#and shifting ideas and jokes and thoughts

[belovedniki]

you’re just doing your job. jake’s just trying not to moan when you touch his face. no big deal. (except he’s down bad. embarrassingly so. and you have no idea.) part 1

warning/tags: idol!jake x staff!reader, smut, unprotected sex, cumming inside, overstimulation, praise kink, oral (f receiving), blowjob.

w.c: 2k

— you noticed it slowly.

at first, you just thought jake was being polite. sweet. always early to hair and makeup. always still. always staring a bit too long when you pressed your fingers near his lips.

but lately? he kept showing up even when he wasn’t supposed to.

“i just like being here,” he’d say, smiling shy.

sometimes you caught him watching you through the mirror while you worked on someone else. sometimes he’d knock on the supply room door and say he was looking for water. and once, you could’ve sworn you heard him whisper your name under his breath when you passed by.

but you didn’t think much of it.

honestly, you weren’t used to being looked at like that.

so when jake lingered around your chair and stuttered every time you got close, you just assumed he was nervous. maybe shy around staff.

and maybe that’s why, when you finally caught him staring with his thighs pressed tightly together and his face flushed red, it took you a second to realize what you were seeing.

he was hard.

very clearly, very awkwardly hard while sitting in your makeup chair. you’d just been fixing the edge of his eyeliner.

he made a small sound in his throat when your eyes flicked down.

“i—i’m sorry,” he said quickly, panicking. “i didn’t—i mean, i wasn’t trying to—”

“jake?” you blinked, confused, taking a step back. your heart beat fast. was this a joke? was he okay?

“i swear i wasn’t thinking anything weird!” he added, voice pitching. “i just—you were touching me. and you smell nice. and i—i got carried away. i’m sorry, i—i’ll go, i just—”

he scrambled up.

you stared. your cheeks burned.

you didn’t know what to say. didn’t know what you were even thinking. you just knew your brain was short-circuiting and jake was looking at you like he was about to cry.

so you said the first thing that came to mind.

“lock the door.”

he blinked.

“what?”

“lock it.” your voice came out shakier than you meant.

he obeyed.

when you told him to sit back down, you were still figuring out what the hell you were doing.

his hands were trembling on his thighs. he didn’t look at you, even when you moved in front of him.

this was insane. you were his makeup artist. you were at work. and yet—

you stared at his flushed cheeks, his parted lips, the hard line of his cock still straining in his pants.

and something shifted.

“how long have you been thinking about me?”

his eyes finally met yours. wide, glassy. desperate.

“weeks,” he whispered.

“show me.”

he blinked. “w-what?”

“show me how badly you want me.”

you didn’t even know where this confidence was coming from. maybe it was the way jake looked at you like you were some kind of goddess.

maybe it was the heat pulsing between your legs at the thought of making him fall apart.

when you got on your knees in front of him, his breath hitched. “you don’t have to—”

“but you want me to, don’t you?” your voice was soft.

he nodded. fast. “y-yes. please.”

you unbuckled him slowly. your fingers brushed his skin and he trembled.

his cock was hard, flushed, leaking. it twitched when you blew gently over the tip.

you licked a slow stripe from the base up, just watching his head tip back with a whimper. then you took him in, inch by inch.

his thighs trembled beneath your palms.

“fuck—” he whispered, eyes fluttering. “you feel—so good, it’s—”

you sucked him slowly, letting your lips stretch around him. every small moan that spilled from his mouth made your core ache.

“don’t stop,” he whimpered. “please, please don’t stop.”

you deepened your rhythm. his hips jolted forward, then stilled, trying to be good for you. his hands gripped the seat beneath him, knuckles white.

when your eyes flicked up, his mouth dropped open at the sight of you—on your knees, eyes locked with his, lips wrapped around him.

he came suddenly, a soft cry ripped from his chest. you swallowed as much as you could, then pulled back, wiping your mouth.

“sensitive, huh?”

he blushed hard.

days later, he begged to taste you.

“please,” he said, flushed and needy, hands resting on your thighs like he was afraid to grab too hard. “let me make you feel good. i’ll do anything.”

how could you say no to that?

you slid your panties off and guided him to his knees.

his breath caught when you spread your thighs.

“so pretty,” he whispered. then his mouth was on you.

warm. messy. eager.

his tongue flicked and lapped, searching for every spot that made you gasp. his nose brushed your clit and you clenched around nothing.

“that’s it, baby,” you whispered, breathless. “just like that.”

he whimpered against you. you tugged his hair gently and felt his moan vibrate through you.

he held your thighs like they were the only things keeping him steady. and when you came on his tongue, arching and moaning his name, he only gripped you tighter.

“so good,” he whispered when you pulled him up and kissed him, his lips still shiny with you. “you taste so good.”

he tasted like you, like your slick and sweat and nerves, and he kissed back with a desperation that nearly made you dizzy.

you were still trembling from the way he’d eaten you out. not just with hunger, but with awe. like you were something he had dreamed of for months and finally had the privilege to worship.

“was that okay?” he whispered against your lips, breath warm and uneven.

you blinked, brain still struggling to catch up. you were flushed, panting, legs still weak, but every part of you buzzed. with power. with need. with the growing realization that jake sim had been obsessed with you. and that now, he was yours to ruin.

you pulled back slightly, cradling his jaw.

“we’re not done,” you said softly.

he looked at you like you’d just offered him the whole sky.

“please,” he whispered, already breathless. “anything. anything you want.”

you smiled small, still nervous. but when you grabbed his hand and led him to the full-length mirror across the dressing room, you didn’t let yourself hesitate.

“sit,” you told him, and he obeyed instantly.

the chair was low. you stood above him, chest rising and falling as you began to unbutton your blouse. slowly. letting each one slip open while you watched his reaction.

jake didn’t blink.

his lips parted, eyes drinking in every inch of exposed skin like it was a revelation. he reached out hesitantly, but stopped himself.

“you can touch,” you said, your voice low. “but only when i tell you to.”

he groaned softly at that.

when you peeled off the rest of your clothes, slowly, deliberately, leaving you in just your underwear, he looked like he might pass out.

“stand up,” you told him.

he did. his hands were clenched at his sides, knuckles white. he was already hard again—so hard it looked painful straining against the fabric of his pants.

you stepped behind him, both of you now facing the mirror. your bare chest pressed against his back, your fingers slowly unbuttoning his shirt from behind.

he gasped when your lips brushed his shoulder.

“you’ve been thinking about this,” you murmured. “haven’t you?”

“yes,” he breathed. “all the time.”

you undid his belt next, then slid your hands inside his waistband, slowly easing his pants and boxers down in one go. his cock sprang free—red at the tip, leaking, impossibly hard.

you made a soft noise of appreciation.

“god, jake,” you whispered. “you’re beautiful.”

he let out a shuddered breath, gripping the counter in front of him.

you bent to kiss his neck, trailing slow open-mouthed kisses up the side of his throat. he whimpered at the feeling, his hips jerking forward slightly.

“easy,” you whispered. “we’re just getting started.”

you moved to stand in front of him again, pushing gently on his shoulders.

“sit.”

he dropped into the chair, almost hypnotized.

then you climbed into his lap, knees spread on either side of his thighs, your bare heat hovering just above his cock.

“look in the mirror,” you told him, your voice lower now. confident. “watch what i do to you.”

jake whimpered and obeyed.

your fingers wrapped around his cock and guided it to your entrance. you were soaked, your arousal sticky on his skin. you took a shaky breath, then began to lower yourself.

inch by inch.

his eyes rolled back in the mirror.

“f-fuck—” he gasped, nails digging into the armrests. “you’re—shit, you’re tight—”

“is that a problem?” you teased, breathless, your voice trembling only slightly.

“n-no! it’s—fuck, it’s perfect. you’re perfect. you feel so good, i—” he cut himself off with a moan.

when you bottomed out, you stayed still for a second, overwhelmed by the fullness. his cock pulsed inside you, thick and hot and twitching.

jake was panting, sweat already forming at his temples. “please,” he whispered, “move. please—”

you did.

slowly at first, testing your rhythm. grinding your hips in slow circles, letting your clit drag across his pelvis. every shift made him twitch inside you, made your stomach twist with heat.

“look how pretty you are like this,” you whispered in his ear, eyes flicking to the mirror.

he obeyed, eyes glassy as he watched you ride him.

“being so good for me, jake.”

he gasped—moaned, actually—at the praise.

“do you like that?” you asked softly, fingers tracing his chest.

“yes—yes, fuck—please keep talking—please tell me i’m good—”

you clenched around him hard.

he nearly choked.

“fuck, baby,” you murmured, pace picking up. “you are good. so good. taking me so well. just sitting there and letting me use you.”

his hips jerked. his head fell back.

“you gonna come again?” you whispered. “just from being inside me?”

he whimpered, nodding, barely coherent. “can’t hold it—gonna come, please—”

“do it.”

his whole body trembled.

you felt it when he came, thick spurts inside you, his breath caught in his throat, hands gripping the arms of the chair so hard his knuckles went white. he came hard. too hard.

but you didn’t stop.

not yet.

“w-wait—too much—” he gasped, squirming.

you grabbed his chin, making him look at you in the mirror again.

“you can take it,” you whispered darkly. “you wanted me so bad for so long. you can give me one more.”

you started bouncing again, slow, deliberate. your hands braced on his shoulders, his wrecked cock twitching helplessly inside your overstimulated heat.

“please—fuck, i’ll try, i’ll try—” he babbled.

“you’ll do more than try,” you said, dragging your clit across his pelvis until your eyes fluttered shut. “you’ll be good. like you always are.”

he whined. actually whined. his hands flew to your waist like he couldn’t not touch you.

“that’s it,” you gasped. “hold me—fuck, just like that—”

your orgasm hit hard.

a full-body shake. your back arched, your mouth fell open. you gasped his name, riding out the wave as he whimpered beneath you, cock twitching again like he could barely take it.

you collapsed against his chest, sweat-slick and gasping.

his second orgasm reached him too. his hands gripping you tight, almost crying from pleasure.

for a long moment, neither of you moved.

his arms slowly wrapped around you. tentative. gentle. like he wasn’t sure he was allowed.

“was that okay?” he asked again, voice hoarse, lips brushing your temple.

you laughed—soft and breathless.

“jake,” you said, kissing him slow, “you just let me fuck you in a dressing room mirror until we both almost passed out.”

“…so… that’s a yes?”

you smiled against his mouth.

“absolutely.”

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Working Backward Part One

Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader

Notes: Not beta-read, cause when is it ever. Future chapters will have explicit content.

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only

Warnings: Fake dating; implied age gap; miscommunication

Summary: You had toyed with the idea of texting Emma to explain that you and Robby weren’t a thing, that you just worked together, just happened to be attending the same wedding in a cruel twist of fate. Then you’d thought it through, realized that those messages would be screenshot, sent across family group chat upon family group chat. You just couldn’t risk it. 

So now, you have to find Emma, pray that Robby and whoever he brought with him haven’t arrived at the reception yet, and won’t make this situation even more difficult than it’s already going to be. 

This is going to be an adventure.

That’s what you’ve been telling yourself since your youngest cousin announced her engagement; as you booked the plane ticket to New Orleans and gotten a room in the hotel block that they reserved; as you returned your RSVP; when you shopped for the dresses that you’d need for the out of town reception, the bachelorette party, the rehearsal dinner, the wedding itself. 

Sure, you’re going to the wedding alone, and yes, the fact that you are the only unmarried (and incredibly single) cousin is the butt of your family’s jokes, and no, despite your best efforts, you hadn’t been able to scrounge up someone for a plus one. 

But it is going to be an adventure! You can make a little game out of it, like…Drink every time one of your family members asks if you’re still single. 

Actually, maybe not that rule. You’d be dead by the time Emma’s walking down the aisle. 

No, no. Be positive. 

You’re in a city you’ve never been to, and you’ve got a couple of hours before the out of town reception. You glance toward the rack of brochures as the receptionist processes your credit card and gets your room key. You could sight-see…You’d been meaning to check for things to do online, but you’d been so busy between your shifts at the Pitt and studying for your boards. But, studying should probably come first in the few free hours that you have.

Nevertheless, you pluck a couple of brochures up on your way to the elevator, hurrying forward when you see the doors beginning to close. 

“Can you hold the elevator?” You call out, relaxing when a hand appears, stopping the doors from shutting. “Thanks,” You sigh as you grow closer. You’ve only got one foot on when you catch sight of his face, and you freeze as you struggle to process the familiar face. It’s vindicating that he seems about as stunned as you are, his mouth forming a small o. 

“Robby,” You finally manage. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi there—Shit,” You hurry fully onto the elevator as it lets out a long, piercing beep. You pull your suitcase in front of you as Robby nods toward the buttons. 

“Do you need to…?”

“Uh…” You eye the only lit button. “Nn-nn. Same floor.” 

“No kidding.” 

You would kill to be kidding. You’ve been determined to make this entire experience an adventure, but this may be a bridge too far. Your sweating palms and fingers flex around the handle of the suitcase, crumpling a couple of the brochures in your hand. 

“What brings you to NOLA?” He asks.

“My cousin is getting married.”

“...To Alan Schafer?” 

Your head snaps to look at Robby, eyes widening.

“You’re—Really?”

“Mhm.” 

You can’t help a soft, stunned huff of a laugh. Who knew the universe was so into sick jokes? “What are the odds, huh. When’d you get in?” 

“Couple of hours ago.”

You fall quiet as the elevator comes to a stop eight floors below yours. The doors open, and your stomach plummets all the way back to the goddamn lobby—but you force a grin and an enthusiastic, “Oh my god!” As your cousin screeches at the sight of you. Emma practically prances onto the elevator, making it shake disconcertingly. 

“Hiiii!” She hugs you tightly, trapping your suitcase uncomfortably between the two of you. You feel it slide and glance over to see Robby dislodging it and drawing it to your side. You cast him a grateful sidelong smile before turning back to Emma as she leans away. 

“Did you just get here? Of course you did, look at your suitcase. Thanks for moving that, by the way—Damn honey, he’s so cute!” Emma looks between you and Robby. “You know my mother was just saying last night that there was absolutely zero hope for you, but just look at him!” 

Your smile melts in confusion as Emma turns away, whacking the button for another floor. 

“N-no, Em, he’s not—”

“You don’t need to justify a thing to me, honey, I always believed in you. I’m just glad something came out of all of those awful dates you went on—Oh, this is me!” She backed off of the elevator as the doors open again. “I’ll go tell mother—You know Julie and Dan are hitting the skids? She’s gonna be green—See you at the reception! Looking forward to getting to know you, too, cutie!” 

You stand there, frozen and horrified as the doors close behind her. 

“...She seems nice,” Robby offers as the elevator starts up again.

“She’s a bit of a tornado.”

“I picked up on that.”

You reach out, gingerly sliding your suitcase back from Robby. “I am so sorry.” 

“It’s alright.” 

“It’s really not,” You insist, stepping off of the elevator as it finally reaches your floor. “My family can be a lot.” 

“No kidding.”

“Ha, yeah. You’ll have a front row seat to some more of the madness for the next couple of days.” You stop in front of your door, fumbling with your key card. “Still, might be better than Myrna calling you fruitcake.” 

“There are a lot of things that are better than Myrna calling me fruitcake. Hey, um,” Robby lowers his voice, taking a step closer as you get the door open, “About what Emma said—”

“Oh,” You slide your suitcase inside. “No, that—I’ll take care of that. She makes these assumptions because I’m kind of a running family joke—” Your boss, button up, you’re talking to your boss—"Anyway, I’ll make sure it’s cleared up before they meet your plus one so it’s not all awkward. Well. More awkward,” You slap another smile onto your face as you close your door with a squeak of, “See you down there!” 

You plaster yourself back against the door, heart thudding in your ribcage as you raise a hand to scrub over your rapidly heating face. Well, fuck. You should’ve just let that elevator go—or taken the damn stairs, rolling suitcase and room on the twentieth floor be damned. 

Is it worse that Emma assumed you were dating your boss? Would it have been better if she’d just weirded out some random stranger? Then again, a random stranger probably wouldn’t have moved your suitcase like that. Her assumption that you knew Robby was a wholly logical one, and a fucking bullseye. 

You’re positive, certain (hopeful) that in the few seconds she’d been there with the two of you, there was absolutely no way that Em could’ve pinpointed the crush that you have on Robby. You’d spoken about him when you were talking to her about work, sure—but it had been the way that you’d spoken about all of your other coworkers, no better, no worse. The two of you hadn’t been standing particularly close in the elevator. Maybe she really had just picked it up from him moving his suitcase…Or she was projecting and really did just want for you to be able to shove supposed boyfriend in her mother and Julie’s faces. 

Hell, you’d love it if you had someone to shove in their faces. 

But holy mother of god, untangling this little web that Emma managed to weave you into in just a matter of seconds is going to be painful. 

You draw in a deep breath, sigh it out, kick off your shoes, and steer your suitcase a little deeper into the room. It’s nice—has a small balcony, a lovely view of the pool…Which, when you look closely, you can already see some of your family around. You step back, tugging your curtains closed. You eye the brochures, half-crumpled from where they’d been clutched in your hand, and drop them on the desk. You don’t want to risk seeing one of your family members on the way out or on the way in…

You turn to the fridge, tugging it open, and letting out a relieved sigh as you spot everything that’s been stocked. 

It may cost you a small fortune, but raiding the mini bar to hide in your room and study for the next couple of hours and is going to be well-worth the price. 

--  

Your dress looks cute, your heels are low enough that they won’t bother your feet over the course of what will likely be a mostly seatless event, and you have a pleasant buzz from the bottle of wine that had been in the fridge. Your nails tap against your purse as you ride down in the elevator, then follow the signs to the out of town reception.  

You are on a mission. 

You had toyed with the idea of texting Emma to explain that you and Robby weren’t a thing, that you just worked together, just happened to be attending the same wedding in a cruel twist of fate. Then you’d thought it through, realized that those messages would be screenshot, sent across family group chat upon family group chat. You just couldn’t risk it. 

So now, you have to find Emma, pray that Robby and whoever he brought with him haven’t arrived at the reception yet, and won’t make this situation even more difficult than it’s already going to be.  

Your eyes scan the crowd—a collection of family, friends from back home, faces that you have never seen before, but will likely become familiar with over the next couple of days. You fight the urge to pluck a glass of prosecco off of a passing waiter’s tray, instead making a beeline for Emma when you spot her. You nearly falter when you spot her mother standing with her. Oh—Hell. Your Aunt Trish is the nosiest busybody in the family. It’s going to be difficult to tear Emma away from her without Trish insisting on tagging along. 

You steel yourself, biting on the inside of your cheek and lightly grasping Emma’s elbow. 

“Hey hon. Can I talk to you real quick, alone—?” 

“There you are!” Trish reaches out, grasping your free wrist before Emma can answer. “Emma was just telling me about your new ‘friend.’” She has the audacity to raise her hand and emphasize it with air quotes. “But she was rushing around, didn’t get a chance to really meet the guy. Where is he?” 

You swallow thickly. “I can explain that, but uh, I really need a second alone with Em—” 

“Here, sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart. It’s so stunningly new from him. You’re used to him calling you doctor. Sweetheart is new, and different, and is accompanied by Robby coming to stand at your side and passing you a glass of prosecco, forcing Trish to let go of you. You look at him, unable to help your surprise as he takes up a place beside you. 

“I was just catching up with Alan,” He adds before he smiles toward Emma and Trish, holding a hand out. “Doctor Michael Robinavitch. You must be the bride, and you must be her—Sister?” 

Your brows lift as you hear Trish let out a girlish giggle the likes of which you’ve never heard from her before, and you should see it for yourself, but you just can’t bring yourself to turn away from Robby. His smile is so calm, and he looks good. He always looks good, of course, but it’s one thing to see him in a hoodie and scrubs and another to see him in a button down and a very nice pair of khakis.

When his eyes dart to you and widen slightly, you realize that you’re just staring, lips parted like you’re fit to catch flies. You close your mouth so quickly that your teeth clack, plastering a smile on. 

“Did you have a good chat with Alan?” 

“Yeah, it was nice to catch up. I haven’t seen him since before the pandemic.”

“I didn’t realize it had been that long.” 

“Oh, you’re Robby!” Emma realizes, “Alan talks about you all the time, and I…” She trails off, brow furrowing as she looks between the two of you, “I never put two and two…Together—I mean I didn’t realize his Robby was your Robby.” 

Your Robby. 

“We thought we’d surprise you with it,” Robby fills in, “Didn’t want to make anything difficult with the RSVPs.”

“And isn’t that sweet of you,” Trish coos. Christ, you’ve never seen her so complimentary. You’re not sure you like it, it’s a little creepy. 

“Trish, Em!” Your uncle calls out, and the four of you twist to see him waving Trish and Emma in his direction. 

“You two go ahead,” You hurry to insist, “Must be important if he’s, you know, in the middle of the party. Actually,” You reach out, taking hold of Robby’s hand, “I need some air, honey.”

It’s a bit much to tack on ‘honey’, and you know it—but Robby murmurs, “Of course,” and, “We’ll see you later,” as he intertwines your fingers and allows you to steer him to the patio overlooking the pool. You offer a small smile to the people stepping inside, glance and double-glance toward the door as you watch for it to close before you let go of his hand, hissing, “What are you thinking?”

“I was helping you out.”

“What about your plus one?”

Robby’s head jerks back just a touch, his lips pulling with an amused smile as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

“I’m flattered that you’re so certain I brought one.” 

You shift in your spot, trailing your finger along the side of your prosecco flute as you look out over the pool.

“I just thought—”

“Thought…?”

“I don’t know, you’re—I figured—Anyway,” You shake your head. “How do you suggest we can even survive that for four days?”

“We’ll improvise.” 

“That is gonna be a lot to improvise.” 

“Did it alright just a couple minutes ago. Besides, you and I improvise every day at work.”

“That’s different,” You insist, glancing toward him. “When we’re at the Pitt, you and I are working from a mutual pool of knowledge—and usually you have the leg up.” 

“Well,” Robby shifts to face you more fully, “Now you’ve got the leg up. Fill me in.” 

“On this group?” You nod inside. “It’d take a week. We don’t have time like that.”

“Alright, we’ll work backward, then. Start with the basics, base it in fact to make the details easier to remember. We met at work.” 

“Sure did.” 

“Three years ago.”

“Correct.” 

“How long have we been together?” When he sees conflict beginning to twist your features, he corrects: “How long would they want to hear.”

“I mean…” You shake your head. “It’s weird, you’re not just here because of,” You wave your finger between the two of you, “I mean, you know Alan, too.”

“Right, but presumably, we’re here together.”

“Right, so…A year, maybe?”

“Okay,” He nods. “Do we live together?”

“No. And we’re keeping it under wraps at work because—You know. Oh!” Your eyes widen, “Why aren’t we rooming together?” 

Robby’s mouth opens, closes, and his brow wrinkles as he considers it.

“How likely is your family to ask what rooms we’re in?”

“Pretty unlikely.”

“We’ll be strategic.” 

“What does that even mean?” 

“It means we’ll be careful about being seen together and being seen apart.” 

“That’s gonna be a lot, dude.”

Robby shakes his head, looking out over the pool as you had been. You let yourself look him over for a few moments—take in the light blue checkered pattern on his shirt. You hadn’t noticed that before, but then, you’d been a little weirded out by your Aunt Trish giggling like a fricking twelve year old. And he’s trimmed his beard, too. Not shaved, but trimmed…

You hurriedly dip your chin as Robby tips his head to look at you again, and you raise your prosecco, draining half of it before you lean fully against the banister. You close your eyes, drawing in a deep breath as a summer breeze sweeps across your face. 

“With respect,” You fight the urge to rub your hand over your eyes, wary of messing up your makeup, “What the hell were you thinking?” When he doesn’t answer right away, you tack on: “You could’ve made this whole weekend so much easier for yourself if you hadn’t done…That.” 

“Emma assumed—”

“Emma assumes a lot. I was gonna fix it, you could’ve at least had faith in me to fucking fix it—”

“I have a lot of faith in you—”

“Does not feel like it.” You draw in another deep breath, push it out through your lips as you turn to look back into the party. “You could’a been mingling and now you’re stuck with me.” 

“I prefer you to mingling.”

“I’m flattered,” You deadpan. You haul in another breath, shaking your head, muttering, “Okay. We’ve been together for a year, we’re avoiding photos together and don’t live with one another because we’re keeping shit under wraps at work—Are you sure you want to do this?” You twist toward Robby. “You can still back out, I can tell Em and Trish that you were kidding.”

“I’m sure.” 

It’s almost jarring, the speed with which he replies, and the way Robby holds your eye as he insists. But damnit, if he’s willing to sign up for this hell, on his head be it.

You nod, turning away again. “Okay. Remember that you said that when you’re stuck in the middle of the most awkward and intrusive line of questioning in your life.” 

“Are they gonna call me fruitcake?”

“...Unlikely.” 

“Then it’s already better than speaking with Myrna.” 

You laugh softly as Robby straightens, the sound catching in your throat as his hand rests on your lower back with a murmur of, “Let’s go.”

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

@mad-girl-without-a-box ;  @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @veryprairieberry ;

@kittenlittle24 ; @ilariyalavorowrites ; @morgy3456 ; @emily-b ; @txtdreamss

@caramelised-onions ;

[societyfolklore]

Stuffed and Strapped

Title: Stuffed and Strapped

Pairing: Dom!Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Summary:  You were just teasing, saluting him during drills, calling him “sir” with that smirk he usually loves. But when you push it too far in front of the new recruits, the Captain doesn’t blush or joke.

Word Count:  2.4k

Warnings: /Explicit Content / 18+, Minors DNI, SMUT, Unprotected sex, Uniform Kink, Restraint (Tactical Strap), Orgasm Denial, Rough Sex, brat taming  Use of 'Captain' as a title kink, Overstimulation, establish relationship. Dom Steve...

A/N:  Cos Captain America fucks - again this all @buckybarnesisdaddy and @crazyunsexycool comments… this is what happens with the group chat puts ideas in your head. Pair to this one shot Buried in the Steam  

It started with a game.

You’d been flirty all day, toeing the line for fun. But you clearly crossed it during training. You were helping Steve run drills with the new recruits, and at first it was harmless. A wink here. A cheeky tone there. But you started getting bolder, throwing him playful salutes in front of the others, calling him ‘Sir’ with that purr in your voice that he knew was meant for behind closed doors.

You knew what you were doing.

You just didn’t think he’d call you on it.

You thought it was a tease. Just enough to get a reaction. Maybe a twitch of his jaw. Maybe he’d pull you aside after class and whisper something filthy in your ear, let his fingers trail down your spine while no one was looking.

You expected a smirk. A blush. Maybe an innocent comment tossed back your way.

Instead, you got silence. He didn’t even look at you as he dismissed the class. Just a tight nod and a clipped, “Good work. That’s all for today.”

You were drying off in the locker room, still smiling to yourself, when you heard his voice, low, cold, unmistakable- right behind you:

"Upstairs. Now."

The tone made your stomach flip.

You turned, still holding the towel to your chest. His expression was unreadable, but his stance said everything. Rigid. Controlled. Lethal.

Your heart fluttered with excitement. You thought you’d pushed him just right.

You hadn’t.

You’d provoked the wrong part of him.

You barely had time to register the shift before you heard the steady thud of his boots following you up the stairs through the Compound back to his room. You entered the bedroom, your mouth dry with anticipation, but nothing prepared you for the way he filled the doorway.

Shield propped against the wall. His gloves tossed aside without care. He was already peeling the top half of the suit down, exposing the firm lines of his chest, still silent, still simmering. His gaze never left you as he stepped forward.

He didn’t raise his voice.

"Get on the bed."

You blinked, heart now racing. “What did I- ”

“You want to act like a brat,” he said calmly, “I’ll fuck the attitude out of you.”

He crossed the room in three slow, deliberate steps. You moved on instinct, backing onto the mattress, breath caught in your throat. His hands were on you immediately, efficient, practiced. He grabbed one of his tactical straps from the gear bag at the foot of the bed, and before you could process what was happening, your wrists were bound and tugged tight above your head against the headboard.

“You don’t get to talk now,” he said, voice low as he adjusted the strap. “You had your fun.”

Your pants were yanked down roughly, tossed to the floor. Your shirt was shoved up- just high enough to bare your chest, the fabric bunched under your arms, pinned by the tension in your stretched arms.

He stepped back long enough to undo the front of his pants, the belt scraping open with a metallic hiss that sent a thrill down your spine. His cock was already hard, thick, flushed with the kind of fury he didn’t need to voice.

He stroked himself once, slow, deliberate, his eyes fixed on where you lay helpless and exposed. Then he leaned in just enough for you to hear his voice, rough and low near your ear.

"You know I can smell you, right?" he said, tone smug and quiet. "You’ve been soaking through those damn pants since the first 'yes, sir.' You wanted this."

Before you could answer, not that he gave you a chance. He pressed in. No teasing, no warning. Just a firm, unrelenting push, his cock stretching you open until you cried out from the overwhelming pressure.

He sat back on his knees, hands locking onto your hips as he drove in deeper, using your bound, trembling body like a limp toy. The force of each thrust made your wrists tug at the strap, your back arching helplessly beneath him.

He didn't need to say a word.

He was in control. Completely.

Your back arched off the mattress, wrists straining against the strap above your head, every inch of you stretched and trembling. Your skin burned from the friction of the sheets beneath you, your muscles aching from the sheer force of his movements. Captain America- the Captain America- was using your body like it was his to command, and god, it was.

This wasn’t Steve. This wasn’t the man who left notes on the fridge or kissed your temple after a mission. This was the soldier. The shield. The force of will that held a crumbling world together and right now, he was pounding into you like breaking you apart would somehow keep the whole damn universe intact.

The stretch of him was obscene. Your cunt clenched around him with every snap of his hips, your slick coating his cock, seeping into the coarse hair at his base. Every thrust left his pubic bone soaked, the wet slap of skin on skin growing louder, filthier, messier with every punishing grind. Your body squelched beneath the pressure, clinging to him greedily, and you swore you could feel him in your throat.

You couldn't breathe without whimpering.

“You want to be fucked like a soldier’s reward?” he growled as he bent over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip like he owned it. His breath ghosted over your throat just before the drag of his teeth made your skin prickle. “Then take it.”

His thrusts turned punishing. Each one knocked the breath from your lungs, forced broken, high-pitched moans from your lips. The burn of being filled and stretched eclipsed by the addicting weight of him inside you.

You couldn't think. You could only feel.

His hands gripped your thighs, forcing them open even wider, spreading you around him like a trophy he’d already claimed. The stretch was unbearable and perfect all at once, your cunt swollen, taking everything he gave you. Your skin burned where his fingers dug in, marks already forming, and you could feel every ridge, every vein of his cock as he bottomed out again and again with bruising force.

“Look at you,” he muttered darkly, his voice like gravel dragged over heat, hips never once relenting. His gaze flicked down to where your bodies met, cock glistening with your arousal every time he dragged out just enough to make you feel the emptiness before slamming back in.

“You gonna be good now?” he asked, tone sharp as a knife, eyes burning into you as his cock slammed deep again. The stretch forced another cry from your throat, your walls fluttering around him, too full, too deep, every nerve in your core straining with the pressure.

He angled his hips, just punishing enough to hit those high, aching places that made your eyes roll back and your spine lift clear off the bed. You could feel him everywhere, every thick inch driving up into parts of you that had never felt so raw, so overwhelmed, so thoroughly used. Your walls clamped around him helplessly, spasming from the force of the stretch, straining to accommodate the sheer girth of him. The sensation was unbearable and addictive, that sharp pressure deep in your belly coiling tighter with every thrust.

“Gonna behave for your Captain now?” he rasped, his voice shredded with control, with hunger. His thrusts never slowed, never softened, just drilled deeper as though he could fuck the answer straight out of you.

Your answer was a sob.

A ruined, breathless sound that broke on your lips. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry, your thighs shaking violently as his rhythm drove you further into helplessness. Every thrust knocked your thoughts loose, left you gasping, trembling, unable to do anything but take him. Your body wasn’t just reacting, your core seizing around him, torn between resistance and surrender.

But that wasn’t enough for him.

“Use your words,” he snapped, delivering a sharp slap to your thigh that made your entire body jolt beneath him. The sting was hot and fast, bleeding into the heat already pulsing between your legs. The pain only made you clench tighter around him, a broken whimper escaping your lips. “Or I stop.”

“N-No! Please, yes, I’ll be good- Captain, please- ” The idea of him stopping made you panic.

He hummed low, dark and satisfied, like he’d tamed something wild. His rhythm didn’t slow in fact, it deepened. Harder. Intending to devastate. He wasn’t just fucking you- he was taking you, molding you, bending every inch of you around the relentless shape of his cock.

“That’s better,” he muttered, bending closer again, his breath hot against your cheek, lips ghosting your skin but never kissing. “Who's in charge now, sweetheart?”

The pressure inside you built fast, tight, dangerous. You were right on the edge, your body begging for release but just as your moans pitched into a whine, he pulled back, grinding deep but not enough.

"You." You whimpered, voice broken, breath catching. “Please- Captain, I need- ”

“Oh, you need?” he repeated, one brow arching in mock amusement. He shifted his angle deliberately, dragging his cock in slow, cruel strokes against your most sensitive spot with devastating precision. Your body jolted, legs trembling from the white-hot pleasure sparking deep in your core. “You think you get to just come because you’re asking?”

You nodded desperately, body straining against the restraint, your back arched like a bow. Your slick leaked freely down your thighs, pooling beneath you, and still, he didn’t let up or let you go.

He chuckled darkly, hips grinding just deep enough to make your eyes roll. “No, sweetheart. You come when I say. You want that reward? You earn it.”

He held you there. Set about teaching you a lesson. Kept you trembling on the edge, caught in that unbearable space between ecstasy and ruin. His cock stroked against your sweet spot with relentless control, dragging you right up to the peak again and again, only to deny you the fall. Your thighs quaked. Your voice cracked. You begged through gasped breaths and ragged pleas, nearly sobbing with need. Pulling at the binds on your wrists.

“Look at you,” he said softly, his eyes drinking in your flushed, ruined face. “All wrecked, fucking dripping, desperate for your Captain. You like being ruin like this, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Only your head shook in frantic, helpless desperation, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as your body locked up, seizing under the weight of another almost-climax. You were quivering, your walls pulsing in erratic, desperate waves around him. The need clawing inside you was unbearable, your core pulsing with each denied orgasm, your breath coming in broken gasps.

You felt his body shift again, the weight of him smothering you, pressing you deeper into the mattress. His hips ground slow and deliberate, keeping you hovering on the brink. The scent of him- sweat, leather, the musk of sex- coiled around you like a shroud. His breath was hot and unsteady now, ragged at the edges, as though even he was barely hanging on.

His hand slid up your body, fingers trailing between your breasts, slow and possessive, until his thumb came to rest just below your throat. He didn’t squeeze, he didn’t need to. The placement alone was enough. A silent promise. A reminder.

You couldn’t move. Could barely breathe.

And still, he didn’t let you come.

Then he leaned down, trapping you beneath the hard bulk of his chest and uniform. His lips brushed your ear, and this time his voice was darker- rough silk with a serrated edge.

His hips pulled back  “Come.”  He thrust back in hard.

Your orgasm shattered through you with violent force, tearing through you from the inside out. Your entire body arched, legs locking around his waist as you cried out- a strangled, sobbing sound that echoed against his neck. Your cunt pulsed and clamped down around him, milking him as your body convulsed. The strap above your wrists dug into your skin as you writhed, helpless to the aftershocks. His hips slamming into you over and over.

You barely registered the broken groan that tore from his throat as he followed, his hips grinding deep and hard as he spilled inside you. The heat of it only pushed you further, your body overstimulated, unravelling with each twitch of his cock inside you.

He didn’t untie your wrists immediately.

He stayed there, buried deep, chest heaving against yours, until your moans dissolved into soft mewls and your muscles sagged in exhaustion. His breath came heavy, sharp, his face pressed to your throat as he caught his bearings.

Only when your body had gone limp and your breathing levelled did he finally reach up and release the strap. Your arms dropped bonelessly to the bed, limp and shaking. He caught you before you could fall too far, pulling you into his lap and settling you gently across his thighs like you were made of glass.

He held you tighter. One hand tangled in your hair while the other traced a slow path up your spine, grounding you, reminding you who you belonged to. His palm pressed gently between your shoulder blades, holding you to him like an anchor. You could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat against your ear, feel the heat of his body finally beginning to cool. He brushed your sweat-damp hair back from your face with a rare tenderness, fingers careful and reverent.

“You did good for me, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice still low, still rough, but edged with something softer now. Something warmer.

He finally kissed you, deep, slow, claiming. Like the battlefield had quieted and he’d finally won. Like you were the prize he’d earned, and he was never giving you back.

[thewayilikemycookie]

📞┆Too Busy Being Yours .ᐟ

Spencer Agnew x gn!reader

Summary: When you are feeling overwhelmed, Spencer is there to comfort you in every way he can.

Word count: 684

You could count with your fingers the amount of times you’ve zoned out during this video alone. It was a ‘don’t win Mario party’ scheduled at the end of the shoot day and you were sitting next to Spencer and Chance, who were both bringing the energy for this video.

“Hold” Alex called “Scott needs to fix an issue with your mic, Chance, can you come over here? And you guys can take five.”

Spencer instantly tuned to face you “You okay?” He asked with sympathetic eyes

You looked at his concerned expression and tried to speak your feelings, but no words came out. You decided to simply bury you head in the crook of his neck and reach for his hands. You felt as if he understood your thoughts immediately, shifting his position to comfort you.

You felt him place a soft kiss on your head. And though you were eternally grateful for his sweetness and wanted to thank him, you couldn’t even formulate a coherent sentence at the moment.

“You got this” He whispered and the tenderness of it all made you look up

“I love you so much” you said

“I love you more” He softly smiled and laid a final kiss to your forehead

You managed to survive the rest of the video, getting second place overall, profusely thanking Shayne for getting first, as you dreaded the idea of wearing the cone for the next one.

After you took your mic off, you walked towards Spencer “When are you leaving?” You asked

“I gotta fill out a few requests for the art department” You frowned at his answer “why?” “Cause I want you to come home with me” you frowned, reaching for his hand

“I’m sorry baby,” tucked in a strand of your hair “but their deadline is today”

“Can I wait for you then?” You asked

“You’re welcome to,” he smiled “but I would feel a little guilty to be the one to keep you waiting”

“I would wait until eternity for you, Spencer Agnew”

You laid down on the games pod couch while you waited for him, using the time to read your book. After Spencer was done, you both made your way to his apartment and he did everything he could for you. He ordered your favorite food for you, landed you makeshift pj’s for when you’re done with your shower and put on a cooking competition show, knowing you loved them.

Now, you were curled up on the couch right next to him, wearing one of his hoodies (which you suspected he chose because he likes seeing you in his clothes) and eating your favorite food.

“isn’t it crazy how you’re always joking about being misogynistic but then you do all of this for me”

“It’s just a joke though, I would never treat a woman like that, specially you” He looked over at you with a smile

“I know. You’re one of the good ones,” you smiled back at him “the best.”

“Isn’t that the bare minimum?” He laughed

“treating someone well, yes,” you explained “but ordering their favorite food and watching their favorite show, I don’t think so”

Spencer nodded, but he didn’t agree with you exactly. In his mind, he would do all of it and more without any hesitation if it means you would feel at least a little better. If he loved someone, he would make sure to show them that through every single way he could.

When he noticed you were starting to drift off, Spencer asked you if you wanted to go to sleep, to which you said yes. You tried helping with the dishes, but he told you not to worry.

So you got into bed with Spencer holding you tightly and started to drift off again. After you fell asleep, he kissed your head once again. If he felt like you needed it, he would do it all over again tomorrow, then the next day, then the day after.

Maybe it was a little surrealistic, but he was too busy being yours to care.

A.n: Inspired by Hozier’s cover of “Do I wanna know?”. Also I’m sleepy so idk if this is good, hope you have/had a good day, love ya!! <3

[pushspacetocontinue]

"It's certainly not my first time," Antonio said, "So I certainly do understand the fate I will inevitably bring upon myself."

Bill grinned again. It was a happy one. He was going to look forward to Rook and her sisters coming along for a drink and a chat. That would be lovely.

"Oh thank you," Bill said, "I'm glad just little old me being there makes it worth it."

"Well, old is right," Antonio said, "Little certainly isn't. I certainly seem to be, Erica."

Simon then laughed.

"It could be worse. It could be something like Old Deuteronomy, Bustopher Jones, Bombalurina, or Rum Tum Tugger," Simon joked, "I shit you not, all of those are real Cats characters."

He had remembered laughing his ass off when Truman had told him about those names twenty or so years ago.

"Heh, I guess I, I, I should have just said that, that Rook is, is welcome any-anytime," Russell said, before it was finally his turn to look shocked for a minute, "I hope you, you mean the, the bread buns."

Antonio shifted his list so that Rook could see for herself if there was anything she wanted in particular. He had a good idea of what he would like in any case (a coffee and chocolate combination seemed to be fitting for his mood and tastes right now).

"Glad to be of service," Simon said, "I can't sign an autograph right now but maybe I can make a cameo video. Always nice to have a fan, and a friend."

"I'll be the height of token mundane fashion," Travis joked, "But those are all handy, you're right. You can never have too many pairs of headphones."

"I'll, I'll admit that, that it felt a bit, a bit oddly quiet when, when you went back as, as well," Russell said, "So it'll, it'll be good to, to have, to have you come, come by anytime. Heh, and, and that is, that is fair enough, Rook."

Even if nothing particularly shocking was happening, it was always good to be prepared either way. Russell could get snacks or drinks that Rook liked ready in advance.

"Yes we did," Leofric said, "And we thought it would be more than appropriate to celebrate here."

"Yes, it is definitely that. Dare say it's actually cold," Antonio said, although he was smiling, "And I certainly think you should be having the biggest bowl they do here."

"Well, in that case, I think I'll have, I'll have some profiteroles as, as well," Russell said, "Heh, it's, it's been a, a while since I, I last had some. Heh, thank, thank you, Rook."

Leofric was looking over the menu himself, a thoughtful look in those brown eyes.

"I will admit, the pineapple and coconut combination is sounding rather appealing right now," Leofric said.

Willow nodded approvingly. "I like it when brothers cooperate." And understood their fate. The others could be kept at arm's length, but she was in everybody's pockets.

Rook made a mental note to have Willow promise not to eavesdrop too much.

"You heard that, ladies. We know where to meet up next time we're bored." Rook said, smiling at Bill, "It doesn't really matter. You're enough of a reason to show up even on a slow night."

"You've been collecting a bunch of nicknames, uh?" Erica said. She didn't get the reference, but Mistofelees sounded spooky and that was always good in her book.

"But what a mouthful." Lucien mused, "Ah, certainly. It isn't as if she has use for doors anymore."

"Don't worry, I'll text ahead of time and knock before I end up walking in on you guys or something." Rook replied, "Unless you're baking. In that case I would be interested in seeing your buns."

Lucien's horrified look was a good reward for that statement. Rook smirked, before leaning over to have a peek at the list. She'd squeeze herself in a chair once everybody was seated. Keeping the armor on might not have been the best idea.

"I guess. But I hope I can have some strawberries." Erica said, before staring mesmerized at the drone, "That's so cute!"

Willow smiled at her double's enthusiasm. "It seems you just earned yourself a loyal fan, Simon."

She placed the drone down on the table at an angle that would have allowed Simon to have a comprehensive look at the place. Once it was just right, she moved to sit down as well, letting out a quiet sigh the moment she was able to get the weight off her legs. She deserved the largest ice cream they made in this place.

"We'll get you a cool jacket and even a hat!" Erica promised, "Or maybe some headphones you can use at the gym. Those are always handy."

Lucien smiled, "It certainly does. And I might take you up on that offer. I got so used to the company I find myself unable to stand the silence of my own home."

"Yep. I'm definitely going to knock." Rook said, before catching up to her mother. "Yeah, it’s all good. Everybody here helped sending away the latest major nuisance."

"Some of us just happen to be something of a hothead." Veronica added.

"Good thing we're having something cool now. Come on." Rook gently pulled Antonio away, leaving Veronica some space to chat with the other ghosts.

Lucien sat up straight when Russell joined him, looking up briefly before giving a slight shrug. "There's a good variety. Though I might just go with a sorbet—" Lucien paused as he held the list up to his face before he set it down, "Rook, they sell profiterole here. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I'm running out of new places to show you. Also, I suggested they added it myself." Rook grinned, "You're welcome."

It was safe to say Lucien had found something of his liking.

[heartz-for-de]

Hii!

Okay I got an idea, imagine how Eijiro would get if he saw you playing with kids, especially littler ones 🥹 he sees you getting all gentle and taking SUCH care to make sure they're safe and happy, and he just absolutely melts.

(maybe he even has a thought about you guys having a family when you're older?)

I love this sm! I made this take place like in their early pro hero days, so they are still kinda young lololol:) but thank u sm for requesting! It’s js something short and sweet💕

Kirishima seeing you with kids.

Kirishima eijirou x fem! Reader

—

Kirishima felt like he was going to combust.

It had been a normal patrol, nothing completely out of the ordinary. Nothing except the heavenly sight in front of him right now.

There had been a small villain attack, no injuries and no casualties, but it was enough to rattle the people around the area. You had ran off from where the heros were to comfort a small child who’d started crying. The child was very young, barely able to walk on its own. Without missing a beat, you lifted it into your arms, resting it on your hip as you swayed with a soft, soothing bounce.

Kirishima felt his heart melt at the sight. He didn’t know what it was, maybe it was your lack of hesitation to help the kid, or maybe it was just you. He didn’t know, but he knew he fell a little deeper in love in that moment—something he didn’t think was possible when it came to you.

You comforted the infant, doing everything in your power to make it laugh all while caressing its back in a loving manner. His eyes were glued to you even as other heros tried to bring him into their conversations. He didn’t even intend to be rude, he was just so utterly enamored by his pretty girlfriend and how she took care of people—kids specifically.

He watched as the parent of the child ran up to you and claimed their kid, crying as they thanked you numerous times. You calmed the woman down with a few sentences claiming, “that’s what I’m here for, ma’am.” With a small smile.

Once the lady had walked off you brought your attention back to your boyfriend, jogging over to him with a satisfied look on your face. God you were beautiful, he thought.

“Sorry, I heard that kids crying and I had to do something.” You explained your sudden absence with a sheepish grin.

“I saw.” He stated, his eyes glossed over. You squinted your eyes with a lopsided look making its way to your face at his quiet answer.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” You questioned the boy with a jokingly teasing tone. He felt a smile break out across his own features as a sudden image flashed in his brain.

He imagined what you’d be like with kids of your own. What a family would be like with you, how domestic life would look. His smile grew, the silence of your conversation sitting awkwardly.

“Sorry—just thought of something.” He said as he brought a hand up to your arm and gently rubbed it.

“Anddd, what would that something be?” You pressed him further on the question, your curiosity piquing.

“You’re really good with kids.” He claimed with a soft squeeze of your arm. He didn’t answer your question, but in that moment you could tell exactly what he was thinking by the look in his eyes alone.

“Oh, thank you— I love kids.” Your voice softened at the gentle topic.

“I could tell, dunno why I never realized that before.” His eyes never left you, his gaze strangely tender considering you two were on patrol still.

“Maybe it’s just Because we are getting to the age when people start having families, I wouldn’t expect for teenage eijirou to be thinking about families and kids n’ stuff.” You joked subtly, but his expression shifted suddenly at the mention of having a family.

“Do you want to?—have a family I mean.” His voice, which was usually bright and unbreakable, was now feather light. His eyes looked over your frame, almost nervously.

“Of course I do, I’ve always wanted to.” He visibly brightened at your answer. “Especially with you.” You grabbed his hand from his side and squeezed it with reassurance.

He teared up slightly at the words, but immediately covered it with a large and toothy smile.

“God I love you s’much,” he pulled you into a hug, not caring much for the paparazzi around the area. “And for the record, teenage eijirou was thinkin’ about having a family and marrying you since like second year. I’m almost offended you think otherwise, babe.” He joked as he released you from the hug.

You sent a shock look towards him, giving him a slight laugh back.

“Right, well tell teenage eijirou he needs to put a ring on this finger before he starts thinking about family.” You half heartedly nudged him. The roads were mostly empty now as you two walked on, continuing patrol like usual.

“He knows, trust me.” He spoke with a warm voice. He nearly wanted to laugh at the mention, thinking about the current velvet box siting in your bedside table drawer as you two spoke.

“In all seriousness, though. I can’t wait to have a family with you. I imagine little you’s running around and it just—I don’t know, it makes me giddy.” You continued reassuring him, getting into deeper details.

“I know! I love thinking about what it’ll be like, what you’d be like with our kids.” He swung your joined hands between you two as you walked. You two looked like some love sick teenagers, but deep down that’s what you still were.

You looked over at him, a warm feeling spreading through your heart as he rambled about what he dreamed it would be like. You really couldn’t have picked a better person to spend the rest of your life with.

[shinysobi]

should have been you (l.jh)

when everything goes wrong, everything goes wrong (and taking your fate in your hands is not a bad thing) hahah what do you mean writing an smau in a day is a bad idea? but yes, i had a lot of fun doing this and well, this is dedicated to my lovies: @haologram, who helped me write the whole thing, and got excited at all the right places, @mylovesstuffs, bc she sent a three-hundred word paragraph yelling at me about how good the idea was, and ofc my little freaks who asked to be tagged: @facethesunflower, @gyupremacy ! enjoy, and let me know what u think!

@/yurivictims: this means only one thing in korea

@/woozilovers: svt and lunar maknaes posting cute photos of woozi and yn? i'm nooticing

↪@/yurivictims: "prone to schizophrenia" sounds about right

@/yeseularts: how are you feeling about going back into the studio maam

↪@2lazyforuserid: man idk ive got creaking joints but the studio is a fuck ton better than the gym, celeste <3

@/yurivictims: NO WAY YN DROPPED THE F BOMB

↪@/2lazyforuserid: i am 29 ofc i say fuck

@/koreaboo: y/n of lunar, caught smoking on a seoul street

@/yeseularts: okay why the fuck are we still debating the smoking situation? y/n is a grown adult, and she's smoking a cigarette, not hurting people. shut up and let her live

@/woozilovers: y/n's scandal ranking, #1: misandry [=], #2 smoking [NEW]

@/leeuji: "she smokes" okay and? I STILL LOVE HER

@/yurivictims: don't let yn's smoking scandal distract you from the fact that we're getting AOTY this year

@/yurivictims: byeol yeseul and yn really said NO FUCKS GIVEN

↪@/woozilovers: idk if i want yn or if i want to be yn

@/yeseularts: saw their bandmate getting criticised for a lil smoke and said 'we dont care about ur moral policing' that is my FAMILY yall

@/woozilovers: HUH? TOMORROW? TOMORROW NEW SONG? YEARNING TIME?

@/woozilovers: "your hair spilled out onto the white sheets, your eyes that hold galaxies in them" WOOZI DOWN BAD

@/woozilovers: this song is about yn-[TRAIN PASSES BY]

@/yeppeuda: no way he uploaded that song. finefinefinefinecoolcoolcoolcool im fine actually

@/leeuji: does she know?

@/yurivictims: NEW SONG AND ITS QUEER CODED? A WIN?

↪@/yurivictims; "musical genius, the weight of the world on your shoulders", look me in the eye and tell me it is not yeseul and byeol tell me

@/yeseularts; y/n indie release... im so up

@/koreaboo: celestial entertainment and pledis ent issue joint statement regarding dating rumours of their artists y/n and woozi: they are close colleagues

@/yurivictims: shut the fuck up koreaboo

@/woozilovers: koreaboo is a blight on society and must be eradicated

↪@/yurivictims: you ship them

↪@/woozilovers: im not forcing them to sign the marriage certificate stfu

@/woozilovers: both yn and woozi pining all over their songs..is it that serious

@/koreaboo: seventeen's woozi, "I do enjoy Lunar's music" (lnk.to)

@/yurivictims: i be having a good day and this bitch comes to ruin shit for me @/koreaboo

@/koreaboo: lunar's yn, "i think woozi is one of the greatest songwriters of our generation"

@/yeseularts: man i thought this was a joke at first but i cant defend you guys anymore

@/yurivictims: okay gimme 3 reasons why u think yn is dating woozi

↪@/woozilovers: han river dates, song refs, they even have couple items

↪@/yurivictims: and 50 million other people have the same item, are they in a relationship?

@/woozilovers: that did not happen right im not hallucinating right did @/yurivictims curse me with schizophrenia guys

@/woozilovers: sensing something shift in the universe... ominous

↪@/yeseularts: oomf you might be right about that

@/woozilovers: ...what

@/yeseularts: no way...oomf vindicated

@/yurivictims: [CLOSED].

@/koreaboo: Celestial entertainment and pledis ent. both confirm that y/n of lunar and woozi of seventeen are in a relationship, "we ask you to look upon them with kindness."

@/woozilovers: do i get to come to the wedding?

[sicklysublimeamulet]

The Room Between Us

Renzo always felt like he was just drifting through life—never standing out, never quite fitting in. At twenty, in his second year of college, he kept mostly to himself. He preferred quiet evenings, sketching in his notebook, and rarely made eye contact when passing people in the halls.

He often questioned why someone like his roommate, Howard:

His energetic, confident, and popular. He would even want to share a dorm with him. Howard was taller, more athletic, and had a natural magnetism that made people gravitate to him. But he was also kind and genuine. He never mocked Renzo’s quietness or made him feel less-than. If anything, Howard treated him like an equal… even if Renzo couldn’t understand why. He also have a tattoo in his left arm but he secretly hid it using concealer without noticing it, except Renzo. He knows everything about his roommate's life.

Renzo harbored a quiet admiration for his roommate. Not just because Howard seemed like someone he could never become, but because Howard never made him feel like he had to be someone else. And yet, Renzo couldn’t help but feel invisible sometimes, overshadowed by the world around him.

One afternoon, while helping Howard sort through some boxes after a trip home, Renzo found something strange nestled inside a bundle of old scarves.

It was a necklace.

Silver, with an oddly shaped blue crystal at its center. The gem glowed faintly, like it was breathing.

“Whoa,” Renzo said, picking it up. “What’s this?”

Howard turned, then smiled in recognition. “Oh man, I forgot that was in there. That’s… something my grandfather gave to me. He called it the ‘Anima Cordis.’ Latin for ‘Soul Heart,’ I think.”

Renzo tilted his head. “It looks… magical.”

“Well, that’s the story,” Howard said, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Apparently, it has the power to merge two people into one—only if both people are willing, though. It’s not just physical—it’s emotional, mental. You feel everything the other feels. Not like reading thoughts. More like becoming one being, even if temporarily.”

Renzo laughed nervously, unsure if it was a joke or not. “Sounds like something out of a fantasy novel.”

“Yeah,” Howard shrugged. “But I always thought it was more than a story. My grandfather swore he used it once. Said it changed his life.”

Renzo stared at the necklace, something pulling at his curiosity. For some reason, he couldn’t let the idea go.

Over the next few days, he thought about what it would be like—to know what it felt like to be someone else. To feel confident like Howard. To feel capable. Seen.

Then one evening, after a long walk back to the dorm, Renzo made a decision. He found Howard at his desk reading, the necklace sitting quietly on the nightstand.

“Hey,” Renzo said softly. “Do you… think we could try it?”

Howard looked up. “The necklace?”

Renzo nodded. “Yeah. I want to… understand. What it’s like to be someone like you. I know that sounds weird, but I just… I want to stop feeling like half of a person.”

Howard stood, his expression shifting to something serious but gentle. “It’s not weird. And you’re not half of anything, Renzo. But… if this helps you believe it, then yeah. Let’s try.”

The two of them each held one end of the necklace and brought their hands together around the crystal.

At first, nothing happened.

Then the gem began to glow brighter, pulsing with an otherworldly light. A soft warmth spread through their hands and into their arms. The air shimmered. The walls around them faded into an indistinct blur, like the world was holding its breath.

Their bodies began to shift—not painfully, but smoothly, like clay being molded by invisible hands. Howard’s taller frame wrapped around Renzo’s smaller one, while Renzo’s features filled the spaces between Howard’s. Their skin fused seamlessly, their bones aligning, their heartbeats synchronizing until they were one.

There was no struggle, no fear. Only peace.

When the light faded, only one person stood in the center of the room. Not Howard. Not Renzo. But Rowan.

He stood tall, shoulders square but not tense. His eyes reflected a balance of quiet thoughtfulness and bold clarity. He walked toward the mirror and studied himself—not out of vanity, but curiosity.

He looked… complete.

He ran his hands over his arms, feeling strength—but also calm. He smiled faintly, sensing the harmony of both lives flowing through him. He remembered Renzo’s insecurities and Howard’s encouragement. He remembered moments of quiet sketching, and moments of standing in front of a crowd without fear.

He was not two people trapped in one. He was one person, formed by truth and understanding.

Hours passed, and eventually, the necklace glowed again, signaling the merge could end if they wished.

But Rowan didn’t rush to separate.

He spent the night writing in Renzo’s sketchbook, capturing this new sense of self, reflecting on the pieces of each life that now made up his whole. And when morning came, the merge gently faded. Renzo and Howard stood apart once more.

Renzo stared at the mirror, breathing deeply and he take his phone for a selfie. He looked at Howard to his own mind.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I… I finally felt what it’s like to be okay with who I am.”

Howard smiled, reaching across the space between them. “You never needed to be me, Renzo. You just needed to believe in the parts of yourself I already see.”

From that day on, Renzo walked with more confidence—not because he became someone else, but because he understood that everything he needed was already inside him.

And the necklace? It stayed in the drawer.

A reminder that sometimes, the greatest magic isn’t in changing who we are—but in finally seeing who we’ve been all along.

It had been weeks since Renzo and Howard merged using the Anima Cordis—the mysterious necklace gifted to Howard by his grandfather. What started as an experiment to help Renzo find confidence and clarity had become something deeper. When they separated that night, both young men felt changed—not in a way that erased who they were, but in how they viewed themselves and each other.

Yet something lingered in both of them after the experience. An echo. A calling.

Renzo, once soft-spoken and unsure, found a steadiness in his voice. He no longer shrank from conversations or hid in shadows. He started sharing his art more openly, joining local exhibitions, even speaking up in class. His old anxiety didn’t disappear completely—but it no longer ruled him.

Howard, meanwhile, found himself slowing down more. Listening deeper. He became more introspective, more thoughtful in how he moved through the world. The experience of feeling Renzo’s quiet sensitivity opened a new depth in him that he hadn’t known was there.

One evening, the two of them sat outside their dorm, the city glowing in amber and blue beneath the dusk sky. The Anima Cordis rested between them on the small table, its crystal faintly pulsing with a familiar light.

“You feel it too, right?” Renzo asked.

Howard nodded. “It’s like... it’s calling us back. Not because we’re incomplete, but because we’ve found something worth holding onto.”

They both fell quiet, listening to the stillness around them. Then Howard smiled, eyes gentle. “Maybe we were never meant to be just individuals. Maybe what we are when we’re together... is the truest version of us.”

Renzo hesitated. “But if we do this again... I don’t think I’d want to undo it this time.”

Howard didn’t blink. “Neither would I.”

They held the necklace together once more. The crystal pulsed, brighter than before. But this time, the magic felt calmer, like the ocean lapping at the shore. No struggle, no overwhelming surge. Just the slow, natural blending of two lives into one.

Their bodies came together, features balancing and harmonizing—not just physically, but spiritually. Their thoughts aligned. Their memories met and braided. There was no longer Renzo and Howard.

There was simply Rowan.

He stood outside under the dawn sky, breathing deeply. He felt taller, stronger, but not just in a physical sense. He felt whole.

He had Renzo’s keen eye for detail, Howard’s sense of presence. Renzo’s quiet grace, Howard’s bold confidence. He could speak to a crowd or sit in complete stillness and feel at peace in both.

Rowen remembered who he had been—but without longing to return. This wasn’t a temporary fix. It was a choice. A new life, forged from trust, admiration, and shared will.

The next day, Rowan officially changed his name with the school records. Professors, classmates, and friends adapted quickly. Most didn’t even question the shift—just as if Rowan had always been there, just waiting to step into the world.

He moved into a small apartment off-campus, decorating it with both Renzo’s art and Howard’s trophies. The walls told stories of both lives, no longer separate. On the shelf sat the Anima Cordis, now dim, its work complete.

People gravitated toward Rowan. He spoke with ease, carried himself with quiet power, and listened like every word someone shared mattered. He became a pillar in his university community—guiding others, uplifting them, seeing what was hidden beneath their surfaces. Because he understood what it meant to be both seen and unseen.

It was no longer about healing a broken sense of self.

Now, it was a legacy.

And as Rowan looked at the world ahead of him—filled with possibility, new friendships, new creations—he smiled.

And he was exactly who he was always meant to be.

[solarvee]

best friends brother

CL16 x reader

You’re my best friend’s sibling. We crossed a line—and now every family dinner feels like a ticking time bomb.

I never thought a single summer could change everything. Not just how I saw him, but how I saw us. Charles Leclerc wasn’t just my best friend’s brother—he was the person I’d known for my entire life. We’d grown up together, family friends for as long as I could remember, weekend visits filled with laughter, teasing, and that comfortable kind of closeness only years of familiarity can build.

Until that summer. The summer everything shifted.

It started with something small, almost insignificant at first. A glance held a moment too long. A brush of fingers that lingered just a little too much. We were alone that night, the lake quiet and still under the glow of the moon. Everyone else had gone inside to bed at the family’s lakeside cabin, leaving Charles and me sitting side-by-side on the porch steps. The air was thick with warmth and the scent of pine, the kind of perfect summer night you want to hold onto forever.

“You ever think about what it’d be like... if things were different?” Charles asked quietly, his voice softer than usual.

I looked over at him, my heart suddenly racing. “Different how?”

He hesitated, eyes searching mine, like he was trying to find a way to say what he wanted without scaring me away. “Like... if we weren’t just best friends, or siblings’ friends. If it was something more.”

I couldn’t look away. My breath hitched in my throat. The weight of what he’d just said pressed down on me. I should have pulled away, told him it was a bad idea—that it could ruin everything. But when his fingers brushed against mine, warmth spreading like wildfire, I found myself unable to stop it.

We crossed the line.

Our first kiss was tentative, almost shy, like we were both afraid to admit what we really wanted. But then it grew urgent—something that had been building quietly for years finally bursting out all at once. His lips were soft against mine, and in that moment, everything else—our families, the years of friendship, the risk—disappeared.

The morning after, reality crashed down hard. What had we done? Charles was my best friend’s brother. We were supposed to be family. And now, every time I thought about the inevitable family dinners ahead, I felt that sinking feeling in my stomach—the ticking bomb waiting to go off.

We agreed it had to be a secret. For now. No one could know. It wasn’t just embarrassment or fear of judgment; it was loyalty. To my best friend, to their family. To the delicate balance we’d all depended on.

But secrecy is a fragile thing, especially when it’s shared with someone you see at every family gathering. And soon, the tension started to show. At the very first dinner after that night, the air felt electric. His parents greeted me with their usual warm smiles, completely unaware of the storm swirling just beneath the surface. My best friend shot me a curious glance across the table that I quickly dodged.

Charles was calm on the outside, but I could see the tightness around his mouth, the way his eyes flicked toward me in fleeting, charged moments. When his mother asked me to pass the salad, our fingers brushed, and I felt a spark that left my hands trembling.

The conversation was forced—laughs too loud, jokes that didn’t land. Every mention of Charles from my best friend made my heart clench painfully, and I caught myself watching Charles in case he noticed. He did, just for a second, before looking away, his expression unreadable.

Days stretched into weeks, and the secret between us grew heavier with each passing moment. We texted constantly, stealing fragments of time amidst our busy lives. But each family event became a minefield, where one wrong step could set everything off.

One evening, after an especially tense dinner, Charles pulled me aside while everyone was still in the living room. We stood in the quiet kitchen, the hum of conversation just out of earshot.

“We can’t keep doing this,” he said low, his eyes searching mine with urgency.

“I know,” I whispered, swallowing the lump in my throat.

He took a step closer, fingers brushing my cheek. “But what do we do? We can’t tell anyone—not yet. Not like this.”

I bit my lip, tears threatening to spill. “I don’t want to lose what we have... but it’s getting harder.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he promised, voice steady. “Together.”

That promise was a lifeline. And yet, the weight of the secret pressed on us both.

The following weekend brought the breaking point. At a big family gathering, surrounded by chatter and laughter, Charles and I slipped away to a quiet corner. Away from the curious eyes and the unspoken questions. He looked at me with a vulnerability I’d never seen before.

“Y/N,” he breathed, “I can’t pretend anymore. I want to be with you. Not just in secret. I want the world to know.”

My heart hammered in my chest. I wanted to believe him so badly.

“I want that too,” I said, nodding.

“We’ll face it all—family, friends, everything. Together.”

For the first time since that summer night, the ticking bomb didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like a countdown to something new—something real.

The path ahead wouldn’t be easy. There would be awkward conversations, uncomfortable dinners, and moments when doubt threatened to take hold. But with Charles by my side, I felt ready to face whatever came next.

Because sometimes, the biggest risks lead to the greatest rewards.

[love-of-fandoms]

Little Bird (Rob Lucci x Reader)

Inspired by @sunandflame , Queen you are keeping the Lucci tag alive and I thank you mightily for your service.

A/N: I've had this idea forever about a character in One Piece with big wings who fell from Skypeia as a child and because One Piece with training and discipline were able to get to the point where they could actually use their wings. Anyway this is that OC basically inserted as a reader so I can write some Lucci fanfic. He has me by the horns and I did in fact speedwrite this in two hours.

Pairing: Rob Lucci x Reader

Fandom: One Piece

Wordcount: 6253 words

Warnings: AFAB reader, they/them pronouns, Rob Lucci is his own warning, smut, oral, reader has long hair, can be read as any race, humiliation, some predator/prey

You could tell the new Galley-La foreman didn’t trust anybody as far as his pigeon could throw them(he’d trust people a lot more if it was as far as he could throw them, you knew because you’d seen him toss an unruly pirate out to see all the way from Dock One). Beautiful, but painfully stoic, he kept to himself, speaking through his pigeon and not seeming to give anyone the time of day besides Paulie and Kaku, the other new addition.

His pigeon was a riot though. Whenever he would say something “through Hattori”, the bird would immediately follow up with some snarky commentary:

“Paulie, you shouldn’t tarnish Icebarg’s name with your foolish gambling~coo coo!” He’d say in that silly high pitched voice he used for Hattori.

“Yeah, cuz you sure care about Icebarg’s name, you psychopath,”

Or:

“Get home safely, Tilestone! You had a bit much to drink!” 

“Please let him fall in the canal, he’s so annoying,”

Your Talk-Talk fruit, which you had consumed shortly after falling from your homeland of Skypeia as a child, allowed you to speak to anything with a soul. It came in very handy as a shipwright at Galley-La, allowing you to ask ships what they needed instead of doing a full inspection. It also allowed you to hear every confusing thing Hattori said to complement Lucci’s speech.

You had commented on Hattori’s speech one day at the bar with the other foreman, much to Lucci’s surprise.

“You know, Lucci, your bird is always calling you a psychopath,” you failed to notice the way Lucci’s first clenched around his glass of brandy, causing small cracks in it. “But to me it seems like he’s the real psychopath. I think he might kill Tilestone someday soon,” Lucci narrowed his eyes slightly, but you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He seemed to be searching for something in your eyes, but you had no idea what. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

“I didn’t realize your devil fruit allowed you to talk to animals as well as ships~coo coo!” He said after a moment. You thought him breaking the silence would dissipate the tense feeling you had in your shoulders and wings, as if you should flee, but instead you felt a crushing dread in the pit of your stomach. Lucci was never unserious, but the severity of his gaze left you incredibly nervous. 

“Um… yeah, the Talk-Talk fruit lets me talk to anything with a soul,” you nodded, taking a sip of the cheap ale Paulie got you to try and shake the nervous feeling you had. “Which is why it’s so hard to talk to you sometimes, eh?” you tried cracking a joke to clear the mood, but when did Lucci ever have a sense of humor?

“HAHAHAHA! DON’T TAKE THAT TO HEART, LUCCI! THEY’VE USED THAT LINE ON ALL OF US!” Tilestone was there to-well breaking the tension wouldn’t exactly be the word, would it? The sheer volume of his voice left both you and Lucci puffed up like cats. You pouted.

“You know, you’re not supposed to just immediately ruin my delivery like that, it’s not very sporting of you,” you muttered, grabbing another sip of your ale.

“Please Lucci for the love of god, if you kill any of them let it be this one,” Hattori piped up, to which you let out a very loud guffaw.

“Hattori, you’re such a fucked up little bird,” you chided, standing from your chair and giving the bird a little two finger salute. “Have a good night, gentlemen, I’m off for a midnight flight,” The guys wished you goodnight with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Lucci nodded his head, eyes still very intently studying you, making you all the more eager to get the hell out of dodge.

You exited Blueno’s with your wings still twitching, unable to shake the feeling Lucci’s intense stare had given you. You felt the need to run-the need to fly far far away into the sky where he couldn’t reach you. You felt the need to check every dark crevice and cranny in the night to make sure no predator was stalking somewhere it shouldn’t.

Rob Lucci made you feel like prey sometimes, and it never made a lick of sense.

You shot up into the sky, still intent on taking your nightly flight. Since you had fallen as a child, you hadn’t stopped trying to return to your homeland in the clouds. You would flap and flap your wings, and by the time you wound up on Water 7 what previously had been ornamental wings the size of your forearms on your back were huge, powerful wings that could carry you through the air. Not 10,000 meters into the air, but high enough. You made it a point to train every night, hoping one day to return. You remembered a family, vaguely, an annoying, hotheaded twin brother you went through hell for, a statue of a proud warrior in the middle of your town, the feeling of clouds beneath your feet as opposed to solid ground.

You propelled yourself through the clouds above Water 7, diving and looping, surveying the island below. You were at this for about a half hour when something caught your eye: a silhouette seemingly running through the air. Was it Kaku? You knew that he had that odd skill. You dove down, wanting to say hello if it was, and check it out if it wasn’t. You held a palm out, waving and preparing to shout a ‘hello’ down to the figure when-

“Shave!” your momentum was very suddenly disturbed by a body tackling yours, sending you veering to the left. A strong(too strong) hand around your forearm stopped you from falling completely out of the sky, and suddenly you were face to face with-rather, you were dangling below-the one and only Rob Lucci.

You were struck-momentarily-by how devastatingly beautiful he was. Maybe it was because there was rarely any emotion on his face, but there was something intoxicating about bearing witness to the snarl that took his lip, the slightly askew tophat from tackling you. His grey eyes glinted with something you still couldn’t figure out, and damn if it wasn’t breathtaking.

But now was not the time to ogle! Your arm was sore and only hurting more every passing second his grip remained around it.

“What the hell, Lucci?!” you demanded, trying to yank your forearm free, but it felt like it was stuck in an iron clamp. “I thought you were Kaku! I’m sorry for startling you-fuck!” you cursed in pain at his grip, and he finally relented, letting your arm go and dropping to the roof of a nearby building, indicating for you to join him.

“Apologies for hurting you~coo coo! I was startled to see someone else in the sky!” He said. You scowled at him, the fear from earlier replaced with rage from being ragdolled midflight.

“I’m the one with wings, I think that should be my line!” you retorted, rubbing at the spot where he grabbed you. “Didn’t know you could run on air, too,” Lucci shrugged, Hattori mimicking the motion.

“We grew up on the same island, so we learned how to do it together~coo coo!” he said in explanation.

“Is that the story? Does Kaku know this?” sometimes the things Hattori said were downright bizarre. It made you wonder about Lucci-what was he hiding that had his bird calling him out in ways you couldn’t comprehend all the time? You must have made a face, because suddenly Lucci was closer. You didn’t see him take a step, but he was nose to nose with you in an instant.

“What did he say?” a deep voice demanded, and you felt his breath puff against your lips as he spoke. Your eyes widened, both at hearing his real voice for the first time, and at the coldness of the tone. He sounded like he’d kill you if he didn’t like the answer, and all of a sudden that feeling was back. 

Why do I feel like this? There’s no reason for me not to trust Lucci-besides the weird shit his bird says, but really-he’s done nothing but help us at Galley-La. He’s helped me save Paulie’s dumbass a few times now, and besides being crazy strong he’s just a normal shipwright, not some psycho murderer. Calm down!

“Um… he asked if Kaku knows about that?” you winced. “I’m sorry, what he says doesn’t always make sense,” Lucci huffed, leaning back slightly to give you an inch-and just an inch-of space.

“Damn bird, doesn’t know the trouble he stirs,” he muttered, fists clenching and unclenching as he continued to stare at you intently, something going on behind his eyes that you were not privy to: a decision, perhaps? 

“He’s definitely an odd one,” you chimed in, giggling a bit. “A lot of murderous intent in such a little body. I mean it, he really hates Tilestone,” Lucci seemed to stand down at this, whatever calculation that was going on in his brain decided. The corner of his lip quirked up in what couldn’t scientifically be considered a smile.

“I believe you shoved him into the canal just the other week for being too loud,” he said, keeping his voice muted, as if speaking any louder would break the spell and he’d have to return to his pigeon voice. Why he wasn’t using it right now, you couldn’t fathom.

“Well, yeah, but he got out just fine,” you muttered, scratching behind your ear and averting your gaze. Okay, maybe you and Hattori did agree about how annoying Tilestone was. Lucci just scoffed.

“That just means you didn’t do a good enough job,” your eyes shot back up to his, trying to gauge his expression. Did Rob Lucci just make a joke? To you?

Joke or not, the laughter bubbled up out of your throat. “You should talk more Lucci, I think you might be just as murderous and amusing as your pigeon,” He seemed taken aback by that, eyes wide as he watched you laugh.

“You have no idea,” was all Hattori had to contribute.

After that, you went out of your way to bother Rob Lucci-or Hattori-at work. Sometimes, the man wouldn’t give you the time of day, but that was fine, because as previously stated: his pigeon was a riot.

“Did you notice how the last pirate that came through here had a talking parrot?” Hattori asked as his owner pounded away with his hammer. You were weaving the rope for the ladders along the masts, so you sat beside Lucci as he worked and chatted with Hattori. Getting to admire Lucci’s biceps as he swung away was a small bonus that you really didn’t think about at all when deciding where to set up with your work-okay you were really there to admire Lucci, but Hattori was great company as well!

“Oh yeah, it was some big macaw, right?” Lucci’s eyes darted to you, as they often did when you spoke to his pigeon. It was a look you knew well with your devil fruit: the look of someone who would give anything to hear both sides of the conversation.

“Well I fucking killed it!” the bird crowed, puffing his chest out in pride. You paused in your work with the rope, placing it down for a moment to give Hattori a horrified look.

“Are you serious?” you demanded, and Lucci’s eyes bore into you with a newfound intensity. You turned to him for a moment with the look of a disappointed parent. “He’s saying he killed that last pirate’s parrot,” you told him, and Lucci’s face twisted in a brief grimace of acknowledgement. “You knew?!” he nodded. “Maybe you guys are psychopaths,” you muttered, getting back to your rope work.

The winged Galley-La foreman was either dumb as rocks, or a little bit of a sociopath themselves at this point. When Lucci first realized that not only did their devil fruit allow them to understand Hattori, but his pigeon had been saying psychotic, unhinged shit, the entire time. 

Luckily, whether it was the slight crush on him (that of course he picked up on), or they just genuinely didn’t care to connect the dots, or on the very unlikely end were too dumb to connect them, they seemed not to be able to put together the painfully obvious hints that Hattori was dropping that Lucci was not who he said he was. In fact, they seemed to spend more time with him because of his sadistic bird.

Usually, Lucci would be upset about someone attaching themselves to him while undercover, but he found he didn’t mind their presence. They could be a little silly, but they seemed to understand the value of silence, a virtue he valued greatly. There was also that delicious look they would get sometimes: the fear of being in the presence of a stronger, faster, predator mixed with the confusion of not being able to recognize that the predator was right in front of them. The way their wings would twitch sometimes as if they wanted to fly away from him, but simultaneously their eyes would bore into him greedily as if he were some tragic artist’s most beautiful piece.

It made him… feel things. Not something so quaint as affection, but an attraction. A need to take. A need to show them they were right to be afraid, that he was fearsome, but that he could be fearsome for them, that they need not fear the beast but let it consume them.

It was a dangerous line of thought, one he often nipped in the bud if he found his mind straying down that path, and Rob Lucci was nothing if not an efficient, emotionless killing machine.

But he still found himself allowing them to impose on him. To work near him during their days at Dock One. To take the seat next to him at Blueno’s bar(when did they start regularly tagging along with him and Paulie?). To ask for his company on a flight after Paulie ditched them one drink in one fateful Friday night.

“Well I’m glad he struck out,” you sighed, standing from your chair with a stretch as the two of you watched Paulie practically strut out of the bar with a pretty brunette tourist. You and Lucci approached the bar to pay your respective tabs, which each of you thought would be quite a bit higher that night. You bit your lip, wondering if you should even try to ask Lucci what you wanted. If a prudish idiot like Paulie could get lucky tonight, maybe you could get lucky asking for a bit more of your too-handsome coworker’s time?

“You’re thinking really hard about something, there~coo coo!” Lucci piped up, startling you out of your reverie. You blushed, shifting from foot to foot nervously as you decided to just bite the bullet.

“Uh… I was just wondering, no worries if not, but I was going for a flight after this, and I thought it might be fun, maybe, if we went… together?” you stumbled your way through the invitation, gaze planted firmly on the floor and not seeing the way one half of Lucci’s mouth curled up in a smirk. “That sounds silly, I’m sorry, we don’t have to,” you started to speak again, barely even giving him time to answer and waving your hands in dismissal, but a large calloused hand gripped your wrist, prompting you to look at the man it was attached to.

“Could be fun~coo coo!” he responded, and you definitely weren’t hallucinating the slight upturn you saw to his lips! You grinned at him, strolling out of the bar with him eagerly, wings already twitching and ready to unfurl.

“Really? That’s great!” you gushed, much more excited than you should be for something that was essentially an overly complicated run together.

Once you were outside, you unfurled your wings and immediately took to the sky, laughing gleefully when Lucci shot himself up to be right next to you, careful not to get in the way of your downstrokes but still close enough to communicate with. Hattori fluttered off, seemingly not as interested in your midnight flight.

“How high have you gone?” you asked, and Lucci shot you a look as if you were the strangest creature he’d ever laid eyes upon.

“Never kept track, you?” you were surprised to hear his real voice again, after so many weeks since that first time you caught him in the sky. Your wings faltered for a moment, and you felt your cheeks heat with embarrassment at the brief blunder.

“Uh… 6,200 meters is my record!” his eyes widened, and you felt a rush of pride at his expression. “I have an altitude measure, if you want to find out how far you can go,” you offered. Gods, what a weird date. You thought to yourself, but quickly rid yourself of the thought. Not a date, just hanging out with a coworker. Lucci grinned at you.

“Is that a challenge?” he asked, and you shrugged.

“I mean, I was born 10,000 meters in the sky, so my lungs can breath the air up there better, but I have no idea how a normal human would handle going that far-” you would have continued, but Lucci was already climbing, and climbing fast. It took all you had to keep up with him. “You could’ve let me finish, jerk!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, all I heard was a challenge,” he quipped, still climbing steadily, and you huffed, pulling out your altitude reader and following him as he climbed, occasionally calling out to him how high you had gone.

At about 5,000 meters, he started to slow, and you piped up. “Make sure you have the energy for the descent! Free falling is fun, but you need to be able to catch yourself if that’s the plan!” you saw the beads of sweat, had heard his heavy breathing for a minute, and were honestly getting a little worried about having to catch him on the way down. He shook his head, determined. “Alright, don’t make me have to save you!” But he continued to climb, until eventually.

“Oh my god, 6,400! I haven’t even made it this far!” you were panting heavily and your wings were sore as hell, but part of you was elated to be pushed this far. Lucci was also looking winded, but the out of control grin on his face when you told him he beat your previous record took what was left of your breath away. His elated gaze met yours, and for a moment you swore you saw a fang in his grin, before he was beginning his descent. You followed after him, over the moon at having beat your record and seen Rob Lucci’s smile.

“Hey Lucci!” you called to him as you descended. “How do you feel about one more challenge?” you asked, and he got that beautiful glint in his eyes again, the one that made you feel simultaneously like you were in danger and that you were the most special person in Water 7.

“What do you have in mind?” he asked, and you grinned at him.

“Race you to Dock One!” you called, and before he could really have time to process it, you tucked your wings close to your body and dove. You heard the echoes of a deep laughter get lost in the wind, and while part of you lamented not getting to hear his laugh, another part of you delighted at the way the evening was going. Tonight you had unlocked a-dare you say it-playful side of Rob Lucci. It felt like nothing was impossible.

You suddenly felt a presence right next to you, and a voice sounded from directly above you.

“Are you sure you want to play a game of chase with me, little bird?” His deep voice sent shivers down your spine, and you squealed gleefully, giving your wings a pump to change your direction before settling them even closer to your body, willing yourself to gain even more speed. This time you heard his laughter, because it was right behind you. 

The ground was fast approaching, so you unfurled your wings, and started to weave through the buildings atop Water 7, making your way to Dock One. You were blindsided when you felt a hand grab and yank your foot slightly, veering you off course and slowing you down. Lucci’s laughter followed tauntingly, and you felt a gust of wind as he zipped by you. You groaned, pumping your wings with renewed vigor to try and catch up, but the Dock was already in sight and you knew it was already lost.

You landed in front of the huge Dock One doors, deserted because of the time of night. Lucci was already leaning against them, arms crossed with a smirk on his face.

“So what do I win?” he asked, pushing off the door to invade your space, standing nose to nose with you in a scene that gave you deja-vu. Your eyes widened as he took another step, pressing his chest to yours, and there was that feeling again, the feeling that you really were just a little bird and that this big bad predator was going to snatch you up if you didn’t do something. 

But what a beautiful predator to be caught by, you decided, refusing to step back and meeting his gaze with whatever bravery you could muster. He seemed pleased with that, smirk widening into an almost-smile.

“Do I get to choose?” he pressed, voice almost a whisper, and you nodded, voice completely lost to you.

And then he was kissing you. His large hands framed your face completely as he all but yanked you into him, forcing you onto your tiptoes just to meet his lips. If you had been foolish enough to expect gentleness in Rob Lucci’s touch, you found there was none, his hands demanding, his grip almost too tight when one hand wound its way into your hair and the other to the small of your back. You were crushed to Rob Lucci, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Your arms went around his back, and you found yourself consumed by him. He took complete control of the kiss, using his grip on your hair to angle your face how he wanted it, nipping at your lips and sliding his tongue out to taste your mouth.

His hand in your hair yanked your head back, his lips trailing down your chin and along the side of your neck, biting down hard-almost too hard-when they met the junction of your neck and shoulder. Everything was almost too much with him, the strength of his grip, his kisses, the way he crushed your body to his so completely you barely had room to breathe.

“One more flight?” he asked, pulling away from you ever so slightly, just enough to allow you to answer. You panted, breathless for a moment.

“Yours or mine?” you breathed out, and he smirked a bit.

“We can do without scandalizing Kaku, don’t you think?” he prompted, and you nodded, shakily spreading your wings to get ready for the flight home. Lucci huffed, looping an arm around your waist and pulling you to him before you could take off. “Just one kiss and you’re already this dazed?” he teased, and you would have argued, said something clever in response, if his next movement hadn’t been to sweep out your legs and start carrying you through the sky to your apartment.

“Lucci!” you shrieked in surprise, and you were blessed with his deep laughter once again.

“I thought you were supposed to woo someone by sweeping them off their feet?” he prodded, and your cheeks burned with heat.

“Careful Lucci, I’ll accuse you of romance next!” you teased back, and his eyes flashed down to you with a light smirk.

“Well we can’t have that,” he muttered before dropping you on your feet in front of your apartment. Before you could even turn and start to unlock the door he had yanked you into another filthy kiss, a hand sneaking down to firmly grab your ass as he did so. You moaned softly into the kiss, digging around in your pockets for your keys as he seemed to suck the very breath out of you. The sensations were too overwhelming: his hair brushing against your cheeks softly as his mouth devoured you anything but softly. His hand not occupied with your butt had found its way back into your hair and was yanking with abandon.

Finally your hand grasped your keys, and you were able to pull them out of your pocket and shove Lucci away long enough to get them in the lock and get you both through the door. Then he was back in control, slamming you against the door with strength you couldn’t forget he had even if you tried and shoving a leg between your thighs to press against your crotch. You were lifted up onto your tiptoes by the motion and he bent down to leave more demanding kisses and bites at your neck, delighting in your shivers and moans as he did.

“I hope you’re not expecting romance,” he murmured darkly against your collarbone, flinging his tophat off and beginning to work on the buttons of your shirt. “I will not be gentle, or loving, or even kind,” he warned as his hands brushed your breasts on the way down, and you clenched your thighs around his in anticipation.

“Good things I’m not looking for any of that,” you responded, voice breathy and a bit higher than you remember it. Lucci smirked at you, looping his hands around your thighs and lifting you from against the door, beginning to carry you further into your apartment. You directed him between kisses and moans, squealing when he flung you onto your bed, quickly following you and pinning you to the mattress with a hand on your neck. His other hand trailed down your chest, ghosting over your breasts and stomach before coming to rest in the waistband of your pants, fingers teasing into your slit to gather the barest trace of your juices before withdrawing. He held the same fingers up to your lips, the command not even having to be spoken for you lips to open lewdly, tongue lolling out to accept his fingers.

He smirked, and you felt like you could kill someone to earn that approving glint in his eyes as he gazed at you. No praise came, but the hand on your neck drifted down to fondle and tweak your breasts, giving you jolts of pleasure as you sucked on two of his fingers.

Unceremoniously he yanked his fingers out of your mouth, wiping the wet of your saliva on your breasts in a way that should have felt humiliating-but instead sent fire through your veins. 

“You’ll be good for me, won’t you?” he said it like a statement though it should have been a question, and you found yourself nodding desperately as he went to pull his pants off, revealing a hard cock that was very much proportionate to his seven foot height. He sat on the edge of the bed and raised an eyebrow at you.

“On your knees,” he demanded, and you rushed to comply, sliding off the bed and to your knees in front of him, eager to get his dick in your mouth. Long fingers twined themselves into your hair, getting it out of your way as you leaned into lick at his dick, one hand grabbing the base to keep it steady. You started with long licks along the bottom and sides, ecstatic when Lucci let out a brief moan at the first feeling of your tongue on his length. “There we go, little bird,” never did you think being called that would do it for you, but something about the ever composed, ever stoic Rob Lucci calling you a pet name in such a breathy tone was so insanely hot that you didn’t even question it.

You mouthed around his tip, teasing putting it in your mouth without actually wrapping your lips wholly around it, and were almost startled when an actual growl came out of Lucci’s mouth. His grip in your hair tightened to almost painful, keeping your head still.

“It’s cute, thinking you can get away with teasing me like that,” he muttered, staring down at you with a contemplative look that almost had you worried before his hand in your hair was pushing on the back of your head, forcing you to take him in your mouth. He sighed blissfully once your lips enveloped his tip, pushing further, and you hummed, admiring his profile as his head tipped back the slightest bit in pleasure from your mouth. You breathed deeply through your nose, allowing him to keep pushing you down his length until-

You sputtered lightly, his dick tapping the back of your throat, and Lucci only paused briefly to allow you to collect yourself before he was forcing your head all the way down, your nose meeting his pelvis as you sputtered again. He groaned deeply, the loudest noise you had heard from his all night.

“That’s it, little bird, take it like that,” he groaned, hand keeping you there for a moment before he completely released you, allowing you to yank your head back and take in a few deep breaths. He laughed meanly as you collected yourself, and you should have been humiliated, but the slight flush on his cheeks was addictive, and you were determined to see more. After a few deep breaths, you took his length back into your mouth, sinking quickly down almost to his base on your own. He let out a choked groan of surprise, probably not expecting you to be so eager to please, and you started to work a slow rhythm up and down his dick. “So good,” he groaned, and you hummed at the praise. 

He let you suck his cock for a few minutes, hand occasionally yanking at your hair and controlling the pace, all the while letting out occasional groans to let you know you were doing a good job. His tank top came off at some point during it, and you were frothing at the mouth to be face-to-face with his delicious torso, abs sculpted to perfection and hip bones you wanted to feel as you rode him-but you were getting ahead of yourself.

He yanked you off of him and had you get back up on the bed, helping you strip as he got you where he wanted you, your wings spread out behind you on the bed as you laid back amongst the pillows. He shoved your thighs up as high as they could go roughly, barking at you to hold them for him before sliding down your body until his face was right in front of your heat.

He let you squirm for an uncomfortable moment as he just laid and stared at your cunt, seemingly mesmerized, before he was diving in tongue first. It speared into you, his nose crashing into your clit as you let out a surprised moan. Rob Lucci was controlled, precise, and methodical in everything he did, but the man ate pussy like it was a meal that might be taken away from him at any second. He facial hair burned in the most delicious way against you as he relentlessly flicked his tongue into your hole, not even seeming to care about your pleasure from the experience and instead just wanting to taste you. He groaned in pleasure and you could feel your juices starting to pool under you from his relentless treatment.

“Please,” you muttered as the sensation got to be too much. “Please Lucci, please wanna cum, wanna cum so bad,” you whined, and he seemed to redouble his efforts, a hand coming up to shove two fingers into you as his mouth raised to suck on your clit. You let out a little shriek as the penetration finally shoved you over the edge, and Lucci lapped up your release greedily.

“Mine,” he muttered. “All mine, little bird,” you nodded, delirious with pleasure.

“All yours, all yours,” he was already making his way up your body, leaving wet kisses up your sternum and along your breasts until you were face to face. You admired the way your juices clung to his facial hair, the crazed look in his eyes that seemed that of an obsessed madman, the way his long hair framed his face in a way that made the oh-so put together Rob Lucci look disheveled and-dare you say it-absolutely debauched.

“Let me fuck you, little bird, let me ruin you,” he demanded, because Rob Lucci doesn’t beg, and you nodded desperately, feeling his tip knocking into your entrance.

“Yes please, please Lucci fuck me please,” you begged, and he pushed in, both of you gasping as he finally did.

“All that,” he grunted, bullying his dick a little further into you as you let out a high pitched moan. “And you’re still so tight!” one hand went to your clit while the other went to your neck, and you grinned around a moan.

“S cuz you’re so big,” you whined, shifting your hips a bit to get a better angle, squealing as it made him slide further in. He was grinning at you as he continued to bully his way into your pussy in short thrusts, fingers on your clit circling around and around.

“You’re so good for me, little bird,” he groaned, feeling his cock getting closer and closer to being all the way in with every thrust.

You let out a long, loud moan as his hips finally connected with yours, feeling his tip hit somewhere delicious inside you. Lucci seemed to be holding himself back, muscles tensing, and you whined at the lack of movement, legs wrapping around his hips firmly.

“Lucci, fuck me, please!” you whined, and this seemed to snap him out of whatever hesitance he had, because his hips started to snap back and forth, hammering into you with a force that would definitely leave your hips bruised tomorrow.

“Fuck! So perfect, little bird!” he grit out, hands flying to rest under your thighs, pushing your legs up for a better angle. You screamed as he did, his dick going deeper-almost too deep, tip brushing against your cervix with every thrust in a way that made you want to keep him in you forever. He leaned in, mouth coming to lick and bite at your chest, and your eyes rolled back at the force with which he would latch on, as if he was little more than a beast trying not to tear the very skin from your bones.

His dick was still hitting that perfect spot inside you, and you could feel your crest coming, fast and uncontrollable.

“Lucci, I-I’m,” you started to stutter out, but he didn’t let you finish, capturing your mouth in a kiss and bringing one hand back to your throat.

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me?” he asked, eyes flashing as he grinned down at you, and you nodded whimpering as he made sure to keep the pace, bullying into that spot that was making you see stars. “Go on little bird, cum on my cock, cum for me,” he urged, and the dam released. Warmth flowed through your body as you peak crashed over you, and you felt Lucci’s hips stutter as you squeezed him.

“Oh fuck you feel so good-” he choked out, pounding away at you even harder and faster than before, making you scream. “So close my little bird, just wanna feel it one more time,” he demanded, snaking the hand on your neck down to roughly squeeze at your breasts, meanly pinching a nipple. You squealed, the sudden intensity bringing another orgasm on so quickly you didn’t know what was happening until you were in it, and you were screaming and writhing on Lucci’s cock as he laughed meanly above you, almost in awe of how well you were taking his dick. As your pussy squeezed in the aftermath of back to back orgasms, he shoved his dick as deep as he could, filling you with his seed and dipping his head down to bite into your flesh once more. You shivered in delight as you felt him fill you.

“Thank you, Lucci,” you moaned, eyes already drooping after the exertion of the night. He chuckled, placing a small peck to your forehead before pulling out, prompting a groan from both of you. You dozed as he shuffled about, retrieving a washcloth and finding your bathroom to wet it with warm water, cleaning you gently(so gentle, more gentle than both of you thought he was capable of), and discarding it before returning to slide under the covers with you. You happily snuggled into his chest as he wrapped an arm around you.

He could afford some pleasure while he was undercover here, he decided. He deserved something nice, if he couldn’t kill whoever he wanted while he was here, after all.

[itzsana-kiddingmenow]

Sanaaa I have a fic idea I wanna share! You know how Leeknow picked all Changbin for last Code. Maybe when they go home Changbin feels kinda sad or grumpy so Leeknow gives him soft cheer up tickles to show him that the teasing on code was for fun but that he’s still loved. Hope you’re having a great day!! ⛅️

𝙥𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩, 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 — drabble:

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨: 800

𝙖/𝙣: this is from NOVEMBER. fun fact i have not watched this code so FORGIVE ME FOR THE DISCREPANCIES.

𝙩/𝙬: soft cheer up tickles, sOFT

𝒍𝒆𝒆: changbin

𝙡𝙚𝙧: minho

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae @jeonginsdiary @leeknowstan33 @v–143 @wereallgonnadieonedaybutnottoday @inkytornpagess @lajanaa @a-wild-seungberry

 @channieissocute125 @soap143 @seungsluvv @skznccmlee @moony-9 @sunny-117 @minnielvrr @reginald-stay09 @lunalattae @just-hyunlix-things @skzrosey @kijaswrldd @shinywombatcrusade @heartsforvia @kawaiihaille20 @mars-hi1009 @gnabnahcnova

so minho had picked changbin last for the skz code. that’s okay. changbin knew it really didn’t matter in hindsight. minho probably had a strategic reason for it.

he slumped against the car seat backing, stifling an exhausted groan as his mind wondered. binnie imagined. he imagined what it felt like to be picked first every time. to be loved to that extent.

and then he instantly felt horrible. how could he ever think his members showed favoritism?

he shook the thought from his mind and continued his staring. the others must have noticed his silence, however, because they were now feebly trying to cheer him up with jokes and forced laughter. minho, in the passenger seat, didn’t even bat an eyelash.

and bin sulked. oh he sulked hard. he’d pout and cross his arms until minho fucking noticed he was upset. now he just wanted to be petty.

so later that night, after the laughter of the code had faded into sleepy quiet and most of the boys had retreated to their rooms, binnie sat curled on the edge of minho’s bed, blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a burrito. his chubby cheeks were puffed out and his lower lip jutted in the world’s most exaggerated pout, clearly dramatic but still real in its intent. 

“why are you still pouting?” came minho’s groaned comment from across the room.

binnie’s arms tightened around himself as he turned further away. “you picked me last.”

minho let out a slow sigh and placed his phone on the nightstand, stretching his arms above his head with a small yawn. “you’re not actually upset, are you?”

“no,” changbin muttered, then added in a grumbly hmph, “...just a little.”

minho’s heart squeezed just a little at that. he slid closer, wrapping an arm around the dramatic little burrito and pulling him down with him so they both flopped onto the mattress. “you know i love you, right?”

changbin gave a sniff, sassy and upset. “didnt feel like it when i was standing all alone waiting for someone to finally say my name.”

with one swift motion, minho rolled them until changbin was flat on his back, pinned to the mattress with minho straddling his waist.

“yah—hey—minho-yah!” binnie wriggled, alarmed. “get off!”

but minho’s expression was dead serious now, eyes narrowed just a little. “you think being last means i don’t love you the most?” he asked, feigning offense, his voice dropping low and dramatic.

“what—”

and then minho’s fingers slipped straight under the blanket.

binnie squealed, his whole body jolting as his hyung’s hands found those familiar spots at his sides—his lower ribs and the soft and familiar dips just above his hips—places that minho knew all too well.

“minhohoho—wahahahhait!!”

but minho was already scribbling his fingers into changbin’s sides, right along his ribs, light and teasing and maddeningly slow.

“you really think a pout like that wouldn’t get you tickled?” minho said calmly, like he was just stating facts. “pretty sure it’s in a psychology textbook somewhere.”

changbinnie was already hiccuping with laughter, trying to twist away, but minho shifted to straddle him more firmly, his thighs pinning changbin’s arms to his sides so he couldn’t do anything but take it.

“you should take this like a man.”

“nohoho—minho! min—I’m sohohorry!! so sohohohoorryyyy!!”

“you don’t sound sorry,” min said coolly, and slid his hands under binnie’s shirt with a wicked grin. his fingers found soft, warm skin and scribbled just under his ribs, thumbs gently pressing into the most maddening spots.

“wahaha—nohohoho—not the rihibs!!”

“you’re not allowed to be sad and this ticklish, that’s cheating!!” min teases, resting his chin on changbin’s broad shoulder as he continues tickling lovingly.

“okahahay!! okahahahay i’m not sad anymore im nohohot!!“ bin laughed and minho cooed and let up.

“next time i’ll pick you first okay?” minho hummed with a kiss to the cheek. an apology.

“fine. but don’t make me pout again.”

[chadobi]

Hiyaaa, I have a request ^ ^

Do think you could make some headcanons of how the Bayverse boys would act around you when they start to have feelings for the reader? like how fast they would realise they had feelings, whether they would try hinting it or keep it hidden, if how they act around reader changes drastically or has little to no difference.

And also, if you want to, headcanons of the Bayverse boys when it comes to confessions? Like if they're the ones who confess or reader has to be the one to confess, how they would react to it (if being confessed to), where it would happen or how it would happen (like is it just a random "funny thing, i've had a crush on you the past couple months" while watching TV or a carefully thought out plan to be as romantic and meaning as possible). Thank youu !!!

Oh my God, I absolutely love this idea! I hope you’ll like my version of it!

When They Realize They’re Falling for You (Bayverse TMNT x Reader)

Leonardo – The Slow Realizer, Quiet Protector

Catching Feelings

•Leo takes a long time to realize he’s falling. He’s so focused on duty, leadership, and keeping his brothers safe that he suppresses anything that feels “too personal.”

•At first, he just notices he’s always hyper-aware of your presence. He listens more intently when you speak, he watches how others interact with you.

•When he does realize it’s romantic, he’s deeply conflicted. He doesn’t think he should have feelings, let alone act on them.

•Still, his behavior shifts:

•He starts checking in on you more.

•Offers to train with you a lot (even if you don’t fight).

•Subtle smiles just for you, more eye contact, softer voice.

Confession

•Leo wouldn’t confess first unless he’s sure you return the feelings.

•If you confess, he’s initially surprised but serious, giving you his full focus. He wants to be sure you understand what being with him means.

•When he confesses (if ever), it’s carefully thought out, private, and sincere.

•Likely late at night, maybe on a rooftop, when the city is quiet.

•Might say something like: “I tried not to feel this way. But it’s you. It’s always been you.”

•He’ll make you feel safe, like you just unlocked the part of him no one else gets to see.

Donatello – The Overthinker, Gentle Nerd

Catching Feelings

•Donnie realizes it pretty fast, but he immediately falls into denial.

•“It’s just dopamine. She makes me laugh. That doesn’t mean anything.”

•Internally, he’s spiraling. He’ll replay your interactions in his head, obsess over every detail. Externally? He’s awkward as hell.

•Starts inventing reasons to be near you: fixing your phone, upgrading your laptop, making gadgets “just because.”

•Blushes a lot, laughs at your jokes (even the bad ones), and gets nervous touching you.

•His voice cracks. He stammers. It’s kind of adorable.

Confession

•He wants to confess, but it takes him forever to work up the nerve.

•If you confess first, he’s shocked and then so relieved he just starts rambling:

•“Wait, really? You too? Because I-I’ve had this hypothesis for weeks, but I didn’t want to assume and-oh my god, I’m so glad-”

•If he confesses:

•He’ll do it through a gadget, maybe he gives you something with a little message hidden in the code.

•Or he leaves a note tucked in a repair he did for you.

•Or blurts it out randomly after a bonding moment, like:

•”You know I think about you more than is statistically healthy, right?”

Raphael – The Deniable Crush, Slow Burn Angst

Catching Feelings

•Last to admit it to himself. He feels it , hard but refuses to name it.

•Acts like nothing’s changed, but his brothers can tell, he’s more irritable, distracted, easily jealous.

•He’ll tease you more, maybe annoy you just to get your attention.

•If you’re in danger, he goes feral. No hesitation, no chill. You become his number one priority.

•He stares at you a lot when you’re not looking. The moment you catch him, he grumbles and looks away.

•Deep down, he thinks he’s too messed up to be loved, so he guards his heart fiercely.

Confession

•Will not confess unless pushed to the absolute emotional limit, like you’re leaving, or he thinks he’s lost you.

•If you confess first:

•Freezes.

•Once he believes you, he opens up in the most raw, honest way.

•If he confesses:

•It’ll be mid-argument or emotionally charged moment.

•“You don’t get it… I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s driving me insane.”

•Might kiss you in the middle of a breakdown, then apologize for being rough.

Michelangelo – The Heart-on-His-Sleeve Flirt

Catching Feelings

•Realizes it first and fastest.

•At first, he thinks it’s just another crush. But when he notices how nervous you make him, how badly he wants your approval, he knows it’s more.

•Suddenly, his flirting becomes more genuine, a little softer.

•He starts doing little things just for you, your favorite snacks, playlists, inside jokes.

•Will still joke and play, but his eyes linger longer. His hugs last a bit too long. He gets quieter when you’re sad, he feels it with you.

Confession

•Most likely to confess first, but in a very Mikey way.

•Might be spontaneous, like while playing games or watching TV:

•“So, like… funny thing. I’ve been totally in love with you for, like, three months. Cool, right?”

•If you confess first:

•He will absolutely scream internally.

•Grins the widest you’ve ever seen. Might tackle-hug you.

•“You’re joking. Wait, for real? For REAL? Bro, I’m gonna cry. Don’t look at me.”

•After that, he’s all in. Constant compliments, physical affection, proud to show he’s yours.

[vanilabaebo]

𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒘𝒆'𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄. [ pt 2. ]

inf: denki kaminari is your best friend and you've never thought of him as anything more than that. he's always been there for you when you need him, but now he needs your help. the more you help him out, the closer you two grow, and you can't keep denying your growing feelings. but does he feel the same?

cw: SLOW BURN!! denki x afab!reader, lots of sass, reader has unnamed quirk.

part 1 !

there is a clumsy yellow lump snivelling on your couch. you’ve tried everything.

and by everything, you mean chess, blackjack, monopoly, clue. you even offered to download fortnite on your laptop and one-v-one denki — but nothing works.

“come on, kami,” you say, trying the nickname his friends often use for him. it feels strange to say, it feels to intimate for a best friend. “denki. it’s not that bad.” you know lying isn’t going to help, but it can’t hurt to try — after all, if it consoles him, it’ll work.

“not that bad?” denki practically whines from underneath his blanket. “not that bad? they said i’ll have to retake the class! do you know how embarrassing that is?”

well. no, you don’t, but you can imagine.

you sigh, sitting down on the couch next to him. you tenderly take the edge of the blanket and pull it upwards, revealing denki’s face, which is flushed with embarrassment. “Denki,” you say kindly — certain moments with the blonde require gentleness — “do you want me to go with you to the academic counselor? I’m sure they’ll find a suitable tutor for you.”

denki yanks the blanket, yellow eyes ablaze. “are you joking? no way! and have my name plastered on that huge billboard full of freakin’ papers for dumbasses who need tutoring? yeah, i’ll take the fail.”

you frown. “come on. nobody even looks at that board.”

okay, everybody looks at the board, but you have to say something.

“you’re a bad liar,” denki says, standing up and tossing the blanket on the couch. “I’m literally done for. i’ll just take the grade. Is your laptop charged? i wanna play fort before i go back to my dorm to tell mineta.”

you nod, but a part of you isn’t satisfied that denki’s satisfied. but how could he get his grade up if he doesn’t want the embarrassment that comes with being tutored unless — 

“denki!” you shoot up from your spot on the couch, so giddy with excitement you need to steady yourself on his shoulder.

he gives your hand on his shoulder a curious look, but doesn’t question. “what?”

“let me tutor you!” you chirp, proud of your idea because this one just might work — and if it does, it’ll save his grade!

“aw, i’m in for it now,” denki groans, slapping a hand on his forehead to feign disappointment, but not before you see the smile that peeks through. “i’ll never get a break from school with you being my tutor.”

you smirk. “well, the only other option is fail. you wouldn’t want bakugo to hear you retaking a class, now would you?” bringing up the fiery blonde is a sore topic, but you’ve known denki long enough to know that he would fall over his feet to impress katsuki bakugo, who, even if he is a well-known jock and bully, has some of the highest grades of your class.

denki gives you a glare and a poke that shocks the surface of your skin with tiny bright yellow bolts, though not harsh enough to inflict pain. “harsh. but you’re right, i guess.” his yellow gaze shifts to the side, thoughtful. “i guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽

and that’s how you find yourself sitting in the study room of your public library, highlighting graphs and points and reading out the next formula to denki, whose head rests on his folded arms, eyes closed though he’s not asleep. 

“denki,” you say, gently stirring him by poking his head.

his head of unruly blonde hair, the thick lock of jet-black that shot right through it was ruffled. denki isn’t the type of guy to spend hours in front of a mirror — he wakes up, runs his hand through it maybe once or twice, and then calls it a day. Still, somehow his hair just looks so . . . soft.

so maybe your whole hand is in his hair now, your expression fascinated by just how does he keep his hair so soft? because, well, he’s denki. and his hair is just sooo soft and—

“um, what are you doing?” denki’s voice is muffled, his head still buried in his arms. 

you freeze, whipping your hand out of his hair as quick as lightning. “um, waking you up?” you try, the corner of your mouth quirking up in a cheeky smirk.

denki’s head lifts slowly, yellow eyes bright as his smile. “nice try. you wanna know what shampoo i use, don’t you?” 

“Actually, conditioner,” you correct him, unable to meet his gaze. are you blushing? and your hand was in his hair? you resist the urge to slap yourself. What is going on?? 

you find the study guide packet you’d made for algebra and take it out, flipping through the pages and reading vocab that you already know; anything to get your mind off of whatever that was, because whatever that was was weird. in all your years of friendship, you’ve never touched denki’s hair, never caressed him like that, it was so weird to think about! 

“do we really have to study now?” denki’s voice cuts through your thoughts. maybe he forgot about what just happened. 

“yes,” you say stiffly, trying to forget about the whole thing. But it’s hard not to remember — especially when you wouldn’t mind doing it again.

So you scoot your chair a couple inches away from him, studying your head off and doing your best to teach him what all the variables in a new formula mean (“The whole ass alphabet is in this one problem!”) and how to graph a problem with that formula (“I don’t know how playing connect the dots is gonna help my quirk be more powerful”) and eventually, you’re done for the day.

The library is nearly empty by the time you two walk out of the study room, your heavy backpack of study material and binders weighing down Denki’s shoulders like a giant necklace. 

“So, good study sesh?” you chirp, hoping at least some of the work made sense to him.

Denki makes a face, pursing his lips to one side and looking down at you. “Eh, i guess I understood a bunch more than before. But I don’t think studying more could hurt.”

You smirk. So he does like studying. “so, the great I-have-everything-against-studying Denki wants to study more?”

He rolls his eyes, glancing away to run his hand through his hair. “Yeah, just a bit. Just to lock all that stuff in my head before midterms, y’know? And can we do movie night at mine instead of your dorm Friday? I’m tired of Tubi movies.” he looks at you brightly.

“Fine. we’ll study tomorrow and thursday after classes, and then Friday can be our free day.” you decide to relent, since, one: you’ve started to hate Tubi movies too, and two: Denki always has the best snacks at his dorm.

≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽

You’re not gonna lie, studying for your own midterms and teaching Denki has taken its toll on you — your nails are a mess, all bitten off from stress, you haven’t had a good hair day in a while, so many things that you could just pick apart if given the time (and a mirror).

But today is Friday. 

Worry-free, studying-free, party-and-get-drunk friday, but also movie friday.

Which is why you stand at Denki’s dorm room, left hand clutching a blanket and unpopped bags of buttery microwave popcorn and right hand knocking on the door, the special pattern you two had made up (two knocks, two knocks, one knock).

“You’re here!” denki whips the door open and snatches the stuff from your arms. “come in. we’re gonna watch The Terrifier.”

“That sounds like a horror movie,” you say slowly. “Denki . . .” you’ve never really liked scary movies, and Denki’s respected that since forever. At least until now.

he gives a cheeky grin. “Come on. live a little. It’s really not that scary. Maybe you can give me one of those head massages from the other day if you get scared, hm?” his grin turns into a smirk.

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “Denki!” you squeak, pushing past him with a huff to enter his a dorm. The dorm sizes are pretty generous, and it doesn’t help that denki lives in one of the higher quality ones — his has a medium-sized kitchen, living room, and two bedrooms instead of one.

The movie is already on its pause/play screen, so you take the remote, falling onto the couch as you press play and music blares. 

“Don’t be a baby, it was just a joke,” Denki whines, having followed you into his dorm. He grabs the yellow pillow next to you and gently tosses it on your lap, sitting down next to you. 

You watch the black pleather crease under his weight. “It’s not that. I thought you’d forgotten.”

“psshhh,” denki scoffs. “Wouldn’t forget that.” he glances at you, then looks away, the tips of his ears reddening, “I mean, it felt good.”

your eyes don’t leave the tv. but his words ring in your head. “Okay, denki, just say you’re kinky.”

he looks back at you, his expression completely serious. “I’m not. I’m serious, like actually. Maybe if I’m like stressed or something, that would help me out, y’know?” His head falls on your shoulder. And his tone is calm, like this was just a casual conversation — and maybe it is and you’re just making it weird.

you try to joke. Maybe that will work. “What, you want me to do it again, like, now?”

Denki shrugs, the movement rippling against the couch. “Wouldn’t mind it.” He looks up at you, something twinkling in his eyes, though you’re not quite sure what.

“Fine,” you mutter, your fingers finding his soft blonde hair, nails gently brushing against his scalp. Denki closes his eyes, seeming to lean into your touch, which makes your face hot.

your gaze remains glued to his cute little tranquil expression — wait, cute? what?? you guess he’s not that bad looking for a boy, and his hair is really soft after all.

maybe you’ll take your other hand off the remote and hold his chin up with it. that’s not that intimate, is it??

then he mumbles something, but you can’t hear it, don’t understand it, because shit.

shit, shit shit, no.

because you like denki.

© vanilabaebo 2025.

[doodle-pops]

Lords of Gondolin | When They Saw You Kissing Your Fellow Co-Star in a Play You Were Starring In

A/N: For giggles, because I thought this idea was funny to see how they would handle their jealousy. Enjoy!!

Synopsis: How they handle seeing you kissing a fellow co-star in a play you were starring in, not knowing about the scene.

Masterlist | Navigation

⋆˚✿˖° Galdor

❀ He had zero clue what to expect when you told him you had a small part in a play— “Just come see it, don’t ask too many questions.” He took that literally. He didn’t even ask what role you played. Simply excited to see you on the big stage.

❀ He showed up in his best robes, combed hair tucked behind his ears, sitting calmly in the theatre and waiting eagerly for you to appear on stage.

❀ You could count on him to be truly supportive because the longer the play went on and the more dramatic it got, the more he leaned forward in his seat like he was watching a battle unfold. Absolutely involved with the story unfolding.

❀ AND then came the kissing scene where your character leaned in for it. Well, his face didn’t move an inch. Not a twitch or itch. Just a long, eerie pause before he slowly turned his head to the elf seated next to him and said in the driest voice, “Was that written in the script?” Silence for the rest of the play.

❀ He waited until the curtain call to say anything because he’s not going to storm down in the middle of the performance like a child. But oh, backstage, when you stepped down and grinned at him, he couldn’t resist.

❀ “Very...enthusiastic performance. I particularly enjoyed the part where your mouth was half on another elf’s face.” You could hear the sarcasm dripping—how unlikely of the sweet and gentle elf he was known to be.

❀ Laughing at his little green monster peeking out didn’t sit well with him. “Do you suppose the audience applauded because the acting was good or because they finally got their romantic tension resolved?”

❀ He wasn’t actually jealous, just mildly and dramatically annoyed, because it was such an absurd surprise. Spent most of the ride home muttering about the questionable accuracy of the historical setting and that your co-star couldn’t even pronounce half their lines right.

❀ But he definitely sulked for the rest of the evening until you kissed him extra sweetly and whispered, “That one was just for you,” in his ear.

❀ The next morning, he was already leafing through the script to see what he missed. “So what exactly did your character do to deserve being kissed by some foppish prince with a bad wig?”

❀ Because of that incident (he considers it to be), he never missed another one of your plays again, but from then on he always asked to review the script beforehand. Thoroughly. With a quill.

❀ “Stage kisses,” he muttered, scrawling next to the scene. “Mm. How very artistic.”

❀ The other players adored him for the sheer number of times he appeared backstage with warm tea for you, blankets, and once a sword because someone made an off-colour joke in your direction.

❀ Galdor never said another word about that kissing scene—but every time your co-star passed him, they straightened like they’d been called to the war front because Galdor had nothing to do with his change in behaviour.

⋆˚✿˖° Ecthelion

❀ He was so proud of you, practically glowing, bringing flowers and smiling as though he were already expecting you to be the star of the show—even though you warned him it was a very minor role.

❀ He took the centre seat, leaned back, crossed his legs elegantly and didn’t stop smiling even once throughout the performance. That is, until that scene happened, and his smile disappeared faster than Gondolin fell. The brows crept up. One hand shifted from his lap as if reaching for a sword that wasn’t there.

❀ “Huh,” he whispered, blinking slowly. Then, louder, “Huh.” Then, almost offended, “Excuse me?”

❀ He didn’t interrupt the play, but you could feel his gaze from the stage. It had weight. Like being stared down by a general after showing up late to roll call. Backstage, you were met with a very pointed look and a raised brow. “That was...a curious choice of stage direction.”

❀ You tried to explain it was just acting, but Thel wasn’t taking it that lightly. “Is that what it’s called? That wasn’t a kiss, that was full diplomatic entanglement.”

❀ His jealousy was vivid, and if you called him out, he’d grumble about how you were overassuming his disgruntled and grumpy expressions. “That is incorrect, my love. You were merely acting…with an unfit actor who didn’t deserve the right to kiss your lips—”

❀ You constantly tease him about it mercilessly in private. “Shall you give me a few tips on better form next time? Perhaps a bit more passion? Or are you still jealous?”

❀ You once reached out a suggestion to watch his frown turn around by saying that you suggested to your boss for him to play the romantic lead in the next season. Ecthelion signed up as your co-star immediately.

❀ He wasn’t even an actor, nor was he the type to be in the spotlight, but he learned every line, outshone half the cast, and made the entire theatre burst into applause when he delivered the most dramatic monologue about love and war ever heard in the city, before getting his wish to kiss you on stage.

❀ Afterwards, he bowed deeply and murmured, “Now that is how you kiss your lover onstage.”

❀ He kept the programme from that night tucked into a drawer and occasionally whisks it out with a sigh. “A fine performance. A shame about your taste in partners that first night.”

❀ He was never actually upset. If anything, he loved the whole experience. But every time someone mentions that first play, he gets a gleam in his eye and asks, “Was that before or after the kissing incident?”

❀ He also started showing up to rehearsals under the guise of bringing you food. But he always sat through them all. “In case there are more surprises,” he said, sipping wine. “Purely for artistic integrity.”

⋆˚✿˖° Glorfindel

❀ He was so excited about your performance. You barely finished telling him before he was inviting half the city. “My beloved’s in a play! There’ll be swords, right? Drama? Someone dies? You don’t die, do you?”

❀ You had to physically stop him from bringing a banner. He settled for wearing a flower crown and a tunic along with a banner that carried your character’s name embroidered across it.

❀ He whooped when you came onstage. Loudly. So loudly the people in front turned to glare. He waved cheerfully back. Everything was going great—until the kiss. And we got a silent puppy. Like, completely silent. His mouth was still open from cheering, but no sound came out.

❀ Then came the chaos as he slowly sat back down, very stiffly and whispered, “He kissed you.” Like it was a war crime. “He kissed you. I just watched another elf kiss my betrothed. He had his hands on your waist. I should have been in this play.”

❀ The next time the actor walked across the stage, Glorfindel narrowed his eyes and muttered, “I know his face. I shall remember him.” Poor guy was about to get cornered and warned.

❀ However, as upset as he was, he didn’t cause a scene, though he very nearly did. It was only your subtle glance from the stage and the slight please don’t start a war in Act Three expression that made him sit back.

❀ After the performance, he was waiting just offstage. Arms crossed. So dramatically betrayed. “You never told me you were giving your lips to public service.”

❀ You laughed, but he just sighed heavily and paced a few steps like he was in a tragic opera. “I cheered for you. I brought snacks.”

❀ That night, he wouldn’t let you go for a second. You leaned over to grab something and he pulled you right back into his arms. “You know what I liked about the play? When it ended. And I got to kiss you without someone narrating it.”

❀ For the next few days, he dramatically fake-swooned every time you leaned in for a kiss. “Oh, brave star of stage and song, will you condescend to kiss a mere warrior?”

❀ He started hanging around rehearsals after that. Not saying anything, just appearing in corners, HOVERING and WATCHING. One time he coughed loudly during a rehearsal kiss and dropped a sword right next to your co-star.

❀ He also absolutely did not accidentally sign up for a future role. Just to prove a point. Even though he forgot half his lines and got yelled at by the director. “No, I didn’t forget it,” he told you later, “I improvised. You know what your scene lacked? Tension. And battle. And someone fighting a bear.”

❀ He never said he was jealous—but every time he passed your scene partner, he gave a big, overly cheerful grin and said, “Lovely weather for betrayal, isn’t it?”

❀ He got over it quickly, honestly. Especially when you kissed him in front of everyone after a curtain call and the audience cheered louder than they had for the staged kiss. “See?” he beamed, holding your hand, “Now that’s theatre.”

⋆˚✿˖° Egalmoth

❀ The picture of sophistication when he arrived—regal cloak, elegant posture, and a smile so dazzling half the audience assumed he was one of the performers.

❀ He came with a full bouquet in one hand, sweets in the other, and said with a grin, “Break a leg, darling—though preferably not on my account. I’ve only just got you in one piece.”

❀ He’d never been to a play in ages, so it made him all the more eager with wide-eyed interest, chuckling softly at the jokes, nodding along to the dialogue, occasionally whispering, “This set design is quite inspired, I must find out who painted that backdrop. I wish to have a painting like that done.”

❀ Everything was peachy…until the moment of the kiss. Though his expression didn’t change right away, his hand did pause mid-reach for a sweet. Then it lowered slowly, confusedly.

❀ Nothing was said for a full minute before he turned to the person beside him and whispered, “I see. I’ve come to witness a romantic tragedy after all.”

❀ Backstage, he was already waiting in the wings with that same unreadable smile. “A marvellous performance. Quite a surprise, though. That kiss was terribly convincing.”

❀ You tried to explain that it was in the script, but he gave a soft hum. “Ah yes. I’m sure. Though, between us—if they ever ask you to kiss a tree onstage, do give me some warning.”

He wasn't angry—he was too theatrical himself to not respect the art form—but that didn’t stop him from making snide, subtle jokes for weeks. “Should I practise stage kisses as well? Might need to find a co-star. Wouldn’t want to be upstaged next season.”

❀ You found out later he approached your co-star afterwards with a charming smile and said, “Lovely work. However, I should remind you that audiences tend to confuse fiction with reality. Some things are better left...clearly acted.”

❀ The theatre loved him. He brought fine wine, sang with the cast during breaks, and gave surprisingly helpful feedback like, “Try that line with less chest—more heartbreak.”

❀ But every time a new script came around, he’d lean over your shoulder, scanning it like a detective. “Mm. Let’s see… Ah. No kisses this time. How unfortunate.”

❀ Eventually, he offered to fund a play of your own making. “That way, I’ll know precisely what to expect. And perhaps, you’ll write me a kissing scene this time, hm?”

⋆˚✿˖° Rog

❀ Rog really tried to be normal about it. He really did. He showed up in causal clothes (still with his mini smithing hammer at his side because he felt weird without it), sat down as calmly as possible, and whispered to the usher, “I’m here to support my partner. I’m very proud. I will not cause a scene.”

❀ Ten minutes in, he was already leaning forward, hands on his knees with widened eyes, mouthing your dialogues he heard you rehearsing a thousand times over.

❀ But when the kissing scene swooped in unexpectedly? Instant reaction. He had the loudest reaction. The only person in the crowd who exhaled the loudest. You swore it was his pump fanning air into the fire.

❀ Then the sound of metal started clinking because his hammer was knocking against the chairs. “That’s… That’s my lover. That is my—did they just touch their face? They touched their face.”

❀ He got so stiff in his seat. Like a marble statue filled with befuddlement. Not a word after that, not even when the curtain dropped. He found himself waiting backstage, standing there with his arms crossed with a frown so deep it could be mapped.

❀ “So, new skillset, then? Kissing on command? I don’t recall you rehearsing that part around me over the past month.”

❀ Reassuring him it meant nothing, wasn’t secure because Rog simply smiled and nodded. “Yes. I’m sure it was just acting. I just have one question. Did they enjoy it?”

❀ You had to pull him aside, kiss him thoroughly, and then say, “Did that feel like I enjoy anyone else kissing me?” before he relaxed even a little.

❀ But that wasn’t enough, because for days he sulked quietly. Which was worse than loudly. He didn’t even yell in the forge, just beating metal with more force than necessary.

❀ “Rog, please, you’re going to crack the hammer handle again—” “Some people don’t care about hammer handles when they’ve been emotionally betrayed onstage.”

❀ He refused to come to any more shows unless he got a full reading of the script in advance. “If there’s another kiss, I’m volunteering. I’ll be your understudy. I’ll go to rehearsals. I’ll wear the stupid wig. You’ll kiss me or no one at all.”

❀ Eventually, he softened, especially when you told him how nervous you were and how much you appreciated his support. He only grunted, ruffled your hair, and mumbled, “Yeah well…you were good. Not as good as your scene partner apparently. But good.”

❀ For your next performance, he brought a huge wooden sign that said “NO KISSES UNLESS IT’S ME.”

❀ You had to make him put it away. He compromised by carving it into a tiny plaque and hanging it in your dressing room instead.

⋆˚✿˖° Maeglin

❀ He showed up dressed like he was attending a royal funeral—dark tunic, dark cloak, absolutely no expression, and sat in the furthest shadowy corner of the theatre, arms folded, eyes sharp as daggers.

❀ He clapped politely when you entered the stage, didn’t smile, just observed with the intensity of a hawk watching prey.

❀ When the kiss happened, he blinked once. That was it. No visible reaction. Just…absolute silence. Stillness. An unreadable expression. It was terrifying.

❀ Backstage, you were laughing nervously, but he only stood there, still unmoving. “I was unaware your role was so...intimate.”

❀ You explained it was part of the character’s arc, and he only tilted his head. “Was it also part of the arc to grip their hair?”

❀ You didn’t remember doing that. He did. Down to the exact second. “They also held your waist. Twice. Shall I remind you in detail?”

❀ But then he sighed and softened just slightly. “...You performed well. The scene felt real.” A pause. “Too real.”

❀ He wasn’t angry, just disquieted—haunted, really—like the kiss had replayed in his head too many times and now he wanted to erase it from time itself. “I’m proud of you,” he finally admitted later that night. “Even if I had to watch...that. I suppose it’s not unlike war. You endure what you must.”

❀ A few days later, he returned to the theatre during rehearsals. You assumed he was visiting. No, he had brought a script.

❀ He had rewritten the kissing scene. “See? This version doesn’t require physical contact. It’s emotionally resonant and chaste.” Unfortunately, the director refused to change it, but Maeglin spent the next week trying to offer “script improvements” to anyone who’d listen.

❀ Eventually, he confronted your co-star. It was brief, quiet, and civil. Just one line: “If you ever forget that was acting...you’ll wish you had not.”

❀ When you reassured him, he stared at you for a long moment, then kissed you far from gently, like sealing a pact. “Let them act, but you are mine.”

❀ After that, he never missed another play. But he brought a small journal to write “notes” in. You caught him once. It was a tally. “What are you counting?” “Number of times they look at you with longing. So far? Four. I am unimpressed.”

❀ He never stopped being quietly possessive, but he always showed up. Always bringing you a cup of tea afterwards. Always stood silently as you took your bows. And if anyone in the cast joked about “how lucky your scene partner was,” he simply glared at them. That was usually enough.

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[jakeluppin]

a storm we're meant to ride ★/ chapter three

Michael “Robby” Robinavitch/Jack Abbot | Mature | 9,968 total word count

March, 2026 “You are never gonna believe what happened today,” Trinity calls out as she steps inside her apartment. She assumes Whitaker is back home from his shift, but she’s not even sure. It almost doesn’t matter at this point – she just needs to say this out loud, even if it’s just to an empty house. She makes a b-line for her room, throwing her backpack on her bed and walking back out. She goes over to Whitaker’s room and knocks. “You there? I need to talk to you.” There’s no response and Trinity is about to give up when she hears him groan. She knocks again and says, “I hear you in there, Huckleberry. Get your ass out here.” Another groan, followed by, “You know I was up all night studying and then I had shift. I haven’t slept in over 24 hours. Can it wait?” The answer, of course, is yes. There’s nothing critical about this. They both are more than familiar with things that actually can’t wait. And yet, Trinity can’t stop herself from saying, “Maybe but I don’t think you’ll want to wait. And I really need someone to talk with me before I go completely crazy.” Trinity hears Whitaker as he makes his way out of bed and over to the door. He opens it up, just a crack, and says, “You’re lucky I’m doing my psych rotation right now otherwise I don’t think I’d care if you go completely crazy or not.” Trinity smiles. “If I go completely crazy, not sure who would pay the rent for this wonderful apartment.” “I can go back to squatting at the hospital.” She shoots him a look. “Not gonna happen. I’ve put in my will that if I die or go crazy that Victoria has to take over your care. I’m sure there’s enough room at her parent’s place for you, too.” “You’re joking, right?” “Obviously. McKay said that you can move in with her, be her second son. I think she was excited at the idea.” Whitaker rolls his eyes. “Give me a few minutes to get dressed and we can talk.” Trinity nods and heads into the kitchen. She turns on the coffee machine and makes Whitaker a cup. It finishes around the time he emerges from his room. She brings it over and meets him on the couch. “Thanks,” he says, as he grabs the cup. He takes a sip and then says, “Okay, what happened? And please tell me this is not just about sex. I already know more about lesbian sex than I ever thought I would.” “That’s not what I was going to talk about, but now that you mention it, Raya did this really cool thing with her tongue…”

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[suddencolds]

// personal

how strange it is to observe yourself changing