course. And anything else you need.”

“So…” Rolling onto your stomach, you prop yourself up on your elbows and run your fingers along the strap of his Fitbit. “Hypothetically speaking, if I were having trouble, uh, making myself come, or something…You could help me with that too?”

“Definitely.”

Definitely is an understatement. Gladly. Proudly.

That’s what tutors are for, after all.

^ dividers by cafekitsune

#luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione fic #luigi mangione fanfiction #flig’s work #✏️tutor gi

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taesanrot · 1 year ago

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[cool with you] leehan x f!reader | 3.8k words f2l, college au, smut (oral m.receiving, making out), alcohol consumption note. most graphic fic ive written so far so proceed with caution, also sorry to anon for taking so long to write this thank u sm for sending requests! hope u all enjoy :3 @onedoornet

"hey guys, this is my friend, leehan. is it cool if he sits with us?" jaehyun's chirpy voice interrupted the current discussion at your table. looking up, you saw a boy with glasses and fluffy hair smiling shyly.

"is this the guy from your health class, hyung? my name is taesan, whats up?" the long haired boy's slightly quieter presence fit into your group perfectly; you, belle, and taesan being the same age as him only made it easier for him to talk to you guys.

to be honest, with how big of a group you hung out with, leehan and your conversations often got drowned out, you being pulled over to ningning and giselle while leehan was caught up in discussions with shinyu and jaehyun.

while you had nothing against the boy, you never really found yourself with the opportunity to get to know him one-on-one, and his presence in the group was merely an afterthought to you.

…

slumping into a seat in your 9 am lecture, you yawned, already regretting taking a morning math lecture. unluckily, you'd completely forgotten to register for the class until just before the beginning of the semester, leaving you no choice but to sign up for the morning section.

as you begrudgingly pulled out your notebook, your text buzzed with a message.

leehan: is that you?

yn: huh

leehan: in mr.shin's math class

leehan: look behind you

you whipped around to see leehan sitting a couple rows back, waving at you with a small smile. he donned the same black glasses he always wore, hair messily fluffed and his figure draped in a loose hoodie. smiling back, you quickly gathered your things, moving to an empty seat next to him. his eyes widened watching you walk over.

while he was on the shyer side, you most definitely were not. plus, you were more than thrilled to see a familiar face in class.

slightly out of breath from walking over, you whispered to the boy next to you.

"hey, how are you?" you were smoothing your hair down and reorganizing your things as you spoke.

looking down at his sweats, leehan wondered how you managed to look so put together at nine in the morning.

"good, i didn't know you were in this class." the boy replied quietly.

he glanced up slightly to see if the professor had arrived yet. you sucked in a breath seeing the boy up close. his side profile enticed you, but you recovered quickly, not wanting to make a fool of yourself.

"yeah, it's a requirement for my program, i suck at math, though." you frowned slightly, fiddling with your nails.

"don't worry, i can help you out." leehan smiled easily at you, earning a surprised look back.

"what? i like math." he retorted. and with that, you finally got to know the long haired boy beyond the snippets of conversation you two shared at lunches.

the two of you frequently hung out, using the excuse of working on homework to get food together, waste time at the library, or hang out at your apartment.

despite his quieter demeanor, you found that you clicked with the boy well. the two of you talked about anything and everything, whether it was your favorite movies or some dumb prank myungjae decided to play on giselle.

sometimes, you felt like no one else knew leehan as well as you did. or rather, that you were the only one who witnessed this version of leehan -- the person he was around you. the serious and quiet mannerisms he had kept up like a wall fell quickly around you. hearing his name made you think of late nights at the uni library, cold ice cream after a difficult exam, and loud laughter at his stupid jokes.

"what does a mermaid wear on her boobs?" leehan's question pierced the calm silence of your study session. looking up from your laptop, you quirked a brow.

"huh?" you were slightly in a daze, the quick shifting of your attention and the warm air of the courtyard jumbling your thoughts together.

"an algebra!" the boy in front of you barely spat the answer out before bursting into giggles, his honey voice bringing you back to earth. you sighed in fake frustration, making him laugh even harder. he dropped his pencil and notebook to hold his stomach as his laughing fit continued.

in that moment, surrounded by the soft grass of the courtyard and hair blowing in the slow breeze, leehan was a sight to behold. your breathing faltered, lungs utterly failing you as you watched his eyes crinkle adorably and as your ears filled with the sound of his pretty laugh. you felt your heart beating in your ears, bringing a hand to cup your cheek.

it was warm, and you'd be stupid to think the sun was the only reason for it.

…

you tapped the excess powder off your makeup brush delicately, finishing the final touch ups on your makeup for the night. you were sitting in your roommate, belle's, room with ningning and giselle. the four of you were getting ready for a party, like any other friday night.

"here." you clicked the tin of your blush closed as you turned towards giselle, who handed you a shot glass with clear liquid. you grimaced slightly at the sight, looking past giselle's outstretched arm to see your 2 other friends with matching shot glasses and similar looks of disgust.

the four of you clinked your glasses together before throwing back the rancid liquid. your eyes screwed shut and you reached for the nearest beverage to chase the shot.

opening your eyes, you made eye contact with ningning, giggling as she smiled at you.

moving over to stand at belle's desk, you poured another round of shots for your friends, opening your phone to play some music in the background.

2 rounds later, you were satisfied with the level of buzz you felt, sitting next to belle on her bed and leaning a head on her shoulder.

"tired already?" she laughed at you, poking your thigh teasingly. you shook your head.

"can't sleep now, y/n, or you'll miss seeing your boyfriend." ningning's voice was singsongy as she teased you. you pulled your head off of your friend's shoulder to flip ningning off.

"he is not my boyfriend." you protested, cheeks burning at the mention of the long haired boy.

"seriously, y/n, we all see how you guys are together." giselle spoke lazily as she straightened her hair, throwing a sarcastic look at you.

"yeah, it's like you guys are in your own little bubble. it's disgusting actually." belle agreed. before you could land a soft punch on her shoulder, her phone screen lit up with a message.

it was a message from taesan. you couldn't make out the full text, only catching a glimpse of his contact picture.

"speaking of the devil, he and the boys are about to head over there. we should get going." the timing worked out perfectly as giselle had just finished doing her hair and ningning had finally picked out her outfit.

you checked yourself in the mirror one last time, doing a quick once over of your outfit. the denim shorts and white halter top complimented you well, and you smiled triumphantly as you tucked some of your hair behind your ear.

you wondered if leehan would like your outfit, stomach flipping at the idea of seeing him soon. he usually didn't enjoy these types of functions, but the boys convinced him to come for once.

"y/n! hurry your ass up!" giselle's voice snapped you out of your daze, and you ran out the door to catch up to your friends.

…

music pulsed through your veins as you pushed open the door. the party was louder than you expected, and you could barely hear belle yelling at you over the music.

"let's go to the kitchen!" her voice was almost drowned out by the music, and she grabbed you hand to pull you in the right direction.

you friends found a bit of solace in the kitchen, as well as the drinks.

"let's take a round of shots." ningning smiled deviously, pouring out four shots of some clear liquid from a bottle you didn't recognize. somehow you had a feeling tonight was going to be more eventful than usual.

a couple rounds later, you and the girls were sufficiently drunk, finally deciding to look for the rest of your friends. before you could turn and enter the crowd of bodies, you felt someone grab your shoulder and pull you in for a hug.

looking up, you were met with taesan's smiling face, making you laugh and hug him back.

"we thought you guys died!" he yelled drunkenly, moving past you to say hello to the rest of the girls. behind him, you saw shinyu and myungjae's flushed faces. the boys clearly pregamed more than you guys did.

as taesan pulled belle and ningning out into the living room to dance and the rest of your friends filed out behind them, you were left in the kitchen with none other than leehan. he was still standing near the kitchen's entrance.

you walked over to him, almost tripping over your foot in the process.

"hi." you giggled. the long haired boy's eyes widened with concern at your unstable steps, hand reaching out to grab your shoulder.

"how drunk are you?" he asked with a small smile on his face. he thought you looked so cute like this, cheeks slightly pink and eyes crinkled. you shrugged teasingly.

"dunno. did you drink?" he seemed a bit more composed than the other boys.

"yeah, i'm just tipsy though." you nodded in acknowledgement before breaking out into another dazed smile.

despite the intoxication running through your system, the two of you fell into conversation just as easily as usual. your head felt foggy as leehan rambled about his day and how he and the guys had gotten to the party. the boy could read you like a book, noticing the way your eyes looked at him but felt far away.

"what're you thinking about?" he asked curiously. you snapped out of your chaotic thoughts. not uttering a word, you brought your index finger up and lightly pressed the skin underneath the boy's right eye. leehan's eyes widened at your boldness, not knowing what you were going to do next.

"your glasses …" you mumbled. you traced your finger under the boy's eye and across the bridge of his nose, where his thick frames usually sat. it was the first thing you'd noticed when you finally approached him.

"do you miss them?" he asked with a small smile on his face, amused at the way you were so perplexed by the lack of the accessory. you shook your head fervently, confusing him.

"no, i like this." you stated, tapping the bridge of his nose. "i get to see more of you."

leehan felt his ears burning at the sweetness of the words melting off your tongue. you giggled again, he didn't know why.

before you could drop your hand back to your side, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist delicately, eliciting a small gasp from you. breathing slowly, he moved your hand so it cupped his jaw, laying his larger hand over yours.

he slid your fingers down his neck, laying the pads of them over his pulse point. you bit your lip slowly, mind still spinning. you weren't sure if you were imagining it but you swore you could feel his pulse thrumming unimaginely quick under your touch. the mere thought made butterflies erupt in your stomach, and suddenly the kitchen was too warm and too stuffy.

"can we get out of here?" leehan smiled at your timid question, intertwining his hand with yours and letting them both drop and hang in the small space between the two fo you.

craning his neck to the side, he looked to make sure your friends were okay, sighing in relief at the sight of them all dancing together in the living room. turning back to you, he grinned.

"let's go."

…

leehan’s face is flushed red, and he’s happy it isn’t from the alcohol.

it’s you sitting on his lap so delicately that's making his skin feel like it's burning and his lungs feel like he’s underwater.

your fingers comb into his fluffy hair, ruffling it gently as your lips suck on the soft skin of his neck.

you don’t know how long you’ve been here, kissing leehan all over like you’ll never be able to lay a finger on his pearly skin ever again.

the two of you stumbled into your apartment. you barely even made sure the door was locked before pushing leehan onto your living room couch. as you sat yourself down on his lap, you mentally cursed your friends for how well they knew you — your thoughts when it came to the quiet boy were all but innocent.

his hands landed on your hips easily, tilting his face up so you could capture his lips with yours.

in a drunken stupor you almost missed his lips, but the two of you settled into a rhythm easily, like you'd been doing this forever. leehan's long fingers caressed the exposed skin of your side, brushing up and down until your skin filled with goosebumps.

your arms wrapped around his neck as his tongue brushed your bottom lip, coaxing your lips open. you swore you saw stars as he pushed his tongue into your mouth, the wet muscle brushing the inside of your cheek.

the lewd noises you two were making only egged you on further, and when leehan pulled away to catch his breath you tilted your face and attached your lips to the curve where his neck met his shoulders.

the feeling of your plush lips and warm tongue against his throat pulled a loud moan out of him, and his hands instinctively pressed into your shoulder blades, pulling you into him more and more.

pulling the neck of his shirt down slightly, you moved to his collarbone, biting it softly before stroking it with your tongue. the boy threw his head back, pressing further into the couch as his heart pumped impossibly fast.

while adjusting yourself in his lap to get a better angle, you felt something hard poking your thigh. smiling against his neck, you unclasped your hands that wrapped around his neck and let them drift down. your fingers danced across his chest and abdomen, landing at the waistband of his pants. you captured his lips in another searing kiss as you unbuttoned them clumsily.

before you could get to the last button, leehan pulled his mouth away from yours, large hands landing on top of yours on his crotch.

"are you sure about this? you're still kinda drunk." leehan asked breathlessly. he wanted you, that was without question, but the last thing he wanted to do was ruin your friendship because of some drunken impulsivity.

the corners of your lips curved upward as you looked at the boy catching his breath beneath you. you slipped off on his lap to sit on the floor, hands pushing his knees apart.

"leehan, i've wanted you for so long now. let me make you feel good." you cooed at him, and he moved his hands to help you slip his pants and boxers to his ankles.

his dick sprung out, tip red and leaking, and you spit into your hand lightly before wrapping your hand around the top half. leehan groaned as you ran your thumb over the tip, spreading his slick before giving him a few experimental strokes.

the boy was already shaking, sensitive and aching for your touch. after a few more pumps, you licked your lips and grabbed his hand with your free one, guiding his hand to your neck so he could hold your hair for you.

he complied in a daze, combing his fingers through your hair and holding it back, caressing your neck with his other hand.

you smiled up at him before leaning forward to kiss his swollen tip. something in your stomach burned when you heard him hiss, his grip on your hair tightening slightly.

you delicately wrapped your lips around him, brushing the tip with your tongue once before sinking your mouth further down on him.

a moan ripped through the boy as he felt the warm expanse of your throat. you took as much as you could, wrapping your hand around the last few inches. swallowing harshly, leehan used all of the strength he had to not thrust into your mouth.

you moved languidly on his dick, swallowing more and more. your other hand rested on his hip bone, and the boy removed the hand resting idly on your neck so he could hold your empty hand.

the feeling of your mouth full made you moan, the sound sending vibrations through leehan’s body. he tensed and writhed under you, eyes screwed shut. the sight of him unraveling underneath you only spurred you on even further.

you moved up and down on his length at a quicker pace, his tip hitting the back of your throat in a way that made your name spill from his mouth over and over.

he guided your head slightly so he could keep kissing that spot with his dick, eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head.

when you swallowed around him he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from screaming your name.

you could tell he was close by the way he squeezed your hand and the way his abdomen was tensing sporadically.

"where-" the boy stuttered, almost unable to think straight.

"can i cum in your mouth?" he managed to spit out between moans. you tried your best to nod, squeezing his hand.

as his climax approached, leehan’s whole body writhed and you pressed your hand down on his hips. breathing in deeply through your nose, you sank down and took almost all of him, his tip hitting the back of your throat roughly. that was enough to send him over the edge, and his whole body stilled as his vision went white.

his cum spilled into your throat and you gagged slightly before swallowing it all. dragging your tongue on his length, you removed your mouth from him with a pop.

you looked up at leehan as he caught his breath. giggling at his dazed state, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

“that was amazing” he breathed out, pulling you back onto his lap.

his hand cupped your neck as he pulled you in for a soft kiss, before pulling away and tucking some of your hair behind your ear. you smiled as you let him smooth down your ruffled hair and wipe the tears that had gathered in the corner of your eyes.

“gonna go get some water.” you lifted yourself from his lap slowly, stretching out your legs slightly before padding over to the kitchen.

you returned with a glass of water and a pair of oversized sweatpants from your room.

“do you wanna change? i think these might fit.” you asked, thrusting the pants forward in his direction. he stood up slowly, smiling at your gratefully as he nodded, grabbing the sweats and walking to your bathroom.

when he came back out, you were sitting on the couch mid-yawn, having changed into an oversized tshirt and some pj shorts.

turning to meet his eyes, you smiled and stood up. grabbing his hand, you led him to your room, slipping underneath the covers and holding them up so he could join you.

“wanna watch a movie?” your voice pierced the silence, and leehan chuckled. you were adorable. from how droopy your eyes were, he knew you wouldn't be awake for much longer, but he reached over to your nightstand and grabbed your laptop anyways.

after picking a movie, you placed the laptop on leehan's lap, snuggling against his shoulder. he wrapped and arm around you, pulling you into his side and resting his head on top of yours. you tangled your legs with his, sighing in contentment. leehan smiled down at you.

he was right -- within 5 minutes you were asleep, having shifted to lay down fully instead of leaning against your headboard. leehan smiled fondly at your sleeping form. he felt so lucky that you felt the same way about him as he did you.

setting your laptop away and plugging in your phone to charge, the boy shifted so he was laying down next to you, throwing an arm over you. you stirred slightly in your sleep, arms reaching out to hug him and cuddle into his chest.

…

you woke up before leehan, rubbing your bleary eyes. you were still sleeping against his chest, tilting your head up slightly to look at his sleeping face. he looked ethereal, hair mused slightly. as you reached a hand up to smooth down the messy strands, his eyes opened, a smile forming as he made eye contact with you.

"morning." his raspy morning voice made your cheeks burn. him leaning his head down to place a wet kiss to the side of your head didn't help either, and you were sure your ears were cherry red.

"i have an idea." the boy mumbled, and you tilted your head in curiosity. yawning, he tightened his hold on you, nuzzling his cheek against your hair.

"you should let me take you on a date today." you couldn't stop the grin from forming on your face, giggling. you nodded into his chest, pressing yourself further into him and breathing him in.

his fingers suddenly jabbed into your side, making you shriek. you laughed, pushing the boy away from you.

"i wanna hear you say it!" he said teasingly. you were trying and failing at swatting his hands away, eyes crinkling as you smiled.

"yes! yes! i'll go on a date with you." you exclaimed between giggles, sighing in relief as the boy finally stopped tickling you. he grinned, folding you back into his arms and tucking your head under his chin.

"let's sleep a little longer first."

…

while the two of you were still asleep, your friends sat in the dining hall, grabbing lunch.

"look what i have." belle spoke giddily, grabbing the attention of taesan, myungjae, shinyu, giselle, and ningning.

turning her phone around, she showed them a picture of you and leehan asleep in your bed. it was in the early morning, and you were cuddled into his chest.

"that's where he went!"

"i KNEW they were into each other."

"shinyu! you owe me $15 dollars."

it was safe to say the two of you received a plethora of text messages when you finally woke up.

#onedoornet #bnd #boynextdoor #leehan #kim donghyun #leehan x reader #leehan smut #donghyun x reader #leehan imagines #bnd imagines #bnd x reader #bnd smut #bnd fluff #leehan fluff #leehan bnd #kim donghyun x reader #kim leehan #kim leehan x reader

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woniedarlin · 1 year ago

Text

How to Get a Tsundere’s Heart: Yang Jungwon

pairing: Jungwon x tsundere! reader

synopsis: You always believed that Jungwon's actions towards you were merely a way to get a rise out of you and stir up drama. You had no idea that he was deeply in love with you and willing to go to any lengths to capture your love. Despite it being increasingly clear to those around you that he was head over heels for you, you remained stubborn in your denial and refused to let down your guard.

warnings: Jungwon being a delulu 24/7, pouts and whines a lott, you are just painfully mean and so oblivious 😭, mentions of injuries, kissing, cussing

note: Hey darlings!! Wishing you all a wonderful day ahead. Happy reading! 💋

caution: This story contains scenes and situations that may be endearing, and heartwarming and potentially cause readers to experience unexpected bouts of affection and delusional behavior toward their crushes. Read responsibly!

permanent taglist: @sol3chu

You hated Jungwon for absolutely no reason... well, actually, for a dumb reason. Many of your classmates looked at Jungwon with empathy because the poor boy had done nothing to deserve your hatred. He was deeply and desperately in love with you.

Like, completely whipped.

That boy would give you heart eyes despite the glares you threw his way. Whenever he tried to help you with homework, you assumed he thought you were incapable. To put it bluntly, you were oblivious to his feelings. You always assumed he just liked to pick on you to get a reaction, but in reality, it was the opposite. No matter how many glares or snarky remarks you hurled at him, Jungwon remained smitten. It was almost amusing and concerning.

Today, during lunch break, you were sitting alone while struggling with your math assignment. Furrowing your eyebrows as you gripped the pen in your hand, completely frustrated with the problems given. Jungwon approached, his eyes soft and full of adoration.

“Hey, need some help?” he asked gently.

You lifted your head, scoffing as you glared at him. “Are you implying that I can’t solve these problems myself? I’m perfectly capable. I’m not an idiot.”

He chuckled softly, not a bit offended by your remark. “Right, of course,” he replied casually taking a seat beside you. “I’m just making sure. You’re glaring too hard at that assignment, that’s for sure.”

He then took a glance at the paper, immediately noticing the wrong answers.

"You're struggling," he pointed out. "It's okay to ask for help, y'know."

“I don’t need your help,” you snapped back.

He laughed a little before looking at you with heart eyes, already expecting a snide response like that from you. But it didn’t bother him, no. He loved it. He couldn’t help but find it attractive, which was one of the reasons why he was so whipped for you.

"Oh? Is that so?" he asked, resting his chin against his palm. "I think you do." He gently slid the paper toward himself, circling your wrong answers. He then wrote the correct answers below each question.

"Here."

You examined the answers he wrote, realizing that they were correct but your pride was too high to admit that.

“Whatever. I could have solved this with more time. Thanks for nothing.” You stood up, grabbing your things before walking away.

He wanted to pinch your cheeks for looking like a defiant, sassy kitten. But he just watched with goo-goo eyes as you walked away. He looked back at your seat, noticing that you left some of your things on the table. Deciding to be a good person—or just finding an excuse to see you again—he grabbed the items before going after you.

“Hey, you dropped these!” he called out, catching up to you.

You glared at him and snatched your things. “Tsk, whatever.”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling, because gosh, you looked adorable trying to intimidate him despite your height. You looked like an angry and adorable cat whenever you glared at him. The urge to just put you in his pocket, bring you home, and pamper you was overwhelming.

He gently wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “You do know that I’m always right here to help, right?” he said softly, his eyes full of love. “Always.”

“Don’t touch me,” you said, thinking he was doing this to irritate you. You swatted his arm away.

His heart fluttered once more, noticing the way you swatted his arm. Oh, how he loved it. He continued to walk behind you, despite your attempts to get away from him.

“You’re so stubborn, I swear,” he muttered under his breath. Your attitude was so cute to him.

“Such a wife material,” he said to himself with a dreamy look. Oh boy…

💜

You were sitting in your final class of the day, zoning out and counting down the minutes until you could finally escape. You stole glances at the clock, desperate to go home and put an end to your uneventful day. Suddenly, you noticed Jungwon staring at you from the back of the classroom, the same look of contempt he had given you every single day. You were sick of his constant ‘’intimidation’’ tactics, always trying to rattle you and make you uncomfortable.

“What is he doing? Is he trying to intimidate me again?” you thought, feeling a surge of irritation. You then locked eyes with him and stared back. Glaring at him in full of rage.

Jungwon was caught off guard by your stare, a faint pink blush spreading across his cheeks. He was completely taken aback by you as if he had never seen a woman staring back at him with such intensity. Jungwon continued to stare right at you, his eyes filled with awe.

"My wife is finally noticing me," Jungwon thought, a smile playing on his lips. He had never felt this way before, feeling a deep contentment.

But you, on the other hand, were furious. You saw his stare as nothing more than a mockery.

“What the hell is he doing?” you wondered, your irritation growing. You glared at him, feeling a mix of confusion and rage.

After class, you stalked over to him, your bag clenched tightly in your hands. As soon as you locked eyes with him, you spat out a string of angry words.

“What do you want, huh? Are you planning something?” you said with a sharp tone.

But to Jungwon, he couldn’t hear every single word your pretty mouth was saying. Blushing, he continued to look at you with the same goo-goo eyes.

A scene played in his mind, where he was at the altar with you, saying your vows. He then told you, with a dreamy tone. “I do...”

‘’He does? So he is planning something...’’ you thought

As soon as he felt himself slip into the comforting embrace of his fantasies, your cruel words shattered the illusion. You scowled at him, the hatred in your eyes showing.

You scowled at him. “Oh, game on!” you then walked out of the classroom with so much hatred.

Though Jungwon remained standing, with a dreamy smile, giggling. “Ah... she wants me...”

💜

Weeks later, just like any other day in school, everything seemed pretty normal. It was after classes and Jungwon was planning to go home. He saw you while he was walking in the hallways. His eyes softened and he started walking towards you, just wanting to know how your day had been in class. But then a student ran and accidentally bumped into you.

Jungwon saw that you were about to fall.

His eyes widened as he saw you teetering. “Oh no! My wife needs me,” he thought to himself.

Without sparing another second, he rushed towards you. He immediately wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you against his chest. One of his arms stayed around your waist while the other one moved upwards to cradle the back of your head, preventing you from accidentally bumping against the wall or worse, the floor.

“You okay?” he asked with a concerned tone.

You looked shocked and stared at him, feeling your ears grow hot. Seeing Jungwon up close, you realized just how handsome his features were—his soft eyes, strong jawline, and the warmth in his gaze—before the situation fully hit you.

What in the K-drama is this?

He held you protectively. All thoughts about how you looked so pretty in his arms were already filling his mind. He gently pulled away a little and took a good look at you, his eyes searching for any signs of injuries. But he felt relieved to notice that you were unharmed.

“Are you okay?” he asked again softly, his touch lingering as his eyes continued to look at you with concern.

You then realized the situation and immediately scowled, pushing him away. “I’m fine. Don’t touch me.”

As soon as you pulled away, he felt like whining because he wanted you to stay in his arms for a little bit longer. That felt too short. He wanted to hold you longer and closer.

He sighed. The fact that you immediately scowled at him after he showed concern was something he found adorable and endearing. Oh…he just couldn’t wait to put a ring on your finger. But well, he would take his time.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he pouted.

You rolled your eyes, thinking he was just doing it to irritate you as always before walking away.

He pouted more, following after you as you walked away. He was like a duckling following its mama. How adorable. He still had a pout on his face as he called out to you.

“Come on! I was only worried!” he said while following you. “Please come back!”

You stopped and turned around. “Alright, fine. Thanks for saving my life,” you said with a sarcastic tone. “Happy now?”

His pout was immediately replaced with a smirk. Damn it...

He knew you were mocking him, yet he still found it cute. Seriously, he loved every attitude coming out from you… even the mocking ones because hell, they were cute.

He stopped too. Just the thought of you being sarcastic got him going.

“Yes, I’m happy that you’re unharmed,” he responded sincerely, his gaze full of love as he looked at you.

Silence…

“Bye,” you bluntly said before walking away immediately, just wanting to get rid of him.

He pouted again, feeling slightly upset that you were leaving. But he couldn’t do anything about it because you were just so damn stubborn, plus he loved that side of you so really he couldn’t do anything.

“Hmp, why is she always walking away so quickly?” he mumbled, not really complaining and just admiring your pretty figure. He then muttered under his breath, “So cute... I’ll put a ring on that finger anyways.”

💜

That night when you got home, you changed into your pajamas and lay on your bed, staring up at the ceiling. Your cheeks were burning as you replayed the events of the day in your mind. “No… no… there’s no way. Not that guy!” you said, patting both your hands on your cheeks in disbelief.

Your mind kept replaying what happened at school, each memory making you groan in frustration. You grabbed your pillow and pressed it against your face, screaming into it to release your pent-up emotions.

Unfortunately, your mom heard the muffled scream from next door. You heard her footsteps quickly approaching and the door swung open, revealing your worried mother. “Sweetheart, are you alright? Did something happen?”

“Nothing, Mom. I’m fine... I’m fine,” you replied, your eyes softening with guilt. You noticed she had gotten up from her sleep and felt bad for waking her.

But because your cheeks were flushed, your mom knew you too well. Her drowsy look turned into a full-blown tease. “Oh… is it about a boy? Tell me everything.” You knew your mom loved good gossip.

“Not a boy. Definitely not. One hundred percent,” you lied through your teeth, rolling your eyes. You stood up and gently placed your hands on her shoulders, turning her around and guiding her back towards her room. “Just sleep, Mom. I’m fine..I love you, hm? Good night.” You then closed her door behind her.

You sighed and rested your back against the door, closing your eyes.

“Damn you, Yang Jungwon.”

💜

Time passed, and it was finally the day of the school trip to a camp. You found yourself on the bus, scanning the seats to find your friend to sit next to.

Jungwon was also on the bus, but unlike others, he wasn’t searching for his friends. His eyes were fixed on you, observing as you looked around for someone.

He couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath at your slight pout when you couldn’t find your friend. It should be illegal how cute you were. Sitting in the middle row with a backpack on the seat beside him, he knew it might be seen as a pushy move, but he couldn’t resist.

As you walked past him, he spoke up as if he had just noticed you. “Hey, are you looking for someone?” he asked innocently.

Your eyes hardened as you looked at him. “Yeri. Have you seen her?”

His heart skipped a beat as your gaze met his. Why did you have to do this and make him fall even more? But as usual, he remained composed, showing no sign of weakness—well, mostly.

Glancing around the bus, he shook his head. “Nah, haven’t seen her here. Probably on a different bus,” he replied casually, gesturing for you to take a seat. Taking off his bag that was on the seat. “You can sit beside me for now. You shouldn’t stay standing.”

Silence...

“No.”

Well… that rejection was expected, but it didn’t stop him from pushing his luck.

“What do you mean no? I’m just suggesting the best possible thing right now,” he replied, still gesturing for you to sit beside him.

“Oh, come on, just sit. You’re going to get tired from standing,” he said calmly. “Or do you want me to pick you up and sit you down myself?”

You scowled at him, glancing around once more to see the seats were full. Having no choice, you sat down next to him.

He celebrated internally that you were now beside him, but he kept his composure. Sure, you were classmates and saw each other often but having you sit next to him felt like heaven. He stole a glance at you, admiring your features once more. The urge to kiss your head was almost overwhelming.

As the bus rolled along, you struggled to sleep, taking off your headphones in frustration.

Jungwon noticed your discomfort as you shifted and fidgeted in your seat. It broke his heart to see you struggle, and he debated whether to speak up.

“You can rest on my shoulder if you’d like,” he offered.

you then replied curtly, “I don’t need it,”

He sighed inwardly. Damn, you were so stubborn. He wasn’t sure if he was frustrated or more smitten because of your attitude. But we all know the answer to that one,

“But you’re struggling to sleep. Your eyes are wide open,” he pointed out, his voice tinged with concern while maintaining a calm tone.

“Just rest on my shoulder. It’s not a bother.” He gently put his palm on your cheek to guide your head to his shoulder. His shoulders were broad and surprisingly comfortable.

A soft smile formed on his lips as he felt your head settle against his shoulder. It took all his self-control not to squeal with excitement. How could you be so stubborn yet so adorable at the same time? It was a unique combination that he found irresistibly attractive.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him, and started to rub your arm affectionately as you rested.

He couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the ride. His dimples deepened with joy.

💜

The bus stop was somewhat both a blessing and a curse for Jungwon. He had been enjoying having your head on his shoulder and being able to hold you close. However, the ride had to end eventually and that meant you would have to wake up.

He gently shook your shoulder. “Hey, we’re here. Wake up, pretty,” he said softly, smiling warmly at you.

You groaned a little, lifting your head. Already..? “We’re here?”

He chuckled softly at your groan, finding your sleepy voice utterly adorable. Without hesitation, he pulled you closer by your shoulder as you stirred.

“Yeah, we’ve arrived at the camp,” he replied gently, still rubbing your shoulder with his palm. He brushed your hair away from your sleepy face with his other hand, unable to resist how precious and pretty you looked at this moment.

You nodded and gathered your things, yawning as you exited the bus.

Watching you wake up with a yawn and move sluggishly was so endearing to Jungwon. He thought of you like a little sleepy kitten. He kept his hand on your shoulder as he guided you off the bus.

Walking beside you, he observed as you continued to rub your sleepy eyes. “Are you still sleepy?” he asked softly.

You yawned again, sarcasm still evident. “Obviously.”

You were undeniably adorable when you were sleepy, and Jungwon’s heart fluttered at the sight of you. He then gently caressed your cheek.

“You’re so cute when you’re sleepy,” he said softly as the two of you began walking towards the campsite.

This day felt like the best day of his life, and he knew he would cherish these memories forever.

💜

It was night. The campfire was set and students were eating. Jungwon and Ni-ki sat together at the table, but Jungwon’s attention was elsewhere. His eyes kept drifting towards you, unable to resist stealing glances despite trying to appear nonchalant. Ni-ki couldn’t help but notice his friend’s distracted demeanor and decided to tease him about it.

“Dude, you’re not even trying to hide it,” Ni-ki whispered with a grin, nudging Jungwon playfully.

Jungwon turned to him, cheeks slightly flushed with embarrassment. “I’m not being obvious,” he muttered, though he knew Ni-ki had caught him red-handed.

Ni-ki snickered at his friend’s flushed and embarrassed expression.

“Yeah, you totally weren’t just now. Of course,” he responded sarcastically, smirking. “The girl literally hates your guts, but you’re still whipped. More whipped than a whipped cream,”

Jungwon sighed, feeling both defensive and bashful. “She doesn’t hate me,” he insisted quietly, though the evidence seemed stacked against him.

Ni-ki raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Oh really?” he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Ignoring you and calling you annoying isn’t exactly a sign of love, my friend.”

Jungwon frowned slightly, but deep down, he couldn’t deny the truth in Ni-ki’s words. “She’s just… hard to read,” he mumbled, crossing his arms defensively.

Ni-ki smirked knowingly. “Sure, keep telling yourself that,” he teased. “But let’s be real, she’s got you wrapped around her finger.”

Jungwon huffed in frustration, realizing how obvious his feelings must be to everyone around him. “Can we just drop it?” he muttered, trying to steer the conversation away from his love life.

Ni-ki chuckled softly, enjoying his friend’s flustered reaction. “Alright, alright,”

But then...

His eyes fixated on you once more, his expression darkening as he noticed a male student assisting you with food. A wave of jealousy washed over him at the sight, wondering if the student was flirting with you.

Ni-ki followed his line of sight and saw you being helped by the male student. He then chuckled and elbowed his friend. “‘Looks like someone's feeling jealous and territorial," he teased.

His frown deepened as he felt Ni-ki’s elbow on his side, the jealousy only increasing. He couldn't believe how territorial he was getting over someone he wasn't even dating yet.

He continued watching you and the student, his expression dark and filled with jealousy. Ni-ki couldn't miss the obvious signs of his friend's envy.

"Relax, man. It's probably nothing," Ni-ki said, attempting to pacify him.

He scoffed loudly, unable to contain his jealousy. Clenching his fists, he muttered through gritted teeth, "No, it's not nothing. I saw the way he looked at her. He's flirting." His eyes remained fixed on you, wishing he were the one helping.

Ni-ki rolled his eyes at his friend's intensity. "Even if he is, she doesn't seem interested," he reasoned calmly.

"Whatever. I'm going over there. I should be the one helping her, not him. My wife needs me," Jungwon declared, standing abruptly.

Ni-ki sighed, resigning himself to his friend's stubbornness. "You know she might reject you too, right?" he pointed out, though he knew it was futile.

Ignoring Ni-ki's words, Jungwon shook his head determinedly. Calling you his wife? He was definitely smitten.

Rolling his eyes with a scoff, he brushed off Ni-ki’s comment. He didn't care if you rejected him; he was going to help you regardless.

"That won't stop me," he retorted, striding purposefully towards you. His gaze remained dark and his heart filled with jealousy, resenting the student's ‘flirtatious’ behavior.

Then, in a bizarre turn of events, Jungwon abruptly snatched your plate away, hissing at the bewildered student- wait..hissing? Like a damn cat? the fuck...

The student raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by Jungwon's attitude. What was happening?

"Um, okay then?" the student muttered, retreating to his seat while thoroughly confused.

Jungwon didn't feel an ounce of shame for his jealous outburst. He seemed rather pleased with himself. Rolling his eyes at the student's retreat, he turned his softened gaze back to you. "Let me help you," he said gently.

You glared at him. Also weirded out by the situation. "I don't need your help. You do know that, right?"

He wasn't intimidated; in fact, he smiled, finding your glare rather cute. "Of course, I know you can handle it yourself. But let me help you," he replied, his smile suggesting he wasn't giving you a choice, even though technically he wasn't. He then decided to be a smartass to you.

"You're too sleepy to do it right now anyway. Let me," he insisted, placing food on your plate, mimicking the boy's actions.

"I'm not sleepy," you protested, watching him closely.

"Uh-huh, sure you aren't," he retorted, unconvinced. He glanced at you, noticing your struggle to keep your eyes open.

His smile widened. "Your eyes say otherwise, pretty girl."

After filling your plate, he guided you to sit down and then grabbed a spoonful of food, bringing it towards you. "Ahh."

"No, I can handle it myself. You are acting as if I don’t have hands to feed for myself," you leaned away, scowling.

He huffed, finding your scowl adorable. "Gosh, why do you have to be so cute and precious when you're annoyed?" He almost chuckled, scooting towards you despite your resistance, spoon still in hand.

"I know you can, pretty. Let me do it for you. Now, open your mouth."

You rolled your eyes, acknowledging his stubbornness before opening your mouth.

He smiled triumphantly as you gave in, unable to resist him. Honestly, he was just being a stubborn bastard and was being purposely a tease, but he wanted to see how far he could push his luck with you. “There you go. Such a good girl."

‘’What am I? A damn dog?’’ you thought to yourself. Internally rolling your eyes.

He fed you the spoonful, watching you chew with a smug yet pleased expression. He couldn't help feeling a bit proud of himself. That bastard.

You noticed he was feeding you more than himself, and despite your pride and initial irritation, you felt kinda bad so you roasted a marshmallow and offered it to him.

"Just eat it," you said sharply.

He looked at the marshmallow in surprise, then at you. He was speechless and a bit flattered. Without hesitation, he opened his mouth and bit into it, enjoying the sweet treat and the gesture.

"That's my wifey right here," he thought to himself, feeling warm inside. He swallowed, smiling warmly at you, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Thank you," he murmured, gazing at you affectionately.

"Come on, let me feed you this time," you said, taking a spoonful and feeding it to him, your expression softening for the first time at him.

His heart skipped a beat as you fed him. He was pleasantly surprised and couldn't hide his joy. His eyes never left yours, filled with fondness and affection.

After many feedings, the plate was empty. "Full now?" you asked, tilting your head.

"Yeah, I'm full now," he replied, unable to stop staring at you with tender adoration.

Silence…

"Well, I'm going to take a walk around," you announced, disposing of your plate.

He nodded, feeling reluctant to let you go alone. "I'm going with you," he said firmly, standing up after discarding his plate.

Walking beside you while matching your pace, he kept his eyes on you, not wanting to look away. "Where are you going?" he asked softly, genuinely curious.

‘’Just around,” you shrugged, feeling the chill of the windy weather.

He observed you, noticing how your body shivers slightly because of the chilly weather. He felt a protective feeling. His Y/n senses tingling, “Do you want to wear my jacket?” His voice softened, his eyes fixed on your shivering form.

you shook your head, nose getting a bit pink from the weather. ‘’No. You’ll be cold too’’

He shook his head with a slight smile on his face. He was quite amused by your concern for him, it made his heart flutter. But he still wanted to give you his jacket to stop you from being cold, so he was still going to offer it to you again.

“I’ll be fine. It’s not that cold for me. You’re the one visibly cold and shivering here.” He replied with a gentle tone. Damn it, he just wanted to wrap his arms around you and pull you closer to him to share body heat with you.

So he did just that. “How about this instead?”

He was surprised when he saw that you were now walking close to him and you didn’t refuse to get closer, which he was really glad about. He felt happy being able to walk with you and walk so close to you.

“This is much better, isn’t it?” He softly said with a small smile.

Yeah,” you agreed. Finding his body warmth comforting.

His smile widened, feeling content and elated that you were walking so closely with him. He basked in the warmth of the moment, feeling like he was floating on cloud nine. He stole glances at your profile, admiring your beauty from the side.

He then spoke again, breaking the silence in between. He was keeping his voice soft and gentle with you. “You do know that I am very much in love with you, right?”

Huh?

You stopped abruptly, processing his words. “What?”

He halted too, meeting your gaze with soft eyes before repeating himself.

“I said, I’m in love with you,” he confessed softly. He had assumed you knew, but now he wanted to make it clear.

You squinted your eyes. “Are you being for real right now?’’

“Of course I am. I always have.’’ he said softly. Uncertain of your reaction, his eyes never leave yours.

You stood still, processing everything. “Wait, so all this time… when you’ve been helping me and all that, it’s because you were in love? You weren’t just doing it to annoy me?”

“Mhm, yes. That’s exactly right. I’ve been helping you because I’m so damn in love with you,” he replied softly, watching you closely.

“I haven’t exactly been subtle about it,” he admitted with a smile.

“Whenever I see you tired or sleepy, I just can’t help myself. I want to take care of you,” he confessed, a look of adoration on his face. His love for you was evident in every word and gesture.

You groaned, face-palming yourself as you looked down. “I’m such a dumb bitch.”

He was slightly startled by your groan and self-criticism, finding your reaction unexpected but somewhat endearing. Chuckling softly, he responded with a teasing yet reassuring tone.

“Hey now, no need to be calling yourself that just because you didn’t realize my feelings. Though yeah, you’re kinda being a dumbass in this case.”

He chuckled again as you glared at him, finding your attempt to look intimidating rather adorable. “Alright, I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” he apologized with an apologetic tone, feeling a twinge of regret for calling you a dumbass, even though he still believed you were being oblivious to his love.

But he knew it was partly his fault. He was openly smitten with you, not bothering to conceal his lovesick behavior. His simping over you was obvious to anyone paying attention.

Softening your gaze, you sighed, “Okay, yeah, I admit I’m such a dumbass.”

Amused, he chuckled again, nodding in agreement before playfully teasing, “Damn right, you are a dumbass. A pretty dumbass, at that.” His playful smirk softened into a loving gaze, his heart overflowing with affection for you.

Opening his arms, his smile widening “Now let me hug you.”

“No, I’m too full,” you resisted as you stepped back.

He pouted like a disappointed child. “But I wanna hug you!” he whined, unabashedly showing his desire to embrace you. He couldn’t help it; he just wanted to hold you close because he is so damn in love.

You groaned. “Fine, you big baby.” you then lazily open your arms.

His smirk turned into a delighted grin as you relented, calling him a big baby. Wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. A satisfied hum escaped him as he held you tightly.

“Much better,” he murmured, his face nestled into the crook of your neck, inhaling your vanilla-like scent.

“I’m sorry, you know? For everything. For being such a bitch to you,” you muffled against him.

Chuckling softly, he tightened his embrace. “I forgive you. Especially when you’re apologizing while practically being squeezed to death by me,” he teased with a smug tone, relishing the closeness between you.

“It’s okay. It’s okay to be a bit bitchy. I’ll still love you anyway.” His words were filled with genuine affection and reassurance.

You hesitated for a moment before asking, “I don’t understand. There will be someone who can treat you much better than I am.”

"No, they're not. None of them can treat me better than you," he affirmed, his tone soft yet firm, his grip around you tightening slightly.

He chuckled at your observation, feeling warm and fuzzy inside. "Seriously, you don't have to feel guilty. I'm only into you. And I only want you."

Ignoring the tingling sensation in your stomach, you squinted at him. Eyeing his lips "You do know how kissable you are right now? But we just ate."

A rush of warmth filled him at your comment, feeling elated. He couldn't deny his impatience now; he wanted to kiss you as well.

"Yeah, I do know that. And I know we just ate. But I also really want to kiss you right now," he admitted.

"Now come on, kiss me, baby," he teased, puckering his lips. Stepping towards you.

Silence...

"No."

He pouted, disappointment flickering across his face as he let out a soft groan. His shoulders slumped, his need to kiss you growing stronger. He felt extra needy and clingy, desperate to feel your lips against his.

"Why not?" he whined, giving you a puppy-dog look, his expression akin to that of a child denied a sweet treat. He didn't care if you found him annoying; he just wanted to kiss you so badly.

"Ugh, fine... fine," you relented. Not wanting to see that disgustingly cute pouty expression on his face.

His smirk returned triumphantly as you finally gave in. “Finally,” he muttered happily, swiftly wrapping his arms around your waist. His gaze locked onto yours, then drifted to your lips. He admired them for a brief moment before leaning in, pressing his lips gently against yours.

It was euphoric, kissing you. He savored the softness of your lips, his hands gently pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss.

Reluctantly, he pulled away, panting softly as he gazed at you with a lovesick, smitten expression. He held onto you, unwilling to let go just yet.

“Was that your first kiss?” he asked with a smirk, a playful glint in his eyes.

You tilted your head, teasingly asking, “Was it yours?”

He chuckled softly. “Of course it was. I’ve never kissed anyone before you, so obviously, you’re my first kiss. And technically, you’re also my first love,” he confessed, his smirk widening.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. “Well… I have feelings for you too,” you admitted. “I’m still figuring them out, but I want to explore them with you and I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it.”

His smile softened into a gentle expression of affection. “I’m glad you realized it,” he replied warmly, his tone filled with sincerity and love.

“Though, you should be sorry,” he teased lightly. “Took you long enough to figure out that I love you.”

You rolled your eyes and scowled at him before attempting to walk away.

Chuckling softly at your reaction, he couldn't let you go far. He quickly grabbed your wrist and gently pulled you back toward him.

"Hey, where are you going?" he asked, his tone lighthearted yet earnest, not wanting to lose the closeness between you.

"At the tent. Away from you," you said to him.

He refused to let you go, pulling you back against his with a strong embrace.

"Yeah, I'm not letting you escape to the tent," he declared firmly, holding you tightly. "We're going together."

You tilted your head, questioning his use of "we."

He nodded, understanding your confusion. "Yes, 'we'. You and me, together."

"We have assigned tents, and I have to share with the others," you reminded him.

He shrugged dismissively, showing little concern for the assigned tents and sharing situation. "That sucks," he acknowledged, his grip on you tightening slightly.

"Looks like I'm joining you in that tent," he added.

you warned. “‘Fine, but don't blame me if you get caught,"

His eyes gleamed with mischief as he eagerly agreed to share the tent with you. "Wouldn't dream of it, baby," he replied with a smirk, guiding you both towards the tents.

💜

The next day, the camp trip came to an end. You made your way towards the school bus while carrying your bag. Where Jungwon wasn't far behind, also with his bag in tow. But he had other plans in mind, plans he intended to set in motion right then. Moving closer to you as you both approached the bus, he leaned in, his voice soft as he spoke, "When we get on the bus, sit next to me."

"Obviously," you replied, taking his hand and pulling him along to find a seat.

Jungwon's heart fluttered at your gesture, finding it adorable how certain you were that you would sit next to him. As you neared the bus, he caught Ni-ki's nod from the front. Jungwon gave him a smug look, silently communicating ‘I won’. Ni-ki responded with a silent clap, acknowledging Jungwon’s small victory.

Watching as you settled into your seat, Jungwon sat down next to you. He looked at you briefly before softly demanding, "Scooch closer."

He wanted to be near you, especially after the wonderful moments you shared, including that amazing kiss and all the cuddles in the tent. Smiling as you moved closer to him, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, drawing you snugly against his side. "This is nice," he remarked, content with your closeness.

Looking at him, you suddenly asked, "Hey, when we get back, want to plan our first date?"

He chuckled lightly at the idea. "Of course, pretty. We'll plan it."

His tone was firm yet light-hearted as he glanced at your face. "And trust me, I'll spoil the hell out of you."

"Good," you replied with a smile on your face, giving him a peck on the lips.

Finally, the bus started moving, taking you both home. A ring will surely be waiting for you in the future.

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nadinebrooks-sides · 21 days ago

Text

Hannibal (NBC Tv Show) Masterlist

Just a little side note, while reading you’ll probably fine some common themes I like to weave into a lot of these like baking, dogs (obviously), and high level academia.

Also! If you have any requests or ideas, please don't hesitate to reach out. I'm open to hear what you want me to write about.

Will Graham

The Space Between Us: Will Graham is drawn to one of the FBI's new hires whose late-night visits to his class become the only solace in his chaotic world.

Where Fear Rests: When a brilliant profiler is pulled back into the field to help solve a brutal case, she forms an unexpected connection with Will Graham.

First Times: When Will's graduate student lets it slip how inexperienced she is with relationships, Will decides he wants to help.

Unspoken Tension: There has been a lot of unspoken tension between Professor Graham and a recent graduate of the program (this is very different than what I normally write so proceed with caution haha)

Cabin Fever: When a winter storm traps her with the one man she’s spent months denying, secrets melt, boundaries blur, and both are forced to confront the love they’ve been too afraid to claim.

Quiet Waters: When a string of difficult cases forces behavioral analyst (Y/N) to take leave from the FBI, her boyfriend Will Graham offers her quiet refuge at his cabin—where early mornings, fishing trips, and unexpected comfort slowly remind her what it feels like to be safe again.

Hannibal Lecter

That was Impulsive: When Will Graham’s dog sitter—his loud, loyal high school friend—crosses paths with Dr. Hannibal Lecter, a quiet evening turns into the start of something neither of them expected, especially not under Will’s watchful eye.

The Southern Belle and the Cannibal: With cowboy boots, baked goods, and a heart too big for her own good, she never expected to unravel the most controlled man in the room.

Life is Short, Eat Dessert First: Will Graham's best friend moves to be closer to him and she shares the same hobby as Hannibal.

His Sunshine: Hannibal Lecter's neighbor is a bubbly and bright high school math teacher who can only be described as "Sunshine".

#will graham hannibal #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter imagine #professor will graham #will graham imagine #will graham #will graham x reader #psychology #fbi #jack crawford #freddie lounds #abigail hobbs #will graham x female reader #will graham x you #hannibal lecter x female reader #hannibal lecter x reader #murder husbands

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mrshowlettsgarden · 8 months ago

Note

hiiii can i please request prompt 11? thank u!!

─➭ i got two requests for this prompt! ugh, I wish somebody would hold my hand the way logan would. hope you guys love this one! - kaya <3 (prompt list)

Hold My Hand, Please - Logan Howlett: the one where you get anxious, and he notices

─➭ pairing: Logan Howlett x professor!fem!reader

─➭ content warning: prompt #11, very mild anxiety, comfort, soft!logan

●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘●

Logan noticed right away when he first met you that you play with your fingers when you're nervous. But after the last few months he’s spent his time with you since he came to the mansion, you do it when you’re stressed too. Whether you're caught in an uncomfortable situation, you’re thinking, or simply when he’s around you.

But for the last reason he hasn't come to that conclusion yet and he does not need to know that he makes you nervous in a good way.

Sometimes you tap each finger on the opposite hand with your thumb once or even twice per finger. Other times if you’re wearing a ring or rings you continuously turn the ring over and over again, along with turning it the opposite direction. Another time he’s seen you pick at the skin of your fingers but that one is a rarity. You’ll even tap your nails on each other to a beat.

It seems that you play with your hands and fingers to distract you from whatever it is that’s pushing your buttons, but he can sense that sometimes it does little to nothing to help.

During his time at the mansion, he's made it a routine to check on you when you're hiding in the greenhouse at night. It puts himself at ease even though he knows you’re safe in your element. And he enjoys the quiet walk towards the greenhouse away from the chaos going on back inside the house.

Today he noticed that you’ve been in the greenhouse all day. You haven’t come inside the house at all so he went to check on you.

As he walks towards the door, he senses something is off right away. Especially with the way the branches nearly threw the door open in his presence. He scrunches his eyebrows as he picks up his pace to find you.

“Y/n?” he called out as he walked further through with caution.

“Over here, Logan,” he hears your soft voice come from his far right.

He comes out from one of the flower covered archways to find you standing in front of the chalkboard that’s filled with a bunch of letters and numbers that he can’t find the will to decipher. When he walks closer to you, he sees that you're rolling a piece of chalk between the pads of your fingers as you stare holes into the board.

“Hey, you alright?” he asks as he stands next to you mimicking your stance in front of the board.

“What makes you think that I’m not?” a gentle smile graces your lips as you continue to roll the chalk all over your fingers.

You haven't looked over at him yet. Too afraid to lose the pattern that you’ve been studying about a plant Charles had given you this morning. You’ve never met a more stubborn plant before, and it's been hard to communicate with it because well… you almost want to say it too shy to speak.

It has an unnatural growth pattern and possesses something in the stem of it that has paralyzed those who’ve touched it with bare hands. So far, the ones who have touched the plant haven’t recovered yet. They're still paralyzed from the neck down and one is under a coma.

It’s a powerful and dangerous plant. And you just can’t figure out what the fuck it is…

“Well, for one thing you almost tore the door off while I was walking up here,” he smirks as he gazes through your neat writing. But the jumbled up words and numbers is hurting his eyes."Jeez, are ya' tryna' create a new math equation in here?" he jokes.

A small, quiet laugh was heard from you and when he looks over in your direction he can see the distress in your bunched up eyebrows. Upon seeing the look on your face, he moves his gaze to your hands. The grip you have on the small piece seems to have gotten stronger that it’s close to breaking with bits of it falling off.

“Hey, hey,” he says worriedly as he takes a hold of your hand, and you finally look at him. You have an upset look on your face and he’s ready to punch a hole into whoever and whatever it is that’s causing this. He removed the chalk from your hand and weaved his fingers between yours in comfort. “Talk to me… What’s buggin’ ya’?”

You're almost in tears as the weight of your stress starts to release, feeling the warmth of his hand engulf yours. You look up at him and you begin to feel at peace seeing his hazel eyes matching your gaze. You sigh before explaining to him that Charles has tasked you to figure out what, when, and how this plant came to be. And despite literally having the power to help you figure out what the problem is, it’s not helping whatsoever.

“I don’t know what to do, Logan,” you say in an uneasy tone as you look down at your shoes in defeat.

The hand holding yours tightened as he took a step closer to you. You feel Logan’s free hand lift your chin to get your eyes to look back at him and when you do, your eyes widen a little to see the most tender look on his handsome face. You don't think you've ever seen a look on him like that before.

“What do you need, darlin’” he says just above a whisper.

You didn't have to think about what you needed because he was already doing it.

“Just keep…holding my hand, please,” you whisper.

Logan gives you a simple nod of understanding.

“And I won’t let go till you tell me too.”

Even when you do, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to.

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#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine fluff #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett prompts #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett drabble #hugh jackman #deadpool and wolverine

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wrongbodies · 2 months ago

Text

The Worst Science Convention I Ever Went To, the conclusion

After track practice ended, I took Bradley back to Randy's house. Randy's Mom was out, so it was just the two of us alone. Bradley wanted to dive right into homework, he was so innocent. I on the other hand had other plans. We were sitting on the floor of Randy's bedroom, having shoved the laundry aside, with our homework splayed out in front of us. I didn't reach for my pencil, though. I reached across the pages and touched Bradley's chest.

"Ooh, is this an invitation to skip math homework?" Bradley asked, a coy smile spreading across his face.

"Of course, cutie. Let me show you what I'd rather work on." I responded. I moved in closer and pulled his face down to mine. The kisses we shared were electric. The excitement was rushing me towards my suggestion, and it was overwhelming my caution. I had planned to try and ease my way into the plan, make it sound convincing and compelling.

Instead, I sort of blundered into the explanation.

"Bradley?" I started.

"Yes, babe?" He replied. He looked down at my face quizzically, but with affection.

"What if you could be someone else?" I asked.

"What do you mean? Like personality wise? Or are we talking some sort of metaphysical thing like 'what if I was born in China?'" He chuckled gently.

"No, silly. I mean - if you could switch bodies, would you do it?" I asked, intensifying my gaze.

"Hmmm..." He trailed off, looking down. He was giving it serious thought. "I suppose I would try it. We've been talking about consciousness and metacognition in one of my classes."

"So, what kind of person would you switch with?" I probed.

"What, like you? Are you trying to be kinky?" Bradley giggled.

"Noooo, ugh! Ok, what if we could be big college guys? Athletes?" I suggested, leadingly.

"Hey, I'm already an athlete!" Bradley quipped. He pointed at his twig like arms. "I've clearly done a lot of lifting."

"Babe, I know you are a runner. But like, what if we could be stereotypical strong jock types?" I said, pushing a little bit further.

"Oh... like a typical jock? I mean, I don't mind my body. And I love the way you look!" He said. Then he blushed as he thought about what he said.

"Babe, don't be embarrassed. I know how you feel. I feel it too, sometimes. Like what if I could just skip to college, get a degree and be a hot fuckboy." I said, going a little off my imaginary script.

"You would?" Bradley seemed to regain some composure. "You wouldn't mind leaving everything behind? Even me?"

"I wouldn't leave you, cutie. We'd both switch with someone!" I laughed.

"It sounds like you've thought a lot about this." Bradley said, turning to look into the distance. He looked away for a while, and then another splash of color spread across his face. "I guess- I guess I'd go anywhere you went. I wouldn't want to lose you."

"Aww, I appreciate that. And I love you." I said. I felt my own cheeks grow warm.

"I love you!" Bradley said, diving forward to wrap me in his arms.

"So let's do it." I whispered.

"Huh?" He mumbled. "Are you saying you actually want to?"

"Ok, don't freak out. I actually know a way we can." I said, shrugging slightly.

"You're messing with me. Don't goof baaaabe, I was going along with the thought experiment." He whined.

"No, babe, I'm being honest. I know how and know where. At that science convention I went to, I saw it happen!" I explained.

Bradley's eyes grew wide. For the next few hours we spoke at length about it. While Bradley seemed initially interested, it would actually take a long time to convince him it was safe, it was real, and that it was already arranged. Then I showed him pictures of my real body, and then a player on my lacrosse team I hated. Quinn. Fuck that guy. I had to admit he was hot, but his personality was trash and he was always picking fights with me. Jealousy, if I had to guess.

Bradley was sufficiently convinced pretty late into the evening. Randy's Mom had come home and was making dinner already. It seemed Bradley was so smitten with Randy - me, that he'd give up his Dad and small group of friends at school for this.

When I said goodbye to Bradley that night, kissing him goodbye in the deepest most passionate kiss I had ever shared that night, I reminded him it was going to be a great adventure.

****

The next day Bradley and I cut class for the first time in our lives - well, Randy's first time, I had cut many classes. We were driving in Bradley's cramped little sedan across the city. We held hands as he navigated to the lab belonging to Dr. Lark.

When we pulled up to the squat brick building in a plain business park, I saw that my car was already there. I was going to be quite impressed if Randy had actually convinced Quinn to come with him. He hated me, as Seth anyways, so I wonder what Randy could have possibly told him that would get him to agree.

We walked in, and Bradley's hands were sweating profusely. I could tell because we held hands, and he was also squeezing very hard. I stopped right before the door we were told to find.

"Hey." I said quietly. "Are you ok with this?"

"Yes. I just worry something might happen to us." Bradley said.

I leaned in and kissed his forehead gently. "Nothing bad. We will be fine."

Bradley nodded, looking a bit more confident. We walked into the office, and saw that most of it had been taken over by the experimentations of Dr. Lark. The scientist was standing on top of a platform not dissimilar to the one he had set up at the convention. He waved to us as we walked in.

My body was sitting at the side of the room at a table with a surly faced college boy I recognized. In truth, Quinn is quite handsome. He just has some sort of chip on his shoulder or stick up his ass. He scowls all the time, and always seems ready to blow up at someone. Usually me, at practice or games. He looked up at us and wrinkled his nose, but didn't say anything. I had spoken to Randy and we agreed to pretend not to know each other. For this to work, we wanted it to be as clean a break as possible.

Perhaps most fortuitous for us, when we asked Dr. Lark about trying the swap with another college boy, he was on board. He didn't even ask any questions. Seems like he just wants the data for his research. So, we decided it was a good enough arrangement and proceeded. Leading to Bradley and I standing near the orb today.

Dr. Lark explained the concept, and then Randy and I stepped forward and went first. This was key because we had to make sure we could make it happen again. Dr. Lark had also done research about what happened before, realized that the drifting entangles the minds of two people, and when both minds stray too far into the others psyche, suddenly ending the drift would force the minds into the body of the current psyche they were attached to.

To track this, he had rigged up a program that would indicate in a basic way on a monitor where each consciousness was relative to their bodies.

When I placed my hand on the sphere with Randy, the sensation was much as I remembered. We drifted off into a void, sounds, sensations, lights swirling around. We mingled in our memories and experiences, before long we were feeling each others emotions currently. It was clear that Randy had been struggling in my body. He had been feeling really depressed. He also seemed a bit intrigued that I wasn't as depressed. In fact, he found the feelings I had developed for Bradley quite amusing.

Before I could process his emotions more, we were yanked out of the void. When I came to, I was there in reality once more. Everything felt good again. I looked down and saw my hands, rough from playing sports for years. My lacrosse hoodie was on, and I had on some joggers I liked. I was beaming, it felt so right to be back home. I had to mask some excitement though, I didn't want Bradley to think I was overeager, and Quinn to think something was up.

I looked at Randy and gave a subtle nod. We dismounted from the platform and let the other two take our spots. They placed their hands and slipped into the trance like we had just done. Dr. Lark watched the monitors, and when it was time, he quickly deactivated the machine.

Bradley and Quinn started to come to, and at first neither of them seemed to sense anything was different. But then Quinn's face turned towards me, in my actual body. He smiled, a warmth and kindness to his expression I had honestly never seen before. He practically jumped off the platform to come embrace me.

The real Quinn, residing now in Bradley's scrawny body was staring. He was clearly confused by the sight of his body running to and hugging his teammate and enemy. His shock deepened when they kissed dramatically. I was watching his reactions with supreme satisfaction.

"Randy, omg I feel so different. Like I can run, but also I could just-" He wrapped his much thicker arms around me and lifted me off the ground. Impressive considering my body weighed a lot more than Randy's, but Quinn was quite buff. It made sense.

"What the fuck is going on?" Quinn asked, from Bradley's quivering mouth.

"Ok, looks like it's time for you kids to get going!" Dr. Lark barked, shooing the four of us out.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Bradley stammered. It was no use, Bradley and I helped drag him out, and Randy snickered from behind.

"Ok Bradley, it's time to go home!" Randy said to Quinn, who was still aghast at his tiny new body. He grabbed him by the wrist and led him to Bradley's car, fishing his keys out of his pocket. Quinn seemed too shocked to say anything now.

My Bradley on the other hand, in Quinn's handsome body, thick arms, short gelled black hair, and thick fuzzy brows, looked at me with a familiar loving look. "Hey 'Quinn' why don't we get out of here?"

"I would like that very much, 'Seth.'" He said, warmly.

"And remember, those are our names now!" I said, smiling. I knew he'd adjust easily. He had me, his "Randy" but as long as he calls me Seth I can accept him thinking I was a nerd inside.

For a long time after that day, I pondered what really happened in that first drift. I sincerely believe I had been straight before that. But I wonder if something else happened. Maybe Randy's sexuality and love for Bradley clung to my consciousness. As time went on, we found some things from Quinn seemed to have latched on to Bradley. Thankfully not his sexuality or temperament. However, his lacrosse skills came along, which was a boon for us to keep playing together. It also made it easier to explain my lack of academic prowess. I told him it must have went to Randy's new inhabitant.

While I felt guilty sometimes about what we did to Quinn, and the lie we were telling Bradley... I was happier than ever. My parents took it surprisingly well, especially since Bradley was a good influence on my personality. I calmed down a lot, saving all my sexual energy for my hot, smart boyfriend. I never had as much affection, love, and touch in my life. And the best part, being at college we had so much more time to spend together. I was excited to see what we'd do when we graduated. Where we'd go, together.

Note: Thanks to all who have been reading my stories. I love writing, it feels like a return to my old passion. I had not been writing much or at all for years. Rest assured I am already cooking up new ideas. Another plan is to introduce 1-shot stories for the Mindweft and other concepts I've already created. In my imagination, the swaps never stop!

#malebodyswap #male body swap #maletransformation #bodyswap #body switch #body swap #gay

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jaijeijayjei · 5 months ago

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Vi and Mel- wasted potential!

I love the details in Vi’s expression during to Mel’s speech. She probably just came to support Caitlyn, but you can see she was genuinely touched by Mel’s words.

"...to behold so many, joined together not by birth or dictum but by all that we share. Our hope. Our curiosity. Our compulsion to leave behind us a world better than that before"

"These things we share are what make us one people."

(Trying to intercept Mel's attacker)

I also love that Mel made sure her speech wouldn't turn Piltovan's against Zaunites- focusing on the value of unity and holding individuals responsible, not a whole group.

Vi was also there when Mel was telling Jayce they shouldn't use force because it could trigger war. Now she senses Mel is genuine about her desire for peace.

If the attack didn't happen I can see Vi approaching Mel in private about her concerns over the two cities. She could've opened Mel's eyes to what life down there is really like and the need to take action. Mel could explain her fears of escalating conflict and why she wants to proceed with caution.

Vi believes in solving problems head on, acting quickly and getting to the source. Mel believes in a more subtle approach, using diplomacy and reconnaissance. They've would balance each other so well if they had teamed up against Ambessa. Street smarts x strategical smarts, might x guile, passion x vigilance.

Omg it all makes sense:

Mel & Cait individually and as a team = success.

Jayce & Vi individually and as a team = fail.

Jayce & Caitlyn, Jayce & Mel, and Vi & Caitlyn = functional team ups

SO, according to my math, if at least one member of MelCait is partnered with a member of BookStreet, it all works out in the end!!

#arcane #vi arcane #violet arcane #mel medarda #mel arcane #idc if this sounds like a stretch #the fandom spun a whole story off of Mel's facial expressions in “the scene that must not be named”#so i'm gonna have fun with this theory!

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qwimblenorrisstan · 1 year ago

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The Clandestine Culinarian | Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel requires a deadly poison, and the only place he can get acquire it is through a bakery in Hewn City, and in the process grows closer to you, the owner of the shop, and is there for you when tragedy strikes.

Word Count: ~3.1k

Warnings: A lil bit of angst, mentions of blood, weapons, family death, nudity (taking bath), poisons, nothing explicit.

A/N: Got a little carried away with this, but I had a dream abt it so I think it’s the chosen one, hope you enjoy <3

Masterlist | Next

Requests are open!

Azriel found himself all ready for his newest mission, leathers on, Truth-Teller sharpened, siphons gleaming, however, there was just one thing he needed…

In truth, he hadn’t been surprised when Rhys asked him to take care of a group of Halflings that were lurking in what had been Hybern’s lands, attempting to create even a shadow of the power the fallen King had once possessed. Though Azriel could easily just slip in and slaughter all of them, Rhys advised him to exercise caution with this. Azriel was always cautious, silent as a mouse, moving in and out of the shadows at will.

Rhys didn’t want to have the blood of those Fae on his hands, and would rather have it seem like someone took them out quickly and quietly. And the way he wanted his Spymaster to carry this out? With volucrae, one of the deadliest poisons that had been discovered, and hidden.

“A single vial would cost a fortune, Rhys.”

He said, watching his High Lord closely. The poison cost a fortune for many reasons, as it had no scent, no taste, and didn’t cause any discoloration or effects to what you planted it in. It worked quickly, as well. Within minutes of consuming it, your body would start to shut down, and you would slip into death before you could even register what was happening. The only reason it was so rare was because the way to attain it was deadly.

“I’ve already done the math, you need one and a half vials to thoroughly poison their food supply.”

Rhys replied, his expression holding a look that said Azriel was not getting out of this, no matter what happened.

“Where would that even sell in this Court?”

He asked, though a part of him already knew the answer. The most wicked things were sold within the most hateful and wicked environment, which in this Court, was most likely..

“Hewn City.”

That didn’t surprise him, but what Rhys then said next had him very skeptical about anyone wielding the poison, let alone willing to sell it.

“There’s a bakery not too far from that brothel we visited once, a bit up the street and to the left. You’ll know it when you see it. When you get inside, tell the woman at the counter that you’re looking for a mulberry pie, but you’d like to adjust the flavoring.”

Rhys said, that annoying smirk on his face that said he knew he was right, that this would work, and that he could already see Az’s begrudgingly thankful look.

“Fine.”

Azriel said with a huff. Before he could even mention how he would pay for it, Rhys handed him a pouch of gold coins.

“Our secret.”

He said, before going back to the paperwork that sat in stacks in his office.

The shadowsinger stalked off, gathering his things before he went off to the balcony, and took off, headed to one of the places he’d prefer never having to look at again. Hewn City.

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

It was business as usual for you; baking up the pies and assisting your coworkers, who were only family if not the closest of family friends, as they worked the shop alongside you.

Not too many customers today, which wasn’t unusual, as Hewn City wasn’t exactly the most profitable place to put a bakery. The citizens here were exactly how they’d been her entire life, harsh, bitter, and hateful to the very end, and their taste in pastries reflected that so clearly it was almost funny.

However, a face she recognized walked in while she had taken a break from kneading dough to work the register. She could easily spot the shadows that shrouded his being and trailed behind and onto him in the shop. The shadowsinger, otherwise known as the Spymaster of Night Court.

She’d heard plenty of rumors about him, most, if not all being terrible awful things, but a customer was a customer, and judging by the fact that she assumed he wasn’t here for baked goods, a potential client was a potential client, no matter who they were.

“Welcome to Baked Goods, how can I help you today?”

You asked the man, with your customer voice and smile being worn. He seemed to scan over you for a moment, his gaze sharp and piercing, and intimidating, before he spoke.

“I’d like a mulberry pie, but I would like to adjust the flavoring.”

His dark, smooth voice replied. He hadn’t even glanced at the menu. We didn’t serve mulberry pie. That was your confirmation that he knew what he wanted and for the right price, he could get it.

“Sure, I can get that for you. What kind of flavoring are you looking for? Weaker tasting, smelling, we could even adjust how it looks if you’d like it.” Do you want it to be noticeable?

“The weakest flavoring you can find.” No.

This Spymaster caught onto the game fast, you’d admit. Then again, the High Lord had probably told him of it, as he occasionally came by for his favorite mulberry pie, just to keep you in order, as some of the local females looking to break free of their forced marriages also happened to like mulberry pie.

“I can take you back for you to see our selection if you’d like?” Do you want to see our collection and pick one out?

“Yes.” I’ll pick it.

And so, you led him around the counter and to the back of the bakery, and as you opened one of the cabinets that was empty, with remnants of flour in it. Reaching in, and using your hands to unlock a mechanism in the back of the wooden cabinet, the back of it came off and swung open like a door.

You walked inside, and he followed. It was an old stone passageway, stairs leading down, down, down, thick with humidity, their every sound echoing due to the cave system at the bottom of it.

After minutes of walking, they reached the bottom. It had shelves full of vials and bottles of all sorts of poisons, all undiluted and in any sort of form. He studied the wall a minute and then gestured to one of them. It was a bottle you hadn’t dared to sell in all the years you’d owned it. Hell, you had almost grown attached to the thing, like a little friend, always there, lurking and waiting inside the dark tunnels of this place.

“Volucrae?”

You asked him, studying him with suspicion and intrigue in your gaze. What could he possibly need that poison for? Sure, he was a Spymaster and a honed killer, but she wouldn’t give that away easily.

He gave a little nod, holding out a heavy pouch of pure gold coins. You took it, opened it, and counted the amount. It was more than enough, you would admit. Not looking too happy about it, you gave him the amount for his money, one full vial, and about one half.

And then you both walked out, gave him a cookie as a parting gift, and he was gone, just like that.

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

Azriel walked out of that ‘bakery’, wondering how Rhys knew about it, and why the hell he hadn’t shut it down yet. They were illegally selling poisons, possibly even trafficking them and buying them from someone. Problems for later, he reminded himself as he took a bite of the cookie he’d been given by the girl as he walked out.

The vials of valucrae were safely secured within a pocket, the glass was reinforced. Whoever had bottled it must’ve known exactly how deadly it was.

He had no idea how that girl or her shop had gotten her hands on that. To even make the poison was incredibly dangerous, first having to take down one of the ancient, cunning beasts that lived in the darkness of the Illyrian Steppes, using their blood and drying it, turning it into a fine powder, and storing it.

Nonetheless, he had a mission to get done.

And so, with a flap of his wings, his shadows trailing behind him, he set off for what had been Hybern’s lands. The mission was simple.

The lands were still scorched and covered in a certain heavy feeling, the remnants of the war and the mass destruction and carnage that had followed. The halflings were gathered in the center of the lands. They seemed to have congregated together in a group of around 25, having tents and temporary homes, a large campfire in the center, and one tent that his shadows whispered to him that held the food.

He crept up, opening the vials with a silent pop, and slipped into the tent. They all seemed to be asleep at this point. And with a flick and movement of his wrist, the poison was sprinkled into their daily rations, and after smoothing it into the wet meat. The flakes turned transparent as they got wet and just like that, they weren’t even noticeable anymore.

Cleaning his hands off religiously, and scrubbing it off of his hands, he then took off silently into the night, his large, leathery wings flapping as he went back home, to Velaris.

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

The shadowsinger had been visiting more than usual over the past few months, you realized, as you saw him coming into the shop again, another order of mulberry pie with adjusted flavoring, and you led him down to the ‘basement’ again.

The air of the stone passageway felt different this time, tense and dripping with something other than humidity.

The little drips that echoed through the stairway and the sounds of their feet hitting the stone were the only ones. Neither spoke. They reached the bottom eventually, where the familiar shelves with vials and bottles waited.

“What’ll it be this time, Azriel?”

You asked, one brow raised as you watched him. He was undeniably attractive, pretty, almost. His lean and muscular body, his golden hazel eyes, or his short, almost boyish style of black hair. His large, powerful wings, or the scarred hands that you had wondered many times what had happened, but never dared to ask.

He opened his mouth to speak, and that was when the entire world exploded.

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

Fire licking up his face and body was the first thing he processed, the second was Kier’s men at the top of the stairway, blood already dripping from their blades, the wooden cabinet’s secret door splintered into pieces and shoved open. His shadows writhed in agony.

With a glance towards the girl, he quickly realized that she didn’t seem surprised, or particularly shocked, but looked like a little bit of her died with every drip of the blood from the men’s swords onto the ground. She was very close with her coworkers, he had observed that immediately. They had been a team and some legitimate family that were just bakers working here.

“Follow me.”

She said, and before he could even draw Truth-Teller, she grabbed his arm and began running, dragging him at first, then leading him through the convoluted cave tunnels that were behind the bottom of the stairwell. She ran with a practiced ease through these caves, as if she’d done it many times before. As if she’d practiced running as if she’d known that Kier’s soldiers had been lurking around the corners of her shop and watching every customer a little too closely to just be a coincidence.

He didn’t have time to think about it as he heard some of the soldiers close behind. Some had gotten lost in the tunnels due to her winding through them.

Her voice didn’t waver, it was firm. Sad, but recognizing that this wasn’t the moment to grieve.

The tunnels winded down and up until even he could barely keep track of them, despite his centuries of practice memorizing the layouts of the most complicated structures. They soon surfaced on the edge of Hewn City, and without even thinking of the potential consequences of his actions, the political repercussions that they could cause, he grabbed her, scooped her up, and took off.

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

At least the adrenaline had kept her from thinking of the loss when you’d been running. Here, during this terrifying flight, you got plenty of time to think all about your family members who had been in that shop.

Your cousins, both willing to help just to have a job and get paid in the awful economy of Hewn City. Your uncle, just happy to be involved in the family, and also a male who hadn’t ever been able to explore his passion for baking, always told it wasn’t masculine. Or your sweet little niece, who had absolutely no idea what was happening at all, but was generally just happy to be there and spend time. Not to mention how many pastries the girl had snuck off of the shelves.

All gone.

You had seen the blood dripping off of that steel. You knew that Kier had been watching your shop a little while more than usual, and you’d practiced escape routes and alarm systems with the family and workers, but it had all fallen apart. They had been waiting for Azriel to arrive, you were sure of it.

You couldn’t stop the tears that welled up and fell as you were curled up against the shadowsinger’s chest while he flew, making her stomach churn. His shadows, cool and soothing against your skin, seemed to almost wipe your tears away, attempting to comfort you the best they could.

The colorful city of light came into view, Velaris, the city of starlight, she’d been told. It was beautiful, she’d admit. It felt like it was spitting in her face, taunting and mocking her for what her family hadn’t had the chance to see, and now wouldn’t ever get the chance to see. Azriel went to a specific house overlooking a large river, The Sidra, his shadows whispered to you, their voices thin and quiet, barely more than a whisper. It seemed to be a townhouse, a beautiful one at that, he arrived at.

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

Azriel landed, and slowly set you on your feet. You looked very unsteady and probably about to throw up. That was a common reaction from someone’s first time flying, assuming it was your first flight ever. He couldn’t imagine any other male flying you around, knowing it would never happen, but even the thought of it sent a little pang of jealousy that he knew wasn’t appropriate through his mind.

“Rhys’ and Feyre’s home. You’ll be staying here.”

He said simply, his voice firm but not empathetic. The tears had mostly stopped, but as soon as he guided the female inside, only to meet a concerned and curious Rhys sitting on the couch with Feyre, who looked equally confused, it started back up again.

She managed to give a basic explanation between tears, and he filled in any details Rhys asked for that she couldn’t or wouldn’t provide.

“You can stay here until we find a solution, and definitely until things calm down. I’ll…talk to Kier.”

Rhys reassured her, eyes narrowing slightly as he noticed Azriel’s hand around the female’s waist. He shared a glance with Feyre, a little too long for his comfort, before giving Azriel a nod. He was to take the poor thing to a room, and most likely console her. He wasn’t too great at the latter, he thought.

His mission was complete, but at what cost?

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

You had met the High Lord before, but never his Inner Circle other than Azriel. He led her to a spare bedroom in the townhouse, leading her inside and closing the door behind her.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He asked. His voice was calm and deep as it had always been, but filled with a sort of sorrow that told you he’d lost many people close to him as well. He knew your pain.

“I don’t know, I just…they’d still be here if I hadn’t..”

You stammered out, before words turned into choked sobs, and choked sobs turned into him sitting beside her on the bed as you wept into his chest. His warm, scarred hands rubbing your back soothingly as you cried.

You cried until you couldn’t anymore until the loss consumed her so wholly that it was a black pit you couldn’t crawl out of.

“It’s not your fault. Kier gave the order to murder them, not you.”

An order he would make Kier pay for, even if he got himself killed in the process.

“Take a bath. It’ll help.”

He said, and you knew he was right. A bath might help. You managed to get up and stumble over to the bathroom, starting a warm bath, and peeling off your clothing before settling into the water. You barely managed to rub some shampoo into your hair before scrubbing it back out.

You sat in that tub for a while, sitting and thinking, reminiscing about your family, grieving all you could for them. Maybe a little too long. Before you knew it, you had slipped into unconsciousness.

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

Azriel had waited for almost two hours for you to come out of the tub now. He would admit that he felt more than a little creepy just waiting, but he felt it was necessary, as something deeply instilled in him told him to stay, and to wait to make sure you were okay.

He didn’t know when he’d suddenly become so protective over you, it had crept up on him until he hadn’t even realized how much he wanted to shred Kier’s men to pieces for upsetting you and threatening you.

When you hadn’t come out and almost two hours and thirty minutes had passed, he cracked open the bathroom door, only to find you fully asleep and naked in the bathtub. It felt wrong, looking at you while vulnerable, and so he closed his eyes and let his shadows guide him as they helped pick you up.

The shadows, doing what he willed, dried you off, before slipping some clothes on you that were fresh spares. He laid you in the bed, tucking you in.

He stayed there longer than he’d like to admit, watching you peacefully sleep, and for some odd reason, his shadows wouldn’t let him leave the room. They tugged him to a nearby armchair, and using the shadows as an excuse, he fell asleep a few hours later while watching over you.

The shadows seemed to not want to leave your side.

Almost as if they knew something he didn’t.

Part 2

#acotar fandom #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #light angst #family death mention #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel comfort #comfort #light fluff #angst #might make a part 2 if this goes well

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