#he makes me giggle when I’m emo

[jameswilsonsupremacy]

When I am sad? House MD. that is all.

[amoressb]

───── GIRLY GIRL 西村 力 N. RK

ꪆৎ ⋆˚࿔ who would’ve thought riki would date the exact polar opposite of himself ｡｡ ʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

FLUFF & wc. 1600 / kissing , skinship , petnames ｡｡

──── ARCHiVE

you’re perched on rikis bed, legs folded neatly underneath you, watching as he rummages through his closet. his room is a perfect reflection of him. it’s minimalistic yet cozy, with a few scattered items that scream nishimura riki—a lego set on his desk, a random beanie tossed over a chair, and a collection of hoodies taking up most of his closet space.

he lets out a dramatic sigh, pulling out a dark gray hoodie before turning toward you. “here,” he says, tossing it over your head.

you squeak, wiggling your arms free before slipping it on. it’s oversized, drowning your smaller frame, and smells just like him. it’s a mix of fresh laundry, cologne, and something uniquely Riki.

“you love making me look tiny, don’t you?” you tease, hugging the sleeves around your hands.

riki smirks, walking over and leaning down so his face is level with yours. “yeah,” he admits shamelessly, tilting his head. “it’s cute.”

your cheeks warm, but you roll your eyes playfully. “fake emo boyfriend thinks i’m cute, what a shocker.”

“fake emo boyfriend is crazy,” riki deadpans, nudging your cheek with his nose. “i’m literally so mysterious.”

you giggle, poking his stomach. “baby, you laugh at your own jokes and trip over air. you are not mysterious. if anything, you’re just a cutie patootie.”

he groans, dramatically flopping onto the bed beside you. “cutie patootie should be illegal. take it back.”

“nope,” you say, shifting so you’re half on top of him. “you’re a cutie patootie and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

riki exhales through his nose, rolling his eyes, but the way his arms immediately circle around your waist says otherwise. “you’re lucky i love you,” he mutters, his voice low and affectionate.

you nuzzle into his chest, smiling against the fabric of his hoodie. “i know.”

the dorm is already buzzing with energy when you step inside, but the second the door clicks shut behind you, the noise dies down. six pairs of eyes immediately snap toward you.

“riki, you’re joking,” sunoo blurts, eyes wide in disbelief.

“who is this angel and what is she doing with you?” jake teases, crossing his arms with an amused smirk.

“she’s too pretty for you,” jungwon adds bluntly.

your cheeks heat up at the sudden attention, and you instinctively shift closer to riki. he, of course, doesn’t miss a beat and his arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling you flush against his side.

“yeah, yeah, ha ha,” riki deadpans, rolling his eyes. “okay this is y/n, my girlfriend. i know, shocking revelation.”

his members don’t respond immediately. instead, they exchange glances, their expressions a mix of surprise, amusement, and utter disbelief.

“you’re so…” sunghoon trails off, scanning you from head to toe before settling on riki. “girly.”

“and?” riki challenges, raising an eyebrow.

“it’s just—” sunoo gestures vaguely between the two of you. “we all thought you’d end up with someone like…i don’t know, a female version of you?”

“yeah, like, all dark clothes, quiet, super sarcastic, probably into gaming just like you,” heeseung adds, rubbing his chin like he’s solving a mystery.

“but instead, you’re dating—” jungwon gestures to you. “her.”

you blink, “what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, raising a brow, though your voice remains playful.

“you’re all soft and pretty and you literally look like you stepped out of a pinterest board,” jay says, nodding toward your outfit, a cute, pastel-toned ensemble accessorized with dainty jewelry. “we just didn’t see it coming.”

riki grins, tightening his grip on you. “i like my girlfriend all soft and pretty. she’s my princess.”

your heart flutters at his words, and you instinctively squeeze his hand. “rikiiiii,” you whine playfully, hiding your face in his hoodie.

jungwon lets out a long sigh, shaking his head. “this is actually insane. i never thought i’d see the day riki became whipped.”

“i am not whipped,” riki scoffs, immediately going on the defensive.

“oh, really?” jake smirks, stepping forward. “then prove it.”

“what do you mean, prove it?” riki narrows his eyes.

“let go of her,” jake says simply, nodding toward his arm around your waist. “if you’re not whipped, you can let her go, right?” riki doesn’t move. the room erupts in laughter.

“oh my god,” sunoo gasps between wheezes. “he actually can’t let go.”

“shut up,” riki grumbles, but his grip on you only tightens.

you giggle, tilting your head up to look at him. “you are kinda proving their point, baby.”

riki exhales sharply before dramatically peeling his hand away from your waist, only to immediately grab your fingers instead. “there,” he mutters. “happy?”

“that doesn’t count!” sunghoon laughs. “you’re still holding her!”

“you guys are so annoying,” riki groans, but he’s smiling despite himself.

“okay, okay,” heeseung grins, clapping his hands together. “y/n, since you’re officially part of the group now, we need to ask you some important questions.”

you perk up. “oh? like what?”

“first,” jay starts, leaning forward like he’s about to uncover a huge secret. “who made the first move?”

riki snorts. “me, obviously.”

“are you sure?” sunoo arches a brow. “i feel like she had to force you into realizing your feelings.”

“hey!” riki glares. “i realized them on my own.”

you hum, tilting your head playfully. “i did have to wait a bit for him to catch up.”

the room explodes with laughter again, and riki looks personally offended. “baby,” he whines. “you’re supposed to be on my side!”

you giggle, squeezing his hand. “i am, baby. i’m just also right.” his members coo at the interaction and riki groans, hiding his face in your shoulder.

“okay, next question,” heeseung continues, thoroughly enjoying this. “what’s the cutest thing riki has ever done for you?”

you pause, thinking. “hmmm…he always makes sure i have one of his hoodies when i stay over, and he buys me snacks in my favorite flavors without me even asking.”

“that’s so soft,” sunoo gasps dramatically. “who is this riki, and what did he do with the old one?”

“right?” jake shakes his head. “he used to make fun of us for being romantic, and now he’s out here being all boyfriend coded.”

“okay, that’s enough questions,” riki cuts in, glaring at his members. “we get it. i have the best girlfriend ever.”

you beam up at him, batting your lashes. “awww, you think i’m the best?”

riki sighs, but the way he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear betrays him. “yeah,” he mutters. “you know i do.”

his members all groan in unison.

“this is so unfair,” jungwon complains. “i thought riki was gonna be the last one to act all lovey dovey, but he’s actually the worst one.”

“it’s sickening,” sunghoon nods.

“get used to it,” riki smirks. “she’s not going anywhere.”

you lean into his side, smiling as his fingers intertwine with yours. “nope,” you agree. “i’m not going anywhere.”

his members groan again, but the teasing fades into something softer, something almost approving.

maybe you weren’t who they expected, but watching riki beam at you like you were his entire world?

yeah, they could definitely get used to this.

hours later, after playing games, eating snacks, and listening to rikis members tease him relentlessly about you, he finally tugs you away to his room.

the door shuts softly behind you, enclosing you both in a peaceful quiet that contrasts the lively energy outside. you let out a sigh, stretching your arms above your head before flopping onto his bed.

“they were so nice,” you hum. “i thought i was gonna be nervous, but they made me feel so welcome.”

riki hums, settling beside you. “too welcome,” he mutters, eyes narrowing. “i thought jake was gonna steal you away.”

you giggle, shifting onto your side to face him. “never,” you promise, reaching up to tuck a strand of his hair back then resting your hand on his cheek, softly caressing him. “i’m your girlfriend, remember?”

his gaze softens instantly. “mine,” he echoes, his fingers tracing slow circles on your hip.

you nod, letting your hand now rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “yours,” you confirm.

riki exhales deeply, like he’s processing the weight of your words, then leans in, brushing his nose against yours. “can i kiss you?” he murmurs.

your heart stutters. even after all this time, he still asks.

“of course, baby,” you whisper.

riki cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin before he finally presses his lips against yours. the kiss is slow, gentle, like he’s savoring the moment. when he pulls away, his lips linger against yours, reluctant to break the contact completely.

“you make me so soft,” he mutters, half annoyed but mostly in awe.

you giggle, playing with the collar of his hoodie. “you like it.”

riki groans, rolling onto his back and dragging you with him so you’re curled against his chest. “maybe,” he admits, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

you snuggle closer, letting your fingers trace lazy patterns on his chest. “i thought bringing you here would be kinda nerve wracking,” he murmurs. “but having you next to me just makes everything feel…easy.”

your lips curve into a soft smile. “that’s because i’m your safe place, duh.”

riki goes quiet for a moment, then exhales, tightening his hold around you. “yeah,” he whispers. “you really are, my love.”

with one last kiss to your forehead, he tucks you against his chest, holding you close as sleep starts to pull you both under—wrapped up in warmth, in love, in each other.

⋆｡°✩ @cheruphic @liwinly @chrrific @hyukabean @ijustwannareadstuff20 @jellyluv4eva

[cigsafterfics]

in the flesh

summary. you watch longingly as your boyfriend marks strangers with permanent inked lines—but you want something more than a tattoo. you want his initials carved in your skin.

pairing. erik campbell x fem!reader

wc. 3.03k

warnings. smut, piv sex, knife play, blood kink, playing with death (not recommended), degradation kink, petnames, jealous!bratty!reader with internalized misogyny tendencies uhh, dom!erik when he’s angry, spanking, fingering, slight dumbification? 18+ only minors do not interact.

The night isn’t getting younger yet Erik has to tend to another, hopefully last, customer who decided to go for a lower back tattoo as if it was a casual spur of the moment afterthought. Yeah, good luck not regretting that in the morning. Maybe you’re being too harsh with her in your head, but tattooing on the lower back region feels a little too intimate for comfort. Okay, you can’t pretend Erik hasn’t seen it all. He’s probably got tons of people, including women, bent over half naked before him every day to get their backs tatted.

That doesn't bother you one bit. However, it only makes you iffy if the girl starts innocently batting her lashes and flirts at your boyfriend who’s just trying to do his job. Many such fucking cases. Erik remains professionally affable and his naturally talkative self. He may tend to overshare, but he knows better than to entertain their annoyingly coquettish pander. Still, that doesn’t stop jealousy from consuming your guts. What can you say? She’s going to be the center of your boyfriend’s undivided attention for the next three hours or so. It doesn’t help that she’s pretty and about your age. Jealousy’s a perfectly justifiable reaction.

“First time?” Erik asks.

“Yeah, kinda scared.” The girl giggles.

You roll your eyes when Erik asks her to pull her pants down further, revealing more skin for him to work with all the while, giving you more reasons to resent this poor girl. “So, you get the gist. Tattoos hurt, they’re undoable—well, sort of. It’s important to me you know what you’re getting yourself into.” He explains with halfhearted concern. Erik then rolls up his sleeves to don his usual latex gloves.

See, he doesn’t need to do the sleeve rolling thing. It’s all to tease you because he knows how much you love his pale, inked and deliciously veiny forearms. He knows they’re worthy of showing off but you personally think they should be reserved for your viewing pleasure only. Not here, not when a girl with underlying motives to steal your boyfriend is around. She doesn’t deserve to see them.

Before you know it, you’re interjecting the scene and the book you’re reading suddenly isn’t that interesting anymore. “Babe, of course she knows what a tattoo is. Otherwise, she never would’ve gone the trouble to come all this way here and get a trashy tramp stamp.” You snap, immediately regretting how it came out. Too harsh. Even Erik stares at you with widened eyes, a silent look that screams what the hell?.

“I mean my boyfriend’s a professional. He manages to make bad tattoos look like works of fucking art. He’s like emo Michaelangelo and your rear’s the Sistine Chapel ceiling.” You quickly retract upon seeing your boyfriend’s reaction, you look at the girl on the table and force a fake smile at her expense.

“Hey, I wouldn’t go that far.” Erik says modestly, stifling a laugh while he sets up the needles and ink. Your ridiculous poetic analogy has charmed him.

However, the girl isn’t as amused. She shoots you a scrutinizing look over her shoulder instead. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

You open your mouth to reply with an unprompted retort but Erik is quick to step in before fire breaks loose. “She’s my girlfriend. Casual observer when I’m on the clock. She’s good company, usually...” Erik emphasizes the last word while he glances at you intently. Fine, you get the message. Sit pretty in the corner until closing time. Don’t fuck it up and push another customer into rage-reviewing the parlor again because you can’t keep your mouth shut. “When mercury isn’t in retrograde or whatever. You into that shit too?”

“Not a chance. Is she here to solely insult your customers because that’s like, not a good business model.” Tramp stamp girl sneers as Erik starts the mechanical needle. A long dragging buzz emits through the room. The metal music in the background grows more and more palpable as you shoot back daggers in return. “I literally compared your ass to the Sistine Chapel and you still think that’s an insult?”

Erik sighs sardonically when he realizes he has a situation to mediate. “Bet she appreciates that so much, baby.” He says before punching the first needle against the girl’s skin, causing her to groan in pain.

You recognize the sarcasm in Erik’s tone. You deflate slightly. “You’re supposed to side with me.”

“I am. But don’t you think you’re being a little… distracting right now maybe?” Erik replies not bothering to look at you as his eyes zeroes in on the ink work… and her ass.

Oh. Okay. You scoff bitterly in disbelief before admitting defeat. So you did the favor by sitting quietly in the corner, secretly sulking, while attempting to finish a chapter in the book but the words only flew over your head.

You find a way to distract yourself by manning the music as you watch your boyfriend masterfully do his craft. Two hours pass by excruciatingly long but you’re just glad that it’s over when the girl finally hops off the chair and Erik instructs her about aftercare and obligatorily reminds her to like and subscribe in a comically deadpan tone before she leaves.

You join him in closing up, wiping the glass counters and putting bottles of chemicals back in the storage cabinets. Erik is unusually quiet throughout. You take it that he’s exhausted, but you’re not going to let what happened slip easily. You’re famously known for not letting things go and Erik is aware of that. “I think it’s unfair you get to tattoo and look at her ass for two fucking hours.”

Erik huffs, shaking his head. “I kinda have to…”

You walk towards the chair he’s busily cleaning. “I’m just wondering when it's gonna to be my turn.” You smile innocently as you sit on it. Erik tilts his head, slightly bewildered at what you’re implying. A small smirk tugs the corner of lips, “You want me to tattoo you? But you told me repeatedly you’d rather drink that bottle of rubbing alcohol than get a tattoo.”

“You’re right, but maybe I want something more painful than a tattoo.” You say, your lips drawing closer to his but only enough for your hot breath to touch his skin.

Erik is using all his power not to pull you then and there and kiss you sloppily. “I’m listening...” He says, his voice going lower.

You pull yourself away, biting your lip when anxiety finally strikes you. You’ve debated for so long whether or not it is appropriate to bring it up, considering your boyfriend’s trauma. You feel your heart pounding against your chest as you’re about to spill him your shameful fantasy. “You know the knife you got when death came after you… the one you always carry everywhere. I can’t stop thinking about the idea of you using it on me.”

The cat’s out of the bag and you can only hope Erik receives it with open arms. He pauses, surprised by your words before raising his eyebrows. Your boyfriend looks intrigued more than anything. “I’m totally expecting something else, but this is welcomed.”

Relief and that familiar feeling of excitement takes over you.

“So let me get this straight, you want me to play with my knife on you? Is that what you want, you little freak?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, smiling sheepishly at your own request. You’re suddenly shy when Erik’s gaze lingers on you with lust-drunken eyes. “Death isn’t in control anymore. You are. But I understand if you feel uncomfortable, we can ju-“

“No, no, babe. What the fuck? I think you woke up something in me that I didn’t even know existed. This is some spiritual awakening.” One thing about you is that you never fail to amaze Erik with your curiosities.

“I want you to mark me. Claim me as your own. Put a brat like me in her place—” Erik pushes you on the chair, his breath has noticeably gotten heavy as you watch the skull on his stomach rise up and down. “Sit down, when I come back I better see you without your clothes on you fucking slut.”

You strip off your top and jeans easily. When your arms reach behind to unclasp your bra, Erik comes back almost as if on cue, a sharp fixed blade in hand. Your breath hitches at the sight of the knife, the lamp light casting a glint on its sharp edges. “Stop. Let me get this off for you. ‘S not like you need it anyway.” He commands, deftly flipping the knife between his fingers. You lay back down and let Erik do the work. He secures you on the chair, him on top of you. You are now literally under his mercy.

Erik drags the tip of the knife down your chest, the blade only grazing at your skin lightly. He’s one push of the knife away from drawing a nasty wound. You sigh, feeling yourself getting wetter in your panties at the thought of Erik toying with your safety—with death. He could stab you to your death any moment, but he chooses not to. It’s messed up but that somehow drives you over to the fucking edge. With one swift flick, he cuts your bra in half. You gasp at the sudden cool air hitting your nipples.

Erik chuckles at your reaction. “You look so fucking beautiful, you know that?” His sweet compliment juxtaposes the unholy acts he’s about to do. His hand gropes your boob, kneading it expertly while he dives in on the other, his septum cold against your touch. His mouth wraps around your firm nipple to suck your bud, tongue circling in motion. Erik moans against your skin, sending deep vibrations in your chest.

“Too bad I have to mess up a pretty little thing like you.” Erik pulls away and reveals a stupid smug smile plastered across his face, proud of the writhing mess he made out of you. You only look at him under your lashes, a silent plea for him to do something. Anything. He soon pouts, “Poor baby, always begging for my attention. You can’t even function properly without being tended to, isn’t that right?”

You nod, biting your lip too hard it draws blood. Erik cups your chin, pinching your cheeks slightly. You moan at his strong grip. “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes.” You manage to weakly choke out.

“Pathetic.” Erik spits, letting you go before trailing his knife across your torso. You arch your back when the blunt end of its handle touches your clothed clit. “Bet this pretty pussy is begging for my attention too, huh?” He moves the knife up and down, stimulating your clit with the handle. You buck your hips forward, moaning at the strange yet delicious sensation. “Yes—yes, please touch my pussy.” You whimper.

Erik is forgiving this time and heeds your wishes. He cuts the thin fabric off to expose your throbbing pussy. “God, you’re so fucking wet. Is this all for me?” He dips his fingers on your lips and teasingly rubs them, spreading your juices all over.

“Yes… ‘s all for you.” You moan, desperately in need of his fingers inside you. “Please, please Erik. Please fuck me.” You feel like a ticking bomb ready to explode. Your desperate sounds seem to satisfy Erik enough so he plunges his fingers into your pussy pumping in and out, his rings stretching you out in ways you haven’t felt before.

“Good girl.” Erik coos, marvelled at how tight your walls pull his fingers deep. Before you could feel the tight coil forming in your stomach, Erik does the unthinkable. He lifts up his blade dangerously close to your neck causing your breath to heave out of instinctual fear. You quickly let your guard down when you remember the man wielding the knife is knuckles-deep inside you. “Don’t cum yet or there will be ugly consequences.” He grits his teeth as he speeds up his pace. “You call that a threat?” You smile at him tauntingly.

“Shut the fuck up.” Erik withdraws his fingers to get back at you, leaving your walls hollow and once again unattended. He inches his knife towards your cheek, caressing you longingly with the blade. You can tell he’s getting cocky with it. “Tell me… where do you wanna be marked, slut?”

You thought of him carving his initials in your skin more times than you can count, but you never considered the possibility of it coming true. You’re left tongue-tied, unable to muster words to come out from your mouth. “What? Can’t think for yourself?” Erik coos condescendingly. “Now you need me to do the thinking for you too? Poor baby.”

“How about here?” Erik digs his head on the side of your neck, sucking off the sweet spot until it's tender. “I know you love it when everyone sees how much of a slut you are, and it’s all for me.” Once he leaves an adequate amount of hickeys on your neck, he moves on to your collarbone along with his knife.

“Or here…” He traces the sharp tip on your collarbone, drawing the letter E. His touch feels light as a feather, but this newfound gentleness won’t last long. You hold your breath in anticipation of what’s to come. Erik gives you a reassuring look before he presses the knife in the same spot on your collarbone where he traced his initial. A sharp pang of pain shoots through your senses but you can only elicit a loud moan of heavenly pleasure. “Shh… relax, baby.” He says softly. You watch your blood seep out from the fresh cut as beads of crimson stream down the surface of your skin. Erik wipes the blood off with his bare hand in precise fashion like he’s doing a tattoo on you.

“You’re doing so well.” Erik praises, kissing your tears off your cheek before putting all his attention to the wound he inflicted. E C. Carved on your collarbone for all to see. His initials. “You look so fucking hot. And you’re mine. God, when did I get so lucky?” He kisses the bloody letters, devouring the blood out of your flesh. Erik smiles to reveal red tainting the gaps of his teeth. You’d be lying if you say that’s not the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your waking life.

You pull Erik close to clash your lips against his. You kiss him like you're starving, tasting your blood from his tongue. You moan at the sickly sweet metal taste that pairs with the cigarettes and coffee Erik recently had. “Erik, please fuck me. I want your cock so bad.” You whisper in between your messy kisses.

“Since you’ve been such a good girl for being so brave, I think you deserve it.” He replies, tucking your stray hair behind your ears almost too dramatically. “That’s so fucking cliché.” You giggle. Erik smirks, amused at the fact that you still look innocent even after moaning all sorts of dirty profanities. “Yeah? What about this… does this feel cliché to you?” He thrusts his hips forward to let you feel the tight bulge of his cock threatening to burst out from his jeans any moment now. “You made me so hard, baby. You drive me fuckin’ nuts.”

“Turn around.” He says and you immediately comply, unable to wait any longer as you maneuver yourself on the tattoo chair so you’re lying on your stomach. “Ass up, baby girl.” Erik slaps your cheek causing you to gasp and giggle even more. Erik can’t help himself. He always spanks your ass whenever he gets the chance. “Good girl.” He grabs his dick and eases his tip teasingly between your folds, his Prince Albert piercing barely touching your wet pussy. You suddenly got reminded that you're dating an asshole.

You take matters into your own hands by sinking yourself into him but he holds you down. Erik’s strength shouldn’t be underestimated despite his skinny build. “I need you to stay still, princess.” He instructs as he rubs soothing circles on the ample spot of your left cheek. “Think you can handle a little more pain?”

“You can fuck me as hard as you want once this is over. I just need to carve a heart right… here.” There it goes again. You feel his knife slice through the spot he’s been lovingly massaging. Your eyes roll at the pain, as your pussy clenches around his tip. “Please…” You whine while Erik brands you. “God babe, I didn’t think you’d get off to this. You like it when I hurt you, don’t you?”

“Yeah… feels good.” You say breathlessly, making Erik chuckle.

“Now this is what I call a tattoo.” He says, admiring his magnum opus on your ass proudly, a heart shaped lineart with his name spelled out inside of it. Erik didn’t waste another second to ram his dick fully inside you.

“Fuck!!” You scream at the sudden fullness in your pussy, clawing the leather on the chair as he thrusts in and out with such precision, his piercing palpably drags against your walls, hitting your G-spot in the most mind spinning way possible. “That’s it, good girl. You’re taking me so well. Fuck—your tight pussy belongs to me.” Erik mumbles incoherently through in his growls.

The room is filled with the sounds of your salacious moans and skin slapping repeatedly. You look around and see the glass windows, blatantly reminding you that the sight of you getting railed by your boyfriend can be viewed from outside. Someone could be watching. You didn’t care though. You want everyone to know you belong to Erik. Erik pulls your hair, fucking you deeper until his pace becomes unsteady. “I’m gonna cum.” He bites your shoulder. “You better take it like the good girl you are…”

Before you can react, you feel spurts of hot liquid coat every crevices in your pussy. It didn’t take long until you reached your high too. Erik praises you, as you ride your orgasm on his dick with slow and lingering thrusts. You lay your spent body lazily, savoring the euphoric feeling you just experienced.

Erik kisses your back, before slipping out to grab some sterile rags for clean up. He comes back with a mirror so you can properly see the marks he’s given you. “What do you think?” He asks shyly like he’s expecting artistic validation. After the amazing sex he’s given you, it’s only fair you have to give him that in return.

You smile, admiring his work etched on your skin. It’s going to stay that way for a long while. “I love it. I love you.”

“Guess I need to have you around in the shop more often." He helps you stand up, your legs still feel wobbly from the activity. Erik picks up and helps you put on your clothes.

“I guess you do.” You reply contentedly.

“I deserve a five-star review for giving you the best tattoo I’ve ever done.”

author’s note. a week after seeing fd6 and this man still lives rent free in my mind ughhh. been a while since i’ve written something spicy so i apologize for the rusty smut prose! & thank you so much for reading!! <3

[kaisaerinlover]

the kaisaerinsagi rivalry goes so hard like imagine dating them (seperate of course) and you’re out wearing one of their jerseys whilst you’re shopping, and they all have a number one on their jerseys (3 number 10s 😭😭) so the press mistakes you as one of the other’s girlfriend instead of his and he gets soo mad.

imagine sae’s reaction to the public thinking you’re dating isagi or someone, he wouldn’t even be mad just jealous. “huh? how can anyone even get me and that lukewarm striker confused. our jerseys aren’t even the same colour.” he’s genuinely baffled, and he’s not trying to be insulting either; he’s just speaking his truth. he knows you’re his, but he’s so lost at how they could ever confuse you as the girlfriend of one of those other 3 idiots. his face is just blank, the same as always, and you just laugh a bit. and he’s even more confused now, what’s so funny? “why are you laughing?” he would ask, whilst giving you that same blank stare. oh sae itoshi PLEASE never change. you just laugh again and pinch his cheeks like he’s a baby and give him a kiss. “no reason, love you” he just rolls his eyes at you and pecks your cheek back. “i’m being serious, you know.” itoshi sae never change please you’re too cute.

rin would be the opposite, having everyone thinking you were dating isagi or sae especially makes him so angry. “tsk, those lukewarm idiots. how tepid. why would you ever date someone as low level and shit as them. fucking stupid.” he’s seething, to put it very very lightly. he’s holding you against the wall as you’re still in his jersey, giving YOU the dead eye, as if you somehow orchestrated this huge misunderstanding. rin is a jealous guy, he really is; and the only thing he truly won for himself is you. so when it’s even suggested you could be in the hands of those other two losers he feels his insides tie themselves up into a knot of pure and unbridled anger. “r-rin you’re hurting meee” you whine up at him as he presses you against the wall harder and bites at your fragile neck. “no, need to show everyone you’re mine” oh rin-rin, you’re so jealous. he is truly the cutest. with those killer eyes but really cute pout and the way his hair falls over his face making him look like a stupid emo, itoshi rin you will never win the idgaf war.

isagi wouldn’t be as mad, he would be a bit of both, confused but a little jealous. “how can they even mistake the number 11 for any of THEIR numbers anyway???” he’s so confused, everyone is contemplating whether you’re dating him, kaiser, sae or rin. it’s obviously him? come on, he is number 11 and only him and kaiser share the same jersey as of now, how stupid? he’s following you around the house like a puppy asking you these questions nonstop, you can tell he’s jealous. he has his cute scowl as he’s asking. “yoichi i really don’t know-“ he interrupts you. “maybe your hair was covering the other 1? that has to be it. fine, next time don’t leave the house without a ponytail or i’ll-“ you just shut him up with a kiss, and when you pull away you giggle up at him. “i know i know, you don’t gotta be so jealous y’know, next time i go out i’ll make sure to show off your number ‘kay yoichi?” and he’s happy with that. isagi yoichi’s smile is so precious, it really is. he pulls you in for another kiss. “yeah, okay, want everyone to know you’re my girlfriend only.” even his jealousy is cute. isagi is simply just the cutest boyfriend in the world.

kaiser would not be like the others. if rin’s anger was nasty imagine kaiser’s, he would be literally losing his mind. sitting in his fancy robe sipping champagne with his glasses whilst having ness next to him, using the tv remote to go through all of the posts and theories being posted online. kaiser is madddd mad. he slams his fist down on the arm of the chair and growls a bit. “really, yoichi? fucking yoichi? and that shithead from pxg who can’t even keep his tongue in his mouth? the other itoshi brother? please, when i get into re al all he’s going to be doing is feeding me passes anyway” he scoffs. and ness diligently nods. “yeah, they’re all shit, shitty trash and below you kaiser!” and as kaiser sends ness off to go pour him another glass, you walk into the room. it’s just you two now, and boy is he angry. “have you fucking seen this, prinzessin? what insanity this is” he laughs a little. but he’s not humoured, you really love kaiser but jesus christ he acts like a fucking psycho sometimes. “i have” he just looks at you annoyed again, but still wearing that freakish smile. ew. “and why did you let your hair cover MY number? MY name? are you not proud to wear the jersey of a prodigy? are you fucking stupid or something.” he’s so condescending, pulling your hair again now. “m-micha- was an accident- was windy- c’mon stop- won’t happen again” and he releases his grip just a bit. he takes a sip of the very last droplets of champagne in his glass and looks at you again. “mmm, sorry engel, you know how i get, just love you soo much” he coos at you sweetly. and you fall for it every time. “it’s okay love you too micha.” and you really do know how he gets, as you walk past the room, you brush past ness a bit as he’s bringing kaiser back another bottle of champagne. you shudder, you’ve heard how your boyfriend treats that boy sometimes, you’re thankful you’re on the receiving end of his sweetness and not whatever that is. poor guy, you think as you walk out and shut the door behind you.

[kxsagi]

HIHIHIIIII POOK vould you do something w the bllk boys (isagi, itoshis, shidou n whoever else u'd like😽) and reader who's been really down lately, like the average depression blues and maybe the boys take care of them a little 😁only if u wanna ofc ofc

“𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞”

a/n: yesss ofc, i hope this brought some comfort!

i couldn't think of a title idea for the life of me and wrote most of this late at night 🌚

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, bachira meguru, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, karasu tabito, aiku oliver, kaiser michael, ness alexis 

isagi yoichi

isagi notices first when your texts start getting shorter. you’re saying “i’m tired” more often, cancelling plans, and your usual emojis are missing. he doesn’t pry, he knows that can make it worse. 

instead, he starts showing up unannounced with your favorite food and something soft, like a hoodie of his he knows you love or a little plushie. he doesn’t say why he’s there. he just sits beside you, talks about his day, and holds your hand. 

when he sees you struggling to get out of bed, he gently rubs your back and whispers, “you don’t have to do anything today, love. but if you want, we can just lie here. i’ll be your blanket.” 

and then he actually just… lays on top of you like a weighted comforter. 

he’ll do your skincare, braid your hair with tik toks in the background, and narrate his entire football training schedule in the most boring monotone possible until you finally giggle. 

itoshi sae

he’s not good with emotions, but he’s very good at noticing them. and lately, your voice’s been quieter, your eyes a little duller. 

he doesn’t say, “what’s wrong?” he says, “you haven’t smiled in three days.” 

sae starts doing things without asking. dishes? done. laundry? folded. fridge? stocked. and every time you protest, he gives you this deadpan look like, “don’t argue with me when you’ve been living on toast and sadness.” 

one night, he lies down beside you, not touching, just watching you breathe under the moonlight. then, in the quietest voice ever, “you don’t have to pretend to be okay with me. i’ll sit in the dark with you.” 

if you cry, he doesn’t say “don’t cry.” he just pulls you into his chest and rubs your back until the silence becomes soft again. 

itoshi rin

rin has no idea how to help at first. he watches you zone out mid-sentence, sees you curled up in bed at 2 PM, and feels this tight ache in his chest. he hates seeing you like this. 

his version of helping is silently putting your comfort things around the room: a heating pad, your favorite hoodie, a playlist that he made secretly titled “for her on bad days,” and your favorite snacks on the nightstand with a sticky note: “eat or i’ll kill you. – rin.” 

when you start crying randomly, rin panics. he stiffens up, goes “uhh, shit, uhhh” and then just awkwardly hugs you from behind like a koala. 

“you’re allowed to be sad, okay?” he mumbles into your hair. “just don’t shut me out.” 

he’ll lay there with you, barely moving, one hand resting on your hip to let you know he’s there, even when you can’t talk. 

shidou ryusei

surprisingly… shidou handles it better than expected. he notices when your energy disappears. he’s the one dragging you out of the house when you’ve been inside for four days straight. 

“sunlight, baby. vitamin D. you need it. and me. mostly me. and my vitamin D–” 

when you’re curled up like a burrito, he physically lifts you and throws you over his shoulder, yelling, “you don’t need therapy, you need tacos. and me. mostly me. and my di–” 

he makes you laugh when you really don’t want to. calls your depression “the emo gremlin in your brain” and offers to fight it. literally draws a face on a pillow and body-slams it yelling “GET OUTTA HER HEAD YOU GREMLIN BITCH.” 

when the laughter dies down and your eyes go sad again, he softens. “hey… you don’t have to be happy around me. i’m not goin’ anywhere. you got me.” 

bachira meguru

he notices immediately. he feels it. when your voice loses its color, when your hugs don’t hold as long, when your smile doesn’t crinkle your eyes anymore. 

he paints you a mural on a giant canvas, full of bright yellows and warm oranges and little cartoon versions of you two holding hands. 

“this is how i see you, even when you don’t.” 

if you’re having trouble eating, he turns it into a goofy picnic on the floor with tiny flags and “rate this snack from 1 to 10 or i’ll explode.” 

when you cry in silence, he doesn’t ask why. he just cups your face gently and rests his forehead on yours. 

“you’re allowed to be messy and quiet and heavy. i still love you just the same.” 

mikage reo

the moment reo sees your energy drop, he drops everything else. meetings? postponed. training? moved. if you text “i’m not feeling good today,” reo shows up in ten minutes flat, in sweats and with a bag of your favorite pastries. 

he doesn’t try to cheer you up by telling you to “look on the bright side.” instead, he says: “then let’s sit in the dark together, baby.” 

starts spoiling you even more when you're down – luxury spa kits, takeout from expensive places, even orders a custom plush of himself for you to “cuddle when he’s not around” (he pretends it’s a joke, but he’s 100% serious). 

when you start blaming yourself for being distant or moody, he holds your face and says, “hey. you’re not a burden. if anything, it’s an honor to be trusted enough to see you like this.” 

(stopppp reo you’re gonna make everyone cry 😭)

nagi seishiro

nagi might seem laid back, but he notices right away when something’s off. you haven’t texted him your usual memes? you didn’t rant about something dumb today? yeah, no. he’s crawling into bed with you. 

no words – just silently pulls you into a warm cuddle pile, head tucked under his chin, arm lazily but protectively around your waist. 

“existing is hard. let’s do nothing together, mkay?” 

he starts playing cozy games on switch next to you while letting you snuggle up. if you peek over to watch, he hands you the extra controller and says, “you don’t have to talk. just press A sometimes.” 

kisses your forehead so gently when you fall asleep mid-sniffle and whispers, “you’re still my favorite person, even when you’re sad.” 

karasu tabito

he gets weirdly good at dealing with it. he’s the “joking but also serious” boyfriend who forces you to shower by making it into a fake olympic sport. 

“if you get out in under 10 minutes, you win a forehead kiss and a chicken nugget.” 

if you cancel a hangout, he immediately texts “no worries 💕 love u 💕 but also ur dumb and i’m coming over to throw bread at your window 🥖” 

has a sixth sense for when your brain spirals. texts you things like: “you’re hot. emotionally complex. and mildly unstable in a sexy way. this is a pro-depression household as long as you let me hug you after.” 

and when you get quiet and low, he stops joking. his voice softens. “don’t disappear on me, okay? i don’t care if you’re not sunshine right now. i just wanna be where you are.” 

aiku oliver

the guy who tries to make you laugh with the dumbest things like putting cucumbers on his eyes and moaning “self-care is sexy” to cheer you up. 

but also the one who sits you down and asks how you’re actually feeling in a calm, grounded voice that makes you tear up. 

“listen, babe. it’s okay to feel like crap. just means you’re human. hot, wonderful, sometimes-sad human.” 

runs you bubble baths, makes sure you’re fed, brushes your hair if you let him, and throws your depressive guilt out the window. 

“you don’t owe me joy, y’know? you just owe yourself a little kindness. i’ll remind you every day if i have to.” 

kaiser michael

the second you stop being your usual self, kaiser panics internally. not that he’ll ever admit it. instead, he becomes overly dramatic and possessive in the name of “fixing it.” 

“who hurt you? was it the world? was it capitalism? was it that barista who spelled your name wrong? i’ll destroy them.” 

makes you get out of bed just to lie on his chest like a weighted throne. “you’re not allowed to be sad unless it’s on top of me.” 

he doesn’t say “cheer up.” he says, “you’re allowed to be fucked up. i am, too. but if you’re going down, i’m going with you and we’re doing it with style.” 

buys you matching sunglasses and says you two are going to sabotage the universe together unless you feel like napping first. 

but when you’re really, really quiet, when you don’t want jokes or noise, he kisses your temple and says softly, “you don’t have to be anything right now. not perfect. not productive. just… stay here. i got you.” 

(it’s rare but when it happens, it breaks you and heals you all at once.) 

ness alexis

ness notices right away. he’s so emotionally tuned in, you barely have to say anything. if you sigh a little too heavy, he’s already checking your temperature and fluffing pillows. 

“what do you need? food? music? a hug? a legally binding note saying you don’t have to do anything today?” 

becomes the cuddliest nurse on earth. wraps you in a blanket like a burrito and hand-feeds you snacks while talking about random stuff just to fill the quiet without making you feel pressured to respond. 

sends you memes with captions like “me trying to be a functioning adult” but checks up five minutes later like: “okay, but seriously. do you want me to skip practice and come over?” 

writes you tiny notes and hides them around the apartment. in your book: “you’re still the main character.” 

on the bathroom mirror: “your sadness doesn’t scare me. i’m staying.” 

when you cry and say “sorry for being like this,” ness hugs you tighter and whispers, “don’t apologize for being human. i love you even when you’re not okay. maybe especially then.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[deermurdock]

poor thing | m. murdock

NSFW a/n: this is kindaaa a full version of the blurb i posted a couple of days ago because i've been in a mood so uhm. just a lot of horny stuff. the reader is very touch starved and also uses hearing aids. so! have fun with this :)) uhm this got super self indulgent at the end but i think it's pretty good-- not to toot my own horn or anything but uhmmmm enjoy!! warnings: dom/sub dynamics, nicknames, Matt flipflopping between being a soft dom and a hard dom bc i couldnt make up my mind, oral (fem receiving), p in v sex, uhhh dirty talk, cursing, reader is suuuuper touch starved wordcount: 4.3k

You have brunch plans for tomorrow morning.

You, Matt, Karen, Foggy and Marci—Nothing but mimosas and French toast.

If you can make it through the night, of course.

Okay, fine, it’s not that dramatic. But sometimes, you think you might die—Right then and there, cause of death? Matt Murdock.

You had planned to stay the night, bringing an overnight bag with you to work. And at around 1 a.m., after a homecooked meal, a movie and sitting curled against his side, the two of you realized you should probably get some sleep.

You brush your teeth in his bathroom, take your medication in his kitchen, and then you go to get changed. You dig through your bag, trying to find your pajamas—Your shorts are here, but not the tee shirt you were planning to wear.

Not in any of the little pockets of your overnight bag.

You twist the shorts in your hands awkwardly, watching as Matt pulls out sweatpants from his drawer to wear.

“Matthew?” You say softly, tilting your head.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He wonders, tilting his head back to you.

“Could.. I borrow a tee shirt? I guess I forgot mine.” You see a smile form on his face.

He shuffles through his drawers, fingers running over tags. Then, he turns back to you, and hands you a black tee shirt. You look at it for a second, reading the text on the front of the shirt. Then you grin.

“My Chemical Romance?” You read. Matt’s face flushes a bit.

“I had.. a bit of an emo phase in High School, okay?”

“That’s all I get? You’re gonna drop that on me and not give me anymore details?” You wonder.

“Let’s just say for a blind man, I am.. very good at doing eyeliner.”

You giggle.

“You’re probably better than I am.” You’re not big on makeup.

“Just go get changed.” He tells you, turning back to his drawer.

You oblige, heading into his bathroom to change. When you slip the tee shirt over your head, you pick the fabric up and put it up to your nose, inhaling his scent. You can’t help yourself. He’s got this very subtle vanilla smell to him. Then, you make your way back to his bedroom, tossing your clothes over your duffle bag.

You stand by the doorway, sort of.. taken back by the look of him. He’s sprawled out in his bed, just in a pair of fuzzy socks and sweatpants. Your face flushes. You’re about to sleep in a boy’s bed—With him in it!

You shake your head, chasing the silly thought out of it.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” He doesn’t even have his glasses on. When you realize this, your heartbeat picks up. You’ve only been going out for about two weeks, just enough for you to become curious about his eyes.

“This is weird..” You mumble, and his head tilts curiously.

“What do you mean?”

A smile breaks out on your face.

“I don’t know,” You confess, “It’s just.. I can barely handle it when you kiss me in front of our friends, I’m overwhelmed at the idea of like.. cuddling all night.”

“Well, this isn’t in front of our friends.” He reminds. He pats the bed next to him. “Come sit,” He offers. He stays still, as if he’s scared you’ll run off like a skittish animal.

You move to sit on the bed, an inch or two away from each other. Matt’s hand finds yours. You lean your head against his shoulder. Then, you remember something, tilting your head to face him, leaning your chin on his shoulder.

“Matt, I won’t be able to hear your alarm clock go off,” You remind. Your hearing aids will be out while you sleep, and you’re not likely to hear his alarm clock. “We’ll be late and—”

Matt kisses your forehead.

“I’ll wake you up,” he says.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” You smile and press a soft kiss onto his lips. He stops, basking in the initiated affection.

You take out your hearing aids, and then melt into the bed, waiting for Matt to wrap his arms around you. He does, his arms snaking around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your next. Then, he says, right into your good ear so you could hear him,

“This okay?”

You smile.

“Yeah.” You promise, your hand wrapping around his arm, squeezing it tightly. You’re kept warm all night. There’s this moment at around three a.m., and your eyes flutter open as you wake up.. rather randomly.

You take a minute to admire Matt’s sleeping figure in the dark. His face is.. peaceful. Your lips twitch up. Then, you lean in and press a soft kiss on his jaw. You’re not used to physical affection.. But you’re doing your best to change that.

-

In the morning, Matt keeps his promise.

He removes his hand from your skin to turn off the alarm clock blaring,

’10:00 a.m.’

His hand runs over your back, since you’re now laying on your stomach, hugging Matt and a pillow. You breath deep, and for a moment, Matt tries to imagine what you’re dreaming about.

Your family?

Your job?

Him?

But, he knows you have to get up soon, so he begins to kiss you—

He starts at your cheek, before moving to your neck, and then, when he reaches your clothed shoulder, he moves your sleeve up your arm, beginning to kiss your arm, as his fingers tease the hem of your shirt, unsure if you’d kill him if that’s how you wake up, when your eyes flutter open.

“Good morning,” he smiles. He talks at just the right level so you can understand him.

“What’re you doing, Matthew?”

“Just waking you up,” He leans down and kisses your arm again. A shiver runs through your body.

“Okay, I’m awake now.” You grin.

“Okay, great,” You lean over and grab your hearing aids, putting them on. “Let’s go out to dinner tonight,” he requests, “My treat.”

“Like.. a fancy dinner or just something casual?”

“Fancy.” He confirms. “Fancy clothes and everything.”

Your heartbeat quickens.

“Kay.”

Matt leans forward and kisses your cheek.

He almost moves to get up, but he stops to ask,

“What were you dreaming about?”

You smile a bit.

“The Taj Mahal.” He laughs.

“The Taj Mahal?”

“Mhm.”

“You’re so..”

“Weird? Annoying? Nerdy?”

“Fascinating.”

He takes note at the way your heart races when he says that.

-

After brunch that morning, you and Matt split up to go get ready for your date, and you’re mostly successful.

But, you struggle with your eyeliner.. And then you remember something Matt told you last night. So you wait for Matt to get to your apartment. When he does, he comes with flowers. You smile as he kisses you hello, and you take the flowers.

You come back to him as you’re slipping on your shoes.

“I have a favor to ask,”

“Anything,” He smiles.

“Do my eyeliner?” You offer him your eyeliner pen, and he smiles.

“Sit on the couch,” he gestures, taking the pen from you. You sit on the couch, and Matt kneels down a bit, leaning in to feel around your face, getting a good feel of where your features are. Then, he grips the pencil in his hand and uses those handy heightened senses to delicately do your eyeliner.

He smiles when he finishes.

“Okay, all done. Do mine?” He asks, and you smile.

“Sure, how do you want to—” and before you can finish, Matt has moved quickly to sit on the chair before pulling you onto his lap. You let out a squeak, your face red. He grins.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” He feigns innocence.

“You’re such a pain.” You huff, and he just smiles, leaning into kiss your cheek. You blush, avoiding looking at him now.

“C’mon, just do my eyeliner for me,” he requests, and you let out a huff as you gently tilt his head up towards you.

“You know you need to take your glasses off, right?”

“I know,” he smiles, and his hand is removed briefly from your waist to take off his glasses. Then, slowly and methodically, you begin applying the eyeliner, trying to ignore how nervous this whole thing is making you.

“Your heart’s beating pretty fast,” He smirks. You bite back a sarcastic comment, and his hand begins to rub up and down your side. You pause your application of the eyeliner to squirm a bit in his lap. “What’s the matter, baby?” he coos.

“Oh, you’re such a dick.” You mumble, your grip on his chin tightening as you finish applying his eyeliner. He smiles and slips his glasses back on, as you climb off his lap. “C’mon, I’m starving—”

“Me too,” he says before grabbing your arm, and pulling you in for a long, deep kiss. His tongue brushes against your lip before slipping inside your mouth. After the initial urge to run away dissipates, you lean into the kiss, only for Matthew to pull away. “Alright, let’s head out.”

You try to find words, but you’re breathless from that kiss. Instead, you betray yourself. You let out this needy little whine, and Matt just smirks.

“What? If you’re whining over one kiss, I can’t imagine how you’ll be later.”

You tilt your head, cautiously. Matt wants to tell you how dog like that is, how it’s easily one of his favorite things about you.

“What do you mean, later?”

He kisses your head, and opens the door to your apartment, gesturing for you to walk out.

“Use that pretty head of yours. What do you think I mean?”

Your face flushes as you take a few steps out of the apartment.

“I don’t know.”

He closes the door behind him, and then his arm takes yours.

“Guess.”

-

To you, Dinner feels like it takes a million damn years.

You suspect that’s partially because of the way Matthew insatiably teases you.

His hand stays on your thigh throughout all of dinner.

When he wants you to try something, he gathers the food on a fork and glances to you.

“Open,” he says, and when he puts the fork in your mouth, you bite the food off the fork. “Good pup,” He hums, and of course, you blush.

He licks his lips like he’s quietly begging for a taste, and at some point during the dinner, he leans over the table and asks you quietly,

“Do you think I can’t smell how wet you are, kid?”

So by the time you two get home, it’s all you can do not to get on your hands and knees and beg him for something more than just a couple of teasing words. Maybe that’s what he wants. You’re not sure—Your brain is fuzzy.

You step into Matt’s apartment and toss the jacket that he wrapped around your shoulders onto the couch as he steps in, putting his cane and glasses down first.

“Can I ask you a question?” You finally blurt out.

He smiles, sensing your anticipation.

“Sure.”

“Are we.. are we gonna sleep together tonight?” You can’t help but ask. Matt chuckles gently.

“Do you want to sleep together?”

“Yes, please,” you finally answer.

“Go sit on the couch.” He orders softly, and he hears no objections as you take off your heels before sitting on the couch. He breathes deep and cracks the bones in his neck. He knows you have no idea what you’re in for.

He runs a hand over his jaw, trying to decide how he’ll start. He knows no matter how he does it, he’ll absolutely torture you, poor thing. So, he starts with sitting down next to you, placing his hand on your thigh.

He smirks as you squirm.

“What’s the matter, baby?” He coos softly.

“Oh, you know damn well what’s—”

Matt moves his hand from your thigh to grip your chin.

“Shh..” He starts, “If you want me to fuck you, you’re going to have to knock off the attitude,” He demands gently.

“Can’t help it—”

“You haven’t even tried.” He scoffs. “Come on, just be good for me and I’ll make all the thoughts disappear from your pretty little head.” His grip on your chin tightens, and he leans forward to brush his lips against yours. “Answer me.”

“Okay,” You breath out, “Okay, sure, I’ll be good,” You promise, and Matt kisses you in approval. But he doesn’t pull away after a moment. Instead, his hands move to cup your cheeks. He deepens the kiss and doesn’t stop you as you reposition yourself, now sitting on his lap.

His hand trails down, beginning to massage your thighs as you kiss him. He can smell how wet you are, hear how fast your heart is beating.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips again, so that he can explore your mouth. He studies it like its his damn job, and he relishes in the tiny gasps and moans that he’s able to draw out of you.

You begin rocking your hips against him, and his hands move to your hips, holding you in place. He pulls away from the kiss, and is met with your whining.

“What’d I tell you about the attitude?” He wonders, and you bite your lip, just desperate for him to continue. One hand releases your hip and reaches up to tug your hair. You let out a whimper. “Answer me.” His voice is steady, but deep—He knows exactly the effect he has over you.

“To stop it,” You answer, and he clicks his tongue. You try not to react, but Matt smirks at your attempt at self-control.

“Poor thing,” He coos, “You just need someone to take care of you, huh? Order you around, fuck you dumb..” He hums. When you squirm a bit in his lap, Matt decides to kiss you again, wanting you as brainless as he can get you.

He slowly pulls away, and he takes a second to stop, to catch his breath. He knows you need the second too, so he just inhales as he listens to the sound of your heartbeat, anxiously awaiting his next move.

“If you want to stop, you just say ‘Lava’. Got it?”

“Lava, got it.” You know he’s looking for verbal affirmation, that you understand what’s about to happen might get.. less than vanilla. He nods, and places an uncharacteristically soft kiss to your lips.

“Take your dress off,” He commands softly, “And then get on your knees for me.”

For a moment, you contemplate being bratty. You contemplate not following his order. But, you decide against it. You stand and slip out of your dress, left in just your jewelry, underwear and pretty makeup.

You kneel between his legs and watch as his lips form this smile that makes your stomach churn.

“Good dog,” and he chuckles when you lean your head against his thigh. “Poor thing,” He repeats his early sentiment, before he stands up. He takes a step towards his bedroom, and then, his hand comes down to pet your hair—

Before he grips it, starting to pull you by your hair all the way to his bedroom, listening as you whimper, trying to keep up with him. When he releases your hair, you pant softly from the pain as you sit next to his bed, watching as Matt unties his tie, wrapping it around his hand like you would a bandage.

“Sorry, honey,” he coos, suddenly soft, “That was mean, wasn’t it?” He wonders, and you pause, not sure if he wants you to actually answer. His lips twitch into a smirk. “Go ahead, you can answer.”

“Yeah, it was,” You finally answer, “The fuck did you do that for?” Matt lets out this dry chuckle.

“There’s that attitude again,” He hums. He leans down and effortlessly scoops you up with his arms and puts you on his bed, “Yeah. I was mean.” He nods, “Let me make it up to you?” He’s not really asking for your permission, and he proves that by grabbing your ankles and pulling you to the edge of the bed.

“Are you going to stop being mean to me?” You wonder, and he can’t help the smile that forms on his face.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He moves to lean closer to you, before unwrapping the tie from his hand and then, he ties it around your head, making sure to lay it right over your eyes. “I never promised that. I just promised I’d make it up to you. Ask how I’ll do that.”

You inhale and exhale, a little thrown out of the moment.

“How?” You ask, desperately in love with him either way.

“I’m gonna ruin that pretty eyeliner,” He kneels between your legs.

“How are you—” You gasp when he pulls down your underwear quickly, slipping it down to your ankles, and then throwing them to the side.

“You’re a smart kid, I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon.” He says, before leaning in to lick a stripe across your cunt. Then, he starts to lick and suck on your folds, devouring you. You moan loudly, hands finding his hair as you try to get used to the feeling.

And after a couple of moments of eating you out, You do get used to it, and you absolutely melt into the bed, suddenly forgiving him for all his mean moments earlier. You’d forgive anything he did if he just stays on his knees, eating you out.

His fingers come up to your clit to gently rub circles into it, before moving his fingers to slip right between your folds, relishing in the way you whine, in the sound of your moans. His fingers begin to pump in and out of you.

He licks stripe after stripe into your cunt, his scruff scratching your thighs as he eats you out. You pull and tug at his hair.

“I’m—I’m close,” You finally manage to gasp out,

Matt just hums out an, ‘Mhm’, too busy lapping up your juices on his tongue. His nose brushes against your clit, and you’re suddenly coming undone as his licks your juices up. You ride out your high with Matt’s face between your thighs.

After a couple of minutes, he slowly comes up for air, head tilting upwards.

“Feeling okay?” his voice is soft now.

“Yeah,” You breath with a breathy sigh. “Just.. thinking.” Your hands absentmindedly comb through his hair.

“’Bout what, baby?” He asks, and leans in, pressing a kiss to your clit. When you whine, he coos mockingly, “Aw, poor thing.. Answer the question.”

“..You.” You try, and he scoffs, before biting your thigh.

“Try again, brat.”

You blush.

“It’s embarrassing!”

“I just buried my face in your pretty pussy and you’re worried about an embarrassing thought?” Matt asks, and you huff.

“Well, when you put it that way—” He bites your thigh again. “Fine! Fine,” You huff. “I’m thinking about the seven wonders of the world.”

A beat.

Matt lets out a low chuckle, and your face flushes.

“Matthew!”

“What? I can’t help it,” He giggles, and as you start to move away, but he grips your thighs and pulls you closer, “Okay, okay. What about the seven wonders of the world?”

“I’ll tell you if you take off the blindfold.”

“Oh,” He lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh, poor thing, this isn’t a negotiation.”

“Seems like it is—” He scoffs at this, “It is! You’re the one on your knees, I’ve already came, seems like I have a bit of leverage here—”

Matt rolls his eyes, and stands up, his hand coming up to your head to the blindfold. He pulls it off and takes just a second to brush hair from your face. Then, he wraps the tie around your neck. He pulls a bit, just snuggly tugging and applying a bit of pressure. He towers over you now, and he pulls the tie up a bit so that you’re looking at him.

“Listen to me, you little brat,” He growls, “What did I say about the attitude?” You just let out a whimper, and he clicks his tongue again. “I bet I can fuck the attitude out of you. Or at least, I can try.” He snaps, tightening the tie around your neck.

Then, he works on his pants and tugs his dress pants down just enough for him to pull his cock out. Then, he shifts the two of you so that you’re sitting on his lap, his tip teasing your folds.

He tugs on the tie, pulling you forward so he can bite and suck on your neck, and you begin to moan, whine at the feeling of. Matt just bites down, marking you in every way he can.

“Not used to all this attention, huh?” And then, Matt says his phrase of the night, “Poor thing,” He hums. His hand comes up to uncharacteristically kindly move the hair from your ear, and then begins to kiss every inch of your skin.

You’re like puddy in his hands. Mendable, soft.

He guides his cock to your folds, and then, as he distracts you with kisses and hickeys, guides you to sink down onto his cock. When you do, you let out a breathy moan, unused to the feeling of being so full..

After giving you a minute to adjust, Matt begins to thrust into you, encourages by your moans and egging you on with whispers of encouragement,

“Taking my cock so well for me,” He praises, planting kisses down your neck, “Like you’re made for me to fuck you like this,” He gasps as he feels you clench around him. “Fuck, So good for me,” He says. It’s like he’s addicted to kissing you, to kissing your neck and shoulders and every inch of skin he can get his lips on.

He fucks you intensely, and you feel every single thrust as it echoes through your body, and the longer he goes, the more he whispers in your ear, (“Come on, pretty thing, just keep taking my cock, just like that—Oh, god—Fuck, Baby, you feel so good,”) the closer you get to your climax.

“’m gonna—”

“I know, I know,” He hums, and then he smirks as he smells salty tears in the air. Tears run down your face, and Matt knows he’s won. “Aw, baby.. Did you ruin your eyeliner?” When you don’t respond, Matt pulls your hips down, commanding you to answer.

“Yes!” You whimper, a sob escaping your lips.

“Poor thing,” he coos, and his thrusts are particularly intent as he continues, “Poor, poor baby,” He hums, kissing your shoulder before biting down on it. And without another word, you grip his arm as you clench around him, cumming around his cock. He thrusts a few more times, “Gotta pull out before—”

“No!” You whine, “Just come inside, it’s fine—”

“Are you sure, I don’t want to—”

“Matt,” you whine, beginning to roll your hips, desperate to feel him come inside you. You whimper softly, as Matt thrusts into you, finally coming inside you. He rides out his own high before his thrusts come to a slow.

“Fuck,” He gasps, sweat dripping down his neck. “You were even better than I could imagine..” he confesses.

For a moment, the pair of you just breath. His hands slowly rub up and down your sides. Thoughts seem far away.. in the best way possible.

He knows you need a bath. He knows he needs to clean you and himself up. He knows he needs to teach you to suck him off. He should ask you how that was, what he should do again, what you would’ve preferred. He has a damn list, but all he can think to ask is—

“What were you thinking about earlier?”

“What?” you ask, cock still buried deep inside you.

“After I ate you out,” He starts, “You were thinking about the seven wonders of the world. What about them?”

You study his face. There’s no mocking intent, no malice in his voice.

“I was thinking about The Gardens of Babylon. How deeply I relate to them.”

“What? How can you relate to ancient architecture?”

“Well, we don’t know if they were even real. Maybe they were, but there are theories that it was all just.. poetic. That they weren’t real, and that the story is just.. something we choose to believe.”

His face twitches in confusion, trying to process what you mean, how can you relate to ancient architecture, especially ancient architecture that you don’t even know the certainty of.

“So, which one would I be?”

He expects you to ask questions for confirmation.

Instead, you answer almost immediately.

“The Roman Colosseum.” You grin.

“The colosseum?” He questions.

“Strong. Stable. Gorgeous. Breathtaking.” You pause, a smirk on your face. Your finger comes up to his nose. You run it down the shape of his nose, “Roman.” He grins.

“So, we’re the Gardens of Babylon and the Roman Colosseum?”

“No, no,” You shake your head, “we’re not the Gardens of Babylon and the Roman Colosseum! We’re the wonder of the world that’s built out of white marble, a wonder made because death doesn’t stop love-- We are the Taj Mahal.” You offer.

“Oh, my mistake.” He grins. “We’re the Taj Mahal.”

“See? You get it.” You smile back.

Matt thinks for a moment.

“So this morning, when I asked you what you were dreaming about this morning.. Technically, you were dreaming about us?”

You smile.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Matt just kisses you deep, pushing you back onto the bed as he begins to unbutton his shirt, tossing it off to the side.

The two of you spend your night intermittently going back and forth between passionate lovemaking—Part of Matt’s love language and talking and expressing how much you love him in an abstract way—Part of your love language.

Neither of you get much sleep that night.

[maxxiemoa]

~Rodrick x babysitter fic~

An: This story has been in my drafts for a little while. I love my dorky emo boyfriend Rodrick <3

Summary: Susan Heffley knew you from the neighborhood and thought you were a responsible enough girl to watch manny for the evening. What you didn’t really grasp was that she was really asking you to watch all her sons while Frank and her went on a much needed night out.

I arrive 5 minutes early to the Hefley’s house. I rang the doorbell and was quickly met with a cheerful greeting from a younger brunette haired boy.

“Im Greg you must be y/n” says the young boy. Hes sweet but I can tell hes a bit awkward socially. I nod and introduce myself, “yeah I’m y/n I’m babysitting your little brother tonight. Is your friend here…erm Rowley? Right? Your mom said you two would be having a sleepover tonight.

“Yeah he should be here any second” Greg says moving out of the way for me to come into the house.

“Oh! Great you are here early!” Susan walks over to me quickly and in her arms is who I am assuming is Manny.

Manny waves at me and does grabby hands at me. I offer to take him from Susan and she happily hands him over to me. “I’m y/n and you must be Manny.” I smile at him sweetly and hold him close to me. God he is adorable. Oh how I wish I had a little sibling to carry around.

“RODRICK!” I jump a bit at Franks sudden yelling. I turn around to the sound of quick footsteps coming down the stairs. Down comes a boy who I vaguely remember from somewhere.

Susan points at her eldest son and says “this is Rodrick he goes to the same school as you.” I remember where I’ve seen him before, he is in my 3rd period English class….hes a bit of a…dumb dumb.

Rodrick looks me up and down and then runs back upstairs nearly tripping on his way up.

Frank nears the door and grabs the keys. “If he does anything stupid just ignore him. Hes in a rockstar phase right now” I giggled at his comment and so does Greg.

The two of them leave and I am now the adult in the house. “So Greg what are you and Rowley going to do tonight? Movies? Video games? Make a fort?” I ask curiously.

“We were probably going to watch a movie in my room and play some board games” he says. I nod my head and tell him that sounds nice. “I can make you two some cookies or brownies if you’d like. And I can order a pizza for dinner” I offer. Greg’s eyes light up immediately and he hugs my side tightly and says thank you.

About 20 minutes into the night manny and I are at the table coloring when Rodrick comes into the kitchen. “Sup” he says in a forced deep voice as he leans against the table.

I look him up and down much like he did when I first came over. He has changed his clothes and is now wearing….eyeliner? He runs his fingers through his hair and makes it even messier than it was mear seconds ago.

“Did you come down to join in on the coloring?” I motion towards the coloring books and crayons laid out on the table. “Umm..no…I..I came down for..umm….DRINK…a drink.” He says nervously. He walks over to the fridge and pulls some stuff out. He walks back over to Manny and I and sets a juice box in-front of Manny and three different drinks in-front of me. “Pepsi, juice, or water? Or uhh I think we have milk too…” I smile at his kind gesture and pull the Pepsi close to me. “Thanks….ummm do you remember me from class?” I ask while I take a sip of my drink.

Rodrick sits down next to me and takes the straw off of Manny’s juice box and pokes it into the little hole at the top sliding it back over for Manny to have.

“English class, right?” He says to me fooling around with the bottle of water he’s holding.

“Yeah, English class. The teacher doesn’t really like you does he? Can’t really blame him I guess. You are never paying attention and it really shows when he asks you a question about what we are reading”

“Well maybe if pay attention if the stuff we were reading wasn’t so damn boring” he says kind of slamming his hands on the table as a sort of attempt at making a point

I laugh a little at how serious he seems about hating English class “Don’t you have better things to hate? Like I don’t know…the government or like poverty? What is it your punk band stands for?”

“I don’t know if I’d really call is punk. We are more of a chaotic unlabeled band” he says pulling his hands through his hair again.

“The hair and eyeliner kind of makes it seem like you are in an Emo band” I lean over and brush my hands through his hair. “Not that I want to admit it and float your ego but I do like the eyeliner”

Rodrick just sits there tensed up as I play with his hair. I will be the first to admit that I have a think for alternative looking boys like Rodrick but I’m babysitting and as cute as he is I should not be flirting with him. I have a job to do and I like this family.

“I never feel like I can do it exactly the way I imagine it looking in my head…..the eyeliner I mean.” Rodrick says in a soft voice looking me in the eyes. His brown puppy like eyes are looking right at me and they are melting my mind.

“I could help you with your eyeliner if you’d like” I brush my thumb across his cheekbone.

Rodrick brings me upstairs to his room after I put manny in his little play pen infront of the tv. His room is dim and there are clothes scattered around the floor. Surprisingly there isn’t any trash making his room messy. Just his stuff.

“Here” Rodrick hands me an eyeliner pencil and I sit on the bed next to him

“Close your eyes and try not to wiggle too much ok” I gently hold his face and paint the eyeliner on his eyes as neat as I can. “How do you like?” I ask him pointing to the little mirror in his room.

“Wow, it looks way less messy than when I do it” he comes back over to where I am sitting on his bed. “My turn to do your eyeliner” He says uncapping the pencil.

“Be careful ok I want to leave with both of my eyes intact ok” I say closing my eyes.

Rodrick starts putting the eyeliner on my eyelids while gently holding my cheeks and face still “there” he says as I open my eyes

His face is really close to mine and I can feel my face getting a little warm.

“It looks nice on you” Rodrick doesn’t let go of my face and instead slides his hands through my hair. I mimic him and tangle my fingers in his hair.

I close my eyes and lean in a little hoping he will close the space. And he does. His lips are sort of chapped and I can feel him breathing quickly out of his nose.

The kiss is gentle and sweet. It only lasts a few seconds before he pulls away. He looks at me and licks his lips. “Was that ok?” He says so quietly that I am surprised I heard him.

I smile at him and pull him in for a hug “I’ve never kissed anyone before…It was nice…really nice” I close my eyes and let myself enjoy the warmth of his body.

[jj-one]

Emobf bangchan who is the most desperate depraved man you have ever met. Every time he sees your pretty pussy, he can’t help but fawn over it. Even if he acts like a virgin every time, it doesn’t mean you don’t finish. He’ll have you squirting on every surface he can find. He always cleans everything up, because he doesn’t want to bother his beautiful gf.

HELLOOO ??:&2@29; this is INSANEEE (in a good way) like i’m deadass sweating rn 🥵 ok but imagine emo bf!chan w a tongue piercing hehehehe that’s so hot i’m gonna kms

you don’t even remember how it started this time— maybe you brushed past him in that skimpy tank top or maybe he just saw you breathing and decided he needed a taste.

what you do remember is how he looked between your thighs, black bangs a mess, eyeliner smudged to hell, mouth glistening with spit and slick, and that damn tongue piercing catching the light every time he swirled it against your clit.

“oh my god- chan—”

your back arches clean off the mattress as another wave crashes over you. the third, maybe fourth? you lost count after the second time he made you squirt all over his face. he’s got that fucked-out smile now, drunk on you, gripping your thighs to keep them open like you haven’t been begging him to stop for the last five minutes.

“i swear to fucking god, m’gonna die—” you whimper, trying to scoot back, but he just laughs.

“don’t say that when your pussy’s still this wet,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and thick with arousal. “she’s not done. she wants one more.”

you thrash around in protest, “she’s tired- ’m tired—!”

“i’ll carry you to the bath after, baby,” he coos sweetly, licking another fat stripe up your slit, “but right now i gotta make her squirt one more time, yeah?”

you try to glare at him. you really do. but then that silver ball on his tongue nudges your clit again and your brain blanks.

he moans like he’s the one getting eaten out. “god, your pussy’s so pretty. always so sweet for me, fuck, could die like this.”

you’re crying now, just a little. overstimulated tears slipping from the corners of your eyes while chan ravishes you like he’s starved. your legs feel like jello, your hands fisting in his hair, but he doesn’t let up, never does. tongue curling just right, two fingers slipping inside and curling and suddenly your vision turns white.

“oh f-fuck, chan—”

you squirt again. messy. loud. slick splashes against his chin, the sheets, his fingers— everywhere.

being the perfect boyfriend he is, he just giggles and sucks it up, literally. kisses your clit like it’s fragile, kisses your thighs like he didn’t just wring you out like a ragdoll, and starts grabbing tissues to clean you up before you can even catch your breath.

“don’t move,” he mumbles, pecking your inner thigh. “you did so good for me. so perfect, baby. let me take care of you now.”

you’d thank him if you could.

if your brain wasn’t short-circuiting from the best head of your goddamn life.

[stillalivebydemand893]

Edibles and love confessions

18+(repost)

Story:Best friend gets accidentally high on gummies. Brother who’s basically a walking disaster tries to play babysitter. Chaos, cuddles, and very questionable life choices follow. Welcome to the Campbells’,where nothing makes sense, but somehow, it’s exactly what you need.

It was just another chaotic Saturday at the Campbells’—BBQ, Jenga, cocktails, and a whole lot of family noise. You’d been Julia’s best friend since you moved into the neighborhood two years ago, and ever since then, you’d practically become an unofficial Campbell sibling yourself.

Friday night horror movie marathons? You were there. Random cousin-packed parties at their place? Obviously. Annual camping trips where everyone forgot the tent poles? You had the bruises to prove it.

Then there was Bobby, the youngest. Literal sunshine in human form. You got him a turtle for his birthday last year—he named it Paco and treated it like royalty.

Morning runs and tennis with Julia at the country club, followed by long gossip sessions by their pool? Your standard routine.

And then… there was Erik.

From the moment you met him, it was game over. He’d been walking past your house when he heard Layla by Eric Clapton blasting from your window, and you, dramatically singing like your life depended on it. He knocked on the door and never left.

You bonded over your emo phases, shared late-night confessions, drank questionable liquor on the roof, and smoked until sunrise. Every time he laughed, your heart did a somersault and nearly yeeted itself out of your chest. There had been… moments. A hand on your back. Ruffling his hair when he was too damn cute. Hugging him like your life depended on it when your anxiety made the world spin.

You were poolside with Julia, wearing nothing but shorts and a bra, soaking up the sun. Bobby was going feral on the trampoline, their dad was mowing the lawn, and Erik—sleepy-eyed and grumpy—was helping his mom prep for the BBQ.

“ERIK!” Julia yelled, dramatically waving her arm. “Can you bring me the sunscreen from inside?”

He didn’t even look up. “I’m busy. Get it yourself.”

“You’re literally useless. What’s the point of having a brother if he won’t be my servant?”

You giggled.

“I got it, babe,” you said, getting up. “I was going inside for snacks anyway.”

Erik caught your eye as you walked by, and you could feel the smirk he didn’t let fully form. He was still in zombie mode—his boss had made him close the tattoo shop again last night, and Bobby found him passed out next to their dog this morning. He’d sent a pic to the group chat. You definitely didn’t save it to your gallery (you totally did).

In the kitchen, you found the sunscreen. Then you opened the cupboard and saw a suspiciously hidden pack of Marlboros, expired tea, and—score—a bag of Haribo gummies. Only five left, but your snack-craving gremlin brain didn’t care. You downed them.

Ten minutes later, Julia was mid-rant about prom dresses when everything started to warp.

“—and I told Paul I’m not wearing red, it makes me look like a tomato and—”

“Julia…” you blinked. “I think I’m high.”

“…What?”

“I think I ate something. I’m so high.”

She looked at you—and shrieked. “OH SHIT. YOUR EYES. YOU LOOK POSSESSED.”

You looked like Satan had dyed your eyeballs red with a Sharpie.

“Come on!” she hissed. “Inside, now, before my mom sees and we both get excommunicated!”

Their mom had a strict no drugs, not even secondhand smoke rule ever since Erik almost torched the house with a forgotten joint.

Julia dragged you inside. The walls were bending. Your clothes were floating. The chandelier was judging you.

“ERIK CAMPBELL, GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW!” Julia bellowed.

Erik sighed, clearly caffeine-deprived and emotionally unavailable.

“WHAT NOW—” he stomped in, then stopped dead.

You were standing in the hallway, eyes wide, swaying like a haunted doll in a windstorm.

“…Peach,” he said slowly, a grin tugging at his lips, “are you high?”

You blinked up at him. In that moment, he looked like a deity carved from serotonin and sin. The voice in your head whispered: Touch him. Climb him like a tree.

You launched yourself at him, burying your face in his chest like a koala on caffeine. He caught you, arms wrapping around you instinctively.

“Peach?” he laughed, then paused. “You okay?”

“She’s high off her ass!” Julia snapped. “You left your edibles in the kitchen, you idiot!”

Erik’s soul briefly left his body. “OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE—”

“You drugged my best friend!”

“I didn’t mean to drug her, Julia!”

“She’s literally cuddling you like you’re her weighted blanket!”

“…I am kind of comfortingly plush,” he muttered, as you nestled deeper.

Erik looked down at you, still cuddled against him like your life depended on it. His heart? Punching his ribs. His jeans? Starting a rebellion.

“Okay, okay. I’ll take her upstairs before Mom smells weed on her sweat,” he muttered. “You stall. Tell her we went out for ice. Or towels. Or marriage counseling.”

He laced his fingers with yours. You gasped. “This dream is so vivid.”

He nearly tripped. “Dream?”

You looked at your joined hands in wonder. “This is the best dream I’ve ever had.”

Erik, internally: don’t get a boner don’t get a boner don’t—

You practically melted onto his bed the second you entered his room, burying your face in his pillow.

“Mmm. Smells like Erik.”

“…It is Erik’s room.”

“Duh,” you muttered, half-lidded and feral. “I made this dream. You’re my dream Erik.”

You sat up. Opened his laptop. “Let’s see what dream Erik hides.”

“Absolutely not—HEY—” He lunged. You evaded like a drunk ninja.

You looked up at him, high as a satellite and twice as dangerous. “You’re too hot for a dream.”

He stared. “…You really think this is a dream?”

You nodded solemnly. “I wouldn’t tell real Erik I liked him. That’d be dumb. He’d freak. It’d ruin everything.”

He stilled. The silence was sharp. Crackling.

“…Liked?” he asked, voice suspiciously soft.

You cuddled into his chest again, voice muffled. “Liked him so much I might throw up about it. But it’s okay. He’s not real. You’re just a hot dream ghost .”

He froze like a man hit by emotional shrapnel. His hands hovered above your back. He didn’t move.

You looked up blearily, eyes glowing with chaotic affection. “Promise you won’t tell dream Erik?”

He smiled, broken and breathless. “Yeah, Peach. I promise.”

He didn’t know if he wanted you to sober up or stay like this forever.

Either way… game over.

You woke up disoriented, head buried in something warm and soft and very much alive.

Sniff.

Cologne. Faint smoke. Laundry detergent.

Sniff again.

Erik.

Your brain did a sad little Windows reboot noise.

You sat up, very slowly.

He was still asleep beside you, of course, because the gods hate you—and completely knocked out, sprawled like a Renaissance painting gone mildly inappropriate.

And the memories?

Oh.

Oh no.

“You’re just a hot dream ghost ”

“You smell like vanilla and trauma.”

“Don’t tell the real Erik I like him.”

“You’re so handsome. You look like my Erik.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth. He heard that. He definitely heard that.

A groan beside you. His arm reached out, blindly patting the bed like he was trying to find you in a dream.

Your brain: RUN. ABORT. LEAVE THE COUNTRY. MOVE TO NORWAY.

Instead, you tried to slink out of bed.

You made it halfway to the door before:

“Peach.”

You froze. Like a raccoon caught with a stolen Pop-Tart.

“…Yes?”

His voice was rough, still laced with sleep and sarcasm. “You’re doing the walk of shame in a bra.”

You turned. He was propped up on one elbow now, hair messy, lip curved, but his eyes—those traitorous, beautiful eyes—were watching. Carefully. Like he was waiting for something.

“I was just…” You gestured wildly. “Going to… evaporate.”

He laughed. Low. Warm. Dangerous.

“Should I be flattered? Or concerned?”

“You should pretend none of it happened.”

There it was—the panic. Sharp, metallic, crawling up your throat.

He sat up straighter, smile fading. “Why?”

“Because I was high, Erik. I said insane things. I thought you were a dream. A sexy hallucination! I licked your face.”

He smirked. “You did. Twice.”

You groaned looking up . “God. Kill me. Right now. Smother me with that ugly pillow.”

He tilted his head. “So… all that stuff? About liking me?”

You hesitated.

His voice dropped, serious now. “You meant it?”

Silence.

The kind of silence that wraps around your lungs and squeezes.

You looked at him—really looked—and your heart kicked in your chest like a drunk horse. He wasn’t teasing anymore. No smirk. Just raw, unfiltered vulnerability in a boy who always covered it in sarcasm and tattoos .

“…Yeah,” you whispered. “I did.”

His jaw clenched. His fingers twitched against the sheets.

And then, softly:

“Good. Because if you hadn’t meant it, I’d have to pretend I haven’t been in love with you since you forced me to watch Twilight and called me your ‘grumpy vampire boyfriend.’”

Silence.exe has stopped responding.

You blinked. “I—what—EXCUSE ME?”

He stood up. Walked over. Close enough to touch, close enough to ruin you.

“I’ve been trying not to fall for you for two years,” he said, voice low and steady. “And you? You get high on my fucking gummies, call me your Erik, and curl into me like I’m the only thing keeping you from unraveling.”

“I—I was hallucinating!”

“Yeah?” He stepped closer. “But you meant every damn word.”

You opened your mouth.

He kissed you.

No warning. No hesitation. Just heat and hands and everything you’d buried for so long erupting like a goddamn volcano.

He tasted like mint and chaos and the kind of trouble you’d burn for.

When he pulled back, your brain was ash.

“I’m not a dream, Peach,” he murmured. “And I’m not letting you pretend this didn’t happen.”

You whispered, breathless: “This is the hottest panic attack I’ve ever had.”

He grinned. “Good. Because now that I’ve kissed you, I’m not stopping.”

His hands slid to your waist, and his forehead rested against yours. “Next time you eat my edibles, I’m supervising. And you’re doing it on purpose.”

You smacked his chest. “You absolute menace.”

“Your menace,” he whispered.

You didn’t argue.

Mostly because Erik’s lips were back on yours like they missed you even after ten seconds. Like they were making up for lost time. Like this kiss had been trying to happen since the first time you beat him at Mario Kart and screamed, “Suck it, loser.”

His hands slid under your thighs like it was nothing—like picking you up was casual, easy, routine. He carried you back to the bed while still kissing you, and your traitorous brain was like: Oh. He does push-ups. For reasons.

He tossed you gently onto the bed and crawled over you, hair a mess, tattoos peeking out beneath his shirt, and eyes burning like he was starving. But he didn’t kiss you again yet. Just hovered. Close. Barely breathing.

“You sure?” he whispered. “Because if I kiss you again, I’m not pretending anymore. I’m not going back to being your sarcastic neighbor who pretends he doesn’t want to memorize the sounds you make when you laugh. Or cry. Or—”

You yanked him down and kissed him so hard his sentence disintegrated.

“No takebacks,” you mumbled against his mouth.

His laugh was wrecked. “Oh, I’m taking everything.”

The next few minutes were a blur of hands and heat and teeth. You were still half in your bra and shorts, his shirt halfway off, and both of you tangled in the messiest tangle of limbs ever to grace that sad, lumpy mattress. Every time he touched you, it was too much and not enough all at once. It was teeth grazing skin. Fingers threading into hair. Gasps that could’ve been laughter or sobs.

You were high on him now. Full-on addicted.

But then—of course—someone knocked.

“ERIK?!”

Julia. Your grim reaper in acrylics. “MOM’S LOOKING FOR PEACH. SHE THINKS SHE’S PRAYING IN THE GUEST ROOM.”

You both froze.

Your brain: MURDER. PANIC. FAKE DEATH. MOVE TO MARS.

Erik looked like he wanted to punch a wall and cry on the same breath. “WHY GOD WHY is she everywhere?!”

You sat up, hair a disaster, mouth bruised, and tried to look less like you’d just been enthusiastically worshipping the Campbell family’s black sheep.

“I gotta go,” you whispered, chest still heaving.

He reached out and tucked your hair behind your ear. Tender, like it was a habit. Like he always wanted to do it.

“Come on Peach .You don’t have to run.”

“I’m not running,” you said. “I’m dodging a homicide. If your mom finds out I got high in her house and defiled her son, she’s going to baptize me in holy water and beat me with a rosary.”

Erik cracked a grin. “I’ll shield you with my body.”

You kissed him one last time. It was fast, desperate, like stuffing a secret into your pocket before it could be stolen.

Then you made your great escape—ducking out his bedroom window in shorts and one of Eriks hoodies.

Later that night

Julia: “So. You good? You disappeared for, like, an hour. You and Erik didn’t do anything stupid, right?”

You: (laughing way too loud) “WHAT? NO! HAHAHA! ME? HIM? NEVER! PFFT. HAH.”

Bobby: “Then why are you wearing Erik’s hoodie?”

You: “BECAUSE… I… was cold.”

Julia: “It’s 87 degrees outside.”

You: “Global warming, Julia. Educate yourself.”

Even later

Erik texted you:

you licked my face twice.

you also whispered “my man” and bit my shoulder.

YOU left me with a hurtful boner .

how am i supposed to recover from that???

You:

you’re not. suffer.i have to fight my demons and tell julia what actually happened .

Erik:

come over.

You can fight me or maybe kiss me a little.

a lot.

exclusively.

You:

can’t. grounded by your mom.

for “radiating sin.”

Erik:

hot.

tell her we’re getting married.

or going to confession.

whichever sounds less illegal.

Later: Campbell Family Dinner– aka Chaos with Cutlery

The Campbells did nothing quietly. Not even pasta night.

There were seventeen people in the house. Cousins. Cousins of cousins. One rogue uncle who may or may not have been living in an RV. Bobby was covered in parmesan. Julia was ranting about her physics teacher (“HE LOOKS LIKE A STRESSED-OUT FERRET AND I STAND BY THAT”), and somewhere in the noise, Erik was across the table—pretending to listen, picking at his food, and very obviously not looking at you.

Except that he was.

Every few seconds. Every time you laughed. Every time your foot bumped his under the table and he flinched like you’d electrocuted him.

You were wearing his hoodie again. No bra. Sue you.

Every time you leaned forward, he made a face like he was going to hell and was totally fine with it.

Julia squinted. “You two are acting weird.”

You both froze.

You: “Weird how?”

Erik: “I’m always weird. That’s my brand.”

Julia narrowed her eyes like a bloodhound sniffing out inappropriate energy. “No. This is different. You’re… radiating tension. And lust. Like HBO tension.”

You: “OH LOOK BOBBY’S ON THE TABLE AGAIN.”

Cue chaos.

While the family was distracted by Bobby trying to swordfight the breadsticks, you yanked Erik into the hallway.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, heart hammering. “You’re staring. Like a psychopath. With feelings.”

He pressed you against the wall.

“Sorry,” he murmured, eyes tracing every inch of you like you were a fever dream he’d just reawakened from. “Didn’t mean to look like I was in love with you at a spaghetti dinner.”

“You were eye-fucking me in front of your grandma.”

“She’s hard of hearing. It’s fine.”

“Erik—”

He kissed you. Fast. Sharp. Like he’d needed to.

You melted like butter on a stove.

But footsteps echoed from the kitchen. He broke away just in time for Julia’s head to pop around the corner.

Her eyes narrowed. “What are you two doing?”

“Laundry,” Erik blurted. “Important. Urgent… laundry.”

“During dinner?”

You nodded, way too enthusiastically. “We’re out of… towels. Emergency towels. Can’t eat without towels.”

Julia looked like she was doing the math and not liking the result. “You’re both liars. But I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with this tonight.”

Gone.

Erik grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the laundry room.

The second the door clicked shut, it was over. He had you up on the dryer, legs around his waist, mouth on yours like it was the last goddamn oxygen source left on Earth.

His hoodie rode up your thighs. His hands found every patch of skin you forgot existed.

“Jesus,” he whispered, forehead pressed against yours. “Do you know what it’s like, sitting next to you at dinner, knowing what your lips taste like and not being able to touch you?”

You gasped against his neck. “Do you know what it’s like wearing your hoodie without a bra and surviving dinner while you keep licking your fork like it owes you money?”

He made a noise. An unholy one.

Clothes stayed mostly on. But the tension was so thick it could’ve been bottled and sold under the label: Forbidden. Flammable. Will emotionally destroy you.

And just when things got desperate—when you were about to sell your soul for one more inch of skin—

A crash.

Julia’s voice: “Bobby knocked over the salad again! And WHY is the laundry room door locked?!”

Erik whispered, “We’re gonna die.”

You whispered, “Worth it.”

The door didn’t rattle (thank god), but her footsteps retreated. You could hear her muttering about “feral men” and “laundry-related lies.”

You both let out the kind of breath that people usually reserve for post-near-death experiences or narrowly avoided pregnancy scares.

Then Erik looked at you.

Not just looked—he devoured.

You were melting.Your legs still wrapped around him, your chest rising and falling like a damn war drum.

The second you met his eyes, it snapped again.

His mouth was on yours before you could blink.

Not soft. Not careful.

This wasn’t a kiss—it was a claim.

He kissed like he was trying to rewrite time. To leave bruises that said mine in languages only the two of you understood.

His hands were gripping your thighs, your hips, like they were the only things tethering him to the earth. And yours? You were in his hair, on his shoulders, yanking at the hem of his shirt like it personally offended you by existing.

“Peach,” he breathed against your lips, voice wrecked, “you’re gonna ruin me.”

You tugged him even closer, so close there wasn’t a single atom of space between you.

“Already did,” you whispered. “Keep up.”

The dryer vibrated beneath you—hell of a mood-setting third party—and you swore your soul briefly left your body when he started kissing down your neck, slow, deliberate, leaving a trail of fire and broken sanity behind.

You gasped his name. He smirked against your skin like he’d just won something sacred.

His hands slipped beneath your hoodie.

Contact.

Skin on skin.

You bit back a moan that probably could’ve summoned spirits.

“Tell me to stop,” he said hoarsely, breath hitting your collarbone. “Tell me now.”

You cupped his jaw. His eyes were wild. Desperate. Beautiful.

“Don’t you dare,” you whispered. “If you stop, I will personally climb out this window and throw myself into the grill.”

He grinned, all teeth and sin. “Hot.”

His hands were roaming now—careful, reverent, like he was memorizing you by touch. And god, every brush of his fingers was a promise. I want you. I’ve always wanted you. I want every version of you.

You kissed like you were making history. Like you were writing scripture in heat and sweat and friction.

He pulled off his—no, your hoodie.

“Fuck, I’ve had way too many wet dreams about this,” he muttered, exhaling, his eyes locked on your chest like he’d been starved for it.

“Are they as good as you imagined?” you teased, voice dripping with mischief, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks.

He cupped one of your breasts in his hand like it belonged there. His mouth lowered, lips closing around your nipple—and the moan he pulled from you was embarrassingly sweet.

“Way better,” he groaned, pausing just to suck on your lower lip.

“Erik… I need you,” you huffed, his mouth now hovering over your neck, leaving bites and kisses like he was claiming you. “Please.”

“Please what, sweets?” he purred. That voice, that tone—it made your thighs instinctively clench.

“Please… fuck me,” you begged, the words falling from your lips like honey.

“With the whole Campbell clan in the living room?” he teased, grinning devilishly. “I’m gonna marry you one day, I swear to God.” He kissed you like it was a promise.

You yanked his shirt off with a kind of delicious desperation, etching every detail of his tattooed chest into your memory—his pierced nipples earning a low, hungry growl from you.

“God, I should’ve done edibles way sooner,” you exhaled, his ego visibly swelling.

“Come on, sweets—spread those legs for me.” He tugged your shorts off, positioning himself between your thighs, trying hard not to lose it just from the sight of you.

“Fucking perfect,” he whispered, sinking to his knees, mouth trailing kisses up your inner thigh—so close, but not close enough.

“Babe, please… stop teasing,” you whimpered, nerves coiled tight. You’d fantasized about this too many times to handle any more delay.

His tongue found your clit, and your head spun. Two fingers slipped in effortlessly, your hand flying up to stifle the moan threatening to expose you both to the entire house.

“So sweet… and all mine,” he murmured, pausing just to take in the view of you, trembling, breathless, on the edge.

He kept pushing you higher, and your legs were shaking beyond control.

“Erik… please… I’m gonna faint if you don’t stop. And—we need to hurry,” you gasped, drunk on pleasure. You could already picture Julia bursting through the door in righteous fury. Mental note: next time, your room.

“Come on, peach. You know I like to take my time,” he smirked, still torturing you—in the best way possible.

Then it hit. That orgasm tore through you, thighs tightening around his head as you bit down on your own hand to stay silent.

“I almost blacked out… fuck,” you whispered, dragging him up for a kiss that was deep, desperate.

“I could live between your thighs and never get tired,” he growled, as you started to unbuckle his jeans.

And there it was. His pierced cock, thick, hard, and dripping with precum. You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Your mouth watered.

Thank God for birth control, you thought, internally high-fiving yourself.

He slid in just the tip, and you gasped—the sensation of his piercing dragging against your inner walls was pure heaven.

“Erik… please fuck me,” you moaned into his ear, clinging to him like your life depended on it.

“Don’t have to ask me twice, baby.” He hovered over you, and started thrusting—faster, deeper. His mouth sealed yours, muffling the sounds you couldn’t control.

“Oh God—”

“No God here, peach. Just me,” he rasped, smug, and it did something to you.

That’s all you remembered before your second orgasm took over—buzzing, overwhelming, unstoppable.

He followed right after, groaning into the crook of your neck, breath hot against your skin.

You both lay there, panting, eyes locked, hearts racing.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” you asked, melting from the afterglow.

“Because we’re masochists, clearly,” he chuckled. “But hey—we can make up for it.”

“Fuck yeah.” You kissed him again, like sealing a secret pact with your lips.

You both started dressing, bracing yourselves to face the real world.

And then—

“WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?!”

The door swung open.

Julia stood in the doorway, frozen. Bobby behind her, holding what remained of a basil plant like a shield.

You and Erik?

Locked in a full-body tangle of hormonal disaster.

Erik’s hand was definitely not in a PG-13 location. Your legs were still around him. The dryer was still buzzing, because of course it was.

“…This isn’t what it looks like?” you tried, breathless and feral.

Julia blinked. Once. Twice.

“Bobby, go water literally anything in the backyard.”

Bobby: “I need therapy.”

Julia closed the door slowly.

Then opened it again.

“I’m giving you exactly four minutes before I come back and hose you both down with ice water.”

Door slammed.

You and Erik just stared at each other. Panting. Wide-eyed. Half-undressed.

Then—both of you burst out laughing.

“You’re gonna get me disowned,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re gonna get me canonized,” you whispered. “They’ll call me Saint Peach of the Sacred Laundry Room.”

He kissed you again. Slower this time. Sweeter.

And whispered against your lips:

“We’re not done.”

You grinned.

“God, I hope not.”

Later: On the Roof

You both snuck out after dinner like war criminals.

The summer air was cool. The sky was wide open. Stars spilled overhead like glittery secrets.

Erik sat beside you, silent for a long time. Just breathing.

Then:

“Do you remember when you first moved here?” he said, not looking at you.

You nodded.

“You were wearing a hoodie three sizes too big and you called me an ‘emo Etsy boy’ for playing AC DC out loud.”

You smiled. “You looked offended.”

“I was offended. You were right.”

Silence.

Then he looked at you. Really looked. And his voice broke a little.

“I was fine before you. I was numb, and moody, and floating through shit. And then you showed up—bright, loud, ridiculous. And I hated how much I needed that.”

You blinked.

“And now?” he whispered. “I can’t go back to not needing you. You’re my best friend. You’re my person. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

Your heart cracked open like a glowstick. Bright, messy, alive.

“Then don’t do anything,” you said softly. “Just stay here. With me."

He kissed you. Slow this time. Like a confession.

And then he whispered against your lips:

“Still not a dream."

You pulled him closer.

“Don’t care. I’m still licking your face later.”

He laughed. “You’re the worst.”

“Your worst.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Forever, if I get my way.”

[hangup119]

don't get the deal | h. taesan (TEASER)

being the shoulder to cry on is no easy task - especially not for han taesan, who has lived almost half of his life painfully smitten over someone he is confident would never, ever think of wanting him as more than just a friend. he wonders if he will ever get out of this so-called "friend zone," or maybe he just doesn't get the deal at all.

pairing. han taesan x fem. reader

genres + warnings. friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, one-sided pining, eventual happy ending, slight angst + profanity, taesan is bad at feelings, reader is even worse

playlist. don't get the deal by beabadoobee; but i like you by boy next door; somethin' stupid by frank sinatra; about a girl by nirvana; disasterology by pierce the veil; if i'm james dean, you're audrey hepburn by sleeping with sirens

expected word count. 7k-10k words | teaser word count. 1.3k words

author's note. hey goisss... ive had this in the drafts for so so long but for some reason i started working on it again and im nearing the end so hopefully this will be out very soon !!! dont quote me on that tho live laugh love user hangup119's work ethic <3 ALSO btw this teaser is like a flashback kinda thing but the real story actually takes place in their college days

@onedoornet | reblogs appreciated!

IT WAS HIGH SCHOOL WHEN YOU RUINED TAESAN'S LIFE FOREVER.

To be more specific, it was during your last year of high school when he realized that there was simply no way he was ever going to win you over. Not now, and certainly not ever.

Because here’s the thing: Taesan was not a bad-looking guy, he’s far from it, actually. In fact, he had enough business cards from agency recruiters that could fit a whole shoe box, so his looks clearly were never the problem here. Was it his personality, then? Probably not that, either. He was pretty chill most of the time, and he had never really acted up around anyone unless it truly called for it. He always made sure that he wasn’t making a fool out of himself around you, and there were never really incidents that could have painted him in a bad light in your eyes. He had decent grades, so he wasn’t stupid either, which was one of your major turn-offs. And he was sporty—he participated in the school’s soccer team, and he even had a bunch of fans giggling over him whenever he so much as passed them by while chasing after the ball, so his popularity was pretty decent too.

Was he simply not… your type? But that couldn’t be—you were always making heart eyes at Park Sunghoon who was two grades above, and he was told all the time that he was basically a lookalike of the guy! Not to mention you were always at Jung Sungchan’s games, cheering his name even when the guy was literally being benched. Taesan never got benched. He was the star player of his soccer team. You fawned over Park Wonbin when he performed at the school’s talent show, but Taesan could also sing and play the electric guitar just as well. You squealed over Lee Sohee because he was sooo cute! but Taesan knew how to get real fucking adorable, too! He practically had all of their qualities combined into one, and not once did you ever look back at him. 

And that’s when it hit him. 

It was prom that night, and he was off at the corner drinking from a cup of water instead of jumping along with the fray and bouncing up and down to some Drake song when his friend, Kim Leehan, approached him. 

“I’m not slow-dancing with you, Leehan,” he muttered, taking another sip of his bland water. “Piss off.”

Leehan raised his arms in response, smiling in a way that was just so Leehan-like of him. “Woah, woah, I get it. Someone pissed in your cup, or something? Literally and figuratively,” he laughed, leaning against the wall next to him. “Lighten up for once, ‘san. It’s your first and last prom, you know?” 

Taesan only grunted in return. 

“Look at you; so emo tonight,” Leehan said, defeated. He followed the other’s gaze towards the dance floor, where everyone is packed together like a can of sardines. “But you’re always so normal around Y/N.” 

Taesan paused.

Leehan laughed again. “Hm, maybe not?” 

Sometimes, it was both a blessing and a curse to be friends with someone like Kim Leehan. 

“Stop talking about things you already know,” Taesan murmured, chucking the water cup into the trash can a few meters away. He placed his hands inside his pockets, looking straight ahead amidst the dizzying lights and the dispersed crowd now that a slow song started playing.

“Why don’t you go ask her for a dance?” Leehan suggested, signaling towards the dance floor. 

“She’s literally holding hands with Yang Jungwon right now,” Taesan deadpanned. “Are you kidding me? How’d she get him of all people as her prom date?” 

Scoring the smartest and the most popular student in your school has got to be the biggest flex of your high school career. Taesan had almost no complaints except for the fact that Yang Jungwon was your date instead of—him! Any moment now and he’d be losing his mind. Actually, scratch that, he probably already was. 

Leehan hummed. 

“Do you think,” he began, slowly, darting his line of sight between you who’s giggling at something Yang Jungwon said, before turning back to Taesan, the angstiest kid he’s ever known. “That, maybe, if you had just asked her out to prom with you… then maybe she’d have said yes?” 

Finally, the gears inside Taesan’s head started to turn. Leehan smiled at the sight.

Taesan quickly scoffed. “No way,” he denied, crossing his arms. “Why would she go with me when she’s got Yang Jungwon as her date? It’d only happen in my dreams.” 

He figured it out anyway. It wasn’t because he wasn’t as handsome as Park Sunghoon, or as sporty as Jung Sungchan, or as musically talented as Park Wonbin (though he’d beg to differ), or as cute as Lee Sohee. Heck, it wasn’t even because he wasn’t as smart or as popular as Yang Jungwon. 

Maybe it was never because of those things that made you look at them instead of him. 

Maybe you were just never interested in him at all. 

And Taesan will have no other choice but to live with that fact forever. 

Leehan’s smile dropped, and he peeled himself away from the wall. Just as he was about to leave, he stopped for a second just to say: “You’re so—stubborn.” 

Taesan looked at him indignantly. “...What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Leehan shrugged, finally walking away. “You tell me, dude.” 

And then he was gone, rushing off to join the rest of their friends while Taesan stayed in the back, alone and miserable all because of his newfound epiphany. Though he supposed he was already miserable the moment you entered the venue with Yang Jungwon right beside you. 

It was a time of new beginnings for Taesan; a time to finally move on from you. 

Though, if only it was that easy.

Two weeks later, when you were working on a final project with him, you unexpectedly dropped the news that you and Jungwon have broken up. Because Jungwon was going to some Ivy League, and you were decidedly… not. You couldn’t handle the thought of being long-distance, so you decided to just cut things off with him since it can’t be helped, you know? And then you proceeded to laugh it off with that huge, idiotic smile of yours before continuing on with the project. Taesan didn’t know what was so funny.

Eventually, he had to share his water with you when you started sobbing hysterically inside of the library, hiccuping and all. 

He admittedly felt awful seeing you cry over Yang Jungwon, your high school boyfriend of probably only two months, but most importantly, he felt awful because of the relief that suddenly washed over him. 

…And what did that make Taesan?

So, really, maybe it was for the better that you would never look at Taesan the way he wished you would. That no matter how many times he has lent you an ear to talk to or a shoulder to cry on, you never bothered to stop for a moment and think that hey, maybe this guy likes me to some capacity, and maybe I should give him a chance. Because what kind of friend is he to feel relieved at the fact that you had gotten dumped by your boyfriend? That when your heart was broken, he could only rejoice at the fact that he now has a higher chance of getting with you once again even when it is so clear that he never once did? 

How could he sit next to you and think such thoughts? 

And yet, even when you keep jumping from one person to another, falling for someone, crying over another—Taesan will always be there for you when it all comes crashing down. A friend to cheer you on, to lift you up, to steady you—because that’s all he’ll ever be to you. 

Han Taesan was only seventeen years old when you ruined his life. 

And for what it is worth, he is still in love with you.

story by hangup119. do not steal.

[woniefication]

YOU'RE A TUMBLR GIRL...?

𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒂:𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘛𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨﹔𝘌𝘯𝘩𝘺𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘹𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ﹔Fluff,crack. 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 Relationship,Reblogs ﹠ FB appreciated requested @glittercrashhh 𓈒𓈒𓈒 𝐌asterlist.

𝑳𝒆𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒈 (이희승)

“Tumblr? Oh, cool. Like, for fanart and stuff?”But then… you go to the bathroom and leave your laptop open. He peeks. And sees a very detailed post titled ‘This man is ruining my life (affectionately)’ with a photo of him attached. Heeseung just blinks.

“Wait… is this supposed to be me?” Cue slow scroll. Moodboard reblogs. Aesthetic gifs. One too many reblogs of his hands.

Now he’s suspicious but lowkey flattered. He starts teasing you like,

“So when were you planning on telling me I’m your Tumblr crush?”He’ll act smug, but the second you reblog a comfort post and tag it #heeseungcore he just melts and rereads it 12 times. Probably starts sending you “post this one, it fits your theme” like a Tumblr boyfriend-in-training.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑱𝒂𝒚 (박종성) Immediately suspicious.

Jay finds out completely by accident. He asks what you’re laughing at one day and you say “a post on Tumblr.” He immediately stops mid-sip of his drink.

Wait. You have a Tumblr?” And suddenly he's like a detective, narrowing his eyes at you. “Do you write stuff? Like… about me?” When you say “maybe,” he gasps like you betrayed him.

But then? He starts snooping. Searches up phrases you’ve said, lines from your tags, stalks every mutual interaction like he’s solving a crime. Eventually, he walks into the room and drops:

“So… ‘Coach Dilf AU’ huh?” You panic. He looks smug. “You’re so lucky I’m hot.” Jay pretends to be scandalized, but the truth? He checks your blog every single even asking random things on anon. And when you tag something soft like ‘this made me think of him’, he goes quiet for the rest of the night. Then whispers, “You know I think of you all the time, right?”

𝑺𝒊𝒎 𝑱𝒂𝒌𝒆 (심재윤)

He thinks it’s the cutest thing ever.

“You have a Tumblr? What do you post?? Aesthetic pictures? Writing? Memes??” Jake is so supportive. He sits next to you on the couch and asks to scroll through it. He points at every cute post and goes, “That’s so you.” You’re waiting for the moment he finds the more… thirsty ones, but Jake? He just giggles. “So you think I’m ‘a walking sunshine Greek statue with puppy energy’? I love that.”

He starts sending you photos of himself like:

“This could be one of your vibe pics.” And if you reblog a quote post that says something like “I just want to be loved gently,” he’ll literally send you a message that says: “You deserve that. And I’ll give you all of it, okay?” Jake’s the Tumblr boyfriend who doesn’t even have Tumblr—but lives in your inbox like a tag.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒏 (박성훈)

Pretends to be above it. “Tumblr is like… for 2013 emos, right?” he quips in a half-joking manner, outwardly dismissive of the whole thing. But don’t be fooled.Sunghoon secretly maintains his own shadow profile, where he reblogs dark academia fits and moody sunset gifs on nights he can’t sleep-which is often. Whenever you post even a hint of thirst about him, his cool façade softens ever so slightly, and he smirks, teasing, “You spelled ‘hot’ wrong. Should’ve said ‘ethereal god.’” The layered vulnerability behind his cool jokes reveals that, despite his airs, he’s deeply invested in every soft, fleeting reference you make.

𝑲𝒊𝒎 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒐𝒐 (김선우)

“YOU HAVE A BLOG? What’s the username. I want the theme. Is it cute? Am I your header Image?!” He immediately pulls it up and starts judging…lovingly. “Okay wait… why is your header blurry? This gifset is so you. OH this post?? I reblogged that yesterday!” You two end up becoming mutuals on Tumblr and in real life. He tags you in “bf ang gf aesthetic” gifs and makes you matching layouts.

Then he sees your post that says, “I wish he knew how much I care.” He goes quiet for a second and just looks at you.

“I do. Know, I mean.” And when he sees you post something like “I love his smile more than anything”? He replies out loud like: “Yeah? I love yours too. Should I write that on my blog?”

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑔 𝐽𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑤𝑜𝑛 (양정원)

Judging you gently but with love. “You’re telling me you write entire essays about fictional people’s emotional trauma and call it slight angst?” he muses with a gentle smile, initially puzzled as he browses through your detailed posts. Jungwon’s reaction is equal parts mild judgment and soft fascination. At first, he can’t quite grasp the depth of your Tumblr musings, but before long, he’s three hours deep into your tagged “love tropes” posts, nodding along in quiet understanding. Finally, having soaked in every word and image, he leans in and sends you random quotes like, “This reminded me of you. Put it on your blog or whatever.” His quiet support speaks volumes;he respects your feelings and art, even if he pretends it’s all just a quirky hobby.

𝑵𝑖–𝑘𝑖 (니키)

Laughs his entire soul out. “Nahhh, you’re one of them,” he laughs with a mischievous glint in his eyes, immediately taking your Tumblr revelations as a delightful challenge.

Ni-ki finds your blog absolutely hilarious and irresistible—so much so that he dives headfirst into your archive, meticulously scrolling through and capturing screenshots of everything you posted back in 2019, teasing, “You posted THIS in 2019? Embarrassing and yet you dare to laugh at my old pictures.” underneath the playful ribbing.

he bookmarks all your posts tagged with his name along with cute symbols, keeping them close even if he’ll never openly admit how much they mean to him. His laughter echoes with a mix of teasing and a secret admiration that he’ll never fully confess.

♡)-- @orimuraa @douqhnxtss @chrrific @liwinly @fleuryns @leaderwon @pnghoon

[luvhiromi]

emo boy! | choso

synopsis: fucking at the back of hot topic. Choso works at hot topic and you and your friends were shopping at the mall. inspired by Ayesha Erotica’s “Emo Boy”. fyi this is not complete yet idk if people are gonna like it so tell me if u want a part 2.

c/w: suggestive content and words, choso calls you sweetheart/sweets, muscle kink if u squint.

pairing: emo!choso x bimbo!reader

You and your friends, Jessica and Sarah, are on a mission to find dresses for your upcoming graduation at the mall. After hours of searching, you’ve diverted your attention to spending all your money on unnecessary cute and pretty clothes, needs for graduation long forgotten. Bags hanging on your forearms, you walk around the mall, giggling and gossiping with your friends. As you head toward the next shop, you spot a cute top in Hot Topic.

“Girlies, do you mind stopping by Hot Topic?” you ask abruptly, eyeing a cute top that would be perfect for the jeans you just bought. “Isn’t that top just the perfect match for my jeans?” you ask, directing your gaze toward the item. Your friends, who were walking, come to a halt and look in the direction you’re staring at.

“Hmmm, that’ll suit you for sure, babe,” Jessica, one of your closest friends, says, agreeing with you and nodding toward the store. “Let’s go inside; Hot Topic does have cute tops.” You and Sarah nod in agreement with Jessica’s suggestion and walk toward Hot Topic.

You go straight for the top you've been eyeing, but can't find your size. Looking around for assistance, you spot a worker helping another customer and approached him. You wait for him to finish before asking him for help.

As you wait, you watch the worker, admiring his striking appearance and build, especially his captivating back muscles. His long black hair is tied in a messy half-up ponytail. He’s using a “My Chemical Romance” merch and black jeans. You catch your breath and instinctively gulp, unable to tear your eyes away from someone so breathtakingly attractive. Biting your lips, you take him in once more, but suddenly he turns his back to you.

“Hi, can I help you find something?” he asked with a small smile on his face. I quickly shift my focus from his build to his face, which has prominent eye bags that make him look quite tired. Despite this, I can't deny that he’s still attractive. If I said he wasn’t hot, than I’d be lying. He raises his eyebrows, looking at you with confusion as to why you’re just standing there without answering.

“Ma’am?” You flinched slightly at his words, finally snapping out of your trance. “Right! Uh, I just need help finding my size.” A light blush creeps onto your cheeks as you realize you’ve been ogling him the whole time. He chuckles lightly at your reaction. “Let me see what we have in the back; I’ll be back shortly, sweetheart.” Your blush deepens at the nickname, seeing your reaction he changed his mind. “How about you come with me so it’s faster, yeah?” he asks, nodding toward the back of the shop.

“Huh? Are you sure I’m allowed?” you ask, confused by his suggestion. “Of course, sweets. It’ll just be a sec,” he replies with a reassuring smile. You nod, and he guides you toward the back. As you look around trying to find your friends, you realize they’re nowhere to be seen. Not letting it bother you, you continue to follow him. He opens the door to the back and motions for you to come inside.

“Um, are you really sure I’m allowed in there?” you ask, still somewhat skeptical. “Oh, sweetheart, you really have no clue?” He chuckles at your reaction when you look at him, puzzled by his words. “I saw you ogling me, so I thought you understood what I meant. Let me rephrase it for you, sweets.”

He leans closer and whispers softly, sending shivers down your spine, “Wanna fuck at the back of Hot Topic?” Your breath catches, and you blush furiously at his words. “What?” you manage to ask. He gently grabs your wrist and guides you toward the storage room.

and… the rest is history :) pt 2? 

a/n: i got this idea yesterday and wrote it today. don't know if u guys like it or not. if someone have made this before lemme know so i can give credits. thank ya!

[revasserium]

death before decaf

opla!zoro; 10,414 words; coffee shop/college!au, vague enemies to lovers, fencer!zoro, sports medicine!major reader, slightly ooc zoro (he's a bit more talkative), fluff and flirting, bff!robin, zoro makes the first move, zoro calling reader "princess", mutual pining, both reader and zoro are dumbasses, making out in locker rooms

summary: sanji and nami bet on how long it'll take you and zoro to finally crack over your caffeine-related discourse; or -- that one coffee!shop zoro au that literally no one asked for.

a/n: i keep on saying "this is the longest fic i've written to date" but this really is the longest fic i've written to date. and no, this will not be the only time zoro calls reader "princess" in one of my fics. trust.

one.

“How long did you say?”

“Two weeks, max.”

“Nah… you think?”

“Probably closer to a week. Week and a half.”

Sanji stubs out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe before tossing the smoking nub into the bin, casting Nami a disbelieving look.

“They’ve been going on like this for like three months… and you think they’re gonna crack in the next week and a half? Nah, fam — I call bullshit.”

Nami shrugs, smirking, “Your funeral.”

Sanji scoffs as Nami pushes through the swinging double doors into the main body of the cafe, hitching a smile onto her face as she greets the customers already lined up in front of the counter.

“Yeah, whatever,” he mutters to himself, dusting his hands off on his apron before pushing in after her, putting on his best customer-service smile.

“Mornin’ folks! Welcome to the Straw Hats Cafe, where the coffee’s hot but the people are hotter — what can I get started for you, sweetheart?” he grins as he shoots you a wink and you flash him your best Colgate smile.

“Can I get a decaf latte with —”

“Oat milk, two pumps of caramel, and whipped cream on top? Oh — and a sprinkle of cinnamon cause you can’t have a fall latte without cinnamon, right?” Sanji finishes for you.

You nod, your cheeks flushed a bright, wind-kissed pink from the cold outside.

Behind you, a green-haired boy in a tight-fitting tee and no jacket scoffs under his breath, shaking his head.

“Yep! You know me so well,” you say, giggling and making a point to speak just a bit louder.

“Course I do, darlin’. It’s what I get paid for,” Sanji jots down your order and pushes it to the side where Nami’s already halfway done with making your drink.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite mosshead jock — lemme guess, double espresso, no sugar, no nothin’, right?” Sanji punches in the order just as Zoro makes his way up to the counter, his eyes narrowed.

“Yeah.”

Sanji grins, hiking an eyebrow, “Talkative as always, I see. Alright — that’d be —”

Zoro wordlessly slides a full punch card onto the counter and Sanji pauses.

“Ah — pardon me, I do believe that’s your free drink! You sure you wanna use it on an espresso? Maybe… you wanna try one of our seasonal specials? The maple spice latte’s one of our best —”

Zoro scoffs again, “I’m good. I like my coffee real, thanks.”

Down passed the pastries, you roll your eyes, making an exaggerated face as Nami hands you your drink with a grin.

“Y’know, if you guys just made out I feel like it would fix a lot of this unresolved tension,” she says, even as you nearly choke on your drink.

You’re still coughing when Zoro joins you by the finished drinks counter.

“I’d rather lose an eye than make out with someone who drinks decaf.”

Nami sighs, shooting you a meaningful look as she slides the double espresso toward Zoro.

You wipe your lips with a napkin before leveling him with a glare.

“Well I’d rather gouge my own eyes out than make out with someone who never grew out of his middle school emo-phase.”

“At least I don’t try to use sugar to fill the gaping hole in your life where a real personality should be.”

“At least I don’t make that gaping hole my entire personality.”

“Princess.”

“Edgelord.”

You turn resolutely away from Zoro and smile back at Nami and Sanji, both stealing glances at the pair of you even as they continue to handle the Monday morning rush.

“Thank you guys — I’m gonna be late for class.

Zoro tsks, taking a sip of his espresso.

“I’m gonna be late for practice.”

You huff, pivoting away from him towards the door, purposefully letting it swing shut behind you; Zoro swears as it almost makes him spill his coffee.

Back in the coffee shop, Sanji finishes another order just as Nami washes off her hands to take over at the cashier.

“One and a half weeks?” Sanji asks as he rolls up his sleeves and grabs a few metal cups for steamed milk.

“Yep,” Nami replies, shooting another look out the glass door where they can both still see your’s and Zoro’s silhouettes as you head towards the university campus, “Just about.”

“Alright then, you’re on.”

Nami’s smirk only grows, “Like I said — your funeral.”

two.

You’re fuming all the way to your first morning class — Bio-Organic Chemistry — that you don’t notice your friend Robin until she’s standing right next to you.

“Are you mad at your fencer-boy again?”

You roll your eyes, huffing out a breath, “He’s not my fencer-boy, and no. I’m not mad.”

Robin grins, “Your tone says different.”

You cast her a reproachful look, “I just… bumped into him at the coffee shop again.”

“Ah,” Robin says, her voice saturated with understanding.

You groan, “He just… pisses me off so much! Like, why’s he care how much sugar I put in my drinks or if I drink decaf? He’s just a muscle-head loser who thinks drinking espresso shots makes him somehow more manly or something. Ugh.”

Robin’s grin is amused when you turn to chance her a glance.

“Then… why do you care how he takes his coffee?” Her question is light, but you’ve known her for long enough to know when she’s teasing.

“I didn’t! At least… not until he made fun of my drink first. I mean, who does that anymore? We’re in college! Like, grow up!”

“Mm,” Robin hums, schooling her expression into one of careful consideration and marked compassion, “and of course, you’re just engaging in his… childish antics because he started it first, right?”

You sigh, cupping your very sugary latte between your palms as you both duck into the main lecture building, teaming with students shedding scarves and jackets, shaking off the late autumn chill.

“I know, I know it’s stupid but… he just… pisses me off so much!”

Robin chuckles, her smile distinctly sphinx-like as you press your lips into a pout.

“Well, we can talk about it after morning lecture, hm?”

You sigh and nod, waving her off as she heads down the hallway towards her Ancient Worlds class and you head upstairs for the sciences.

You spend the whole lecture in a mood and by the time you’re excused, your temples have started to throb.

But true to her word, you find Robin waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, a thick leather-bound book clutched to her chest. You give her a questioning look.

“Just some light reading,” she says. You roll your eyes.

“Just say you’re a gigantic nerd and go.”

At this Robin laughs, falling into step next to you as you both start to make your way towards the dining commons.

“Have I ever denied that I was?”

You let out a noncommittal grunt.

Luckily, the commons isn‘t as crowded as it usually is and you both quickly find a seat.

“So,” Robin says as she slides into the seat next to you, propping up her chin on the heel of her hand. There’s a low, lilting tone to her voice that tells you there’s no getting out of it this time.

You sigh again, pursing your lips, staring down at your açaí bowl.

“So what?”

“Tell me about him.”

You scoff, “Not really much to tell — he’s… one of the fencers on the national team. So obviously, he’s got his own head shoved so far up his ass he can probably watch his own lunch dige—“

“So he’s quite good at fencing then.” Robin keeps her voice neutral, taking a contemplative bite of a banana.

“I guess — I mean we’re the top feeder school for the Olympic team, aren’t we?” You jab your spoon into the yogurt, nearly splattering Robin’s new book. She gently tucks it into her bag and motions for you to continue.

“I dunno, there’s not much to tell after that… he’s an arrogant jock who judges people by how they take their coffee,” and at this, you shove a large spoonful of yogurt and açaí into your mouth, glaring at nothing in particular.

“Doesn’t your practical applications class look after the fencing team?”

Again, you grunt, sinking a bit further into your seat at the thought.

“Yeah, I’ve been dreading that all morning, and the class isn’t till Wednesday.”

Robin’s smile is almost too academic as she carefully finishes her banana and gets started on an egg salad sandwich.

“It can’t be that bad, can it?”

You sniff, swallowing another huge mouthful of yogurt.

“It can,” you say, grimacing, “You should see the number of times I’ve had to hold back from dislocating his shoulder on purpose.”

Robin laughs her tinkling, all-knowing laugh, “Every day, I wake up glad to be on your whitelist.”

Your lips twitch into a reluctant grin.

“I’d be nicer too if I were as tall and pretty as you are. But since I’m not one of god’s strongest soldiers, I’ve gotta find other ways of defending myself, y’know?”

“I’m not sure what you do can be called ‘self-defense’ in a court of law but…” she smiles, “You shouldn’t sell yourself short either.”

You cast her a deadpan look, “But I am short. It’s like where 90% of my rage and spite come from.”

Robin grins, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

You make a rather childish face, but a comfortable warmth spreads from the center of your chest out towards all your extremities at Robin’s words. She cocks her head and continues.

“Plus… I’ve a creeping suspicion that your fencer-boy would agree that you’re prettier than you think.”

You freeze mid-swallow on your last spoonful of yogurt, eyes wide.

“Wait — what?”

Robin sighs, looking at you as if studying a particularly interesting monolith carved with all her favorite dead languages. You sit back, crossing your arms, feeling raw beneath her inquisitive gaze.

“You can’t still think that this little… feud you two have is purely based on a difference in coffee preference, can you?”

You realize you’re chewing on your bottom lip and force yourself to stop.

“I — I don’t know how it can be anything else though…” but even to your own ears, you sound distinctly unconvinced. Robin cocks her head.

“Think about it — when we were all little kids and running around on playground, which girls would get their pigtails pulled the most?”

Your frown deepens, “But we’re not kids anymore and this isn’t a play —“

“Yes, I know. Just humor me for a moment.”

You squirm in your seat, your heart thudding erratically in your rib cage, making you feel strangely breathless.

“It was… always the girls that the boys had a crush on,” you answer, your voice growing smaller with each word as the realization seeps into your skin like sunlight. And suddenly, it's too hot. The thought that Zoro might be doing this because he likes you isn’t something that’s crossed your mind. Or rather, it isn’t a thought you’d allowed to cross your mind.

“You know, boys aren’t technically considered ‘men’ until they’re in their mid-thirties,” Robin says, conversational and satisfied to have driven the point home to you. She leans back even as you reach up to press your face into the palms of your hands.

“But…” you try to grasp for some thread of logic that might be able to refute Robin’s claim but come up empty. She’s always been too smart for her own good. And yours.

When you finally lift your head again, it’s to find Robin still watching you, an oddly indulgent smile on her lips.

“C’mon,” she says, gathering her things, “don’t want you to be late for your next lecture.”

She has the audacity to wink as you hurriedly grab your stuff as well.

“Shut up,” you say, bumping her lightly with your elbow as you walk passed her, cheeks darkening with every step. Your next lecture, you both know, is the Nutrition of Sports — which is one of the few actual classes that you and Zoro actually share.

“Have fun in class!” Robin calls as you split ways outside the dining commons. You consider flipping her off but decide against it and opt to stick out your tongue at her instead.

Robin shakes her head, laughing quietly to herself. Really, she thinks, this is just starting to get interesting.

three.

You walk into Nutrition of Sports fully prepared to see Zoro slouched in his usual seat at the back of the class — except, he’s not there. You blink; he’s always been there, always early despite what others might assume of his punctuality. And yet.

“Lookin’ for me, Princess?”

You jump as you hear Zoro’s voice behind you, dangerously close to your ear. Jerking around, you find him smirking, arms crossed as he stares at you.

“N-no.”

“Tch.” He saunters into the room, his arm barely grazing yours as he drops into his seat, leaning back with a sort of damnable, feline grace, doing nothing to hide a huge, lethargic yawn. When he makes a show of stretching his arms over his head, you pause as you notice the way he winces, favoring his left side over his right.

You narrow your eyes.

“You’d be a shit poker player,” he says, grinning as he turns his eyes back towards you, catching you staring before you flush a deep purple and stomp towards your own seat, just one row ahead of him.

You noisily start setting up your supplies — an endless parade of jelly pens and perfectly coordinated sticky notes in aesthetically pleasing colors — pretending like you hadn’t heard him.

Thankfully, the professor hurries in soon after as the rest of the students file in.

Halfway through the lecture, you’re stifling the third yawn of the hour as you feel a small, crumpled something hit the back of your neck. You jerk around to find Zoro ducking behind his arms even as you spot the small wad of paper that he’d obviously just tossed at you.

You bend down to pick it up, only to find a note scribbled in slanted, uneven handwriting —

Sugar crash? Ha. Serves you right.

You nearly whip around but the professor clicks another slide and drones on. You huff, flipping the paper over to scribble on the back —

What happened to your arm?

You surreptitiously toss the note back to him and grin to yourself as you hear him sputtering behind you. The professor glances towards you. You flash him a winning smile as you continue to jot down notes; behind you, you hear the distinct sounds of Zoro scrambling to appear as if he’s paying attention.

The rest of the lecture goes by uninterrupted, though by the end, you swear that your hackles are raised from the way Zoro’s been staring at the back of your neck the entire time.

“What?” you ask, whipping around to face him.

Zoro, for his part, has the decency to look sheepish as he clears his throat and sighs, leaning back.

“There’s nothing wrong with my arm,” he says as he looks away, a slight darkness dusting the high of his cheeks. It’s not the first time you notice the bone-chiseled features of his face — like some gorgeous, careless god, rendered by the loving hands of a besotted Renaissance artist and preserved for the world to see — the way a constellation of freckles scatter across the bridge of his nose, the way his jaw is sharp enough to sting the imagination.

“Right. Fine. Sorry I asked.” You shove your notes and pens back into your bag, rolling your eyes as you shoulder your tote, “And… you’d be a shit poker player too.”

And with that, you turn and leave the room without a single backward glance.

You’re gone so quick that you don’t see the way Zoro stares after you, his own eyes narrowed into slits. You don’t see the way he frowns as one of his teammates nudges him with an elbow, reminding him that afternoon practice starts in 15 minutes.

four.

Tuesday night finds you slumped over a stack of books on the 3rd floor of the library, your entire body feeling odd and boneless. Hundreds of tiny flashcards are scattered across the top of the desk, each filled with a system you have to memorize before your test on Friday for your O-Chem course, when suddenly, a white paper cup appears in your field of vision, plopping onto the tiny slip of table still available between all your study materials.

“Hm?” you jerk up, blinking blearily up at a vaguely familiar green-haired figure even as he crosses his arms and sighs.

“There. Some real coffee. Looked like you need it,” Zoro says, glancing away the moment your eyes come into focus.

You stare at him for a solid ten seconds before looking back down at the cheap, watered-down cup of unsweetened coffee on the table before you.

Ew, you want to say, but somehow, “Thanks,” is what comes out of your mouth.

You reach for the cup, wincing slightly as you jerk your fingers back from the scalding exterior of the thin paper cup.

Zoro immediately leans down, snatching the cup from the table to blow on the surface. You watch him with wide, wondering eyes. It takes him a second to catch himself before he blushes a deep shade of maroon and clears his throat, quickly setting the cup back down on your desk, tucking both his hands into his pockets, looking anywhere but directly at you.

“It’s — careful — I mean — it’s from the vending machine downstairs so it’s not as fancy as the stuff we get from the coffee shop —”

Maybe it’s because you’re truly too tired, or maybe because Robin’s been right since day one but — you reach for the cup, carefully cradling it between your palms as you take a tentative sip and grimace at the watery, bitter aftertaste.

“Gross,” you say, though without any malice, glancing up at him. Zoro scoffs, dragging out an empty seat across from you, turning it around to straddle the chair, propping both his arms on the back as he looks at you. Your eyes once more catch on the way he’s gentler with his right side.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” you ask again, taking another tentative sip of the truly awful coffee.

Zoro grimaces, “None of your business.”

You sigh, the will to snark back rather feeble as you consider the mountain of vocab you have to memorize before your Friday test.

“Right, sure — keep your secrets,” you drone as you set the paper cup down and nudge it further away from you, “be mysterious for the next —” you check your watch, “eighteen hours before Practical Applications when you’ll have to explain to Coach Mihawk why you've been lying about an obvious injury three weeks before your next —”

“Fuck — okay.”

You pause, looking up from collecting your flash cards.

Zoro digs his fingers into his right shoulder.

“I — I think I pulled it at the tournament last week.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “Your tournament was on Thursday.”

Zoro shifts uncomfortably, “And?”

“And it’s now Tuesday.”

Zoro doesn’t answer this time, but you have to actively fight down the urge to throw the no-longer-scalding-but-still-very-hot-coffee at his face. You tell yourself that the only thing stopping you is professionalism and sportsmanship instead of an unwillingness to damage his Michaelangelo-sculpted features.

“It’s been five days!”

Zoro’s expression flatlines, “Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to count.”

You bite back a frustrated scream as you push away from your chair and round the table to stand behind him, not giving him enough time to be bewildered before you press a palm to his right shoulder, already focused on finding the tender spots.

“Tell me where it hurts.”

You run an expert palm over the width of his shoulders, focusing on his right, fingers digging into various muscle groups until he winces.

“Ow.”

You grin as you find a tender patch to the right of his spine, almost beneath his shoulder blade.

“You strained your Rhomboid.”

“Gesundheit.”

You roll your eyes and reach over his back for the cup of coffee. You feel his breath hitch as your front presses full against his back.

“Hold still,” you say, pressing the side of the warm cup to the sore muscle.

Zoro makes a choked moaning noise that he tries to bite off, but not soon enough. It sizzles down your spine to curl at the base of your belly, spreading heat through your body in a way you have no urge to examine at this current point in time.

You hold it there for a minute, and then two, till the coffee’s gone lukewarm.

“Here,” you say, tugging the cup away to offer it to him.

He stares at the cup before glancing up at you.

“Caffeine helps with muscle soreness and pain — it’s probably why you’re so addicted to espresso all the time,” you offer by way of an explanation, even as he opens his mouth to ask. He closes his mouth and takes the coffee, downing half of it in a single gulp.

Then, he sets it down on the table before digging a crumpled packet of sugar out of his pants pocket.

“It’s… probably not as sweet as you usually like it but…” he presses it into the palm of your hand, looking anywhere but at your face, “should help the bitterness.”

And then he’s gone, slouching off towards the elevator bank, leaving you gaping after him with the packet of sugar in your hand, your rapidly cooling coffee, and a mountain of revisions you’ve got no hope of finishing tonight.

five.

Wednesday finds you practically sprinting as you reach your Practical Applications course, clutching at your chest as you burst through the gym doors, gasping for breath. Professor Kureha quirks an inquiring eyebrow at you while Mihawk, the fencing instructor, slates you a sharp, rueful glare.

“— as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” his bright hawk-yellow eyes flash back over the fencing team, “regionals are quickly approaching and we need you in top form. So — warm-ups stretches, everyone. Pair up and get to it. Zoro, up here with me.”

You duck your head and hurry towards your normal spot along the bleachers, slowing as you notice what looks like a cup of coffee from the Straw Hats Cafe occupying the place where you normally sit. You pick up the cup — it’s still hot to the touch.

On the coffee slip is a single word — Princess.

And though it’s in Sanji’s familiar coffee shop scrawl, only one person has ever called you that.

Heat crests up your chest, prickling at your cheeks. You don’t have to taste it to know that it’s your order — your favorite order. Briefly, you wonder if Sanji made Zoro recite the entire thing before agreeing to put it down, or if he’d spared Zoro the pain of having to say the word ‘decaf’ unironically.

And then you wonder if Nami teased him at all, waiting for his own drink on top of yours.

“Chop chop,” Professor Kureha says, grinning too wide as she wanders over, peering at you over her John Lennon shades, “you heard old Hawk-eyes — time to pair up.”

You hurriedly drop your bag and take a quick sip of our drink, letting out a soft groan of appreciation as the caramel-cinnamon goodness seeps into your blood vessels. Some nameless freshman hopeful from the fencing team is your partner for stretches and you patiently walk him through all the major motions, pushing on his back and laughing kindly when he can’t quite reach his toes.

You feel the faint tingle on the back of your neck that tells you someone’s staring, and you privately think that you don’t need three guesses to figure out who it is. But you don’t give Zoro the satisfaction of looking over till you help the blushing freshman finish all his stretches, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, reaching up on tip-toe to ruffle his hair even though he’s got a solid four inches over you.

When finally, you glance over towards where Mihawk is putting Zoro through his paces, it’s to find him flickering through the motions — flashes of silver, lithe, fluid — and you find your breath held captive in your chest by the sight.

You’ve always known Zoro to be a graceful fencer, but grace has nothing on the way he flows from one move to the next, each muscle drawn like a bow-string, each intake of breath timed and perfect. His arms and legs move in tandem and there’s a bewitching rhythm to the way his body breaks and bends. It is beauty and strength, dance and magic — power and promise and the sword-tip’s whish of premonition.

When he finishes, you suck in a breath you hadn’t been aware you were holding.

You watch as Mihawk murmurs something to Zoro, who winces, looking chastened before Mihawk waves him away and Zoro sets down his epee, making his way over to you.

You open your mouth, about to make some snarky remark but Zoro reaches over his back with one hand and tugs his shirt off in a single, unbroken motion. You gulp, your voice failing you as your eyes settle on the strong ripple of his muscles as he tosses his shirt aside.

Zoro smirks, “Keep starin’ and I’m gonna have to start charging.”

You rip your eyes away, fire licking up the length of your torso as you reach into your bag for a roll of sports tape.

Zoro slumps down in the seat in front of you as you take stock of his sweat-slicked torso, your eyes still catching on the patch of swollen muscle beneath his shoulder blade. You reach forward and run a thumb along it, careful of the way he hisses.

“A hot-patch is only going to do so much,” you say, frowning as you drop the sports tape to focus on massaging the tender bit of skin.

Zoro groans, his eyes falling half shut as you slowly work at the various knots in his shoulders. Your fingers are slow and deliberate, applying just the right amount of pressure. And more than once, Zoro has to bite back what he’s sure would’ve been an indecent moan before it rolls out of his mouth at the way your soft palms press into the planes of his back, the tenseness of his shoulders.

“Keep moaning like that, I’m gonna have to start charging,” you say, much too close to his ear.

Zoro jerks, even as you pull back, laughing. The sound makes his skin prickle up with goosebumps and he doesn’t want to think about the myriad reasons why.

“I bought you coffee, twice,” he grumbles, cheeks pink, his mind still buzzing from the warmth of your palms.

You hum, your fingers flickering over his skin, pulling away for a second before he feels something wonderful and cool pressing against his sore, aching muscles.

“You’re right… you did buy me coffee twice. Even though the first time was horrible vending machine coffee and I used most of it as a heating pad for your injury.”

Zoro grunts, letting you manhandle him as you gently twist his right arm into an array of different stretches to test his range of mobility.

“Still counts.”

You put down his right arm to test his left. Zoro chooses not to think about the way his body tingles where your hands touch him, and especially not where you’re standing too close, your chest occasionally brushing against his shoulder. He chooses actively not to think about the way he can smell the soft, coconut milk fragrance of your lotion as you lean over him, rambling about doing the proper warm-up and cool-down exercises.

He grins as you reach over mid-sentence to finish your drink and you pause, watching him with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

He shrugs, “Nothin’… just that… seems like you liked your drink.”

Your eyes slingshot from his face to the nearly empty cup in your hands.

“I always like my —”

They widen when you realize that Zoro had in fact ordered a double shot of espresso in your usual drink instead of your normal decaf. And, that you’d been too distracted by him to notice.

“I — it — wh —”

Zoro languidly rises from his seat, grinning, “Thanks for the treatment, Princess. I owe you one — lemme buy you a coffee sometime, yeah?”

You stare after him as he makes his way across the room, back to the rest of the team for proper bouts. You force down another blush as you shove the now-empty coffee cup into the nearest trash can, your heart skidding to the rhythmic squeak of feet shuffling against the floors, the bell-like ting of epee blades, the murmur of the watching crowd.

six.

Thursday morning finds you ill-rested and grumpy as you join Robin in the quad, heading for the Straw Hats Cafe during free period.

“Trouble sleeping?” Robin asks, looking you over with mild concern.

You grunt, adjusting your bag, “Had coffee too late in the day.”

At this, Robin frowns, “But you only drink decaf.”

You grunt again, not looking at her, “Yeah, well.”

Robin blinks for a second before a knowing smile splits her lips, “Ah… so. Fencer-boy’s made his move.”

You round on her, fists clenched, “He has not! He just — he just bought me coffee!”

Robin remains infuriatingly unfazed as she stares at you, “Yes. And to most, that would constitute as ‘making a move’. And here I thought you were a fan of romance novels.”

You turn away from her, huffing even as your cheeks fill with color, “I — I am.”

“So?” she asks.

“So?” you echo, cursing yourself for sounding like a petulant child.

“So…” she continues, patient as always, “he bought you coffee.”

You crinkle your nose, your stomach a roiling mess as the pair of you make your way across the quad and duck into the cafe to Sanji’s bright, welcoming voice, your eyes scanning the queue even though you know that Zoro’s got morning practice. This does not go unnoticed by Robin, though she mercifully elects to not question you about it.

“Yes, he bought me coffee. But instead of decaf, he made it a double-shot.” You try very hard to make this sound like a personal affront, but Robin only dips her head.

“Ah,” she says again, and you feel the urge to run out of the building even as the pair of you shuffle towards the front of the line.

“Hi there, oh! I’ve got a special message for you,” Nami says as you get to the registers, her voice silken with glee as she reaches behind the counter to tug out what looks like a receipt. You glance down at the paper, confused, but she only winks as she moves to ask what Robin would like.

You inch to the side, distracted by this strange turn, your eyes dropping to the slip of paper, upon which is scribbled — Good luck on test tomorrow. Evening bout. Gym.

You stare at the cryptic message for a full minute before Robin ushers you toward the counter where Sanji is pumping out drinks, making girls blush as he winks at them each in turn.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite Decaf Princess — though… seems like your tastes are a-changin’ these days,” Sanji says, grinning wide as you get to the counter, pushing a steaming cup towards you. You frown at the drink — cinnamon sprinkled atop a perfectly placed dollop of whipped cream, underneath which you’re sure is your favorite drink order. You look back up at Sanji.

“A certain mosshead jock put in an advanced order for you — said to give you an extra shot of espresso for the test you’ve got tomorrow.”

You sputter as Robin laughs beside you, thanking Sanji for her own Long Black.

“You know, you could just be normal and call it an Americano,” you say as the pair of you make your way out of the cafe. Robin grins, sipping at her drink.

“I could… but where’s the fun in that?” she slates you a glance, “More importantly, are you going?”

“To what?” you ask, not meaning to sound so defensive, but you can’t help it, and even as Robin sighs, you know that it’s useless.

“To the bout,” she says, unruffled.

You hunch into your upturned collar and your thick, layered scarf, cradling your drink, the sweet scent of syrup and cinnamon wafting up to tickle your nose. You blush at the thought of Zoro’s voice, full of morning gravel, shy as he lists out all the extremities you like in your coffee order.

“Maybe. I mean… why not, right?”

Robin nods, humming as she takes another long drink, “Mhm — why not indeed.”

You nudge her; she nudges you back. You both laugh as a church bell rings out from across the quad, sending a flock of birds scattering through the misty, morning air.

seven.

Friday evening finds you pushing through the wide gym doors, pressing your hands over the skirt you’d painstakingly picked out, chewing on your bottom lip.

You silently curse at Robin for pulling out last minute, begging off to some Ancient Languages focus group.

“I bet it’s not even real…” you mutter to yourself as you slip into the front row of the bleachers, looking for an empty seat. You somehow manage to look up just as Zoro is about to go on, his mask under one arm, his blade in the other.

You raise your hand in a half wave before catching yourself and shoving it back down, scowling as Zoro’s lips pull into a lopsided grin. You drop into a seat just as Zoro tugs his helmet on and stretches his arms. You tense as you see the slight wince he twitches away as he tests the weight of his blade.

But you needn’t have worried — the bout is quick and decisive, Zoro scoring one point after another, his blade flashing through the air, bright as fish scales. And before you know it, the buzzer sounds, marking his victory. You leap to your feet, cheering with the rest of the crowd as Zoro tugs off his mask and pumps his fists.

You catch his eye and for a moment, the wild rumble of the screaming crowd fades to a dull, thumping baseline. He jerks his head towards the lockers and you nod, swallowing hard as you duck through the still-cheering crowd towards the back of the gym.

When you get there, it’s to find him methodically polishing his blade, his mask set to the side, his thick jacket pulled down to pool around his waist, the rest of his protective wear scattered in heaps on the ground around him. You have half a mind to scold him for being so careless with what you know is expensive gear but you can’t keep yourself from staring at the wide planes of back, curving up to his shoulders, the thick cords of muscle that flex up either side of his neck.

He looks up as you shuffle in, your skirt suddenly feeling a bit too short, too risque for the near-winter weather outside.

You clear your throat and cast your eyes about the empty lockers. You don’t miss the way his gaze skates up your bare legs, pausing at the place where your skirt brushes the top of your thighs.

“Uhm — how’s your shoulder?” your voice sounds too high, echoing strangely along the white-tiled walls.

Zoro licks his lips and puts down his blade, rolling his right shoulder.

“Better but… still not great. Mihawk’s making me to do PT.”

You nod, letting out a soft laugh, “I’m glad. You’d never do it otherwise.”

He scoffs, “You know what that means though, right?” There’s a raw, rolling tension beneath his words, a sort of thickened expectation as he stares at you with dark, meaningful eyes.

You purse your lips, your stomach tightening.

“I —”

Zoro gets to his feet, and you barely register the soft clatter of his blade as it rolls to the side on the bench. He closes the space between you in three quick steps and you find yourself marveling at his speed — wondering vaguely if this is how all his opponents feel when he slips forward, the tip of his blade digging into their shoulder or stomach or the bend of their hip.

“Means we’re stuck with each other. At least till you fix me for regionals in two weeks.”

Your back meets the icy chill of the locker doors and the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them —

“Bold of you to assume that you’re fixable in two weeks.”

Zoro quirks an eyebrow, even as you resist the urge to clap your hands to your mouth, cursing inwardly at whatever the hell made you say that out loud. Your heart thuds an insistent drumbeat inside your chest as Zoro leans casually against the lockers next to you. Like this, you can feel the heat of his skin, the rhythm of his long breaths as he looks you over with sharp, curious eyes.

You think you can taste the sweet, tepid weight of his breath. It smells faintly of coffee and mint and synthetically flavored protein bars.

“Then…” he drawls, propping an arm against the locker door right next to your face, his eyes flickering from your lips up to your eyes and back down again. Your gaze is unabashedly caught on the shape of his mouth, but when you finally force yourself to look up at his eyes, it’s to find them warm and amused.

“How long do you think it’ll take?”

You gulp, “To fix your shoulder?”

Zoro shrugs, “That and… whatever else you think needs to be fixed.”

You purse your lips, an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies erupting in your stomach at his words.

“Who knows? Might take three weeks… might take — forever —” your words cut off as he leans in to graze his lips against yours. And you’re momentarily caught between delight and bewilderment that you’re right — they do taste of coffee and mint and salt — but that they also taste of a dull, throbbing hunger as he leans in to kiss you proper. And then, the blooming realization that you’re just as desperate as he is, pushing in, fingers scrabbling against the skin of his chest as his skim along the sides of your ribs, the dip of your waist.

He kisses you so deep and so long that you’re actually gasping when he finally pulls away to suck a stinging hickey into the smooth of your collarbone, his fingers digging grooves into your thighs as he hoists you up to press you against the cold, hard metal of the lockers.

You let out a clipped moan at the same time he does, and his right arm twitches, though he makes no move to let you go.

Distantly, your mind registers the fact that he’s still technically injured, but the part of you that’s hungry and clawing at the base of your stomach with a fierce, immutable need refuses to listen to reason. It takes more effort than it logically should’ve done to extricate yourself from his grasp, to push him away despite his disgruntled sigh as he stumbles back and stares at you with dark, dangerous eyes.

“What —”

“Fuck —” you hiss, even as you let your head fall back against the lockers, the dull thunk pulling a wolfish grin to his lips.

“Yeah, well —”

“Wait — no —”

Zoro cocks his head, “No?”

You reach forward to tug him back, to kiss him as deeply and desperately as you dare, but you pull away before he can properly sink into the kiss and you pin him with a look.

“We — your shoulder —”

“Fuck my shoulder —”

You shake your head, almost delusional with the heat and want and the insanity of it all, “No! We can’t! We — we’ve gotta take care of it first!”

Zoro rolls his eyes, “It’ll get better if we just leave it alone —”

You shake your head again, laughing as he presses back in, slower this time, grazing his knuckles along the skin of your jaw, tilting you back towards him.

“It won’t,” you say, softly, letting him run a thumb along your lips, “but… if you let me take care of it. It will heal faster…” you trail off, letting the implications simmer beneath the surface of all your unsaid words, and it only takes a second for Zoro to consider before he lowers you to the floor and starts haphazardly gathering up his things.

You drag a hand across your lips, watching him.

“So…” you feel yourself blush as you muster up the words but Zoro scoffs, already impatient as he shoves his stuff into one of the larger lockers and slams the door.

“Mine. It’s closer.”

eight.

His, is — in fact — much closer than you’d thought. Only two blocks from the campus, and in one of the most expensive dorm buildings. You wonder how much he must be paying for it before you realize that he's on a sports scholarship, but you can’t even bring yourself to be bitter as he lets you into his spacious dorm, the giant living room scattered with game consoles and opened cereal boxes, leading to a short hallway that opens into his bedroom.

It’s cleaner than you’d imagined, with a set of light green linens drawn neatly over a full-sized bed, and two sets of pillows.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says, sweeping some energy bar wrappers into the trash from his desk as he tosses down his duffle bag.

You shake your head, looking around, your eyes catching on the thick volumes of fencing books, the endless stacks of sports magazines, the huge set of free weights on a rack in the corner by the closet.

“Uh… do you want a drink?” he asks, suddenly awkward as he scratches at the back of his head.

You turn towards him with a grin, “No. But I do want you to take off your shirt.”

Zoro blinks before he smiles and moves towards the bed, tugging off his shirt and tossing it to the side. You fight the urge to roll your eyes as he leans back on the bed, his perfectly tanned stomach flexing beneath the slanted desk-light as he watches you through lazily hooded eyes.

“On your stomach,” you say, your voice light and surgical as you open your own bag and tug out a tub of medicated massage cream.

Zoro stares for a second before the smile slips off his face to be replaced by a dull, knowing scowl. Still, he doesn’t argue as he flips onto his stomach and sighs, pillowing his cheek on his arms as he pouts at the wall.

“Like I told you — we need to take care of your shoulder first. Regionals are in two weeks. We can’t have you performing like you did tonight.”

Zoro attempts a glare over his shoulder as you carefully maneuver over his back and straddle his hips, warming your palms with the massage cream before setting to work.

“I still won.”

His voice is tight and petulant. You nod, sighing as you work your thumbs into the dip beneath his shoulder blade where you know he’s still sore. He hisses, jerking away from you. You pin him in place with your free arm and continue to roll your thumb across the bundle of muscle.

Two minutes in, you press a bit harder and he lets out a pitched whine that makes you pause in your ministrations.

“F-fuck —” he buries his face in his pillow, thumping a fist against his bed as you laugh and continue the massage, though taking care to be a bit more careful around his injury.

Nearly twenty minutes later, you climb off the bed and wipe your hands. Zoro groans, shifting to watch you with half-lidded eyes and color-stained cheeks.

“I know,” you say, holding up your hands, “that really hurt but you feel much better now, right?”

Zoro grins, sleepy as he blinks slowly up at you, “Yeah. Whatever.”

And then, a long moment later —

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft, flipping onto his side and shifting on the bed as if to make room for you, “stay.”

You freeze, almost unwilling to believe your own ears as you finish putting away your supplies. You glance at him with tight lips and hopeful eyes.

There’s a tiny grin threatening the corners of his lips as he sighs, making a show of yawning and stretching.

“It’s late… and I don’t really feel like walking you back.”

You fold your arms, “I could just call campus security to escort me.”

Zoro stills for a second but a moment later, he casts his eyes up at the ceiling, “Yeah… you could…”

You make no move to leave.

“But you still owe me coffee in the morning,” he says.

You frown, “Wait, what? How’s that?”

He glances at you, “I’ve bought you coffee twice.”

“Yeah, but I just gave you a free 30-minute medical massage treatment for your shoulder.”

“You would’ve had to do it anyway on Wednesday in Practical Applications.”

You narrow your eyes, “Professor Kureha might not have assigned me to you.”

At this, Zoro scoffs, “Yeah right. You’re the best, and so am I.”

“S-she might not have!” you say, though there’s no real conviction in your voice. You both know that he’s right.

“Yeah. Whatever.” He turns away from you, making as if to go to sleep.

You glare at his back, dropping your bag with a loud thump.

“If anything, you owe me coffee now. That massage was worth at least two coffees, if not more.” You plop down on the edge of his bed, scowling at the opposite wall.

Zoro is quiet for a beat too long and you chance a glance at him, only to find him peering you with a strangely indulgent look in his eyes. You blush, tearing your eyes away.

“How’s breakfast?” he asks, his voice once again going soft. Your skin prickles with heat.

“What about breakfast?”

“Coffee and breakfast. That enough to pay for the massage?”

You can’t help the smile that threatens to break across your lips as you glance back at him and catch his eyes.

“I…. guess.”

Zoro chuckles, the sound so low in his throat that it makes you shiver. Quick as anything, he reaches over to pull you down towards him, easily looping an arm around your middle and flipping you both so that you’re pinned beneath him. You barely have time to gasp before you find his lips on yours once more, slow and sweet and shockingly steady.

You kiss him back, letting him push you gently into the crumpled linens of his bed. His fingers are light as he slowly works your skirt down your legs, reaching behind your torso to loosen your bra and tug your shirt from you in a single, smooth motion.

You shiver beneath him and he pulls back to stare. You search his eyes, feeling suddenly uncertain.

“God, you’re gorgeous…”

Heat crests into your cheeks as you try to look away. But he tugs you back with his thumb and steals another kiss.

“It’s late…” he says, pulling away to press your foreheads.

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip. “Yeah, I know…”

“Let’s sleep in tomorrow.”

You laugh, shifting as he curls his body around you, tugging you easily against his chest and pulling the covers over you both. A moment later, the lights click off and you’re both thrown into darkness. You let yourself relax into his arms, wondering just how you’re going to explain this to Robin tomorrow.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Zoro’s voice murmurs into the nape of your neck.

You grin, nodding as you press further back into him and he grazes a soft kiss along your skin.

“That kinda thinking needs breakfast and coffee first,” you say, to which Zoro chuckles, nodding as he lets you hook your ankles between his, your bodies settling against each other, warm and perfect, the curves and bends meeting like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle finally, finally finding each other at last.

You don’t have long enough to ponder on the light, musk-salt-sweet of his skin or the way you can feel his heartbeat as it threads along your spine or the way that somehow, the shape of him doesn’t feel foreign against the shape of you, before you’re already falling asleep. And to him, he doesn’t have time to ponder the lovely silk of your hair, just as soft as he’d always imagined, or the way your waist feels perfect beneath his hands, or how he’s somehow he’s always known the rhythm of your breaths before he too is falling into the warm embrace of a dark, sweet, restful sleep as well.

nine.

Saturday morning finds you both tangled in each other, the winter sun bright and cold as it slates through the slits of Zoro’s bedroom window. He wakes up first, shifting to stretch until he feels the weight of you beside him. And then suddenly, he's somehow achingly awake and aware of his body against yours, of your paced breaths and his own rapidly increasing heartbeat. For one bewildering moment, he can’t quite remember what brought him here, and then the scenes from the night before — the bout, the lockers, the kiss — the way you’d tasted, how utterly irresistible you’d been, blushing in the dim light of his room, your skillful fingers digging into his tender, swollen flesh — his own rash promise of breakfast and coffee — it all comes rushing back. Zoro lets out a long breath and leans in to brush his lips along your forehead.

You let out a light groan as you shift in his arms, and when you turn, it’s to find him watching you.

“Oh… hey.”

Your voice is quiet, almost shy as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, and he finds himself more endeared than he has words to say.

He clears his throat.

“Morning. Uh… sleep well?”

You laugh, the warmth of your expelled breath ghosting across his clavicle in a way that makes him shiver.

“Mhm… pretty well… and you?”

Zoro clears his throat, “Yeah. Guess it wasn’t… bad.”

He resists the urge to roll away, if only because your cheek is still pillowed on his arm, and he can’t bring himself to pull away from you just yet. So instead, he drops his nose into your hair and takes in the milky scent of your coconut lotion. Tiny, pin-pricks of desire shoot through him, teasing goosebumps into the skin of his back and arms, but he forces himself to lie still as you snuggle against his chest with a contented sigh.

“So… breakfast and coffee?”

Zoro grunts, “Hn. I did promise.”

You smile, letting yourself sink into the thick and syrup of his sleep-deepened voice, his moss-green hair even more tousled than it normally is as he adjusts his head on his pillow.

“Hey,” you say, breathless as you look up at him beneath the sweep of your lashes, your eyes so big and dark and wide Zoro wonders if they might swallow him whole.

“Hey,” he answers, just as breathless, uncertainty creeping up the center of his chest as he stares down at you, lying in the glistening, mercurial light, the bend of your shoulder kissed by the morning sun, the shape of you limned in silver and gold.

You lean up to kiss him before he has the chance to second-guess himself, and though he was the more bold, self-assured one last night, you press in against him this morning, the languid sweep of your tongue along his lips making him groan, helpless, against you. He tastes the satisfied grin at the corner of your mouth as he opens his own, his mind frizzing into gorgeous, white static as you spend what feels like hours exploring the sweet depths of each other's mouths — all tongue and teeth and kiss-swollen lips.

When finally you pull apart, he is more breathless than he’d planned for, his body too warm for his liking, an urgent, pulsing something burning at the base of his stomach as he fights the urge to shove you back and sink his teeth into your skin, to hear you hiss, to make you gasp, to leave the indent of his fingers along the soft flesh of your hips and thighs, to mark you as his in every way he knows how.

But instead, he places a lingering kiss on your cheek and sits up, slowly stretching his arms.

“Careful…” you warn, pushing yourself up as well, watching him, “how’s it feel?”

Zoro tests his right side, drawing his arm up and then to the side, and then pulling it across his torso.

“Whoa… so much better.”

You smile, satisfied.

Zoro chuckles, “Guess I really do owe you breakfast. C’mon.”

He slips out of bed, tugging open a drawer to toss you a thick sweater and a pair of sweatpants. For himself, he only tugs on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, even as you frown, squinting at him from where you’re nearly swimming in his clothes.

“You’ll freeze.”

Zoro smirks as he looks you over, reaching over to pull the hood over your mussed tangle of hair, “Nah, I’m fine.”

You pout, jerking open the drawer to pull out a sweater and tossing it at him.

“You have to keep your right side warm so your muscles don’t just seize up again.”

Zoro stares at the sweater in his hand, looking reluctant before you press your lips into an exaggerated pout.

“C’mon… I worked so hard on getting it better last night… please?”

Zoro groans, rolling his eyes as he tugs on the sweater.

“Yeah, yeah — fine. Let’s go.”

He doesn’t wait for you, nor does he extend his hand. But the pair of you walk elbow to elbow, hip against hip down the bright dorm room hallway, into the chilly Saturday morning air.

“Geez, if you’re gonna yell at me to keep warm —” Zoro reaches over to tug on the drawstrings of your sweater, frowning as he notices how much skin he can still see beneath the opening of the hoodie.

You blush, tugging at it as the pair of you make your way across the empty campus quad.

Halfway across the frost-kissed lawn, he wordlessly reaches out to catch your hand in his, tucking your entwined fingers into the depths of his pocket. You bite back a stupid, dopey grin as you duck your head, quickening your pace to keep up, your footsteps crunching in the dew-bitten grass, the freshly raked gravel.

ten.

There’s already a decent line at the Straw Hats Cafe, but when the pair of you walk in hand in hand, both Sanji and Nami pause for a second longer than usual. Sanji’s eyebrows jerk up his forehead while Nami’s lips curl into a much too satisfied grin as she turns back to the humming espresso machines.

You savor in the smell of freshly ground coffee, absently tracing your thumb over the back of Zoro’s hand.

When you both reach the front, Sanji looks between you expectantly.

“Well, well, well — I’d like to say I’m surprised but —” he shrugs, grinning cheekily, “Well then I’d be lying, wouldn’t I?”

Zoro clicks his tongue but you shoot him a sheepish smile, pursing your lips.

“So… the usual then?” Sanji asks, his fingers poised over the register.

“Yep,” Zoro says, curt as ever, though there’s a distinct blush on his cheeks that not even he can write off as anything else.

You nod as well, “Oh, but… I think I’ll try a non-decaf latte this time. Just one shot of espresso though, please and thank you.”

Sanji blinks at you for a second before letting out a startled laugh and nodding, punching in your order.

“Coming right up, sweet cheeks. Right then, that’d be 8.75 for the latte and 5.50 for the double espresso.”

Zoro reaches into his wallet and pulls out a 20, slipping it across the counter. Down the bar, Nami is humming, looking cheerier than you’ve ever seen her this early in the morning as she goes about making your drinks.

Sanji sighs as he shakes his head, handing Zoro his change.

Zoro narrows his eyes but Sanji cuts him off.

“Take it from me, fam. You don’t wanna know.”

You and Zoro share a puzzled look as you both shuffle down to the pick-up counter, where Nami is sliding your finished drinks toward you with a bright, knowing glint to her eyes. Zoro clears his throat and reaches over for a packet of sugar, nonchalantly tipping it into his drink before picking it up to take a sip.

You try not to gape as you grab your own drink, flashing Nami a quick smile before turning to follow Zoro.

He picks a table as far away from the counter as possible, tucked into a corner, nearly invisible to the rest of the shop. When you sit down, he frowns at your chair for a second before reaching out to tug you across the floor till your chair is next to his. He goes back to his drink without a single word.

It’s all you can do to blush and stare at your steaming cup.

“I thought we were getting coffee and breakfast,” you say after a brief moment of silence.

Zoro grunts, “We are. Coffee first.”

You nod, somewhat mollified as you take another sip of your drink. The warmth trickles down your chest to rest somewhere in the center of your stomach, spreading heat throughout your body in waves.

“We could just get a chocolate croissant,” you say, giving Zoro a sidelong look.

Zoro frowns, tapping his finger against the side of his cup, “Dessert isn’t breakfast.”

You scoff, “Says who?”

Zoro’s expression flatlines, “Says me. And I’m payin’ for it.”

You purse your lips, wondering if you should argue more before deciding against it. A few seconds later, Zoro sighs, casting his eyes about the cafe interior.

“We can have a croissant after real breakfast.”

You giggle into your drink, swallowing down the glee fluttering in your stomach, threatening to spill out of your still kiss-chapped lips.

“Kay, whatever you say.”

Zoro rolls his eyes and folds his arms, but his elbow presses against yours and he doesn’t make to move away.

Across the cafe, Nami leans to watch the pair of you, Sanji at her side, looking both stunned and somewhat pained.

“C’mon man, it’s not even been a week!”

Nami grins, rinsing out a few cups and placing them mouth down to dry before pivoting on her heels and holding out an expectant palm. Sanji sighs as Nami’s eyes glitter with mirth and a hard-won glee.

“Right. I think you owe me fifty bucks.”

Sanji narrows his eyes, glancing back at where you and Zoro are tucked into the corner of the cafe.

“Double or nothing on when they’ll have their first fight. I say… not till next week.”

Nami’s eyebrows twitch up. She looks back at where the pair of you are now bickering over where to have breakfast. A smirk teases at her lips.

She puts down her hand, “Alright then… but like I said — it’s your funeral, Sanji.”

Over in the corner, there’s the dull scrape of chair legs as you push yourself away from the table to fold your arms.

“— Belgian waffles are absolutely an acceptable meal for breakfast!”

Zoro rolls his eyes, though there’s still an amused spark behind his eyes.

“Breakfast without eggs ain’t real breakfast. And doesn’t count if it’s smothered in syrup either.”

You make an indignant noise, frowning even as Zoro tugs you back to press a napkin to your upper lip, where there’s a faint line of whipped cream residue.

Sanji backpedals immediately, “Uh — right so, I feel like we need to define what really constitutes a ‘fight’, yeah?”

Nami tuts, shaking her head, “Nope! A bet’s a bet. Now pay up.”

feedback always welcome :) reqs are closed.

[brights-place]

HIII, I was wondering if you could write for kaidou (from saiki k) with Emo!reader?? Like at first he thought she was apart of the dark reunion but as time goes on he realizes she’s just a normal person and kinda cool then he gets a little (Big) crush on reader

anyways I love your fics, have a good dayyy💗💗💗

[Saiki K] Kaidou x Emo!reader

Warnings: None

A/N: Lets be honest here... HOW MANY PEOPLE HERE LIKE KAIDOU BECAUSE I FIND HIM ABIT CUTE! HE'S SO SWEET also I gave up on the headcannons sorry gang <//3

Summary: Kaidou was always suspicious of you with how you dressed you must of been apart of the dark reunion coming out to get him.. Until he found interest in

You walked around with outfits that would gain attention and whispers from others yet you waved them off. The way you stared down people who would try talk to you other then your friends.

Wearing monochrome colours, heavy makeup that scared those around you making them grow weary of you, and leave you alone.

Saiki out of all people adored the fact people left you alone letting you live a somewhat normal life but the pinkette could hear your thoughts about your favorite bands, and the fact you had a feeling you were being watched. Saiki knew who it was though...

Kaidou was lurking in the corner of the library watching you with squinted eyes muttering things about the dark reunion causing saiki to deadpan even more sighing as he glanced back to your figure sitting at a desk listening to music.

Saiki vanished instantly when Kaidou started heading towards you his hands on his hips before pointing at you “I know your working for the dark reunion! Give it up now!” Kaidou stated as he posed dramatically before pausing when noticing you had your headphones in and had your head in a book.

Kaidou couldn’t help but flinch before awkwardly tapping your shoulder “uhm excuse me-?” His voice quite and awkward causing you to lift up your head and take off your headphones head turning to look at Kaidou who cleared his throat as you awkwardly blinked at him.

Silence filled you two before Kaidou spoke dramatically “I know your apart of the dark reunion! The way you dress, how you act and the aura around you!” You couldn’t help but blink “Dark reunion…?” Kaidou couldn’t help but nod his head “is that a new band…? I’ll check it out” you smiled softly before pointing at his arm wrapped with a red bandaged “did you get hurt or something” Kaidou smirked before holding up his arm starting a large monologue while you stared at him before a small giggle came from you causing Kaidou to flush “Sit” you muttered patting down at a seat unaware of such a simple interaction between you two grew into something more

- Kaidou likes to help and choose different outfits with you along with watching you do your makeup

- You wear all black, eyeliner sharper than your wit, and have a collection of skull accessories - Kaidou wears his hoodie like a superhero cape and talks about sealing dark forces and the dark re-union something you found cute and would listen to with a soft smile - PDA is weird, awkward, and cute He doesn’t know how to flirt, so he’ll dramatically take your hand and say things like, “Let us walk through the night together” while you roll your eyes and blush. You secretly think it’s adorable - When you open up about your struggles, he drops the act and listens quietly, eyes full of real concern. “You’re not alone in this situation… I’m with you.” For once, he says it without flair, and it hits you right in the heart smiling like an idiot - Music is shared between the two of you. He doesn't understand it for how intense it is. But over time, Kaidou starts genuinely loving bands like Paramore, My Chemical Romance, Cure, etc. - buys you things that remind him of you and you buy stuff that remind you of him giving it to one another with stupid smiles, holding hands

[rereisstuff]

RUN DEVIL RUN !

summary: you been crushing on Mingyu since you saw him in the ‘Crush’ stage and he was crushing since…now.

pairing: dksister!idol!reader x idol! Mingyu

note: sooo run devil run is from a different band and 3gen and miss reader sings Jessica and Taeyeon’s lines.

Lee Seokmin loved his family, like all members do, so normally he was jumping around as his little sister performed last in inkygayo.

he had everyone watching the tv on the waiting room.

“that’s her!” he squealed manhandling Dino who was by his side.

and then Mingyu lost breath.

When I become more amazing

You'll pay me back, don't forget

as you sang loudly and sexy there was a lot of things going through his mind just there and then:

1. how come you didn’t reassemble your brother, just in the way you busted your lungs like him.

2. HOW HE NEVER NOTICED YOU.

“she used to have that emo fringe and was emo in general” DK answer to Seungkwan who inquired why he didn’t remembered her from any of the tours or other events with family.

the stage was over and soon voices could be heard from the hall and Dokyeom looked like a jumping ball.

a knock was heard and your brother rushed to open, finding you and your bandmates, using the opportunity as your brother suffocated you, Mingyu ran to the snack table but so did Jun.

“and what the hell you think you’re doing?”Jun whispered loudly and confused as he smacked Mingyu’s hand away from the last sandwich on the table.

“i’m asking Dokyeom’s sister out and you’re ruining it hyung” Mingyu muttered stressing the honorific as he tried to steal the sandwich from the others hand, failing miserably.

“i’m saving you, if it doesn’t work Seokmin would hate you” Jun started writing something on the napkin he was putting on the sandwich “thats why i should be the one asking that other girl with blue hair” he pointed at one of your bandmates.

Seventeen had your band sitting and talking about music and stuff, while Mingyu keep fighting for the damn sandwich.

Dokyeom didn’t seemed to find his best friend close so he started looking and suddenly found him, walking closer.

“i need the sandwich so Dokyeom doesn’t find out i’m interested in his sister!” Mingyu seemed to have lost his mind and was almost yelling at Jun.

Dokyeom heard it, screamed and giggled in silence and ran back to you dragging you out of the talk just to throw you in front of Mingyu and then dragging Jun out of there.

“you don’t need the sandwich!” he yelled as he left.

“so, nice to meet you, i’m Kim Mingyu” he looked like he was trying to make himself smaller as he extended his hand towards you.

“i know who you are Kim Mingyu” you laughed shaking his hand “i’m Seokmin’s sister”.

he laughed and you couldn’t help to sigh at the view, and just then…

“would you like to go out to drink something?”

“would you like to eat sometime?”

“it’s a date!” Seokmin popped out of nowhere.

[takusan-no-ai]

Our Rising Star is the Mask We Wear

PAIRING: Astra x Male Reader (Platonic) (Fluff)

SUMMARY: (Y/N), Phaethon’s youngest brother, isn’t a fan of Astra’s music.

After you found out your older sister and brother were not only proxies, but THE Phaethon, your distance became very apparent. You didn’t spend as much time with them anymore, nor did you continue to pretend to have the same interests; before you would pretend to be somewhat intrigued, but now there just seemed to be no point to that.

The same could be said when your sister and brother kept begging Fairy to buy them Astra Yao tickets. You didn’t hold much of an interest in her, heck you outright disliked her music. Much to the chagrin of Wise and Belle. For the most part you just minded your own business, happy to fade even more into the background. Sadly, a chaotic fried rice decided to befriend your siblings.

That is to say that Astra found herself a lovely little hideout whenever she wanted to just run away. Belle and Wise were overjoyed to say the least. But for how happy Astra was to befriend them, she was saddened by your apparent apathy towards her, among other things.

So Astra made it her mission to put a smile on your face. From finding out your interests to building a bond, she wasn’t going to give up until you would proudly say, “Yeah, I know Astra Yao. She’s my friend.” But like a shooting star, your presence was there one moment and then gone the next for hours, sometimes days, on end.

“Oh, (Y/N)! There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.” Astra had strode up to him, a skip in her step, with no apparent intention of leaving. His room quickly became her new hangout spot; she had already made herself comfortable on his bed. (Y/N), sitting at his desk with his headphones on, sighed.

He paused the song, turning around to look at her. “Wise and Belle aren’t here right now.”

Astra pouted. “I’m not here for them! You know why I’m here—now don’t be shy~ let’s hang out!” She said while hugging his spider pillow. (Y/N) finally got up and sat down next to Astra, flopping over on his bed. He curled halfway into the fetal position, eyes staring off into the distance.

“Do you ever feel like the people you love hide secrets from you?” He asked her.

Astra’s smile faded, her face becoming more pensive. She shifted over towards (Y/N), now lying face to face with him. “Yes. And I know what her secret is.”

“So do I. But it hurts, doesn’t it? Why keep such a secret? Where was the trust?”

Astra pondered for a moment before smiling. “I’m not sure what your situation is but…I know I can trust her. Thats why it didn’t bother me. And even if she never trusted me, I’d be happy. Because the moments that we spent were…,”

“Astra-nomical?” (Y/N) jested, a small smirk finally having lifted on his face. Astra nodded in agreement. “I can’t say that I agree with that, but I’m glad that I can confirm this at least.” Astra looked at him quizzically.

“Confirm what?”

“That you’re genuine. To be honest Astra, I don’t personally like your music. And I’m always suspicious of celebrities. So I’m happy to know that your personality isn’t a facade.” He stood up and went to his personal computer. “I may have my…issues with Belle and Wise, but I still don’t want to lose them; they’re the only family I have left.”

Astra, now standing up, hugged (Y/N). “This got a little too serious so let’s change the subject. What kind of music do you like?” She watched him with starry eyes.

“I like rock music. A lot.” He answered plainly.

“Ooh! That makes sense. Perhaps I’ll sing a rock song; then you’ll surely be an Astra Yao fan!” She giggled to herself.

(Y/N) looked at her confused. “Ignoring the part about you singing rock…what makes sense? About me liking rock?”

“You’re just really emo, so it makes sense!”

“???”

- Fin