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s0ulryo · 2 years

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Headcanons for dottore in his time in the academya with a crush who's nice and friendly with him?? Love seeing this loser obsess with someone who showed him kindness for the first time lmao

Il Dottore Having a Crush Headcanons [Sumeru Akademiya Edition] ⋆*.✩‧₊˚

[Dottore x Reader]

Synopsis: Il Dottore having a crush on another student.

Tags: Mostly fluff, a little crackish, soft headcanon, slight cw obsessive Dottore, and slight violence.

Notes: Oocish? Proofreadish??? I love Dottore. I ran out of ideas after the third sentence #igetstuckeasy. Gets really rambly. It's not super great so i might fix it later Also, it’s like 4 am :sobs: ALSO THANK YOU FOR BEING MY FIRST ANON <3333. Please tell me if you enjoyed!!

(Reader is always gn unless otherwise specified.)

Dottore being shunned for being a "monster" and "madman" wasn't anything new – he was kicked out of his home for his scientific experimentation concepts, and now he is being rejected by the students and teachers at the akademiya for the same thing.

However, you are the exact opposite. Most of the time at least. Before you associated yourself with Il Dottore, you were admired and respected by your peers. You weren’t as smart or as talented as the other students, but you were a pleasant person to be around and that’s what the other people at the akademiya liked about you.

The way you met Dottore wasn't the most...conventional. You saw Dottore getting beat up by one student in a classroom, and you were feeling like a menace that day; so you simply hit said bully over the head with a book – hard. He’ll be fine right? A small blackout never hurt anyone anyways.

Dottore was confused. He also was quite concerned, you were standing over him and the other guy with a book in hand. Why wouldn’t he be concerned?

You handed Dottore the book and left the classroom after that. You didn’t know him that well, you saw him around campus once in a while and you heard the rumors about him, but you never really talked to him. In all honesty, you didn’t care about him or his rumors. ‘Madman’ this, ‘homicidal maniac’ that, he’s passing his classes with higher marks than everyone else so he has to be doing something right. Right?

Ever since Dottore ‘met’ you, he’s been preoccupied with trying to find out more about you. Most people don’t hit a stranger over the head with a book. He’s overheard conversations about you and has been trying to find out what kind of person you are. Most people at the akademiya despise him – do you despise him too? Did you want a favor from him? So many questions about you plagued his mind since that day.

The first time you had a verbal conversation with Dottore was after one of your classes. You were having an existential crisis behind a building because you slept through your lecture and didn’t understand half of the material, and he was trying to hide from other students.

“I’m so going to fail, what does this even mean – maybe it’s not too late to drop out...”

“[Name] it’s halfway through the second semester, yes it’s too late to drop out now.”

At that moment, you started to realize that you didn’t really like Dottore. He’s not…awful, it’s more like he laughed at you mid-breakdown. Yeah, you can have inhumane experimentation ideas, but laughing at your panicked state was a big no-no. (It’s fine, you started to like him more as you got to know him better.)

You proceeded to try to subtly avoid him after that. You were polite to him because you had to be, but you didn’t want to deal with him too much after that conversation, but that’s hard to do when you saw him almost everywhere. Dottore was like gum stuck to your shoe that you couldn’t get rid of.

Honestly having him around you wasn’t too bad, and after a little bit, you started to enjoy his presence. You kept the bullies away from him, and he helped you pass the classes that you tended to sleep through. Sometimes you felt sorry for him though, he is a little odd – if you count inhumane scientific suggestions as odd; but they’re just suggestions, right? So no harm done. Plus, his ideas were slightly interesting if you thought about it.

The more you willingly hung out with Dottore, the more he grew addicted to the feeling. After a certain point, he starts to think of you as a close friend. Seeing how you were his only friend.

Dottore as your friend is a good and bad thing. It’s a good thing because he’s extremely helpful when it comes to your classes and he’s an entertaining person to be around, but it’s a bad thing because he’s such a wildcard.

He’ll bully you and pull pranks on you all the time. Your least favorite prank that he pulled on you was when he hid your Sumeru Akademiya uniform from you. Or when he promised to help you study but spoke in Fontaine/Fontais (French) the whole time.

I think Dottore’s feelings for you kind of snowballed. It slowly built up till the realization just kind of…crashed into him. He confirmed his feelings for you after he received a birthday gift from you. It was something really trivial honestly. He offhandedly mentioned that it was his birthday a few days prior and was surprised to see you with a neatly wrapped package the next day at his front door.

“Why are you here [Name]?”

“This is for you Dottore.”

Dottore looks at you puzzled “A package?”

You sigh “A gift you idiot. A gift for you – for your birthday.”

Looking at you like you're the weirdest thing he has seen he says “A gift for my birthday?”

“Yes Dottore, a gift for your birthday.”

“Why would I need a gift for my birthday?”

“Have you never received a birthday gift before Dottore?”

“...No?”

He was pleasantly surprised to see a mini tool kit inside the package. You knew he liked tinkering with stuff, and he was surprised you remembered that. He just kind of stood there in thought for a bit after that and was like 'wow this is nice, someone cares about my wellbeing'.

I also think Dottore would try to impress you by complimenting you or trying to “flirt” with you. Keyword – try. He’s so shit at it, it’s not even funny. He tries, he really does. He just wants you to feel like how he feels when he’s around you. He’s just not as good with his words as you are, though that could be because he was shunned by mostly everyone in his life for his whole life.

When he’s complimenting you it either doesn’t make a lot of sense or it’s extremely backhanded, and when he’s trying to flirt with you he either forgets what he was supposed to say or just starts to insult you.

“[Name] if you were a…”

“If I was a?”

“I forgot what I was going to say [Name].”

Dottore isn’t really the type of person to do anything when he has a crush on someone. He won't actively try to seek out a relationship with you mainly because he doesn’t want to ruin the relationship he has with you. He may be bad with social cues, but he understands if you don’t reciprocate the feelings he has for you it could mess up your guys’ current relationship.

On a different note, he’d do anything for you. You were the only person who really showed him any form of kindness, even if that kindness was extremely minuscule at first. He appreciates everything you've done for him – whether that’s getting him gifts, or cooking him meals, he’s really thankful you do that for him. He’s just so whipped for you.

Il Dottore is a man that found an obsession with the feeling of being wanted. A feeling that you have provided for him, and one day he hopes he can tell you how he feels.

#s0ulryo #s0ulryo writes #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #geshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin headcanons #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #il dottore #il dottore genshin #il dottore headcanons #dottore headcanons #dottore #dottore genshin #dottore fluff #s0ulryo + anons #s0ulryo asks

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spotsandsocks · 10 days

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The Last of the Tea is Gone

This started life as a title prompt from ask game sent to me by @madambeetrootn who I can not tag sadly. They liked it, I liked it so I’ve spruced it up and here it is for a bit of light fluff before 7x10 breaks our heart.

If there’s one thing that Eddie does not like it’s doing the grocery shop, regardless of his feelings though he’ll do a good job, a thorough job and that means making a list. So it’s time to look through the cupboards and check what they need.

The second cupboard door he opens generates a frustrated growl. Reaching up with clenched teeth, he shakes his head, how many times does he have to tell him? Again! This is sadly not the first time he’s found an empty box of teabags sitting on the shelf.

It’s Buck’s tea, the one that he drinks whenever he’s round. Disgusting stuff but for some reason he loves it.

Sighing the sigh of the long suffering Eddie grabs hold of the offending cardboard, why can’t that man ever put an empty box or bottle in the recycling. It’s not that hard. Eddie manages it every day. Even Chris half the time but Buck not so much.

The moment freezes as Eddie looks at his hand holding the vanished tea and a thought blazes through his mind bright and intense and overwhelming.

Buck keeps his tea here, the thought shifts and changes, no …he keeps Buck’s tea here, for him. He remembers buying the last box clearly. Buck wasn’t even with him that day, he was grocery shopping on his own, and why is Buck even with him sometimes when he does the grocery shopping anyway?

After that question others flood his mind.

Why does he buy Buck’s tea? Why does it run out so often?

What does it mean?

He knows, oh god he knows… finally he sees it.

Eddie stays frozen to the spot, staring at the small cardboard cartoon that’s caused him to have an existential crisis in his own kitchen.

Footsteps and a voice finally shake him.

“What’s wrong?” Buck sounds worried. Eddie supposes he probably does make an unusual picture right now. Staring at an empty box. He looks up and finds blue eyes and a frown close by.

“The last of the tea is gone.”

Perfectly clear from his point of view but not so much from Buck’s

“The last of the tea is gone?,” The sentence is repeated with concern and a deepening frown. “And that’s …. a bad thing? You don’t even drink my tea, why are you so upset about it?”

“It doesn’t last very long.”

Another random comment from Eddie at least as far as Buck is concerned but the words mean everything to Eddie.

Buck steps closer, a hand tentatively reaching out to support his best friend through his unexpectedly complicated feelings about tea. He speaks slowly.

“No… that’s ‘cos I drink it. That’s what you do with tea…Eddie are you ok.?”

He’s a man of action always had been so now he knows, well there’s really no option but to do something with the information. He answers his best friend, the man who’s ended up so much more important to him than he could ever have imagined on the day they met. The man he buys tea for and the man who drinks it in his home so often it barely lasts.

“Not really.” Eddie looks at Buck and wonders if he can see what’s coming. “Well maybe …I guess it depends on if you’re in love with me because I just worked out I’m in love with you.”

Buck laughs, a brief surprised bark of humor and then his grin lights up the kitchen.

“Really? That’s what finally did it? An empty box of tea?

Eddie smiles back, how could he not when he has this.

“Apparently. So… are you?”

Eddie doesn’t get an answer but he does get a kiss and that kiss tastes like Buck’s stupid tea, which is isn’t so bad after all.

Maybe he’ll get two boxes next time.

#911 abc #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #buddie ficlet #911 fic #911fic #fluff #no time to tag #be back to do that later #title prompt game #buddie fic

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augiewrites · 7 months

Text

"secret admirer" - dead poets society (part 5)

summary: y/n receives a curious invitation from meeks and has a surprise encounter with neil and todd

pairing: anonymous!dead poet x gender neutral reader

word count: 1.2k

previous | next

It was finally Friday, and Y/N was looking forward to spending the weekend recovering from a week of non-stop exams, cramming, and a nonexistent sleep schedule. The morning’s classes had been a drag so far, and they were looking forward to the reprieve of Keating’s class. Knowing they'd be in close proximity to their admirer aside, Keating’s class gave them an opportunity to activate another part of their brain—one concerned less with grades and formulas.

No, this part was more concerned with matters of feeling. Matters of love, art, expression—everything crucial to finding true meaning in life.

Meaning.

Something that Y/N’s life—and the students of Welton’s lives—was severely lacking.

Y/N shoved the existential crisis to the back of their mind, shooting Todd a smile as he occupied the desk at the front of the class.

Their desk compartment was empty aside from their textbook and notes. Y/N felt their heart drop. It had been empty for days.

Did I make a mistake leaving that poem?

Y/N did their best to not look disappointed. The only thing more embarrassing than their poet’s lack of response was the thought of him observing their discontent.

Keating’s class didn't give them much reprieve that day.

_________________________________________

Against their better judgment, Y/N found themselves in the library during common hour. In all truth, Y/N just wanted to go back to their dorm and bang their head against the wall until they fell asleep. Alas, the expectation of a 4.0 GPA was looming over their head.

Thankfully, Meeks was the only other person to show up. Y/N didn't think they had the strength to deal with Dalton.

“So are you just going to keep side eyeing me, or do you have something to say?” Y/N set down their pencil and turned to face Meeks.

“Y/N, you've sighed three times within the last minute,” Meeks quipped, "seems like you're the one with something to say."

“But I'm right, though. You have something you want to say."

“I'll share with the class if you will.”

The two stared at each other for a moment—Meeks' expression much lighter compared to Y/N’s frustrated features.

Y/N gave in first.

“I’m tired, Meeks."

“Of?..."

“Everything.”

“You’re going to have to give me a little more here, Y/N.”

“…”

"I'm waiting."

“My GPA dropped to a 3.7," Y/N’s gaze was fixed to the table, “my parents are not happy. I feel like all I ever do is try, but it's not enough, and it never will be. My social life is practically nonexistent, I don't remember the last time I had fun, and I can feel my spirit dying. Some days it feels like I'm dying."

“You’re more than your grades, Y/N. You have to know that."

“I know that, Meeks. They don't,” Y/N let out a bitter laugh, “they ship me off to this prison, don't let me come home for breaks, and they call me maybe twice a semester if I'm lucky. They see my grades more than they ever see me."

Meeks was silent for a beat as Y/N cradled their head in their hands.

“Tomorrow night. Meet me outside the East wing at 10PM.”

“Meeks, what are you—“

“Just trust me. If you care about your spirit, anyway."

“Fine,” Y/N began packing their bag and stood up, nodding absentmindedly, "yeah, okay."

Because everything was cosmically determined to go wrong, Y/N crashed into Charlie as they rounded the corner out of the library. Their armload of textbooks crashed to the floor.

“Don’t you know to look both ways before crossing the street?" Charlie joked as he knelt to pick up Y/N’s books.

Y/N kept their head down as they gathered the mess of note paper that exploded out of their trig book.

“I mean, really, Y/N. If you want to feel me up you don't need to be so aggressive about it—“

Charlie’s sly smile melted into concern when he noticed the tears in Y/N’s eyes.

"Hey, are you okay, Y/N?” Charlie passed the books to Y/N and placed a gentle hand on their upper am.

Y/N gave the boy a tight lipped smile and stepped away from his touch.

“I'm fine, Dalton," Y/N was already moving down the hall.

“Y/N—“

“If you're looking for Meeks, he's still in there."

Y/N disappeared around the corner, leaving Charlie staring at the space they just occupied.

_________________________________________

Y/N wasn’t one for skipping class, but it was the last period of the day and Y/N thought their head would explode if they didn’t get away from everyone as soon as possible.

They triple checked that the hallway was empty before rushing into the storage room filled with students’ empty luggage.

But the room wasn’t unoccupied like they expected.

Neil Perry and Todd Anderson were in the middle of the room, locked in a gentle embrace.

They jumped apart when they heard Y/N’s soft sound of surprise, and the trio looked at each other in shock for a beat.

“We were just—” Neil took a step away from Todd before the other boy cut him off, surprising everyone, seemingly including himself.

“We’re together.”

They all stared at each other for another moment before Neil stepped forward again.

“You can’t tell anyone, Y/N.”

“I won’t,” Y/N blinked, suddenly coming alive again, “I would never.”

Relief washed over the two boys. Todd was more red than Y/N thought was humanly possible.

“Okay, I’m just gonna,” Y/N took a step back and jerked a thumb over their shoulder at the door, “go…”

They turned quickly to leave.

“Y/N.” Neil’s hand enclosed their wrist as they reached for the doorknob.

They looked up into Neil’s soft gaze, a faint smile on his face, “thank you.”

“Of course,” they returned the smile and waved to Todd as they slipped out the door, rushing to their dorm to avoid being caught for truancy.

_________________________________________

Y/N had been laying in bed for all of fifteen minutes before they heard the familiar sound of paper sliding under the door.

They were out of bed and rushing to open the door before they could think twice. Truancy be damned.

The empty hallway mocked Y/N.

Frustrated tears welled in their eyes as they slammed the door and grabbed the envelope off the floor before ripping it open.

Beloved Y/N,

In your eyes, a storm silently brews, Emotional tempest, tears it strews. I stand close, a silent observer, Love entangled in your pain, a fervent preserver.

Your hurt, a whisper in the quiet air, A shared burden, a weight to bear. In the shadows, love stands strong, A balm for wounds, a solace lifelong.

In the heart's tempest, emotions entwine, Love persists, a steadfast lifeline. I may not heal all that pains your soul, But together, in love, we find a way to be whole.

x, Yours.

Y/N let the tears flow freely as they sunk down onto the bed.

They were certain of who wasn’t their poet, but they were in denial about who it could be.

~~~

part six

a/n: any reality where neil and todd aren't in love is a crime against nature

taglist: @vvnbxz @edb954

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bambi-slxt · 9 days

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🤍𝐒𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮 ~ 𝐩𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨🤍

𝕔𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕡𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕠𝕝𝕠 𝕩 𝕗𝕖𝕞

word count: 3.2k

genre/tropes: established friendship, one-sided love (or is it?)

warnings: slight angst

pt one: here

notes from bambi: the POV switches throughout this part - switches will be indicated by an extra blank line. also i wasn't originally planning to add another part to this but ohhhh i'm so glad i did. thank you to @sturniololover-09 , @ivonchetooo1239 , and @aliceloveschris , who asked for part two - hope you like it!

Another night, another stressed-out Christopher. While I already felt out-of-my-depth when he came to me with his existential romance crisis, his current issue proved to be even more herculean in nature.

“Chris. For the umpteenth time. I don’t know how to make the glow stars stick to your ceiling.”

“But I need them to! And they’re supposed to stick, it said so on the box-”

“It also said to clean the area thoroughly before application,” I said dryly, crossing my ankles and settling deeper into the blankets on his bed, “And when exactly did you wipe down your ceiling?”

Chris harrumphed. “The universe is working against me.”

“I’m sure it is, honey. Can we please start this now?” I gestured to his monitor, some dumb lawyer show on Netflix - Coats or Jackets or something. Chris told me earlier how much I’d love it, to which I had replied, “We’ll see.” The last show he tried to get me to watch with him was deplorable, and it took a long time for me to see Cole Sprouse, Lili Reinhart, and KJ Appa as anything other than the god-awful actors Riverdale painted them to be.

“I wanna try one more time,” he said, stepping ungraciously over my legs and stretching towards the ceiling.

“Is it made of plaster?” I asked, tilting my head upwards, trying very hard to avoid looking straight up his loose basketball shorts.

“What, this?” He pointed upward. “I think. Why?”

I hummed in reply and began tapping away on my phone. Chris shrugged and went back to his Sisyphysian task. The stars would stick initially, but kept falling after a while and stabbing us in the rudest of places - an hour ago I got a crescent moon to the boob.

Soft music drifted down the stairs outside his bedroom door - Matt must be playing something in the kitchen. The four of us ate dinner earlier and as Chris made it, I was a guest, and Nick didn’t feel good, he’d been on clean-up.

“Hey.” I pulled on the hem of Chris’s shorts. “This says if we use rubbing alcohol to clean the area first instead of just like, a damp cloth or something, that should work. It also says a hot glue gun will help it stick better.”

Chris put his hand on my head, thumbing my soft baby hairs that would never stay put - his way of saying ‘thank you’. “Do we even have a hot glue gun?”

“No idea,” I murmured as I leaned against his leg.

“Time to find out!” He scrambled over me, stepping on my arm and almost tea-bagging me.

“You fuck,” I said, smacking him on the arm as he ran out of the room giggling.

“Hey do we have rubbing alcohol and a hot glue gun?”

Matt startled and shook his head, leaning over the sink. “Jesus, you scared the fuck outta me,” he huffed. “Alcohol, yes, in your bathroom, glue gun, no.”

“Well shit. ‘Preciate it,” Chris said, patting him on the back and turning for the stairs.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“She okay?”

Chris’s brows knitted together. “Whaddaya mean?” “She just seems kinda stressed, ‘s all,” Matt said. “Somethin’ else on the mind.”

“She’s good as far as I know.”

“K. Come up behind me like that again, I’ll kick you in the nuts.”

“Whatever,” Chris responded, grinning his way back downstairs.

“There’s rubbing alcohol in my bathroom.”

I scrunched my face. “Since when?”

“No idea. Can you get one of my t-shirts, we’ll use that for the cleaning thingy.”

“Yeah,” I said, unwrapping myself from his blankets and stepping lazily toward his closet. Chris was already down one shirt due to the fact that I’d ripped my going out top just as we got home earlier. The “kickback” at Tara’s felt more like a rager and I considered it a miracle no one ended up naked. While digging around for something for me to wear, Chris had found the unopened bag of glow-in-the-dark stars, and the rest was history.

I tugged on the faded tee now, bunching the front end up in my hands as I rifled around to the back of his closet. It all smelled like him, piney with a hint of spice that makes your nose feel cold and tingly. I felt goosebumps rise on my arms. “You don’t care about this one do you?” I said quickly, trying to move on.

He turned and shook his head, dark, soft curls falling around his eyes. “Toss it.” In my defense, I did my best. It’s not my fault the damn thing got flung halfway back to the door when he smacked it out of the air instead of catching it, and I told him so with a huff. “Sure, sure, blame me,” Chris said, grinning.

“I will,” I replied, bending over to pick it up.

Chris felt his chest cave in. There she was, baby hairs falling awry, his massively oversized crewneck slipping halfway off her shoulders, body lit up by the soft light from his screensaver. His knees buckled, and he stepped out to steady himself on the plush bed. She noticed - of course she did - and tilted her head. “You good there, hotrod?” Her smile was slightly uneven, like it always had been before, and Chris wanted to kiss it very badly for the rest of his life and probably after that as well.

“I’m fantastic,” he said, blinking the thoughts away from his mind.

“Okay,” I laughed, throwing the offending shirt back at him. “I’ll go get the rubbing alcohol and then can we please watch your damn show?”

“So rowdy. Yeah, hurry up.”

I shook my head and walked out of his room, turning the small corner into his bathroom and flicking on the light. My toothbrush rested on his counter. He only hung up his towels because he knew I would try to do it my way, and he hated my way. I looked at myself in the mirror.

A moment passed, filled of my own wonderings about what Chris saw when he looked at me. Was it me - the way I looked, my individual features, did they jump out at him? Some were impossible to miss…they sure did jump out at me. Or did his brain focus on other things? Did he even care how I looked, when my physical characteristics stacked up to the years of friendship we’d already put behind us, the late nights, early mornings, the adventures, the bad times…I pulled the rubbing alcohol out from under his sink before I forgot and opened up my phone. Swiping out of the “how to stick glow stars to plaster” search tab, I went to our messages.

iMessage chat with Orange Juice:

taras got a thing tonight u wanna go

You:

duh what’s the vibes?

Orange Juice:

i think just whatever im not putting on anything fancy

You:

you’re so boring.

Orange Juice:

shut up

im glad youre coming

You:

please use apostrophes, just once i’m actually begging.

Orange Juice:

thou can suck my confetti covered cock about it actually

You:

oh! taking a screenshot and sending it to mary lou

Orange Juice:

okay wait

You:

no :D get fucked, mister magic penis

Orange Juice: im glad youre coming

↪ me too. missed u tons

Orange Juice:

same

you wanna talk about canes

You:

we can, are you still feeling weird about things?

Orange Juice:

no i just wanna talk like that more with you

you’r advice was really good

You:

that’s not how you use an apostrophe christopher

Then they all arrived to pick me up for Tara’s, Chris hugged me, and we said nothing more about it. Chris. I should get this back to him. Reaching for the light, I looked for the rubbing alcohol, felt the switch with my other hand, grabbed the bottle, and flipped the lights off without looking. So it came as a terrifying surprise when I ran smack into Chris’s chest. “FUCKSHITPISSIMGONNAKILLYOU,” I nearly shouted at him, letting my hands rest on his chuckling chest, panting with the overwhelming surge of adrenaline.

“‘Fuck’, ‘shit’, and ‘piss’?” he snickered, covering my hands with his own. “That’s insane.”

I stalked past him into his room, tossing the bottle behind my shoulder - he would catch it or he wouldn’t and then I would know karma was on my side. “I don’t wanna discuss it.”

“Okay then,” Chris said, still laughing as he poured the awful-smelling stuff onto his ancient shirt, balled it up, and began to scrub his ceiling. “What took you so long in there?”

I did not want to answer him. “You’re doing it wrong,” I huffed. I climbed up onto the bed with him, reaching up to take his makeshift rag.

Chris’s mouth slid into a sly smile, and he raised it farther above my head than I could reach. “Am I?”

I stepped closer to him, pressed against his chest like I’d been before. Showing him my best doe-eyes, I whined, “Give it, Chris, please.”

His tongue swiped over his lips, both of which now hung open. Chris looked down at me and I looked up at him. The height difference was slight, but now the mere inches felt incredibly important in the moment’s silence. “What?” I whispered, barely more than a breath.

Jesus Christ, girlie, Chris groaned inwardly. She just looked so cute, and she had always been so sweet to him, and she took him to Cane’s and listened to his mostly-incoherent stream of consciousness, and she loved his brothers and she helped him hang up glow stars and she might actually be the most perfect person he’d ever met.

“Chris?” her voice, though soft, held him in a painful vice grip. “What’s wrong?”

He loosed a breath, lowering his hand and letting his arms settle around her, gathering at the small of her back. Chris pressed his lips against her forehead, resting his against it when her wrists crossed behind his neck.

“Nothin’s wrong,” he murmured, a humored smile making its way across his face. He heard his voice change with the mounting anxiety in his chest. “Jus’ like bein’ with ya, ‘s all.”

My stomach fluttered at his words. “I like being with you too, bubs.” An idea sparked in my brain, and before any of my self-preservation instincts could kick in, I dropped my hands from his neck and dug them under his arms, tickling mercilessly. Chris’s eyes lit up in a flash, cowing his back to get away from me while simultaneously making a beeline for my ribs to lay waste to them in a similar fashion.

“You little fucker!” he cackled, dancing around on the bed to avoid my hands.

“AKSPBTH, GET AWAY GET AWAY GET AWAY!” I was shrieking with glee as we tumbled in a writhing heap on his pillows, gasping for breath while he continued his unhindered attack on my body. “ChrisChrisChrisChris-” I panted, making ultimately futile attempts to wriggle out from under him, “Please, truce, truce, I’m begging-”

Laughing still, he sat back on his knees, arms still on either side of me. Chris’s hair fell so messy above me, his chain dangling just above my nose. I gave him a downturned smile.

“Pinned ya,” he huffed triumphantly.

I lightly smacked his chest with a daring snort of derision. “Like you’d do anything about it.”

“Shut up.” Chris, still smiling that heart-wrenchingly adorable smile of his, lowered his head until our noses touched. “Hi.” He blinked his big blue eyes comically at me.

“Hey,” I replied softly, another laugh lilting quietly from my throat. I found myself enjoying this moment very much.

Chris tilted his head, hair swinging with him. “Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout?”

I giggled. “Nothin’.”

He huffed, scrunching his nose and rubbing it against mine, his chain slipping over my chin, and I couldn’t help but laugh again. He tended to bring that out of me. My arms reached up to wrap around his back. “Come here,” I whispered, and as he lowered his chest to mine, I felt his arms slip up around my head. I nuzzled into his neck and held him.

We lay like that for a while, the pressure on my body soothing me, his scent engulfing me. I could get used to this.

“Hey.”

“I wanna talk about our conversation.”

“From the other night?”

“Mhm.”

“We can. Do you wanna sit up?”

“No,” he grumbled, doing it anyway.

“Poor baby,” I teased, “Your life is so very hard.” My heart felt full. Something was changing. I could sense it somehow.

Chris blushed at my words, shaking his head and hiding his gaze. He settled back against his headboard to the right side of me while I tugged a blanket up to my shoulders. “You cold?” he asked, but I shook my head.

“‘S just soft, that’s all. What do you wanna talk about?” I asked, tucking my arm under his.

Chris squeezed it and took a deep breath. “I said I wasn’t sure how I loved you. And we talked about how we don’t have much romantic love experience.”

“Mhm.” I waited for him to continue.

“And I just…” Chris laid his head on mine. “I…feel something…for you. But I don’t think it’s fair to even tell you that because I really don’t know if it’s anything more than that friend-type of love.” The sigh he let out was shaky. I stayed stock-still, unsure of what he was getting at and hoping to god my heart wasn’t about to be crushed. “And then I started thinkin’ about what you said about love…how it was like, a bunch of choices you make.” His right hand reached over, tentative and uncertain, touching the arm I’d tucked next to him ever so lightly. “And then you said a buncha’ stuff about my family but you didn’t say anythin’ about yourself.” He turned his head and looked down at me, his face dark in the soft light.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his and Chris’s heart went into cardiac arrest. There was so much trust in her gaze, she might as well have opened her soul wide open for him to look at, and he wanted to drown himself in it. His lips parted in a disbelieving sigh - this girl, this woman, she’d been with him for so long, always patient, always willing to listen, she never pushed him but god did she challenge him, she made him laugh, she made him want to act better…he wanted to be a person she would be proud to know. Maybe even…maybe even someone she would want to call her boyfriend. “I care about you,” he said, his heart thumping with fear. “I don’t know if that's romantic love or not but...” he paused. God, he was so scared. “If you’ll let me…I wanna find out with you.”

And there it was - the confession. Chris had metaphorically ripped his heart from its cage and handed it to her, and he was terrified over what she’d do with it.

“Love…is waking up every day and choosing that person regardless of what the day is gonna throw at you.”

Her voice echoed in his head. Chris chose her. Even if she didn’t choose him back.

I exhaled slowly. My chest almost caved in from the weight of his words. “Chris…” I whispered, tears welling in my eyes. “You have…no idea…how long I’ve wanted to hear that.” I wanted to hug him, desperately, but I was afraid of breaking him. He looked so scared, scared of love, scared of messing up, scared of being less than expected or not enough…he looked so scared.

“Yeah?” he asked softly, unable to look away.

“Yeah,” I nodded, my hand moving up slowly, so slowly, to touch his cheek. Gingerly, I traced my knuckle down his stubble, and his sweet blue eyes closed at my touch. My own did their best to blink away tears, but ultimately failed.

Suddenly, the most unrelated thought occurred to me. “Chris,” I whispered, “Look at the stars.” He tilted his head up in awe at the glow stars that had stuck to the ceiling after all this time. Not a single planet loose, not a moon out of place. They covered the plaster with a hazy blue hue, casting gentle shadows down his neck.

“Holy shit,” he said with a soft laugh. “They really did stay up there.”

It all felt like one big giant metaphor to me, but maybe that interpretation was a bit on-the-nose. I elected to keep it to myself. I smiled at him, hoping I didn’t look disastrous with those damn tear tracks down my cheeks.

“Heyyy, hey…” Chris murmured, holding my face with both hands and thumbing the product of my overwhelming emotions away, “I got you. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“Neither am I,” I promised. I kissed his palm on impulse, eyes darting up to his. Is this okay?

Of course it is.

I continued my ministrations, taking his wrist in hand and kissing up to the tips of his fingers, curling them down to move up his knuckles until I reached the back of his hand. He let me, a curious expression on his face. With my final kiss, I made direct eye-contact with him. He breathed out and let his hand fall, his thumb catching softly on my bottom lip, the rest of his fingers fitting neatly under my chin.

“Please let me kiss you,” he whispered, his brows furrowed, his eyelids heavy, his gaze addicted to my lip, the bottom of which sprung plushly back into place when his thumb let go of it. He looked like a man starved.

I slid my fingers into the soft, loose curls at the back of his neck and tilted my head, letting his lips press so sweetly against mine. My stomach tingled, butterflies fluttering to life in my chest. Chris’s hands slipped up my back, hugging me into him, his nose pressing against my cheek as he kissed me again and again, slowly, patiently. His breath filled my mouth, and mine his. I probably exhaled a bit of my soul too. The thought made me smile and he murmured against my skin. “What is it, pretty girl?” He kissed the edges of my smile, nosing my blushed face, relishing the closeness now allowed to him.

“I just like you,” I said shyly.

He grinned, making a fist and yanking his elbow back to his side. “Yesssss.”

I erupted into giggles and he just watched me contentedly.

Pulling away for the briefest of moments to adjust my knees, I looked up to see Chris, looking like he’d been shot. “Come back…I wasn’t done,” he grumbled.

“You’re so whiny,” I teased, holding his cheeks in my hands.

He smiled impishly. “I jus’ like ya.”

“You like sitting here with me?” I asked, stroking the shell of his ear, drowning in his eyes like he was in mine.

“I like sitting here with you,” Chris confirmed, his voice gentle and low. “I want ya’ to be my girl.”

“Well, I want you to be my boy,” I huffed, grinning. “What about that?”

“I think I’ll live,” he replied, tilting his head to kiss me again.

The end.

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thus-spoke-lo · 8 months

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A Hayride for a Hayride // slimeball Taxi Driver!Zoro x afab!reader // NSFW/18+ Written for @bastardblvd's House of Slimy Horrors Collab

Synopsis: Your date to the Grimetown Halloween festival cancelled on you last-minute, leaving you with nothing to do. Luckily, a certain moss-haired taxi driver lifeguard hayride operator offers you a free ride to get your mind off things, and you're soon in for the ride of your life. CW: slimeball au; afab!reader; no pronouns used for reader; mild action violence; vaginal fingering; unprotected vaginal intercourse; mild degradation WC: 5.4k // Fictober Masterlist

The sun descends in the evening sky over Grimetown, glowing through the permanent haze that hangs over the city and painting the landscape in tangerines and golds. You make your way around the festival grounds, sipping at something that tastes close enough to apple cider—you know better than to ask too many questions about the contents of beverages around here. The autumn leaves crunch under your boots as you traipse around, stopping to watch a fistfight that appears to be the result of a rigged pumpkin pie-eating contest—you’re rooting for the guy in the McDonald’s uniform.

The smell of all things greasy and sweet lures you towards the food stalls, and you almost consider trying the rat on a stick (rat isn’t in quotation marks but it’s gotta be a joke…they wouldn’t, would they?) when a noodly blonde man with a curly eyebrow poking out from his mop of blonde hair leans over the counter of the Flapjack Shack’s stall and begins to explain the complicated history of the humble omelet to you in between thinly-veiled innuendos. You nod and smile and wait for another customer to walk by in order to make your escape, plunking down at the edge of a fountain in the middle of the square, thick, white, foamy substance sloppily bubbling away inside. You would think they would have dyed the goopy substance green or something given the occasion, and you run a finger through the viscous liquid, wondering why the texture feels awfully familiar.

A sudden buzzing in your pocket pulls you away from thinking too hard about what you just dipped your hand into, but a quick glance at the message preview sends your fluttering heart right into a meat grinder.

[Soggy Man]: I’m still stuck at work, I’m so sorry. I don’t think I’ll make it tonight.

[You]: Yuuta noooo ☹ how come you’re stuck? Aren’t you closed?

[Soggy Man]: last minute customer came by for an inspection

“An inspection?” you mutter, narrowing your eyes as though he’d feel your questioning glance through the screen.

[You]: I thought you only did those in the morning

[Soggy Man]: well you know how it is, sometimes I have to make exceptions

You wonder if this is the type of exception that all DMV employees were inclined to give, or if it’s more like the exception he made to waive your registration renewal fee when you offered to blow him behind the counter after hours. Either way, this isn’t exactly the best way to start off your attempt at a real first date, not after weeks of back and forth, navigating your ever-changing shifts at the coffee shop, and his abrupt late-night work hours.

[You]: No worries! I understand!

[Soggy Man]: I’m sorry cutie, hope you have fun without me

[You]: it’s ok! I know how to entertain myself.

[You]: we’ll try again some other time!

“Well, shit.” You shove your phone back into your pocket with a sigh that turns into a groan that turns into a momentary existential crisis—this was the seventh first date you’d tried to set up recently, and the sixth first date where you got ghosted before ever getting to try to disappoint them in person. Not waiting to see if Yuuta has anything else to add, you wander off, glancing around the packed festival in search of something—anything—to occupy your unexpected free time.

As you pass the shoddily assembled Ferris wheel, watching it shimmy with every rotation, threatening to come unbolted and roll away at any moment, a light fog starts to accumulate at your feet. It stinks, and not like how you remember fog machines to smell from your glory days as a stagehand at the Grimetown Community Theater; no, this is thick, and pungent, and a little nauseating. You walk deeper into the foul-smelling haze, and glance down to see the cause—a stubbed-out cigar rolls towards your feet, a few stray embers spraying out across the dirt.

“You alright, honey?” a low voice rumbles from just beyond the dissipating vapors. “You look like something’s wrong.”

You cough and sputter, waving your hand in front of you to clear the remaining cloud of smoke and see a man with green hair and a tanned complexion standing with his back against a wooden wagon, his extraordinarily muscled arms crossed over his broad chest, a thin white t-shirt straining to contain his brawny form. Three gold earring jingle softly as he cocks his head to examine you with his one good eye, and you wonder if the scar over his other eye is real or fabricated for the occasion.

“I’m fine, thanks,” you fib, stuffing your hands in your pockets as you stroll towards him. The last thing you want right now is some burly stranger trying to play therapist when what would actually solve your problems is guzzling pumpkin-spice flavored alcohol and stuffing your face with candy apples, then passing out in that weird gloopy fountain ‘til sunrise.

“Come on now.” He raises an eyebrow and gives you a pitying grin. “You sure you’re okay?”

You kick at the ground with the toe of your boot and huff a sigh. “Fine. I, uh—I got stood up.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Dude texted me after I already got here saying he couldn’t come, and I don’t want to waste my ticket, so now I’m just kinda in limbo and not really sure what to do.”

“Pretty thing like you gettin’ stood up on a nice night like this?” He gestured towards the darkened sky, the moon covered in a dense mess of clouds, silver beams poking through and illuminating the space between you. “It’s a damned shame.”

“Tell me about it,” you chuckle in agreement.

“You know,” he says, running his tongue over his lower lip, “I’m technically supposed to wait until there’s a big group before I head out, but—I could give you a ride. A private one.”

“A private ride, huh?” You inhale sharply through your teeth and your eyes flit over his muscled form. A private ride with some grimy eye candy doesn’t sound like a bad way to recover from a hefty blow to your ego. “How much is it?”

“It’s free. Comes with your ticket.”

“You know what? Sure, why the hell not?”

“That’s what I hoped you’d say,” he grins, giving an exaggerated wink. “Don’t you worry—I’ll make you forget all about that loser.”

You head towards the back of the wagon, expecting there to be a step to hoist yourself inside, when a strong hand grabs your wrist and tugs you back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks as you stumble backward into him, your back pressing against his firm chest, sending a little spark down your spine.

“I—I was getting in the cart.”

“Oh, now that’s just for regular, everyday hayrides.” He grasps your hand and leads you towards the front of the cart, gesturing towards the bench that sits just behind the horses; he places his warm hands on your shoulders and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Private tours get the best seat in the house.”

You climb aboard and he follows, letting out a quiet, satisfied-sounding groan as he settles in beside you, scooting closer until his warm body presses right against yours. The bench is more than long enough to afford you both some personal space, but it seems the private tour also comes with the bonus of physical affection and suggestive flirtation—not that you’re complaining. The hayride operator reaches over and pats your thigh. “Alright. Where to?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” You shrug and gesture vaguely in front of you. “Where do you normally take this thing?”

“Oh yeah.” He furrows his brow. “Sorry, I’m just used to my day job.”

“What do you do for your day job?”

“Lifeguard.”

“Wait, wh—” Your inquiry is cut short as the horses take off, jostling you and pitching you forward, then back. As you try to right yourself, something shiny catches your eye; you glance over and see three sheathed swords nestled in the hay just behind you.

“Say, hayride guy,” you ask, reaching over to poke at them, “what are these for?”

He grunts and brushes your hand away without looking over. “Protection.”

“Protection from what?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Ah, he must be doing a bit—they’re props. You smirk, settling back onto your seat, leaning your head against his sturdy shoulder as you listen to the steady clip-clop of the horses and the rhythmic squeak of the wagon’s wheels, the only sounds in the depths of the darkened forest. The festival is low-budget, to say the least, but they cared enough about attention to detail to have the hayride operator carrying swords; you start to wonder if this is supposed to be a haunted hayride, and perhaps your beefy driver will be showing off his faux-sword skills before the end, fighting off a zombie horde or two.

You sigh as you press your cheek against his bicep and try to ignore the troublesome feeling inside you—that maybe Yuuta was trying to get a hold of you, that you should have just waited longer to see if his late-night inspection was over quickly enough he could join you. The phone in your pocket has been silent for some time now, and you carefully pull it out, just to check; no signal at all, and no texts, only a notification about your rent being overdue again.

“Hey. Don’t let him get you down, sweet cheeks.” He covers the screen of your phone and pushes it down into your lap, leaving his hand there for a moment, precariously close to the apex of your thighs. His touch is warm, radiating a kind of animalistic heat—one that feels a little too raw, and little too dangerous. He smirks, making some clicking noise at the horses as you wind your way through the deepening woods. “You know, I think you could do better than him, anyway.”

I bet you do, you grin to yourself as your limbs flood with heat and your stomach twists in knots, chewing on your lower lip at the way his muscles flex with every flick of the reigns. You feel a fire lighting at the base of your spine the longer you stare at him, the longer your body seems to melt into his as you snuggle closer along the trail—perhaps you’ll have to pay him a visit after the festival closes and see if he offers any after-hour tours. He certainly seems amenable to the idea, and it had been a while since the last time you’d been bent over a piece of farm equipment and railed in a spooky, secluded wood after all. You start to wonder if he’s all bluster, or if he’s adept at putting his big hands and his smart mouth to good use.

The fog of lust in your head starts to clear a little and you glance around, not recognizing the trees and landscape in front of you, the horses trotting over a layer of decaying leaves instead of the paved path that had been stretching out ahead of you. No, the woods directly behind the festival grounds aren’t this dense, the branches don’t hang this low, the air is never this still. You sit up, a sense of dread creeping up into your throat, and tap the driver on his forearm with a shaking hand.

“Hey, uh, hayride guy?”

“It’s Zoro,” he grouses.

“Right. Zoro.” You swallow hard, an icy shiver running down your spine as a cold wind whips through the trees. “So…where are we, anyway?”

“Tch, we’re on the trail,” Zoro scoffs as he glances around. He suddenly sits up straight, his mouth opening and closing, only faint sounds of confusion coming out. “Or, uh…we were.”

“What do you mean ‘we were’? Don’t the horses know where to go?”

“They don’t have built-in GPS, they just go straight until I tell ‘em to not go straight.”

“So where the hell are we, then?” The skin on your arms prickles underneath your thick sweater and acid roils in your belly, that sense of dread that sits in your throat threatening to push its way out.

“Well, we’re in the woods.”

“I know that!”

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it, okay?” It feels like he’s reassuring himself just as much as he’s trying to calm your frayed nerves, as if the machinations in his mind are just starting to turn, to decide where you go from here. Zoro stretches and wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him; he smells like stale cigars and sweat and too much cheap body spray and it’s the most intoxicating thing you’ve inhaled all night. “Look, I can get us out of this. They don’t call me the world’s strongest hayride operator for nothin’.”

You slowly look up at him. “Is that—is that a thing? Do people actually call you that?”

“Ha! Exactly.”

A scream abruptly fills the air, cutting through the eerie quiet, followed by another, then another—the strangled cries for help of someone, or something, in distress. Zoro pulls you in closer, his fingers digging into your shoulder as you bury your face against his chest. It’s just part of the show, you tell yourself, choking on a shuddering breath. It’s just part of the show, and some dude in a shitty costume is gonna run out of the woods any minute and try to scare me. After a few agonizing moments, the bloodcurdling shrieks finally die down, the pained noises reducing to pathetic whimpers and then…silence.

“You know, you’re pretty cute when you’re scared.”

Before you can say something equally flirtatious back, the horses come to a sudden halt; they whinny and stomp in place, clearly disturbed by something that only they can sense.

“Zoro…what’s going on?” It’s just part of the show, it’s just part of the show…

“I dunno,” he says, making soft noises at the horses to soothe them, his hand moving down and settling on your thigh protectively. “Something’s got them all riled up.”

The quality of the performance is good, you force yourself to think as he squints into the near-darkness, but his delivery could be more authentic. You join him in his scan of your surroundings, searching the foggy woods for whatever had frightened the horses, their heads bobbing and nostrils flaring at something in the distance. Leaves crunch and branches crack as something approaches, its pace slow and hesitant, a low growling emanating from the darkness—the sound effects are impressive, and you try to find the hidden speakers within the foggy haze.

“Zoro,” you mumble quietly, as you wrap your arm around his waist and cling to him, “I think there’s something up there.”

“Where?” He leans forward, peering into the shadowy distance.

“Right—right there.” You gasp as you see the source of the noise ambling out of the woods. “Oh my god, it’s a dog—it looks like it’s hurt!”

Without another thought, you hop down from the cart and carefully approach the dog, who slinks closer to you, eyeing you cautiously with each step. The moonlight peers through the clouds and illuminates the creature, its dark grey fur stained with blood, bits of viscera clinging to the matted hair around its face.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Zoro shouts from the cart. “Get back here and stay on the wagon.”

“What? It’s fine, it’s all part of the show isn’t it?” Surely this was just someone’s pet, doused in red corn syrup and set loose as part of the haunted hayride.

“What show? This is just a hayride.”

“Sure, I got you.” You wink and snap finger-guns at him confidently, and turn your attention back to the injured pup. “Here doggie! C’mere sweetie, let me—oh my god.”

Your mouth drops open and a gasp pushes its way out of your lungs—the dog, you realize, is no dog at all.

The creature that stalks out of the woods appears to be a wolf, its eyes burning bright like smelted gold, teeth bared and lips curled back into a snarl, its fangs dripping with strings of blood-reddened saliva. You freeze in place, arms outstretched, hoping your vaguely threatening posture is enough to keep the wolf at bay as your heart hammers in your ribcage and your breathing comes in fits and starts. It senses something in you—fear, hesitation, weakness—and approaches slowly, one carefully placed paw at a time, sniffing the air and growling more desperately with every whiff of you that it catches.

“Get back.”

A strong hand on your shoulder jerks you back and shoves you towards the wagon. Zoro now stands in front of you—his shirt is gone, revealing a smooth expanse of streamlined muscle and sinew rippling under bronzed skin, a black bandana is tied around his head, and he wields his three swords, one in each hand, and the third held between his teeth. He widens his stance and maintains his position as the wolf approaches more boldly now, barking and growling, steam from its warm breath rising into the air. The creature leaps at him and he quickly crosses the two swords in front of him to block its attack, the metal shaking as he grunts and shoves the wolf back.

“Three-Sword-Style,” Zoro shouts, the words muffled by the sword still clenched between his teeth, “Grime Tornado!”

A strong gust of air suddenly swirls in front of him and disburses with great force, pushing the wolf backward as it struggles to stay standing until it’s shoved to the edge of the woods. The air settles, and the wolf pauses for a moment, teeth still glimmering in the moonlight, eyes glowing like embers, before it runs off into the trees again, its howls lingering in the still air. Zoro lowers his arms, letting the tips of his blades point towards the ground as he walks towards you, his broad chest heaving with every panting breath.

“I told you to stay in the damned wagon,” he mumbles through the sword still tucked between his clenched teeth. He walks over to the cart and carefully sheaths the three swords again, giving them a reassuring pat before turning to glare at you. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“It—it was all part of the show, right?” Your hands tremble, the wolf’s glowing eyes still appearing behind your eyelids with every blink; the way they pierced you was unnerving, almost as if there was something human about them.

And the blood. The blood looked so—so real.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grunts as he walks over to you, scooping you up with startling ease and carrying you back to the wagon. He plops you down in the back like a sack of rice, your backside landing in a soft pile of hay, and he glowers at you. “Don’t get back out again. Not for anything. Understand?”

You nod, and the desire to jump into his burly arms again courses through you. As frightened as you are, the sight of him, shirtless and flexing, moving with a grace and speed you hadn’t expected from him, has a stranglehold on you—if he’d asked to bend you over right then and there, you would have gladly thanked him for his hard work and offered him payment in the form of whatever part of your body he most preferred.

“Thanks for saving me, Zoro.”

He grunts in response and jostles the reigns, the horses taking their cue and trotting off into the depths of the woods again. You pull your knees up to your chest and lean against a hay bale, your eyes focused on Zoro the whole time; he glances back now and again, quick looks of concern at first, then of something else, something that feels far less virtuous.

The horses seem to find their way back onto the path with some degree of ease, and before long, you can see the festival off in the distance, smell the greasy mystery meats-on-sticks, hear the noise that passes for music as some local band plays royalty-free Halloween music.

The wagon comes to an abrupt halt, the festival almost within reach—you can almost touch the goopy fountain again. Zoro heaves his arm over the divider that separates the two of you, leaning his bare torso towards you. “Listen. We need to talk.”

“Look, Zoro, let me be the first to say—I think the ride was spectacular,” you start to ramble, your hands gesturing wildly as you speak. “And I promise I won’t say anything to anyone about the—well, whatever the fuck happened back there. Or the, uh—the flirting. Not that I minded! I mean, I don’t know if it’s the most professional way of giving private rides, but it was, you know…appreciated. If you need me to fill out a survey about your services, I can certainly—”

“You talk too damned much, calm down.” He places a thick finger over your lips to shush you, leaning in until his face is just inches from yours. “Now listen to me very carefully, honey—you owe me.”

Your breath quickens, your chest rising and falling rapidly, and an aching heat that you had been trying to ignore begins to grow in your core. “For—for what? You said the hayride was free.”

“It is.” He licks his lips and raises a wide hand to your face, cupping your chin. “But the saving your life part is extra.”

“I—I’m sorry, I don’t have any money to give you,” you stammer, your voice a husky whisper. Your gaze flits over his face, noticing a certain predatory glint in his eye, a hunger lingering on the upturned corners of his lips. “I left my wallet at home.”

“Oh sweetheart,” he coos, stroking your cheek with the rough pad of his thumb, “I don’t want your money.”

“What do you want then?”

“Same thing you do.”

You bite your lip shyly, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes in your best approximation of an innocent glance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Tch. I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me since you found me. The way you wrapped your arms around me when you were scared—and even when you weren’t.” He climbs over the wooden divide and into the wagon with you, kneeling in front of you and placing his hands on your thighs. “You’re really gonna try to play the coy thing? Because it’s not workin’ for you.”

“No?” He’s big—so big—and his body almost engulfs you as he leans in and grips the edge of the cart behind you, his massive arms caging you in on either side, his broad chest almost pressed to yours.

“Nah. See, I what I think is,” he murmurs into your ear, warm breath spreading across your chilled skin, “that you want the big, strong guy who saved your life to make you forget all about that little shit that stood you up.”

Without another thought—your mind drained of all rational notions, left only with fleeting images of how he’d look on top of you, behind you, underneath you—you lean up and kiss him impulsively, your lips crashing against his hard and fast, trying to satisfy a need that had been growing all night. He inhales sharply at the sudden kiss, then places one hand at the back of your head to hold you in place as he claims your mouth, parting your lips with his tongue before plunging it into your mouth and entwining it with yours. His free hand roams up the hem of your sweater, groping at your breasts, tugging at the fabric of your bra until his thumb finds your hardened nipple. He makes firm circles over it and your back arches as warm, gentle waves of pleasure move through you, and he groans at the way you writhe under his touch.

“Bet you wanna get fucked, don’t you?” he growls against your lips, his grip on the nape of your neck tightening. He lets out a low chuckle as you nod and whimper, your hands moving down his bare torso towards the waistband of his pants, palm brushing against the sizeable bulge that strains against the fabric. “Mm, somebody’s needy. Lay down for me, then—let’s settle up what you owe.”

You obediently recline in the hay and kick your boots off, stripping yourself of your jeans with a frantic urgency; Zoro moves down between your legs, nudging them apart to kneel between them. He drags two fingers up your clothed slit, his fingertips catching on dampened cotton, and a satisfied hum vibrates in his chest as he finally takes in the extent of your arousal.

“This for me?” he purrs, pressing down against your clit, rubbing you through your panties until your legs tremble and your hands grasp at flimsy pieces of straw.

“D-don’t flatter yourself.”

“You sure? I don’t see anyone else around here to make your pussy this wet.” He grabs the waistband of your panties and pulls them down over your hips, stripping you of them and tossing them behind him. He quickly undoes his trousers and slides them down his lean hips, his cock springing forth from the confines of his pants. Your jaw goes slack at the sight of it—thick and veiny, sitting heavy in his palm as he slowly strokes himself for you, the head growing redder and more swollen with every vulgar caress.

“Think you can handle it?” He lets a wad of saliva drip from his lips and onto his cock, spreading it over his impressive length until it glistens in the moonlight.

“Think so,” you whimper back, spreading your thighs a little wider to accommodate him as he moves on top of you, aligning his hips with yours. Zoro wastes no time in collecting his payment for his earlier heroics and slowly pushes into you, stretching you with every agonizing inch that slides inside; little sparks of pleasure ignite in your limbs, and that deep ache in your core grows with every bit of his fat cock that he bullies inside you.

“There you go,” he growls as he finally fills you completely and his pelvis presses against yours. “Took it all like a good little whore.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and nip and kiss at his jaw. “Not a whore.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” he coos condescendingly, his hips rocking just enough to give you a few tentative, shallow thrusts. “Would you prefer ‘slut’ instead?”

“I’d prefer you sh—” Your words are quickly cut off by the gasp that shoves its way out of your lungs as he pulls out and plunges inside again, knocking against something inside you that makes your eyes go bleary and your fingers tingle.

Zoro’s thrusts are quick and feral, the kind that make you pulse and press your thighs into his hips, the kind that make your hands grasp for anything within reach—his bulging biceps, his mossy hair, a handful of hay underneath you—anything to ground yourself as he fills you again and again until all he is all there is. He drives into you over and over, and you lift your hips upward to meet his, deepening every plunge until you’re bucking and arching and colliding in a seamless rhythm.

“Touch yourself for me,” Zoro grunts as he slows his movements to angle his hips, and his cockhead drags against that sweet spot inside of you. “I bet you look so fucking good when you cum, pretty little slut.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you reach down and move your fingers over your clit, already swollen and pulsing with need. A moan of pleasure claws its way out of you and you writhe and thrash under him while he watches closely, his gaze focused on your face, his jaw hanging open the more your expression twists and contorts in pleasure. That tension in your belly winds tighter and tighter with every plunge of his length inside you and every swift movement of your fingers over your sensitive bud, until your body is trembling and your muscles are seizing and you mumble something unintelligible about being close, so close, so very, very close.

“That’s it,” Zoro rasps, his cock throbbing inside you as you start to tighten around him, “now cum on this big cock for me.”

A profound heat spreads throughout your lower half as you tense and release in waves of shaking spasms; you wail his name, not caring who or what that may lurk in the forest hears you, as your cunt pulls him further in. Zoro moans quietly and fucks into you with messy, erratic thrusts, hitting you so deep that it almost hurts, bordering on that delicious line between pain and pleasure. His breaths are shallow and fast, his teeth clenched, his body beginning to shake as your fluttering cunt urges him towards his climax.

“Fuck, sweetheart—you feel so damned good, gonna make me cum for you.” A long, low groan carries in the air as he quickly pulls out of you and jerks himself off, his hips tensing and shuddering as his aching cock throbs, coating your stomach with his thick, white spend. He bucks into his fist, milking every last bit of cum from his pulsating length, and collapses next to you, heaving a satisfied moan in between deep, panting breaths.

As you begin to reassemble yourself and pull hay out of random crevices, you feel a vibration against your foot—your phone is buzzing in the pocket of your discarded jeans.

[Soggy Man]: Hey I made it! did you still want to meet up?

“Aw, shit.” You glance over at Zoro, busy catching his breath, his chest rising and falling as his hands settle on his stomach. His toned body glistens with sweat in the moonlight, his half-hard cock laying against his thick thigh, leaking onto his bronzed skin; if it weren’t for the fact he was technically on the clock and you were technically now on a date, you would gladly spend the rest of your night right here, just outside the noise and the lights and the people, indulging in a little more holiday hedonism.

[You]: in a little while. I’m on a hayride right now

[Soggy Man]: that sounds fun! we should go together when you get back

“Hey, uh…can I ask you something?” You sit up and fumble for your jeans again, pulling your wallet out of a back pocket. “How much would you want to, um—to keep quiet about what just happened?”

“Hm.” He puts his hands behind his head and stares up at the night sky, considering his options for a moment. “Give me a taste of that slutty little pussy of yours and we’ve got a deal.”

“I suppose I can’t say no to that,” you whisper under your breath, your cunt fluttering at the thought of him between your legs again.

“Hey…what’s this?” Zoro rolls over and snatches the wallet out of your hand, using it to point at you accusatorily. “I thought you said you left this at home.”

“What? Wow, that’s so weird, why would I say that…”

“Careful now. Lies are gonna cost you extra.”

He moves down between your shaking legs, shoving them apart and grunting something lewd about how good you look the way your slick spreads out across your thighs. He lays down on his stomach, hooking his thick arms under your legs, and lets out a satisfied groan as he nips at the inside of your thigh, lowering his head down to give your slit an exploratory lick.

“Extra?” A low moan tumbles out of you as his wide tongue licks a thick stripe up your cunt, then plunges it inside you, shallowly fucking you with it. “Then how about, after you’re done down there, I ride you—then you give me a ride back?

“A ride for a ride, huh?” Zoro murmurs against your skin, stopping his movements for a moment to glance up at you. He smiles, high on the fucked-out expression etched into your features, before flicking his tongue over your aching clit, groaning as you softly rock your hips into his face. “Man, I fuckin’ love this job.”

#lo writes #fictober 2023 #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #zoro smut #slimeball au

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atyourmerci · 1 month

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✩maddas mind✩

atyourmerci masterpost

As promised the 1K follower cele!!!

✩ ✩

maddas fic rec hall of fame

(The ones I could find)

Deliverance

Priest abby. When I tell you I think about this daily. Truly one of the most immersive erotic forms of POETRY I’ve ever read. World building, character development, BANTER- there’s not a thing I’d change about this.

I do desire we may be better strangers

Childhood best friend abby. This story wrecked me in the most beautiful way. I messaged the author after reading because I needed to know EVERYTHING about the dynamic of abby and reader. This inspired to the light is to the darkness I was so hung up on the world. such a tender story.

Are you sure miss

I was such a holdout on farm abby at first but I read this and it literally flipped a switch in my brain. Anything rose writes I’m fuckin sat but this one holds so dearly to my southern heart. Also this story inspired ‘anything for you miss’ that will probably see the light of day 40 years from now

Perfect sin

One of the first authors/fics I read for abby so this holds dear to me. Got me into sub!abby. I have reread this fic a couple times it’s so beautifully crafted.

I know it when I see it

Pornstar Joel. God Idek where to start on this fic. At this point it could be a novel, a movie, a tv series that people would fucking eat alive. I think about this daily. My friend introduced me and we talk about this story everytime we have fic discussion coffee dates.

✩ ✩

maddas fan art hall of fame

Beanie abby

I am kaitie’s #1 meat rider. I have this photo printed out into a Polaroid bc I’m clinically obsessed

Ellabs

This art single handedly turned me into an ellabs apologist

Cowboy abby

No thoughts just abby in a cowboy hat. World shattering

✩ ✩

me me me!

I’m 21 (cancer baby<3) southern belle born and raised in the south (yeehaw) (my friends horse not mine)

Some of my fav artists: Lana, Paramore, Sza, backseat lovers, Nirvana, deftones, tv girl, snail mail, Chappell, lil Wayne

Interests: horror films (esp old ones), fun little drinks, I make my own jewelry!, reading/writing, the moon, wine and a gotdamn cigarette(I’m old okay)

I’m in school to be a marriage and family therapist but currently I’m a nanny :)

I fall somewhere deep between being an introvert and an extrovert. I love clubbing but I also love going nonverbal in my bed

In my free time I do yoga, read, and have existential crisis about comprehending my worth on this planet

As pictured above that’s my son Venus. I got him from someone I met off tinder (prob don’t do this)

This is all that I could think of but if you wanna know anything just ask! I’m an open book and love interacting with you guys :)

✩ ✩

Thank you so much for 1K I truly cannot even fathom this currently. I never thought anyone would be interested in reading my deranged thoughts and mind but yet here we are. Love ya like always <3

#maddamilestones #maddarants #abby anderson #the last of us #abby anderson smut #abby x reader

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thrashkink-coven · 2 months

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okay I don’t love ranting about Christians on this page because I try to keep this space free of religious shenanigans but I need to rant about this because it’s actually SO irritating. This is coming steaming hot right off the top of the dome so excuse my grammar and all caps.

Lately my instagram page (thrashkink_art check me out I’m awesome) has been getting a lot of attention from Christians for some reason, and I’ve been getting dmd by people wanting desperately to debate and/ or convert me. They all come at me with the assumption that I’m either an extreme atheist that’s just super mad at God or a complete dumbass that’s simply never read the first few pages of Genesis. I must either be angry or stupid. There’s no way I could have read the Bible and known the story of Jesus without subscribing to it. Anyone who isn’t Christian must not know the story! “Have you heard about JESUS? DID YOU 🫵 KNOW He died for your sins? 😃” Whatever

The thing that is so frustrating is that, EVERY SINGLE TIME I share some information with them about the Bible or religion that they didn’t know, they immediately BLOCK ME. EVERY TIME. And it’s like??? If you want to have a debate and go bar for bar then I’ll humor you. Hey, who knows! Maybe I’ll even learn something new and convert! I’m always open to new information! I love learning about religion! But apparently it doesn’t go both ways because the second I present information they can’t grapple with, they IMMEDIATELY BLOCK ME. AAAAAA

Some Christian dude: If you read the Bible you’d know that doing witchcraft will land you in Hell!

Me: well if we’re really going based off of the Bible, the entire concept of Hell doesn’t originate in the Isrealite religion. Actually, there’s no mention of a Hell in the OT at all, Hell is a Greek concept and so is Lucifer.

Christian: What? No?? That can’t be true it completely distorts my worldview

Me: You… don’t have to believe me just look into it yourself

*You can no longer message this person*

LIKE WTF.

Some Christian dude: Women are just naturally subordinate to men, if they weren’t then we would have worshipped a female Goddess alongside YHWH.

Me: Well… They did. The Israelites worshiped Asherah alongside YHWH before her worship was abolished

Christian: This is blasphemy *you can no longer message this person*

RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAA. I have countless examples like this! A dude called me evil because I told him Jesus was Jewish. I’ve been called a degenerate for explaining how YHWH originated in Canaan. Im so tired of ignorant Christians shitting my pants because they’re too lazy to do any research on tHEIR OWN RELIGION!! IF YOU NEED TO HAVE AN EXISTENTIAL CRISIS BECAUSE YOU JUSG LEARNED ABOUT THE HISTOY OF YOUR RELIGION THEN THATS ON YOU BITCH! DONT GET MAD AT ME BC YOUVE BEEN FED A LIE !!!!!! THATS NOT MY PROBLEM !!!!!!!!!!

There have been so many times when I’ve taken the time to go through all this bullshit with people because I really don’t want to be close minded. But holy shit it’s like they’re allergic to conflicting information. They immediately accuse me of trying to push blasphemy onto them. and when i’m like hey dude don’t take my word for it, please I encourage you to do your own research, they’re immediately so offended and appalled. How dare I tell them something about the Bible that they didn’t know.

Listen bro, I’m fully supportive of your Christianity, live your life, worship your God, I honestly do not care. But if you’re going to try to convert me at least be somewhat prepared for an actual discussion. Don’t block me because you can’t handle the reality of the situation mother fucker.

LIKE LISTEN IM USUALLY NOT SO PRESSED AB SHIT LIKE THIS BUT THE THING THAT DRIVES ME UP THE WALL IS THAT I USUALLY TRY TO IGNORE THESE PEOPLE BUT THEN THEYRE ALL LIKE “Aha! 😌 You don’t want to hear me out because you know I’m right! You’re afraid of the truth!” SO THEN IM LIKE

*SIGGGGGHHHHHHH*

OKAY! Let’s go! Let’s hear it! We can debate because you’re so desperate to change my mind! ILL WASTE THREE HOURS OF MY LIFE GOING THROGH THIS SHIT WITH YOU SO YOU CAN JUST CALL ME A BLASPHEMOUS WHORE AND BLOCK ME. I LOVE WASTING MY TIME I LOVE GOING IN CIRCLES I LOVE POINTLESS DISCUSSIONS I LIVE FOR THEM

DO NOT!!! DM ME IF YOURE A CHRISTIAN !!!!YOU WILL NOT COME OUT THE SAME AFTER HEARING THE THOUGHTS FROM MY EXPANSIVE SEXY SLUTTY BRAIN YOU WILL NEVER BE THE SAME!!!!

RRRRRAAAAAAAAA

ok. I’m better now. Merry Venus Day! Ave Lucifer! 🔱 💀

#witchcraft #magick #occultism #pagan #paganism #demonology #witch community #witch aesthetic #witchblr #grimoire #lucifer devotee #luciferian witch #lucifer deity #lord lucifer #theistic luciferianism #religion #christianity

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bestworstcase · 2 months

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@cryptidblues tumblr ate this one too, maybe drop tumblr support a line to check if you’ve been erroneously shadowbanned

Oscar is dying! He’s dying! We’re getting the full weight and crisis of the merge in volume 10 I NEED IT. The image of him collapsed on the sand as the sunrises with his back to the long memory OOUGH just like Ruby and crescent rose after she drank the tea, before the tree took her. The reversal on “I don’t want to be me anymore” / please let me stay myself. The lad is being eaten alive! From the inside out! By an unstoppable brain parasite that will kill him! And Replace Him! I Need the slow build up of horror from Oscar and everyone involved. “And Oscar…just isn’t himself” they’re place setting. Getting the table ready. Ooh yknow he’s hiding those merge episodes/attacks from his friends. I NEED the existential terror and dread! BUT I NEED THE CATHARSIS OF OSCAR BEING KNOWN, SEEN & SAVED TOO ;-;

NOT to make a post oscar about ozma instead but the thing that is really, really pulling the hinges off for me is the implication that this is happening because oz started actively fighting the merge. as long as oscar resisted and oz kept up the drumbeat of “this is inevitable, there is nothing either of us can do,” the curse kept on quietly eroding oscar as the boundary became thinner and thinner between them. it was, for lack of a better term, stable.

the moment oz tries to resist, the curse starts trying to rip him forward. to force him to take over, inflicting what seems to be torturous amounts of pain on both of them. the subtle, silent, invisible violence that was inflicted on oscar before explodes outward to attack both of them.

how many times have i said this curse is specifically designed to make it impossible for ozma to change? that the whole point is to prevent ozma from ever changing his mind or defying the god of light? never doubt me. the literal fucking instant ozma tries to break free, the curse becomes YOU DO NOT HAVE A CHOICE.

the curse had a failsafe the whole time.

/ozma tangent

oscar though. this poor kid. like the greatest burden on his shoulders in the last four volumes has always been that no one wants to openly acknowledge what’s happening to him and the nature of the merge’s violence being so completely internal means that no one has to look at it except him. and he’s been so isolated in that existential dread but he’s also grown so accustomed to being treated like just. the next ozpin. that when the violence abruptly becomes externalized in reaction to oz’s resistance, oscar… hides it. keeps it to himself. somewhere deep down the idea that it doesn’t matter to anyone what happens to him got lodged in his brain so deeply that he keeps it hidden!!

and i’m obsessed with the emotional complexity the layers of what he’s feeling with regard to ruby, because it’s not as simple as that he misses her and aspires to her optimism; there’s also some underlying resentment there (“you were always so sure that everything would work out…right up until the moment it didn’t” <- paraphrasing) because she was wrong and he wishes he could borrow her certainty but she was wrong. she fell. she was wrong.

BUT AT THE SAME TIME, everyone else believes that they’re gone forever. that they’re dead. oscar doesn’t. he’s thinking about it in terms of where they might have gone, what might have happened to them, he’s doing research because deep down, there’s a teeny tiny spark of hope that hasn’t been extinguished yet. so there’s this subtext of i wish i had your certainty. even though you were wrong. i’m still trying to find you. we’re still fighting this. you always saw me for who i really was. i don’t know who i am anymore.—there’s this tension throughout the monologue between bitterness and hope, and i don’t know if oscar is even capable of seeing that he is still hopeful or that he does have, if not ruby’s kind of certainty, something of his own that rhymes. he’s feeling this bleak about everything and still trying to figure out where they are because he doesn’t believe they’re dead.

it was oscar’s idea to put the memorial where the portal had been. it’s taller than a person and shaped like a door. it’s a memorial but it’s also a symbol; the portal is gone, but they were inside it still, we should build our own door so they can find their way home. and then they do, according to the context given. the blacksmith gave them a doorway that went right through their memorial. ETA: never mind, misremembered

ruby confronting and facing his mortality after running away from it for three volumes to galvanize her to really try to save him vs oscar doing whatever he can think of to somehow save her while roiling in all these complicated painful feelings about how no one cares to know how he’s suffering because it isn’t like there’s any real hope for him. tasty!

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jigujellee · 1 year

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(gif creds: kimlipz)

YOUR VOICE IS MY FAVORITE SOUND -> while helping yunjin write her new song, you realize that there's more to her than her loud goofball self.

yunjin x 6th member!reader FLUFF >> word count: 1.4k warnings: none bc fluff is meant to be soft and gushy

a/n: here's me apologzing for the yunjin angst <3 to avoid any confusion - this is NOT a prequel to "love the way you lie" nor is it related in any way; this is its own thing where reader and yunjin are happily together bc they deserve it; enjoy soft and whipped y/n while i try to get angsty again

even with the water running, kazuha and eunchae could be heard in the background, giggling at whatever they were watching on the older girl’s phone.

“i’m sorry i couldn’t help you tonight y/n. i’ll do the dishes tomorrow okay?” your leader says as she magically emerges from her bedroom and immediately snakes her arms around your waist, leaning her head on your shoulder.

“i don’t mind cleaning up unnie, it’s really okay” chaewon hums in response while you place the last bowl on the dish rack to dry.

“where’s yunjin unnie?”

“in her room. i think she’s writing again”

you smile at the thought of your girlfriend trying to write a song. you could easily imagine the way she scrunches her nose while trying to figure out a chord progression, or the way her tongue slightly pokes out as she writes down lyrics in her notebook.

“maybe you should go help her instead of standing here and smiling like a creepy idiot” chaewon interrupts.

“for a moment, i forgot you were here” you joke as you playfully wipe your wet hands on her face.

“ya y/n!! i just did my skincare routine!” she yells while aggressively wiping her face on your shirt, which earned chaewon a playful slap on the shoulder.

once you finish wiping down the counters and tucking in eunchae’s chair (she swears her new year’s resolution is to push in her own chair), you walk towards yunjin’s bedroom. her door is ajar and from where you were standing, you could hear her hum a melody and attempt to strum a few chords. her back is to the door so she’s unaware that you’re leaning against her doorframe, admiring the art that is huh yunjin herself. you watch as she puts her pen down and clears her throat before singing;

it’s kind of shitty isn’t it? not the way we pictured it feels like an existential crisis or am i being dramatic? i wish the world would shut its mouth

“give me space to… sort all this shit out? no that doesn’t sound good” she grunts, and yunjin drops the guitar pick to replace it with her pen, scribbling out what she previously wrote. she sings the same line over and over, and just as she’s about to give up, you finally break your silence and offer a suggestion.

give me space to fucking sort it out?

yunjin’s head immediately turns around, you’re worried it might have given her whiplash. as soon as your eyes meet, you watch a smile grow on her face and you return the gesture with a smile of your own as you walk towards her bed.

“give me space to fucking sort it out,” yunjin tests the way it sounds before continuing on;

like i’m fine, just leave me alone i’m great on my own

you can’t help but stare at yunjin, watching the crinkles on her forehead when she sings and listening to how soft and melodic her voice is.

“honey, you’re staring”

“am i not allowed to admire you, my love?”

“it’s making me shy,” she admits, pink blush slowly painting her cheeks resulting in another smile on your face.

it's rare for yunjin to openly admit when she's shy. though her mbti says she's an introvert, you'd believe she's everything but that when you get to know her. she was a loud goofball most of the time and you absolutely loved her for that. but you also loved her in moments like this; when she’s quiet, focused, and vulnerable. yunjin always felt shy whenever she showed you the songs she wrote, and you’ll never forget about the time she admitted that it feels like she’s naked and bare in front of you when she presents her own creations.

you then realize you don't need to physically touch her to feel close to her - you feel her heart and soul in every word she sings, and you believe it’s the closest you’ll ever be to yunjin.

“helloooo anyone there? looks like someone’s staring again”

“well i think it sounds like an amazing song already” you say, finally breaking out of your daze.

“oh stop it, you’re just saying that because i’m your girlfriend”

“i’m saying it because it’s true. now sing some more, i’ll help with the chords”

now it’s yunjin’s turn to stare as she watches you take her acoustic guitar out of her hands, and grab her electric guitar instead.

“now look who’s staring” you say while plugging the guitar into an amp and start tuning it.

“i’m just lucky to have a girlfriend who’s talented like you”

you never liked to brag about your talent, but yunjin wasn’t lying. you’ve always loved anything and everything to do with music, and you would beg your parents to get you any instrument they could get their hands on - piano, guitar, drums, bass, and even violin. at some point during your trainee days, you even learned how to produce and mix songs. by definition, you were indeed an ace but you didn’t like admitting it and you’d playfully roll your eyes whenever the other members called you their ace.

“just sing darling” yunjin momentarily gushes at the pet name prior to singing, just as you requested.

i don’t know what i’d be doing without you you love who i am cause i don’t care as long as i’m with you i’ll reach for your hand

you couldn’t even bring yourself to try and come up with a chord progression; you wanted to hear that voice over and over for the rest of your life.

along with her heavenly voice, you also admired yunjin’s penmanship. you could tell her lyrics always came from the deepest parts of her heart and after hearing what she just sang, you feel your heart swell - you were just so amazed and proud at what she was capable of doing.

“go again,” and so she did. you asked her to sing about 3 or 4 more times before she realized you weren't even strumming anything.

“baby, are you gonna play or what?”

you chuckled and asked her to sing once more, with you actually playing the guitar this time.

“how was that?” she asks as you two wrapped up the song, and you notice her fidgeting with the corner of the page of her notebook. hearing her ask for feedback brought you back to the days you’d spend by her side while she’d practice before her monthly evaluation. it's a bittersweet memory for they were the moments you cherished the most but were also considered some of the toughest times in your career.

you don’t answer her and instead lean in to kiss her soft lips. of course, she enthusiastically returns the kiss causing her to drop her pen and notebook to wrap her arms behind your neck.

“ew,” says the leader from outside yunjin’s door. “close the door next time, eunchae might see you two,” and you look at yunjin before bursting out into laughter with her.

“3, 2, 1!” the staff counts down and the 6 of you blow the candles on the cake they prepared for you.

“happy 100 days to us!” eunchae yells while taking pictures of the cake and the decorations surrounding you.

after posing for pictures, the staff begins to play yunjin’s song through the speakers. everyone, including you, cheers and congratulates her for the release of her own solo song. you make your way towards her and embrace her lovingly, ignoring the sound of your other members fake gagging.

“you made a wonderful song, mahal”

“no, we did” she chuckles.

“you know what i think? we should write another song together and perform it on our wedding day”

yunjin feels her heart burst at the mention of your wedding. although it wouldn’t happen anytime soon, it brings so much excitement and leaves her to wonder what else was in store for the two of you, and also for the group.

she tries to lean in for a kiss but unfortunately, you're torn apart when chaewon and kazuha pull her away to take pictures while eunchae and sakura invite you to start eating the cake. yunjin's song comes to a close as you stare at your members and staff, and you smile as you think about all the memories you’ve made together while looking forward to the future of le sserafim.

but raise your glass, to the story of us.

#kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #girl group scenarios #girl group imagines #kpop #le sserafim #le sserafim scenarios #le sserafim imagines #le sserafim fluff #huh yunjin #yunjin #yunjin scenarios #yunjin imagines #yunjin fluff #yunjin x reader #6th member of le sserafim #fem reader #jigujellee

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