#and now to come up with tags for them again

[inseobts]

When the Sea Gives You Tangerines

shanks x fem!reader

after years spent loving each other you have many stories to tell to the strawhats.

words count: 2.2k

a/n: I got inspired by the kdrama When Life Gives You Tangerines, I just hope it didn't come out too cringy honestly...

tags: childhood friends, storytelling, bickering, comfort, fluff

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The fire’s warm. The moon hangs heavy above the ship.

Luffy leans back, arms behind his head, grinning “So, how’d you two end up together anyway?”

You blink “Us?”

Shanks smirks, sitting beside you on a crate “You wanna tell it, or should I?”

“Like hell I’m letting you tell it.” you mutter.

Nami leans in, curious. Sanji pours wine for Robin. Zoro pretends he’s not listening. Even Usopp’s wide-eyed. They’ve heard of Shanks the Yonko, but they never thought they’d hear him laughing like this.

You sigh “It started when we were kids.”

“She hated me.” Shanks says.

You shoot him a look “I ignored you.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“She’d walk past me every day like I was just a chair.”

“You sat like one. On the dock. All day.”

“I was watching the sea! I was thoughtful.”

“You were stupid.”

Shanks grins at the crew “See? True love.”

They laugh. You roll your eyes.

You look down at your hands “We were kids in the same village. I liked books. He liked trouble.”

“She liked pretending she didn’t care.” he adds.

“I didn’t.”

“You still don’t.” he teases.

Your voice softens “He followed me everywhere.”

Shanks turns to the crew “Everywhere.”

You smack his arm “Stop making it weird.”

He grins “I’m just saying. If she climbed a tree, I climbed it. If she stole an apple, I stole two.”

“And got caught.”

“I let them catch me so that they wouldn't catch you.”

You scoff “You cried.”

“I was seven!”

Everyone laughs again, but this time it fades slower.

You rest your chin on your hand “We grew up. He left first. Said the sea was calling. I said ‘Good. Don’t come back’.”

“But I did.” he says. Quiet now.

“You always did.” you say.

There’s a pause. The kind that only happens when people are listening too hard.

Nami’s voice breaks the silence “But when did you fall in love?”

You look at Shanks. He’s already looking at you.

You shrug “I don’t know. Maybe when he stopped being an idiot.”

“So never.” Luffy says.

Shanks chuckles “I knew before she did. I was always waiting.”

You swallow. Your voice is barely a whisper “I was afraid.”

“Why?” Luffy asks.

“Because he was everything I didn’t want to need.”

Shanks leans back, watching the fire “And I was just waiting for her to look at me the way I looked at her.”

Zoro snorts “That’s depressing.”

Robin smiles “It’s real.”

You toss a tangerine at Shanks. He catches it, grinning.

“You’re still annoying.” you say.

“And you still love me.” he says.

You don’t answer but you don’t deny it, either.

You throw another tangerine at Luffy. He dodges it, laughing with his mouth wide open.

“Why are you asking so many questions, huh?” you say, pointing at him “You’ve heard this story a million times.”

Luffy shrugs, still grinning “Because I love it!”

You squint at him “You didn’t even listen the first hundred times.”

“Yeah, but I remember all of it now,” he says “When I was a kid, I used to look up at Shanks like he was the sun. Strong. Loud. Impossible.”

Shanks rubs the back of his neck “Don’t make me sound too cool.”

“But when he was with you,” Luffy continues, softer now, “or talking about you… he changed.”

You blink. The fire crackles again.

“It was like you were his captain.” Luffy says.

Everyone goes quiet. Zoro pauses mid-drink. Nami watches you closely. Robin’s smile grows just a little.

Shanks doesn’t look at you. Not yet.

Luffy’s voice drops “And that always made me feel like… maybe the Shanks everyone fears... wasn’t that scary after all.”

Shanks finally glances at you. There’s no teasing in his eyes now.

You don’t know what to say to that.

Because it’s true. All those years he was off sailing, getting stronger, louder, more famous... he’d write to you like nothing had changed. Like he was still that barefoot boy chasing after you in the mud.

You hated those letters. You kept every single one.

“He never stops talking about you.” Luffy adds.

Shanks groans “Luffy—”

“No, really! He’d be telling us about a fight or a treasure, and then... bam ‘That reminds me of her’ or, ‘She would’ve laughed at that’ or—”

“Luffy!” Shanks throws a cork at his head.

You hide a smile behind your hand.

“So,” Sanji says, leaning forward, “who confessed first?”

You and Shanks speak at the same time:

“He did.”

“She did.”

The crew erupts.

“What?!”

“Liar!”

You point at him “You kissed me first. And you were obvious since you were 6.”

“Yeah, but you said it first.” he counters.

“Only because you were dying.”

“I wasn’t dying!”

“You had a spear in your shoulder!”

“A tiny spear.”

“You fainted.”

“I was tired!”

Nami shakes her head “You two are a mess.”

Robin sips her wine “A beautiful mess.”

Luffy lies back on the deck, hands behind his head again “I just knew you two would end up like this.”

“You weren't even there... But yeah,” you say quietly as you look at Shanks, and he’s already watching you “I think deep down… I always knew too.”

“So you didn’t join Shanks on the sea from the start?” Usopp asks, still wide-eyed like he’s listening to a bedtime story.

You snort “No. I didn’t want to.”

“She followed me anyway.” Shanks says, puffing his chest like a proud idiot.

You roll your eyes “I studied. For years. Maps. Languages. History. Ship mechanics. All of it. I worked harder than anyone.”

Robin tilts her head “So you could sail?”

You pause “So I could stand next to him without being a burden.”

Shanks turns to you, slower now, like he doesn’t want to ruin the moment “You never told me that.”

You pick at the edge of your sleeve “Yeah, well. You never shut up long enough to hear it.”

The crew laughs, but it’s gentler now.

“You know what’s funny?” you say, turning back to Luffy “The first time I met you, you looked at me like I was your mom and Shanks used to make fun of me.”

“What?” Luffy blinks.“No I didn’t!”

“Yes you did,” you say “You followed me around, asked if I had snacks, and called me ‘Miss Cool Pirate Lady’ for three days.”

Shanks throws his head back, laughing “I remember that!”

“You sat in the corner and drew me with a sword,” you add “And then said I was cooler than Shanks. And you called me mom by mistakes multiple times.”

“I WAS FIVE!” Luffy yells, red in the face now.

You smirk “Still true though.”

Shanks puts a hand over his heart “He used to blush like crazy everytime he realised he called you mom.”

There’s a quiet moment as the waves lap softly against the ship.

“Going back to that question... I didn’t plan to go to sea at first,” you admit “I wanted a small, quiet life.”

Shanks smiles, listening.

“But then he left,” you say, eyes on the stars “And I couldn’t stop wondering if he’d die without me.”

“That’s romantic,” Sanji says, dreamily.

“No,” you shake your head “That’s just the truth.”

“I didn’t ask you to come.” Shanks says softly.

“No,” you nod “You didn’t have to.”

You turn back to the Straw Hats “I joined the crew two years after he left. I showed up with a packed bag and told Benn, ‘Don’t make a big deal’.”

“And I immediately made a big deal.” Shanks grins.

“You tripped running down the dock.”

“I was moved, okay?”

“You fell into a crate of bananas.”

“It was an emotional day!”

Everyone’s laughing again. The air is full of warmth now, wine and fire and stories wrapped around the mast like wind.

Luffy lies on the floor of the Sunny, staring up at the sails “You two were the first people I ever saw who felt like family.”

You go still.

He says it so easily, like it’s always been true.

“I didn’t understand it then,” Luffy goes on, “but… when you were together, it felt safe. Not boring. Just… safe. Like home.”

You glance at Shanks. He’s not smiling now, not in the big, cocky way. This one’s smaller. Quieter. Like he can barely hold it.

“I guess I raised two idiots” you mutter, wiping your nose.

“You did,” Shanks says “And somehow, we both turned out okay.”

“Debatable.”

He bumps his shoulder against yours “Speak for yourself. I’m perfect.”

“You’re loud.”

“You love it.”

You don’t answer.

You just lean into him, just enough.

Luffy’s snoring now. Flat on his back, mouth open, arms spread like he owns the whole ship.

You nudge him with your toe. Nothing. Just louder snoring.

“I guess storytime’s over.” you say, standing and brushing off your pants.

Shanks stretches, groaning a little too dramatically “Guess that’s our cue to go.”

“Yeah,” you nod, already turning to leave “Let’s let the kids sleep.”

“Wait—WAIT.” Nami’s voice cuts through the quiet.

You freeze “What?”

“You’re not leaving yet,” she says, standing with her hands on her hips “You haven’t told us the best part.”

You sigh “Oh no.”

“How did he propose?” she grins.

“Oh no...” you repeat.

Usopp leans forward “Did he cry?”

Sanji fans himself “Was it romantic?”

Chopper is bouncing now “Did you say yes right away?!”

Franky still crying over your romantic stories.

Robin smiles “You must share. We’re invested now.”

You turn slowly toward Shanks.

He looks like a man standing in front of a cannon.

“We were supposed to not to tell anyone” you whisper.

He grins sheepishly “I didn’t!… Yet.”

You groan into your hands “You’re a menace.”

“But a charming menace.” he adds, winking.

“Don’t wink at me. I’m still mad.”

You face the crew with a deep sigh.

“Fine,” you say “But it wasn’t romantic.”

“Yes it was!” Shanks says.

“No. It wasn’t.”

“I tried to make it romantic.”

“You proposed during a storm.”

“It was dramatic!”

“We were sinking.”

“That’s memorable!”

Robin’s eyes sparkle “Please continue.”

You sit back down, crossing your arms “Okay. So. We’re in the middle of this horrible storm, waves taller than the ship. I’m tying down barrels, he’s yelling commands, the usual chaos.”

“And she looks amazing.” Shanks adds.

“Drenched.” You glare at him “Hair stuck to my face, one boot missing, and I’m yelling at the crew.”

“Very commanding... and sexy...” he says dreamily.

“And then,” you continue, ignoring him, “this idiot climbs the main mast with a ring in his mouth.”

Gasps around the fire.

“You didn’t...” Nami whispers.

“I did.” Shanks says proudly.

“And he screams... screams ‘WILL YOU MARRY ME?!’ while lightning is literally striking the ocean behind him.”

“You said yes.” he grins.

“I said, ‘GET DOWN BEFORE YOU DIE, YOU LUNATIC!’”

Robin is laughing quietly now. Chopper is wide-eyed. Usopp is trying not to cry while Franky is bawling.

Sanji puts a hand on his heart “That’s the most pirate thing I’ve ever heard.”

Zoro raises a brow “So when did you actually say yes?”

You sigh “Two days later. Calm seas. Clear skies. I was brushing my hair.”

“She just looks at me and goes, ‘I guess I’m stuck with you now’.”

“And then I threw the ring at him.” you say.

“You missed.”

“I aimed for your face.”

Everyone laughs again. The fire’s burning lower now, but no one wants to move.

Shanks wraps an arm around your shoulders, casual. Warm.

“And you still married me.” he says.

You glance up at him.

“You forgot the ring at the wedding.”

“It was in my other coat!”

“You don’t have another coat.”

“Exactly.”

You sigh, shaking your head, but you’re smiling now. Soft. Quiet. Real.

“He’s a disaster.” you say.

“She’s the reason I survive it.”

The fire’s nothing but glowing coals now.

Luffy’s curled up like a kid. Most of the Straw Hats are asleep, heads resting on arms, backs against barrels, dreams thick in the night air.

You and Shanks sit side by side, knees almost touching.

He’s quiet now. Not laughing. Just watching the waves.

You look out too.

Then he says, softly, “You never really wanted this life.”

You don’t look at him “I didn’t.”

“You wanted quiet.”

You nod “I wanted peace. Soft mornings.”

“And you got storms. Blood. Chaos.”

You smile, just a little “And you.”

He swallows “Sorry.”

You shake your head “Don’t be. I said yes.”

Shanks looks at you “Even after everything?”

You finally meet his eyes “Especially after everything.”

The ship rocks gently.

“You know,” you whisper, “when we were young, I thought you were the kind of boy who would burn the world just to see what was under it.”

“I was.” he says.

“And I thought I’d spend my life trying to stop you.”

He smiles faintly “Did you?”

“No,” you say “I ended up helping you light the match.”

You both laugh, soft and low.

You reach into your coat pocket and pull out a candy.

Shanks raises an eyebrow “You still carry those?”

“I always do, they're my favourite.” you say. You hand it to him.

You rest your head on his shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything. He just leans into you, warm and steady.

And in the quiet, in the dark, with the sea all around you and stars blinking like old friends overhead, you think:

No, I didn’t get the life I planned. But I got the one I chose.

And more importantly, I got him.

[cherrygirlfriend]

──── ALL TIED UP ♡

♡ pairing: nerd!rafe x pervert!reader

♡ summary: you tie up rafe for the first time.

♡ warnings / tags: smut. dryhumping. sub!rafe. dom!reader. rope play. coming in underwear. MDNI WC: 1.1k

♡ author's note: this is my last 5k fic, but this is also another entry for @zyafics MRGA campaign, i feel like this fic fits it!!

PERVERT MASTERLIST ♡ 5K MASTERLIST l

all of this started with one simple sentence that you'd muttered against your boyfriend's collarbone.

"could we try something new?"

now your boyfriend's hands were tightly bound into his wooden bedframe with baby-pink rope, his legs separated, both of his ankles bound to the end of the bed with the same pink rope. rafe tugged on the ropes around his wrists only for them to not move an inch, the boy softly mumbling, "these are... weirdly well done..."

"i was a girl scout." you called out from the small toilet attached to rafe's dorm room, "you ready?!"

"i'm ready!"

oh.

rafe soon realized that he definitely wasn't ready to see you walk out of the tiny bathroom with your bottom lip stuck between your teeth as a you untied the sinfully short pink, silky robe, letting it fall onto the ground while you walked towards him.

you let out a soft, seductive chuckle when you saw the tent in rafe's dark blue plaid boxer shorts, straightening your back even more to let him get a good look at you, and your chest.

rafe swore he could get drunk on the way you looked; the pink, lacy bra just sheer enough to let him see your nipples, a small, wet patch in the matching panties. "i don't think you were ready..." you stuck your bottom lip out in a pout and tilted your head to the side, trailing your manicured nail down his sharp jawline, rafe's cock twitching in his boxer shorts "poor baby. y'gotta be suffering, huh?" you cooed.

you let your finger trail down rafe's bare chest, the boy's hands once again tugging against the restraints when you brought your lips to his red nipple, twirling your tongue around it and sucking the hardened bud into your mouth, letting out a quiet chuckle against the sensitive skin before you pulled back, a whine leaving rafe's lips.

"why are you teasing me?" your boyfriend looked at you through his long dark brown lashes, making you shrug as you sat yourself on the edge of his bed, your fingers continuing to explore until they came across the sandy-colored happy trail leading into his boxer shorts.

you lifted the waistband of rafe's boxer shorts, a sigh of relief leaving his lips, interrupted by the snap! of the elastic meeting his hips as soon as you let go.

"have you ever thought..." you moved your hand to the head of his cock, standing at attention even through his boxer shorts. "that maybe..." you started sliding your hand down his shaft painfully slowly through the fabric, rafe's hips bucking up, searching for more friction as you leaned closer to him, your words quieting down into a whisper "i like making you all cute and whiney like this?"

"it's... nnngh... crossed my mind a few times..."

you grinned as you boosted yourself up onto the bed, moving to straddle rafe, his eyes on your ample cleavage. you chuckled, trailing your hand on the lace of your bra, "you want me to take em off?" you purred, the boy fervently nodding, making you chuckle softly as you leaned closer into him, your breasts nearly in his face, "bet you wish you could take them off yourself."

once again, rafe tugged on the restraints around his wrist, only for you to chuckle as you unclasped your bra, letting it slide down your arms before discarding it onto the floor.

"i bet i could make you cum in your underwear..." you purred, rafe's eyes glued onto your bare chest until you lifted his chin up so he was looking into your eyes, a small "hm?" leaving his lips and it became clear to you that the boy hadn't listened to a thing you'd said.

"nothing..." you mumbled, positioning your clothed cunt over the head of his cock, starting to draw slow circles over his tip, rafe's eyes rolling back in pleasure. each time you could hear him struggle, each time rafe tried to get out of the pink ropes binding him, your clit throbbed.

"please..." the front of rafe's boxer shorts was covered with a mixture of your arousal as well as rafe's, your boyfriend's mouth open wide as if he was in heaven. "please what?" you asked with a breathy voice, your boyfriend letting out a petulant whine. you brought your hand to his chin, forcing him to look up at you, "tell me what you want with words, or you're not getting anything."

"sorry..." rafe mumbled like he was an injured puppy, making you chuckle as you pressed a soft peck on his lips, "tell me what you want." you whispered against his pink lips, "i... i wanna come..." the boy whispered.

you pulled back slightly, only to see that rafe's beautiful, freckled cheeks were turning red. "okay." you said softly, cupping his jaw reverently, "well, i'm gonna make sure my boy gets to cum."

positioning your entrance at the head of his cock, you started circling your hips, held back by two separate layers of fabric. "you're- ngggh... you're not gonna take any of it off?"

"no." you mumbled simply before you sunk yourself down on him, letting out a moan, still able to feel rafe's cock even through both sets of underwear, both of you breathing shakily, and although many layers were separating you, you could feel his cock twitching. "you're close, aren't you?"

"n-nouuugggghhh...." rafe's protests quickly died down once your hand moved to fondle his balls through the plaid fabric, his hips bucking up into you.

you moved yourself up, the front of your boyfriend's boxer shorts completely soaked, rafe's eyes pressed closed tight. "i bet..." you mumble, rolling your hips, your entrance positioned just above the head of rafe's cock, his hips bucking up to meet you, begging for some kind of friction, his wrists and ankles begging to be freed, "you'd cum if i just sink down on you right now."

"no..." rafe mumbled, yet when you let out a soft chuckle, you could see the full-body shivers ravaging through him. "let's test that."

you let yourself sink down on rafe's clothed cock once again, moans leaving your lips with every inch that you felt inside of you, but once he'd bottomed out, rafe started grunting, his hips thrusting up to meet yours, curses leaving his lips as his hips involuntarily started thrusting up into you.

you chuckled as you got off his cock, rafe's breathing slowly getting steadier as you pulled up the waistband of his boxers, the inside of them covered in sticky white cum.

"i won." you grinned, sitting back. "alright, what do you want as your prize?" the sandy-haired boy asked, "are you sure you wanna know?"

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[hearts4hughes]

ೃ࿔:･ rafe defends you at the country club

he slams the door like he’s trying to wake the dead. you blink up from the couch, half-curled beneath a knit throw blanket with a cherry popsicle and an old rom-com playing on low volume. it’s peaceful, calm, your favorite time of day. until rafe storms in, yanks the collar of his white polo like it’s choking him, and mutters under his breath, “fucking doug.”

you raise a brow. “i didn’t know you hated old white men named doug. explain.” you bite your popsicle, staring at him like he’s your girlfriend about to gossip.

rafe looks at you like he forgot you were here. his eyes soften. “you look cute.” he melts when he looks at you.

“don’t pivot.” you chuckle, wiping melted popsicle off your fingers.

he drags a hand through his hair, all messy from golf, and paces around the room. the words are still caught behind his teeth. “he was talking about you.”

you frown. “who was?”

“doug,” he spits. “the one who always wears those cheap-ass loafers and thinks he’s the richest man alive.”

you set the popsicle down. “what did he say?” an uneasy feeling swirls through your stomach. you never liked half the men at the club. they always undressed you with their eyes and muttered nasty things under their breath.

rafe doesn’t meet your eyes at first, just begins muttering it like it tastes bad. “cameron’s got the right idea. keep a pretty one around, they stay quiet if you spoil ‘em enough. i used to have a girl like that. good for your ego. even better for weekends.” he mocks doug’s annoyingly high-pitched voice.

your stomach twists. your face contorts like you’ve eaten something rotten. rafe’s jaw clenches. you can practically hear his molars grind. “and you said…?” you murmur, mentally preparing for whatever bloodbath he’s about to describe.

“i said if he ever said your name again, i’d knock his veneers down his fucking throat.”

you stifle out a laugh and chuckle, “that’s my man” under your breath.

rafe shrugs like he’s trying to play it off. but you can still see the rage simmering just under his skin, warm and wild and utterly feral in its loyalty. “he tried to laugh it off. like it was a compliment. like you’re just,” he growls, “just some thing i let tag along for photo ops. some little doll i keep in the background so i don’t have to listen when she talks.”

you stay quiet and wait. rafe breathes out. his hands are fists at his sides. like he doesn’t know where to put them, only that they want to hit. “i hate that shit,” he mutters. “i hate when men talk like that. like they own women. like a girl’s worth is measured in how well she shuts up and smiles. like you’re disposable.”

you rise to your feet and he looks up. his eyes are dark with rage. his fingernails are bleeding from how much he’d bitten them. his hair is tousled like he was on some rollercoaster. you cross the room slow, until you’re toe-to-toe. until you can feel the heat coming off his chest and see the guilt still hanging in his eyes—not because he said it, but because he couldn’t kill the guy who did.

“i’m not disposable, rafe.”

he nods, quickly. “i know.”

“i’m not here to stroke your ego.”

“i know that too.”

“i talk back.”

“you don’t let me get away with shit.” he smirks. he’s not ashamed of it, he’s proud. he’d tell anyone that asked that—he’s not your boss. if anything, you’re his.

“and i never will.” the sides of your lips curve into a grin. pink floods your cheeks.

his eyes flicker, warm and wrecked. “good.”

you tilt your chin. “so what now? you start a feminist book club? throw hands in the locker room? get ‘respect women’ tattooed across your ribs?”

he smirks, faint. “you’d like that last one, huh?”

“i’d like not having to flinch when i hear my boyfriend’s name at the country club.”

he’s quiet for a beat. he looks at the ground. “i’ll never let them talk about you like that again. i don’t care who they are. money doesn’t make them right. and it sure as hell doesn’t make them safe.”

you hum, soft. “neither do country club memberships.”

he shrugs. “i grew up there. that doesn’t mean i have to become them.”

and that, right there—that’s what breaks you open a little. not the protective streak, or the fact that he came home furious on your behalf. but that, he doesn’t want to be like them. not for money. not for status. not even for safety.

“c’mere,” you whisper. he steps in like gravity, pulling you in by the waist, forehead pressing to yours.

“you’re mine,” he says, so quietly it barely counts as sound. “but not like that. never like that.”

you breathe him in, nod once, and press a kiss to his nose.

[hiraizyo]

-ˋˏ✄┈┈ pretend lovers.

pairing: megan skiendiel x f!masc!reader

synopsis: when megan needs to convince her ex she’s over them, lara persuades her to ask for your help. as the time passes on, innocent touches and stolen kisses lead to something much deeper lying beneath the surface, but neither of you are sure how much longer you’re able to keep up the facade.

tags: fake dating, fluff, angst, non idol!au, slight nsfw, eventual relationship, miscommunication, mutual pining, mature language

a/n: hey yall, i decided to do a masterlist of this au as it was getting a bit long. i needed to flesh out the story some more and get the pacing right 😓 i’ll probably edit and rework the first part but yh

pretend lovers - montel fish.

#1 girl, do you really wanna be my friend?

megan needs your help staging a relationship in order to prove she’s moved on from her ex. things get a little out of hand once it comes to public displays.

#2 close to my heart, i hold you dearly

as you and megan continue the fake relationship during a double date, it becomes harder to deny your feelings for one another.

#3 i was your willing accomplice, honey

following the end of your double date, megan treads further along the line of something more, but certain events force you to shove those feelings deep down, never to be seen again.

#4 someday, i’ll be falling without caution

megan doesn’t just like you—she’s fallen in love. the weeks pass by, passions grow deeper, and with both your hearts now open, the curtains begin to fall.

#5 but she makes me weak (end.)

the secret is out, and unspoken confessions weigh heavy on both you and megan. your final act of love? shatter the illusion. make megan yours the same way you’d always belonged to her.

[bunni-v1]

I just saw the teasing, but shy / brat taming story. Can I request kinda similar but kinda opposite, MC who is shy and likes to tease but is actually a good girl? 🧡

I personally like to tease, I love seeing them start to lose it because they start to get so turned on but they know they can't do anything about it. (Not in an angry way tho, if that makes sense?) But I'm also very much a good girl, while I very slightly might test boundaries, I live to please. I don't see many stories for us good girls, (also pillow princess stories are quite rare) so if you feel comfortable, I would love to see this version also. 😄

Such a Good Girl~

Necessary marc tag: @cilomarc

🍓I saw this and IMMEDIATELY started brainstorming. Other than when I was writing Cookie Run, this is the fastest I've gotten to a request. Now, It might've taken me a little longer than I wanted to get it done... but shut up. Now I'm not sure how loyal I was to the prompt, I kinda just... got lost while writing. Still, I do hope that it's what you were looking for my love <3

TW: Brat tamer Zayne & Sylus; Mean Xavier; Oral Receiving (Rafayel) & Giving (Caleb); Use of "Good Girl"; BLATANT Caleb favoritism; Grammar Errors

Info: NSFW; Zayne, Xavier, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb x Reader (separate); Short drabbles

Total Word Count: 6.2k words (individual count listed with character)

MDNI

ZAYNE (1.2k Words)

You don't even remember what you did to get yourself in the position in the first place. Well, you do, but you felt too lightheaded to think about it now. Zayne had you pressed close to his chest, head resting on his shoulder, and dick nice and snug inside your tight little hole. There was a pressure deep in your stomach that couldn't be relieved without movement, but he refused you the option, hands stilling your hips when they wiggled even a fraction.

Maybe, coming into Zayne's office during work hours in his favorite skirt wasn't the greatest idea you'd had. He was only so patient, especially when it came to you and your teasing. He let you play dumb for a little while, because it made you happy, and it's not like he didn't enjoy seeing the soft curve of your ass in the tight fabric as you waltzed around. It was almost cute the way you played dumb, like you didn't notice the way his eyes trailed after you and his pen stilled occasionally to observe you.

It was only meant to be a cute little game between the two of you, one you didn't expect to yield the results it did. But when he beckoned you over, pulling you between his legs by your hips, your fate was sealed. He had his usual calm expression, but his eyes were alight with need, drinking you in with each rove over your curves. The hands on your hips slid down to your thighs, then back up again, feeling the expanse of soft flesh as if it were his personal comfort.

His eyes find yours when he finally speaks, "Is there a reason you chose this skirt today?"

A little smile crawls up your face, almost shyly, "I thought you might like it."

His eyebrows raised in acknowledgement, lifting his chin just slightly in affirmation. His fingers pull you closer by the backs of your thighs, drumming up and up until they rest atop your butt. It's not a science to tell that he's very pleased with your answer, no need for a rigorous degree to read him, he spells it out for you without needing to be asked.

"I do," he hums, kneading your cheeks in his hands, "Were you hoping for a reward?"

Direct and to the point as always, you couldn't hide from him. There was no attempt with the way you flustered, eyes flitting around nervously while you nodded your answer. Far too cute, if you asked him. He tapped your bottom, and like a trained dog, you looked back at him with fluttering lashes.

"If you can be nice and patient, I'll give you what you want," he hums, tilting his head so the light catches in his eyes just so, "You can do that for me, can't you?"

And that's how you'd ended up throwing your legs on either side of him and curling into his neck like a lifeline. You'd cock warmed him before, it wasn't a challenge to sit still and let him work. The stagnant pleasure was something you had come to enjoy, an intimacy that set butterflies free in your stomach every time he offered for you to do it. What was difficult to deal with, though, was the tension in built in your head.

You knew how your night would end, obviously. The issue lay in not knowing when Zayne believed the reward awaiting you was earned. You were always his good girl; you knew you were so well behaved, he told you all the time. There was simply no measure that could properly count when you had behaved well enough for your treat. That was up to Zayne to decide, and it could span from minutes to hours of waiting. That was the fun of it, though.

He would tap his fingers along your sides when the time was getting closer. Physical affection and comfort pick up, as a little warning. You think it's mostly subconscious, more for himself than it was for you. Fingers slide up and down your spine, kisses pressed to the side of your face in reassurance, or arms pulling you just a little closer.

Your nerves jitter in excitement when he sets his pen down, the soft shuffle of papers being moved out of the way, the most exciting sound in the world. Gentle hands pull your face into view, stroking over your warm cheeks as an apology for making you wait so long. You smile at him, leaning into his hands, craving that skin-to-skin contact more than you'd realized.

"You want to move, don't you?" He asks, though it comes out as more of a statement.

Adamantly, your head bobs up and down, "Yes, Sir."

He hums, copying your nodding, "Go ahead then, you've earned it."

Not needing to be told twice, you use his shoulders as leverage to bounce yourself up and down in his lap. Slow and steady motions to start, dragging his length along your walls, taking in each inch of pleasure with delight. All the while, he watches you, making sure you behave like you're meant to. Both of you know you will, you'd never do anything to purposely upset him, but the thought of him watching for little slip-ups gets the heat boiling beneath your skin.

His hands rest on your hips, not helping, just resting patiently. Just in case. You try not to think too hard about it, focusing in on the task you were given. Taking in the comforting feeling of him buried deep inside you, dragging along your walls like he was made to be there. The pleasant squelching sounds filling up his normally quiet office, encouraging you to keep going even though your legs start to burn.

His head leans back, getting more comfortable in his chair, content just watching you use him. His hands squeeze in patterned intervals to further encourage you to chase your high. Quiet, watchful, and entirely taken with you. The flush on his cheeks was more than enough to signal that you were performing exactly as he wanted; there was no need to vocally pronounce it when he made it so obvious to you. Heated gaze committing every little shift in expression to memory, utterly obsessed with the way you fall apart so obediently.

And fall apart you do, movements quickly becoming sloppy. It's too difficult to raise your hips in the same motion over and over, so you've taken to rolling them instead. Your orgasm is quickly building, coiling up your spine and fuzzing up your brain deliciously. You can't cum without permission, though. You don't want to misbehave and face punishment. Luckily, Zayne knows you too well, sensing your need from the way your hips seem to stutter and how you clench in uneven patterns now.

One hand cradles your chin between loving fingers, tilting your face toward his. Those sinful green eyes glimmer with knowing, looking over your flushed face like reading a report. The smallest smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, head tilting to the side in a teasing motion.

"You want to cum?" He hums expectantly, and when you nod he continues, "Go on then, be good, cum for me."

And like magic, like your body has been trained to listen, that coil springs and snaps pleasure through your body. Your orgasm draws a long, low moan from your lips, your body falling forward against his shoulder. Despite the way it tingles from the intensity of the pleasure curling along every nerve, you feel the unmistakable gentle rub of practiced hands along your spine. Coaxing your body to relax into him, easing the heat encasing you just enough to keep you lucid.

Your reward for being so good for him.

XAVIER (1.2k Words)

Xavier loves the way you like to play with him - it's cute how you tentatively poke at him, then hide away the second he questions you. It's a little game he likes to play with you: play dumb and see how far you'll let yourself get before you self-correct your behavior. He doesn't even have to do anything; you give yourself up for him every single time with a flutter of your lashes and a pout.

Just like today, you were testing your limits again, and he was happily playing oblivious. It started with some poking to his cheek and his side, annoying, but nothing he wasn't used to. The way you lit up when he hummed in acknowledgement set a chill down his spine. You didn't stop there, eventually letting your cute little innocent poking evolve into firm grasps. Nowhere too risqué, on his arms or holding his waist as though that was where your hands belonged.

He'd slid his hand over yours at that point, quietly warning you that he was on to you. Not to negate, just to tell, a reminder of who was in charge of whom. You took it as an invitation and worked yourself up to more teasing touches. Featherlight as your hand grazed over his chest and above his thighs, still too good to push further than that. Your intention was clear without needing to go further, though, and it brought Xavier great excitement to see how you shrank back from giving in to your wants.

You didn't have to worry about it, and you knew that fact. Xavier was ready to hand it over to you on a silver platter, just waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It came when your fingers strayed just a little too high up his thigh, not intentionally, but the perfect excuse to grab them firmly. Bringing the hand to his lips, kissing their tips with such devotion, you nearly forget that he'd caught you in the act. Those pretty blue puppy dog eyes darken slightly when he gazes at you, intent clear as day in their sparkle.

"You've been quite playful today, starlight," He mumbles against your skin, "Are you hoping for something from me?"

You fluster immediately, just like he expected you to, because you're so scared of being bad for him. You hate it when he's mad, so you nod obediently. His other hand tilts your head gently, as if it's a suggestion of movement rather than a command. You listen regardless, moving your face as he likes, swallowing when his thumb grazes over your lip. He watches your tongue dart out after it, like you were trying to get a taste of what he left behind. That makes him more of a mess than he'd be willing to admit, breath shaking with his next exhale.

"Don't worry about telling me," He says, moving forward in a swift motion, pressing you to the couch cushions easily, "I already know what you need, just behave and I'll give it to you, okay?"

Another helpless nod, and he is hovering over you like a predator who'd just caught his prey. Sliding your clothes out of his way, not bothering to take anything off fully, far too preoccupied to care about such a trivial matter now. He only makes sure you're wet enough before he pushes inside your tight heat. It takes all his self-control not to moan out loud, mouth finding your neck to distract his brain with a different task for the moment.

He laves at the skin there, soft tongue sending shivers down your spine as it runs along the sensitive spots he's able to find like second nature. He works his way up to the shell of your ear, nipping and kissing along your jaw, buying time for your world to stop spinning before he sends it out of orbit again. You can feel the satisfied smirk against your ear, whining when the ghost of his teeth nibble along it.

"You're already so wet, you took me with no problem," He whispers, wiggling against you for emphasis, "You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you? How naughty, here I thought you were so well behaved."

You tug at his shirt, letting out an annoyed whine. Insistent, defiant, denying the idea that you had misbehaved. You hadn't, after all, he let you do all of it after all. He smiles, pulling back to look at your angry little pout.

"No?" He hums, and you confirm with a nod, "You think you're a good girl?"

You agree, vigorously nodding your head so hard he worries you might give yourself whiplash. Your angry pout makes him want to kiss you stupid, but he holds back on that. Only good girls get that treatment, and he wasn't so sure you'd earned the title yet. Instead, he presses his face close, just a hair's width away. Refusing to kiss you, but allowing you to desire it enough that he can see the need on your face.

"Why don't you prove it, then," He asks, rolling his hips once, "if you cum for me, maybe I'll reconsider my judgment."

With that, he begins his movements, sending your head spinning yet again with the pace he sets. Never one to waste time when he had you laid out so openly beneath him, he pistons himself into your wet heat at a steady but quick rhythm. Each drag manages to hit each spot against your spongy walls perfectly, getting you dizzy within moments of him starting. Your grip on his shirt tightens, using the fabric as a means of bracing yourself against the warmth spreading across your body.

It doesn't do anything for how quickly he manages to get you babbling, knowing your body better than you do. Those deep blue eyes watching you submit yourself willingly, knowing well that you would before he started. You always behaved so well for him; he just liked making you work for his praise. The angry expressions as you fought his accusations off, making him stupidly hot and bothered. Making the way your face absolutely scrunched up and losing itself to the heat of the moment all the more satisfying.

It doesn't take you long to reach your peak, not with how easily he works your body like this. Knowing exactly how to move his hips for you, like it was instinct to get you to fall apart on him. You cry out his name, fingers balling the fabric of his shirt like it would help you somehow. Cute, cute, cute sings inside his head, over and over, like he was losing his mind. He sees the moment the invisible thread in you snaps, and feels it as you grip around him as though trying to drag him down with you.

Instinctively, he comes down to kiss you, giving you your just rewards for being so good for him. The gentle reprieve he gives you makes it all worth it, though.

Mumbling against your moans his soft praises, "Good girl, keep going, give me all you can."

RAFAYEL (1k Words)

The only thing in the world Rafayel likes more than you is your attention. Knowing you're looking at him, having the awareness that you are encapsulated by him makes him happier than he'd be willing to admit to you. Something about the reassurance that you are there, and that you find him as mesmerizing as he does you, helps to calm his raging heart. Quells the burning fire of his yearning to a low simmer, no longer consuming him whole, but warming him from the cold of memories that still haunt him.

That attention of yours was addicting, and you were simply unaware of the effect you had on him. Which is why he felt as though he'd been going through withdrawals all day, a notable lack of your eyes on him driving him nuts. Yes, you were busy and he was oh so understanding of that... but he could only take so much. It was getting to be unfair at this point.

First, you wouldn't let him pull you back into the sheets, scolding him about 'work' and 'responsibility'. You sounded like Thomas, but he didn't complain too much that time, content to watch you get ready; the show was compensation enough. Then, audaciously, you refused to send him any pictures. Wouldn't even amuse the lighthearted flirting, too busy running around being a hero to pause for him. What made it all worse, when you got home, you were 'too tired' and 'just wanted to eat and nap'.

Fine, okay, whatever. He'll make you a tasty, nutrient-full meal and cuddle you on the couch while you talked about your day. He doesn't bring it up again, wouldn't push you when you seem so genuinely exhausted. He can go without for you, he did it for hundreds of years, what's a day?

It's fine until you start to get restless, wiggling about this way and that and pressing into him very intentionally. It clicks when you glance over your shoulder, pouting expectantly. You'd tortured him on purpose, how mean.

He pulls you back, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a smug satisfaction. The ends of his hair tickle your cheek when he pulls you into a deep and insistent kiss, not allowing you the time to catch up. He goes until you're dizzy, wiping away the string of saliva connecting you with that familiar playful smile of his, then it drops.

Annoyance, and that pout you hate to love stare you down, "Tell me, Cutie, were you intent on torturing both of us today?"

You shake your head, ready to deny him, but it catches in your throat. He nudges your nose admonishingly, almost daring you to say no. You'd played your mean little game, and he obeyed your rules, it was time for his reward; And he would be getting it. No matter what.

"I'm sorry," you mumble, "I didn't think I'd get this far."

He huffs, like he doesn't believe you, tracing your lip with his thumb.

"Talk is useless. Why don't you show me how sorry you are?" He rumbles out, eyes darkening in his desire.

You drop to your knees like you were being mind-controlled, freeing him from the confines of his pants. He stands at attention, proud and aching for your pretty lips to wrap around him. It makes you feel worse for playing hard to get all day, knowing how he must've been so needy this whole time. Those observant eyes watch you with hardly restrained excitement, twinkling down at you encouragingly.

You slide your thumb over the tip, spreading the pearly pre over it. There's an obscene amount of it, proof of how long he'd been keeping himself together, dripping down your hand. Absent-mindedly, you lean down to lick it up from where it slides down your wrist, following it back to the source. Salty and a little bitter, you ignore the taste for the sheer satisfaction of making him feel good.

You lick up what you spread around, popping the tip in your mouth and swirling your tongue around it. He curses your name like it were sin itself. Sensitive and desperate. You use it as motivation to take him in, inch by inch, until your throat tickles, then you pull back. Wrapping what you couldn't fit in your mouth with your hand, beginning languid motions back and forth. Sucking, swirling, pleasing him just how you know he likes.

You want to make it up to him, feeling so bad for teasing him the way you did. You really didn't mean any harm, but from how he was throbbing along your tongue, you know you did. Using your mouth to make it up to him was the least you could do. Apologizing with each hum you send along his shaft, sending your sorry directly through his nervous system.

A hand runs through your hair, scratching your scalp soothingly in reward. Not that you've earned it, but he can't be too mean when you're just so good for him. The prettiest sight he's ever seen, lips wrapped around him while you desperately try to keep eye contact between the fluttering of your lashes. All your attention was his now, and he was happy to hog it all unashamedly, just like you were to suck him off for hours.

He thought about letting you, he thinks you may even deserve the way your knees would sting after the fact, but he can't help but be weak for you. Not when he had a lot more he wanted to get done tonight. The gentlest tug is all it takes for you to pop off him, swallowing up air as though you'd been drowning. He smiles, wiping a little bit of spit running down your chin. His messy little masterpiece.

"You can take all of it, can't you?" He asks, and you nod in a daze, licking your lips.

He allows you to take him again, helping you take more and more down your throat until he's settled there like it's where he belongs. You breathe through your nose, face scrunched up in concentration, trying so hard to make it up to him. It's so charming, making his heart race and sending the blood right back to his dick.

It's not enough, though; he needs you to look at him.

"Cutie," he hums, and you look up at him, glassy-eyed and desperate for approval. He smirks, "Such a good, obedient girl for me, I think I can forgive you this once if you keep it up."

SYLUS (1.2k Words)

Sylus was a very busy man, something you knew intimately after being with him for so long. Frequently, he was off somewhere in the N109 Zone doing something that you were safer turning a blind eye to than asking about. You'd spend weeks at a time without seeing him, alone in your apartment as you worry needlessly about his well-being. He always came back in perfect condition, smirking at you as though your worry was some pointless thing, teasing you for how much you care.

Being with him was difficult, but ultimately worth it in the long run. The way he took care of you far outweighed the periods where you could not physically have him with you. Though... sexually... You felt your resolve waver just a bit.

You found yourself very pent up in the weeks that he was gone, and there was only so much your fingers or toys could do to satiate the heat that boiled in your tummy. Pictures and videos of your previous times together helped, but also made it worse at the same time. You just wanted him: his warmth, his touch, his taste. Devastatingly addictive, and you felt strung out without him at your side.

You'd send him pictures and videos, hoping he'd return the favor when he gets the chance. Sometimes he'd call you and talk you through it, cooing at you as though you were an insatiable kitty and not his very needy partner. Naturally, given your human nature, you can only handle so long before you start feeling petty.

Normally, you wouldn't deprive yourself when he comes home to you, whispering syrupy sweet words into your ear. Not this time. No, you wanted him to have a taste of how frustrated you would get. Since he seemed to find it oh so funny when you got all needy, let's see how he liked it.

You forgot how patient he was.

He could reasonably wait several millennia, and you were finding that out the hard way. He was a stone wall of impartialness; nothing could shake him, and within a week, you felt your resolve rapidly crumbling. He knew this, of course, he always knew. Yet, he let you play your game without a peep. It only made you more infuriated, need burning in your stomach every time you looked at him, trapped in a prison of your design.

You give in a week and three days into your little facade, frustrated and pent up, and by Astra needing him to do anything for you. He looks up at you like he was expecting your arrival at his office door. You're not aware of the cute little pout on your face, nor the way you nervously fiddle with the hems of his oversized shirt sleeves. And, goodness, he questions himself on how he could possibly hold out for so long when you're just so radiant.

You stop short of his desk, positioning yourself with arms crossed as you glare at him. He regards you with a tilt of his head, leaning back in his chair like a king on his throne. It's not meant to be intimidating, but it sends a chill up your spine. Fuck he was unfairly sexy, wasn't he? How could you purposely ignore him for some stupid petty pride?

You take a deep breath, sighing out your apology, "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?" He hums, amusement thickening his voice.

"For avoiding you," you continue, stepping forward like owning up to it, "I was just..."

"Frustrated?" He finishes for you.

In a ridiculously smooth movement, he stands, walks to your side, and gently guides you to his couch. You are lying down across his lap, head propped up by a pillow against the arm, looking up at him with wonder. A large hand rests on your thigh, sliding your skirt to pool around your waist as you prop your knees up. Fingers stop just short of the apex of your thigh, tapping patiently along the soft skin there instead.

"It must be so difficult, being without me for so long," he purrs, "I can only imagine so, since you thought to play such a silly game with me."

You frown, resisting the urge to clench your thighs, "I just wanted you to feel how frustrated I was."

"You think I don't miss you when I'm away?" He scoffs, rolling his eyes like it was an offensive thought.

"Not as much as I miss you," you spit back.

He releases a huff of a laugh, squeezing your thigh, and you realize too late you've fallen into his trap, "Oh really? I suppose not, then. Tell me, though, what exactly do you do when you miss me?"

He knows what you do, of course, and he takes great pleasure in the videos you send. That does not stop him from quickly dipping his fingers into your underwear, finding the wetness pooling there pleasing, "Do you touch yourself like this?"

His fingers, long and slender and precise, swirl over your clit in practiced motions. The movements seem sloppy, but it's far from unintentional. He's mocking you, discarding his usual smoothness for how he imagines your fingers might play with the needy bud.  It's annoyingly accurate, which is why you melt so easily. You missed his touch so badly, unable to move your fingers in the same way he can, far less precise and sure of yourself.

You nod, swallowing hard, "I can't touch myself like you do."

"Poor little kitten," he soothes, mercifully correcting his motions to the tight circles you missed, "Don't worry, I'm here now. I'll touch you as much as you want."

Flimsily, you grab his tie, giving it a gentle tug, "Kiss me, please."

He doesn't waste any time in giving in to your commands, lips finding yours in a slow and passionate kiss that gets you sighing. You had missed him so badly, you were so needy, and now he was kissing you like you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. Your little game was stupid anyway, the pettiness melting to make way for your desire to please and be pleased.

You moan into his mouth when his fingers dip into your heat, dragging along your walls, reaching far deeper than you could've dreamed. He's skilled with his movements, curling them along the most sensitive spots he'd taken time to memorize. Somehow, knowing your body better than you do. Which is why it's no surprise you cum quickly, orgasm coming without warning and leaving you breathless against his lips.

He's muttering your praises, 'very good', 'that's it', 'perfect', and it only makes you more hazy. How he could be so sweet to you after you were so stupid was beyond you, but you didn't want him to stop. He doesn't, intrinsically knowing what you need without voicing it, and soon you are working through your second consecutive orgasm. Then your third, until you are finally coming down from your high with his steadfast praises ringing through your mind.

"Thank you," you mumble.

"Thank you," He answers, pressing a soft kiss to your nose.

CALEB (1.6k Words)

You didn't mean to tease him, honestly. It was innocent. It was always something innocent... until it wasn't. Until you managed to push enough that he decided it wasn't, because there was no way he was rock hard over some harmless little antics of yours. Or, maybe it was the fact that it was so innocent that got him so hot and bothered.

As much as he loathes to admit it, he gets a kick out of defiling you. You call it a kink, he calls it human nature (only for him, though, forbid another man thinks about the things he does.) Regardless, you tease him without meaning to all the time. The comfortableness you feel with each other allows your walls to come down, and unintentionally make something else of his rise. It was a good thing to be so comfortable with your partner, after all, you'd insist. Not realizing what seeing you in nothing but his oversized t-shirt did to his mind.

It drove him wild the way your completely harmless antics managed to 'wake him up' so to speak. He felt like a helpless virgin, which... he sort of was before you, but he figured he'd grow out of that phase eventually. Feels like it only got worse with time, and yet he wouldn't trade it for the world. Content to spend the rest of his days blue balling himself so long as he gets to live that sweet domestic bliss with you.

Currently, you are in the kitchen, working on the breakfast you'd insisted on making for him. Sweet as it was, Caleb was never really one to accept your acts of service without a fight, preferring to be the provider. It was a fight to get him to sit down and relax for once; one of his scarce days off should be spent decompressing, letting you treat him for once. He sat on the couch watching the news for all of ten minutes before he got annoyed and wandered to the kitchen.

He knew better than to get in your space, so he leaned against the doorframe, watching you with a glower. It softens when you send a smirk over your shoulder, brushing off his pouting effortlessly as you glide around his kitchen. It was too cute a sight to stay mad, anyway. His old t-shirt - the one he got from his high school honors program that he couldn't fit into anymore - hardly covers your ass, giving him just the smallest glimpse of your panties each time you reached up or shifted just right.

You shift from foot to foot as you work on the pancakes - apple cinnamon, his own recipe, of course. Hair pulled away so he could see the evidence of your late-night activities peek from just beneath the collar of his shirt. If that wasn't enough to send him into a catatonic state of domesticity, you would look at him every few moments, like you were waiting for him to do something. Sultry little pout tossed over your shoulder, gliding over his bare chest, just over the dick print in his grey sweats, then turning around like you weren't being the biggest tease in the world.

Normally, Caleb would let it slide. Normally, he'd roll off your teasing with a bright smile and a halfhearted scolding. Normally, he had somewhere to be in the morning, so he couldn't afford to give in. Today was not a normal day. Today was a rest day, and what better way to rest than indulging in all the desires he'd purposefully pushed off until now?

He cages you between his arms when you look away, moving a fluffy pancake to the plate set next to you. They looked perfect; you'd followed his recipe exactly. Too bad he wasn't craving pancakes right now, and judging from the way you giggle when his lips graze your shoulder, you weren't either.

"Feeling hungry?" You laugh, reaching a hand back to scratch the base of his skull like he was an overgrown mutt.

One of his hands slides to turn off the stove, then wraps around your hip, pressing you back into his crotch. You feel how hungry he is, poking at your buttocks through the minimal layers of clothing both of you are wearing. Open-mouthed kisses across all exposed flesh he could reach further incriminate him, urging you to give in.

"Starving," he groans.

"Well then," you hum, turning to face him - he doesn't leave your skin for a moment, moving with you, "dig in."

He moans, lifting you up to the counter with a swift heft, spreading you out pretty for him. His lips trace down the fabric of his shirt while his fingers inch it up over your hips, humming satisfied when they find skin to ravish again. He makes a fast trail to your clothed entrance, pressing his nose to the wet fabric and taking a deep whiff. Another groan grumbles out of his chest, and in another moment, he's licking along the slick staining the fabric.

You both moan at the sensation, Caleb's muffled by you and you by your hand. He tugs you closer, tossing your legs over his shoulders, surrounding himself with your thighs. No escape, not that he had any intention of leaving. He looks up at you, smiling when he notices how you try to hide, eyes darting around the room like that would help you.

Gently, he takes the hand covering your mouth, settling it firmly on his head. He doesn't let go of your wrist until you weave the soft locks through your fingers, scratching at his scalp just like you had earlier. You get an encouraging little smile for it, a soft kiss pressed to your thigh as a reward. His other hand tucking your panties to the side, revealing your hot sticky cunt to him. You clench reflexively when he licks his lips, amethyst eyes finding yours again as he spreads your lips.

Slowly, deliberately, without breaking eye contact, he leans down and kisses your clit. Your mouth falls open because that might just be the hottest thing you've ever seen in your life. You think you might need a million pictures of the way he looks at you as his lips pucker against the sensitive bud. Unfortunately, you don't get to stare at it for too long, as Caleb is as insatiable as he is in love with you. Eyes falling closed as he brings his tongue across your folds, lapping the juices there up like a thirsty dog.

Your fingers curl tightly into his scalp at the sensation, pressing him closer with a pathetic noise. Somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, addicting to a man like Caleb. His mouth dips down to your entrance, a loud slurping ringing in your ears as he drinks up the juices that leaked out from your needy hole. Tongue working in steady rolls, still not quite experienced, but moving exactly like you needed him to. Your clit does not go neglected, nose nudging against it with his eager movements. His head bobbing excitedly with each shameless slurp, and he really does remind you of a dog like this.

When his tongue plunges as deep as he can get it, you whine out his name, thighs clenching around his head. It slides in far too easily, like it was made to be there, which certainly does something for his ego. You lock your feet behind his back, trying to roll your hips into his uneven rhythm with little success. Not that he needed the help, you were already tumbling over the edge when you lifted your hips the first time. Fucking yourself against his face, elongating your orgasm for as long as he allows you to. And he allows you to for a while, long enough that he's able to force a second one out of you in your frenzy.

Only when you slam your head against the cupboard does he force himself back, concern overpowering his need to eat you out until you can't speak. You whine at him, trying to force him back down, but he isn't having it as he checks you over. He laughs at you when he decides that you're fine, pinching your cheek like you were a petulant child and not his very overstimulated, needy girlfriend.

"You want more? You already came twice, pips." He laughs, pressing a wet kiss to your forehead.

Instead of responding, you press your foot to his hard on, taking great satisfaction at the way he hisses. He catches you by your ankle, tugging your legs open so he can stand between them again. You pull him into a heated kiss, scooting dangerously close to the edge of the counter so you can press into him. You feel his resolve crack instantly, kissing you back like you were the very oxygen he needed to breathe.

"I need you inside, please," you murmur into the desperate dance of lips on lips.

Without argument, he tugs himself out of his sweats, pressing himself against your heat, "Since you've been so good, I think I can be nice, just this once."

You gasp as the tip slides between your folds, lubricating himself up with a few thrusts, then sliding into your desperate hole with little resistance. The stretch is accompanied by low whispers in your ear, cooing and coaxing you, "Goooood girl, that's right, you take it so well," and "Breathe, princess, I've got you."

By the time you're done with each other, the pancakes are freezing cold, and Caleb decides it's time to start lunch instead. He's cooking this time.

[bullet-prooflove]

Night Thoughts: Andrew 'Pope' Cody x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @fadeinsol

Summary: You and Pope discuss your fears about becoming a parent.

Companion piece to:

The Professional - Pope meets the love of his life when Smurf hires her to crack a safe.

Ethical Thieving - You introduce Pope to a new skill set.

The Skatepark - Pope reacts badly when you try to share your feelings.

The Octagon - Smurf decides to show you the real Pope Cody.

Two Weeks - Two weeks is too long for Pope to go without you.

Crazy (NSFW) - Pope's always been crazy but now he's also a man in love.

Tomorrow - Pope's family always fuck up the good in his life.

Do Over Day (NSFW) - Pope tries to make up for the day before.

Everything - Pope's family life clashes with your time together.

Positive - Pope didn't expect for it to happen sooner rather than later.

Four Bullets - Smurf finds out about you and Pope, leading to dire consquences.

Misery (feat: Baz Cody) - Baz starts to notice there’s something wrong with Pope.

The Gruffalo - Pope finally lays eyes on you for the first time in months.

Kill The Queen - Pope tries to come to terms with Smurf’s death.

You wake up to the sensation of Pope’s palm smoothing across your stomach, his hand dipping underneath the fabric of that t-shirt of his you’re wearing, his fingertips caressing your bare skin.

“She’s kicking again.” He whispers in the darkness, his voice filled with wonder as he chases the movement. You roll over onto your side, your face inches apart so you can look into his dark eyes. “Does it happen a lot?”

“All the time at night.” You tell him, snuggling back down into your pillow. “It’s something to do with the movement during the day rocking them to sleep.”

“So at night when mommy rests, it becomes an all out party.” He summarises, tickling the space where his daughter nudges against his hand. “Is that why you haven’t been sleeping so good?”

Nothing escapes this man, he’s been back in your life for almost forty eight hours and he’s already picking up on all of your shit. It’s kind of nice in a way because you’ve spent the majority of this pregnancy alone up until now.

“Partly.” You say with a sigh, looking down at the baby bump between the two of you. “The baby, she just brings up some thoughts, ones I haven’t figured out how to make peace with just yet.”

“What kinda thoughts?” He asks, propping his head up on his arm so he can give you his full attention.

“The fact I don’t have a parenting blueprint.” You tell him. His eyebrows furrow into a deep frown as he waits for you to explain. “My mom died when I was seven and my father…” You don’t say anything more than that but Pope knows what you’re alluding too. He was not the kind of role model anyone wants for their daughter. “I just don’t want to fuck her up like the way our parents fucked us up.”

“Well we have a roadmap of what not to do.” Pope tells you, tucking an errant strand of hair back behind your ear. “We already have so much love for her, we read the books, you take vitamins, attend doctors’ appointments. That’s already lightyears ahead of our parents. And the parenting classes will get us more prepared, everything else we’ll be able to figure together. The two of us”-he gestures between you- “we’re a team and we’ll support one another through the tough spots.”

The fact he’s here, saying those words, looking towards the future… You can’t express just how reassuring that is to someone who was a single mom this time last week.

“You have so much faith in the both of us.” You say as his thumb chases over the apple of your cheek. You clasp his hand to your face, your lips ghosting over the hollow of his wrist.

“You always tell me I’m not my history.” He reminds you, his whiskey coloured eyes soft as he looks at you. “You aren’t yours either. The two of us are going to break the cycle, raise our daughter to be happy, let her be a kid until she decides to become the president or an astronaut or whatever the fuck she wants. She’s going to have choices and opportunities that we never dreamed of and that’s because of us, because we decided to be better, do better. We made that decision, that’s how I know we’re going to be good parents.”

“Fuck.” You drawl, your forehead coming to rest upon his. “You’re so good at this already Andy.”

“Yeah?” He asks, his arm encircling your waist, drawing you even closer into the shelter of his form.

“Yeah.” You confirm, as his palms smooth over your back, rubbing soothing circles over your sore mucles. “I think you’re going to be an excellent daddy.”

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[angel-writes-skz-here]

Do You Trust Me?

Bang Chan x F! Reader Synopsis: Your best friend tries to make your day better Warnings: SMUT, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected p in v, praise, light bondage(?) A/N: I need to get finished with orders for Larie's Libations! So be expecting that! I'm also cooking up an event so y'all stay tunned for that! As usual, comment to be added to my tag list Xoxo💋

Your day had been rough. It started off when you bumped into someone at the coffee the shop and both of you spilled your daily caffeine, staining your white blouse and making you late to work.

Then you find out your boss transferred you to a different floor and expected you to move your desk that morning to make room for the replacement. After that, the printer screwed up right as you were printing an important document. Come lunch time you realized you forgot your lunch at home, causing you to eat only a bag of chips.

You shot Chris a message on your lunch break grumbling about how it was a shit day and you couldn’t wait to just chill at home.

After lunch, you go back to your desk only to find that the computer, that had said important documents and information on it, had shut down, not saving anything.

Needless to say, it was a shit day.

So when you walk into the shared apartment with Chris, you’re surprised to see dinner cooked and candles lighting the table.

“What the heck is this?”

“You said you had a bad day, I wanted to try to help.” He shrugs sheepishly. He comes over, slyly taking off your jacket and your purse and putting them away.

“Seriously, how has no woman snatched you up yet?” You ask as you hug him tightly. You and Chris have been friends for the last few years, living together for a year now. It had been working well, until you started to fall for him. It wasn’t hard; Chris is the epitome of a good boyfriend. Attentive, kind, genuinely listens when you talk about your day. He makes you laugh, helps distract you when you need it, and is always there to help when you ask. He’s someone you feel safe with, that you trust and know you can count on.

You both sit down to eat dinner, the silence a little awkward. You can see the wheels in his head turning as he chews a bite of his food.

“What cha thinkin about, roo?” you wink at him.

“Huh, oh,” his face turns a light shade of pink, “Nothin, I um,” he sighs.

“Y/n,” he asks and you look up over at him from the rim of your glass.

“Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“Do. You. Trust. Me?” he asks again.

“With my life,” you answer honestly. He takes a deep breath and stands up, holding out his hand to you. You look from his face to his hand back to his face before hesitantly taking his hand and standing up. He pulls you close to him, the height difference not much, just a few inches or so, and he softly presses his lips to yours. You stand there for a moment, eyes wide, lips frozen.

“You said you trust me,” he says, voice an octave deeper.

“Let me help you relax,” he mumbles against your lips, hands resting on your hips. Your eyes flutter closed, moving your lips against his as your hands rest on either side of his neck. The kiss quickly turns heated, passion exchanged in every movement, tongues daring to dance together in something that’s way over the line of friendship.

“Chris,” you whimper. You feel him smile against your lips. He pulls you to your bedroom.

“Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted this,” he says as he gently pushes you down on the bed. His eyes are dark; lustful and hungry.

“How many nights I heard you moan because of your own hands.” He says as he hovers over you.

“How many nights my cock would throb and I’d have to get off, imagining it was you on top of me.” He groans in your ear, making you shiver. He slips off his shirt before leaning back down, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

Without even thinking you dip your head down, capturing his thumb in your mouth, lightly sucking on it, tongue swirling around the tip of it. His eyes widen, watching your mouth suck and his pants start to tent. He pulls his thumb out of your mouth, before raising your shirt over your head.

“Fuck,” he breathes as his eyes stare at your chest, “Look at you, so fucking perfect,” he groans as he places kisses down your neck. Your fingers thread into his hair, his teeth sinking into the flesh.

“God I wanna taste you so bad,” he almost whimpers in your ear. Your face flushes.

“Wanna feel you around my tongue,” he says as you whine, hips involuntarily shifting toward him. He notices and chuckles.

“Don’t worry, baby girl, Daddy’s got you.” He says before trailing more kisses down to your chest. He kisses the top of each breast, tongue darting out over your skin. You sigh in satisfaction, watching him, cradling his head as he kisses just between them.

His hands reach behind you, slipping the bra off. He moans, mouth automatically going around your left nipple, flicking it with his tongue. You bite your lip to keep from moaning, eyes closing to concentrate and Chan bites down.

“Ah,” you jump.

“Let me hear you,” he smirks and goes back to flicking his tongue and you oblige, letting out the noise. His other hand comes up to pinch and lightly twists, causing your mouth to fall open, before he switches and gives the right one the same kind of attention.

“Chris,” you whimper feeling your panties grow damp. You figure he must know what you want because he kisses down your stomach.

“You know,” he says before kissing your stomach.

“I’ve dreamt,” he kisses your flesh again, “About having my head between your legs,” he says before nipping at the skin of your hip. Your walls clench around nothing at his words.

“Dreamt of how you taste. Dreamt of hearing you moan my name like it’s the only thing you know,” he says as he pulls down your pants.

“And tonight,” he says before planting a kiss to your clothed core, “I’m not stopping,” another kiss, “Until I hear it. M’gonna make you feel so good baby,” he says and kisses the inside of your thigh. He flattens his tongue and drags it up the damp cloth covering you.

He feels you squirm, watching as your hips roll involuntarily.

“Patience baby, we got all night.”

“Chris I have work tomorrow,” you whine.

“If you’re able to walk tomorrow, I didn’t do my job.” He smirks before hooking his fingers into the fabric and pulling it down.

“God you’re so beautiful,” he says before diving in. His tongue is slow at first, teasing you with slight pressure to your clit, causing you to gasp and sit up, better watching him between your thighs. He chuckles against you, adding just a bit more pressure.

“Better enjoy this, I won’t be gentle all night,” he groans before lapping at your entrance, tasting you. He moans something sinful, eyes rolling back in his head.

“Knew you tasted good,” he says against you as he hooks his arms around your thighs, fully determined to make you see stars. His tongue applies forceful pressure, making you gasp as he curls it up and flicks it back and forth, the sensation causing your eyes to close, and body to go slack against the headboard. Chan flits his eyes up to you, smiling to himself when he sees the look of pleasure and relaxation on your face.

He teases your entrance with his finger, slowly inserting it and curling it upwards, hitting your sweet spot each time.

“Chris,” you moan out, hips once again moving against him as he continues his assault on your clit.

You whimper as he quickly adds another.

“Fuck,” you say as he moves them quickly, hitting the spot perfectly; tongue like lightening as your body tenses.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” you mumble, hand in his hair pushing his face into you.

“Fall apart baby,” he mumbles against you. You gasp, body shaking as you feel the heat in your stomach dissipate and your body shake against him.

Your chest rises and falls as Chris works you through your orgasm, slowly pumping his fingers as your walls attempt to suck them in.

“Such a good girl for me,” he praises kissing his way back up to you. His hand comes around your throat, causing your heart to tick right back up before his lips slam onto yours, rough and needy.

You whimper against him, desperate to touch and feel more of him.

“Chris please,” you whimper against him. He chuckles before helping you flip onto your stomach.

“I didn’t even have tell you to beg,” he whispers in your ear, smirk evident in his voice.

“That needy, huh? My needy little slut?” you groan as your cheeks tint a shade of pink. You hear his belt come undone and your body rushes with excitement.

“Hands,” he says as he positions himself on your back. You put your hands behind your back and feel his belt come around them, securing your wrists together.

“I told you I wouldn’t go easy all night.” He mumbles in your ear. He drops his pants, positions your hips up and teases your folds by rubbing his head up and down them.

“Christopher,” you warn as you desperately try to move your hips back. He audibly laughs at you.

“You’re in no position to negotiate, love.” He says and you can only imagine the dimpled smile on his face on right now as your cheek is pressed into the mattress.

You groan again and roll your eyes as he pushes in hard and fast making you choke out a moan. Chan smirks, drawing himself out slowly, only to slam into you again, hitting that beautiful spot inside you.

“God,” you choke out, eyes screwing shut. Chan sets a brutal pace, causing your forehead to dig into the mattress, breathing becoming labored quickly. Chris can feel your walls squeezing him, signaling your close, he slams into you even faster, helping your orgasm along by rubbing your clit. Your mouth opens in a silent cry, walls sucking his cock in.

Chris moans at the pressure as you come undone, but he isn’t finished.

“Fuck,” he groans as his hand wraps around your throat, pulling you up against him, fucking into you, body limp in his arms, legs slightly shaking.

“You can give me one more, yeah? I know you’ve got it in you. You make yourself cum at least twice in a night, so let’s see if we can break that record. Think you can do that for me?” he grunts as he kisses up your shoulder to your neck; his breathing now becoming more labored.

“Yes, daddy,” you whimper as you feel him slow down just a little, teasing you, before pushing you down on the bed, his back hovering directly over yours with long deep thrusts.

“You take me so fucking well,” he says with a kiss to your shoulder blade.

“Make me feel so damn good,” he grunts.

“And to think, you let other guys do what I could’ve been doing this whole time,” he grits his teeth, his pace picking up little by little until its punishing.

“I’m better than them, though. I can make your body tick by simply looking at you the right way,” he taunts with a cocky attitude.

“Isn’t that right, baby?” He asks and his palm lands on your ass cheek. You whimper as he lands another.

“Yes,” you call out; the sting a stark contrast to the pleasure.

“Fuck you’re gonna make me cum,” you whimper out, eyes screwed tight. You feel Chan slow down once again, and the restraints come off your wrists. Your arms cheer with relief as you’re able to bring them down and you flip onto your back, Chan repositioning himself, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“Fuck you’re so beautiful underneath me,” he murmurs as he slides in, causing both of you to moan together in harmony.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispers as his pace is slow and deep once more.

“Wanted to feel you around me,” he sighs as your walls flutter.

“Wanted to call you mine so many times and tell those losers you’d bring over to fuck off,” he says before dipping his head down and connecting your lips, hips rocking faster, his hand going to play with your puffy clit. Your breath hitches, and your noses touch as you feel your body begin to stiffen quickly.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers in your ear as his cock throbs.

“I’ve got you, baby. Cum for me,” he drawls. Your arms go around his neck, back arching into him as your nails go down his muscular back, drawing red lines down it as your walls clamp around his cock.

Chan moans, hips stilling as he cums with you. The two of you stay frozen like that for a moment, the initial shock of what just happened weighting over you. The two of you look into each other’s eyes. For what feels like hours, you stare at each other, unsure of what to say or what’s ok to feel.

Chan is the first to move. He moves some hair away from your face as you settle against the mattress, the moment surreal.

“You ok?” he asks cautiously. The tone of his voice calms your fears. A lazy smile spreads across your face before you bring his face down to yours.

“Better than ok.” You smile just before kissing his lips. Chan smiles into the kiss and pulls himself out of you, both of you wincing slightly. He looks at you, dripping with his seed.

“That’s so hot,” he whispers to himself as he slowly forces himself away to grab a towel. He comes back a little bit later, longer than normal, helping you clean up, and helps you stand, legs wobbly and body sore.

“Lets get you cleaned up, yeah?” you nod lazily, your body spent.

You walk into the bathroom, candles are lit and a small tray filled with snacks and water in sitting across the tub with warm steamy water underneath it.

“Come on, it’ll soothe your muscles,” he whispers in your ear.

“You’re joining me, right?” you ask almost innocently.

“If you want me to,” he says, not making eyes contact with you.

“Of course I do,” you whisper turning around and placing your hand on his cheek. He smiles and leans into it, kissing your palm.

You both step into the water, the warmth enveloping your muscles. You sink down into the tub, Chan behind you, rubbing your arms trying to help them relax.

“So how about you call out tomorrow,” Chan says in your ear, “And you let me pamper you, hmm?” he asks.

“I have to go back to work eventually.”

“I mean, you could just let me take care of you,” he says with a kiss to your shoulder before reaching around and opening one of the snacks for you.

“You know I like having my own money.”

“You don’t even hardly pay for anything anyways.”

“Chris,” you begin, “That’s because you always beat me to it.”

“Just one day,” he says.

“A three-day weekend,” he encourages.

“We can do whatever you want.” He entices. You blush and rest against him.

“Fine, I doubt I’ll be able to walk properly anyway, considering I looked like a baby deer just getting to the bathroom,” you joke.

Tags: @breakmeoff @thelovelybireader @crystal005 @velvetmoonlght

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[nerdycheol]

A Seat Across from You

☘︎ pairings: choi seungcheol x reader [afab]

☘︎ warnings: strangers to lovers(?), fluff, a lots and lots of slowburn, reader is annoyingly dumb, miscommunication, too much running away & avoiding

☘︎ wc: 9.5k

(a/n): FOR YUKI'S 100 MILESTONE EVENT!! do check out everyone else's work too, they're all are amazing!! I had sm fun writing this. thankyou lexi (@ikeukiss ) for this amazinnggg banner <33 also thankyou to the ones who brainstormed ideas with me calli (@hhaechansmoless), yuki (@eclipsaria) daisy (@flowerwonu) ily'all smm :3 it was originally supposed to be this long, but i wanted to make it as natural as possible :| so forgive me and hope you like it ;) this is not proof read so ignore slight mistakes. tagging alaska (@cherry-zip) because i love them

playlist recommendation 🎵: traingazing-sam wills, sunny-rocco, from the start- laufey, dive- olivia dean, fool-kidsnot$aints, fall in love-jukjae, lily of the valley- daniel, l-o-v-e -rocco, hold me never let go- rocco

(inspired by traingazing- sam wills)

dividers by @cafekitsune

i’d love to hear your thoughts, i love reading your comments and seeing your reblogs! 💗

DAY 1

Morning comes the same way it always does — too soon, too cold, too reluctant to let you ease into it.

You woke up ten minutes late today. Not enough to send you into panic, but just enough to make the morning feel a bit rushed. Your sweater slightly mismatches your coat, but you tell yourself it’s fine. Your bag feels heavier than usual, though you can’t remember adding anything new to it.

The streets are damp from last night’s rain, and a few early risers move with purpose, clutching coffee cups like lifelines. You walk the familiar path to the station, following the same cracks in the pavement you always do.

The train is late today. Two minutes, maybe three. Enough to remind you that the world doesn’t run on your schedule.

When it finally arrives, you step in, immediately greeted by the usual low murmur of conversation, the shuffling of feet against the floor, the faint scent of someone’s too-strong cologne. You shift your bag higher on your shoulder, scanning the car for a spot, eyes moving without much thought.And that’s when you see him. He stands by the farthest door, one shoulder pressed against the glass, gaze turned outward.

You don’t know why you pause. Maybe it’s the way the early light spills across his face, casting faint shadows along the bridge of his nose and his sharp jawline. Or maybe it’s the way he seems entirely detached from the rush around him, earphones in, lost in something only he can hear.

He wears a brown high-neck sweater, the kind that looks soft even from a distance. One hand is tucked into his pocket, the other wrapped around the strap of a worn black backpack. His expression is unreadable—not bored, not impatient, just… distant.

You don’t think he notices you.

It’s silly, the way you keep looking. He’s just another passenger, someone you’ll probably never speak to, never know. But still, you watch him for a moment longer, as if memorizing this version of the morning before the spell breaks.

A man steps in front of you, shifting to adjust his briefcase. The moment lasts only a second, but when you glance back.

He’s gone.

You blink, scanning the space where he had been, but now, it’s empty.

For some reason, the thought lingers as the train lurches forward. You shake it off, exhaling softly. It’s nothing. Just another passing commuter, another stranger among many others.

As you grip the pole tightly, you wonder

Will he be here tomorrow?

DAY 2

The train doors slide open with a mechanical sigh, and you step in. Your usual spot is taken today by an older woman clutching a canvas tote, her head tilted forward in light sleep. So you move a little further down, fingers curling around the overhead rail.

And then you see him. You don’t mean to look, not really. But there he is again, standing in the exact same place as yesterday — leaning against the glass panel near the doors, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. Today, a book rests in his grip, fingers idly turning a page as his gaze flickers across the words.

You wonder, briefly, if he ever misses his stop. If he ever gets so lost in thought that he forgets where he’s going.

The thought lingers for a second too long.

A jolt in the tracks sends the train swaying, and you glance away quickly, feeling oddly self-conscious. It’s nothing. Just another passenger in the sea of strangers.

And yet, when you step off at your stop, you catch yourself glancing back. Just once.

_

DAY 10

It’s been ten days since you first saw him. Ten mornings of stepping onto the same train, gripping the same pole, and watching him from the corner of your eye.

Every day, he’s there — leaning against the glass panel, the same sky-blue book in his hands, which makes you wonder if he ever really reads it. His hands are always in his pockets; sometimes, his gaze turns toward the window.

You don’t know when you start expecting to see him.

He’s just supposed to be another passenger, another face in the blur of morning commuters. But now… now, the moment you step onto the train, your eyes move without thinking, searching and waiting.

The next day comes like all the others. But lately, there’s one thing that makes the mornings feel less mundane. 

You find yourself on the platform, scanning the crowd before you even realize what you’re doing. Maybe you’ll never know his name, never exchange a single word, but that doesn’t stop your mind from conjuring a thousand possibilities, fleeting thoughts that leave you restless.

The train arrives with a familiar hum, and as you step inside, your eyes instinctively seek him out.

There he is.

Standing in his usual spot, clad in a high-neck sweater and loose-fitted trousers. But today, something is missing — his book.

Instead of reading, he simply watches the city blur past, his reflection faintly mirrored in the window. One hand is tucked into his pocket, the other grips the strap of a worn brown suitcase.

And then his head tilts slightly.

For a brief second, a flicker of something unfamiliar stirs in your chest.

Is he looking at you?

The thought unsettles you more than it should. Your fingers tighten around your phone as you glance away too quickly, pretending to check the screen. A silly reaction. He’s probably just lost in thought, staring past you like people often do.

Even as you tell yourself that, the feeling still lingers.

DAY 11

You’re not a superstitious person. You never believe what people say about black cats crossing your path bringing bad luck. On the contrary, you feel good things happen to you when you see a black cat.

And weirdly enough, the man on the train feels like your black cat. It’s not that he actually brings good luck. It’s just that your day seems a little better whenever you see him.

Today, you oversleep. Miss your alarm. Burn your toast. Everything feels five steps behind as you shove your shoes on and fly out the door, heart pounding at the thought of the impending scolding from your manager for being late.

You’re breathless. Disoriented. Out of rhythm.

The train is already at the platform by the time you arrive, and you squeeze in just before the doors seal shut.

But it’s okay, you think — as long as I see him.

And then, your gaze lifts instinctively.

He’s not there.

Your eyes dart across the carriage — once, twice, again. Nothing. Just faces you don’t recognize. None of them are him.

Your heart sinks, and it shouldn’t. You know it shouldn’t. People have lives. Schedules change. Trains get missed.

Still, you lean your head against the glass, suddenly aware of how loud everything feels in his absence. The usual quiet thrill has dulled.

You spend the ride staring out the window. Trying to mimic the way he does it. Trying to imagine what he sees in the blur of grey buildings and sleepy streets.

It doesn’t work.

You get off at your stop and walk a little slower.

Funny, how much space a stranger can take up in your head.

_

DAY 13

Today, you see him again. And somehow, that alone makes you feel like the day might not be so bad after all.

You can’t find a seat in the morning rush, so you claim a spot near the door, your shoulder resting against the cool glass panel.

Just like any other day, he enters.

Today, he’s in a dark blue satin shirt tucked neatly under a black trench coat. He takes his usual place across from you, setting his suitcase down by his foot before pulling out the same sky-blue book he reads every day.

You squint slightly to catch the title — Ikigai. You make a quiet mental note to buy it later.

The train halts at the next station, and a new wave of commuters pours in. The space tightens. You try to brace yourself, but the crowd pushes you forward.

Your shoulder bumps into someone — him.

You freeze, flustered, about to apologize when he looks up from his book.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice deep and smooth like velvet.

You nod, maybe a little too quickly, mumbling a quiet thanks before turning your face away, hoping the heat on your cheeks isn’t too obvious.

And then he smiles. A perfect little curve that deepens into a dimple.

Oh man.

If you weren’t in deep before — you are now.

DAY 20

It takes a whole twenty days for him to finally notice you.

Like any other day, he enters the train and occupies his spot near the door. This time, you happen to be standing beside him. Like clockwork, he pulls out the book, slides the bookmark free, and holds it between two fingers; eyes moving smoothly over the pages.

The train screeches to an abrupt stop between stations, and the lights overhead flicker once before settling into a dim, humming glow.

Around you, the usual groans begin. A man sighs dramatically. Someone taps their foot like it might make the train move faster. The lady next to you mutters something under her breath about being late again.

The volume of your earphones must be louder than you think, because he looks at you and asks, “Laufey?”

You let out a sigh, glance at your watch to check the time, and look up instinctively because he’s here today too.

Just in time, his gaze lifts and finds yours. The corner of his mouth quirks up, and you can’t help it — you smile back.

Not entirely sure he’s talking to you, you pull out one earbud and mumble, “Sorry?”

He gives a little smile before repeating the question — and god, that damn smile will be the end of you.

You don’t put your earphones back in. Somehow, it feels rude now. Your gaze flickers around the coach, searching for something, anything to keep the conversation going.

“Ikigai! I’ve read it. It’s nice,” you blurt out, nodding toward the book in his hand.

“Really?” he says, sounding pleasantly surprised. “I haven’t met many people who really understand it. It’s nice to find someone who appreciates it. What part did you like the most?”

Idiot. Why would you say that? 

You haven’t even finished the book. You bought it on a whim, sure — but gave up halfway through because it was too dense for your brain to grasp at 10 p.m. on a work night.

“Uhh… the… the living part.”

What the hell does that even mean? Could you make a bigger fool of yourself?

“That’s… interesting,” he replies, polite but clearly unconvinced. You can feel the moment your credibility starts slipping away.

“I mean, I really like the concept behind it,” you add quickly, grasping at straws. “You know, the idea of ‘the happiness of always being busy’… things like that.”

You let out a nervous laugh, hoping it masks the rising panic. He’s still looking at you, curious. That unnerving kind of silence that feels like he’s trying to decide whether you’re genuinely insightful or completely full of it.

Just when you’re about to change the subject or fake a sudden phone call, he smiles again. A little smaller this time. Softer.

“That is a nice thought,” he says, his voice warm now. “I think that’s what I liked too.”

You blink. He’s letting you off the hook?

Relief floods through you, and you feel yourself relax just a little, your shoulders easing out of the tense shrug you didn’t even realize you were holding.

“You probably understood it better than I did, though,” you say with a sheepish grin.

“Maybe,” he says with a shrug, “but I haven’t finished it either.”

“You’re evil,” you mutter under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

You stare at him, stunned for a beat — then laugh.

Of course he hasn’t. Of course he let you sweat for a full minute before throwing you a lifeline.

He chuckles, and the sound settles somewhere low in your chest.

For the rest of the ride, you don’t put your earphones back in.

DAY 30

You finally get to know his name. Seungcheol.  It suits him, you think.

You’ve started greeting each other every time you meet. You don’t talk much, just small conversations here and there about your day, the weather, or whatever comes up.

At some point, you admit you gave up on Ikigai because it was a bit too complex for your “small brain,” as you put it. He laughs at that. Really laughs but ever since, he’s taken to explaining parts of the book to you whenever you meet.

And you can’t help but think… if you’d known him during your college years, you probably would’ve passed every exam with flying colors.

You find out that he works in finance and surprisingly, his office is near yours. The revelation makes you wonder why he never gets off at the same station as you, but you don’t ask.

Some things feel too delicate to question just yet.

One morning, you notice a small Captain America keychain dangling from the zipper of his suitcase — a new addition. Curious, you ask if he likes Marvel.

He laughs, shaking his head. “My nephew stuck it on and insisted I keep it. I haven’t really watched many of the movies.”

You gasp dramatically, loud enough that a few passengers turn to look. “You’ve never watched Marvel?!”

He winces, grinning. “Maybe one or two? I don’t remember much.”

From that moment on, your train rides take on a new rhythm. You start explaining the entire Marvel storyline, movie by movie, diving into characters and chaotic timelines, your hands animated and your eyes bright with excitement.

And Seungcheol? He listens. Really listens — eyes on you, smile tugging at the corners of his lips, occasionally asking questions or teasing you gently when your passion makes you trip over your own words.

_

DAY 40

Lately, Seungcheol starts getting off at the same station as you.

The first time it happens, you shoot him a curious glance, unsure if it’s just a coincidence. But when it happens again, and then again, you can’t help but ask.

“Sorry if it seems like I’m intruding, but… why didn’t you get off at the earlier station?” you ask, brows slightly raised.

Today, as the train slows to your stop, you notice he doesn’t move toward the doors like he usually does.

Instead, he waits beside you.

He catches your glance and smiles casually. “I used to get off early to grab coffee. Their brews were the best I’ve ever had.”

“So… no coffee today?”

He shrugs, hands tucked in his coat pockets. “I woke up early to get it before the train. That way, I could ride with you.”

Your heart thumps a little. Not enough to show on your face, but enough that you feel it in your throat.

You look away, trying to hide your smile.

“Ah… well,” you say lightly, “must be some really good coffee.”

“Second best part of my morning,” he replies without missing a beat.

DAY 46

Walks with Seungcheol are part of your routine now.

You used to drag yourself out of bed to start the day, but lately, you wake up on your own even before your alarm rings.

You learn he has a dog. Kkuma. A pretty little Coton de Tuléar with soft white fur and a habit of stealing the spotlight. He goes on evening runs with her every Sunday, and almost without fail, he sends you a picture afterward. Kkuma, dressed in a tiny hoodie or a frilly bow.

At some point, the two of you exchange numbers. It starts with simple texts — “I reached safely” and “See you tomorrow” — but quickly grows into something more.

Now, you text nearly every day, even though you see each other just as often.

And while Kkuma is adorable, you can’t help but zoom in just a little to catch a glimpse of the man holding the leash, his messy sunday hair. The hint of a smile he doesn’t realize he’s wearing.

__

It’s pouring today.

You’re already halfway to the subway when the first drops begin to fall. Too light to worry about, at least at first so you keep walking, brushing damp hair from your face as the drizzle picks up.

Seungcheol boards the train two stops after yours. And the moment he enters, his eyes scan the crowd searching until he sees you. Then he makes his way over.

You talk about your weekends — easy conversation, soft laughter. It makes the ride feel quicker than usual.

When you step out of the station, you realize you forgot to check the weather. The rain’s still coming down, steady and unrelenting. You don’t have an umbrella.

Seungcheol, like some savior from a drama scene, wordlessly opens his umbrella and holds it over your head. You offer to carry it, but he refuses. So you ask to hold his suitcase instead.

But a few steps later, he stops. With his right hand, he adjusts the umbrella and then with his left, gently pulls you closer, tucking you beneath the canopy again.

You walk side by side, shoulders brushing now and then.

After the third time, you shift slightly away, not wanting to invade his space.

Your arm brushes his.

“If you get sick,” he says, eyes forward, voice casual, “who am I supposed to go to work with?”

You don’t say anything, just look up at him and smile. But you don’t move away either.

DAY 50

You and Seungcheol start growing closer.

It isn’t just morning walks anymore. Sometimes, you stop by a café after work, sit across from each other with drinks in hand and talk about everything and nothing. You walk home together too, shoulders bumping every now and then, especially when the sidewalk narrows.

If one of you is running late, the other waits—no matter how crowded the station gets.

Even the metro rides become something you look forward to. You talk about dinner plans or what shows you’re binge-watching. Some days you just share a playlist, sitting in companionable silence as the train rocks gently beneath your feet.

The evenings are always busier than the mornings. Too crowded to sit together, too loud to talk. So you both end up standing on either side of the door, listening to the same song through your AirPods, synced through Bluetooth. It becomes a little ritual.

Still, you hate the space between you.

It’s silly. Just a few feet. But Seungcheol has this quiet warmth to him—like being near him makes the train feel less suffocating, the day a little lighter. And on the days when the coach is packed and you have to stand apart, you miss that.

Then, one day, you fish into your bag and pull out your wired earphones instead.

Seungcheol notices immediately. “What happened to the other ones?”

“Oh… um, they broke,” you say, not really looking at him.

He doesn’t ask anything else. Just smiles and reaches for one side of the wire, placing the left earbud in his ear while you take the right.

You stand side by side that day, close enough that your arms touch. Close enough to hear him hum under his breath. And when the train jolts forward suddenly, he reaches out instinctively to steady you—fingers curling briefly around your wrist before letting go.

Neither of you say anything about it. You just stand there, sharing music.

And somehow, the ride home feels shorter than ever.

That night, after dinner and a long shower, you flop onto your bed and reach for your phone.

No messages.

You stare at the screen for a moment before opening your playlist—the one you listened to with Seungcheol on the train.

You scroll down and tap on one song. The one that was playing when his fingers brushed yours.

You don’t think too much about it—you just send it to him. No caption. Just the link.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzes.

Seungcheol [11:47 PM] good taste also… I liked this part the best [audio snippet attached]

You play it. It’s the chorus.

Your phone buzzes again.

Seungcheol [11:48 PM] reminds me of train rides and someone hogging the right earbud 👀

You smile, cheeks warming.

You [9:49 PM] i offered to switch sides you’re the one with territorial issues

Another reply, instantly.

Seungcheol [9:49 PM] fine, next time I’ll hold the wire hostage

You laugh, phone resting against your chest.

DAY 69

You don’t expect to see Seungcheol on a Sunday.

Today is supposed to be all about the Han River. There’s a lantern festival happening, something your friends have been buzzing about for weeks. If it were up to you, you’d spend the entire Sunday curled up on your couch, binge-watching Friends for the third time this year.

But your friends are determined. They show up at your apartment in full force, barging in with iced coffee and snacks. Apparently, they don’t trust you not to cancel again.

And honestly? Fair enough.

Last year, you claimed you had “urgent office work.” The year before that, you said your grandmother was sick and needed to be taken care of. 

(Sorry, Grandma. You’re doing great. I love you.)

So here you are dressed, dragged out, and mentally preparing yourself to be social for the next few hours.

Your group decides to head to the river early to avoid the crowds and grab lanterns before they sell out. After a long walk under the sun, everyone is tired and hungry, so you volunteer to run to the convenience store and grab some ramen.

What you don’t expect is to bump into Seungcheol doing the exact same thing.

And judging by the surprised look on his face, he doesn’t expect to see you either.

He lifts a hand in a small wave, his voice matching it in volume. “Hey.”

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, Jihyo appears at your side, arms full with four cans of beer.

“Oh, hello,” she says, giving Seungcheol a polite nod before turning to you. “Who’s this?”

“Oh, we go to work to—”

But Seungcheol doesn’t get the chance to finish.

“You go to work with someone?!” Jihyo gasps dramatically. “Wow, didn’t think you had friends outside of us.”

Before you can react, a blond-haired man strolls up to Seungcheol’s side.

“Cheol, there’s no space outside.”

“Then we’ll just sit here—” Seungcheol begins, but Jihyo is faster.

“You guys can join us!”

“Oh, that would be lovely,” the blond man grins. “Sitting with pretty ladies and eating good food? Count me in.”

“Jeonghan—” Seungcheol starts, but again, Jihyo cuts him off.

“This is going to be so fun!”

Just like that, she walks off with Jeonghan, chatting like they’ve known each other for years. You can’t help but envy her a little, for how effortlessly she talks to new people.

That leaves you and Seungcheol standing alone, both a little thrown off but smiling anyway.

You exchange a glance, share a quiet smile, then follow after the two of them, side by side.

By the time you all finish eating, the sun has dipped low in the sky. The festival is about to begin—lanterns being unpacked, children running around with glowing sticks, couples picking spots near the river.

You and Seungcheol haven’t talked much since the ramen store encounter. Not because anything is wrong, but because suddenly, things feel… different.

Awkward in a new way.

Even though you’ve known him for a while now, even though you’ve shared coffee, playlists, and half your mornings—something about seeing him here, outside your usual rhythm, throws you off.

You keep catching each other’s eyes and looking away just as quickly, only to glance back a moment later. Each time your eyes meet, he gives you a small smile. You return it, cheeks warm.

The boys couldn’t buy the lanterns because all sold out early, so you decided to share yours.

The six of you split into groups to light and lift the lanterns—Jihyo and Nayeon pair up, Jeonghan and Joshua team together, and that, of course, leaves you and Seungcheol.

You sit on the grass with the lantern between you, a set of markers in hand.

“Should I draw something meaningful or just… stars?” you ask, uncapping a pen.

“Stars are meaningful,” Seungcheol says, kneeling beside you.

You smile and begin sketching— tiny stars, a moon, a little ramen bowl in the corner for fun. Seungcheol adds a small Kkuma doodle near the bottom. Your hands brush once. Neither of you moves away.

When it’s finally time to lift the lantern, you both stand, holding it gently between you. Around you, dozens of lanterns floating into the sky, glowing orange and soft against the inky blue.

“Ready?” he asks, glancing at you not at the lantern.

You nod. “One, two, three…”

You let go.

And for a second, your gaze follows the lantern.

But his stays on you.

The sky is dark and clear, making every light stand out sharply. Lanterns float up one by one, glowing softly in warm shades of orange and gold. They move slowly, carried by the breeze, flickering light. The river below mirrors them perfectly, like the sky has dipped down to meet the water. It’s calm, almost still, just the soft rustle of grass and the low hum of people watching in silence.

The sky sparkles above you, but you feel the warmth of his eyes more than the lantern lights.

_

Later that night, back home, your phone buzzed with a message from Jihyo.

It was a photo.

You and Seungcheol standing shoulder to shoulder, watching the lantern rise. The light from the flame illuminated your faces, casting a glow that made the photo look straight out of the Tangled movie.

Then another message follows.

Jihyo [11:59 pm]  you & your lover boy 💗

You roll your eyes, already typing a response.

You [typing…] “it’s not like that—”

Before you could even hit send, another message pops up.

Jihyo [12:00 am]  “and don’t even try to say no. i’ve seen the way you look at each other.”

You stare at the screen, speechless.

Because, maybe you don’t really want to deny it.

DAY 70

Jihyo’s words stay with you the whole night. You keep reaching for your phone, opening it just to stare at that photo again. You don’t see it, the so-called look Seungcheol is giving you—not the way Jihyo describes it.

Still, it’s enough to keep you tossing and turning, caught between curiosity and denial.

When you wake up, there are faint dark circles under your eyes. You even stare at yourself in the mirror, wondering if it’s actually possible to get dark circles overnight.

You start your day later than usual. Not because you oversleep. No, you’ve been awake for a while—but because you’ve been trying to avoid Seungcheol. You time your routine to reach the station half an hour late, thinking—no, hoping he’s already gone.

You aren’t ready to face him. Not after everything in your head starts sounding like Jihyo’s voice.

But of course, life has other plans.

Seungcheol is still there—standing on the platform, eyes scanning the crowd like a puppy trying to find its owner. And when he finally spots you, his face lights up instantly. He waves too eagerly, too wide and jogs over to meet you.

“Oh! Seungcheol,” you say, caught off guard.

“Hey!” he grins. “I was this close to calling you.”

“Why didn’t you go?” you ask. “Won’t you be late?”

“It’s fine,” he shrugs. “Just a few minutes.”

“Seungcheol. I was thirty minutes late. That’s not just a few minutes.”

He smiles, almost like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I wanted to go with you.”

And just like that—your heart does that stupid thing again. The thing where it thumps in your chest a little too loudly, like it’s trying to remind you you’re not as unaffected as you pretend to be.

You look away, down at your shoes, anywhere but at him.

Because Jihyo might’ve been wrong about the look. But you aren’t so sure about yours.

_

When it’s time to get off work, you make some excuse that you have to stay over longer because of some pending work and ask him to not wait for you.

To which he replies with a pout emoji and an ‘okay’ with it.

DAY 74

Over the next few days, you try to avoid him—subtly. At least, you think it’s subtle. But apparently, you aren’t as discreet as you’d hoped. Because on the third day, Seungcheol texts you, asking if you are avoiding him, if anything is wrong, or if he did something wrong.

You stare at the message for a long time, guilt creeping in.

You don’t mean to hurt him. Truly, you don’t. But the space helps. You need those few days to gather your thoughts, to figure out what’s going on inside your own head.

And somewhere in that quiet, you realize something.

You might actually like Seungcheol.

Not just the morning walks or the shared playlists or his little smile when your eyes meet. Him.

And now, all you can do is hope—really hope that Jihyo has been right all along about the way he looks at you.

So you decide not to avoid him anymore. And also maybe try to come clean about your feelings.

_

DAY 75

You wear your pink skirt and a white off-shoulder top today—the one Jihyo swears makes you look like an angel. You wake up extra early, wanting to take your time getting ready. Something different from your usual pencil skirt and tucked-in blouse. A little blush, soft liner, your favorite lip tint. Nothing too dramatic, but just enough to make you feel… pretty.

Because today, you decide. You are going to confess to Seungcheol.

You are nervous, no doubt about that. But mixed in with the nerves is something else—something bright and fluttery. A little thrill at the thought that this could be the day everything changes.

It feels like either the last day you’ll see Seungcheol as just a friend… or the last time you’ll ever see him.

When you reach the station, he’s already there. He hasn’t noticed you yet, which gives you a quiet moment to take him in.

He looks good. Too good for a regular weekday.

A crisp black shirt tucked into slate grey pants, sleeves rolled up just enough to show his forearms. His hair is slightly messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it while waiting. He has one hand in his pocket and the other holding a coffee, eyes scanning the platform casually.

You walk over and gently tap his shoulder.

He turns, smiling. “Hi—”

Then his eyes widen slightly, his smile freezing for a second before softening into something warmer.

“Woah… you look amazing. Is there any occasion today?” he asks. “Wait, is it your birthday?”

You shake your head, shy. “No. I just… felt like wearing this.”

He tilts his head slightly, still smiling. “Well, you look really pretty.”

You mutter a quiet thank you, cheeks already heating up. Before you can say anything more, the train arrives, pulling into the platform with a gust of wind and that familiar screech of brakes. You both step in together, falling into your usual routine—music, small talk, the shared comfort of standing close.

Later, as you walk out of the station toward your offices, Seungcheol glances over.

“Hey… would you mind coming with me somewhere after work?” he asks.

“Where?” you ask, surprised.

“I need to buy a gift. For someone.”

You blink. Is he buying something for you? But that doesn’t make sense. Why would he take you along to pick your own gift?

Still, you nod. “Sure.”

—

You manage to finish your work quickly and leave the office earlier than usual. Outside, leaning casually against the building wall, is Seungcheol—head tilted down, focused on his phone.

He looks effortlessly handsome. Same shirt from the morning, sleeves pushed up a little higher now, hair ruffled even more from the long day. He glances up as you walk over.

“Hey,” you greet, and he slides his phone into his pocket.

“Hey,” he replies, smiling like he’s been waiting for you.

You fall into step beside him, the two of you making your way to wherever this little errand of his will lead.

The shop is located on the corner of an alleyway. No wonder you’ve never seen it before. Inside, it’s small but cozy, filled with shelves lined with candles, handmade accessories, tiny notebooks, and other gift-y things that feel both thoughtful and random. Seungcheol walks ahead, scanning the displays carefully. You trail behind, heart beating just a little too fast.

He eventually makes his way to the counter and leans in slightly, speaking to the worker.

“Do you know what would be a good gift for a lady?” he asks, voice polite.

The worker looks up. “What age range are we talking about?”

“Around 25?” he replies casually.

You don’t wait to hear the rest.

You quickly turn away and wander to the far end of the shop, pretending to browse a shelf of overpriced bookmarks.

Your stomach drops.

Of course he’s taken. Why wouldn’t he be?

You feel like an idiot. A man this kind, this funny, this good-looking—how could he possibly be single? You scold yourself internally for even letting the idea of confessing take root.

You don’t know what you feel more—embarrassed that you almost made a move, or heartbroken that he’s already someone else’s.

Maybe you should be grateful. At least you haven’t actually said anything. You can still keep the friendship. Things can stay the same.

Right?

Even if all you want right now is to go home, bury yourself in a blanket, and scream into your pillow.

DAY 87

You start avoiding Seungcheol again. This time, it isn’t subtle.

You don’t reply to his texts. When he messages asking, “Are you avoiding me again?”, all you can bring yourself to respond is a simple, “I’m sick.”

Technically not a lie. Just… not the whole truth.

You begin leaving for work fifteen minutes earlier than usual, hoping to slip away before he even reaches the station. On top of that, you start taking the women’s coach—just in case he happens to come early too.

It is ridiculous, you know that. But the thought of seeing him, knowing what you know—or rather, what you think you know is too much. You don’t trust yourself to act normal, and you don’t want him to see through you.

So you do the only thing you can think of. You disappear from his mornings. Even if it breaks your heart to do it.

—

But what you don’t expect is to walk through the door and see him there.

You decide you hate Jihyo.

She texts you earlier saying she and Nayeon are going out for drinks with some people, and asks if you want to come. You have been a mess for days—mopey, overthinking—so you figure, why not? A night out might help. Distraction can’t hurt.

You freeze just a few steps inside the bar, hand flying out to grab Jihyo by the wrist.

“What are they doing here?” you hiss, nodding toward the trio of familiar men at the bar counter—Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and Joshua, laughing over drinks like they have no idea they are ruining your life.

“Oh, I invited them,” Jihyo says with a shrug, like she just asked them over for coffee.

Your jaw drops. “How? How did you even get their numbers?”

“I exchanged numbers with Jeonghan the other day,” she says simply, brushing past your panic like it is nothing. And before you can protest, she is already walking over to greet them smiling, waving, completely unbothered.

You don’t have the energy to chase after her.

The rest of the night is a blur of noise and lights and everything-you-wanted-to-avoid crashing into you all at once. Seungcheol tries to talk to you more than once, always gentle, always a little concerned, but you keep brushing him off, pretending you don’t hear, pretending someone has called your name.

You laugh louder than necessary, drink more than you should’ve, and cling to Nayeon’s arm like it is a lifeline.

By the time it’s time to leave, you can barely stand without holding onto something or someone.

And when the drinks start to hit, you get drunk. Properly drunk.

Because maybe if your head is fuzzy enough, you’d stop remembering the way he looks at you in that photo or the way he looks at you right now.

Your head feels heavy, and your voice comes out slower than usual. Jihyo and Nayeon aren’t much better off. They giggle as they sling their arms around each other, tipsy and carefree. The problem is—they live in the same direction. You don’t.

Even in your dazed state, you can vaguely make out Seungcheol speaking to Jihyo.

“I’ll drop her home,” he says, voice calm and firm.

“YOU’RE THE BEST—thank you!” Jihyo shouts, completely unhelpful, before stumbling away with Nayeon, leaving you behind.

You stare at Seungcheol, swaying slightly, hugging your bag tightly to your chest like it is some kind of shield. He walks ahead, opens the passenger door to his car, and turns back to you with a tired sigh.

“Can you please get in?”

You blink at him. He raises an eyebrow. You don’t move.

“I’m not kidnapping you,” he adds dryly. “Just trying to make sure you get home in one piece.”

You hesitate for another beat before finally moving, sliding into the passenger seat with a clumsy thump. He closes the door behind you and circles around to the driver’s side.

“Can you put your address in the GPS?” he asks once he is settled.

You fumble with your phone, hands still trembling a bit. Eventually, you manage to type it in and pass it to him.

The car pulls out onto the main road, and for a while, there is only the hum of the engine and the soft sound of the air conditioning.

Then he rolls the window down a little.

The cool night air hits your face, it helps for a moment. You close your eyes, breathing in deep. The nausea settles just a bit, and your thoughts start to line up again, one by one.

Still a mess, still confused. But slowly sobering up.

You ask him to drop you off a little farther from your house—somewhere down the road, away from your actual address.

But, of course, Seungcheol doesn’t listen.

He stops the car right at the bottom of the slope that leads up to your place, shifts into park, and turns to you.

“Stay here,” he says gently, before getting out of the car.

You blink, confused, until you see him circle around and open your door for you. He holds out his hand.

You hesitate, but your legs aren’t steady enough to argue. You let him help you out, his hand warm around yours. He doesn’t let go even as you both start walking up the quiet slope together.

The silence between you stretches for a few minutes, just the sound of your shoes on the pavement and distant insects chirping in the dark. You aren’t sure if it is the alcohol still in your system or the storm in your chest, but eventually, you break the silence.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you ask.

He glances at you, eyebrows pulling together slightly. “What do you mean?”

You exhale slowly, avoiding his eyes. “You know it’s not exactly gentlemanly to lead on a lady when you’re already in a relationship.”

He stops walking.

“…What relationship?” he asks, voice cautious.

You keep your eyes forward. “The bag you bought the other day—it was for her, right? Your girlfriend.”

He says your name softly. Then again, firmer. “Look at me.”

You do. Slowly.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he says. “In fact… there’s someone I like.”

Your heart sinks anyway. Just hearing those words “someone I like” even if it isn’t someone he is with, it still isn’t you.

You look away. “Then go tell her. Why waste all this time on someone who you won’t like back?”

Your voice drops to a mumble at the end, but he still hears it.

He squeezes your hand, just enough to make you look at him again.

“You’re the one I like”, he says.

You don’t know if it is the alcohol or the months of slow-burn tension finally snapping but you lean in.

“No,” he holds you back by your shoulders. “Not like this. Not when you’re drunk. Not when you might not remember.”

Your lips part in protest, but nothing comes out. Your face crumples instead, and without another word, you turn around and start walking ahead.

“Just go,” you mutter. “I’m fine. You don’t have to follow me.”

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t call out to stop you. But he doesn’t leave either.

He stays parked at the bottom of the slope. Watches you unlock your door. Waits until you step inside. Stays there until the lights in your house turn off.

You don’t know what exactly you’ve done.

But one thing you are sure of. The ghost of tonight is going to haunt you tomorrow.

DAY 90

You were right.

You don’t remember everything that happened last night. Bits and pieces come to you in flashes—your head pounds every time you try to force the memory. You vaguely recall leaving the bar, Seungcheol’s car, walking up the slope...

The more you try to piece it together, the worse your headache gets.

You pop some ibuprofen, hoping it will dull both the physical ache and the mental chaos. It doesn’t do much, but it helps just enough to drag yourself out of bed and into work clothes.

When you finally make it to the station, still feeling like your brain has been put through a blender, you spot him.

Standing exactly where he always does—except now, just the sight of him sends your stomach into a spiral.

You freeze in place.

Few memories flash by. You remember asking about the gift. You remember accusing him of leading you on.

Oh no.

Oh god.

Did you try to kiss him?

Before you can figure out how to vanish into thin air, Seungcheol is already walking toward you. Calm. Collected. Way too composed for someone who might’ve been kissed by a drunk mess.

He reaches into his pocket and holds out a hangover medicine to you.

You blink. Then take it with a quiet, “Thanks.”

“About yesterday…” he starts.

Panic flares.

“Nope,” you blurt. “I mean—OH LOOK! The train’s here, let’s go!”

You practically speed-walk past him and into the nearest compartment like your shoes are on fire.

The entire train ride, you keep a very safe three-foot distance between you and Seungcheol, standing awkwardly near the door like you don’t even know him. You avoid eye contact like it is your job. If someone had drawn a chalk line around you, it would’ve been labeled “emotional damage containment zone.”

You have no idea what to say or what he wants to say. But whatever it is… you aren’t ready.

_

DAY 94

You had, against all odds, successfully dodged the talk with Seungcheol. And honestly? You were kind of proud of yourself.

Sure, it wasn’t the most mature move, but avoiding awkward emotional conversations? You were practically a professional at this point.

Not that he made it easy.

He still waited at the station for you, even though you started leaving earlier than usual in the hopes of missing him. On the train, you avoided any and all eye contact like your life depended on it. And despite that, when evening rolled around, you’d still find him waiting outside your office building, casually leaned against the wall like he hadn’t been ghosted for a week straight.

You’d just mumble something about needing to finish up emails and hide behind your monitor.

Even your coworkers had caught on.

“Your handsome man is downstairs again,” one of them would say with a teasing grin.

“You shouldn’t keep a man that fine waiting. It’s rude,” another would chime in.

But today… Seungcheol clearly decided enough was enough.

As you walk out together after work, the sun just starts to dip low in the sky. He glances sideways at you and asks casually, “Do you like cafes or parks better?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“The vibe, I mean. Like if you had to pick. Cafes or parks?”

You furrow your brows, confused but grateful he isn’t bringing up that night.

What you didn’t realize, of course, is that he wasn’t just making small talk—he is trying to figure out where you’d feel more comfortable. Where you’d feel safe enough to finally talk.

Which, honestly? Is kind of really sweet.

The park is quiet this time of day—just a few people jogging, some kids chasing each other near the fountain, the sky turning that soft, cotton-candy shade of evening.

You aren’t sure how you got here, really. One second you’re walking with Seungcheol, and the next he is leading you toward a bench under a big tree, acting like this is just another casual detour.

Except… you know it isn’t.

You sit beside him, not too close, not too far. Your hands rest in your lap, picking at your sleeves. You can feel your heart beating in your throat.

Seungcheol doesn’t speak for a while. He just sits there, hands resting loosely on his knees.

“I thought you were mad at me,” he finally says.

You keep your gaze ahead. “I wasn’t.”

“You avoided me like I had the plague.”

You let out a breath—part laugh, part guilt. “I panicked.”

“Why?”

You hesitate. “Because I remembered bits and pieces from that night. I thought maybe I said or did something I shouldn’t have.”

There is a small pause.

“You didn’t,” he says. “Nothing weird happened. Except maybe how fast you ran off afterward.”

You smile despite yourself. “I was embarrassed.”

“Why?”

You glance at him, then look back at your hands. “Because I started overthinking things. You were just being nice, and I made it weird.”

He is quiet again for a moment. “I wasn’t just being nice.”

That makes your heart skip a little, but he doesn’t press it.

Instead, he nudges your foot lightly with his. “Anyway, I just didn’t want it to be awkward.”

You nod. “Yeah… me neither.”

“Cool,” he says, leaning back slightly. “So… we good?”

You look at him, and something about the way he is watching you makes you feel lighter.

“Yeah,” you say. “We’re good.”

The conversation shifts to safer topics after that. You stay on that bench for a while longer, talking about random things—the weird subway ad you both hate, the café with terrible coffee he swears he only likes for the muffins.

And just before you leave, he glances at you and says, casual as ever, “Hey… let’s hang out next week. Like, properly.”

You blink. “Like… outside the train?”

It isn’t like you haven’t seen him outside other times, but this time it might be just you two. You and him.

DAY 99

The days passed quicker than you imagined.

You and Seungcheol still took the train to work together every day, but somewhere along the way, those commutes turned into something more. You started stopping by cafés on the way. Tried out that dinner place that had been all over your feed. Even ended up at an arcade once—half-tipsy from drinks at a pojangmacha tucked into the corner of some quiet street, laughing so hard you nearly cried when he lost to you in a dance battle.

Today, you stood on either side of a fogged-up train door.

Absentmindedly, you doodled a tiny smiley face on the glass with your finger. When you looked up, you caught Seungcheol doing the same—drawing a tiny heart just beside your smiley.

You didn’t say anything. Just smiled to yourself the rest of the way home.

Later that night, as you were drying your hair after a shower, your phone buzzed.

Seungcheol [9:13 PM]      hey!! can we meet tomorrow?

You blink. Sit down on your bed and quickly type back:

You [9:13 PM] (indented) sure!! where tho??

It takes him a minute to reply.

Seungcheol [9:14 PM] (indented) there’s this garden café near dongmyo… it’s quiet and pretty at night. 7pm?

You bite your lip, smiling at your screen like an idiot.

You [9:17 PM]     sure 😊😙 see you then!

DAY 100

You are nervous as hell. You are sitting on one of the corner seats at the café, fiddling with your hair, smoothing down your skirt, rubbing your hands against your thighs like it will somehow calm your heartbeat.

Now you sit in that café, trying not to look at your phone every five seconds. He isn’t late. You are just early. Painfully, ridiculously early.

You dress up more than usual today—okay, a lot more.

A sheer, light mocha-brown ruched blouse with soft, billowy chiffon sleeves and a deep V neckline. A high-waisted, dark chocolate brown maxi skirt with a gentle drape and ruched detailing at the hip. You even do a winged eyeliner—after three failed attempts. You check the mirror at least ten times before finally forcing yourself out of the house.

Five minutes pass.

Then the bell over the café door chimes, and you instinctively look up.

There he is.

Seungcheol walks in, dressed in a warm chocolate-brown crew neck sweater and cream-colored corduroy pants. His hair bounces slightly as he moves, and somehow, he looks even better than you remember—soft and put-together and annoyingly, heart-flutteringly handsome.

You stand up as he reaches the table, and he gives you a breathless smile, holding out a small bouquet—white lisianthus and garden roses, sprinkled with baby’s breath.

“You’re early,” he says, just a little out of breath, eyes scanning your face and outfit in a way that makes your skin buzz.

You nod, shy, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “So are you.”

He chuckles softly. “Guess we’re both a little eager, huh?”

And just like that, the nervous weight in your chest lightens, bit by bit.

Dinner is perfect.

Seungcheol insists you try everything. Every time you so much as glance at something on the menu, he tells the waiter, “We’ll have that too.” Your table is overflowing with plates by the time the mains arrive, and you lose count of how many times he leans forward to ask if you are full, if you like it, if the dessert is too sweet.

He keeps spacing out mid-sentence, staring at you with this dazed, boyish look before shaking his head and mumbling, “Sorry, what were we talking about again?”

You tease him for being distracted. He claims it is the lighting that makes him space out. You know it isn’t.

And even though he laughs and looks like he has everything together, you notice the way he fidgets with the hem of his sleeve when he thinks you aren’t looking. How he checks his phone screen just to lock it again.

After dinner, the two of you step out onto the quiet street.

The rush has died down. The air has cooled just enough to make you pull your cardigan tighter. Street lamps cast soft glows on the pavement, and the sounds of the city fade to a distant hum—just footsteps, laughter from across the block, and the occasional car passing by.

You walk side by side. Close, but not touching.

Until he stops walking.

You turn to him. “Cheol?”

He looks nervous. Palms in his pockets, shoulders drawn in slightly, eyes fixed on the road like he is rehearsing something in his head.

Then he looks at you.

“I know this is random,” he starts. “Well—not random, but kind of sudden? Or maybe not. I mean, it’s been a hundred days. That’s a lot. But also not enough, I guess, to say something like this—but it also feels like it is.”

You blink. He isn’t making much sense.

Seungcheol takes a breath and scratches the back of his neck.

“What I’m trying to say is…” He looks at you, really looks at you. “I like you. Like—really like you. More than a ‘train friend’ or a ‘text you memes at 11PM’ kind of way. I think I’ve liked you for a while now, and I kept waiting for the right time, and then today just feels like it. Because it’s special, right? A hundred days. And I—”

“Seungcheol.”

He keeps going. “—I mean, I didn’t want to make it weird, and maybe this is weird, and I’m talking too much—”

You step forward and wrap your arms around him.

He freezes. Then melts. His hands hover for a second before resting gently on your back, holding you like he doesn’t quite believe you are real.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “I like you too.”

It is quiet for a moment. His eyes search yours like he is waiting for you to take it back, like he has to double-check that he heard you right.

You smile. “I was kind of hoping you’d say something.”

A quiet relieved laugh slips from him.

Then, softer, “Can I kiss you?”

You nod.

Seungcheol steps in close, one hand resting lightly on your waist, the other hovering just beside your cheek like he is scared to touch you too fast. His gaze flicks from your eyes to your lips and back again, as if he is memorizing you right here, under the soft yellow glow of the streetlamp.

His fingers finally brush your jaw, a soft touch, careful—like you are something delicate. Your heart thuds in your chest, loud enough you’re sure he can hear it.

Then, slowly, finally, he kisses you.

His lips are warm, soft, hesitant at first—testing the waters, afraid to mess it up. You tilt your head and lean in, and that’s all the reassurance he needs. His hand slides to the small of your back, pulling you a little closer, and he kisses you again—this time deeper, more certain.

There is just the feel of his lips on yours, the quiet rhythm of his breath, the faint scent of his cologne—something warm and woodsy that makes your knees go weak.

When he pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, neither of you say a word. Not yet.

The night is quiet around you, just the hum of distant traffic, the glow of streetlamps, and the soft sound of your breaths mingling in the small space between you.

He finally speaks, voice low, like he doesn’t want to break whatever this is.

“Do you know what today is?”

You smile. “A hundred days.”

He nods. “A hundred days of you. Of seeing you on the train. Of wanting to say more, stay longer.”

You blink up at him, heart full.

“I want more,” he says, thumb brushing your cheek. “Not just another hundred. I want all of them. Every day.”

You lean in, kiss him one more time.

And as you stand there, in the middle of a quiet street with the man who used to be just a stranger on the train. You think the next morning, the train will still come.

And this time, you’ll be boarding it—hand in hand.

BONUS - SEUNGCHEOL’S POV (DAY 1)

The train pulls in, slowing with that familiar screech of metal. Seungcheol leans against the glass panel, one hand in his pocket, headphones in, watching people come and go.

Then she steps on.

He doesn’t recognize her — she’s new, at least to him. She looks around for a moment; the seats, the windows, the slow-moving scenery outside. There’s no rush in her expression, just quiet observation.

She finds a spot across from him, steadying herself on the rail as the train lurches forward. For a while, she just watches the buildings go by, eyes calm, thoughtful.

Then she pulls out her phone, scrolling through something, expression soft and unreadable.

He looks away, pretending to focus on the song playing through his headphones. But it’s hard not to notice her — how she stands a bit straighter than everyone else, how she seems almost peaceful even with the crowd pressing around her.

She doesn’t look at him. Not once. Or so he thinks.

Still, he catches himself checking.

And then the train keeps moving, same as always.

He hopes to see her tomorrow too.

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[suigenerisisadiva]

Y/N Wayne Runs For Mayor....And Wins! We don't know why but we have the how! F.t Batfam

Pairings: Batfam x Batsis!reader batsis!reader centred fic! Content: Swearing, crack yet again

A/N: Guys I am not dead, I'm v much alive, also! I made this as Y/N running for Mayor and not for prez cuz imo it just made more sense to me! It's not necessarily their reactions tho, but rather the crack that is present if that makes sense lmao Fine shyt I tag- @watchmakerhippo (sorry it took me so long to make this babe)

"Y/N Wayne for Mayor" — The Campaign No One Saw Coming

Y/N (in a campaign speech): I’m not saying I’m the best choice. I’m just saying I’m petty enough to get things done out of spite.

REACTIONS OF THE FAMILIA -

Bruce: blinks once “hm.” (he’s already building you a panic room in city hall.)

Dick: “I TAUGHT THEM TO RIDE A BIKE AND NOW THEY RUN A CITY.” (he’s crying. also trying to get free coffee off your title.)

Tim: “this started as a bet. how did we get here.” (still doing your spreadsheets. unpaid.)

Jason: “does this mean i can punch a senator?” (he already did.)

Damian: “finally. gotham has a leader worthy of its chaos.” (has a sword in your office desk. no one questions it.)

Cass: smiles, hands you a knife for your inauguration gift

Steph: “I’M DESIGNING THE PRESS OUTFITS. sequins or slay-black?? be honest.”

Alfred: “I suppose I’ll be adjusting the formal tea service to accommodate city council.”

groupchat name change: 🗳️ Mayor Menace & Her Feral Cabinet 🖤

Y/N AS MAYOR — Aesthetic

Press conferences at night (Bruce Wayne in Arkham Core)

Never on time. Always iconic.

Threatens the corrupt city council with a smile.

Voted “Most Likely to Beat Crime AND Gentrification”

Refers to themselves as “Gotham’s Problem Solver and Professional Hater.”

Y/N’S GOTHAM CABINET:

Commissioner of Chaos: Jason Todd

Press Secretary: Tim Drake (lies horrifically well)

Head of Public Affairs: Dick Grayson (smiles while distracting the media)

Secretary of Defence: Damian Wayne (Do I need to explain?)

Head of Sanitation: Cass Cain (cleans up corruption. Literally.)

Coffee Budget Coordinator: Alfred Pennyworth

Mascot: Titus in a mayor sash (He looks so cute stop)

Unofficial Diplomat: Selina Kyle (she’s not technically on payroll, but somehow has a desk)

CAMPAIGN SLOGANS:

“Vote Y/N. I Can’t Be Worse Than The Last Guy.”

“Elect Hot People Only. Starting With Me.”

“I Can Fix Gotham. Or Break It Better.”

“Because You Know I’ll Actually Fight Somebody.”

“Bringing Gotham Together Through Fear and Slay.”

“Justice Is Blind. I Am Not.”

“I Am Bruce Wayn'es Daughter”

GOTHAM GAZETTE HEADLINES:

“WAYNE HEIR WINS BY LANDSLIDE, PROMISES NO PEACE”

“NEW MAYOR SWORN IN. REFUSES TO REMOVE HER VERSACE SUNGLASSES. VICKI VALE FIRED!”

“Y/N WAYNE ADDRESSES CITY: ‘GOTHAM’S MY CITY NOW. SIT DOWN.’”

“NEW MAYOR IMMEDIATELY CANCELS PLANS FOR UGLY MONUMENT: ‘THAT STATUE LOOKS LIKE A TOE.’”

Hope you all enjoyed this! Likes, comments, reblogs and requests are highly appreciated! Requests are open!

Sources! -

Header - Pinterest

Bat dividers - @sister-lucifer

Grey dividers - @cursed-carmine

Bow Divider - @dollywons

Property of suigenerisisadiva, do not repost my work pls & ty

[inseobts]

Hello! I'd like to please request a little scenario for multiple characters if possible; I'm especially interested in your take on this with Law, Sanji and Ace given their backstory. If you're open to writing for the ladies as well then adding Robin into the mix would be appreciated! My idea is simple; an S/O with a child, and the aftermath of discovering that fact. I don't mind if it's an established relationship and there just wasn't an opportunity to meet the kid before or something else, I just like the idea of these characters dealing with the concept of surprise family/parenthood, the angst that may arise from dealing with the role of a stepparent if they want a relationship (and its happy ending if possible!) Good luck with all the requests, I hope you have fun with them!

Found Family (Reader with a Kid)

gn!reader

characters: law, sanji, ace, nico robin

tags: under each character + secret child

a/n: I started it with a fem!reader in mind and changed it to gender neutral only later since the post didn't mention the gender, so please if I missed some changes please tell me

words count: around 0.8k - 1.7k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Law:

Tags: Established Relationship, Surprise Family, Angst to Comfort, Fluff

The wind blows soft through the port town. Law steps off the ship, coat flapping behind him, hands in his pockets. He’s quieter than usual, eyes scanning the street ahead. He’s not here on a mission. He’s here for you.

You sent a letter three weeks ago.

Just one line: “I need to talk. Come if you can.”

Law doesn’t like surprises. But he comes.

He finds you standing outside a small house with peeling paint and flower pots on the windowsill. You smile when you see him, but it’s tight, like you’re scared.

He frowns “You alright?”

You nod “Yeah… I just—can we go inside? I don’t want to do this out here.”

Law follows you in. It’s warm. Smells like soup and soap. A small jacket hangs on a hook by the door. Not yours. Too small.

His sharp eyes catch it, but he doesn’t say anything yet.

You lead him to the living room and sit. He stands. Watches you.

You look down “There’s something I never told you.”

Law’s voice is low “I figured.”

You breathe in deep “I… have a kid.”

Silence.

You look up. His face is unreadable. Like ice. You hate that expression, it means he’s trying to think without feeling. To stay calm.

He speaks finally “How old?”

You blink “She’s five.”

He does the math. That means before him.

“She yours?” he asks, even though he already knows.

You nod “Yes. Mine. The... other parent's gone. Completely.”

He nods slowly. His voice is cold, but not cruel “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was scared.” You twist your hands “We met during a war. We never talked about kids, or… futures. Then we got together, and things felt good. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“You thought this would ruin it?”

“I thought you might walk away.”

He looks away “You didn’t trust me.”

“That’s not fair,” you say, standing now too “I’ve been through things. I didn’t know how you’d react. You’re not… You don’t talk about family. You barely talk about your past.”

His jaw tenses. You hit a nerve.

You try softer “I wanted to wait for the right moment. But there never was one. Until now.”

Silence again.

Then small footsteps.

You freeze.

Law turns just as a tiny figure walks into the room, clutching a stuffed rabbit.

“Who’s this?”

Her eyes are big, curious. Law stares.

You kneel “Sweetheart, this is Law. He’s… He’s my friend.”

Law doesn’t speak. He just looks. She hides behind your leg.

You don’t blame her.

“She’s shy,” you say “But she’s smart. She reads pirates like storybooks.”

Law kneels too, finally, lowering himself to her level. His voice softens.

“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” he says “I’m just… surprised.”

Your daughter peeks out “You talk funny.”

Law blinks.

You laugh nervously “He’s from the North Blue.”

“Oh.” She tilts her head “Do you have a boat?”

Law nods “A submarine.”

Her eyes widen “Cool…”

She steps forward. He doesn’t move.

Then she offers her rabbit “You wanna hold Mr. Bun?”

You almost cry.

Law takes it. Careful. Gentle. Like it’s glass.

He looks at you over her head. Still unsure. Still quiet.

But he’s here, and he’s not walking away.

The rabbit sits on the table between you.

Law hasn’t said much since dinner. He eats quietly, politely. Your daughter sits beside him, munching rice balls like they’re treasure. She’s talking to him. A lot.

“Do submarines have beds?”

“Yes.”

“Do you sleep in them?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you dream of fish?”

“…No.”

You nearly laugh into your cup. Law sends you a look. It says help me. You shrug. You’re doing fine.

When she finishes eating, you ask her to brush her teeth. She runs off with Mr. Bun in her arms. The house falls quiet again.

Law leans back in his chair.

“You didn’t even flinch,” you say “When she offered you the rabbit.”

He shrugs “She trusted me. I didn’t want to break that.”

You nod, chewing on your lip “That means a lot, Law.”

He looks at you. Eyes sharp but not cold “I’m not angry.”

“Really?”

“I’m hurt.” His voice is honest now “You didn’t tell me. I could’ve helped. Been there. Or at least known what I was walking into.”

“I know,” you whisper “I was scared. I didn’t want to push you away.”

“I’m not made of glass, Y/N. I’ve lost family. I’ve lost everything. But I never said I didn’t want to build something new.”

You look down at your hands “She’s my whole world.”

“I can see that.”

“And now that you’ve met her… what do you want?”

He pauses.

That pause stretches long and sharp between you.

Then, softly “I don’t know.”

You nod. You expected that. You’re not mad. Just scared again.

Law stands and walks to the window “She’s a good kid. Brave. You raised her well.”

You smile a little “She’s got my temper.”

“I noticed.”

You walk over to him. You both stare outside. The moon is bright tonight.

“I’m not asking you to be her father,” you say “You don’t have to… take that role if you don’t want it.”

He turns “What if I want to?”

Your breath catches.

“I don’t know how to be that,” he continues “A father. A parent. I’m… I’m a surgeon. A pirate. I know how to fight, how to cut, how to survive. Not how to raise a child.”

You place your hand over his “She doesn’t need perfect. Just present. Just kind. Even I didn’t know how to be a good parent.”

He watches you. Something cracks in his expression.

“I want you.” he says.

“I want you too.”

“But I can’t lie to you… I’m afraid. I don’t want to mess this up.”

You squeeze his hand “We’ll learn together. She’s not looking for perfect either. She just wants someone who doesn’t leave.”

That hits hard.

He nods and then tiny footsteps again.

Your daughter peeks from the hallway “Hey... can he read me a story?”

Law blinks “Me?”

She nods “You have a cool voice.”

You laugh softly “What do you say?”

He hesitates. Then walks over.

“Alright, let’s try.” he says “But only one.”

She beams.

You stand in the hallway, listening through the door. His voice is low, slow, careful. Reading a picture book about sea creatures. She’s tucked in, eyes half-closed. The rabbit is between them on the bed.

Law finishes the page. She murmurs, “You’re not scary like someone said.”

You gasp quietly. Betrayal.

Law chuckles “Someone said that?”

“Mhm. They said you’re all sharp eyes and brooding. But you’re kinda soft.”

Law mutters, “I am never going to live that down.”

You grin and walk back to the living room.

He stays. Finishes the story. Even tucks her in.

When he comes out, he looks… changed.

“You did good.” you say.

“I didn’t even sweat.”

“Liar.”

He sighs, then smirks “Okay, maybe a little.”

You take his hand again “So…”

“So.” he echoes.

“You staying the night?”

He raises a brow “You asking?”

You smile “I have tea. And a couch. Or a bed, if you behave.”

He smirks “I’ll try my best.”

── .✦ Sanji:

Tags: Flirting Sanji, Soft Sanji, Humor, Fluff, Unexpected Bonding, Found Family

Sanji flirts with you every time he sees you.

At the market “Ah, Y/N! Did the sun rise just to see your face today?”

At the docks “Want me to carry those for you, my love? Your hands are far too lovely for heavy lifting!”

Even after the battle in your city, where the Strawhats helped “You’re even more beautiful covered in blood. Should I be worried about how much I love that?”

You never fall for it. You roll your eyes. You walk away. You don’t even blush.

It drives him insane.

“You’re difficult to get,” he says one afternoon, following you through town “but I like that.”

“I don’t fall,” you say flatly “Especially not for men with hearts in their eyes.”

“Ahhh, but my heart is sincere!”

You stop and face him “Sanji. You don’t even know me.”

“I want to.”

You pause. He’s annoying, yes. But not bad. He’s never pushed you too far. Never said anything mean. Just flirty. Charming. Too charming.

You sigh “Fine. You want to know me?”

He lights up “Yes! Of course!”

“Then come with me.”

You lead him through town, away from the market, away from the noise. Into a quiet part of the island. A garden path. A small house tucked in the trees.

He’s still smiling “So this is where the beautiful Y/N hides. A date, then?”

You don’t answer. You open the door. Inside, it’s neat. Warm. Lived-in. There are toys in the corner. A tiny pair of shoes by the door.

Sanji frowns “Is this… your house?”

“Wait here.” you say.

You go into the back room. A few seconds later, you return, holding a small child. Sleepy-eyed. Holding a stuffed whale. While another lady leaves the house as if her job there is finished.

You look Sanji in the eye.

“This is my daughter.”

Sanji freezes.

Dead silent.

You wait.

You expect a nervous laugh. A fast goodbye. A dramatic “I’m not ready for this!” speech.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead…

“Her hair’s like yours,” he says softly “She’s beautiful.”

Your daughter rubs her eyes, looks at him “Who’s that?”

You answer “Just... a friend.”

Sanji kneels slowly “Hi, sweetheart. I’m Sanji. Can I say hello?”

She shrugs. He waves. She waves back with the whale.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Whale.” Sanji says seriously.

You blink.

She giggles.

You didn’t expect this.

You make tea. Sanji helps. He insists, actually.

“She can’t have sugar this late.” you say.

“Then honey,” he says “Gentle on the stomach.”

You watch as he puts her cup in front of her like a butler. Bows. She bows back. You nearly choke on your tea.

“Do you cook?” she asks.

“Oh yes,” he says “Better than anyone.”

She claps “Make us dinner!”

Sanji glances at you. You nod. Why not?

He makes a simple meal. It smells amazing. Your daughter eats two full plates.

After, she sits in his lap and shows him a book of sea animals. He listens. Really listens.

You don’t understand what’s happening.

You were trying to scare him away.

Instead, he’s… perfect.

When she falls asleep, he carries her to her bed. Quiet. Gentle.

He tucks her in, fixes her whale beside her, and kisses her forehead.

You follow him back to the living room in silence.

“Well...” you say, still confused “That wasn’t what I expected.”

He smiles but smaller this time. Softer.

“I flirt because it’s fun,” he says “But I stayed because I wanted to see you.”

You stare at him “You weren’t scared?”

“I was shocked,” he admits “But not scared. You’re a single parent. That’s strong. She’s lucky to have you.”

You look away “I thought it would make you leave.”

“I’m not that easy to get rid of.”

You smile at that and look at him again. This time longer.

Sanji isn’t just charm. He’s heart. He’s warmth.

And… maybe you were wrong about him.

Your daughter’s asleep.

Sanji’s sitting on the couch, arms stretched over the backrest like he belongs there. His jacket is off, sleeves rolled up, and a soft smile on his lips.

He looks so… calm. Like this is normal. Like he wants this.

You sit across from him, legs tucked under you. You sip your tea. Your hands are shaking just a little, but you hide it well.

“Thanks for dinner,” you say “She loved it.”

“She’s adorable,” he says, smiling “And polite. You’ve done an amazing job.”

You stare into your cup “I didn’t do it alone. But… it’s been a long time since I shared her with someone.”

Sanji watches you quietly. No teasing now. Just listening.

You swallow. Here goes nothing.

“So,” you say “I’ve decided something.”

He leans forward “Oh?”

You lift your eyes to meet his “I’m saying yes.”

His brows lift “Yes to what?”

You smile “A date.”

He freezes “Wait. A—really?”

You nod.

“I mean, I’ve been asking for weeks, but I thought you hated me.”

“I didn’t hate you,” you say “I just didn’t believe you.”

“And now?”

“Now I do.”

He stares at you for a second. Then a slow, beautiful grin spreads across his face. Like he’s won a war. Like the clouds finally moved for the sun.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days.

“You—you have no idea what this means to me, Y/N.”

You chuckle “I might have some idea.”

“Do you want flowers? Candles? Music? Should I wear a suit? I’ll cook, of course—”

You laugh softly “Just come as you are.”

He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly flustered “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

You sip your tea again. Calm on the outside.

But inside? Your heart is thundering. So loud it feels like it echoes in your chest. And he doesn't even know your heart is actually beating faster than his own.

You’ve had to be strong for so long. For your child. For yourself. Love always felt like a luxury you couldn’t afford.

But Sanji… he’s something else.

Not because he’s charming.

But because when it really mattered, he stayed.

And now, you let yourself fall a little deeper.

You stand. Walk over. And press a soft kiss to his cheek.

He goes still.

You pull back and say quietly, “Can't wait for the date.”

His eyes widen, then fill with something warm surprised, happy, maybe even a little nervous.

“You… really?” he asks, softer than you’ve ever heard him.

You nod “Don’t make me regret it.”

His laugh is breathless “Never.”

You smile, heart pounding, but you don’t let it show. He doesn’t need to know yet how much this means.

A few nights later for your first date Sanji goes all out, but not in a flashy way. It’s thoughtful. Intimate.

He sets up dinner on the ship’s deck. Small candles, soft music from a den den mushi radio, and a view of the sea under stars. He cooks something warm and comforting, not fancy, just full of love.

You talk for hours. About silly things, quiet things, your pasts and dreams. It’s easy. He listens more than he speaks, and when he does talk, it’s gentle.

No cheesy lines. Just Sanji. Real and warm.

After dessert, he walks you home in silence. Not awkward, just peaceful. The kind of quiet where you don’t need to fill space.

At your door, he looks at you with hopeful eyes but doesn’t move in. He’s waiting for your choice.

So you step closer.

You kiss him.

Soft. Sure. Just once. But it’s full of everything you’ve been holding back.

When you pull away, he blinks like he’s just been hit by a wave.

You smirk “You were taking too long.”

He laughs, dizzy and full of stars.

And for the first time in a long while, so do you.

── .✦ Ace:

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Angst, Humor, Emotional Reveal, Mutual Feelings Hidden, Teasing to Serious, Marine Conflict

The sun burns above you. You’re lying on the deck of your ship, one leg over the other, a half-empty bottle between your fingers. Ace is beside you shirtless, grinning, sweat on his brow, flame flickering off his fingers like it’s breathing with him.

“You always steal my rum.” you say, kicking him lightly.

“You always keep it warm,” he shoots back “I’m doing you a favor.”

You roll your eyes “Your idea of favors sucks.”

He leans closer, his voice lazy and smug “You didn’t say that last night.”

You groan “Get a new line, fire boy.”

He grins wider. You punch his arm. He fake-winces, like it hurt. It didn’t.

That’s the two of you: teasing, biting, half-fighting, half-kissing. No promises. No labels. Just good fun and bad timing.

Pirate life is rough. You take what joy you can.

“Hey,” you say after a long silence, watching the sky “Wanna hear a secret?”

Ace smirks, eyes still closed “If it’s about that thing you did in the galley with the honey—”

“No, dumbass. A real secret.”

That makes him open his eyes. He turns to look at you “Alright. Hit me.”

You sit up. Serious now. The bottle rests on your knee.

“I have a son.”

Ace snorts “You what?”

You nod, eyes still on the horizon “Yeah. He’s five. His name’s Ren.”

He blinks. You go on before he can interrupt.

“I had him before all this, before the piracy, before you. I got caught in something messy with the Marines. To keep him safe, I left him with my parents. Changed my name. Ran.”

Ace stares.

You keep talking “I go see him when I can. Disguised. Just for a day or two. He thinks I’m some traveling doctor or something. He doesn’t know who I really am.”

You pause. Swallow.

“It’s hell, leaving every time. But I’d rather he grow up safe than have him hunted.”

Ace starts laughing.

You blink “What the hell?”

He’s full-on laughing “Holy shit, you got me! I thought you were serious. What is this, some new kink? Roleplay? Mommy pirate stuff?”

You just look at him.

Dead quiet.

No grin. No tease.

Ace’s smile dies instantly. The flame on his fingers goes out.

“…Wait,” he says “You’re not joking?”

You don’t say anything.

His expression changes fast… shocked, confused, then something close to guilt “You really…?”

You nod once “I’m not playing around.”

He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly tense “Shit.”

“Yeah,” you say, dry “That’s usually the first response.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again “Why are you telling me this now?”

You shrug “I don’t know. Maybe because you’re the closest thing I’ve had to a real connection in years. Or maybe I just got tired of lying all the time.”

He stares at you.

You look away “I didn’t expect you to laugh. That sucked.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.”

“No,” he says quickly “I’m serious. That was a shitty reaction. I just… I didn’t think you were the kind of person to hide something that big.”

You exhale “Turns out, I’m full of surprises.”

The silence between you is heavy now. Not like before.

Then Ace says quietly, “What’s he like?”

You blink “Huh?”

“Your kid. Ren. What’s he like?”

You smile a little “Stubborn. Smart. Messy. Loves drawing fishes. Hates carrots. Thinks I have the coolest boots in the world.”

Ace nods, quiet. He looks down, then up at you again.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs “I’m sorry for laughing. And I’m… kinda honored you told me.”

You raise a brow “Didn’t peg you for the emotional type.”

He shrugs, eyes soft “Didn’t peg you for someone with a child.”

Touché.

Ace doesn’t talk much for the next few days.

No flirting. No teasing. Just quiet looks when he thinks you’re not watching.

You try to act normal with some old jokes, same smug grin as always, but you feel it too. Everything changed with that one secret. The space between you now holds more than just fun.

It holds truth. Real, heavy, warm truth.

You’re standing at the helm when he walks up beside you.

“I want to come.” he says.

You glance at him “Come where?”

“When you go see your son.”

Your hands tighten on the wheel “Ace—”

“I’ll stay out of sight. I swear. I just… want to see him. I want to understand what you gave up. What you’re protecting.”

You study him for a moment. His eyes don’t waver. There’s no joke. No smirk.

Just Ace. Real. Honest.

You nod.

Months later — The island is quiet. A small village with stone houses, chickens in the streets, a little bakery that still smells like your childhood.

You pull your hood low. Ace wears a cap, sunglasses... he looks ridiculous, but no one’s looking at him. Just another traveler.

Your parents’ house is at the end of the road. Garden full of wildflowers. Paint peeling on the fence.

Your son is playing outside.

He doesn’t see you at first. He’s chasing butterflies. Laughing. Barefoot.

Ace stops walking.

“That’s him?” he asks, voice rough.

You nod “Ren.”

Ace just stares. His hands slowly curl into fists.

You call out softly, “Ren?”

The boy turns. His face lights up.

He runs to you screaming. You drop to your knees and catch him in your arms. He’s warm. Real. Solid.

Ace looks away.

Inside, your parents keep things short. They know who Ace is. You warned them. They’re not happy, but they trust you.

You all sit outside. Ren sits on Ace’s lap by accident. You try to grab him, but Ace just holds him steady.

“It’s okay,” he says “He’s light.”

Ren shows him a toy ship made of sticks “I made this!”

Ace chuckles “Really? That’s better than some ships I’ve sailed on.”

You stare.

Ren grins proudly “My parent used to tell me stories. About pirates and fire powers. Did you know there’s a pirate who can set his fists on fire?”

Ace raises a brow “Sounds dangerous.”

Ren gasps “But so cool!”

You laugh softly. Ace sends you a small look. It’s gentle. A little sad.

Later, when Ren naps, you and Ace sit on the back porch.

“He’s amazing.” Ace says.

“I know.”

“You’re amazing,” he adds “You left this. For his safety.”

You stare at the grass “I think about quitting all the time. Just staying here. Being at his side full time. But… the world’s not kind. And if they find me—”

“I get it,” he cuts in “You’re doing what you have to.”

You glance at him “I didn’t expect you to care so much.”

He shrugs “Neither did I.”

Then he adds, “But now I can’t stop.”

Your heart stumbles.

“He’s got your eyes.” Ace says softly.

“Don’t get attached.” you warn “This life… it’s dangerous.”

“So is mine,” he says “But that didn’t stop you from letting me in.”

You look at him. Really look.

“I didn’t plan for this...” you whisper.

“Neither did I.”

But here you both are.

And suddenly, fun doesn’t feel like the right word anymore.

The sound of quiet laughter wakes you.

You blink against the morning light, still groggy, still warm under the blanket. It takes a second to remember where you are... your parents’ house, back in your old bed.

And then you hear it again.

Ren’s voice.

And Ace’s.

You sit up, heart skipping.

You slip out of bed, still barefoot, and pad toward the living room. And there they are.

Ren sits cross-legged on the floor, his little wooden ship in one hand, while Ace sits across from him, mimicking an enemy pirate voice.

“Noooo! You got me again, Captain Ren! My ship is sinking!”

Ren giggles and throws a pillow at him “That’s what you get, bad guy!”

Ace dramatically falls back, hands in the air “Ughhh… defeated by the mightiest pirate on the seas…”

Your heart squeezes.

Ace looks so natural. Hair messy. Eyes full of warmth. Like he belongs here.

But then your parents come in.

They freeze when they see the scene.

Ace doesn’t notice at first, he’s laughing with Ren, his smile unguarded.

“Ren.” your mother says, sharply.

Your son turns.

“Come away from him,” your father says quickly, stepping forward “Now.”

Ace blinks, confused “I—”

“Ren,” your mother repeats “Come here.”

Ren looks at you, unsure.

You step in “What’s going on?”

Your father’s jaw tightens “We don’t want him near the child.”

You stare “Excuse me?”

“He’s a pirate,” your mother hisses “A famous one. Fire Fist. He’s dangerous.”

“He’s also sitting on the floor playing ships...” you snap.

Your parents say nothing.

“You trusted me enough to come here with him,” you continue, voice rising “Now you’re trying to pull Ren away like he’s some kind of monster?”

“We’re protecting our grandson.” your father says coldly.

“From what? A man who’s been nothing but kind to him?”

“You don’t know what kind of life he brings.”

“I do,” you shout “I live it too. If you forgot. And yes, it’s dangerous. Yes, it’s hard. But Ace has done nothing but respect my family, protect me, and treat Ren with more care than anyone ever has!”

They go silent.

You’re shaking now, fists clenched.

“And for your information, I love him.”

The words fall like a hammer in the room.

Ren blinks.

Your parents’ eyes widen.

Ace just stares at you.

You don’t move.

You didn’t mean to say it... not like this, not loud, not angry... but it’s out.

And real.

You look at Ace, heart thundering “I love you.”

A beat.

Then Ace stands slowly, eyes locked on yours. He walks to you, quiet. The room holds its breath.

He stops in front of you.

“I wasn’t sure if I should say it first,” he says, voice low “Didn’t want to scare you off. But you beat me to it.”

You blink.

“I love you too.” he says.

He reaches out, gentle, and takes your hand.

Your parents stay silent. Ren looks between the two of you, then claps once like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Can I have pancakes now?” he asks.

You and Ace laugh at the same time, breathless.

And just like that, the tension cracks.

── .✦ Nico Robin:

Tags: Established Relationship, Soft Confession, Emotional Intimacy, Bittersweet Past

It’s late.

Most of the crew has gone to bed, except you and Robin. You're both in the library room. She’s reading. You’re not. You're just holding the edge of a piece of paper... frayed, uneven, and pulsing with life.

A vivre card.

You don’t have to look at it to know it’s still there. Still pointing somewhere far away, where you can’t be.

Robin closes her book softly “Is that what’s been on your mind all day?”

You glance over.

Of course she noticed.

You nod “Yeah.”

She tilts her head slightly “Can I ask who it’s for?”

You hesitate.

You’ve never told her. Not because you didn’t trust her, but because it always felt like a story that belonged to a different version of you. The you from before the sea. Before the Straw Hats. Before her.

But she’s already part of everything now.

So you answer.

“My son.”

Robin says nothing but her gaze sharpens. Attentive. Careful.

“He’s with his other parent now,” you continue, voice quiet “I raised him alone before I joined the crew. He’s the one who said it was okay. Actually, we were always together, in another small crew. Then he wanted a different kind of life. One with… peace. So we contacted his other parent.”

Robin nods, slow “He sounds mature.”

“He was always like that. Smarter than me, I think.”

There’s a short silence.

You look at the vivre card “I haven’t seen him since I joined. We talk through letters, sometimes den den mushi. But I don’t know when I’ll be able to see him again.”

Robin’s eyes soften “Do the others know?”

You shake your head “No. Just you.”

She reaches out. Her fingers brush yours, just enough to touch the vivre card “Thank you for trusting me.”

You smile, small but real “I didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t want you to see me differently.”

Robin hums “I already see you. Clearly.”

You blink.

She looks at you steady and kind “You carry something heavy. And still laugh with the crew. Still help cook. Still stand beside me in battle. That’s not weakness.”

Your chest aches in the best way.

She pauses, then adds, “If one day… you want to try and see him again, I’d go with you.”

Your voice catches “Really?”

She nods “Of course. I’d like to meet him. He sounds like someone I’d admire.”

You look down at the vivre card.

Still warm. Still burning.

Maybe not as far away as it feels.

It’s just past dinner.

You’re with Robin as she asked you to stay close. A soft excuse about helping her with some documents. You're both sitting on the floor, back against the wall, a soft lamp between you.

You have the vivre card on the table. You don't always keep it out, but tonight you felt the need to hold it.

You glance at the Den Den Mushi nearby.

You hesitate.

Then pick it up and dial a number you’ve had memorized since your hands first held his.

The snail blinks sleepily… then perks up.

“Hello?”

Your chest tightens at the voice.

You smile “Hey, kiddo.”

A pause, then, “IT’S YOU!!”

You laugh, caught off guard by the pure excitement.

“Oh my god—FINALLY! You didn’t forget me, right? You didn’t sail into a storm and disappear forever, right?”

Robin lifts an amused brow, watching you with quiet interest.

“I didn’t forget you,” you say softly “You know that.”

“Just making sure. I’ve been drawing so many sea monsters lately you would not believe. I made a kraken with three hats.”

You laugh again, voice cracking slightly “Three hats? He must be important.”

“Very.” He pauses, then adds, “...I missed you.”

You shut your eyes “I missed you too.”

Robin looks away respectfully, but stays close.

Then, from the snail: “Hey, wait—who’s near you? Are you with someone?”

You glance at Robin, who blinks, caught.

“She’s... a friend.” you say carefully.

Robin speaks, her voice soft “I hope I’m more than just a friend.”

The Den Den Mushi mimics a shocked face.

“...OH MY GOD. IS THIS YOUR GIRLFRIEND??”

You bury your face in your hand.

Robin chuckles lightly, graceful even when embarrassed “Hello. I’m Robin. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

There’s a long pause.

“...You sound really cool.”

Robin smiles “Thank you. So do you.”

“Wait—how much do you know about them? Like... do you know about the time they tried to cook without instructions and set the wall on fire?”

You groan “Don’t tell her that.”

“It was a microwave! The noodles caught on fire!”

Robin’s shoulders shake with laughter.

You shoot her a glare that holds no heat “I regret this entire call.”

“No you don’t.”

And he’s right. You don’t.

Not even a little.

Later, when the call ends, you sit in silence.

Robin’s hand reaches for yours “He’s amazing.”

You nod, voice soft “Yeah. He really is.”

She squeezes your hand gently “He has your spark. And your chaos.”

You smile through the ache in your chest “He’s better than I’ll ever be.”

Robin rests her head against your shoulder.

“You’ll see him again. When the time is right. And I'll be with you... if you want me.”

"Of course I do."

And somehow, with her beside you, that feels like a promise you can believe in.

[barleyo]

Frostbitten, Forbidden.

Hector Condicionado X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: another one shot with my favorite cretin. he's so lovely, i just want to eat him in one bite. hope you enjoy reading this!

Tags: dub-con, p in v, creampie, lots and lots and lots of dirty talk, sensory deprivation (eyesight)

Wordcount: 1.1k

Hector would do anything for you. He made it abundantly clear. From the moment you met him, or rather, from the moment he saw you, he knew he would make any sacrifice, any oblation, just to make you happy. No, he didn't want to make you happy—he wanted to keep you happy. A constant state of pleasure and contentment, all due to his own efforts. 

If you were tired, he would build you a bed frame with his bare hands. If you were bored, he would come up with a story to rival the telling of Shakespeare on the spot. Sad? Paw at his vent and tell him all about it. 

Fuck, he would slice his own palms and use the blood to write one of his novels for you if you wanted to do some light reading.

The only thing he couldn't do for you right now was turn up the heat. His only purpose, his one job, he simply couldn't do. Whether there was some sort of blockage in the air filters or a malfunctioning motor, nothing seemed to be working. 

Dead winter and not a single puff of air to ease your pain. 

It tore him up inside more than you would ever know, watching you toss and turn in bed, layering yourself in blankets that hardly helped. He tried for days to fix it himself. He borrowed tools from Tony, but hell if he knew what he was doing. Bang a wrench against the grate? Plead with the thermostat to co-operate? 

He felt like mold. Worse, actually. At least mold gave the world penicillin. What was he giving his beloved? Hypothermia? 

Your poor, freezing legs kicked under the thin covers in discomfort. He knew he had to do something, and he had an inkling of where his mind wanted to go, but it just seemed risky.

Then again, he'd take any risk to satisfy you. 

Your body was shaking inconsolably at this point. You were miserable. Days of straight ice and still air were starting to get to you. Truly, you were convinced it was colder outside your home than in it, but you wouldn't run the chance of finding out. You wanted nothing more than to drift into sleep, but it was too cold to even hope for a good night's rest. 

Just as you began to give up, you felt the bed dip beside you. That wasn't right. You lived alone. 

You tried to scream, but a quick hand covered your mouth. Was this the end? Jesus, why you?

"Hush, my love, it is I."

Oh. 

You slacked in Hector's grasp. You had heard his voice many times, and although it sounded a bit different outside of the vent, you still felt its comforting tones wash over you. That didn't change your confusion. Why was he out of the vent?

As if he could hear your thoughts clicking, he answered, "I couldn't stand to see you like this. Suffering, when I can do something about it."

You hummed against his palm in understanding. Your eyes flicked across the wall in front of you as you laid on your side. You wanted to flip over and see him. You tried to resist the urge, to respect his privacy, but your body acted on its own.

Hector quelled your movements sharply, firm hand turning your head to face the wall again. 

"You know I cannot have that." His calloused hand covered your eyes instead. He cupped his palm over them to keep you both literally and metaphorically in the dark about his appearances. "Don't focus on anything but my warmth. Let me help you, amor."

He hastily fidgeted with his belt, popping the buckle with overly eager hands. 

"Let me make everything up to you. Please."

"Don't you know what it does to me to have this power over you?" 

Hector had gotten much more into this than he thought he would. Obviously, a chance to get this close to you, to touch you, was heaven, but to have complete control?

This was the stuff of fantasy. 

Total domination, zero vulnerability. An opportunity to act on all the depraved things he had said to you in the vents without the fear of being judged for his looks? Sign him up.

"To have you at my mercy? To have all of your trust?" He bottomed out, pushing your face into your pillow. Gentle, as to not hurt his precious girl. "I've wanted this for so many moons. So much wasted time—god—if I knew it could be like this..."

You moaned a strangled little noise into the fluffy pillow. He hated not being able to hear the full extent of your pleasure, but there would be time for that another day.

"That's right," Hector said, voice syrupy and warm as he spoke to you, "I would've taken you much earlier."

His hands gripped your hips and forced them upwards. He dreamed about this. It nearly felt like deja vu, seeing as how he thought of bending you into these nasty positions many times before. It was almost too good to be true. 

"Maybe I would have snuck out of the wretched vent early in the morning to visit you." 

What a tease.

"Or maybe late at night. Late when you think nobody hears you, touching yourself in the dark." His hips stuttered. He didn't want to cum yet, not until you did. He wouldn't forgive himself if he messed up yet again. "I hear you. I hear every sound, every little noise you make. I turn the air up. Make it nice and loud, so nobody else gets to enjoy the show you put on."

Despite the slight uncomfortableness of the angle he put you in, you could see why he did it. He was hitting deep. Deep and purposeful. It was too much for you to handle, especially with his teasing. 

"If only you would have asked me for help. I would've been out in a heartbeat." 

A sexy, but flagrant lie. The sweet vent-dweller took to hiding deep in the vents when you masturbated, stroking himself recklessly while trying to silence his breathing. He was far too nervous to actually do anything about it and far too ashamed of eavesdropping. 

"Next time you need pleasure," he choked out, feeling your gummy walls flutter around him, "call for me."

If he had any shame in the current moment, he'd be horrified at how quickly he came after you. He was simply waiting for your body's permission before he blew.

"I'm always here for you, love."

[elryuse]

When The Stars Fell Pt.1

KIOF X Male Reader

Tags : Highschool Setting, Angsty, Kissing, Romance, Intimate, Passionate, Vanilla, Trauma, Teen Love Words : 6,239 Words

You never saw it coming.

Maybe that’s what hurts the most.

Not the humiliation. Not the laughter. Not even the sting of cold paint seeping into your skin.

No—what truly shattered you was the look in her eyes.

Belle’s eyes.

The girl-next-door. The reason you’d rush to the window every time you heard the gate squeak. The reason you smiled at the simplest things. The one you loved from the sidelines, too scared to believe someone like you could belong beside someone like her.

But she was standing on the stage, arms draped around you, smiling like the sun.

"I like you," she had said just the day before. Her voice soft, her gaze flickering with something warm.

It had felt real.

Now?

Now you’re dripping in thick, cobalt-blue paint, the kind used to coat fences and silence hearts. Phones are out. Flashes blind you. Laughter rises and crashes over you like a wave, relentless and merciless. The stage beneath your feet might as well be a cliff.

You want to scream. You want to vanish. You want to wake up.

But you don’t move.

Not even when Belle steps back and says, “Did you really think someone like me would fall for someone like you?”

The crowd howls with laughter.

You blink once.

Twice.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, and suddenly the room spins. Everything goes too loud, then too quiet. Your breath shortens. The blue is in your eyes. In your nose. In your soul.

You are drowning in it.

Until—

SLAP.

The crack of it is thunder.

It slices through the laughter like a lightning bolt.

A gasp erupts from the crowd.

And there she is.

Haneul.

Black hoodie. Combat boots. Short, messy hair. Eyes blazing.

You’ve seen her around school—on the field, in detention, walking through hallways like she owned them. You’ve heard rumors about her temper, about her fighting, about how she once punched a senior in the jaw for making a girl cry.

But this—this isn’t violence.

This is justice.

Her hand is still raised. Belle’s cheek is red.

"You’re disgusting," Haneul says, her voice trembling not from fear, but rage. “You think you’re powerful because people laugh with you? You think that makes you special?”

The room is stunned. Silent.

No one dares to move.

Then she turns to you.

Her voice softens. “Come on.”

You stare at her. Blink again. Your knees shake.

She doesn’t wait for permission. She grabs your hand.

And in front of everyone—everyone who laughed, everyone who filmed—she pulls you away from the stage. The crowd parts like waves, silent now, shamed into their own shadows.

You leave blue footprints on the floor.

The night air hits you like a slap of its own.

Cold. Cruel. Honest.

You don’t know where she’s leading you. You don’t care. All you know is that Haneul’s hand is still gripping yours, warm and solid, like a lifeline.

You don’t speak until you’re far—so far—from the house, from the stage, from the betrayal.

She finally slows down in a quiet park two blocks away. Lets go of your hand.

You feel the absence like a wound.

"…Why?" your voice comes out hoarse. “Why did you do that?”

She doesn’t answer right away.

Her breath comes in clouds. Her fists clench, then release.

“Because I couldn’t watch it happen.”

You say nothing. The weight of the moment presses into your spine like bricks.

“I saw it in your eyes,” she says, voice softer now. “The second the paint hit you… you were gone. I know that look.”

You look down at your ruined clothes.

At your soaked shoes. At the trembling in your hands.

“I wanted to scream,” you whisper. “But I couldn’t even breathe.”

“I know,” she says.

And somehow, those two words make your knees buckle.

You sit down hard on the park bench.

She doesn’t leave. She sits beside you.

Not too close.

Just enough.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours.

You don’t count them. You just listen.

The night. The wind. Your heartbeat. Hers.

"I really liked her," you say finally. "I thought… I thought she saw me."

“She saw you,” Haneul says. “She just didn’t deserve you.”

You look at her. She’s staring at the ground, jaw clenched again.

“You don’t even know me,” you mutter.

Her eyes flick toward yours. And hold.

“I do now.”

There’s something in her gaze you can’t describe. Not pity. Not sympathy.

Something heavier. Realer.

Something like… respect.

She stands up. Brushes invisible dust from her hoodie.

“You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

“…I don’t want to go home.”

“Then don’t.”

You blink.

She looks over her shoulder, a small grin tugging at her lips.

“I’ve got ramen. And a guitar. You coming or what?”

You hesitate. Just for a second.

Then you stand.

And for the first time that night, you take a step toward something that doesn’t feel like pain.

The warmth of Haneul’s apartment hits you the moment she swings the door open.

It smells like instant ramen, laundry detergent, and something faintly floral—like old perfume soaked into the walls. Her place isn’t big. It’s barely more than a box with a kitchen attached. But it’s clean. Lived-in. There’s a pair of mismatched slippers by the door, a guitar resting against the wall, and post-it notes scattered across a pinboard filled with hand-drawn stars.

She tosses you a towel before you step in.

“Bathroom’s to the right. Try not to drip blue all over the floor.”

You mutter a soft “Thanks,” then shuffle in, careful to leave your paint-soaked shoes by the entrance.

You stare at your reflection under the harsh bathroom light.

Your shirt clings to your skin, crusted with dried paint. Your hair’s a mess. Your eyes are bloodshot from holding back everything you couldn’t scream.

You feel hollow.

Like the humiliation drained something out of you—and left you with nothing but silence.

When you return, Haneul’s already got two bowls of ramen on the table, steam curling into the ceiling. She doesn’t say much. Just gestures for you to sit.

You obey.

The warmth of the broth hits your throat like an apology you didn’t know you needed.

"You eat like you haven’t touched food in a week," she says between bites.

You glance at her. “I haven’t really had an appetite.”

“Understandable,” she murmurs, swirling her noodles.

There’s another silence.

But not the kind that itches.

This one is… calm.

“You know,” you begin after a while, eyes fixed on your bowl. “You never struck me as the type to care.”

Haneul lifts an eyebrow. “Because I don’t smile and hand out cookies like Belle?”

You hesitate. “Because you always seemed… angry.”

She snorts. “That’s fair.”

Then she leans back, chair creaking, and sighs.

“You wanna know something?” she asks.

You look at her.

She’s not looking at you.

Instead, her eyes are somewhere else—somewhere far.

“I used to be just like you.”

That surprises you.

“Me?”

She nods slowly.

“Yeah. Dumb, kind, always thinking that if I smiled wide enough, people would stay.”

Her fingers fidget with the edge of her sleeve.

“In middle school, I was the class clown. The energetic one. Bubbly. Optimistic. I used to bring extra snacks for everyone, wrote handwritten notes to cheer people up during finals. I wanted people to feel like they mattered.”

Her voice cracks just a little.

“I guess I wanted to feel like I mattered too.”

You feel your heart twist.

She exhales sharply through her nose. “I had this friend—Jiwoo. My best friend. She had depression, but never told anyone. I was the only one she talked to. I thought if I just stayed bright enough, I could keep her from falling.”

She swallows.

“One day, she stopped replying to my texts. The next day, they announced it on the intercom.”

You stop breathing.

Haneul’s fingers tighten around her cup.

“And you know what people said?” she continues. “That I should’ve known. That it was my fault for not telling a teacher. That I should’ve done more.”

Her voice hardens now.

“They blamed me for not saving her. They turned her death into my punishment.”

Silence.

The kind that wraps around your throat and chokes.

“So I stopped trying,” she finishes. “Stopped smiling. Stopped being soft. If people wanted me to be cold, fine. At least now, no one expects anything from me.”

She finally looks at you.

And for the first time, you see her—not just the sharp exterior or the fire in her glare—but the ache beneath it all. The wreckage she’s been standing on for years.

“I guess that’s why I couldn’t watch what happened to you tonight,” she says quietly. “Because I’ve been there. I’ve been you.”

You don’t know when your eyes started stinging again.

But they do.

And Haneul—this tough, untouchable girl who once set walls on fire just to survive—she doesn’t judge you for it.

Instead, she reaches out. Her hand brushes yours. Not firm like earlier. This time, it’s gentle.

Soft.

Real.

Later that night, the rain begins to fall.

You sit beside her on the floor, backs against the wall, legs stretched out in front of you. She strums her guitar softly, not playing anything in particular—just sounds, notes, like heartbeat echoes in a room finally safe enough to feel.

You glance at her.

She hums under her breath. Off-key. Carefree.

And you wonder how anyone could’ve thought she was just angry.

She catches you looking.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say too quickly.

She smirks. “Liar.”

You shrug. “Just… thinking.”

She strums a few more chords.

Then, softly—“What about?”

You exhale.

“About how I thought today would be the best day of my life.”

“And instead?”

You look at her again.

Your voice is small.

“It broke me.”

She sets her guitar down.

Crawls a little closer.

“I hate that it happened,” she says. “But I’m glad I was there.”

You nod.

Then after a long pause—

“Me too.”

At some point, you both doze off—your shoulder leaning into hers, her head gently tilted toward yours. The storm rages outside, but for once, your heart is quiet.

Not healed. Not whole.

But not bleeding either.

You never thought you'd feel this kind of silence in a hallway full of people.

Not peaceful silence.

Not shy, comforting silence.

This silence is loaded.

Whispers coil around your feet like chains. Phone screens flash out of the corners of your vision. You can hear it in the way people clear their throats, in the way they shut up the moment you pass by.

Your name—once ignored—is now everywhere. But not in the way you ever wanted.

They saw the video. They saw the paint. They saw your face crumple, your body freeze.

And then they saw her—Haneul—pulling you out like some kind of storm-drenched angel with cracked knuckles and fury in her eyes.

You expected it to fade. Expected to become invisible again.

But you’ve never been more seen.

And it terrifies you.

“Chin up,” Haneul mutters beside you.

You glance at her. She walks like she owns the floor, like none of this matters. Hoodie sleeves tugged down over her hands, earphones in one ear, eyes daring anyone to speak.

She’s unshakable.

Or so it seems.

You stop by your locker.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you murmur.

She leans beside you. “Then leave.”

You blink. “What?”

She shrugs. “If you’re only here to survive, then go. But if you’re here to prove you belong? Then stand up straight.”

Your chest tightens.

“…I’m not good at that.”

“I know,” she says, quieter now. “But you will be.”

The first time you see Belle again is after third period.

She’s standing by the vending machine, alone.

No entourage. No sycophants. No carefully choreographed laugh echoing through the hallway.

You stop.

She looks up—and freezes.

Your eyes meet.

There’s panic in hers. Regret. Something real, for once.

She takes a step forward.

“Hey,” she breathes, like she’s not sure she’s allowed to speak to you anymore.

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

Haneul steps in—like a ghost from your shadow—placing herself right between you two. Her head tilts slightly, eyes cool.

Belle’s mouth opens. Closes.

She looks at you, past Haneul, pleading.

“I—I didn’t mean it to go that far, I just thought—”

“You just thought he wouldn’t matter,” Haneul finishes for her, calm, venomous.

Belle flinches. “I—people pressured me, I thought it would be funny, it’s just—it got out of hand.”

“You thought ruining someone would be funny?” Haneul’s voice sharpens. “Do you even hear yourself?”

You look away.

You can’t handle this. Not now. Not with her voice trembling like she’s the victim in this.

“I’m sorry,” Belle says finally. “Really.”

You glance up.

And for a second… you almost believe her.

Almost.

But then you remember the click of cameras. The laughter. The way she smiled at your pain.

So you say the only thing that’s honest.

“I wish your apology made a difference.”

And you walk past her.

By lunchtime, it’s clear something has changed.

Belle is sitting alone.

Her usual table—once the epicenter of school energy—is cold. Vacant. You hear her name whispered, but not in awe. Not in admiration.

In shame.

Some people are unfollowing her socials.

Others are sharing clips—unedited, raw—from the party.

She’s not the golden girl anymore.

And you…?

You’re something else entirely.

You sit with Haneul under the tree behind the gym. She eats spicy rice cakes with chopsticks, legs folded, hoodie up to block the sun.

You’ve never had a favorite spot in this school.

But maybe this’ll be it.

Maybe this’ll be where you begin.

She catches you staring.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say, smiling for the first time in days. “You just eat like you’re at war.”

She throws a chopstick at you.

You both laugh.

Later that day, she walks you home again. Same way as always. Same silence as always. But now there’s something soft in it. Something shared.

Right before you reach your gate, she stops.

“I meant what I said, by the way.”

You tilt your head. “About what?”

“That you’ll get better at standing tall.”

You nod slowly. “…I hope so.”

She takes a deep breath.

“I could show you, if you let me.”

You blink. “Show me… how?”

She looks at you.

Right in the eyes.

“By walking with you. Every day. Until you stop thinking you have to walk alone.”

You weren’t supposed to smile today.

But here you are—barefoot, sitting on the rooftop of an abandoned art building, wind in your face, and a ridiculous black hoodie three sizes too big swallowing your frame.

“You look like a marshmallow,” Haneul says.

You raise an eyebrow. “You dragged me out of school just to roast me?”

“Duh.”

You shake your head, but you can’t help it—your lips twitch. She notices. She always does.

“There's that smile," she murmurs. "Took me three days and a kidnapping.”

“More like a rescue.”

She shrugs, leaning back on her hands, eyes squinting toward the sun. “Call it what you want. But you needed this.”

She’s right.

You hadn’t realized how much you needed the world to just… pause. No whispers. No phones. No Belle. Just the wind, the open sky, and Haneul's dry sarcasm.

You glance sideways at her.

She’s staring straight ahead, but there’s something softer in the way she sits now. Less like she’s preparing for battle, more like she’s remembering how to rest.

You hug the hoodie closer.

It smells like old books and citrus shampoo.

“Hey,” you say after a while, “why’d you give me your hoodie?”

She glances at you, her usual deadpan replaced with something faint—something that might’ve been a smile if you squinted.

“Because you looked like you needed to hide.”

You go quiet.

Then you whisper, “Thank you.”

She doesn’t say anything.

She doesn’t have to.

Meanwhile… back at school. Belle sits alone in the bathroom stall, her phone trembling in her hand.

Another unfollow. Another friend left her on read. Another anonymous DM: “Karma’s a btch, huh?”*

She locks her screen. Tries to breathe.

But her chest is tight.

She never thought it would last—the video, the backlash, the guilt. It was just a joke. Just a laugh. She didn’t mean to hurt him.

At least… that’s what she told herself.

But the silence around her now? The way people avoid her eyes in the hallway? The way even Lina, her closest friend, started making excuses to not sit beside her?

It feels like she’s disappearing.

And no one even notices.

She remembers your face that night. Frozen. Humiliated. Shattered. And now she understands what that silence feels like.

To be watched… but not seen. To be surrounded… and still so alone.

She unlocks her phone.

She types your name in the search bar.

Clicks on your profile.

No posts.

No updates.

Just a blank screen.

She bites her lip.

“…I’m sorry,” she whispers, like it means anything now.

Back to the rooftop. “Wanna do something stupid?” Haneul asks.

You blink. “What kind of stupid?”

“The kind that heals.”

She pulls a tiny box of chalk from her bag. Tosses it at you.

You raise an eyebrow.

“I know this place looks abandoned,” she grins, “but this rooftop’s magic.”

You snort. “You believe in magic now?”

“I believe in moments that matter,” she replies. “Draw something. Anything. Whatever hurts. Or whatever makes it stop hurting.”

You hesitate… but your fingers close around the chalk.

And for the first time in weeks, you draw.

Not for school. Not for validation. Not even for someone else.

You draw you.

Bent over, paint dripping, the moment the world laughed.

Then—beside it—you draw Haneul.

Hand extended.

Face unafraid.

Saving you.

When you’re done, she stands beside you and looks at it.

“…You drew me scary,” she jokes.

You smile. “You are scary.”

She laughs—and it’s real this time. Loud, unfiltered, music in its purest form.

You don’t realize you’re crying until she gently wipes the tear from your cheek with her sleeve.

“No one sees what you carry,” she says, voice low. “But I do.”

Later, when the sun dips into orange, she lies down on the rooftop with her hands behind her head.

You join her.

Your shoulder brushes hers. She doesn’t move away.

“You were right,” you whisper.

“Obviously,” she mumbles. “About what?”

“About me needing this.”

She turns her head, and for the first time—you don’t look away.

There’s no Belle in your eyes.

Just her.

“I never thought I’d be able to feel okay again,” you say softly.

She smirks. “You’re not ‘okay’ yet.”

You raise a brow. “Thanks.”

“But,” she continues, “you’re better. And that matters more.”

And it does.

Meanwhile… Belle scrolls through old photos. There’s one of you, from a class trip. You're blurry in the background, holding someone’s bag while they took selfies.

She never noticed you back then.

Not really.

And now, she can’t stop thinking about you.

The way you smiled at her when she was tired. The way you always said “Good luck” before her presentations. The way you looked at her like she was more than a poster girl.

She used you.

And now?

No one looks at her that way anymore.

That night, you check your phone.

A message.

Belle: “Can I call you? Just once?”

You stare at it.

You don’t reply.

You close your phone.

Then turn back toward Haneul, who’s fallen asleep next to you, lips parted slightly, hair brushing her cheek.

You smile.

And for the first time in forever…

It’s real.

You didn’t mean to smile this much lately.

It just… happens.

You laugh at dumb jokes again. You walk with your chin up. People greet you first now, and when they do, it doesn’t feel forced. It feels earned.

And maybe—just maybe—it’s because of her.

Haneul.

She still wears dark hoodies and death-stares half the school, but these days… she hums under her breath. Teases you more. Smiles when no one’s looking.

You eat lunch together—under the same tree every day. She lets you hold her sketchbook. You show her your old drawings. She even made you a playlist called “for when it hurts less” and you listened to it three nights in a row.

People started noticing.

Not in the whisper kind of way.

In the respectful kind of way.

“I never realized he was so cool.” “They really suit each other.” “She’s not scary, she’s just real.”

For once, the story isn’t about paint, humiliation, or betrayal.

It’s about healing.

But for Belle…

It’s the opposite.

She’s not the center anymore.

Her name used to buzz in group chats. Now, it barely exists.

Her own "friends" invite her just to ignore her. She laughs at jokes and no one joins in. She posts a photo—four likes. She walks into class—no saved seat. And the ones who do talk to her?

They do it to mock.

Fake kindness. Cheap jabs hidden under compliments.

“Cute dress, Belle. Did you borrow it from the charity bin?”

She flinches.

She doesn’t fight back.

Because now, she knows how it feels to be outcasted, targeted, powerless.

Like you were.

And the pain she once delivered now echoes back tenfold.

You see it all.

You see her sitting alone in the cafeteria. Food untouched. Eyes glazed. Trying to pretend she doesn’t care.

And maybe, a part of you thinks: She deserves this.

But another part… the realest part…

It just hurts to watch.

That afternoon, you walk beside Haneul, the usual trail from school to your place. She’s rambling about some weird dream she had involving a duck, a hoodie, and a haunted elevator.

You laugh harder than you mean to.

She grins.

“You’re finally laughing like you used to,” she says.

“I don’t even remember how I used to laugh.”

“Well, it was like this,” she teases, mimicking an exaggerated version of you—giggling like a cartoon.

You tackle her in retaliation.

The moment feels so light. So alive.

You don’t want it to end.

But then, out of the corner of your eye—you see Belle.

She’s standing by the lamppost, shoulders hunched, books clutched to her chest. Two girls from the cheer squad walk past her—one “accidentally” bumps her, causing her books to fall.

They don’t apologize.

They laugh.

And Belle just stares at the ground.

You freeze.

So does Haneul.

You watch as Belle kneels down, quietly picking up torn papers in silence.

And something in your chest… twists.

“I’m gonna help her,” you say suddenly.

Haneul blinks. “What?”

“She needs help.”

Haneul’s face tightens. “She humiliated you. Publicly.”

“I know.”

“Don’t be a fool.”

You hesitate.

“I’m not doing it because I forgive her. I’m doing it because… no one deserves to feel like they don’t matter.”

Silence.

Her eyes harden—not with hatred, but hurt.

“Even after what she did to you?”

“Especially after that.”

She exhales slowly. Looks away. “You’re a better person than me.”

You step forward. “No. I’m just… not angry anymore.”

You gently squeeze her hand.

“I’ll come back, okay?”

She doesn’t look at you.

But she nods.

You kneel beside Belle.

She’s frozen, not daring to look at you.

“…You dropped this,” you say quietly, holding out her sketch notes.

She blinks. Then slowly takes them.

Her voice cracks. “Why are you helping me?”

You shrug. “Because someone helped me once… when no one else did.”

She looks at you—really looks. And suddenly, the glossy pride in her eyes is gone. All that’s left is guilt.

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes out.

You say nothing.

Because you already know.

“I never thought people would turn on me like this,” she whispers. “And now I can’t stop thinking about how I made you feel. I—I think about it all the time.”

You exhale. “Good.”

She blinks.

“Because that means you’re changing.”

Her lips tremble. “It hurts.”

You nod.

“It’s supposed to.”

You don’t ask her to stand. You don’t pretend this moment erases anything.

But you offered your hand.

That’s what matters.

Later, back at the tree, Haneul sits alone—headphones in, sketchbook on her knees.

You approach.

She doesn’t say anything.

You sit beside her.

Still nothing.

“…Mad at me?” you ask.

“No.”

She sketches a quick line. “Just scared.”

You blink. “Of what?”

“Of you being too kind again. To people who don’t deserve it.”

You stare down at your hands.

“I can’t stop being who I am.”

She sighs. “I know. That’s why I lo—”

She stops.

Freezes.

You glance at her.

“…What?”

She closes her sketchbook.

“Nothing.”

But there’s a flush in her cheeks. Her jaw clenched.

And for a moment…

You wonder if she almost said it.

Ever since that afternoon, something about Haneul is different.

She still acts the same, mostly. Still shoves your shoulder in the hallway. Still rolls her eyes at your jokes.

But now?

She pulls her hoodie sleeves back just a little more—to show her bracelets. She reapplies lip balm before she sees you. There’s a soft scent on her that wasn’t there before—like wild berries or faint vanilla.

She still curses like a sailor and threatens to fight anyone who gets too close to you, but…

There’s a new gentleness in her eyes when they land on yours.

You see it.

Everyone sees it.

Today, she shows up at your place unannounced.

You’re wearing pajamas and eating dry cereal out of the box.

She frowns. “You look like a wet sock.”

“You look like someone who Googled ‘how to look like a soft girl’ and got too deep into Pinterest boards.”

She opens her mouth to argue.

Then stops.

“…Okay, yeah, that’s fair.”

You squint. “Wait. Did you?”

She turns red.

“Shut up and let me in.”

You watch her out of the corner of your eye as she toes off her shoes and sits cross-legged on your bed like it’s always been hers. She's wearing a cropped hoodie today, pale pink with a tiny stitched bunny on the sleeve.

You blink. “…Is that blush?”

She freezes.

Coughs.

“No,” she lies.

You smirk. “I like it.”

She throws a pillow at your face.

But she’s smiling.

And her eyes are sparkling in that quiet, secret way.

Meanwhile… Belle’s watching you again.

From behind bookshelves. From across classrooms. At lunch.

She’s not sure when it started.

That flutter.

That ache.

That quiet, gnawing realization that no one in her life had ever looked at her the way you did—before everything fell apart.

Not like a trophy. Not like a goddess. Just… like a girl.

And now, she’s seeing you differently too.

The way you help the teacher stack books after class.

The way you high-five a junior who looked nervous about his grades.

The way you still sit under that same tree every day—only now you laugh harder, louder.

Because of her.

Haneul.

Belle sees it. The closeness. The bond.

And she hates that it makes her chest tighten.

Not because she wants to take you back like a prize.

But because she’s realizing what she lost—

Before she ever even had it.

Back in your room, Haneul is lying on her stomach, doodling in her sketchbook.

You’re scrolling through your playlist.

“Want to hear something cheesy?”

“Only if it’s painfully cheesy.”

You nod. Play a song—an old indie ballad with soft vocals, lyrics about scars and stars, about loving someone who patched you up when the world left you bleeding.

She listens silently.

Then says, “This is your way of flirting, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

She smiles.

But it falters.

And then, softly—

“Why’d you really help her?”

You pause.

Belle.

“…Because I wanted to break the cycle. She hurt me, yeah. But I’m not her. I didn’t want to become her.”

Haneul exhales. “That’s so annoyingly noble of you.”

You chuckle. “Is that a dealbreaker?”

She doesn’t answer right away.

Then…

“No,” she whispers. “It’s why I’m falling for you.”

You freeze.

She does too.

Eyes wide.

“Wait—” she blurts. “I—I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

You’re quiet.

And she looks like she wants to vanish into the floorboards.

But you take a breath.

Then say:

“…It’s okay. Because I think I’m falling too.”

Her eyes soften.

And for the first time since you met her—really met her—Haneul lets herself smile like a girl who believes she deserves to be loved.

Belle sits alone in the art room.

A pencil in her hand. A blank paper in front of her.

She doesn’t know how to draw—but she tries to sketch anyway.

A boy.

Your hoodie.

Your eyes.

The moment you picked up her books while she was breaking inside.

She stares at it for a long time.

Then writes under it: “I’m sorry I saw you too late.”

You didn’t plan on taking her out.

It just sort of happened.

One minute, you're walking past the quiet bookstore across from the riverside trail—next thing you know, you’re pulling her inside, teasing her over her weird obsession with tragic novels and horror manga.

“Do not disrespect Junji Ito in this house,” she warns, arms crossed as she browses.

You grin. “Are you threatening me in a bookstore?”

“Damn right I am.”

You laugh, and she turns pink at how easily she made you smile.

You end up walking along the riverside after that. The late sun hits her face just right. She looks softer today—her hoodie traded for a cardigan, her nails neatly painted, a tiny star charm on her necklace.

You hold her hand.

She doesn’t pull away.

In fact… she squeezes back.

The date ends at her place.

You don’t know how it got there—just that you were both laughing too loud at some stupid inside joke, and neither of you wanted to say goodbye.

So you’re on her couch now.

You, beside her.

The lights dim. A quiet playlist hums from her speaker—slow acoustic strums and sleepy harmonies.

Haneul pulls a blanket over the both of you.

Then, gently, she curls into you.

And you let her.

You’re not trembling. You’re not overthinking.

You’re home.

“I used to hate this,” she whispers.

You look down at her. “What?”

“This kind of quiet.”

You don’t say anything.

She continues.

“I used to think quiet meant danger. Like something bad was always coming.”

You feel her hand tighten around your shirt.

“But with you… it’s safe. And I don’t know when that happened. I don’t know when I stopped being scared.”

You hold her closer.

“…The night you saved me,” you say.

She nods.

“That was when I changed,” she whispers. “Not you. Me.”

She sits up just a little—eyes on yours.

“I never wanted to feel again. I told myself it was easier that way. But then I saw you—humiliated, broken, and still so kind.”

Her voice cracks.

“And suddenly I wasn’t angry anymore. I just wanted to protect something again. Someone.”

She leans in, forehead resting gently against yours.

“You changed me,” she says.

“And you saved me,” you reply.

She smiles.

And then she kisses you.

It’s not rushed.

It’s not fiery.

It’s not about hunger.

It’s about presence.

Soft lips. Gentle pressure. A kiss that says: I’m here. I’m grateful. I’m in love.

You kiss her back.

Slowly. Again. And again.

Until she pulls away—barely—and whispers, “Stay tonight.”

You nod.

You don’t speak.

You follow her to her room.

The first time your hands touch under the covers, they tremble. Not out of lust, but out of vulnerability.

She kisses your shoulder. Whispers your name.

You brush her hair back, kiss her temple.

And when your bodies meet, it’s not about noise. It’s not about proving anything.

It’s release. Of trauma. Of fear. Of loneliness.

You move like the world is silent around you—just two souls rediscovering what it means to be wanted. To be seen. To be held.

When it’s over, you don’t move.

You just stay there.

Her breath on your neck. Your arm around her waist.

And for the first time in forever…

You sleep peacefully.

Meanwhile… Belle sits on her bedroom floor, knees drawn to her chest, surrounded by crumpled paper. She’s been drawing for hours.

All of them are you.

You smiling. You holding a book. You helping her pick up papers. You walking away… and her watching.

She’s not crying.

Not anymore.

Now… she’s trying.

Trying to hold onto the only piece of beauty she has left—your face.

She finishes one last sketch.

It’s you, laughing. Not for her, but for someone else. She doesn’t know who drew it—her hand or her heart.

But when it’s done…

She smiles.

A real one.

The sun creeps in through her curtains, painting soft gold across her sheets.

She’s still asleep—Haneul—her face buried in your shoulder, one arm flung across your chest like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go.

You don’t move.

You barely breathe.

Because this moment?

You never thought you’d have something this safe.

This warm.

Her hair smells like strawberries and sleep. Her lips part slightly with each soft breath. You glance down, your thumb brushing lightly along her hand.

This is real.

You feel it.

Last night wasn’t a dream.

And neither is she.

She stirs.

Eyes blinking open—tired, unfocused, soft.

“…You’re still here,” she murmurs, like she’s surprised.

“I said I would be.”

Her lips curve into the smallest smile.

“…Good.”

She leans in.

Kisses your shoulder. Then your cheek.

Then pulls the blanket up and burrows into your side like a cat who knows this is home now.

You both stay like that for a while.

No words. No plans.

Just skin. Breath. Heartbeats.

Later, you walk with her to school.

This time, you hold her hand the whole way there.

This time, you don’t care who sees.

You pass your usual classmates—some stare, some smile, some whisper.

But no one dares to speak.

Because you’re not the victim anymore. And Haneul’s not just the scary girl.

You’re together.

And that’s enough.

At lunch, she sits closer than usual.

Your thighs touch. She steals fries from your plate. You let her.

When someone from the soccer team tries to sit near you, she glares so hard he apologizes and backs away without a word.

You laugh under your breath. “Territorial?”

“Possessive,” she says bluntly.

But her fingers curl around yours beneath the table.

Then, during your final class of the day—you feel it.

That strange shift in the air.

You glance up from your notebook.

And she’s there.

Belle.

At the classroom door.

She’s holding something in her hands. It looks like… a sketchbook.

Your heart stutters.

She walks in, head bowed slightly, and gives the teacher a note. Then, slowly… she turns and walks toward you.

Everyone watches.

Even Haneul, from across the room—eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Belle stops in front of your desk.

She doesn’t speak at first.

Then quietly:

“Hey. Can I talk to you… after class?”

You hesitate.

Haneul stares.

“…Sure,” you say.

Belle nods once.

Then walks away.

After the bell, you meet her just outside the back exit, near the small garden where club kids sometimes smoke and hide from teachers.

Belle stands there holding the sketchbook.

She offers it to you.

You take it slowly.

Inside… are drawings.

Of you.

Some shaky, some awkward, but some… beautiful.

One of you laughing.

One of you holding books.

One—your back turned, walking away from her, with her in the background, crying.

You look up.

“I’ve been practicing,” she says softly. “I wanted to get better at something. And I wanted to remember… you.”

You don’t know what to say.

She steps closer.

“I don’t want to erase what I did,” she says. “Because that would be cowardly. But I want to become someone new. Someone who deserves to be in your life again.”

You look into her eyes.

She means it.

You feel it in your bones.

She smiles—nervously, not flirtatiously.

“I’m not here to take you back. I know you love her. I can see it when you look at her.”

You glance away.

She continues.

“…But if there’s ever room in your heart, even just a little corner… I’d like to be someone who earns it. One day.”

You exhale slowly.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to,” Belle whispers. “Just… don’t push me away completely.”

She turns to go.

Pauses.

Then adds:

“She’s lucky, you know. Haneul.”

You look up.

Belle smiles—soft, genuine, a little sad.

“She gets the boy who saved me from becoming someone I hated.”

That night, Haneul’s quiet.

You’re lying on her bed again, a movie playing on her laptop, but she’s not paying attention.

“…You okay?” you ask.

She nods. “Yeah.”

Pause.

“…You talked to her.”

You sit up slightly.

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t ask what she said.

She doesn’t need to.

Because Haneul's smart.

She knows the look in your eyes.

The same look she used to have when you weren't looking at her yet.

She lies back.

And whispers:

“Just… don’t forget who held you when you felt like no one would.”

You look at her.

And you take her hand.

“Never,” you promise. “You’re the one who changed everything.”

And still…

You can’t help but glance out the window.

And wonder…

How do you choose between someone who made you feel again…

…and someone who’s learning to feel because of you?

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

Maisie's guide to disguised AI

If you've been anywhere near AO3 recently, you've probably encountered AI writing at some point. As somebody who writes for, primarily, the ER fandom (and occasionally the Pitt, too), I've noticed a concerning trend over the last few days: AI-generated fanfiction clogging the tags.

Firstly, I'd like to say that if you ARE posting fics on AO3 that were AI-generated, and you're passing them off as your own, please stop. I know this is not likely to actually resonate with you if this IS you, but on the off-chance that you do see this- please use tags as intended and make it clear that you're using AI.

Secondly, before I go into some AI tells in detail, I want to preface this with a warning- just because you see one or two of these in a fic, there's no guarantee that it was AI-generated. Please approach the matter of flagging fics with care, because the last thing I want is to incite a witch hunt against innocent people just engaging in fandom.

However, when seen in tandem, these signs should act as a warning to think a little more deeply about what you're reading, and ask the question- was this human written?

1. Em-dashes

I'm getting this one out of the way quickly because it's something easily identifiable, but it should by no means discredit a fic on its own. Real people can use em-dashes, but ChatGPT uses them a LOT. Like, a distracting amount. And they're often used in conjunction with...

2. 'Not' qualifiers

ChatGPT doesn't do 'yes, and'. It seems to work off 'no, but' instead (sorry @pagingdoctorcarter , like an AI, I am stealing your phrase here. But I do have the decency to credit, I suppose!).

Take this sentence I've come up with right now:

Carter was so exhausted he was struggling to stand, legs trembling with the strain of keeping him upright.

AI might write something like this (using my own creative license here because I don't want to feed the beast):

Carter was exhausted— not the regular exhaustion that came with twelve hours on his feet. Something deeper. Heavier.

3. Repetitive phrases.

AI is not original, so it can't come up with anything original, of course. This means that it relies on basic phrases it uses over and over and over again e.g 'the kind of (blank) that (blank)'

4. The classic 'concrete noun' + 'abstract noun' combo

For reasons that I can't quite understand, AI adores this. Some humans include this combo in their work, too, but AI does it even more frequently. Some real phrases I've encountered so far include:

"a story about meatballs and betrayal"

"champagne and anxiety soaked into the upholstery"

5. Anachronisms and inaccuracies

This is especially present in a fandom like ER, where most of the time we're writing about the 90s, and this CAN be attributed to genuine human error... but if Carter is repeatedly 'swiping' on his phone screen to open a call, and everyone's always texting... could be AI.

In a similar vein, if someone is shouting 'code blue!' for things that AREN'T cardiac arrest, or mixing up names and even hallucinating random characters- think 'maybe AI'.

6. Short sentences, short paragraphs, short chapters.

AI doesn't have the ability to understand how paragraphs are structured for ease of reading and flow. So it likes short sentences. Snappy sentences.

And not just when the situation suits it. But always.

If there's a hell of a lot of paragraphs, it could be AI. AI doesn't like including many clauses. At all.

7. Generic similes and phrases that don't mean anything at all

This relates to the 'concrete noun + abstract noun combo' but, more generally, AI produces writing that veers away from specifics. It won't often describe places in too much detail, and when it comes to similes, it uses simple, overused ones OR spouts a series of words that are meaningless. If you see an abstract simile in a fic, take a second. Is it abstract because it's complex and has several layers, or is it utterly meaningless?

8. A crazy update schedule

This one is less reliable because it IS possible to bank chapters and then post a lot in one go, but if an author is posting many thousands of words in the span of a few days, consider this a small red flag- especially in conjunction with the other things mentioned. It could mean they're just pumping out AI-generated writing, and this allows them to move far quicker than any human.

9. Overly mushy dialogue

AI is a thief, but it's a happy-go-lucky thief. Characters speak like they stepped straight off Sesame Street at times, lacking any kind of emotional complexity.

10. Awful, awful jokes

AI cannot write jokes. It simply cannot. If you read a joke in a fic that feels Disney-Channel esque but also doesn't make sense at all? It very well could be AI.

For instance:

Nobody talks like this.

Also, note the 'concrete noun + abstract noun' combo again here! (This actually was an AI fic as confirmed by author before deletion, not naming them here): 'gauze and intuition'.

Conclusion

Be vigilant. Don't fall for AI crap and, if you disagree with the concept of AI work clogging AO3 tags, definitely don't leave kudos.

And if you're posting this stuff, yet again I ask you politely, please STOP.

Thank you.

[kqutie]

BIRDIE 01

relationship : l&ds love interest/bird!reader

sum. : you fall asleep and wake up as a bird in the love and deepspace universe. you're a little disgruntled at first but then you spot someone familiar and it's not as scary of a situation

tags. : fluff ; bird reader ; tooth-rotting fluff ; is it a dream or an isekai

length. : 2.4k

a/n : this was inspired by the event where zayne encounters an adorable pink birdie in a gazebo and mc takes pictures hehe~

navi.

With a sigh, you lean back and rest against your cosy lounge chair, snuggling into your fluffy blanket with a small smile on your face. Your arms were beginning to ache a little too much, and you had to put your iPad down from playing ‘Love & Deepspace’, but you had no regrets. For now, you’ll settle for taking a quick break, snuggle up and steep in the soft emotions your favourite, virtual men left you buzzing with. Seeing them always puts you in a good mood and a sleepy one too, so it wasn’t surprising that you easily slipped into slumber not long after commencing your pause from the game. You’ll get back to it again as soon as you wake up. You were determined to earn more diamonds to spend on more pulls. 

Not everything goes to plan, however… 

‘What the?…’ you think to yourself, blinking awake and gasping when you realise you’re up in a tree. ‘How the hell did I get up here?!’ In your alarm, you look down, then up, then side to side, only to increase your trepidation — where had your arms gone? Where were your feet? WHY WERE YOU COVERED IN FEATHERS?!  AND WHY THE UNIQUE COLOURING?!

Are you a bird right now? Why?!

I want to play Love & Deepspace on my IPad!!! Your priorities are as straight as can be. 

This is just a dream! I’m just dreaming of being a bird for some reason, but that’s okay because all I have to do is wake up and I’ll be back to playing Love & Deepspace before I know. It was logical enough, and you managed to calm yourself down. But the real question was, how do you wake yourself from a dream? Your first instinct is to snap your eyes shut and try to fall asleep somehow; maybe if you fall asleep in this dream, you’ll wake up from it…

Time ticks past slowly, your eyes still snapped shut. You don’t know how long you’ve been furiously chanting to wake up, but when your eyes open once more, nothing’s changed. Suddenly, everything feels too real: the air is to crisp in your lungs, your body feels as light as feathers, the sun assaulting your corneas is too blinding, and your racing heart drums against your ears deafeningly, making the too-real world spiral around you.  This can’t be happening!

When you open your mouth, now beak, to cry out loud, frustrated and confused, sweet little chirps come out instead. When you raise your arms, now wings, to the sky as if demanding, pleading for an explanation, you end up fluttering your wings. With mounting irritation, you jump in a huff, forgetting to stop your arms from beating your feathery wings, effectively lifting you off the solid branch beneath. This sends you falling from your perch unceremoniously, chirping in distress until instincts hit you and your wings spread out wide, catching the air before safely gliding to a lower branch. 

‘Great! Juusstt great!’ you cry in agony, wailing at your odd situation, only to hear incoherent chirping come out of your mouth—beak. Agitated, your breast feathers bristle up, and you imagine yourself inflating like a balloon, pumped full of hot air, fit to bursting. You would have willingly blown yourself up from the frustration too, if it weren’t for a familiar figure catching your now, eagle-sharp eyes, courtesy of your new avian status. 

Silvery, grey-ish hair; an adorable but handsome face; eyes gently closed in sleep; a soft white hoodie with a light blue shirt underneath— you recognise him in an instant. It’s Xavier… 

Of course, you would dream of him. You were obsessed, after all. But you were suddenly overtaken by a hungry curiosity. Ravenous in nature, it easily devoured your annoyance and planted an entirely different seed of thought in your head. Would this vivid dream allow you to admire Xavier closely?… There was only one way to find out~

With a flutter of your small, iridescent wings, you fly over to Xavier’s sleeping form as he dozes on a park bench. The fly down was piloted by complete instinct, graceful and silent, as if on autopilot. You weren’t prepared for the sudden impact of landing, however, and had a bit of a tumble when landing on the bench beside Xavier’s thigh. With a huff—that also came out as a chirp—you rolled onto your little bird feet and shook your little round body to realign your ruffled feathers before tilting your head curiously upwards.

Xavier looks like an angel as you stare up at him, your tail feathers wiggling in delight at the sight of his beautiful visage. This was surreal; he looked so tangible. You tilt your head and let out a small chirp of adoration. Suddenly, you’re very happy that this dream is so realistic. Suddenly, you don’t care about being a tiny little bird. Right now, all you care about is this handsome man before you. If only you could see his eyes… 

From how much bigger he is in comparison to your pocket-sized form, you gather that you’re probably a pretty small bird, so… even if you perch on his lap or shoulder, he wouldn’t wake up, right? Oh well! This might be your only chance at being with him in such a tactile way; you weren’t going to waste it. With a big flap of your wings, you settle on his lap and preen with glee, chittering happily on instinct and doing little hops across his thighs. You’re sitting on Xavier’s lap! It’s a dream come true! It’s only natural for you to do a celebratory dance. Little birds don’t weigh a lot, so he surely won’t wake up from something like this. And you have all the time to continue admiring him up close— 

“…What the…?”

Startled, you look up and gasp—chirp—at the familiar pair of gentle blue eyes staring down at you, steeped in confusion as he blinks away the fuzzy varnish of sleep from his vision. He’s awake! And, although you feel a little guilty for disturbing his sleep, you were too awestruck to do much else but admire him. His eyes have always been beautiful. They were an innocuous trap, really, but one that you would willingly fall into over and over again. Even with his furrowed brows, the gentleness of his gaze remained, accompanied by the elegant slope of his nose and the reserved but inquisitive tilt of his lips; he was the epitome of softness, underpinned by a disarmingly deep and gentle voice.  

When Xavier had strolled through the park and located a comfortable bench for a nap, he didn’t expect to sleep for long, only a little while. It wasn’t an ideal place, but it was good enough to rest his tired eyes and weary limbs. What he didn’t expect, however, was to be woken up by a small, harmless bird hopping about on his lap, only to stare up at him as soon as he woke up. It wasn’t like the birds that visited him at home, rather, this one was much smaller, round and fluffy with a little head resting atop its ball-like body.  

“What are you doing?” Xavier asks, not expecting a coherent answer but unable to stop himself from asking. As if understanding him, however, the little bird lets out a small chirp, a sweet and airy sound, but an indecipherable response. 

“Hmm…” Xavier, unperturbed by your disruption of his sleep, takes a finger and pokes your belly, almost toppling you over if you didn’t flap your wings in protest and steady your little bird-feet on his lap. It made him smile faintly at how adorable you looked, and how vulnerable too; he couldn’t believe that a single poke had you almost falling over.  

Chirp! Chirrp! 

“You have a bigger belly than Fatso.” That comment earned him a light nip on the finger, “Sorry, sorry.” He chuckles deeply, the sound coming from deep within his chest, unaffected by the slight reprimand and proceeds to tickle your belly with a finger to emphasise his apology. The sensation gave you a warm feeling and released tickling butterflies in your stomach. He’s touching you, he’s solid and tangible, and he’s here; he’s real! 

Feeling an overwhelming joy, you flutter your wings and rise from his lap as he looks at you in wonder. Xavier has never seen such an animated bird before, let alone one that seems to understand what he’s saying. Its antics are quite amazing, it’s difficult for him to look away, and his eyes remain transfixed on your small, feathery form, attached by strings of interest. Following your movement closely, Xavier watches as you perch yourself on the edge of his shoulder before hopping as close as you can to his face. You disappear into his periphery as he lets out a questioning hum, his expression quickly falling into a small smile when he feels your soft little head nuzzle against his cheek. 

“Cute…cuter than Fatso.” Xavier comments, earning another playful nip from your tiny beak, which makes him chuckle and shake his head fondly, drawing your attention to his soft hair.  Feeling no shame (this is a dream after all), you fly up with another flutter of your wings and perch on his head where you nuzzle down into his silvery locks. Xavier feels your soft weight at the very centre of his head and rolls his eyes playfully. He probably looks like a fool right now, but that doesn’t take away from your cute fondness. It makes him wonder why you’re so eager to be close to him. Were birds always this affectionate? 

“What are you doing up there? There’s nothing interesting—ow!” It was probably the cuteness aggression you’ve built up for Xavier that made you tug on his hair, but now you feel bad. To express your apology, you give a sad chirp and softly nuzzle at the root of the silver strand you just tugged at. “So birds can be apologetic too, huh?” Xavier plucks you from his head and holds you in his palms as he rests his cupped hands on his lap. “Just don’t do it again. My hairs aren’t worms.” He offers you a gentle smile and gently rubs the top of your small head with a finger, his smile brightening as he watches you lean into his touch and let out a happy chirp. 

You stick to Xavier like glue after that, hovering around him like the moon orbiting the Earth. Sometimes you perch yourself on his shoulder, often nuzzling his cheek affectionately as he leans into your devoted intimacy with a chuckle. At times, you would nestle your little head beneath his ear and wiggle in bliss when you find that if you focus enough, his faint pulse will tap comfortingly against your soft, feathered head—a consoling rhythm. Other times, you would perch on his head again, surrounded by the fragrance wafting from his hair, it was clean and fresh, bringing with it the allure of fresh laundry, only faintly touched by a note of sharp eucalyptus. The scent tickled your senses distinctly, it was vivid and not like any dream you’ve had before. It all feels too real, but alas, you pay it no mind. You just wanted to focus on absorbing every little detail you can before you eventually wake up.

Today was his day off, a rarity for the discomfort that flooded his veins because of it.  His fingers had been itching for something to do all day, but now that he was having to care for a cute little birdie, he didn’t mind it so much. Whenever he felt a restlessness in his fingers, all he had to do was reach for you, and his unease disappears. It disappears when you let out a satisfied chirp, sounding like a contented sigh, as you lean into his touch with a peaceful look on your little face. Xavier had never seen a bird look so content before, let alone one that looked like it was smiling, but he certainly has now. And it was adorable. 

“Are you that comfortable with me?” he asks absentmindedly, smiling at you with his eyes and mouth. 

Chirp! You answer immediately, leaving no space for doubt. ‘Yes, I am!’ he imagines was your response, his smile brightening with an airy chuckle as he watches you close your eyes and peck lightly at his fingertips, your tail feathers wiggling in glee. You’re an adorable, precious little thing, and it was easy to foster a warm fondness for you in his chest. 

“I wonder where you came from.” Xavier hums in thought, giving you a teasing poke before tickling your cheek with his blunt fingernail. “It’s as if you know me.” He watches you tilt your head at him as if questioning his inquiry, but he stays silent, entranced by your movements. You always appeared to move as if in a hypnotic dance that demanded his attention; it was the same sort of hypnosis all birds chanted whenever they elegantly swooped by, always managing to catch a person’s eyes. But you were a special sort, especially with your unique colourant, he’s never seen such a winsome plumage on a female bird before, as they’re usually much duller than their male counterparts. 

You make a faint cheeping sound before ruffling your feathers, shaking off his words casually before tilting your head at him once more. It felt like you understood him through your actions, but rather than answer him confidently like you did earlier, you opted for admiring his appearance instead, dismissing his words entirely. With a shake of his head, Xavier sighs in surrender, his warm smile returning when he watches you hop close enough to cuddle against the cushion of his hand, resting against the curve of his palm. “I suppose it isn’t important…”

૮(•͈⌔•͈)ა ✧˖°. ༄

“So this is where you’ve been… You look very cosy,” Xavier comments thoughtfully. You had gone missing for an extended period, and he had gone into a slight panic when he felt a subtle weight in his hood. Following his suspicions, he carefully slipped off his hoodie to find you asleep in his hood, head tucked into the soft feathers of your round body. 

He sets you down on the coffee table, bundled up in his hoodie as he leans back against his sofa. He feels strangely at peace today, his mind more relaxed than usual, as if he had just woken from a restful sleep, even though he knows he hasn’t. Without intending to, his eyes find your peacefully sleeping form again, and a smile blooms over his lips. His shoulders sag, and his eyes begin to droop. It was time for a nap. 

navi.

a/n : this is the result of my recent love and deepspace obsession and i have more planned for our darling boys. i will be writing a small imagine for each of the boys so look forward to the next one, just so that it stays a little exciting, i won't be mentioning who will come next hehe~

[silentcaps]

Before you they never…

tags: hurt/comfort, soft, relationship

cast: albedo, venti, noelle, rosaria, xinyan, tartaglia x reader

side b: baizhu, beidou, bennett, diluc, kazuha, mona

ALBEDO

Before your relationship, he never asked anyone to pose for him. Albedo used to paint landscapes, standing on snowy mountain slopes, leaving rough sketches in his notebook next to his lab notes.

But he wants to draw you all the time now. Against a sunset or a night lake, busy or resting on the bed, dressed or not. Albedo admires you like an artist does a muse he's been searching for.

And it’s not about appearance. He catches how you bite your lip when you’re thinking. How you fidget with the hem of your shirt when you’re nervous. How you fix your hair out of habit, even when it’s not in your eyes. He sketches those little things too. In a separate album, carefully, like he’s documenting them.

And sometimes he asks, “I need to draw you again.” But you can see it in his eyes — he doesn’t need to. He just wants to create with you.

VENTI

Before your relationship, he never wanted to stay. And now Venti catches himself thinking that freedom doesn’t feel as easy to breathe in as it used to. Without you, he can’t breathe at all.

He starts staying the night — falling asleep on the hard couch and saying it’s comfortable. Tries to make breakfast. Picks wildflowers and brings them to you. Settles in with you.

At first, it scares him, and Venti disappears into bars. Alcohol always used to help, but now it tastes bitter. He could’ve thought you cast a spell on him, but this wanderer trusts you more than he trusts himself.

Venti doesn’t know if this will work out — he knows his own nature. But for the first time, he’s not afraid to try. And he doesn’t run.

NOELLE

Before your relationship, Noelle only knew love from books. In them, people confessed right away, fights vanished within a chapter, and the characters understood each other without a word.

Real life turned out differently. You argued — sometimes even shouted. Learned to listen, to give in, to forgive. In those moments, Noelle looked away, and it seemed like she wanted to give up. To go back to the fairy tale where love didn’t hurt.

But she still kept your gifts in a neat little box. She even saved small things: a dried flower from the first bouquet, a theater ticket, notes scribbled on scraps of paper.

And in her journal, she wrote:

“I don’t know how it’s supposed to be. In books, it’s different. But if we’re together — I’ll manage.”

ROSARIA

Before your relationship, Rosaria had never prayed for someone else out of her own free will. Her faith had always been hollow — nothing more than a habit drilled into her by elders.

Now, when you set off on a journey, she kneels in the cold temple. In a whisper, almost angrily, she begs Barbatos to keep you safe.

“Let them come back. I won’t ask for anything else.”

She hates how her clenched fists tremble. Hates that there’s someone she’s afraid to lose.

But if she stops praying — there’ll be nothing left but panic.

XINYAN

Before your relationship, Xinyan had never dedicated a song to anyone.

Not because she didn’t write — quite the opposite. She had dozens of drafts and lines scribbled on scraps of paper. But every time, at the last minute, she threw them out. No one was supposed to know who’d made a home in her heart.

But now — she stayed up all night, finishing the chords, wrote the guitar riff herself, poured every feeling into the lyrics. She’d worked on it so hard.

And now she’s looking at you from the stage — finds you instantly in the crowd, just by your eyes and silhouette, could never mistake you for anyone else — and sings, no smile on her face, with raw honesty in her voice:

“Baby, what are you doing? You know you can always come to me.”

TARTAGLIA

Before your relationship, he’d never introduced anyone to his family. Sure, Tartaglia had had girlfriends, but it never got that far. So your arrival in their home is a real event.

His mother sets the table, his father puts on his best clothes, the younger ones calm down. They’re more nervous than you are, and Tartaglia — he’s just happy.

He introduces everyone by name. Wraps an arm around your shoulders, serves you food himself, pointing out the juiciest piece on the plate. Gives a full tour of the childhood bedroom. Offers you a toy he carved from wood.

Then his family pulls you into conversation, and to your surprise, you learn that before your relationship, there were many things Tartaglia “never did.”

He never let anyone talk while fishing. Never wrapped someone in his scarf during a snowstorm. Never taught anyone how to shoot or fence. And never shared so much of himself with anyone.

[rori-is-writing]

Conflict of Interest

A The Pitt Drabble Series.

Drabbles | Teen | Dr. Robby x Nurse!Reader | 669 words ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Summary: An unwanted visitor walks into your E.R. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Tags: Angst, Doctors Behaving Badly, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Nurse!Reader

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

[ A/N: Yes, this is longer than 500 words and I'm technically breaking my own rules about what a drabble is but this idea hit me like a freight train the other day and I couldn't not write it. So shhhhhhhhh. ]

You have always been a standout nurse. A tough nurse. You’ve been hit, pushed, spat on, and groped and all of it you’ve taken in stride and continued on like some stoic Buddhist warrior. 

But not today. 

Because today…he came in. 

The moment you walk into the room and see his face it’s like you’re an animatronic that had glitched mid-loop. Your skin feels hot. Your heart thunders in your ears. Your brain goes all staticky. 

“Oh would you look at that!” The older man says with a delighted smile. “I didn’t know you worked here sweetheart—“

But you don’t hear the rest because you’re already backpedaling out of the room and back into the hallway. 

You can feel your skin tingling like thousands of tiny spiders are skittering over it. You want to throw up. To cry. To run out of this hospital and never return. Instead, for possibly the first time in your entire career, you march up to Dana at the nurse’s station and say, “I need someone to switch patients with me.”

Dana frowns. 

“Excuse me?”

“I need a different patient. Any patient. I’ll even take Princess’s fecal impaction.”

“You will?!” Princess gasped hopefully. Nobody ever wanted the fecal impaction cases. 

“Why do you need a different patient? What’s wrong with him?”

You swallow. “He’s my uncle.”

If anything, Dana looks even more confused. “I know nobody is supposed to treat their family and friends but you know nobody here is going to rat you out to admin if you decide to do it anyway right?”  

But you’re already shaking your head. “That’s not why. I just…I can’t treat him. Please get someone else to do it.” And then, without another word you walk away, heading straight for the hallway that leads to the stairwell. 

You need some air. 

Now. 

Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Santos finds you. You stare up at her from your perch on the bottom steps, waiting for her to tell you to get back to work. That you’re pathetic for hiding back here instead of just doing your damn job and treating the harmless old man like you’re supposed to.

Instead, she surprises you. 

“He did something to you.”

You don’t say anything, but you don’t have to. It’s written all over your face. 

Her lips thin. 

“I thought so.”

You glance away, wringing your hands to keep them from shaking. 

“Want me to take him?”

You blink.

“…What?”

“As a patient. I’ll take him.”

Your eyes blink even faster. Did…did you hear her right? “But…why?”

“Because you need someone to be mean to him. And I’m amazing at mean.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry or throw your arms around her in an embrace. 

“Okay,” you croak instead. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” She said, strangely kind, before a glimmer appears in her eye. “So…how mean we talking?”

You can’t help but laugh, a strangled, pitiful sound if you ever heard one. “Mean enough that he never comes back here again?” 

This time, she smiles.

“You got it.” 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It’s only later—when you’re finally off the clock and indulging in a greasy, well-deserved dinner with Robby—that you hear what happened. 

“Do you know anything about the patient we had today who stormed out of the E.R.?” 

“Oh?” You say casually, knowing immediately who he’s talking about. You hadn’t been there to see it—having been assisting with a complicated trauma case at the time—but you’d heard plenty about it afterwards from your fellow gossipy nurses. 

“Yeah, apparently Santos decided to do a rectal exam. Even though, according to his symptoms, he had no need of one.” He eyed you carefully. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?”

“Did she?” You say innocently. “Well, she’s the doctor. She would know better than me.” 

He sighed. 

“Do I wanna know?” 

“Not today,” you tell him as you steal his french fry. “Let’s just…enjoy this. Okay?” 

His eyes soften. 

“Okay.” 

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