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luveline · 3 months

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(𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞) 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

Steve hears you wrong, thinks he’s your boyfriend, and begins to act accordingly. You try your best to go along with it until you can’t anymore. 3k, fem. requested here ♡

cw shy(ish)!reader, misunderstandings, steve being a huge sweetheart, fluff, hurt/comfort, bonus fluff scene

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The arcade is loud and brisk this evening, doors thrown open to allow for the constant ebb and flow of younglings, the machine music turned up to account for so many voices. You’re lost in a sea of rainbow flashing lights and the ticklish smell of sugar. Without Steve’s hand behind your shoulder, you’re pretty sure you would’ve gotten lost and trampled half an hour ago.

A candy necklace pinwheels past your heads like a torpedo, forcing you closer together, your shoulders tight with a flinch.

“We can leave,” Steve says immediately. He’s weirdly thoughtful. Before he asked you out you had no idea he thought so much about other people, but he’s always thinking about other people. You could argue he thinks a little too much, like you.

“I wanna see Max.”

“She has to be here somewhere.”

That theory proves less and less likely. Steve’s hand falls away from you, tugging through his hair in a marker of stress as you circle the Palace Arcade for the tenth time. “Maybe she quit?” you suggest.

Steve’s eyebrows pinch together as he gives the arcade another sweep. Max’s rough patch freaked him out, as it freaked you out, because ‘rough patch’ is a kind way to describe it. She could’ve got a whole lot worse; she was suffering, capital S. It’s nice to see her returning to society, but not if she isn’t actually settling in. That’s the whole reason you’re here.

Steve frowns at you worriedly.

“Who died?” asks a new voice.

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Max!” Steve cheers.

“That’s me,” Max says, looking at you both sceptically. Her ginger hair is pulled into two tight braids either side of her face, her cheeks flushed red. Mascara paints her usually pale lashes a darker brown, and a rosy tinted chapstick shines on her lips.

“Hey, the uniform looks good on you,” he says affectionately. “You look like a valued member of society.”

“A society in need of better labour laws. I’m pretty sure this is child abuse.” She rolls her eyes.

“Is it awful?” you ask.

“It’s fine. Better when your stupid friends aren’t here making themselves sick on candy like they’re nine years old,” she says pointedly to Steve. “Are you going to throw up too? You look–” she grimaces in place of insult.

“Who’s throwing up?” you ask.

“Dustin. He’s outside.”

Steve sighs and gives your shoulder a kind squeeze. “I’ll be right back,” he says, squaring his expression. “Goddamn kids.”

He sounds like an old man, you think to yourself with a small smile. Disgruntled, he still goes to make sure everyone’s alright. He’s nice, even when that nice is begrudging and tiresome and plain gross sometimes.

“Why are you smiling at him like that?” Max asks.

You school your impression. “Like what?”

“Like you like him.”

You shake your head. “Tell me about work, Max. What’s it like here? Are they giving you your breaks?”

She drags you over to the counter to sit in the seat waiting behind. She glares at any kid who approaches, but besides that she seems in good spirits. The job isn’t hard, it’s just a job. She’d much rather be at home reading, but wouldn’t everyone? “And I get this sweet uniform,” she says, pointing at the embroidered icon on her shirt pocket. “What’s with you and Steve?”

“Nothing,” you say, though it’s something. You’re mortified to have been caught having feelings.

“Looks like something. Are you dating?”

“I mean, this is a date,” you say, almost whispering as heat floods your face. “But we’re not together.”

“He was touching you a lot.”

“Max, he’s really nice. He’s a really nice guy,” you say gently, “and we’re not together, but if he does ask me out eventually, maybe I’ll say yes.” You realise what you’re saying and attempt to backtrack —you do like Steve, but Max doesn’t need to know that. “It’s not like he’s my boyfriend,” you say strangely.

“Ew,” Max says with a laugh.

“Not ew,” you correct. You hadn’t meant it in a bad way, it’s—

“Not ew,” Steve says from behind you, his arm a heavy weight across your shoulder.

You look wide-eyed up at his face, surprised by his huge beaming smile, an intense loveliness about him as he gives you a half hug.

“What’s ew about that?” he asks you softly.

Oh, boy, you think.

As it turns out, being Steve’s girlfriend is kind of nice, but you aren’t ready.

From that afternoon at the Palace Arcade onward, he treats you like you’re made of gold. And it’s great, he’s so kind, he brings you flowers and takes you out for breakfast, where he pays the tab without any flourishes and talks to you as casually as always. You almost hope he hasn’t got it wrong at all, and that his soft tone a few days ago had been down to a brief overwhelming fondness. You’d get that. You have your moments with him, you’re falling for him, and it’s only a matter of time before you’re desperately in love, you’re sure, but then the waitress asks if you need anything else and he says, “Just a water for my girl,” and you realise you’re not getting off easy.

Dating is sort of like being good friends; you’d planned to spend the day together anyways. You enjoy his company. It’s clear he’s eager, optioning off the day’s agenda as you return to the car, the bottom of your face hidden in your bouquet.

“We could go to the movies,” he says, opening the passenger door, his smile seemingly permanent as you climb inside. “No science fiction, I promise.”

“I kind of like sci-fi.” Petals press fragrant to your top lip.

“Well, we don’t have to go to the Hawk. We could go into the city. I bet they’re playing any movie you wanna see.” He checks that your leg is properly inside the car before he closes the door, jogging around to the driver’s side and practically throwing himself inside. He’s giggling like a kid. “Shit, I’ll see anything you want to.”

“Steve.”

“Or we can go do nothing? Until dinner.”

“Steve,” you say again, thinking you’ll tell him. Nothing good ever comes from dishonesty.

“What?” he asks.

His eyes are so brown. Billions of people with brown eyes and you swear you’ve never seen anything like it before, their centres like hot honey, the sweetheart shape to them when he smiles

You sigh. His smile is contagious, even while your stomach hurts. “Nothing. Let’s go see a movie.”

“Are you okay?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, what? You sounded weird.”

“I sounded weird?”

“No!” He winces. “I mean, yeah, you sounded weird for you, like you… I don’t know. Sorry.”

You feel bad, then. His apology is earnest, his hand resting open on the console for you to take if you could manage the flustering heat of it.

“I wanna go to the movies,” you say, ‘cos you really do.

“Alright, good. It’s just, I think my last relationship, I– I didn’t pay enough attention, and I want to do that better this time around. So yeah. Sorry.”

Oh, Steve, you think. How are you supposed to tell him now? You’re gonna have to pretend to be ready for a relationship with him until you really are, it seems. He doesn’t deserve to have his heart played with twice.

“Don’t be sorry,” you say gently. “Let’s go watch a movie, okay? I want to go, with you, we’ll watch a shitty daytime flick and then get dinner after. It’ll be fun.”

You aren’t lying to him about what you want. It’s clear to everybody, Steve and his friends and especially you, that you like him, that you want to be around him and make him laugh. Maybe being his girlfriend won’t even be that different to being his something.

After all, what’s romantic about seeing a movie?

“You good?” he asks, half an hour later, your agony prolonged.

You’re at the back of the movies where the seats have the most leg room, more popcorn and candy than you could ever eat at your feet and a litre cup stuffed into the armrest between you. Steve is tucking his shirt back into his jeans, his head parting the light of the projector and leaving a silhouette in the previews.

“Steve,” you advise, gesturing for him to lean down out of the way.

He leans down, further and further, face to face with you with his hands on his hips. A flirtatious teasing makes its way onto his lips. “What?” he asks, amused.

“You were in the way of the light.”

“That what it was?”

“Seriously!” you whisper-shout, laughing despite yourself.

“You’re so cute,” he whispers back. “Want to take your jacket off?”

Your lips part at his good suggestion. You hold your arm out and start to peel from your jacket, but he takes your sleeve and helps you out of it before folding it and sitting in the seat next to you, your jacket on his thigh. “How’s that, babe?” he asks.

“It’s good.”

“Okay, perfect.” He beams at you. He’s always smiling when he’s with you, like you’re the best thing since sliced bread. Like he loves you. “Tell me if you need something, yeah? I know you’re kinda shy.”

He settles back in his seat with your jacket still in his lap and no indication that he might want to move it. Your knees touch as he relaxes, your knuckles as he puts his arm on the rest between you, a picture of contentedness as the movie begins and the opening credits play. “That’s us,” he says without looking at you.

Two people walk down the street holding hands as the title of the movie blazes in yellow font with thick red outlines. A Day In Paradise!

You bite down on a slither of the inside of your lip until it stings. You try to fight it off but the longer you sit there, the more your eyes burn, thinking about Steve and what he deserves and how unfortunate this whole thing is, and yeah, you’re overwhelmed, too. You aren’t ready for so much sweetness all at once. You don’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve this.

You force the tears away. The movie goes on and on, the lights low, the chatter of moviegoers and the occasional popcorn crush not nearly loud enough to cover the sound of Steve’s breathing.

He pushes his hair out of his face. Somebody on screen makes a joke, his hand brushes against yours, and then takes it gently as he laughs.

You pull your hand away and tip your head down, a frantic tear flicking from your lashes.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You try to answer. You whimper instead, a terrible, sorry sound stuck to your throat —you can’t hold it in anymore. It’s too much.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble tearily, looking up, a tear rolling fast down the bump of your cheek.

Steve sits still in moderate horror. “Why are you crying?” he whispers.

The thing about Steve that people tend to forget is that, while he takes care of people the best that he can, he’s really young. He doesn’t always know what to do. He stares at you now like you’re a foreign object, hand tucked back into his abdomen.

A tear drips onto your lip. It tastes salty. “Sorry,” you say.

“Why?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“I really like you, Steve.”

He stares at you. “…But?”

“But I–” His frown hurts your heart. “I don’t know if I’m ready for all of this, I never– never had someone like me like this, I don’t know why I’m crying.” You say that last part to yourself rather than him, scrubbing your cheeks with your hands roughly before hiding your face completely. “It’s not you.”

“I thought…” And of course he did.

“I know,” you say. “I’m sorry, Steve. I thought it wouldn’t matter but everything’s going so fast.”

He touches your arm gently. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I thought you wanted this. You– you said I was your boyfriend, to Max? I thought you liked me.”

“I do like you,” you insist, meeting his eyes.

“Can I wipe your tears away? They’re everywhere,” he says. You struggle to read his expression, but there’s no resentment or anger there for you. He looks quite serious.

“Yeah.”

Steve bends in his seat to wipe your tears off of your face gently. They really are everywhere, on your cheeks, your top lip, your chin, even down the arc of your neck. “I don’t understand,” he says, going back to your cheek for a missed streak, “but you don’t have to be upset. Please. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, I promise.”

“Steve, when I was talking to Max, I said,” —you wince— “that it’s not like you’re my boyfriend. She was asking me about you, and I got all panicky because I like you, but I’m too weird about this stuff, I’m panicking now–”

“Don’t.” His hand lingers on your face, before a sorry flash of dejection passes over him, and he drops your face altogether.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen. Please believe me.”

“Of course I believe you.” He grimaces at you, and the heartbreak turns to something more manageable, like he’s brushing himself off. “I’m sorry. For getting the wrong idea.”

“I like you,” you whisper. Your voice is nearly lost to the rustle of popcorn and drinks.

“I like you too!” he says loudly.

A few seats down, somebody turns, an angry whirl of hair and clicky nails. “Can you guys shut up?”

You and Steve leave your mountain of snacks behind to stand in the theatre hallway, where the winter air is cool on your flushed skin, and the silence is stifling. You lean against a wood feature wall and try to calm down, because he’s the one who should be upset (or maybe he’s not that fussed about you). He stands a half foot away with his arms crossed, looking down at his shoes, though occasionally he glances at you for a split-second and looks away again.

“You okay?” he asks tightly.

“I’m sorry.”

He pokes his cheek with his tongue. “So you don’t want to be together?”

You don’t know. He deserves the truth, even if you barely understand it yourself, and it stings to say. “I do, I like you, but I… I want to take things slowly.”

He stands there without talking for a while. When he does talk again, he’s laughing, that achy awful sadness he’d worn a far off memory. “You’re this upset because you want us to take things slow?”

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“You haven’t,” he promises. “That would never hurt my feelings. I knew when I heard it that it was too good to be true.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I guess I gotta earn the title like everybody else does. Is that… cool?”

You nod vehemently.

Steve blows a relieved breath of air up his face, his hair ruffling off of his forehead. “I thought I was gonna lose you completely,” he says, smiling. “This is fine. I can work with slow. Slow’s my middle name.”

—♡—

The sun is a blistering heat today. “Can’t believe it’s only spring,” you murmur, eyes covered by the back of your arm.

A weight sits down on the blanket beside you, the sound of dry grass crushed underfoot. He brings the fresh scent of lemon slices with him, the zest sticking to his hands.

“I think I might melt.”

“I’d never let that happen,” Steve says, laying down beside you.

“You can be my parasol.”

“Your what?”

“It’s a sun umbrella.”

“Like this?” he asks, gently laying himself across your front, his face on the slip of your stomach that’s bare, his arms sneaking behind your thighs to hug them as you bring them up.

You reach down to stroke his hair, taking your fingers through the silky lengths of it, fingernails scratching ever so slightly at his scalp. “Thanks,” you say.

He kisses your naked leg. “You’re welcome, honey.”

If he’d done that at the beginning of your relationship, you’d have frozen up; not because he would’ve done it differently, not because he wasn't always your handsome sweetheart, but because being comfortable with someone this intimately takes time, and that’s okay.

“Your face is digging into my hip,” you murmur.

He shifts back, his ear above your belly button. “Is that better?”

“That’s perfect.”

“Are you falling asleep?” he asks softly.

“No… I’m thinking.”

“Nothing good ever comes of that.”

“I have something I want to talk to you about.”

“I love talking to you,” he says. He sounds as though he might fall asleep himself, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

You stroke his hair away from his face by touch alone. Long, warm minutes pass without conversation. You aren’t scared to tell him how you’re feeling. He’s proved to you over time that he’s someone you’ll always be able to trust, and that whatever you have to say will hold weight.

“It’s a question.”

He turns in your hold to face you. You raise your arm, greeted by the image of him sun-kissed and lazing, laid out across you without a care in the world.

“Don’t tell me then,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Jesus, you’re terrifying.”

“Would you wanna be my boyfriend?”

He narrows his eyes at you. A myriad of emotions pass between you both, until he’s smiling, and you know he’s sitting up for a kiss seconds before he actually does. He presses his lips to yours carefully. “Baby,” he says as he pulls away, voice as mild as his soft kiss, “I think we’ve passed that point.”

“I realised I’d never asked you, is all.”

His hair falls down into his eyes. You tuck it behind his ear. It’s pretty clear now you’re together, even after such a bumpy start.

“Can I get it in writing this time?” he asks, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours, your eyes fluttering closed in tandem.

“Give you anything you want if you kiss me,” you murmur.

His laugh fans over your lips. He cups your cheek, your heart a hummingbird drilling at your ribs as Steve moves in to kiss you properly. Your lips part under the pressure, your head tilting a touch to one side to accommodate him as he searches down for you, melty hot pleasure and nerves that never seem to fade arising as his thumb moves up your cheek, a semi-circle of touch. It promises undulating care whenever you want it.

You tip your head aside to catch your breath.

“Better late than never,” you joke.

Steve talks into the soft skin beside your mouth. “You weren’t late, babe. I was early, and I didn’t mind waiting.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank u for reading!! pretty please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed cos it means so much to me and inspires me to write even more!!! but either way i hope u enjoyed❤️❤️❤️

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington drabble

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norrisleclercf1 · 9 months

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Be The One

Pairing: Lando Norris x Innocent/Virgin!Reader

Rating: R

Requested: Yes/No

Request: lando with an innocent reader who hasn’t had sex yet and wants to lose her virginity

Words: 1.8K

Warnings: Smut!!! This is just pure smut with no plot, Oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, Lando is just a giver in this, inexperienced reader, experienced Lando, etc.

Synopsis: It was stupid to ask him to be your first, the stupid books and edits are to blame

A/N: This was supposed to be a blurb, but I kept writing and writing and I've just been sitting on this in my drafts, now finally posting it, also I don't show the full sex scene just the beginning and then after

"I'm sorry, what?" Lando was spread out on your bed, having just come over to watch some movies and enjoy a quiet night during his summer break.

Instead, he got you the literal version of an angel asking him to take your virginity. "I want you to be the one to take it. Please?" Lando has to clamp down that instant reply of fuck yes. You try hard to control the way you're looking at him.

Grey sweatpants and signature black t-shirt with that necklace of his resting on the collar. Arm behind his head, showing off the muscles that he's honed and crafted from all the training for races.

Lando just blinks at you, running through all the different scenarios at a time. A million emotions hit him, as he tries to think of the right words to say.

"Lando?" Shame and embarrassment hit you like a truck, he probably thought you were crazy. Asking him out of the blue like that. All he simply asked was what movie you wanted to watch and you reply with asking him to have sex with you.

"Sorry, I'm just.....I'm just trying to figure out what to say." To you, those words meant no, hanging your head you step back from the foot of the bed. "I shouldn't have asked, this was stupid. I'm sorry." Lando sits up quick grabbing your wrist, stopping you.

"It's not stupid. Y/n, what the hell is making you want to lose your virginity all of a sudden?" The question has you flinching, you didn't want to tell him the truth. That some friends got you some spicy books, and all you could picture was Lando doing everything you read to you.

That, you had a secret folder in your phone of edits that fans did. Like you said, it was stupid to ask your friend to do this. "Nothing, can we just forget it?" Feeling that burn in your eyes, Lando stands in front of you. "No, no we can not forget it. If you want to lose your virginity, I need a valid reason." His jaw was tight, he was getting annoyed.

"Fine! My friends gave me spicy books and they had...sex scenes in them and all I could think about was your stupid face and how much I want you to be the first one dammit!" Cheeks flushed, Lando's chest heaves as he tries to control that urge in him. "What kind of books?"

His annoyance quickly gone, replaced with his boyish teasing charm. "None of your business, this was so stupid. Lando, please." You whimper the last part. His entire demeanor changes, quickly thinking of gross things to stop the rush of blood heading south instead of north.

"Do you really want to lose it?" Voice dropping, you look up seeing his pupils blown wide. "What?" Taken aback by the 180 this man can give you in the span of a minute. "Your virginity? If you want to lose it, now. Here. I'll do it, but just one condition." Lando stepping back, his knees hit the bed.

He sits down, hands wrap around your exposed thigs as he yanks you to stand between them. Stumbling, you almost fall into him but balance yourself on his shoulders. "What's your condition?" Voice wispy trying to get air into your lungs. His hands moving slowly up your nightie.

"If you do this, ever get curious about something, want to learn something new. You come to me, only me." Jumping his hands squeeze your ass, his teeth showing as he smiles. Leaning in, he places wet kisses against the thin material. "Yes." Lando looks up, bottom lip pulled down as he places another kiss to your stomach.

"Come here." A gasp is pulled from your throat as you land on his lap, his face buried in your chest. You lean back, freezing when you feel something resting between your legs. "Lando." Unsure, he stops. He really wants to laugh at your confused face, but schools his features.

"It's just my cock, angel." Heat flares throughout your body hearing such a vulgar word come from Lando. "Oh." Feeling a little lost, Lando smiles. Scooching back, he sits up so you two are face to face.

"Hey, we don't have to do anything you aren't ready for." Thumb rubbinng softly into your thigh, you nod your head. "No, I'm ready. Just be careful with me?" If it was possible Lando would've comed right then and there and died happily. "Always." His teeth nip your bottom lip sucking it in, losing himself in you.

Whining you pull away, arching up into his hip the sudden need for pressure too great. "Lando, please it hurts." Lando groans pressing up against you as he rolls you over, so he's on top. "I know, princess. I'll take care of you. Such a good girl." Kissing his way down your body.

He stops at your shorts looking up at you. "Hey, what I'm about to do is get you prepped. I'm...on the thick side and considering your a virgin it'll hurt and be very uncomfortable. But, prepping you will help, are you okay with that?" You nod but Lando doesn't budge. "Y/n, your words. I want to hear it out loud no nodding." You whine just wanting him to touch you.

"Yes. Yes Lando I want you to touch me and fuck me." Lando's eyes darken as he pulls your shorts and underwear off in one swoop. You squirm at the coolness hitting your bare pussy. "Cold?" Lando giggles, running his fingers over your thighs. Looking down he smiles seeing your trimmed but still have hair.

"Lando, please." He shushes you, taking his pointer and middle finger running them over you watching the way your hips jolt up and your face scrunching at the unfamiliar feeling. Slowly he pulls your lips apart, seeing how your wet but he wants you wetter.

"Are you okay with using my mouth and fingers? You can say no the either if you want, princess." Thinking it over you remember the videos and how woman seemed to really enjoy a man's mouth on them. "I'm fine with it." You gasp feeling Lando's mouth placing a delicate kiss.

He takes his time, wanting to learn what you like a don't like. He's careful to read to your face not wanting to push to far he hesitates to use his tongue. But hearing your moan when he moves it up and down, he's found something. "Lan...lan." You whimper as he grows more confident.

His lips wrap around your clit which has your legs clamp shut on his head. He laughs which has you giggling as he pries them off his neck. "You okay?" Licking his lips you nod. "Sorry, it sent this odd feeling up my body and I just reacted." Embarrassed at your reaction to it.

Yet you can't help the relaxed feeling seeing Lando's soft smile. His hands rubbing over your body helping you feel better. "It's fine, Y/n. You're experiencing this for the first time. I'm taking my time for a reason." You groan hearing that, hating he's having to take his time.

"I hate this! I don't want you to take your time, if I wasn't a stupid virgin, you could've just fucked me fast and hard." Lando narrows his eyes, pinching your side you squeal slapping his hand away. "This is your first time, Y/n. No one's first time is magical. Am I experienced? Yes, but do you know how many times it took me to feel comfortable? A while, it's not going to be fireworks and all that. But, you asked me to take your virginity and I'm going to be gentle and make sure you remember with fond memories." You can't help but snort on a laugh at his speech.

"Oh shut up, I'll leave right now and leave you a virgin." Lando teases, but you just mesh you lips together both of you falling into one another. His hands palm your tits, pulling out sweet moans as he goes back between your legs. "Lando, wrap...yes." Fingers tugging his hair when his lips wrap around your clit.

He pulls off, telling you he's about to use his fingers. Taking several deep breaths you relax as he slowly slides one finger into you. "How does that feel?" Using his free hand to rub circles into your hip. "Weird, it hurts, but not in a bad way just in a, never felt this before." Lando nods curling the finger and moving it in and out. "Oh, that's....not bad." Lando nods going back down.

He adds a second finger which has you panicking but he talks you down explaining why he's using another finger and it helps you. Lando is gentle as he gets you ready, he smiles seeing that you're ready. "Okay, you're stretched enough. Are you ready?"

"I think so, is it going to hurt?" Lando sits up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yes, but I'm going to be slow and make sure I don't hurt you. If you say stop, no, or anything like that. I'm stopping. You just need to let me know." You watch as Lando takes off his underwear, holding a condom you can't help but stare.

It's probably odd, but he has a pretty cock. He wasn't lying when he said he was on the thicker side. "You're pretty." Lando snaps his eyes up at you, covering your mouth you look away. He can't help the blush on his cheeks, no one has ever called him pretty. He liked it.

"I'm ready." Wanting to move on from you calling him pretty. "Okay." He shuffles forward, placing your legs around his waist. "Try to relax, it'll help." Closing your eyes, you think of something relaxing. "Oh." Eyes opening Lando stops, having only entered you past his tip. "Are you okay?" You blink trying to figure out what you're feeling.

Yes, it stinges, but it doesn't hurt as much. "Yeah, I was expecting it to hurt, but it just stinges." Lando smiles, leaning over as he kisses you on the nose sliding the rest in. He places his head in the crook of your neck while the two of you adjust. "Lando?" He hums as you smile, fingers playing with the baby hairs on his neck. "Thank you, for doing this. Also, you can move." His back shakes, laughing at your words.

Lando moves his hips carefully as you wrap your arms around his neck, breathing as you get used to the feeling. Lando and you whimper and moan as you start to relax more enjoying this. You giggle when you kisses you on your neck which has him laughing. He was right, your first time was weird but also comfortable.

Laying in bed, feeling oddly tired he smiles drawing patterns on your stomach. "You're right, not the best but maybe we should practice more." Lando snorts, eyes growing heavy. "Easy, it's the orgasm thoughts. Let's wait till tomorrow." Nodding you roll to your side curling into Lando.

"I'm glad you asked me too."

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atsumulogy · 2 years

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WHEN YOUR CO-WORKER CALLS HIMSELF YOUR “WORK HUSBAND”

synopsis: how he reacts to your co-worker calling himself your “work husband”

featuring: miya atsumu, oikawa tooru, & iwaizumi hajime. fem!reader.

content warning(s): jealousy, possessive boys, weird co-worker, suggestive at iwa’s part 😵 sorry my hands slipped lmao. also grammar mistakes … have mercy i wrote this kinda half asleep + use of wife

naia’s footnote: yk that work wife thing? yeah, that but with a twist with the hq men 🤭 jealous scenarios are my guilty pleasure LOL i wrote this when i was supposed to be doing smth actually productive 😓‼️also i got carried away w atsumu’s haha

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! rb’s & likes are appreciated

#01 — WHEN COMING AS YOUR PLUS ONE IN YOUR OFFICE’S FANCY EVENT, MIYA ATSUMU didn’t want to admit it but he kind of expected to be fawned over by your female colleagues — not that he wanted them to! It’s just … expected, seeing how absolutely hot your husband is (the expensive suit and tie and all). What he did not expect was being introduced to your … what was it? Ahh, yes, “work husband”.

The absolute audacity and sheer nerve of this bastard to call himself that in front of him, the actual husband on the documents and in your heart.

Work husband. He scoffs silently, face scrunching up in irritation, poking his cheeks with his tongue instead of making a fuss in this exclusive event where lots of important people are present. As much as he cares for obliterating this man in front of him, he cares more about you and didn’t want to cause you any issues with your workplace.

(Though, if this ugly scrub touches your arm again and joke about Atsumu being the side chick, he wasn’t so sure that he wouldn’t cause a scene.)

Besides, the 24 karat gold necklace hanging around your neck with his initials attached to the chains and the elegant ring on your finger makes it painfully clear that your self-proclaimed work husband has no chance against the Miya Atsumu.

BONUS:

Atsumu may have acted mature about the situation while in the event, but behind closed doors he was whining and grumbling about that annoyin’ scrub.

“— like I still can’t believe he had the guts to say that in front of me!” He scoffs, face scrunching up again, his mouth forming a scowl. “Work husband… tsk, i’m yer only husband! hell, i’ll be yer work husband, house husband, and every other fuckin’ husband title there is!”

Instead of informing your husband that it doesn’t work like that, you nod to every word he said every time he looks at your eyes to back him up on his rant.

“Yes baby, I know. Now why don’t we get you a trophy with all those husband titles, hm?” You jokingly offered, patting his fluffy blonde hair.

Next week a package arrived carrying a shiny gold trophy with the words “Miya Y/n’s only house husband, work husband, and everything else in between” customized on the front <3

#02 — OIKAWA TOORU SCOFFED AFTER SOME IRRELEVANT, MEDIOCRE, UGLY MAN introduced himself as your “work husband”, somewhat offended because someone dared crown themselves a self-proclaimed title as your work husband — like that bastard is even worthy enough to be breathing the same air as you!

He recognizes this man to be the man you ranted to him about that was inappropriately acting like he’s close with you and many other women of your office.

Wanting to do you and the other women of your office a favor, he decided to humble him.

“Last time I checked, there was no side piece. And if there were to be a side piece — which will never happen by the way! — my wife would pick someone better looking than you. As you can see she has great taste, since she married me and only me. But you should know that by now, hm? Our wedding was even on the news!” showing the ring on his finger, wiggling it even to show emphasis, his tone and his (threatening) smile was friendly, but you all know that it was anything but that.

Oikawa Tooru is an intimidating opponent, both in and out of the court.

#03 — NEVER IN HIS 25 YEARS OF LIVING HAS IWAIZUMI HAJIME met a more annoying and repulsive person such as the man in front of him that cockily and casually called himself as your “work husband”.

You felt his beefy arms tighten around your waist, he leans in to you closely, his hot breath heating up your ears as he asked you with low voice, however still (purposely) loud enough for the guy in front of you two to hear. “Baby, do you even know him?”

You nodded, “He’s just some guy in the finance department who’s really weird, Hajime. I don’t even remember his name. Sato? Aoki?”

The man before you deflated, his cocky stance nowhere to be seen as he scoffs defensively, “It’s Nakamura —”

“— Yeah, sure, well my wife and I have somewhere else to be now. So goodbye Ishikawa-san.” He purposely used a different name — politely even, to mock him and push his buttons.

“It’s Nakamu —”

“Bye Sato-kun!” You played along with your husband’s petty antics, waving him off before locking your arms around Hajime’s before snuggling close to him as you two walked away. The both of you bursting out laughing once you guys think the guy was far away enough to not hear you two.

“Have you seen his face! He deserved that humbling experience!” You snorted, Hajime rolling his eyes as he remembers the guy.

“Okay but who even is he really? Is he always so flirtatious with you? What even is a work husband? Last time I checked, I’m the one who gave you that new last name of yours.” He grumbled, irritated at the thought of that bastard flirting with you at work when your husband wasn’t there.

“Aw, babe, you know that you’re the only one for me.” you patted his cheeks affectionately, smiling at him while giggling.

He does. He knows it, a bit too well at times. So he sighs and he lets it go. Because he knows that at the end of the day, he’s the one you come home to, he’s the one you cling onto while watching your favorite shows, he’s the one that rests his free hand on your thighs whenever you two go for a drive.

And tonight, he’s the one that will lay you down on the bed and touch you, talk to you, and feel you in ways that only he can do.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x you #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x reader #atsumu fluff #oikawa fluff #iwaizumi fluff #haikyuu drabbles #hq x reader #haikyuu!!

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the-acid-pear · 2 years

Text

I hate the anxiety horror movies give me even after I'm done because i just woke up from such an upsetting nightmare

#luly talks #these two little girls of my family (one which was wearing a nb flag sweater btw (irrelevant detail but fun to point out))kept disappearing #and we had to look for them in the crowds and shit but one time they disappeared inside this shopping mall #and i was with my girl best friend (lassie I've been going out w lately) and so after i was an accidental creep introducing myself to lil #girls and being like ''see you later aight?'' when i heard they had a different name to the girls in my family therefore not the ones #we got together in this... i guess it was like a supermarket or something. and it was all regular until there was shouting happening bc #the owner was about to kill his secretary #everyone had left except me and my friend and the doors were already locked #i tried to grab her hand when i heard the screams and ask the guys at the door to let us out pls (which they did)#but i knew that wasnt what had happened (the whole scene wss a flashback i think?) so i was in the room again and there was blood and my #friend was dead and close to her there was this sort of crucifix (brain farted a bit there) which took #and everyone at school was mean and disrespectful and then i found myself in court staring at the man who did it #and he was rich and powerful so it was likely he was gonna get scot free out of thus #so i put the necklace with the tail sticking out of my fingers and i was so ready to kill him b4 i woke up

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atlabeth · 3 months

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Girl for one get that glass of water! andddd this is a loose request but I LOVE knight Luke and we just gotta see them have that cinderella live action ball scene like romantic dancing maybe the secret garden as well but either way we gotta see these gals at a ball! Have a great day you're an amazing writer!

under the moonlight

fic about the ball

pairing: knight!luke castellan x princess!reader

a/n: thank you so much for this request it is so fucking cute lmao. i changed it a bit to make it work with my vision (bc they wouldn’t really be able to dance at a ball) but the core is that they're dancing together!!! and it is much more intimate and personal lol. here is the cinderella scene that the ask mentioned (and that i took inspo from because it's a beautiful scene lol)

wc: 2.5k

warning(s): basically all fluff

as usual, a mix of hcs and traditional fic!

ALRIGHT LAST TIME WE LEFT OFF princess was dancing with princes during the ball and luke was sulking at his first ever ball accompanying you as a knight

and thankfully, that all goes okay.

You don’t get murdered, Luke only goes slightly insane, and you don’t fall head over heels for any royals.

All in all, a pretty alright night in retrospect.

But post-ball is rough on both of you.

You complain about how much your feet hurt from your heels and how uncomfortable your dress is and how your cheeks ache from smiling so much.

To your surprise, as Luke follows you down the halls, he laughs.

You stop in your tracks as you whirl around. “And what do you find so funny?”

“Nothing,” he says with a slight smile, almost private. “Just… good to be back with you, princess.”

A small smile of your own starts to creep on your lips. “It was only half the night, Luke.”

“And you have no idea how much I missed you,” he muses.

You just shake your head and continue walking. “You’re funny.”

(he’s not joking. he’s just going through it now that he’s not training 24/7 and actually has time to feel emotions again)

You finally get back to your room—thankfully, you got out of any post-ball events with any princes by citing exhaustion, and it’s very rude to demand more of an exhausted lady—and Luke shuts the door behind you as you sink into the edge of your bed.

“God,” you groan as you immediately peel your heels off, letting out a sigh of relief. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to those.”

“If it’s any help, you looked very regal out there,” Luke says.

“It is my duty,” you say as you smile inwardly. “You looked very knightly out there.”

“And that’s my duty,” he says in kind. He gets a chuckle out of you.

You begin to take everything off—you undo your hair from whatever elaborate style it was in, you strip your wrists and fingers bare of bracelets, bangles, and rings (though you leave a certain necklace on), you undo parts of your dress. When you take your nightgown from your chest and go behind your folding screen, Luke clears his throat.

“Princess,” Luke says, “do you want me to—?”

“You can stay,” you say. “I don’t mind.”

And Luke, idiot that he is, gets all in his head.

(Does she not want me to leave because she doesn’t even see me as someone who could like her like that???) (We’ve been friends for so long, does she just see me as an older brother???) (Does this mean she trusts me or sees me as like. a painting on the wall.) (what the fuck)

It’s not any of those, poor boy. it’s just that you feel more comfortable around him than anyone because you’ve been around each other for your entire life—he knows you better than anyone. What’s the harm in him being in the room when you’re separated by a folding screen anyway?

but Luke is dramatic and also so fucking insecure when it comes to your feelings for him lmao

and he has a reason to be i guess?? because at this point while he knows that he has feelings for you (hasn’t fully realized he’s in love) you haven’t realized your own. you just think you have a lingering childhood crush on Luke and it’ll go away as you get older and start being courted

(spoiler alert: it will not go away.)

so he gets all weird and silent, giving one word responses as you talk with him, and when you come out in your nightgown you immediately stare him down.

“Luke,” you said, “what’s wrong?”

He blinked, as if he wasn’t expecting you to say anything. “Nothing.”

“Luke,” you repeated. “Come on.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he repeated as well.

You crossed your arms. “Don’t act like I don’t know every single thing about you.”

“If you do, then you should know that nothing is wrong,” he countered.

You stared at him for a moment more, then you held out your hand. “Dance with me, then.”

That actually seemed to throw him off guard as he frowned. “What?”

“Did you go deaf back there?” you joked. “I want you to dance with me.”

He managed a smile, though it was slightly awkward. It only made your smile grow. “I don’t dance, princess.”

“Which is why I’ll teach you,” you said with a nod. “I’ve had plenty of practice.”

“And I have none.” Luke gestured at his armor. “I’m not exactly suited for it, either.”

“You can take off your armor,” you said. “It’ll make it all much easier. And a lot quieter.”

“My job is to protect you, princess.” Luke laid his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I can’t exactly defend you if all the armor’s gone.”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly. He really did worry too much. “Nothing’s going to happen here, Luke—not now. I’ll even let you keep your sword with you if it matters that much.”

He still didn’t seem sure. You inclined your head and took another step forward, still holding out your hand.

“I’ll count you through it all,” you promised. “And if you like, I can hum one of those orchestra tunes they played earlier tonight. And I promise it’ll make you feel better.”

“...Fine,” Luke relented, and he started undoing his armor. “But you don’t tell anyone about this.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” you remarked.

It took a fair amount of time for Luke to get his armor off, but it took just as long for you to get every layer of your ball gown off earlier—and besides, you had endless patience reserved especially for him. The toned forearms revealed as he rolled his sleeves up certainly helped.

“Are you ready?” you asked as you held out your hand again.

Luke took it uncertainly. “I feel as if I’m the one meant to be asking you that.”

“You can lead next time we train together,” you said with a smile. “For now, you’re in my domain.”

You put Luke’s hand on your waist and reached for his other one, adjusting until it was right, then you looked up at him. “Does that feel alright?”

His eyes were startlingly dark this close, surprisingly intense. He nodded.

“Good. I’m going to teach you a few basic steps so you can get used to it.”

Luke nodded again. You wondered why words seemed behind his grasp.

yeah girlie I wonder why

Luke is. not a great dancer

You’re not surprised, and you don’t say a single word about it as you teach him the basics. he spent his childhood swinging a sword around, and you spent yours learning etiquette and ballroom dances lol

He steps on your foot about ten times and apologizes like a freak every time, you just laugh and smile and tell him you’re fine. Sure, your slippers don’t provide much protection and Luke’s boots aren’t great against them but you honestly don’t even feel it. you’re too busy getting lost in his eyes lol

And for someone who spent two years training like an insane person, he gets frustrated very easily when things don’t go his way.

“How do you do this? It’s impossible.”

“I learned this dance when I was twelve, Luke.”

as much as you jest while you’re teaching him the basics you’re encouraging him the entire time because he’s your best friend above all else!!! and you honestly believe he can do anything lmao

And he’s a quick learner! He didn’t become the youngest kingsguard in history by learning slowly. So soon enough, you’re actually dancing together.

Luke’s hand on your back feels like the most natural thing in the world, and you can tell he’s actually starting to get a little into it.

You didn’t have to count your steps off anymore, so you’d switched to humming one of your favorite symphonies from the musicians back in Aurelda.

Luke is still focused on landing every move, but your lead and the music gives him confidence in this that he didn’t really know he had. He spins you, and you get an idea as you twirl your way to the balcony door. You open it and look back at him.

“Princess—” Luke starts as he takes a few steps towards you, but you just shake your head with a grin and hold out your hand.

“Trust me.”

And he does, somehow.

You didn’t know what part of himself Luke had to get to in order to actually go along with this, but he allowed you to fully take the lead. His eyes never left yours as you guided him through one of your favorite dances—sometimes you called out whatever move that was coming next, and he would do it perfectly. His instincts and reaction time, sharply honed by his training, actually came in handy.

“And lift!”

Luke braced his hands on your waist as he raised you into the air without missing a beat, and you found yourself actually laughing with pure glee as you landed. You grinned at Luke who had a smile smaller than yours, but that you knew meant the same. He glowed with exertion and the light of the full moon shone down on him.

Angelic was the only word you could think of to describe him.

“Princess,” he said, bringing you back to the real world, “are we done?”

“I see no reason not to end while we’re ahead,” you said, slightly out of breath from his lift. “You’re a natural. Are you sure you’re not a prince?”

Luke’s smile didn’t fully reach his eyes for the slightest moment—he covered it up before you could fully analyze it. “Thankfully, I’m not. Otherwise I would have had to do that all my life like you.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” you said offhandedly. “Especially when you’ve got such a great partner.”

Luke suddenly lowered himself into a bow, his arm held in front of his chest as he bent over. You couldn’t stifle your laugh in time, but he was smiling when he rose.

“The only proper way to truly end a dance, so I’ve seen,” he said. “I wouldn’t be such a great partner if I forgot that.”

You grinned as you took the skirt of your nightgown in your hands and bobbed into a curtsy. “Thank you for the reminder, my lord.”

A shiver ran through you and Luke’s eyebrows creased. “You should get back inside. You’re not dressed at all for this weather.”

“It’s simply a night chill,” you said, and you walked over to the railing and rested your forearms on it. “And it’s too beautiful a night to ignore.”

“It truly is.”

You heard Luke walk up next to you, so you glanced over. His gaze was only set on you.

You felt your cheeks flush and you bit back your smile as you stared back up at the stars. For a moment, you stood together in comfortable silence.

“Thank you for tonight,” you finally said.

You could hear his frown in his words. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said.” You leaned a bit closer to the railing, shifting your balance. “Your presence always… calms me. And I was a bit nervous for tonight.”

When Luke finally responded, it was more restrained than usual. “Why?”

“Well, I was nervous tonight because you put the idea in my head that I was going to get murdered,” you said wryly. “And your presence calms me because it always has.”

“So… I made you nervous and calmed you down for what I made you nervous about?” Luke shook his head. “I’m sorry, princess.”

“Why are you apologizing?” You finally turned to look at him, the smallest smile on your lips. “Anytime I got overwhelmed on the floor, or felt as if I was going to keel over from boredom, I just searched around until I found you.” You shrugged. “The sight of you alone was enough to get me through the rest of it.”

“And of course,” you tipped a shoulder as your gaze drifted back to the stars, “you danced with me for no reason. That gives you all the good will you need from me.”

“It wasn’t for no reason,” he said. “It made you happy. That’s reason enough for me.”

The chill in the air was a blessing as you felt heat rise in your cheeks, and your smile grew just so.

“Besides.” You could feel his eyes on you as he continued. “This was my first ball. Anytime I got overwhelmed, I would find you in the crowd, and your confidence got me through it.”

You chuckled as your gaze fell to the marble railing. You didn’t know if you’ve ever felt less confident at a ball—but knowing that Luke was looking for you the same way you did him made butterflies arise in your stomach.

Warmth spurned all through you, and the fingers on your forearms felt bumps rise on your skin. You didn’t exactly know what possessed you as you cleared your throat and started back towards your room.

“It’s late,” you said, perhaps a bit too hasty. “We— we should turn in. It’s going to be a long ride back to Aurelda.”

You paused at the door, waiting to hear Luke’s footsteps or his voice, and it took a few seconds for him to do anything.

“...Yes,” he eventually said. “I apologize for keeping you so long.”

You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself as you opened the door and walked back in. Always so noble—it was no question he had knight’s blood in his veins.

“It’s not your fault, Luke,” you said. “You were just meant to drop me off—I got you to stay.”

You sat on the side of your bed as Luke put his armor back on. There was no point in it, but he refused to let the implications of him leaving your room at this hour in his underclothes fester.

“I chose to stay,” he said. “I know better.”

“You can give it a rest for a night, Luke,” you said with a slight laugh. “I’m your princess, aren’t I?”

“Certainly.”

“And you are my knight.”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t see how anyone could have a problem with my knight spending time with me.” You smiled as you leaned forward, meeting his eyes. A smile twitched on his lips for just a moment before he continued to get dressed.

Soon enough, he was ready to go. Luke paused at the door, fingers on the handle, and met your eyes.

“Thank you again for tonight, princess,” he said. “I…”

His breath caught for a moment. His eyes flickered down to your neck. A millisecond later, they were back at eye level, and you allowed a knowing smile.

“I enjoyed it,” he murmured. “Goodnight, princess.”

“Goodnight, Luke,” you said softly.

And you got one more smile out of him before he closed the door behind him.

#IF I EVER DO NOT DO THE “IT'S BEAUTIFUL” “YEAH IT IS” *LOOKING AT THEM* TROPE THEN I AM DEAD I AM DEADDDD DO YOU HEAR ME #posting at midnight because i once again have no self control #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fic #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan headcanon #luke castellan au #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #pjo x reader #x reader #knight!luke #sadie writes

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lewisvinga · 3 months

Text

venice bitch | charles leclerc x fem! reader

summary; snippets of charles’s love for y/n that makes her forever grateful he is hers.

warnings; ?

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs

word count; 674

notes; requested ! tbh i struggled to decide to make this angst or fluff but k made it fluff😭😭 n i also couldn’t figure out how to incorporate the exact words ‘venice bitch’, so this lowk could’ve been better im sorry🤒🤒

masterlist !

“I swear you’re like an ice cream ice queen,” Charles says in between laughs as Y/n drags him down the streets of Venice to a local gelato shop. She playfully rolls her eyes as he opens the door for her.

“Like you’re one to complain. I know you like to kiss me after I eat gelato!” She exclaimed, glancing back at him with a smile and getting in line.

He holds his hands up in defense. “You’re just so sweet for me when I kiss you!” He replies, watching her order gelato. “The strawberry flavor makes your kisses taste sweet.” He whispers in her ear as she orders that exact flavor.

“You’re something else, Charles Leclerc.”

“But you love it.”

She rolls her eyes once again with a smile lingering on her lips. Once she made it to the register, she didn’t even notice that he already had his card out and was ready to swipe.

By the time Y/n opened her bag, Charles already swiped his card. The realization made her let out a gasp. “Charles! I said I’d pay.”

“No can do, honey.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Got the fire started!” Charles calls out from the backyard, adjusting the seats around the bonfire he had started. Y/n was out in the front yard tending to her plants before rushing to the backyard.

He had set out the ingredients needed to make s’mores, and when she noticed, she gasped. He pats the spot beside him, “Got a special seat for you here.”

“Cha’” She whispers, sitting down next to him. “You’re amazing.”

“Anything for my honey.” He kissed her head gently before grabbing the ingredients along with the bamboo sticks for the marshmallow.

They spend hours by the bonfire as the summer fades away and slowly ends. The scene felt like it was out of a hallmark. It was something that Y/n had always dreamt of. It was always the same one dream, one life, and one lover.

And she couldn’t have wished for a better man.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“No peeking yet!” Charles exclaims, making sure to not mess up her makeup while keeping his hands over her eyes. He carefully leads her into their shared home in Monaco. They had just returned from a 5th anniversary dinner and Y/n returned with a special stone on her ring finger.

“Charles, you have another surprise? I’ll mess up my makeup even more!” She whined, her fingers playing with the diamond engagement ring. “Besides, this diamond is enough to keep me satisfied with surprises for the next few months.”

“Amour, we both know that’s a lie.” Charles chuckled, “You love your diamonds.” He added, gesturing at the diamond necklace and earrings she wore even though she couldn’t see him.

“What can I say? Me, myself, I like diamonds. Diamonds are a girl's best friend.”

“Okay, ready?”

“To cry more? Yes.”

The Ferrari driver couldn’t hold back his laugh as he slowly removed his hands. Y/n opens her eyes and gasps as she sees the scene. Her closest friends and her family were standing in their very decorated backyard. There were white flowers everywhere, and there was a table with a cake set up that had the words ‘Just Engaged!’ written on top. He invited the people closest to her and him to celebrate their engagement.

“You did not…” She says, still in shock, and turns around. Tears filled her eyes as she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You’re too good for me, Cha’.” She cried in his arms.

“My best girl deserves the world,” Charles whispers, caressing her cheek in his hands. He leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her lips, smiling as their family and friends cheered for the newly engaged. “I love you, mon amour.”

“And I love you, honey,” Y/n whispers back, staring at him with nothing but love and adoration in her eyes. “Truthfully, if you weren’t mine, I’d be jealous of your love.” She adds, leaning in and giving him another of many kisses as a newly engaged couple.

#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 scenario #formula one scenarios #f1 imagine #formula one imagines #formula one imagine #f1 scenarios #charles leclerc scenarios #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine

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elordilover · 3 months

Note

Hii! Could you write a walker scobell x actress reader fic where she's new to acting and her first acting role is in the pjo show? Thank you!!

i love this!! thanks so much for the request! 💐

more than best friends

pairing: walker scobell x fem!reader

summary: you are casted as annabeth for the pjo series and become best friends with your co-star, walker.

warnings: nothing really! not proof read, reader plays annabeth in the seires, half social media

————————————————————————

yourusername- i am so honored to finally tell you that am part of this project! this cast has become family. i’m so excited for everyone to watch it, meet you at camp half-blood: december 20th 🌩️⚡️🌊

walkerscobell- so honored to be able to work with you, and call you my best friend 💐♥️

percyjacksonseries- ⚡️⚡️⚡️

view more comments……..

—————

everyone on the cast just announced their spots in the series, it was your first time doing this so you were a bit nervous. you watched your phone as all the positive comments started to roll in.

you heard the door to your trailer open and saw a familiar face, walker. you would never admit this to anyone, but you did sort of have a crush on him. but you had to put the admiration to the side now that he was your co-star.

“Y/N, do you want to go grab food since we’re done shooting for the day?”, he asked you.

“sure! where are we going?”, you replied as you got up and started exiting your trailer.

“i don’t know, in-n-out?”

“yeah, sure”, you said as you walked to the car.

the whole car ride was filled with scream-singing to one direction songs, it was amazing. the light that shined through his hair made you admire him even more. how the sunshine made his eyes sparkle. the way his smile grew when you were both singing along to the music that shaped both of your childhoods. you had always dreamed of nights like this, now they became your reality. your only wish was that he would see you as more than a friend.

—————

the next day you arrived to set early and we r straight to the hair and makeup trailer, which was were walker was also. you couldn’t wait to see him.

“hey Y/N, how are you?” walker asked as you walked through the door.

“i’m good, a little tired tho, how about you?” you replied.

“i’m good!”, he said.

you two fell into easy conversation while getting makeup done, or getting your hair fixed. it was always easy with him, you always felt safe and at home while you were with walker. it was just something about him.

—————

“action!”, you heard and immediately started to act out your scene with walker. it was going to be in the finale episode, where you place your necklace around his neck. it was supposed to be a little romantic, but it shouldn’t have affected you this much.

walker’s deep blue eyes stared you down, your cheeks immediately turned a deep shade of red. it was embarrassing, everyone on set would notice your admiration toward walker.

walker started laughing, most likely from your eye contact. almost every scene you guys shot together ended up like this, you and walker would burst out laughing. almost every scene had to be reshot many many times.

you shot the scene again and again until it was perfect. your cheeks still burning many minutes after.

—————

after many long hours of shooting, walker entered into your trailer to hang out with you. it had become a nightly ritual for you guys. you would lay on your couch and scroll on tiktok, showing each other the funniest ones.

after minutes of scrolling walker tilted his phone toward you. you noticed the tiktok featured you and walker. it was an edit shipping you two. it used clips from different moments from the press tour, and red carpet events.

“i mean… it’s a good edit”, you said nervously. you secretly loved seeing tiktok’s like these.

“yeah i agree, it’s one of the better ones i’ve seen. we look pretty good together, we make a great team”, walker replied not knowing how that last sentence would effect you.

“we sure do”, you agreed as both you and walker’s cheeks turned red.

—————

the other members of the cast had noticed how close you and walker had gotten, when you weren’t together, you guys were texting, and if you weren’t texting, you were probably asleep. aryan had brought it up to you last week, he said how everyone saw how you guys looked at each other, and how you were both always blushing when you had scenes together. you didn’t believe him though.

—————

filming had come to an end and you were definitely going to miss your new best friends, especially walker. you two had agreed to call and text as much as you could till you could be back together for the press tour.

—————

yourusername- filming this show was the best experience of my life, thank you to everyone who was involved in creating this amazing series. love you all ♥️

the first two episodes are out now! 🌩️⚡️🌊

walkerscobell- SO EXCITED‼️‼️‼️

percyjacksonseries- oh my god

walkerfan- Y/N’s feeding us with this bts content

Y/Nfan- it’s sooooooo good

walkerscobell- first two episodes. out now. 🌩️🌊

i love everyone on this cast so much, they have become my family, so so so thankful for everyone who got me here

yourusername- GO BEST FRIEND ‼️‼️‼️

percyjacksonseries- watching rn.

walkerfan13- PERCYBETH 😭😭😭

Y/Nfan- Y/N X WALKER CONTENT 🎉

—————

after the cast party, you decided to go over to walker’s place before your parents came and got you.

“hey Y/N, i kind of wanted to tell you something”, walker said nervously, “ever since i first met you you’ve inspired me so much and i just wanted to say that i really like you, in more than a friend way”, he rambled out.

you thought you were dreaming, no way he just said that. you stared at him for a second before kissing him, it was just a simple peck but you hope it got your point across.

“wait, you like me too?”

“of course, of course i do” you replied, noticing how red walker’s cheeks were.

he leaned in and gave you another kiss, you couldn’t believe this was real life.

—————

after a couple of months, many interviews, many nights on facetime, many ship edits being sent to each other, many days of secretly dating. you both decided to make your relationship public.

yourusername- my mom approves

comments on this post have been limited…..

walkerscobell- percybeth irl

comments on this post have been limited……

————————————————————————

thanks for reading, please send feedback and more requests!

🎀🧡🐞🫀⭐️🥥🫶🏻🐝🪻🪩🌎🪷🥿🫧🫐🧿🪞

#walker scobell x reader #writing #walker scobell fanfiction #walker scobell x you #walker scobell fluff #walker scobell fic #walker #scobell #fluff #social media fic #pjo #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #annabeth chase #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson fluff #x reader

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ode2rin · 1 year

Text

can you see right through me?

pairing. mikage reo x gn!reader

genre. fluffy fluff | pro-athlete!reo | established relationship | reo spoiling you (i mean it’s reo) | a light angst if you squint hard !!

in which: you see more behind reo’s gift-giving love language

“hey, love! look what i got!” reo called out, as soon as he entered the apartment.

no “i’m home” in a sing-song voice or “baby, where are you?” in a needy whine, like he usually does. instead, he was grinning - full on beaming, actually. it was evident how his voice sounded so excited, like he was dying to show you whatever he brought home.

you peered out from the kitchen to look at your beaming boyfriend. and literally, you felt your jaw drop from the sight of your lover carrying what seemed like a hundred amount of shopping bags in his toned arms. you bet it was heavy, as the veins in his arms were slightly popping.

reo had said he was going out to pick up a “few things” on the way home. these are totally not a few things. you knew reo had a habit of going overboard when it came to shopping. but this one, this one was an extreme shopping spree. he was practically bouncing with excitement as he showed you everything.

he began to rummage through the bags, pulling out various items with each sentence he spoke. you could see the excitement in his eyes, as he showed off his purchases. he held up a beautiful dress, admiring its design, “look at this, baby! the shop attendant said this one just came in and only two people have this in japan, can you believe that? well, i got the third one! i thought how good it would look on you then got it -” he paused for a moment, looking at you with an impish grin, “- i mean, i got it for you, my love.”

reo then pulled out a box of skincare products, “and look at these! i remembered you were running out of these last night, so i got a few for you. the salesperson said they're the only stocks they've got, so i had to get them all!”

reo then held up a pair of shoes, “oh, and these! i saw them and thought, ‘that’s the perfect pair for my love!’” he twirled them around. “and this one’s my favorite!” he exclaimed, holding up a beautiful necklace, “the color of the gems complement your skin so good! maybe let’s go out tomorrow, and try if you’ll like this? what do you think, love?”

he was rambling on and on, his excitement infectious. you couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm, even as you struggled to process everything he was saying. clothes, jewelry, shoes, skincare, and are those freaking boxes of limited edition nespresso capsules?

before you could even answer, reo's eyes widened as he suddenly remembered something else he had to show you. “oh! and i got us tickets to the premiere showing of the movie you told me about! i was hoping we could go? to make up for the movie night i missed.”

ah. now, you have an idea what this is all about.

reo and you have a weekly movie night, it started when you first moved in with him. it’s a tradition that you both cherish, a small but meaningful way to unwind and connect amidst the chaos of daily life. a tradition in your relationship that you both look forward to as it’s your sweet escape from the grueling responsibilities that comes with adulthood. it was nothing grand, it’s just you and reo, getting cozy on the couch of your shared abode, surrounded by pillows and blankets. sometimes he’ll pick out the movie, most of the time, he gives you the power to it. regardless of who picks the movie, you both lose yourselves in the story, laughing and crying and feeling all the emotions that the characters are experiencing. you share thoughts and opinions, discussing the plot twists and character arcs, and sometimes even acting out your favorite scenes together.

it’s a simple tradition, but it’s one that brings you both so much joy. and that’s why, when reo missed movie night 2 nights ago because of practice running late, he felt like he had let you down.

when he came home later that night, it was well past midnight and you had long since fallen asleep on the couch, the remnants of your popcorn and half-finished drinks still on the coffee table. but as he tiptoed in, trying not to wake you, he couldn't help but notice the soggy popcorn and feel a pang of guilt for missing your movie night. the morning after, he woke up early and was all over you, showering you with kisses and apologies for being late. you held him through it, playing with his hair and telling him that it was no big deal, that you understood how important his career was to him.

looking at it now, perhaps the assurance you gave was a bit insufficient to ease reo’s guilt to say the least. determined to lift off what he might be feeling, you turned off the stove and went to where your boyfriend was. he looked at you curiously as you cupped his face in your hands.

“thank you for being so thoughtful and buying me these, reo. i appreciate all of this baby, i do. but i know you. so spill my love, what is this all about, hmm?” you asked, staring at him, with a small smile as you let out a hum.

from then and there, reo felt like you’d seen right through him.

you’re right. reo, missing the movie night, lingered through his thoughts far longer than it should be. you said it was fine, so it should be fine for reo. except that it’s not.

a few moons ago, reo’s life was all easy they come, easy they go. it was the upside of being born into privilege. but when he chose to chart his own course, everything changed. nothing came easy anymore. he had to prove his existence to earn the things that mattered most. the soccer career that made him a star, and the love of his life - you, who brought him a happiness he never knew existed - he could only live this life because he proved himself worthy.

but what they don’t tell you about constantly proving your worth is how restless you grow at the slightest possibility of losing everything you've worked for.

reo felt that he had to make it up to you because he fears the notion that his one mistake could be the beginning of a pattern, a repetition of his rich yet absent parents' reckless lifestyle filled with empty apologies and unfulfilled promises. the weight of this realization petrified him, leaving him with a burning desire to make it up to you. so he did, in the only way he knew best - shower you with gifts.

and that basically sums up how reo went to an all out shopping spree. in his defense, he was only supposed to buy the skincare you ran out of. grab then leave, that was the plan. but things at the mall definitely escalated as reo passed by a designer boutique. before he knew it, he was walking out with shopping bags overflowing with designer clothes, shoes, and accessories.

apparently, your perceptive eyes caught on to this. at first, you thought it was just another day of reo being him, with his fondness of giving you gifts. but at the mention of the movie tickets, his scheme gave him away. and now he’s here, standing before you, face held by your soft hands.

reo couldn't bring himself to meet your eyes, so he focused on the marbled floor beneath his feet. “i...i wanted to make it up to you for missing movie night,” he stammered. “i know you said it was okay, but it wasn't okay for me. i feel like i let you down.” he struggled to articulate the knot of insecurity that had been building inside him since he missed the date. he struggled to tell you how it felt like a crack in the foundation of your relationship, and how terrified he was that it would widen into an irreparable chasm. “i’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “i just wanted to show you how determined i am to make it up to you.”

your eyes softened as you took in his words. your hands instinctively reached up to gently brush away the hair covering his eyes. his big purple eyes that you love so much. it was one of the many few things that made you fall in love with him. you couldn't help but be drawn in by the deep purple hue of his eyes, so full of confidence and power when he was on the field, yet so tender and vulnerable in your presence.

“i must have been a superhero in my past life to be loved by someone like you, my sweet reo..” you chuckled at the cheesiest of the thought. he smiled at the sound of your laughter.

it was true though. he was charming, attentive, thoughtful, a gentleman through and through. he was everything and more. so to say that you were lucky to have him was the understatement of the century. it was as if having the moon and the stars align just for you, as if fate smiled at your direction. to be loved by someone like reo mikage was like being wrapped in a warm blanket of security, knowing that even the slightest misstep could cause him to worry about losing you. but it was that very worry that proved just how much he cherished your love, like a precious treasure that he held in the palm of his hand. who could ever leave someone like that? a fool, that’s who.

you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, your hand still caressing his cheek. then you pressed a kiss to his left cheek, on to his right, and finally to his lips. as you leaned in and brushed your lips against each of his features, a softness washed over you, the warmth of your affection for him filling every inch of your being. “i know that you felt bad, love. but you do know that i love you, right?” you murmured against his lips, “and missing our movie night doesn’t change a thing about that, baby. i love you for who you are, reo. not for what you do.”

as your words sunk in, reo felt like you had seen right through him. for so long, he had believed that his worth was tied to what he could offer, but you had shown him that he could be loved simply for being himself. the weight of that realization lifted from his shoulders, and he felt a rush of warmth spread through his body.

“how could you say things like that and expect me not to do everything for you?” he whispered, the love in his heart for you growing even stronger.

but you just smiled at him, your eyes filled with a tenderness that made his heart skip a beat. “i don't expect anything from you, my love,” you said softly. “just come home to me, and we'll figure everything out together.”

“that, i can promise to do everyday.”

in this home, he could just be reo, no longer compelled to prove his worth or live in fear of losing everything he had worked for. with you, he was enough.

“i’m sure you do.”

who could ever leave someone like reo mikage? a fool, that’s who. but who could stay? without a doubt, you could.

as you both settled into your evening skincare routine later that night, with no traces of any heaviness from what happened earlier, reo turned towards your side of the sink and asked, "can we still go to that premiere, love?" his eyes twinkled with excitement.

“only if you promise that you won’t do this again. baby, this is a lot! and that moisturizer, you brought enough to last me for months! what were you thinking?!” you exclaim, holding up the said moisturizer.

reo chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "i guess i got a little carried away."

“you definitely did. the amount of paper bags i had to fold was insane. if you’re hiding more, i would really smack you. i swear, reo mikage.”

reo gives you a mischievous grin, his eyes shining with amusement. "oh, i wouldn't dream of hiding anything from you, love." but he can't help but feel a twinge of guilt as he remembers the other bags he left in the car. no need to mention it now though. he'll just have to sneak out later and grab them when you're fast asleep.

note. PURE WORD VOMIT I AM: SORRY came up with this because i’m convinced mikage reo is an “archer” just like me fr ;) so this is my interpretation of the song esp the “do you see right through me?” !!

#☁️ my ode to you #mikage reo #reo mikage #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #mikage reo fluff #mikage reo x y/n #blue lock imagines #blue lock x reader #bllk imagines #bllk x reader #blue lock fluff

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demonpiratehuntress · 6 months

Text

laugh till you cry

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x F!Reader

Summary - this is based off the song Laugh Till You Cry by Faydee. One of his exes returns to wreak havoc on your relationship and win him back, but he's already too obsessed with you to even look her way.

Warnings - my first time writing for Ace but I absolutely adore him ❤❤

"Did anybody tell you you look better with your makeup on?

Did anybody tell you you don't matter to me anymore?

I was your joke, you were my heart

You played me well like a deck of cards

I see the tears run down your face

What, you think my mind is gonna change?

And I'm like"

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no

You're gonna have to let this go

Didn't wanna say I told you so oh oh

But someone had to let you know

And if you think your tears are gonna change my mind

I'm not gonna waste your time

I'll remind you what I told you

You'd be laughing until you cry

I told ya

You'd be laughing 'til you cry, cry back to me

You'd be laughing 'til you cry, cry back to me"

**********

You didn't know much about Ace's past relationships. He preferred to keep you in the dark about that, thinking you were better off not knowing about his ex-girlfriends. You were inclined to agree, but that just meant you weren't prepared for what would take place at this new island you stopped by.

When Ace recognised it, he froze and his eyes widened.

"Ace?" You touched his arm gently, "Is something wrong?"

He snapped out of it, turning to you with a goofy smile, "Forget about exploring, let's go back to the room and cuddle."

"I don't usually have objections to that, but I kind of wanted to look around," you pouted.

And he was sold. There were a lot of things Ace could fight and win against, but you were not one of them. He was a sucker for you, and when you pouted like that he couldn't help but give in to whatever demand you were making.

"Fine, but I'm holding you responsible for whatever happens to me," he teased, sliding his arm around your waist. If there's one thing you loved the most about him, it was his constant need to be touching you in some way.

"Fine by me," you laughed and trudged off with him.

The downside to dating Ace was that he got sidetracked VERY easily, and you only noticed he had left your side when you were trying to show him a cute necklace inside one of the stores. You panicked, but you knew where to look. Ace would only dare let you for one thing.

Food.

You went around looking through all the little restaurants and bars that the island had to offer, finding him in the third one you visited. He was practically inhaling what looked like spaghetti, but you couldn't be sure since it was disappearing into his mouth so quickly.

"Ace!"

You had just been about to call out to him when someone beat you to it, and you turned to see a young woman making her way towards him. She was beautiful. It almost intimidated you, but then you remembered who your boyfriend was, and you were fine. That is, until she sat next to him and touched his arm, leaning in close.

"What do you want?" You heard him grumble with his mouth full, something you had told him many times not to do - because it was rude. You smiled and watched the scene unfold from afar, trusting your goofy boyfriend.

Before she could even speak, though, he was fast asleep. You giggled, being used to this, as the woman stared in shock with her jaw dropped. He jerked awake minutes later, resuming his frantic spaghetti consumption.

"As I was saying," she purred, running her hand along his bicep, "You look good."

"Can't say the same about you," was his instant reply, and you had to stifle your laugh so you wouldn't be spotted. "Look (Random Name), just let it it go. You don't matter to me at all anymore."

She frowned, apparently hurt, "But what we had was so good, you can't tell me-"

"If you think I'll take you back, you must be dreaming," the dark haired 2nd Division Commander cut her off, again with a mouthful. "You're not going to change my mind."

She suddenly burst into tears, begging and pleading with him and trying to convince him she was sorry. Ace ignored her for the most part, only saying one thing to her.

"You treated me like a joke, so don't come crying back to me. Besides, I already have an awesome girlfriend."

You smiled at his words, choosing that moment to walk over and stand behind him, rubbing his bare shoulders, "There you are."

He visibly lit up at your touch, like your fingers had jolted some energy into him. Within seconds, he had you on his lap with his arms tightly wound around your waist, nuzzling his face against your neck. Completely forgetting about his ex that sat there and stared in horror.

"I think I need to get you a leash," you said teasingly, running your fingers through his hair.

He shot you a devious grin, "That wouldn't be the worst thing."

Your eyes widened, immediately picking up on the dirty thoughts behind those words, "Ace!"

He laughed and kissed your cheek, staining it with sauce from his meal. But he was smiling at you so lovingly, absolutely dazed with love and adoration for you, that you found it incredibly difficult to get mad at him.

"I love you," he kissed your cheek again, making you giggle at the sensation of the sauce coupled with his lips.

"I love you too, but at least clean up first!"

He suddenly licked your cheek clean, "Done."

Your face was so red, your cheeks burning so much that you thought you might explode. Ace was not one to shy away from PDA, even the PG18+ kind. His ex was long gone, having seen for herself that he was only interested in one person, and that was you. Anyone could see how obsessed and in love Ace was with you, and it warmed your heart to know he would unashamedly express his love no matter where you were.

"Can we go back to the ship now?" He asked, twirling a bit of your hair around his index finger.

"Fine," you gave in, smiling. "I think I've explored enough."

With that, he happily lifted you up and despite your protests that you could walk, carried you all the way back to the ship just so he could lay you on his bed and spoon you.

You decided to do it differently this time, and repositioned you both so that you were spooning him. He was about to protest, but you cut him off.

"I want to sleep like this, babe. Besides, you look cute like this." You kissed the top of his head, and he melted into your embrace. "Are you okay?"

"Mhm, you're so comfortable," was his response.

"No, I mean...after today," you spoke carefully.

He shifted his weight so he could turn to look at you, "Of course." Then he feigned confusion, "Wait...what are you talking about?"

You shook your head with a smile, "I just want to make sure you're okay. Emotionally. You know I love you more than anything, and I want to make sure you feel nothing but happiness."

His heart swelled at your words. He was truly lucky to have someone who loved him so much. He leaned in and kissed you deeply, slowly, letting his kiss convey how much your words meant to him - how much YOU meant to him.

"Are you okay?"

Your brows furrowed in confusion, "Me? I'm fine. I trust you, you know."

He offered you a lopsided grin, "Good cause you're the only one I want."

Then he smothered you with a hug, peppering your face with kisses before you could say anything else. You sighed contentedly, knowing there was no way you could ever feel jealous or insecure with this lovebug around.

#one piece #portgas d ace #portgas d ace x reader #ace x reader #ace x you #portgas d ace x you #op

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lis-likes-fics · 4 days

Text

Love Letters

Pairings: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Word Count: 8.1k words Warnings: Murder, torture, depictions of mental illness, typical Criminal Minds content... A/N: Collabed with a couple friends about the serial killer. Guys, this was hard. Spent sooo much time building this character and then didn't even end up using all of the stuff we came up with. But it was fun and I enjoyed this and I hope you do too! Special thanks to the ones who helped me plan, @the-nerdy-goddess and @thecreature-bug and my beta reader @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen!

A knock on your classroom door has you turning your head, and you smile at the sight of the math teacher one door down.

You know why she's here, sneaking a “meeting” before all the kids get here for homeroom. You roll your eyes, scooting back in your rolling chair and crossing your arms.

“So how was the date Saturday?” Esther asks, raising a teasing brow as she walks further into the room, taking a seat right on the side of your desk. “You get lucky?”

You scoff. “I wish. The guy was boring. It was a total snooze fest.” You pick up a paper from your grading stack, marking another consecutive one hundred on little Amelia's test. “I told him I was a teacher and he told me how he had a crush on his teacher from the eighth grade.”

“Blergh,” she groans, making a face. “Was he a gentleman, at least?”

“I wish, part two. He didn't pull a chair, he didn't open a door.”

She shakes her head in disappointment and pats your back. “Your gentleman is coming to you soon. You deserve it.” She reaches over, picking up your necklace and running her thumb over the F before dropping it back down. “And I like that necklace.”

You laugh sarcastically at her, jutting your chin out toward the mirroring E around her own neck. All the fifth grade teachers wear one, a gift from Sarah’s—the science teacher’s—birthday party. “I like yours.”

She brushes the golden charm on her dark chest with a smile. She scoots off your desk. “Hey, if you're looking for another date, I might have a guy.” She winks at you, and you almost throw a pencil at her.

“Don't you have a class to teach?”

“Eventually,” she shrugs. “Small accident a few blocks away, traffic’s backed up. Buses are late–”

“–and most of your class rides the bus.” You nod, “Yeah.”

She walks to the door, patting the frame twice. “But I'll leave you be. I have copies to print.”

You shoo her away. “Goodbye.”

She winks at you again, clicking her tongue. “See you.”

The elevator doors close as David steps in next to Aaron. After a quick once-over, he smiles. “You look tired. Jack?”

Aaron shakes his head as he glances at his shoes, “No. Jack's fine.”

“Oh,” Dave raises his brows. “Did Aaron Hotchner have a date?”

He chuckles, amused by the assumption. “Me?”

He shrugs. “Good to have a little hope.”

Another rare chuckle passes his lips as he shakes his head again. His voice is low and soft with his amusement. “Yeah, I had a date. With a wrench and a kitchen sink.”

He hums, tilting his head from side to side as if weighing the options. “A date is a date. At least you can fix the sink.”

“Alright,” he mumbles lightheartedly.

Dave pushes the doors open as they enter the round table room, watching as the rest of the team slowly makes their way. When everyone is present and accounted for, he begins.

“What have we got, Garcia?”

Penelope sets her coffee cup down, making a face. “Oh, my little ducklings, nothing good.” The screen turns on and presents a round of crime scene photos, multiple women covered in uniform cuts all matching the other perfectly, besides the differences in the letters adorning their chests. It's graphic and strange.

Garcia avoids looking with everything she has. “Some hikers at the New River Gorge Bridge in West Virginia were going about their business when they found five perfectly marked graves lined up in a row.” The presses a button and said graves are shown before and after they were dug up. When Garcia says perfect, she means perfect. The graves are perfect rectangles, all the same size and depth and almost as though someone used a ruler to make sure the lines were straight.

“The bodies found were Madeline Johnsons, Beatrice Cabrera, Clara Warner, Dakota Platt,” one more press reveals a woman with dark skin now pale with death, “and our latest victim, Esther Cooke.”

The team flips through the files they were given, analyzing the information as it comes. “All were found covered in multiple incisions all over the body, and letters carved on their chests.” She makes a face. “I don't know how much you guys gate papercuts, but I know that if I got as many as our victims here, I'd be forever emotionally ruined.”

Reid's analytical eyes take in the sight of the bodies. “It's almost reminiscent of Lingchi, translated to ‘slow slicing’ or ‘death by a thousand cuts’. It was a form of torture and execution used in China around the 10th century until the early 20th century.” He talks a mile a minute, squinting his eyes at the photos as he does.

Prentiss shrugs, “Well, one papercut is bad enough, I could never do a thousand.”

JJ brings her drink to her lips. “I couldn't do ten.” They chuckle to each other.

Morgan juts his neck toward his files. “How did they die? The wounds are made for bloodletting.”

Garcia groans lightly. “So not glad you asked. Their throats were slashed, two incisions made at each side of the neck to cut the jugulars.” She adjusts her glasses, glancing at her tablet. “Autopsy reports say very slowly and with a very sharp knife. Like the unsub was trying very hard to keep steady. They also found traces of chemicals used in disinfectant in the wounds.”

Prentiss' brows knit together. “Why not just cut it clean across?”

“Well, look, there are 26 cuts in total on all the bodies, including the one at the neck,” Reid points out. “The incisions were very specific.”

“‘Course it was, look at that pattern,” Morgan says.

Each limb has a total of six equal cuts along the top of them, with the last two finishing off at the neck. It's too specific.

“All of the letters on their chests match the beginning of their names, except for Madeline. She has an A,” Garcia explains. “Madeline's family said she went by Addy.”

“Then the letters carved into them match the first letter of their names,” JJ says. “Maybe he's trying to go through the alphabet.”

“Matches the cuts,” Rossi shrugs. “There are 26 cuts, 26 letters of the alphabet.”

“Who died first and who was last?” Hotch asks, not looking up from his screen.

“They were killed and buried in alphabetical order, sir.”

A few members of the team nod, their theory supported. Reid clasps his hands. “Paired with the perfection of the graves, the specificity of the incisions, the disinfectant, we could be dealing with someone struggling with high level obsessive compulsive disorder.”

They agree.

“But how is he targeting his victims, other than by their names?” Prentiss wonders, “I mean, how does he figure out what their names are in the first place?”

Rossi sighs, “I guess that's what we have to find out.”

Hotch looks up at his team, his stern gaze glancing among them. “Based on the timeline of these kills, we hopefully have about a week before he strikes again. Let's not give him time. Wheels up in thirty.”

You look up at the gentle knock on your door interrupting your silent lunch break. You clear your throat, dropping your hand from your necklace as you lay eyes on Principal Luis.

“Hey,” she greets softly. “You doing okay?”

You nod, offering a half-hearted grin. You've had to smile at your kids all day today, despite the grief, and you were really depending on your break to wind down from it. “Considering.”

“You think you could talk? There are some FBI agents here with a few questions about Esther.”

You sniff, furrowing your brows. “FBI?” For you? You supposed that makes sense. You were close enough…

Two agents walk into the room, their professional blacks offset by the colorful parade that is your classroom. It looks strange, almost silly. You stand to greet them.

The woman offers a smile, a kind face to ease any worries you may have. The man is a little more stern, but there's a gentleness you admire hidden beneath.

“Hello, Ms. Hughes,” he greets. “I'm Agent Aaron Hotchner, this is Agent Jennifer Jareau. We're with the FBI.”

“You can call me JJ,” she says as she reaches a hand out toward you. You take it. “We're here with a few questions about Esther Cooke.”

You try not to look too miserable.

Agent Hotchner’s voice is soft as he speaks to you. “The principal said you and Ms. Cooke were close?”

You nod, crossing your arms. The classrooms are always cold. It's felt a little colder lately.

“She worked right next door,” you try not to stutter. “We were the closest in our department. I'm holding conferences tomorrow with parents about taking some of her kids into my homeroom until we find a…a replacement.”

Noticing your disquiet, JJ speaks up. “Was there anything going on in Ms. Cooke’s life? Anything out of the ordinary?”

Thinking, you shake your head. “Not really.” You shrug, “It was school, home, and not much else. The occasional night out with me, we are–” you clear your throat, “we were both single.”

Agent Hotchner adds in, “We're there any strange absences or even a trip she was going on?”

Again, you think. But nothing really comes up until– “She mentioned that she went on this tour thing with her parents last weekend, local. Some sort of…hiking thing? It's usually for tourists but they won free tickets.” Then you back track, “Is that the kind of thing you're looking for?”

JJ glances at Agent Hotchner. You're not sure what that means. “It could be.”

“When was the last time you saw her?” he asks.

You shrug. “Monday…before she went home. She didn't show up Tuesday or Wednesday, I figured she just got sick or something…forgot to tell me.” You rub your cheek with your sleeve. “I thought it was weird ‘cause she didn't call in or anything. I had to request a sub for her.”

Agent Hotchner nods. “Thank you for your help.”

“Of course. Anything.”

He dug in the inside pocket of his suit. “Call us if you have anything else. Here's my card.”

You reach out to take it, your fingers brushing. It was a comforting feeling. “Thank you.” The words are gentle as they leave you. You shake out of your slight daze, “Uh, here's mine if you have any other questions for me.”

You go behind your desk, grabbing a sticky note shaped like a koala and the first pen you see (which ends up being the brightest green marker you own)... The kids love the colors.

When Agent Hotchner takes it, he almost grins. You recognize the hidden amusement in some of the kids you teach. The ones that are harder to get to open up, even at this age. It's a little sad. Those kids happen to be some of the sweetest you know.

The sight of him in a sophisticated suit with all his professionalism, holding a cutesy koala sticky note is almost comical. He nods his thanks, and then turns to JJ.

They both begin to make their exit when you stop them. “Hey.” They turn. “Did anyone find her necklace?”

“Necklace?” JJ furrows her brow.

You nod. “All the fifth grade teachers have necklaces with our letters on them. Just like this.” You pick up the little charm around your neck for them to examine. “Except she had an E.” You let it drop, scratch the back of your neck as you hum. “Her parents said they never found it when they…”

The thought of saying “dug her up” out loud was haunting, and you already felt that shrinking feeling in your gut.

JJ redirects. “Would she normally take it off?”

You shake your head quickly. “Not Esther. She loves–” you sigh, annoyed now that you keep making the mistake of present tense. As an English teacher, it hurts more somehow. “She loved that necklace. We all do. We wear it nearly every day. Especially now.”

Agent Hotchner nods again, a really gentle movement that you honestly appreciate. “We'll keep an eye out,” he says. “Thank you for your time.”

You nod back at him, offering what smile you can. “Thanks.”

They leave and you check the time. You'd have to get your kids from lunch soon.

“Did she have anything?” Morgan wonders as Hotch and JJ return.

JJ’s teasing brows bounce. “Other than Hotch’s number? A bit.”

Rossi smirks, leaning across the table. “Did you find something special with our Ms. Hughes?” He puts emphasis on the title so Hotch is fully aware of her marital status.

“Let's focus, please.”

Hotch doesn't seem particularly annoyed, but there is a case at hand and he wants it solved as fast as possible.

Besides, it would be unprofessional to call her like this…asking her on a date after questioning her about her recently deceased.

The team giggles quietly amongst themselves. Children. But they do focus in as Morgan's phone rings as a signal to their resident oracle.

“Talk to me, babygirl.”

“I ran those credit card records like Hotch asked,” she starts. “All of which come up with very different results with no special link but one: three of the five all purchased hiking tickets for a guided trail a few days before they went missing. But they're very popular trails, tourists and families go all the time.”

“Hiking trail?”

“Is that significant?”

JJ looks around at the group. “Ms. Hughes said Esther Cooke’s parents won free tickets. They just went last weekend.”

“That would explain why it doesn't show up on the credit card records,” she says. The clack of her keyboard fills the space before she's speaking again. “Oh, yes, I see. The reservation is written in her mother's name.”

Reid looks up from the board where he worked on his geographical profile. “Clara loved out of state,” he says, “she was visiting. That could be how he found out about her.”

Rossi agrees. “So he's choosing most of his victims at the trail. Maybe he's a guide?”

JJ shrugs, “But how is he picking his victims?” She walks over to the pictures of all the victims hung up, their differences glaring as she shakes her head. “He's compulsive, he can't do it at random.”

“I don't think it is,” Hotch says. Eyes fall on him, urging clarification. “Ms. Hughes said something that stuck out to me. Esther Cooke always wore a necklace with the first letter of her name on it, but it was missing from the crime scene.”

The wheels turn in Reid’s head as he breaks away from his map. He picks up the crime scene photos, sorting through them to compare them to the headshots of the victims lining another board. “We might have something,” he mumbles. He picks up the first victim’s pictures. “Here, you can see Madeline wore a necklace with her nickname, Addy, on it. But at the burial site, it's missing.”

Prentiss catches on, picking another. A quick examination has her nodding along. “And look here. Clara had one, too. Hers is just a C.”

Rossi’s heavy brows furrow. “So you think he's targeting these women based on their necklaces?”

Reid words fly from his mouth as he speaks. “If he's killing them, burying them, and carving their letters all in alphabetical order, that could be his trigger—seeing the letters already in place and feeling the need to make it permanent, perfect.”

Morgan picks up Esther's picture, nodding. “We ready to give the profile?”

“I think so. Garcia,” her attention is lightning quick at the sound of her name, just like her wit, “get me a list of everyone who went on those trails and every guide who has led the ones our victims participated in.”

“That list is going to be longer than the Nile, but like Neith, I shall be victorious,” she declares.

Prentiss adds in. “Go ahead and narrow that down to white males who live in the area.”

“That helps.”

“Thank you, babygirl.”

“Happy to help, my salacious little snack.” She smacks the “ck”. He can hear the smirk in her voice. “I'll have that list in a jiffy.” Morgan chuckles as the call ends.

You plaster a grin on your face as you welcome in the next pair. It's been a long day already. The children have been a little fussy, others just sad, about the changes going on during class. The parents you've seen already have been awkward, annoyed, or (on the better occasion) nice, and you're ready to go home.

Just a few more meetings, then you can go home.

“Hello,” you greet. “Thank you for coming in.”

Ms. Tucker smiles gently, doing her best to be kind. She's one of the more patient parents. Her husband on the other hand… You've never been able to describe him as patient.

“Could we make this quick?” Mr. Tucker asks, checking his watch. He blinks harshly once, twice, three times, before looking back up at you. “I've got an appointment in an hour and…thirteen minutes.”

“Don't be rude, Larry,” his ex-wife insists, rolling her eyes as they take a seat in the chairs set in front of your desk. You sit as well, mentally bracing yourself for his meeting.

“Well, she's bringing us in here to tell us our kid isn't doing well in school. How do you want me to behave?” Another tight blink follows as he whispers under his breath, “Behave, behave.”

Ideally, these meetings should take no more than maybe five minutes. But parents make that difficult sometimes.

“Maybe if you spent more time with Peter, he wouldn't be having trouble,” she insists.

The animosity coming off the two of them is creating an environment that makes you want to kick them out of your room and do what you want. But you can't.

He scoffs. “Spend more ti–”

“Actually…”

They turn back to you then, remembering you're there as they close their mouths and listen. “We're not here to talk about his behavior. Peter has been wonderful in class.”

You grab Peter's file. It's just a stack of papers with Esther's old notes for him and his grades. You clear your throat quietly. “As you may know, the teacher next door to me just passed, and we are rearranging her classes until we can find a suitable replacement because we are short staffed.”

You hate saying “replacement”. These meetings have been hard enough simply because she's gone, but being the one of the people already working to replace her has been mentally taxing.

You pull your necklace from inside your shirt, sighing as you look up at them, toying with the charm.

You don't catch it. The movement is so slight and the whisper is so gentle that the moment goes completely over your head as Mr. Tucker's eyes lock on your charm. Under his breath falls a small, “F…F, F.”

“This conference was just to ask about whether or not it would be alright to transfer Peter into my class,” you continue, grasping the top pages out of the file. “Otherwise, his behavior has been fine. He's a smart boy with good grades. Ms. Cooke’s notes do say that he has a bit of trouble mixing with classes though, and he can be a little distracted. Another reason he would switch, he needs the extra social help.”

Ms. Tucker leans in slightly. “You said he has trouble mixing in?”

You nod, tilting your head as you remember Peter's behavior during your classes. “He's a little lonely.”

Mr. Tucker murmurs under his breath, holding onto the words. “Lonely.” His brows twitch. “Lonely…lonely.” You know they're tics, so you try not to make it obvious that you've caught it.

“He got along well with the teachers, but he's closed off to the other students. She saw that a couple of other kids picked on him, but they were little things that we were able to solve fairly quickly.” You sigh, thinking for a moment. You have to choose the right words, or this will end in an argument. “I would recommend trying to get him into things outside of school. A sport or a club, just something to get him to interact with more kids.”

Ms. Tucker is all ears as you speak, taking in what she can as she contemplates a solution. Her ex-husband seems a little out of focus, however. He watches you, his eyes taking you in, in a way that makes you uncomfortable.

“It also helps when the parents are on the same page,” you push through, ignoring the crawling in your skin and focusing on this child and his needs. “I realize you went through a divorce recently, which can be tough on your son. I know it's not my business to manage your relationship, but for the sake of your son, it's important not to be hostile in front of him. It could force him into thinking he has to choose a side, which can lead to negative effects on his mental health.”

She nods, soaking it in. “We can talk about it. You have our permission to take him in.”

“Yes.” Mr. Tucker nods. You watch his head dip three times. “Yes, yes.”

You sigh internally, glad the meeting is coming to a close. “Thank you,” you smile. “Did you have any questions for me?”

He replies, smiling as well. “No. Thank you.”

“Alright,” you close Peter's file, “then we should be good.”

“Thank you,” Ms. Tucker says. She reaches a hand out to shake your hand, and you take it. Her ex-husband does the same, though he lingers a little longer than you appreciate.

“Of course.”

They leave. You take a moment to breathe before you welcome in the next parents. And two meetings later, you've wrapped everything up. After clearing your desk, you snatch your things and head straight for the door.

You're happy to know it's not too late when you step out of the building. The sun is still up, but the moon is beginning to show with the coming evening. As you make your way to your car in the relatively lonely parking lot, it blinks when you unlock the doors.

You open the back door to throw your things inside, slamming it shut and opening the front in one movement.

You don't hear the footsteps behind you over the sound of your relief about the end of your day. So when something comes down hard at the back of your head, your pain and surprise is interrupted by the sudden darkness that overcomes you.

“You're on speaker.”

Garcia’s voice arises from Morgan's voice like the oracle she is. “Then I shall speak my prophecy for all to hear. I narrowed that list down significantly to the tour guides that lead the trails all of the victims went on—except the one who didn't. Speaking of, it turns out that our odd one out, Dakota Platt, put in an application to work as a guide but was denied. Anyway, I came up with three matches.”

Rossi hums. “Narrow the list to anyone recently going through a major change. A divorce, potential job loss, something like that.”

The sound of Garcia’s keyboard is heard over the phone, her voice coming a second later. “That takes one out. There's Perry Williams, he's just suffered a loss in the family—his mother died of lung cancer four months ago, around when the killings started. Then there's one other, Laurence Tucker, who just went through a divorce around a year ago. He's fighting a custody battle with his wife, started a couple weeks before the estimated time of the first murder.”

“Can you take a look at their medical histories?” Prentiss requests.

“Tucker has diagnosed OCD. He stopped taking his meds at the same time as the divorce.”

JJ is already on her feet as she slips her phone in her pocket. “That's our guy.” The rest of the team follow suit.

“I've just sent his home address to your phones.”

Hotch is packing his things as he speaks. “Garcia, go through his history. There may be something to suggest where he may be taking his victims to torture them. He can't be taking them home.”

Morgan raises the phone to his mouth. “Thanks, hot stuff.”

“Anything for you. Garcia out.”

“Clear.”

At the sound of the last check, Hotch lowers his gun as he sighs. “Hotch.” He looks over to see Reid peeking his head out of a room down the hall. He follows him, walking inside and following his gaze down to Reid’s hand, where he's holding a necklace he's pulled from a dark box on the dresser.

There are four necklaces neatly arranged within it, the fifth in Reid’s hand. An E for Esther.

His phone rings. “Yes, Garcia?”

She speaks quickly. “Our guy grew up in the area and attended a schoolhouse when he was little that was shut down years ago for unusual practices with the students. Reports found that the teachers there used to discipline ‘bad kids’—and by bad, I'm not talking just behavior, these are kids with diagnosed Autism, ADHD, OCD, the whole alphabet. Oh…maybe that wasn't the best word.”

“How were they disciplined?” Reid asks, pulling her back on track.

“Oh, right! The teachers used to slap hands with rulers and spank these children, sometimes with paddles. Sometimes kids would come home with big red letters drawn on their chests or clothes when they received failing grades as a way to shame them into passing.” She hums, “I'm guessing that's where the signature comes from.”

Reid sets the necklace down, “Is the building still up?”

“Like I said, it was shut down years ago. It was marked for demolition, but they never got around to it. The building still very much exists, and it's covered in wooden boards and caution tape.”

Hotch nods. “Send us the address. This could be where he's killing them.”

“Already done,” she says. “Also, fun fact. I learned that Tucker's son attends the school Esther Cooke taught at. Apparently, he was one of her students.”

A chill ran down Hotch’s spine as he thought about that. Scrambling in his jacket, he pulls out the koala sticky note in the inside pocket. “Garcia, I need you to give me another address.”

Reid’s brow furrows at his sudden haste. “What's wrong?”

“Ms. Hughes held conferences today for the parents of children Esther Cooke taught.”

Reid walks after him as Garcia retrieves the address. “So?”

“She wears an F.”

Your bleary eyes are so dazed and heavy. Mixed with the pain, it was hard to keep your head up and your eyes open. The letters lining the top of the walls, the alphabet which wraps around the room, fly around your head. It mixes with the chairs and desks, arranged so neatly around the room, lining the walls like the letters do. There's chalk and pencils and paper, all old and run down but set so neatly. The chaos and the tidiness is maddening.

It really hurts. Your arms and legs are covered in cuts, slow and methodical and painful. Your limbs shake with exhaustion, sweat sticks to your forehead and you feel heavy and sick. He'd removed your necklace. It's sitting on the desk where he keeps the rest of his supplies. You want it back.

His disorder is evident, and it bleeds over you with a glaring taunt. Every time he cuts you, he measures it with a ruler, and then you're thrown through the added torture of him disinfecting the wound each time. He counts it each time. He chants under his breath every time he cuts you, every time you talk, every time he blinks.

You just want to go home.

“Mr. Tucker, please,” you beg for the hundredth time, your plea falling on deaf ears.

He shakes his head, his ruler in the middle of your thigh. You want to move it. If he can't make a precise cut, he won't cut. But you don't have the strength. It's taking a lot to keep your head up.

“Hush,” he urges absentmindedly. “Hush, hush.” He adjusts the glasses on the bridge of his nose, careful not to use his hands.

“Why are you doing this?”

His attention is razor sharp as he measures. “I have to.”

It’s the most answer he's given you so far. Maybe if you just keep him talking, you'll be able to talk him out of it. You keep your voice gentle, trying not to sound as pained as you are. “Why?” you ask, though your voice wavers. “What did I do? What did Esther do?”

The name seems to spark something as he nods three times. “E, E, E.”

Your brow furrows. “Is this because of our necklaces?”

He shakes his head this time. Three times. “You won't understand.”

You sigh heavily. “Then help me understand.”

“You won't, you won't.” He picks up the knife, and you flinch away from him. “You won't.”

You keep trying. “You just have to talk to me,” you give him the best smile you can. “You can talk to me, Larry.” If you say his name, maybe you'll appeal to him. You can make it personal. You have to try something.

He mutters under his breath, as though he's thinking. “Talk, talk…talk.”

You nod, speaking slowly. “Yes. Just put the knife down, and we can talk.”

A scream tears through your throat as he drags the sharp blade across your thigh. It burns and it sears and tears stream down your cheeks at the feeling.

“19, 19, 19.”

You don't know what number he's going to, but you're scared for what he'll do when he finishes counting.

You struggle around the lump in your throat to speak, forcing out a breath to try and level yourself. “Is this about your OCD?” He glances up at you, but he doesn't give it too much thought. “I recognize it. Peter has early signs.”

“Peter,” he mumbles, finally taking pause to think. He hums and blinks.

“Yes, Peter,” you urge. “Your son. If you keep going, you could hurt him.” It's hard to see past your tears, but you keep going anyway. “When you get caught, and you will get caught, Peter will be taken away from you forever. He'd never forgive you.”

“Forgive me,” he huffs, shaking his head and rubbing his face. He grips his ruler in one hand. “Forgive me, forgive me.” He presses the ruler to the other leg, “Stop talking.”

You try to squirm, “Larry– Ah!” You purse your lips to stifle your shout, squeezing your eyes shut and clenching your fists.

“20, 20, 20.”

A round of sobs rack through you. You can't hide the pain anymore. It's so evident, and it's so intense. You can't breathe. You hiss as the disinfectant stings.

“Please,” you cry. “Please, just tell me why.”

He shakes his head. He's upset now, you can see it in the crease of his brow, in the excessive head shakes, in the way he rubs his face so roughly. “They said I have to.”

“Who?”

“My teachers.” He looks around the room, and his eyes fall on the alphabet lining the walls.

You follow his gaze. The schoolhouse actually makes sense now. You thought he'd chosen it because it was abandoned…

“I can't do the alphabet. I have to do the alphabet, alphabet.” He says it like he's reciting something, like he's punishing himself.

Your breath is heavy, you blink rapidly, trying to see past your tear-filled eyes. “Your teachers made you do this?”

God, sometimes you hate teachers.

He rubs at his eyes, sighing heavily. “A, A, A,” he begins, speaking quickly and almost like he's struggling to speak. It reminds you of memorization methods. Sometimes you suggest it to students who have trouble remembering vocab—write it down over and over until you remember. Maybe that's why he's doing it? “B, B, B. C, C, C. D, D, D. E, E, E. F.”

He opens his eyes and points his knife at you. “F. F.”

The fear flares within you again. You try not to turn to a blubbering mess. You can't communicate with him if you can't speak properly. “Is that what you're doing?”

He moves to your arm. You try to pull at the duct tape he's got wrapped securely around your hands. You've been trapped here so long, your hands are numb, your wrists are bruising.

“Have to get to Z, Z, Z.”

You almost shout it when he presses the ruler to your arm. “Listen, listen, listen!” you say it in a rush, so, so scared. He actually stops. “Okay, they said to say it three times, right? You have to write it three times?”

The number triggers his tic. “Three, Three, three.” It's honestly becoming annoying. It's insistent and repetitive and it feels almost invasive. But you have to be patient or he'll just kill you faster.

“You don't have to do this.” Your face is itchy from the tears drying and re-wetting, but you can't scratch. “You're gonna be okay.”

He's not listening anymore. “Behave,” he warns, holding the knife to your face. “Behave.” He shakes his head. “Behave.”

He's stopped listening. Despite your screams, he measures and cuts and cleans and measures and cuts and cleans, repeating each number as he comes to it with calculated method.

You clench your fists as the knife digs into your thigh again. You're surprised you can get your broken cries out as you struggle to breathe.

He stands up, taking large steps back to look at his work. You suppose he's almost done, and that terrifies you.

You think about your students, the little kids in your classroom who have already lost one teacher and are now going to lose a second. All those good kids are going through so much already. They all loved Esther. You know they all loved you. You have a wall of art, holiday cards, and plenty of hugged legs to show for it.

You don't want to lose them. You don't want them to lose you.

In a last ditch effort to dissuade him from his pursuits, you shake your head and sigh heavily. “Please.”

He comes closer to you, squinting his eyes to try to ease you. “Shh, shh, shh,” he says. “Just close your eyes. It'll be over soon, soon, soon.”

He presses the ruler to your neck, and you don't have the strength to fight it. It inspires more tears as you shake your head weakly. “Please, please, please.” You chant it, closing your eyes shut. You brace for the end…

Both of you jump when the loudest crash resonates within the room. Wood splinters and heavy boots stomp against the floor. Startled, he staggers back. You open your eyes, lights flashing as the room crowds with armoured people.

“Laurence Tucker, drop the knife.”

You know that voice. You recognize it. It's hard to see past the lights and the tears in your eyes. You know him.

“Can't! Can't. Can't, I have to finish. I have to finish. I have to finish.”

He's panicking. Too many things happening at once, everything out of order, everything out of control. He grips the knife tighter, looking between you and the cops in the room.

Someone else, their voice louder and less patient, shouts. “Drop the knife now!”

“Behave, behave. Behave!”

Someone else's voice, softer and somehow understanding, speaks. Though the voices are beginning to blur. “We know what your teachers did to you,” he bids. “We know how they hurt you.”

They hurt him.

He shakes his alphabet, losing it over the chaos. His frustration is palpable. Every time they speak, he gets more and more angry. “Can't do the alphabet. I have to do the alphabet. I'm supposed to do the alphabet!”

“Larry,” you speak, your voice hoarse from overuse. You catch your breath, keeping your voice level. Like you're talking to one of your students. He's scared, he's angry. He needs patience. “Larry, look at me.”

You can practically feel the concern of the agents rolling off of them. They don't want you misspeaking and making him more upset than he already is.

But he looks at you, and he seems to respond to the softness because his furrowed brows shift very slightly, his anger turns to some semblance of fear.

Although it hurts, you try to smile. It's taking so much to lift your head, even more to get the words out without the heaviness of your rising fear and exhaustion.

“They were bad teachers.” He rubs his face, but you press on, speaking slowly. “They weren't supposed to hurt you. Teachers are supposed to help. They were wrong.”

He closes his eyes. “They were wrong,” he whispers, like he's trying to convince himself. “They were wrong, wrong.”

The desperation seeps in. “Let me help you,” you whisper. “Let them help you.”

“Help me,” he mutters, his voice as quiet as yours. “Help me, help me.”

The first voice, the one you know, he speaks again, patient but still an order. “Drop the knife, and we can help you.”

“Help me,” he whispers. Slowly, he moves as he contemplates the words. “Help me.” They raise their guns in alarm, but he keeps crouching until he's finally kneeling on the floor. He grips the knife. “Help me.”

“Just breathe, Larry,” you huff. The spark of adrenaline you'd gotten from your rescue is wearing off again. You feel like you might pass out. “It'll be okay,” you mutter. “It's going to be okay, it'll be okay.”

He stares at the floor, thinking. “Okay…okay,” he drops the knife, and it clatters to the floor. “Okay.”

They make quick work of cuffing him, forcing his hands behind his back as the metal clinks against itself.

An agent immediately rushes to you, and you immediately recognize him, just as you had his voice. Agent Hotchner kneels before you, carefully removing the duct tape around your wrists and ankles. “Are you alright?” His voice is so soft and gentle. You lean into it as your eyelids become heavier and heavier.

“I think I'm gonna pass out.”

Your voice is scratchy when you speak. He looks you over, and his hand comes to press against your cheek. It's oddly intimate, though you know it's for comfort. You lean into the warmth. It's helping.

“No, you won't,” he says as he removes the tape wrapped around your middle. “I've got you.” He glances behind him, throwing his demand over his shoulder. “Get me a medic.”

He turns back to you. “Can you stand?”

You want to say yes, but you genuinely don't think so. You shake your head, “I don't know.”

“Do you want me to help you stand?”

You nod, the movement choppy. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” he says. He wraps his arm under yours, lifting you slowly, carefully, like you're fragile and precious. “Can you tell me your name?”

Your words are sticky and slow. You genuinely think you're going to pass out. “You know my name.”

“Yes, I do.” He nods, and when you glance up at him, he's giving you the gentlest smile, and you feel like everything is going to be okay. “Can you make sure I have it right?”

You hum. “Fawn Hughes.”

You're so discombobulated that you don't even give him your birth name, instead the one granted to you since you were little.

“Fawn,” he mutters. “Is that your nickname?”

You nod, slowly, and hum.

“It's nice.”

The both of you make your way as he helps you hobble out of the schoolhouse and into the evening air, past golden hour where pinks and purples coat the sky. It goes a little faster when the medic finally arrives. They help you onto a stretcher, and Agent Hotchner apologizes every time you whine at the pain.

When you're settled, he gives you a gentle nod. You grab his hand before he can turn to leave, hoping he doesn't notice the way you wince and knowing he does. “Thank you,” you mutter.

He sighs gently. “Don't thank me.”

“Thank you,” you say again, a little more insistent this time. You swallow thickly, the falling adrenaline increasing the solemnity as your exhaustion begins to crash down on you in waves. You're surprised when you feel a tear slip down the side of your face, disappearing into your hairline. You'd cried so much already, you weren't aware you still could. “He was going to kill me. If you hadn't come through, I'd be dead. So thank you.”

He looks down at you, nodding gently, the movement almost imperceptible. “You're welcome.” He glances at the medic, and then toward the ambulance waiting for you. “They'll take care of you.”

You didn't want to ask, but the need is too strong. You're so scared, and he's the only one here you truly trust. Besides the fact that he'd come to your rescue, you don't necessarily know why.

“Can you please stay?”

He thinks for a moment. Really, he should be here helping the rest of the team. But as he looks over, locking eyes with Rossi talking with Prentiss, he looks between the two of you and sends him a nod.

Agent Hotchner turns back to you and nods. “Yes.”

You want to thank him again, but you know he'll just tell you not to. As they load you into the ambulance, he holds your hand, and you lay back and answer the medics questions.

“Mom, I'm fine.”

You sigh, as your mother's worried voice rises from the other end of your phone. “You were kidnapped and tor—Shit!—tortured by a deranged serial killer. I have a right to be worried.”

“Well, you don't have to be. I'm okay. See?” You show her the bandages wrapped around your arms. “Patched up and healthy. Doctors say I should be out of here tomorrow morning.”

“We'll be there by then.”

“You don't have to come down.”

“Hush. We're coming down, and you can't stop us. I love you, and we'll see you in the morning.”

She hangs up before you can respond. You shake your head and sigh, setting your phone down. At least you know she was worried about you.

You glance up when you hear a knock at your door. “Come in.”

The door opens as Hotch steps inside. His face is gentle, though without a smile. You miss it in a way as you offer your own.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice just as soft.

You take in a breath. “Okay,” you say. “Considering.” You motion to your phone on the bedside table. “Got off the phone with my mom, she's…already on her way from out of state.”

He closes the door gently behind him, sitting on the chair beside your bed. “She's worried about you.”

You nod. “Yeah, I know.” You sigh, glancing over at him. His eyes are on you. Your lip twitches, fighting a bigger smile. You clear your throat. “Doctor said I'll scar, but…the knife was so sharp and steady enough that they should scar fine… They're discharging me in the morning.”

“That's good.”

“Yeah.”

Honestly, the quiet is nice. You look at him, at the features of his face, the softness mixed with his professionalism looks good on him.

“We retrieved this from the schoolhouse,” he says, reaching into the inside pocket of his suit. He hands you a necklace, your necklace. You smile gently, reaching out for it as he places it in your palm.

You're going to have trouble wearing it for a while, but it's nice to have it back. You look up at him thankfully.

“We also found this at Tucker's house.”

He hands you a second necklace. It's identical to your own, except this one has an E…for Esther.

You swallow the rising lump in your throat. Your smile aches as you breathe through the tears threatening to well in your eyes. You look up at him, your smile trembling as you hold back tears you've already shed. “Thank you.” He nods, smiling very briefly. “I'll, uh…I'll get it back to her family.”

“I'm glad I could help.”

Another comfortable silence falls over you. You tilt your head as you look up at him, wrapping the necklace around your fingers as you think. Something's on his mind.

“What is it?” you mutter.

He contemplates for a moment before he speaks. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you manage to talk him down so well? You seemed so…calm.”

You look down at Esther's necklace, thinking for a moment as you shrug. You speak slowly, clearing your throat as you rub the thumb of your free hand along the white bandage on your forearm.

“He told me his teachers made him do it.” You close your eyes and take a steadying breath, the events of the night before too fresh to ignore. “That agent…said his teachers hurt him, so I treated it like an abusive parent situation. He just needed someone to be on his side.”

You hate that it had to be you, but at least you understand why he did what he did. You almost hate that you understand. “He was hurt as a kid. That kid needs to know he's not alone.”

Hotch thinks about that, nodding gently. “You're a wonderful teacher.”

His words are genuine. It warms you and puts you back at ease. “Thanks.” You smile at him, his little one reflecting back at you. “I guess I'll just have to figure out what to do with myself until they let me go back to my kids.”

A tiny chuckle escapes him. It's a good sound for him. “I think the children will be fine.” You chuckle as well, the sound of his laugh a contagious thing that you can't help.

He glances over his shoulder, out of the open blinds of your room to see Rossi standing in the hall. Hotch’s smile simmers down as they make eye contact. He nods, standing to his feet with a sigh.

“I have to go,” he says, almost regretfully. “Get well soon.”

You turn your palm up as it rests in your lap, wanting to reach for him but not wanting to seem desperate. “Thank you.”

“You don't have to thank me, Ms. Hughes.”

After a moment, Hotch turns toward the door, placing his hand on the handle. “Agent Hotchner?” you call timidly, your heart thumping in your chest and your palms clammy. He pauses on his way to the door, turning back to you with a gentle look.

You clear your throat, dipping your head and trying not to seem as nervous as you feel. You almost died. If that didn't tell you how short life is, you don't know what will. Asking wouldn't hurt.

“I know you're probably busy and all, but…” you lick your bottom lip, summoning the courage to look him in the eyes as you smile nervously. “Would you like to go to dinner with me sometime?” You think for a moment, “I'll stop thanking you so much if you do.”

Since meeting this man, the smile he gives you is the largest you've seen on him. It summons your own beaming grin as he looks at you with cheeks you swear are tinted pink. He chuckles gently, taking a couple slow steps to you as he nods. “I would love to.” All the weight of your worries lift from your shoulders with a sigh. “Please, call me Aaron.”

Your cheeks warm at his gentle affection. You have to clear your throat to speak. “Okay, Aaron,” you say. “But only if you call me Fawn.”

Another tiny chuckle comes out of him. “Where did Fawn come from?”

It’s a genuine question, an innocent curiosity you're happy to sate. “I used to be obsessed with deer as a kid. The nickname stuck,” you say with a shrug. “Some people think it's stupid, though. You can call me by my–”

His interruption isn't rude. In fact, you have to fight the urge to hide your face away as he says next, “I'm looking forward to that dinner, Fawn.”

You smile. “I'll hold you to that.”

Aaron gives you one last smile, saying a soft goodbye as he leaves the room to join Rossi, who gives him the biggest smirk he's ever witnessed.

As David opens his mouth to say something, Aaron stops him immediately with a raised hand and an annoyed grin on his face. “Don't.”

David raises his hands in defense, walking silently next to Aaron to join the team.

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