#tiny in banner but he exists

[spores-and-petals]

Countdown!

Part 3 of HCSPAU DROPS TOMORROW!!!! (may 18th)

ooo i wonder what these two are yapping about~

(no one was hurt in the making of the following meme)

While you wait, check out The Masterpost for HCSPAU!

- 🍂🐾

[zerocoded]

summary: making out with enhypen.

authors note: if you vibe with this, let me know ♡ i’ve been a fan since 2021 but never really felt right writing for them because they felt like babies to me (even though they’re all older than me, except niki lol). but now that i'm getting back to reading their works, i got a lil inspired hehe, so here goes nothing! also, why are they so fine :(

banner creds: lqstwinter on pinterest, baddie! go follow her!

warnings and tags: sfw content but suggestive, no smut • fem!reader • enhypen x reader • blonde!jungwon bc i had to • all seperated.

word count: 4.3k

★˚๑🪽％﹒lee heeseung﹕ᘏᘏ୭₊˚

heeseung’s got you pressed up against the wall beside his bed, the room dim except for the shitty desk lamp in the corner, his hoodie half-off, sleeves bunched at his elbows as he leans in, his breath shaky, his lips hovering over yours like he’s giving you a chance to stop him.

you don’t.

your hands fist in the fabric of his hoodie, yanking him closer, and that’s all it takes—heeseung groans quietly, deep in his throat, and finally fucking kisses you, hard, desperate, all that shy boy bullshit out the window the second your lips meet.

it’s messy from the start, his teeth knocking into yours because he moves too fast, too eager, his hands scrambling to find somewhere to land—your waist, your jaw, your hips, gripping tight like he’s scared you’ll pull away.

you don’t.

you kiss him back just as hard, just as hungry, opening your mouth for him without hesitation, and heeseung takes the invitation gladly, his tongue sliding against yours, hot and slick, tasting, teasing.

“fuck…” he mutters into your mouth, like he can’t believe this is really happening, like he’s been dreaming about this moment for way too long.

his hands tangle in your hair, tugging gently to tilt your head, deepening the kiss until you’re gasping, your chest pressed flush against his as he shoves you even harder against the wall, caging you in completely with his body.

he pulls back just long enough to catch his breath, his eyes dark, lips swollen, a cocky little smirk creeping onto his face as he wipes at the spit-slick corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“you’re��� so hot,” heeseung pants, his voice all wrecked and shaky like he’s barely holding it together.

you grab the front of his hoodie, yanking him back down before he can say something stupid, crashing your mouth against his again, biting at his bottom lip until he moans, low and broken, grinding his hips against yours without even thinking.

heeseung kisses like he wants to crawl inside you, like he can’t get close enough no matter how tightly he holds you, his hands sliding under your shirt to splay against your bare back, dragging your body even closer until there’s no space left between you.

he makes this sound—half gasp, half groan—when you tug at his hair, and then he’s walking you backwards, blindly, until the backs of your knees hit his bed and you’re falling onto the mattress with him following right after, his mouth never leaving yours.

heeseung shifts, hovering over you, his hands braced on either side of your head as he kisses you slower now, deeper, his tongue exploring your mouth with this lazy, confident pace like he knows you’re not going anywhere.

and you’re not.

your nails dig into his back through the thin fabric of his hoodie as he leans in, mouthing at your jaw, down to your neck, sucking little bruises into your skin, pausing only to whisper, “fuck… you taste so good…” before moving back to your lips again, claiming them like they’re his.

you’re both breathless, your lips tingling, your heads spinning, but neither of you stop, not until you’re completely wrecked, tangled in each other’s limbs, lost in the heat of it all, the only thing that exists in that tiny dorm room is the sound of your mouths meeting again and again and again.

and even then… heeseung doesn’t stop.

he just keeps kissing you like he’s never going to stop.

★˚๑🪽％﹒park jongseong﹕ᘏᘏ୭₊˚

it’s been silent for too long.

jay’s got one hand on the wheel, the other draped loosely over his thigh, fingers tapping an erratic rhythm that betrays how tense he is beneath all that calm. streetlights pass in flashes through the windshield, painting his profile in harsh cuts of light and shadow, making his jaw look even sharper, his eyes colder.

he hasn’t looked at you once since you got in the car.

you shift in the passenger seat, arms crossed, staring out the window, pretending like your chest isn’t tight as fuck, like you’re not replaying the fight in your head over and over, all the things you both said, the way his voice stayed low the whole time even when yours didn’t.

he never raises it. never needs to.

but you feel it now—the weight of all the things unsaid filling the space between you, heavier than any shout could be.

he pulls the car over suddenly, the tires crunching against gravel as he kills the engine, the sudden silence even louder than before.

you don’t move.

neither does he.

for a long second, it’s just the sound of both your breaths, rough and uneven, like you’ve both been running even though neither of you have moved an inch.

then jay shifts, finally turning to look at you, his jaw clenched, lips parted like he wants to say something but can’t. his eyes drop to your mouth before flicking back up, dark and unreadable, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

and that’s when you crack.

you lean in first, grabbing the front of his jacket and pulling him toward you, crashing your mouth against his in a kiss that’s all teeth and frustration and everything neither of you could say out loud.

jay groans into it, low and wrecked, his hands immediately flying to your waist, dragging you across the center console like it’s nothing, pulling you right into his lap, your knees bracketing his thighs, your chest pressed hard against his.

his mouth moves against yours with a brutal kind of precision, like he’s been thinking about this all night, all week, maybe longer—biting at your bottom lip until you gasp, then soothing it with his tongue, sliding in slow and filthy.

his hands roam, gripping your hips so tight you know there’ll be bruises later, dragging you closer as he leans back in the seat, letting you take as much as you want.

he’s still not saying anything.

he doesn’t need to.

the way he kisses you says all of it—the apology, the anger, the want.

you fist your hands in his hair, pulling hard enough to make him hiss through his teeth, but he just smiles against your mouth, cocky and breathless, his fingers digging in deeper as he grinds you down against him.

“fuck…” jay mutters, his voice hoarse for the first time tonight, barely audible between kisses as he presses his mouth to your jaw, then lower, sucking at the skin beneath your ear until you’re shivering in his lap, your head tilting to give him more.

he bites there, sharp enough to make you gasp, then pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and dangerous under the dim overhead light of the car, his lips swollen and slick.

he doesn’t say sorry.

he just mutters, “come here,” voice rough and commanding, dragging you back down to kiss him again, deeper this time, slower, his hands sliding up under your shirt, palms hot against your skin, making you arch into him instinctively.

the windows start to fog up, the air thick with the sound of your mouths meeting over and over, with the little gasps and moans he pulls from you effortlessly.

jay’s not soft about it.

his teeth graze your throat when he drags his lips down your neck, his hands gripping your thighs, guiding you to rock against him in slow, steady rolls that make you both breathe harder, your fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth leather of the seat.

and when you pull back for air, your lips swollen, your chest heaving, jay just stares at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered, his thumb brushing against your jaw almost tenderly before he leans in, catches your bottom lip between his teeth, and pulls you right back in for more.

because jay doesn’t need to ask for forgiveness.

he just needs to kiss you until you forget why you were mad in the first place.

and fuck—he does.

★˚๑🪽％﹒sim jaeyun﹕ᘏᘏ୭₊˚

it starts with him pulling you into the corner of some empty hallway, his hand warm and familiar around yours, fingers laced tight like he’s scared you’ll slip away.

“just—wait,” jake says, his voice breathless as he glances over his shoulder to make sure no one’s around. his chest is rising and falling like he just ran a mile, but really it’s just from being near you, from the way your eyes keep darting to his mouth like you’re thinking about kissing him but haven’t yet.

or maybe you have, but not enough.

never enough.

he presses you back against the wall, not rough, just desperate, his palms flat against the cold surface on either side of your head, caging you in with that stupid fucking grin that he always gets when he knows he’s about to do something reckless.

“been thinking about this all day,” he admits, leaning in so close you can feel the heat radiating off him, the faintest brush of his breath across your lips.

you don’t even get a chance to respond.

jake kisses you first, hard, urgent, like he’s been holding it back for hours and just now cracked wide open.

his hands leave the wall to find your waist, dragging you closer as he slants his mouth over yours, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a low, satisfied hum that vibrates through your whole body.

you fist your hands in the fabric of his shirt, tugging him impossibly closer as his hips press flush against yours, pinning you to the wall completely as he kisses you like it’s the only thing he’s good at, like he’s got something to prove.

and fuck, he’s good at it.

his lips move with this perfect combination of softness and pressure, his teeth occasionally nipping at your bottom lip just to hear the way your breath catches, just to feel the way your body tenses against his.

he pulls back for half a second, just long enough to look at you, his eyes glazed and dark, a cocky little smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth as he mutters, “you’re gonna kill me…” before diving back in like he can’t stand the space between you.

jake kisses you like he’s starving, like every second his mouth isn’t on yours is a second wasted.

his hands slide up your sides, sneaking beneath the hem of your shirt to press flat against your bare skin, his touch hot and electric, making you shiver even though the hallway’s warm.

you moan softly into his mouth and he responds immediately, gripping your hips tighter, guiding them against his in a slow, grinding rhythm that makes both of you breathe harder, your bodies moving together like it’s second nature.

he pulls his mouth from yours just long enough to press wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down to the spot just beneath your ear where he knows you’re sensitive, making you gasp and tilt your head to give him more.

“fuck…” jake groans against your skin, biting down gently before soothing the mark with his tongue, then trailing his mouth back up to capture your lips again, kissing you even deeper this time, more frantic, more raw.

it’s all teeth and tongue now, all messy desperation as you both lose yourselves in it, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling hard enough to make him moan into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

when he finally breaks the kiss, you’re both panting, foreheads pressed together, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your cheek as he grins, breathless and wrecked.

“you’re… so fucking dangerous,” he says with this stupid, lovesick laugh, his voice all rough and low as he leans in to kiss you one more time, slower now, softer, but just as desperate as before.

because with jake? once he starts kissing you…

he doesn’t want to stop.

★˚๑🪽％﹒park sunghoon﹕ᘏᘏ୭₊˚

he’s just sitting there on the couch, scrolling through his phone, looking all perfect and detached like usual—legs spread, one arm draped over the back, head tilted, that annoyingly flawless profile catching the light in a way that makes you want to scream.

you’re watching him from across the room, biting your lip, practically vibrating with the need for him to just look at you, to acknowledge you, to do anything. but sunghoon stays where he is, completely unbothered, scrolling like you don’t even exist.

and fuck that.

you cross the room in two strides, planting yourself right in his lap, one thigh thrown over his, your hands gripping the collar of his hoodie as you settle on top of him like you were born there.

sunghoon looks up finally, one brow raised, all casual, like you haven’t just shoved yourself into his space without asking.

“what?” he says, voice flat, unimpressed.

you roll your eyes, lean in closer, your nose brushing against his as you smirk, “thought you missed me.”

he scoffs, looking back down at his phone for all of two seconds before you grab his chin, forcing him to look at you again.

and then, just to push him, just to see how far you can get, you lean in and kiss him—soft at first, teasing, like you’re expecting him to sit there and let you, all cold and indifferent like he always pretends to be.

but he doesn’t.

sunghoon groans, low and unexpected, and suddenly he’s grabbing your hips, pulling you tighter against him as he kisses you back, all that quiet composure cracking open in an instant.

his hands slide up your thighs, gripping the soft flesh like he’s been waiting for this exact moment all fucking day, like the second you sat in his lap he decided, fuck it, no more pretending.

his mouth moves against yours with this slow, devastating confidence, his tongue sliding past your lips like he owns the place, like you’re his to kiss, to hold, to ruin.

you gasp when he sucks at your bottom lip, his teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver, and he pulls back a fraction, just far enough to murmur against your mouth, “you’re so fucking needy.”

you glare at him, about to make some smart-ass remark, but he doesn’t give you the chance—he kisses you again, harder this time, one hand gripping the back of your neck, keeping you right where he wants you as his other hand slides up under your shirt, palm hot against your skin.

your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling at the soft strands as you grind down against him without even thinking, and he groans again, deeper this time, his hips shifting up to meet yours instinctively.

and that’s when you know—you’ve got him.

sunghoon kisses you like he’s been holding this in for weeks, like every second of pretending not to care has just been building up to this—his mouth hot and demanding, his hands everywhere, gripping, pulling, guiding you closer until there’s no space left between you.

you moan into his mouth and he eats it up, sliding his tongue deeper, tilting his head to kiss you from a new angle, even filthier, his lips moving with this lazy, dangerous precision that makes your head spin.

when he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless, your lips swollen, your hands still fisted in his hoodie like you’re afraid he’ll go back to pretending he doesn’t care.

but sunghoon just smirks, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he says, “you really couldn’t wait, huh?”

and then he leans in, kisses you again, slow and possessive, like he’s not done with you yet—not even close.

★˚๑🪽％﹒kim sunoo﹕ᘏᘏ୭₊˚

you don’t know how it always ends up like this—sunoo standing there, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, head tilted, smiling at you like he knows every single dirty thought you’re having and is enjoying the fact that he’s not giving you any of what you want.

“what?” he asks, all fake innocence, batting his lashes like he’s not fully aware of how close he’s standing, how the space between you is shrinking with every second.

you roll your eyes, moving closer, your fingers brushing against the hem of his shirt as you lean in, aiming for his mouth.

but he just tilts his head, dodging the kiss with a playful hum, his grin widening as he watches the frustrated little pout pull at your lips.

“patience,” sunoo teases, his voice low and soft, but dripping with challenge as he lifts a hand, his knuckles barely grazing your jaw before trailing down the side of your neck, slow and feather-light, making you shiver.

“you’re such an ass,” you mutter, trying again, leaning in more determined this time, but he sidesteps at the last second, making you stumble a little as he laughs quietly, his eyes sparkling with that familiar, dangerous amusement.

he loves this—loves watching you chase him, loves having you so worked up you can barely think straight.

“you want me to kiss you that bad?” he asks, all mock sympathy as he steps back in close, his hands finding your hips, gripping just tight enough to make you feel how strong he is beneath all that soft, pretty skin.

you don’t answer. you just grab the front of his shirt, yanking him in and crashing your mouth against his, not giving him the chance to pull away this time.

but sunoo… oh, he’s ready.

he kisses you back immediately, his mouth moving against yours with this infuriatingly perfect mix of softness and heat, slow enough to keep you wanting, but hard enough to let you know he’s been thinking about this just as much as you have.

his hands slide up your sides, his nails dragging lightly against your skin as he pulls you closer, his tongue flicking against yours with a teasing little hum that makes your knees go weak.

then, just as you’re starting to really lose yourself in it, sunoo pulls back, his lips barely brushing yours as he smirks and says, “that all you got?”

you glare at him, breathless and wrecked already, but he just laughs, leaning in to kiss you again—deeper this time, hungrier, his hands fisting in your shirt as he backs you up against the nearest wall.

sunoo’s mouth is relentless now, moving with this slick, practiced confidence, nipping at your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth before letting it go with a quiet, satisfied sigh.

your fingers bury themselves in his hair, pulling hard enough to make him groan, and he responds by gripping your waist tighter, pressing his body flush against yours as he kisses you like he’s finally had enough of teasing, like he needs you just as badly as you need him.

but even then—even as he kisses you breathless, his lips swollen and slick, his hands wandering beneath your clothes—sunoo still pulls back with that same fucking smirk, his eyes gleaming as he says, “told you… patience.”

and then he kisses you again, slower, deeper, dragging it out just to remind you exactly who’s in control.

because with sunoo… you never win.

★˚๑🪽％﹒yang jungwon﹕ᘏᘏ୭₊˚

he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, one knee pulled up, phone in his hand, completely unbothered, like he doesn’t know he’s driving you insane just by existing.

the blonde looks even better in this shitty lighting, a little messy from the way he’s been running his fingers through it while scrolling aimlessly. his hoodie’s slipping off one shoulder, exposing that stupidly perfect collarbone, and his lips are parted just slightly, soft and pink, like he’s asking for it without even trying.

you’ve been sitting on the other side of the room for like twenty minutes, pretending to be busy, but it’s useless. he’s just too fucking fine.

you stand up without thinking, crossing the room in a few quick steps, and he doesn’t even look up, just hums softly, acknowledging you without really paying attention.

so you take his phone right out of his hand, tossing it onto the bed beside him before straddling his lap in one smooth, confident motion.

that gets his attention.

“what—” jungwon starts, his voice all soft and confused, but you cut him off by grabbing the strings of his hoodie, yanking him closer as you crash your mouth against his.

he freezes for a second, completely caught off guard, but then his hands find your hips, gripping tight as he kisses you back, just as hungry, just as desperate.

your fingers slide up into his blonde hair immediately, tugging at the soft strands as you tilt your head, deepening the kiss, your tongue slipping past his lips with a low, breathless moan.

jungwon groans quietly, his hands squeezing your hips as he pulls you closer, his hoodie riding up as your bodies press flush together.

“fuck…” he mutters against your mouth when you tug his hair a little harder, his breath hitching as you start rolling your hips down against him, slow and teasing.

his grip tightens, his nails digging into your skin as he tries to keep control, but you’re the one leading this—you’re the one taking what you want.

you pull back just enough to look at him, to see the way his pupils are blown wide, his lips swollen and slick from the kiss, his chest rising and falling in these shallow, uneven breaths.

“you’re so fucking hot like this…” you whisper, running your fingers through his hair, messing it up even more, just because you can.

jungwon lets out this wrecked little laugh, shaking his head as he pulls you back in, kissing you again, slower this time, but deeper, more deliberate, like now that you’ve started it, he’s not about to let you stop.

his hands slide up your back, under your shirt, palms hot against your bare skin as he holds you close, his mouth moving against yours with this perfect mix of soft and rough, teasing but demanding.

he pulls back for a second, his forehead resting against yours, his voice all low and breathless as he says, “you’re crazy…”

but he’s already pulling you back in, already kissing you again like he can’t help himself, like he needs this just as badly as you do.

and you lose yourself in it—fingers tangled in his blonde hair, his hands gripping your waist, the two of you tangled up on the edge of the bed, kissing like you’ve got nothing else to do and nowhere else to be.

★˚๑🪽％﹒nishimura riki﹕ᘏᘏ୭₊˚

he doesn’t sit down—of course he doesn’t. that’d be too easy.

instead, niki braces one hand on the desk beside your laptop, leaning down so close you can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek, his other hand sliding up to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear like he’s being sweet.

but his eyes tell a different story.

“you’re really gonna keep working?” he asks, his voice low, smooth, that signature smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he tilts his head, waiting for you to break first.

you try to hold your ground, fingers still poised over the keyboard, but then he leans in even closer, his mouth barely brushing against your jaw, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

“you’re not even paying attention…” he whispers, his lips ghosting over your skin, moving from your jaw to your cheek, then finally hovering just over your mouth.

you can feel him smiling.

that cocky little grin that always means he knows he’s already won.

“niki…” you warn, your voice shaky as you try to turn back to the screen, but he blocks you easily, sliding his hand from the desk to your chin, tilting your face toward him so you can’t look at anything but him.

“just a kiss,” he says, all faux-innocent, his eyes glinting with that playful challenge. “then you can get back to whatever…” he trails off, leaning in until his lips brush against yours, feather-light, barely there.

you inhale sharply, your resolve crumbling as he pulls back just an inch, eyes locked on yours, waiting.

and then you’re the one surging forward, grabbing the front of his hoodie and pulling him in, crashing your mouth against his in a kiss that wipes every coherent thought from your brain.

niki groans quietly, his hand sliding from your chin to your neck, gripping just tight enough to make your pulse spike as he kisses you back, slow and deliberate, his tongue slipping past your lips like he’s got all the time in the world to fuck with you.

his body crowds yours completely, his hips pressing subtly against your chair as he deepens the kiss, his free hand finding your waist, fingers curling into your shirt like he needs to keep you anchored there, close, completely his.

you fist your hands in the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him even closer as he tilts his head, changing the angle of the kiss, making it messier, wetter, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth with a low hum of satisfaction.

he finally pulls back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours as he laughs softly, that stupid smug grin plastered all over his face.

“see?” niki whispers, his voice rough now, breathless. “way better than working.”

you glare at him half-heartedly, but your lips are already tingling, your pulse racing, your hands still gripping his hoodie like you’re not ready to let him go.

and niki knows it.

he leans in again, kissing you one more time, slower, lazier, dragging it out just to prove that you’re his favorite distraction, that he could keep you like this all day if he wanted to.

and honestly?

you’d let him.

author's note: THIS IS SO CORNY, I'M SORRY. yes, jay is feral in my head. yes, heeseung is a hot loser. why can't winter break come sooner so i can spend all my time making silly scenarios about hot people in my head #sad #uni. send me a request • my masterpost

disclaimer: i don’t feel fully comfortable writing romantic scenarios with niki since he’s younger than me, but i still wanted to include him because i don’t want anyone thinking i’m ot6 or excluding him — not at all! he’s just a baby in my eyes. i hope that doesn’t sound weird, he’s definitely a baddie lol. i just don’t really consume fan works about him and wasn’t sure how most people portray him here, so i was a bit scared of mischaracterizing him, but i hope i did an okay job for his girlies!

[aeristudios]

see you, space cowboy (epilogue)

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It's been almost a year since everything has happened, and you're ready to come home—to the man who never stopped waiting. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bounty hunter!Wonwoo x bounty hunter!reader, brief mentions of other members (Jeonghan, Soonyoung, Mingyu and Seungcheol) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, sc-fi, smut, fluff, lovers to enemies to ???, cowboy bebop elements, space au, established relationship, neo-noir, dystopian-ish if you squint .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: PLEASE READ ALL THE WARNINGS! heavy angst, very strong language, mentions of murder/attempted murder, gun violence, morally grey characters, grief, guilt/self blame, kissing, very messy oral (f. receiving), nipple play, fingering, nail digging, unprotected sex, missionary, creampie, and still lots and lots of yearning .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2.2K .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐀𝐍: Reader's nickname is Silver and the reason for the nickname is explained in the main story attached to this: See You, Space Cowboy. I highly encourage you to read that story first because this epilogue will make more sense. I wasn't planning on writing another part to this, but you guys really loved the story and wanted to know what was going to happen to them after this. Tbh, so did I. I loved writing these two and I shed a lot of tears writing their story. Ugh I hope this love finds me one day lol. Thank you to @lovetaroandtaemin & @wooahaeproductions for looking at this with me and thank you again @hobeemin for the banner 🖤

main story visual concept #1 visual concept #2 playlist

The sand here is warmer than you remember. 

It almost feels like silk, running your fingers over the tiny grains that sparkle like gold in the sunlight. The forever tropical breeze sways your hair off your shoulders, your silver hair shining like a beacon in the sun. The waters crash against the rocks, revealing the hidden coral, and you stand there in awe. 

The Sanctuary— your safe place, your peace. 

It’s been almost a year since you took out Aeron and showed the galaxy what a murderer he was, clearing your name with all the evidence you gathered with the help of Selene. There was no trial; his death was written up as self-defense, and no one was going to question more than they needed to. Wonwoo was placed as the interim head of The Organization and had to learn quickly how to take over the ropes and be the Boss. You stayed at a hideaway spot on a neighboring planet, with nothing but oceans for miles and a small island with a house and everything you needed. Jeonghan and Sohee visited often and kept you company, while Mingyu and Soonyoung came to drop off supplies at Wonwoo's request, keeping you alive during your self-isolation. 

The thing is, you could have come back as soon as your name was cleared, resumed your bounty hunter status, and gone back to the life you had before. Wonwoo begged for you to come back, to be with him, and as much as your heart yearned and your body ached for him, you weren’t ready. You were a debilitating mess, and you needed to heal, and bless Wonwoo for wanting to see you through that, but you needed to be alone. You needed to properly mourn and grieve. 

God, Wonwoo is a saint. You’ve put him through so much, and you’re still the sun that rises for him. He sent you updates without you asking, and sometimes you replied, sometimes you were so deep in your pain that you would shut off your phone for days and pretend nothing existed. You’re a shitty fiance; you know that, and you firmly believe that he deserves better than what you have been giving him. 

So why are you here?

Simply put, you miss him. 

Your time apart from him has been agonizing, eating you alive every day. You needed time to heal, but you are ready to come back into the fold. To come back home, which has always been with him. You’ve thought about it a lot; all you could dream about was him. The time you shared your first kiss, when he told you he loved you for the first time, when he asked you to marry him, etc. Your thoughts were loud even when it was quiet, and you knew it was time to quit wallowing in your self-pity and to be the partner Wonwoo deserved. 

You sent him the message yesterday. Just two words.

 “Tomorrow. Sanctuary.” 

He didn’t respond, but you know that he’ll come. Wonwoo has never let you down; you’re the fuck up in this relationship, after all. 

So here you are, standing on this beach with the sand between your feet, your stomach in knots as you wait with bated breath to see your beautiful man. You close your eyes, letting the wind grace your cheeks as you try to drown out the voices of doubt in your head, and just for a moment, just breathe. 

But then you hear the sound of boots crushing the sand, and your heart starts to pound in your chest, threatening to break free. You slowly turn and look at him, the wind picking up as you are finally face to face with the love of your life. His hair is a little longer now, barely touching the back of his neck, and he almost seems taller? Maybe you’ve been apart too long, and it’s fucking with your psyche. You don’t know. 

But one thing remains the same: his eyes. They are deep and soft when he looks at you. You still see home, your saving grace. 

“Hey there, space cowboy.” 

Wonwoo chuckles at his nickname, raking his fingers through his hair. The sun shines on him in the right way, and there isn’t a lens in the world that could do him justice. 

“Hey, my pretty girl,” he says, pulling you closer to him. You breathe in his familiar cologne, trying to keep the tears behind your eyes at bay, but you’re struggling. You love him so much; he is your lifeline. You hope that you will always find each other in the next life.

“I’m surprised you came.” You say, your voice is trembling. “I thought you’d be sick of my shit by now.” 

“There you go, still not trusting me,” he tsks. 

“Oh, stop, you know it’s not that—”

“No, it’s literally that,” Wonwoo interrupts. “How many times do I have to tell you—or better yet, show you—that I’m not going anywhere? I would do anything for you, baby. You ask me to leap, and I will. You ask me to shoot, and I’ll pull the trigger, no questions asked. I love you. “

His eyes peer into yours, penetrating your soul and leaving you vulnerable. There’s always been talk about how you're the sun that rises and sets for Wonwoo… but he is your twin moons, his soft light guiding you through your darkness. He’s your anchor, your rock, your peace. You were made for each other, and it’s never been clearer. 

“I left you,” you say tearfully. “You needed me, too, and I stayed gone. It’s okay to be mad at me. Scream at me! Do something!” 

“Silver,” the sound of your name makes your heart flutter. “You were never really gone.”

He points at your engagement ring, sparkling in all of its glory. You knew he always looked out for you, even when you couldn’t do it yourself. 

“God, you are such a romantic,” you scoff, rolling your eyes playfully. 

“Only for you, baby..” 

You shake your head, looking across the horizon as the sun begins to set, the sun turning into a stunning display of red and orange hues. You think about everything that has happened to get you where you are now, and even though your name is clear, how can you return to the way things were?

“So, what’s going to happen when we go back?” You decide to rip off the band-aid. 

Wonwoo kicks the sand around, and you see he is choosing his words before responding. 

“I stepped down.”

You look at him, your mouth open in shock as disbelief runs through you. “Y-you stepped down? Is it because of me?”

“Yes, but not in the way you think,” he says, gauging your expression. “I don’t want to be the head of The Organization. That’s what Aeron wanted, that’s what he trained me for. I love the missions and all that, but being the head meant longer hours, less missions, and not being home with you. I would hate that, and I already fucking resent it.” 

You study him, unsure about how you feel about this. “Are you sure? Don’t feel like you need to baby me, Wonwoo. I can take care of myself.” 

“Silver, stop.” His voice is firm but gentle, keeping you in check. “I know you are capable of handling things on your own. But my point is that we would not have the life we have always discussed if I took over. I’m still on the board and made sure you are on it too. So we still get a say in major decisions. “

“Okay,” you think it over. “So, who is taking over?” 

“I nominated Choi Seungcheol to take over. He’s capable and has the mindset to lead.” Wonwoo pauses, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I just want my job and you. Everything will be fine.”

You know of Seungcheol, and though you weren’t friends, you have to admit he is a good bounty hunter. He’s number three behind you and Wonwoo, and the few times you had to do jobs with him, you knew he had your back. Maybe the future isn’t so bleak after all. 

“So what I am hearing is, you still want to marry me?” You tease him.

Wonwoo’s expression softens as he pulls you closer, your lips barely brushing against his. 

“Of course. I’m going to love you for the rest of my life and the next one after.”

“Wonwoo, just kiss me already.”

 His lips crash against yours, his arms wrapped around your waist as your legs buckle at his embrace. His lips taste familiar, like the peace of home you have been missing for almost a year. You are done with the self-deprivation— you want him. Need him. And judging by the way he grabs your ass, he feels the same way. 

“I need you,” you whisper against his lips. 

“I know, baby, “ he says in between kisses. “I booked our favorite room on the way here.” 

Biting your lip, you let him lead you across the beach towards one of the many rooms in the Sanctuary, taking out the key card and tapping it on the reader. He opens the door to a spacious room with a soft king-size bed, expansive windows, and an open sliding door, inviting the ocean air in. You barely enter before your lips find his again, tearing off his shirt and throwing it across the room. You feel him smirk against your lips, unbuttoning your jeans and shoving them down your legs. Your desire for him is carnal, haunting even, and you need him inside of you now. 

“Fuck me, please,” you beg, undoing his belt. “It’s been so long.” 

“Aren’t we needy today?” he teases you. 

“I’m needy all the time.” 

“Touche.” 

He takes off his pants, revealing his stiff cock, and it makes you salivate. In your time apart, you’ve touched yourself to that night in the shower over and over, reminiscing the time he tasted and fucked you like it was the last time you would have that again. Now, you will have many more to come. 

You let him slowly take off your panties, spreading your legs wide as he looks at the sweet nectar between your legs. He licks his lips, grabbing you by your hips and pulling you closer to his face. He takes one long lick in between your folds, his tongue playfully brushing against your clit. 

“Please,” you breathe. “Wonwoo, please.” 

He obliges, eating you like a man with a purpose, to satisfy you. He nips at your thighs just the way you like it, spitting on your clit and sucking you all the same. He is dirty, filthy, sliding his fingers inside you and out of you, and tasting each time. Your eyelids are heavy, and you are on a high,  watching Wonwoo get pussy drunk off you, and it’s taking everything in you to not cum in his mouth. 

“You feel so good,” you cry out. “I missed you.” 

He hums in agreement, the vibrations from his mouth sending jolts throughout your legs. You take off your shirt, your fingers brushing against your nipples, pinching your hardening mounds. With one last lick, Wonwoo stands up, his face wet with your arousal dripping off his chin as he hovers over you. You lift up to meet his lips, tasting yourself on his tongue and understanding his addiction. Your legs wrap around him as he enters you with one smooth, slow thrust.

“Fuck,” you cry out, feeling relief and instant gratification. 

“I know, baby, I know.” 

He moves slowly at first, deep and intentional, like every motion is an act of forgiveness. Your fingers are in his hair. You look into his eyes and nod, giving him the okay to take you however he wants. 

He does that. His pace starts to build, rocking the bed against the wall as he fucks you harder, spilling your name from his pretty mouth. Your nails dig into his back, begging for more as the sound of slapping skin and moans fills up the room, not caring who hears you outside. You’ve never felt more alive, watching his cock slide in and out of you with such earnest, begging for your sugarness to cover him once again. 

“Wonwoo, I—” 

“Go ahead. Give it to me.” 

Your back arches as you see those familiar white stars, sending you over the edge as your release feels like a resurrection. Your legs shake; you're breathless,  sweaty and fucked out. He follows shortly after, spilling inside of you, his body trembling against yours. 

He doesn’t move, and neither do you. You stay wrapped around him, basking in the heat, sweat, and salt of everything you thought you’d lost. Your heart beats against his, a kindred soul in all this, confirming that you have your person and will never let him go. 

“I love you, Jeon Wonwoo.” 

He lifts up slowly, smiling softly as he kisses you sweetly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I love you more, Silver. I always have, and I always will.” 

You smile softly, returning his affection as you continue to make up for lost time, taking advantage of your new lease on your lives. At the end of the day, it will always be you and him. 

The Sanctuary, that is you and him—still standing.

And outside, the sea keeps living.

Just like you.

thank you for reading!! I can't believe we are done...

or are we? if you are interested in any spinoffs from some of the other characters in the story, comment, reblog or send an ask <3

[riveriki]

Snapshots of us

PAIRING… student! jungwon x student! reader | GENRE… fluff, romance, cute | TROPE… friends to lovers | WC… 1.0k

The mall bustled with weekend energy — kids pulling their parents toward toy stores, teens weaving through crowds, music humming from every direction. You clutched the small shopping list tightly, eyes scanning the stores ahead.

“Relax,” Jungwon said with a chuckle, walking beside you, hands tucked casually into his hoodie pockets. “We’re just buying decorations. Not defusing a bomb.”

You gave him a look. “Yeah, but if we mess up, Ms. Han will murder us.” You shuddered at the memory of your strict council advisor.

He tilted his head, smiling in that way that made his dimples show. “Don’t worry. When we do well, I’ll take all the credit. When we mess up... I'll take the blame too.”

Your heart skipped. Why was he so annoyingly charming?

After a chaotic hour of choosing banners, balloons, and props for the upcoming school festival, your arms were full of shopping bags. Jungwon took most of them without hesitation, effortlessly carrying them while still looking way too good doing it.

“Hey,” he called, voice light, tugging at your sleeve gently. “Come here.”

You followed his gaze and saw it — a tiny vintage-style photo booth tucked away between two shops, blinking invitingly.

“You’re joking, right?” you laughed.

He grinned mischievously. “Council tradition. New rule: after a successful shopping mission, you have to take commemorative photos.”

“That’s not a real rule.”

“It is now," he winked, pulling you toward the booth before you could argue.

Inside, the booth was warm and cramped. You could smell the faint scent of his cologne — fresh and clean — and you realized how close you actually were. Close enough to feel his shoulder brush against yours. Close enough to notice how his lashes curled so perfectly when he blinked.

You fumbled with the machine. “Okay, what pose first?”

Jungwon leaned his elbow against the side of the booth, chin resting in his hand as he looked at you, eyes sparkling.

“First pose — you smile. I admire you.”

You blinked. “Wha—?”

The camera flashed.

You turned to him, wide-eyed, just as he gave you the softest, most heart-melting look.

“Second pose,” he said, voice low, almost teasing. “You look at me like you’re seeing me for the first time.”

You swallowed, heartbeat pounding in your ears. Without thinking, your gaze softened, your lips parted slightly — and Jungwon’s smile faltered, replaced by something deeper. Something that made the tiny booth feel a hundred degrees hotter.

Flash.

"Next pose..." Jungwon’s voice was rougher now. "Come closer."

You did, drawn in like he was gravity itself. Your knee brushed his. His hand grazed yours.

The camera counted down, 3...2...

But before it could capture the moment, Jungwon moved first — his hand cupping your cheek, tilting your face up, and he kissed you.

It was soft at first, tentative, like he was giving you the chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

You kissed him back, hands fisting the front of his hoodie as he deepened the kiss. It was slow, sweet, and completely world-shattering.

Flash.

The booth clicked and whirred as it printed the photos, but neither of you noticed.

He pulled back slightly, foreheads resting together, both of you breathless.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, thumb tracing your cheekbone. His eyes flicked down to your lips again. “Can I...?”

You didn’t even let him finish. You leaned in, kissing him again — harder this time. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer so there wasn’t an inch of space left between you.

Another kiss. And another.

Between kisses, you both laughed, breathless and giddy, like the whole world outside the tiny booth didn’t exist.

When you finally pulled away, cheeks flushed, Jungwon rested his forehead against yours again.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, heart bursting. “Me too.”

Outside the booth, the strip of photos printed out, showing the perfect timeline of what had just happened — from laughter to wide-eyed stares, to a kiss that said everything neither of you had dared to before.

Jungwon grabbed the photo strip, studied it, then tucked it carefully into his pocket.

"Proof," he said with a grin. "That the council trip was a complete success."

You laughed, bumping your shoulder into his as you both grabbed the shopping bags and started walking again.

Maybe today hadn't gone exactly according to plan — but somehow, it turned out better than you could’ve ever imagined.

[honeydippedfiction]

Red Zone {JB9}

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Genre: Slow Burn-ish, Comedy, Fluff, Romance, & Tension.

Synopsis: Y/N has spent weeks teasing Cincinnati’s golden boy, Joe Burrow, making him work way harder than he ever has for anything. But Joe doesn’t back down from a challenge—especially not when it comes to her. He’s all in, and the longer she keeps him waiting, the more he realizes… yeah, he’s down bad.

The real question?

How long before Y/N slips up and realizes she’s just as gone for him?

Warnings: Heavy Flirting & Tension, Joe Being Down Horrendous, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn (but Barely), Mild Language, Slight Possessiveness

Themes: Push & Pull Romance, Athlete x Support Staff, Man Falls First, Man Falls Hard, Confidence vs. Vulnerability, Football Setting, But It’s About Them.

WC: 9.6k

A/N: This does switch back and forth from your pov and Joe's pov. They will be separated by the orange banner.

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• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

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Joe Burrow was in trouble.

Real, undeniable, can’t-think-straight trouble.

And the cause of his suffering? You.

It started small—just stolen glances here and there. At first, he told himself it was nothing. Just admiration. But then admiration turned into distraction, and now distraction had turned into full-blown infatuation.

Joe was down bad.

It didn’t make sense. He’d met beautiful women before. Dated some, even. But you? You weren’t just beautiful. You were effortless. He noticed it in the way you moved, the way you carried yourself—never shrinking, never trying to impress anyone, just being. You had this energy about you, something magnetic that made it impossible to look away.

And damn, did he look.

A lot.

Like right now, for example. You were walking across the practice field, hauling a bag of footballs over your shoulder, curls bouncing as you moved, skin glowing under the late afternoon sun. Joe knew he should be focusing on drills, but how the hell was he supposed to do that when you looked that good just existing?

"Yo, Burrow, you good?" Ja'Marr Chase's voice snapped him out of his daze. Joe blinked, realizing he’d been gripping his helmet in a death grip, eyes still locked onto you like you were the end zone in the Super Bowl.

"Yeah," he muttered, clearing his throat. "I’m good."

Ja’Marr followed his gaze, then smirked knowingly. "Man, just talk to her."

Joe rolled his eyes. "It’s not that simple."

"Uh, yeah, it is. You’re Joe Burrow."

Joe huffed, adjusting his wristband. "And? What does that have to do with anything?"

Ja’Marr shook his head with a laugh. "Boy, you are gone."

Joe didn’t bother denying it. Instead, he jogged over to where you were setting up equipment, heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the heat.

"Need some help?"

You looked up at him, arching a brow. "With what? My job?"

Joe grinned, ignoring the way his pulse kicked up from just being near you. "Hey, just trying to make your life easier."

You scoffed, but he caught the tiny smile playing at your lips. "I’m good, QB1. You should be stretching or whatever it is y’all do before practice."

"I was stretching." Joe placed his hands on his hips, giving you his best innocent look. "Stretching my ability to be a gentleman."

You laughed, shaking your head. "That was corny."

"Yeah, but it got you to laugh," he shot back, smiling like he’d just won a game.

You shook your head, going back to work, but Joe wasn’t done yet. He lingered, watching the way you bit your lip in concentration as you sorted gear. He wondered if you even realized how fine you were. Did you know how bad you were messing with his head?

"You know," he started, "I’ve been thinking…"

"That’s dangerous."

He chuckled but pressed on. "I think you should let me take you to dinner."

You froze for a second before glancing up at him, skepticism clear in your eyes. "Take me to dinner?"

"Yeah." His voice was softer now, more serious. "Just you and me. No football, no equipment… just good food and good company."

You tilted your head, studying him. "Why?"

Joe exhaled, running a hand through his curls. He could lie, play it cool, act like this was nothing. But the truth was, it was everything.

"Because I can't stop thinking about you," he admitted, voice low. "And if I don’t at least try to take you out, I’m gonna lose my mind."

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by his honesty.

For a long moment, you didn’t say anything, and Joe swore he could hear his own heartbeat in the silence. Then, finally, you smirked.

"You’re really down bad, huh?"

Joe let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "You have no idea."

You let that hang between you for a second before grabbing a football and tossing it to him. "Well, keep thinking about it. Right now, you got a job to do, QB1."

Joe caught the ball with ease, but his eyes never left yours.

"Yeah," he murmured, smiling. "I do."

And as he jogged back to practice, he knew one thing for certain—this game he was playing with you?

He had to win.

---

Joe was spiraling.

It had been three days since your little conversation on the practice field, and he was still thinking about it. About you.

The way you had smirked at him like you knew you had him wrapped around your finger. The way your voice had dropped just a little when you called him down bad—like you enjoyed watching him squirm. And worst of all? The way you didn’t give him a straight answer about that damn dinner.

You had him in a chokehold, and you weren’t even trying.

Joe wasn’t used to this. He was Joe Burrow. Starting quarterback. A whole NFL franchise depended on him to be calm under pressure. But when it came to you? He was fumbling every time.

"You look stressed, man," Tee Higgins said, plopping down next to Joe in the locker room after practice.

Joe sighed, running a hand down his face. "I am stressed."

Ja’Marr, who was lacing up his sneakers, snickered. "Lemme guess. It’s about her."

Joe shot him a glare. "Her has a name."

"Yeah, yeah," Ja’Marr waved him off. "But the point is, you still stuck on that dinner thing?"

Joe huffed, leaning back against the locker. "She didn’t say no."

Tee raised a brow. "She didn’t say yes either."

"Exactly!" Joe groaned. "She’s messing with me, man."

Ja’Marr laughed. "Or maybe she’s just making you work for it. You’re used to girls throwing themselves at you, but she’s making you earn her attention. You know, like a real one."

Joe already knew that. It was one of the reasons he liked you so damn much. You weren’t impressed by the usual charm, the usual Joe Burrow Effect. No, you were different. And that made him want you even more.

But how the hell was he supposed to get your attention when you were so damn good at ignoring the fact that he was losing his mind over you?

He needed a plan.

And then it hit him.

---

The next day, you were in the equipment room, sorting jerseys when a familiar voice made you pause.

"Y/N."

You turned to see Joe standing in the doorway, looking entirely too good in his hoodie and joggers, curls slightly damp from his post-practice shower. He had a look in his eyes—intense, determined.

Lord, here we go.

"You stalking me now, QB1?" you teased, turning back to your work.

He stepped closer. "Maybe."

You looked up, surprised at his boldness. "Oh? So now you’re admitting you’re obsessed with me?"

Joe let out a soft chuckle. "I never denied it."

Your breath caught for half a second. He was playing a dangerous game, and the worst part? You kinda liked it.

Joe leaned against the counter, watching you. "You never answered my question."

You sighed, but the smile playing on your lips gave you away. "What question?"

"Dinner." His voice was lower now, laced with something unreadable. "You, me, somewhere nice. No football talk. Just us."

You bit your lip, pretending to consider it. "Hmm. I don’t know. I do like watching you sweat."

Joe stepped closer. "Oh, trust me, I’m sweating."

Your heart flipped. Damn it, why was he so smooth?

He tilted his head, searching your face. "Come on, Y/N. One dinner. Let me prove I’m serious about this."

You held his gaze for a long moment, pretending to be unfazed. But inside? You were unraveling.

Finally, you exhaled dramatically. "Fine."

Joe’s brows lifted. "Fine?"

You smirked. "Yeah. One dinner. No promises after that."

Joe grinned like he just won the lottery. "That’s all I need."

As he walked out, a victorious swagger in his step, you shook your head with a laugh.

Joe Burrow was down bad.

And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to like it.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

You were in trouble.

Big, undeniable, what-the-hell-did-I-just-agree-to trouble.

Joe Burrow had been flirting with you for weeks, testing the waters, waiting for you to bite. And up until now, you had been so good at keeping him at arm’s length. He was Joe Burrow—star quarterback, franchise player, a literal golden boy. And you? You were just the equipment girl, someone who spent more time making sure shoulder pads were strapped on correctly than entertaining the advances of NFL players.

But Joe?

Joe was relentless.

And now, because of that damn smirk and those ridiculous blue eyes, you were stuck in a situation you had no business being in.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face as you paced your apartment later that night. Your phone sat on your bed, Joe’s contact pulled up on the screen. He had texted you about dinner—nothing extra, just a simple, Pick you up at 7?

Like this was normal.

Like you weren’t freaking out.

You hadn’t even said yes to dating him. Just one dinner. But the way your stomach had flipped when you saw his name pop up on your phone? Yeah, you were in deep.

You weren’t about to make this easy for him, though.

So, after taking a few deep breaths, you finally texted back:

"Fine. But if this food is trash, I’m never letting you live it down."

Joe’s response came almost instantly.

"Noted. I’ll pick a spot worthy of impressing you."

You stared at your screen, shaking your head with a smile. Damn him.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Joe was losing his mind.

The second your text came through, he nearly fist-pumped right there in his living room. She said yes. She actually said yes.

It wasn’t a confession, it wasn’t a relationship, but it was a win. And when it came to you? Joe would take any win he could get.

"You’re smiling at your phone like a high schooler," Sam Hubbard teased from across the room.

Joe rolled his eyes, tossing his phone on the couch. "Shut up."

"Man, you got it bad," Sam laughed. "Who knew Joe Cool was capable of being this whipped?"

Joe ignored him. He didn’t care. If being whipped meant getting a chance with you, then fine. He’d take it. Because truthfully?

You were worth every bit of this madness.

---

The next evening, Joe stood outside your apartment, hands shoved into his pockets as he waited.

And then you stepped out.

And damn.

You weren’t even overly dressed—just a simple, fitted dress that showed off just enough, curls framing your face effortlessly. But to Joe? You might as well have been a damn supermodel.

He blinked, momentarily speechless. "Wow."

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. "What?"

"You look…" He exhaled, shaking his head. "So fine."

Your smirk deepened. "You are down bad."

Joe grinned. "And I’m not even ashamed."

As you slid into the passenger seat of his car, Joe couldn’t help but think—yeah, he might be in trouble.

But for you?

He’d risk it all.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

You had to admit—Joe Burrow had taste.

The restaurant he picked wasn’t one of those over-the-top, flashy spots where people went just to be seen. No, it was intimate, warm lighting casting a soft glow over the tables, a quiet hum of conversation filling the air. It was the kind of place where the food actually mattered—not just the aesthetics.

Damn it. He was already impressing you.

Joe pulled out your chair for you, something so simple yet so unexpected that you blinked at him for a moment before sitting down. He didn’t say anything about it, just gave you that small, satisfied smile before taking his own seat.

"You’re really pulling out all the stops, huh?" you teased, picking up the menu.

Joe leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. "I told you, I’m serious about this."

You met his gaze, expecting cockiness, but all you saw was honesty. And that? That was dangerous.

"Guess we’ll see," you murmured, scanning the menu to avoid the intensity of his stare.

Dinner was… nice.

Too nice.

Joe was easy to talk to, and despite your best efforts, you found yourself relaxing around him. He asked about you—not just the generic, surface-level stuff, but real questions. How you got into working for the Bengals, what you wanted to do next, what kind of music you liked.

"I figured you had good taste, but you really listen to Mint Condition?" Joe asked, grinning as he took a sip of his drink.

You raised a brow. "Why do you sound shocked?"

"I don’t know, I just…" He shook his head, smirking. "It’s just so fine."

You groaned, throwing your napkin at him. "No. Absolutely not."

Joe laughed, catching the napkin midair. "What? I had to say it at least once!"

"You are so corny," you muttered, but you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

Joe leaned in, his voice dropping just slightly. "Yeah? But you like it."

And there it was again—that thing he did. The way he looked at you like he already knew how you felt, like he could read every single thought running through your head.

It should’ve been illegal to be this smooth.

You picked up your drink, taking a slow sip just to give yourself a second to think. "Mmm. Jury’s still out."

Joe just chuckled, sitting back. "Take your time. I’m patient."

That was the problem.

You weren’t sure you were.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Joe had been on a lot of dates before. Some good, some forgettable. But this?

This was something else.

He couldn’t remember the last time he cared this much about what someone thought of him. He was used to women being into him because of who he was. The quarterback. The fame. The whole Joe Cool persona. But you? You didn’t give a damn about any of that.

And that’s why he had to have you.

As you walked out of the restaurant together, the night air cool against his skin, Joe hesitated for the first time all evening. He didn’t want this to end.

"Let me take you home," he said softly.

You gave him a look. "Is that your smooth way of inviting yourself up?"

Joe smirked. "Nah. I just wanna make sure you get home safe."

You stared at him for a second, like you were trying to figure him out. Then, finally, you nodded. "Alright, Burrow. Take me home."

The drive was quiet, but it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable. Joe stole glances at you every chance he got, watching the way your fingers tapped lightly against your thigh to the music playing low through the speakers.

When he finally pulled up to your place, he put the car in park and turned to you. "So… did I pass?"

You raised a brow. "Pass what?"

Joe grinned. "The test. The ‘is this food trash’ test."

You sighed dramatically. "I guess you passed."

"Good." He tilted his head. "What about the other test?"

You folded your arms. "And what test is that?"

Joe’s voice was low, teasing. "The ‘do I get another date’ test."

You let the question linger, your lips curling slightly at the edges. "Hmm. I’ll have to get back to you on that one."

Joe laughed, shaking his head. "You love making me work for this, huh?"

You shrugged. "Gotta keep you on your toes, QB1."

Joe exhaled, gripping the steering wheel. "You really got me bad, Y/N."

You stared at him for a moment, and for the first time, Joe swore he saw something shift in your expression. Something soft. Something dangerous.

But then, you opened the car door, stepping out. "Goodnight, Joe."

He watched you walk up to your building, waited until you disappeared inside before running a hand through his curls with a groan.

Yeah.

He was absolutely gone.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

You were in so much trouble.

It had been two days since that damn dinner with Joe, and yet, you were still thinking about him. About the way he had looked at you across the table, completely focused, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. About the way his voice dropped an octave when he got serious, his words sinking into your skin and settling deep in your stomach.

About the way you could feel the heat of his gaze even after you got out of his car.

Damn him.

You tried to shake it off, focus on work, anything to get him out of your head. But that was impossible when Joe Burrow was everywhere. At practice. In the locker room. Hell, even in your damn text messages.

Because, of course, he didn’t let up.

Joe: So, have you decided yet?

You rolled your eyes at the text, but a smile tugged at your lips. You didn’t even have to ask what he was talking about.

You: Decided what?

Joe: Don’t play with me, Y/N. The second date. You’ve had 48 hours. I know you’ve been thinking about me.

You: Bold of you to assume.

Joe: I’m right though, aren’t I?

Damn it.

You didn’t reply. Not because he was wrong. But because you refused to give him the satisfaction of being right.

For now.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Joe was losing patience.

He wasn’t used to chasing anyone. Not because he was cocky, but because usually, things just… happened. Natural. Easy.

But with you? You were making him work for it. And as much as it drove him crazy, he liked it.

Scratch that. He loved it.

It made everything about this—about you—even more real. Because you weren’t after his name, his money, or his status. You weren’t even sure if you wanted him at all.

And that? That was why he needed you.

Desperately.

"Man, you checking your phone again?" Ja’Marr’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

Joe locked his screen and shoved the phone into his pocket. "Mind your business."

Ja’Marr smirked. "She got you in a chokehold, huh?"

Joe sighed, running a hand through his curls. "Bad."

His teammate laughed, clapping him on the back. "Yeah, you’re done for."

Joe didn’t even argue. Because it was true.

Now, he just had to figure out how to make you admit it, too.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

You should’ve known he wouldn’t leave you alone.

After practice that day, you were in the equipment room, organizing cleats when you felt someone behind you. Before you even turned around, you knew who it was.

Joe.

You sighed, not looking up. "Don’t you have somewhere to be, QB1?"

Joe leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. "I do. But I’d rather be here."

You refused to let that get to you. "Well, unless you suddenly forgot how to tie your cleats, you don’t need me."

Joe smirked. "No, but I do need an answer."

You finally looked up, meeting his gaze. "An answer to what?"

Joe sighed dramatically. "Y/N. Don’t play with me."

You bit your lip, pretending to think. "I don’t know, Joe. Maybe I like watching you suffer."

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. Then, before you could react, he took a step closer. Too close. Close enough that you had to tilt your head to look at him. Close enough that the air felt thick between you.

"You are enjoying this," he murmured, voice lower, rougher.

You swallowed, refusing to back down. "Maybe."

Joe let out a slow exhale, his eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing every inch of it. "Damn, Y/N." His voice was almost pained. "You have no idea what you do to me."

Your breath caught.

Because this? This wasn’t just flirting anymore. This was real.

You forced yourself to keep your voice steady. "Oh, I think I do."

Joe exhaled sharply, like you had physically knocked the wind out of him. He shook his head, laughing softly, but there was nothing funny about the way he looked at you.

"You’re gonna drive me crazy, aren’t you?" he muttered.

You smirked. "Looks like I already have."

Joe clenched his jaw, hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for you. And for a second—just a second—you thought he might.

But instead, he stepped back. Barely.

"You’re gonna say yes eventually," he said, voice sure.

You tilted your head. "What makes you so confident?"

Joe grinned, dimples on full display. "Because I know you want to."

You didn’t reply. Because, once again—he was right.

And you hated that.

As Joe walked out, leaving you standing there, heart racing, you realized something.

You might’ve thought he was the one in trouble.

But really?

It was you.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Joe was losing his mind.

It had been days since your little moment in the equipment room, and you still hadn’t given him a real answer about the second date. He had tried to be patient, to let you play your little game, but at this point? He was suffering.

The worst part?

You knew it.

And you were enjoying every second of watching him lose control.

Now, at practice, Joe was struggling. He wasn’t missing throws or anything—he was still Joe Burrow, after all—but he wasn’t locked in the way he usually was. Because every time he looked up, his eyes found you.

And you were torturing him.

It wasn’t even anything big. Just little things. The way you’d walk past him without acknowledging him, a tiny smirk playing at your lips like you knew exactly what you were doing. The way you’d bend down to pick up a helmet, moving just slow enough that it made his brain short-circuit. The way you’d casually talk to everyone else—laughing, joking—while completely ignoring him.

Oh, he was done.

"Yo, Burrow, focus!" Ja’Marr shouted after Joe overthrew a pass—something he never did.

Joe cursed under his breath, shaking his head.

"Man, what is wrong with you today?" Tee asked, jogging up to him.

Joe exhaled sharply, glancing toward where you stood on the sidelines, chatting with one of the other staff members like you didn’t have a care in the world.

Like you weren’t currently driving him insane.

"Her," Joe muttered, jaw clenched. "It’s her."

Ja’Marr followed his gaze, then laughed. "Damn. She’s really got you, huh?"

Joe ran a hand down his face. "Bro, I’m suffering. I can’t take this shit anymore."

Tee chuckled. "Just be patient, man. She’s testing you."

Joe huffed. "I know she is. But why? Why can’t she just be mine already so I can worship the ground she walks on in peace?"

Ja’Marr died laughing. "Oh, nah. Not worship."

Joe gave him a dead serious look. "I mean that shit. I’d do anything for her. And she knows it."

Tee shook his head with a grin. "Yeah, bro. You’re done for."

Joe groaned, adjusting his helmet. He was so close to snapping.

And you? You were thriving off of it.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

You had Joe Burrow wrapped around your finger.

And you were having the time of your life.

You weren’t cruel—you weren’t trying to hurt him or anything. But watching Joe, Mr. Cool Under Pressure, absolutely lose his mind over you? Oh, it was too good.

And the best part? He wasn’t even hiding it anymore.

You caught the way he watched you like you were the only thing on the field that mattered. The way his jaw tensed every time you laughed at something that wasn’t him. The way he physically exhaled in relief whenever you so much as acknowledged his existence.

It was delicious.

So, naturally, you kept it up.

During a water break, you strolled past him, completely ignoring him like you had been all practice. But this time, right as you passed, you murmured, "Looking a little tense there, QB1."

And then you kept walking.

You didn’t have to turn around to know what effect it had.

You felt his eyes burning into you.

Oh, this was too much fun.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Joe was going to explode.

You had one sentence. One little sentence. And now he was done.

Practice? Over. His sanity? Gone.

This was it.

The second he got the chance, he was fixing this.

Because you were his.

You just didn’t know it yet.

---

Enough was enough.

Joe had spent weeks playing your game. Watching you tease him. Watching you enjoy watching him suffer. And at first? Yeah, he liked it. Loved it, even. The chase, the tension, the way you made him feel like no other woman ever had.

But at this point?

He was desperate.

He needed you. Had to have you. And if you weren’t going to give him an answer?

Then he was going to take one.

The second practice ended, he was on the hunt. While his teammates made their way toward the locker room, Joe jogged straight toward the equipment room—where he knew you’d be.

And sure enough, there you were, casually sorting gear like you hadn’t spent the entire day ruining his life.

You barely glanced up when he walked in. "Need something, Burrow?"

Oh, that was cute.

Joe shut the door behind him, locking it without a second thought.

That got your attention. You arched a brow, amused. "Oh? So we’re locking doors now?"

Joe didn’t respond. He just moved.

Before you could react, he was right in front of you, crowding your space, forcing you to tilt your head back to meet his gaze.

And for once?

You looked surprised.

Good.

"You think this is funny, don’t you?" Joe’s voice was low, rough. "Watching me lose my mind over you?"

Your lips curled slightly, but there was a flicker of something in your eyes—something unsure. "A little."

Joe exhaled sharply, his hands flexing at his sides like he was physically restraining himself. "Y/N, I’m done waiting."

You blinked. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Joe tilted his head, eyes locked onto yours like you were his only lifeline. "I’ve been patient. I’ve let you play your little game. But now? You’re gonna give me an answer."

Your breath hitched.

Joe saw it.

Felt it.

He took another step closer, so close now that if he wanted to, he could tilt his head just slightly and—

No. Not yet.

"Tell me you don’t want this," Joe murmured. "Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t feel this the way I do. And I’ll walk away."

Silence.

You didn’t say a word.

Didn’t push him away.

Didn’t do anything except stare up at him, lips parted, eyes flickering with a storm of emotions.

And Joe? He knew.

He knew he had you.

His lips barely ghosted over your ear as he whispered, "That’s what I thought."

Then, just like that, he pulled back.

And smirked.

"See you at dinner," he said casually before unlocking the door and walking out like you hadn’t just shattered in front of him.

Yeah.

Game over.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

You were done for.

Like, actually, completely finished.

You stood in the equipment room, still gripping the jersey you had been folding before he walked in and single handedly wrecked your entire system.

Your brain was short-circuiting. Your body was betraying you. Your heart was racing.

And Joe? That smug, infuriating, fine as hell quarterback had the audacity to walk out like he hadn’t just flipped your entire world upside down.

You exhaled sharply, dropping the jersey onto the counter before bracing yourself against it.

What the hell just happened?

You had been teasing him all week—hell, all month—enjoying the way he looked at you like he was one second away from losing control. You thought you had the upper hand. That you were the one calling the shots.

But now?

Now, it felt like he was the one playing with you.

The way he had walked in here, eyes dark, voice rough like he was holding something back… whew.

And then he had the nerve to get in your space, to practically dare you to deny that you wanted him? That you had been craving this just as much as he had?

Yeah. You were shaking.

Your fingers curled into your palms as you swallowed hard, trying to get a grip.

The worst part?

Joe knew what he was doing.

He saw the way you reacted. The way you had just stood there, completely speechless for the first time since you met him. And instead of pushing his advantage? Instead of really pressing you for an answer?

He had pulled back.

Smirked.

And walked away like he hadn’t just left you hot and bothered in the middle of your damn job.

"That’s what I thought."

His voice echoed in your head, making you shiver all over again.

Oh, he was good.

And now you had to face him at dinner.

Alone.

Your stomach flipped at the thought.

You were in so much trouble.

---

You were not nervous.

Nope. Not at all.

You weren’t pacing around your apartment, staring at your closet like it had personally offended you. You weren’t overthinking every possible outfit, wondering if it sent the wrong message.

This wasn’t even a date.

…Right?

You groaned, flopping onto your bed. This was his fault. Joe Burrow’s fault. If he hadn’t waltzed into that equipment room acting like he owned you, whispering in your ear like some kind of smooth-talking devil, you wouldn’t be in this mess.

Because now? Now you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

His voice. His eyes. The way he had leaned into you without touching you, and somehow, that had been worse than if he had.

It was annoying.

And even worse? He knew what he was doing.

Cocky bastard.

Your phone buzzed, and you already knew who it was before you even checked.

Joe: I’ll be there in 10.

Your stomach flipped.

You sat up so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. Ten minutes.

Cursing under your breath, you bolted toward your closet, grabbing the first outfit that made you feel like you weren’t trying too hard but also didn’t scream I’m unbothered, because let’s be real—you were very much bothered.

By the time you were dressed, your phone buzzed again.

Joe: I’m outside.

Oh, Lord.

You took one last deep breath before stepping outside.

And there he was.

Leaning against his car, arms crossed, looking so damn good in a fitted black tee and jeans that should not have been allowed to fit that well. His curls were slightly damp—probably from a post-practice shower—and his ocean eyes locked onto you immediately.

And of course he smirked.

Like he knew.

Like he knew you had been thinking about him nonstop since your last encounter.

You refused to let him win that easily.

So you kept your expression neutral, tilting your head. "You clean up nice."

Joe let out a soft chuckle, pushing off the car to open the passenger door for you. "You always look good."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the heat creeping up your neck as you slid into the car.

The second he shut the door and got in on his side, you felt it.

The energy.

The air was thick, charged, like something was just waiting to snap.

Joe didn’t start the car right away. Instead, he rested one arm on the steering wheel and turned to you, his eyes dragging over your face like he was committing every detail to memory.

"You nervous?" His voice was too smooth, too damn confident.

You scoffed. "Please. What would I be nervous about?"

Joe’s smirk deepened. "Good. Because I don’t want you running when you realize how bad I want you."

Your breath hitched.

Joe saw it.

And for the second time that week, you had nothing to say.

Joe chuckled, low and deep, before finally starting the car. "Let’s go, sweetheart."

You turned to the window, biting your lip to hide the fact that you were so not prepared for whatever the hell this night was about to be.

Because if Joe Burrow wanted you this bad?

You weren’t sure how much longer you could resist.

---

You were in trouble.

Not the kind of trouble where you could talk your way out of it, either. No, this was real, heart-racing, stomach-flipping, toe-curling trouble.

And it was sitting right next to you, gripping the steering wheel with one hand like it was the only thing keeping him from reaching for you.

The drive was quiet—but not awkward. No, it was worse than that. It was charged. Every second stretched out, thick with something unspoken.

Joe had already made his intentions painfully clear.

Now, the ball was in your court.

But what scared you wasn’t making a choice. It was the fact that you already had.

You were done pretending that the tension between you wasn’t real. That every look he gave you, every touch he barely allowed himself to make, wasn’t unraveling you from the inside out.

And Joe? He knew.

He knew you were running out of excuses.

Which was why he wasn’t pushing.

Not yet.

"You're quiet," he finally said, voice smooth, careful.

You huffed, forcing yourself to look at him. "And you’re smug."

Joe glanced at you, smirk barely visible in the low light of the car. "I can’t help it. I like knowing I’ve been on your mind."

You scoffed. "And what makes you think you have been?"

Joe hummed, tilting his head slightly, fingers flexing over the wheel. "Because if I hadn't been, you wouldn’t have spent the last ten minutes avoiding looking at me."

Damn him.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you turned toward the window. "You’re exhausting."

Joe let out a low, knowing chuckle. "And yet, you’re here."

Your heart stumbled.

Because… yeah. You were.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

He had you.

He knew he had you.

And not in some cocky, I always get what I want way. No—this was different. This wasn’t just some game to win.

This was you.

The woman who had been living in his head since the moment he met you. The woman who had him gripping his phone, waiting for your name to pop up. The woman who had turned him into a man who actually gave a damn about something other than football.

And you were here.

With him.

That was all he needed.

For now.

"You’re thinking too hard," you muttered, eyeing him as he pulled into the restaurant parking lot.

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. "And you’re acting like you’re not thinking about me at all."

Your lips twitched. "Maybe I’m not."

Joe turned the car off, then slowly—slowly—leaned over, resting his arm on the back of your seat.

His voice dropped, low and intimate. "Lying’s a sin, sweetheart."

Your breath hitched.

Joe felt it.

Saw the way your fingers clenched against your thigh.

And it took everything in him not to reach for you.

Not yet.

Instead, he just smirked and pulled back, getting out of the car like he hadn’t just left you gripping onto your last bit of self-control.

Yeah.

You were so close to giving in.

And Joe?

He was ready for it.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

You needed a moment.

Just one, tiny second to gather yourself after Joe Burrow had the audacity to lean in like that, murmur in that damn voice, and then just—just walk away.

Like he hadn’t just turned your brain into a useless pile of mush and your panties into the damn Pacific Ocean.

Like he hadn’t left you gripping your thigh because you needed to physically stop yourself from doing something stupid—like grabbing him by the collar and testing just how much he really wanted you.

You let out a slow breath, pressing your palms against your thighs before finally stepping out of the car.

Joe was already waiting for you, leaning against the hood with his hands in his pockets, watching you like he knew.

Which, of course, he did.

Smug bastard.

"You good?" he asked, voice light but laced with something deeper.

You narrowed your eyes. "Perfect."

Joe’s lips twitched like he wanted to laugh.

Oh, he was enjoying this too much.

You straightened your shoulders, brushing past him toward the entrance. You refused to let him see how badly he was affecting you.

The problem?

Joe was Joe.

And he had zero intention of letting you pretend.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

He was winning.

Not in a cocky, arrogant way—no, this was something else.

Because you liked this.

You liked the push and pull. The teasing. The way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

And that?

That made him want you even more.

But what really got him?

What really fucked him up?

The fact that you weren’t just some prize to be won. You weren’t playing hard to get just to make him chase you. No—you were trying to protect yourself.

Because deep down?

You knew.

Knew that once you gave in, once you let him in—there was no coming back.

For either of you.

Joe clenched his jaw, inhaling sharply before following you inside.

Time to turn it up a notch.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Dinner was dangerous.

Not because Joe was being obvious—no, that would’ve been easy to deal with.

Instead, he was being subtle.

And that? That was so much worse.

It was the way his voice dropped just slightly when he spoke to you. The way he leaned in when you talked, giving you his full attention like nothing else in the world mattered.

It was the way his fingers brushed against yours when he passed you the menu, the way his knee barely pressed against yours under the table—and stayed there.

You were losing it.

And the worst part?

You were letting him.

"Y/N."

Joe’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

You blinked, realizing you had been staring at your untouched drink.

Joe tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You good over there?"

You cleared your throat, straightening in your seat. "Fine."

Joe grinned.

Slow. Knowing.

And then he leaned in, elbows resting on the table, voice dropping to something dangerous.

"You keep saying that," he murmured. "But I don’t think you are."

Your stomach flipped.

You swallowed hard, refusing to look away. "And why’s that?"

Joe’s eyes darkened.

"Because," he said, voice smooth, confident, "if you were really fine, you wouldn’t be gripping your napkin like it’s the only thing keeping you from grabbing me."

Your breath caught.

Joe smirked.

And just like that?

You knew.

Tonight wasn’t about whether you’d give in.

It was about how much longer you could pretend you hadn’t already.

—

Okay, no.

You were not about to lose control.

Not here, not now. You were better than this.

You had spent weeks enjoying the chase—the game—the thrill of watching Joe Burrow squirm. The smug look on his face when he thought he had you cornered… that was what you lived for.

But now?

Now he was testing your limits.

His words had gotten under your skin, but you could see the glint of satisfaction in his eyes. He thought he had you all figured out. Thought he knew how far you could be pushed before you’d crack.

Well, he was about to find out how wrong he was.

You took a slow breath, meeting his gaze across the table. His eyes were dark with something dangerous, something that promised a night you weren’t sure you were prepared for.

But you weren’t going to make it easy on him.

You straightened in your seat, narrowing your eyes just slightly, and let your lips curl into a smile that wasn’t nearly as innocent as it seemed.

"Really?" you asked, voice low, almost too casual. "Gripping my napkin? You’ve been watching me that closely?"

Joe’s smirk faltered for half a second, and you caught it. Oh, you caught it.

His confidence was slipping.

You could see it in the way he leaned back just a little, trying to recover, but you weren’t done yet.

"No need to get shy, Joe," you teased, leaning forward just enough for your neckline to catch his attention. "I mean, if I were you, I’d be enthralled, too. Can’t blame a guy for staring."

Joe’s throat worked as he swallowed, his gaze flicking to your lips before meeting your eyes again, though his expression was strained now. He was fighting it—fighting you.

And it was so much fun.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Y/N," Joe finally said, voice thick, though there was a trace of uncertainty that wasn’t there before. "You sure you want to keep doing this?"

You leaned back, adopting a casual posture, making sure you weren’t leaning in too far. No, you were letting him come to you this time.

"You’re the one who keeps pushing," you said with a playful edge to your voice, eyes never leaving his. "I didn’t start this."

Joe’s lips twitched into a grin that was just a little too confident for his own good. "You know what they say," he said, voice dripping with teasing amusement, "You can’t start a fire without getting burned."

Oh, so now he was going for the full flirtation.

Well, two could play at this game.

You met his gaze with a tilt of your head. "Maybe I like fire," you said slowly, the words carrying a deeper meaning. "But I’m not the one getting burned here."

You saw it then—the brief flicker of his pupils dilating, the slight shift in his posture as if he was leaning in without even realizing it.

And that? That was the moment you knew you were winning.

Joe Burrow—Joe Burrow—was sweating.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Joe was done for.

He thought he had this all figured out. Thought he could walk in here, say a few smooth lines, and watch you crumble under the weight of his attention. He had spent the last few weeks imagining this moment, planning on how he was going to pull you in, how he’d sweep you off your feet.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, had prepared him for how good you were at this.

You weren’t shy, you weren’t tentative. You were dangerous.

And the worst part?

You knew it.

He had leaned in, fully expecting you to crack under his teasing. He’d been so sure you’d back down. But instead, you had turned it around on him—effortlessly.

Your smile, that look in your eyes… God, it was like you were toying with him, and for the first time in his life, Joe Burrow had absolutely no idea what to do.

When you leaned forward just enough for him to catch the curve of your neckline, his mind completely short-circuited. His thoughts scattered, his pulse quickened, and all he could think was more.

More of you.

But no.

He wasn’t done yet.

"You're good, Y/N," he said, trying to regain his composure, voice thick but still playful. "Real good."

You smirked, clearly pleased with yourself. "Good is an understatement," you quipped. "But I guess you’ll find out just how good I can be, huh?"

Joe couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him. "Oh, I’m already finding out, trust me."

But even as he said it, a little voice in his head reminded him that you were still in control.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t mind one bit.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Joe Burrow was unraveling.

And God, was it fun to watch.

He had walked into this evening so sure of himself—so cocky, so convinced that you were the one barely holding it together. He thought he could get in your space, whisper in your ear, watch you melt for him.

But now?

Now, he was the one gripping the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His posture was still relaxed, sure—but his eyes? His jaw? The slight way his knee had started bouncing under the table?

Yeah.

You had him.

"So," you said lightly, taking a slow sip of your drink, "should I be flattered or concerned that you’ve been studying my every move?"

Joe exhaled through his nose, lips twitching like he was fighting a smirk. "You should be flattered. But at this point, I think I’m the one who should be concerned."

You arched a brow. "Oh? Why’s that?"

Joe tilted his head slightly, hazel eyes locking onto yours in that way that always made your stomach do something stupid. "Because," he said smoothly, "I’m starting to think you enjoy watching me lose my mind over you."

You set your drink down with an innocent smile. "Starting to think? Joe, I thought we established that weeks ago."

Joe huffed a laugh, dragging a hand down his face like he was physically restraining himself. "Christ, Y/N."

You bit back a laugh. "What?"

Joe shook his head, leaning in again—closer, but not enough. Never enough. "I don’t think you get it."

Your breath hitched, but you refused to back down. "Then explain it to me."

Joe’s jaw flexed. His fingers curled against the table, like he was debating something—like he was at war with himself.

And then, finally, he let out a breath and muttered something so low you almost missed it.

"I want you."

The words shot through you like electricity.

Not in some casual, flirty, let’s-see-where-this-goes kind of way.

No.

Joe Burrow had just laid it all out on the table.

No games. No teasing.

Just truth.

And for the first time that night?

You had nothing to say.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

There.

He said it.

No more games. No more back-and-forth.

Just the truth.

And now? Now he was watching you, waiting—because this was it.

This was where you either pulled away or fell right into him.

You blinked once. Then twice.

And then, the slowest, most dangerous smile spread across your lips.

And Joe swore he stopped breathing.

"Took you long enough," you murmured.

Joe’s pulse spiked.

His fingers curled into fists against the table as he exhaled sharply through his nose, trying to keep himself in check.

Because you had no idea what you had just done.

None.

His patience? His self-control?

It was hanging by a thread.

"Y/N," he said, voice tight, "don’t push me right now."

But you just smirked.

"Oh?" you said, tilting your head. "And what happens if I do?"

Joe clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

Because fuck.

You were testing him.

And if he wasn’t careful?

You were going to win.

---

He couldn’t sit here any longer.

Not with you looking at him like that—eyes gleaming with mischief, lips curved in that little smirk that knew exactly what it was doing to him.

But when you had looked at him across the table, all playful and smug, that damn smirk on your lips—he snapped.

Not in a reckless way.

No.

Joe Burrow was calculated.

Always.

So, without a word, he stood up.

You blinked up at him, brows furrowing slightly. "Joe?"

But he didn’t answer.

Didn’t give you time to process before he was rounding the table, slipping his hand into yours, and gently—but firmly—pulling you up to stand.

His fingers curled around yours, warm and steady.

And when you didn’t resist?

When you let him lead you?

Yeah.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

"Come on," he murmured, his voice low, thick with something you felt in your bones.

You barely had time to register that he had already paid before he was leading you through the restaurant, fingers wrapped securely around yours.

Heads turned as you passed, but Joe didn’t notice. Didn’t care.

His entire focus was on you.

And the second you stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin—

Your back hit the car.

Gently.

Not harsh, not rushed. Just decisive.

Because finally—finally—he had you exactly where he wanted.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Okay.

What just happened?

One minute, you were testing Joe, enjoying every second of watching him try to keep his composure.

And now?

Now, his hand was in yours, his grip strong and unwavering as he led you—no, practically dragged you—out of the restaurant.

"Joe—"

But he didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow down.

And when you stepped outside, the night air cool against your skin, he turned so quickly that you barely had time to react before—

Your back hit the car.

Gently. Not rough, not rushed—just firm.

Like he needed you here.

Like he couldn’t wait another second.

Your breath hitched, hands instinctively finding the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric like you needed something to ground you.

Not because Joe had pushed you against the car—no, that wasn’t what had your pulse racing.

It was him.

Joe pressed his palms against the car on either side of you, caging you in.

And when he finally met your gaze—

You felt it.

The weight of everything unsaid.

The way he was looking at you.

Like he had spent every second of this night holding himself back.

Like he wasn’t going to anymore.

The tension that had been simmering for weeks, threatening to spill over.

You swallowed hard. "Joe—"

"Enough."

The word was low. Rough.

A command. A plea.

Your hands were still curled into the front of his shirt, fingers twitching slightly, but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he liked it.

Your stomach flipped.

Because this?

This was different.

He wasn’t teasing anymore.

And neither were you.

Joe exhaled slowly, ocean eyes flickering down to your lips before snapping back up.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured. "If you want me to, just say it."

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Because you didn’t want him to.

Instead, you tilted your chin up slightly, your own silent challenge.

And that was all it took.

Joe moved.

His lips crashed onto yours, firm, certain—like he had been dying to do it.

And maybe he had.

His hands found your waist, fingers pressing into your sides, like he needed to feel you, to ground himself.

And you let him.

Because God, this was Joe.

And you were done pretending.

When he finally pulled back—just enough for his breath to mix with yours, for his forehead to brush against yours—he let out a rough, almost breathless chuckle.

"You drive me insane," he muttered.

You smirked, voice slightly dazed. "Good."

Joe huffed a laugh, pressing a slow, lingering kiss just beneath your jaw, like he wasn’t quite ready to pull away.

"You’re mine," he murmured against your skin.

And you didn’t argue.

---

You’re mine.

Two little words, murmured against your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

And the worst part?

You liked it.

Far too much.

Joe was still close, still hovering over you, his hands firm at your waist like he wasn’t ready to let go yet. Like he needed just a few more seconds of feeling you pressed against him before he could think straight again.

You weren’t sure you could think straight either.

You swallowed hard, inhaling slowly, trying—failing—to steady yourself. "Bold statement, Burrow."

Joe just smirked, his breath still warm against your skin. "Bold? Nah. Just facts."

Your stomach flipped.

You should’ve said something back, something clever, something to knock him off balance like you’d been doing all night—

But your brain?

Completely blank.

Because Joe wasn’t playing anymore.

He had spent weeks letting you tease, letting you test him, letting you hold the power in your little back-and-forth game.

But now?

Now, he had you exactly where he wanted.

And he knew it.

You let out a shaky breath. "And what makes you so sure I belong to you?"

Joe pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, his hazel eyes dark with something unreadable. "Because," he said smoothly, confidently, "you haven’t pushed me away yet."

Damn him.

Damn him for being right.

You hated the fact that he had you speechless. That he had flipped the script so effortlessly, leaving you the one struggling to keep your cool.

But you weren’t going down without a fight.

Not yet.

So, with as much composure as you could possibly muster, you tilted your head, running your fingers down the front of his shirt. "Hmm," you mused, voice teasing despite the way your heart was pounding. "I don’t know… feels like you're the one who can’t let go."

Joe’s grip on your waist tightened—just for a second—before he huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You’re impossible."

You grinned. "And you love it."

Joe exhaled through his nose, eyes flicking to your lips before snapping back up to your eyes. "Yeah, I do."

Your breath caught.

Because he had said it so easily.

No hesitation. No games.

Just truth.

And for the first time tonight, you didn’t have a comeback.

Didn’t have a single damn word.

Joe smirked at your silence, leaning in just enough to brush his lips against your temple—soft, lingering. "Come on," he murmured against your skin. "Let’s get out of here before I do something reckless."

You swallowed, pulse still wild, but somehow, somehow, you managed to smirk back. "Like what?"

Joe pulled back just enough to look at you, his hazel eyes filled with something deep, something dangerous.

"Like proving that you already belong to me."

Oh.

Oh, you were in trouble.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

You were gonna be the death of him.

Joe had spent weeks chasing you, letting you tease, letting you think you had the upper hand. He let you play your little game, let you watch him squirm, let you test just how much he could take.

But now?

Now, he had you cornered.

And God, was it satisfying.

The way you had no response to his words, the way you were staring up at him, lips slightly parted, that confident little smirk finally wiped clean off your face—yeah.

He had won.

You knew it, too.

But you were still fighting.

Still trying to hold onto whatever was left of your control, even as your fingers curled just slightly in the fabric of his shirt.

Joe smirked. "What? No comeback?"

Your eyes narrowed slightly, like you wanted to say something, like you were searching for something smart to throw back at him.

But nothing came.

Joe loved that.

"That’s what I thought," he murmured, letting his thumb trace slow, lazy circles against your waist.

You shivered.

Barely.

But he felt it.

Joe exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. "Still wanna pretend you don’t feel this?"

You inhaled sharply, jaw tightening. "I never said I didn’t feel anything."

Joe arched a brow. "Oh?"

You swallowed, but that playful fire in your eyes was back, that spark of defiance that drove him absolutely insane. "I just said I like watching you lose your mind over me."

Joe huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

You grinned, clearly pleased with yourself. "I try."

Joe should’ve pulled away.

Should’ve stepped back, given you space, let this moment simmer between you instead of pressing his advantage.

But he couldn’t.

Not when you were standing there, smiling at him like that, all smug and teasing and absolutely infuriating.

So, instead, he leaned in, voice low, thick. "Careful, Y/N. Because if you keep pushing me…"

Your breath hitched, eyes flickering to his lips. "Then what?"

Joe smirked. "Then I’ll remind you exactly why I’ve been so patient."

Your expression flickered—just for a second. Just long enough for Joe to see it.

And that?

That was everything.

"Come on," he muttered, finally—finally—forcing himself to take a step back. "Let’s go before I lose every ounce of self-control I have left."

You exhaled slowly, eyes still locked onto his, and then—finally—you nodded.

Joe let his hand slide down your arm, fingers brushing against yours before he laced them together, gripping your hand like he wasn’t letting go.

And he wasn’t.

Not now.

Not ever.

—

The whole drive to your place was quiet—too quiet.

Joe could still feel the weight of everything that had happened tonight, lingering thick in the air between you two. The teasing, the tension, the way you had finally, finally let your guard slip just enough for him to see that he wasn’t the only one feeling this.

And now?

Now you were sitting in his passenger seat, scrolling on your phone like you weren’t completely aware of the way his hand was still resting on your thigh.

Joe smirked to himself. You weren’t fooling anyone.

When he finally pulled up in front of your place, he threw the car in park but didn’t move.

Neither did you.

Seconds passed.

The air between you still crackling, still charged with something neither of you wanted to be the first to say out loud.

Joe tilted his head slightly. "You gonna invite me in?"

You huffed a laugh, side-eyeing him. "Cocky."

"Just hopeful," Joe corrected smoothly, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze. "But if you need me to beg…"

Your breath hitched—just barely—but Joe heard it.

You turned your head, finally looking at him head-on, eyes searching his face like you were trying to figure out if he was serious.

(He was.)

Then, after a long pause, you hummed. "Nah."

Joe arched a brow. "No?"

You grinned. "I think I like making you wait."

Joe groaned, throwing his head back against the headrest. "You are killing me."

You laughed, and damn, that sound alone made every second of waiting worth it.

He turned back toward you, gaze locked onto yours. "One day, you’re gonna slip up," he murmured. "And when you do, Y/N…" He leaned in just slightly, voice dropping. "I’m not letting you go."

Your grin faltered—just a little.

Just enough for Joe to see that you felt it too.

But instead of answering, you reached up and tugged his hoodie strings, pulling him in just enough for your lips to brush the corner of his mouth—soft, barely there.

Joe froze.

And then—

"Goodnight, Burrow," you whispered against his skin.

And just like that, you were slipping out of the car, leaving Joe sitting there, stunned, gripping the steering wheel like he was barely holding himself together.

His head fell back against the seat. "Jesus Christ."

He was so, so screwed.

JB9 Taglist: -

[jinusajas]

10/07/24; 05:40pm

{ drabbles / headcanons }

[ when you watch them fall in love with someone else ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel

notes and warnings: unedited; non!mc reader; unrequited love; angst, no comfort. do not ask for a part 2. mc names for each story ( lorelai, ashley, teresa, melody )

thank you @/nyashykyunnie for providing the banners for this story ♡

{ she's got you mesmerized, while i die | why would you ever kiss me? | i'm not even half as pretty | you gave her your sweater, it's just polyester | but you like her better... i wish i was heather. }

to sylus, you were simply someone he hired to help with making his life easier. his relationship with you was nothing short of a mere business deal, with your mere existence seeming to be a means to an end.

yet foolishly enough, you had fallen for this cocky bastard, knowing you would do anything to please him-

anything to make him happy.

you couldn't count the instances where you sacrificed your own dignity for the sake of furthering his agenda alone. from sleeping with his enemies to obtain their secrets, to risking your life backing him up in various situations that more often than not, ended up in a gunfight-

you truly didn't understand why you would put your body and heart through such torture, simply to receive a mere nod of approval in response. it was during times like these, when you're so busy nursing your wounds, that you wondered why your traitorous heart beat so strongly for him, despite knowing how he didn't reciprocate your feelings.

in order to feel better about this whole situation, you managed to convince yourself that sylus was a busy man. that he didn't have time to feel such trivial emotions like love; that he treated you well enough, and as long as you could forever remain by his side, then you had no complaints.

you were a fool, purposely living in this tiny sandbox, convincing yourself that you could survive on mere scraps alone when it came to sylus.

yet that all changed when a certain hunter crash landed into his life, changing not only the course of his life-

but yours as well.

you had simply tagged along, being sylus's all too willing shadow when the young woman foolishly stepped into the n109 zone with an agenda of her own. as sylus takes her back to the warehouse, you could detect the fear and anxiety in her voice even when she willingly went against sylus.

and it was with those eyes, so filled with conviction, that you could see the way the walls around sylus's heart was beginning to crumble. he makes a few snide remarks to the woman, yet you could hear the amusement in his voice when he steps closer to her, pressing his hand over hers that felt much too sensual for your eyes.

envy was felt choking you, and you had to turn away from the scene. ice was felt coursing through your very veins at the sight, and you bit down against your bottom lip with such intensity that you swore that you were close to drawing blood.

thoughts pertaining to your denial kept repeating itself in your mind, like a never-ending mantra, and you knew that deep down you were simply trying to lie to yourself.

sylus was simply using that hunter as well.

she was just as much of a tool to him like you were.

that woman is nothing special.

yet it all came crashing down one late evening, when you stepped into his room in hopes of seeking some sort of comfort from him. you were dressed in a thin nightgown, with your heart racing with anticipation within your chest. while admiring his sleeping face, you were filled with a longing for him, finding yourself praying that he would somehow return your feelings and take you in his arms all while admitting that he never wished to let you go.

when your hands reached out to him was when he began mumbling in his sleep, stating the syllables that made up a name that had your heart cease its beats almost immediately.

a name that wasn't your name-

"lorelai..."

you felt like you couldn't breathe, hearing his deep voice becoming so filled with yearning for that woman that it made you sick to your stomach. hot tears were felt streaming down your face, and you quickly turned away from him all while biting down against your fist.

lorelailorelailorelailorelailorelai! it was always her!

the woman with the smooth, pale skin and alluring gaze; her doe eyes and perfect hair managing to captivate sylus within mere minutes of him meeting her. your heart was utterly destroyed along with your confidence and love for him.

after everything you had done for him, he still refused to give you his heart-

yet it was stolen so freely by that perfect woman... lorelai-

you didn't think you could forget the way sylus spoke her name, filled with such reverence that it made you feel dizzy with envy.

spending several days avoiding sylus, doing your best to cut him out of your life. you wanted to skip any confrontations, not wishing to even admit the truth about your feelings when it came to him-

but as always, you were foolish into thinking that sylus would ever give you an easy way out.

you had been taking your usual trek home, ready to enter your apartment complex when a flurry of black feathers begin marring your vision, making you stop dead in your tracks when the onychinus leader appears before you. his large hands grips at your wrists almost painfully, making you cry out.

but perhaps more so than the pain was the fact that he treated you roughly, clearly not caring about your own well-being whereas he treated lorelai like she was made of porcelain.

"where the hell have you been?" annoyance twists sylus's features, morphing it into an expression of absolute disdain for you. "i've spent weeks trying to get in contact with you, and it turns out you've had me blocked this entire time?"

anger surges through you, and you use that sole emotion to fuel you when you manage to shove sylus away from you. his eyes go wide, taking a few steps back while giving you an incredulous expression. strengthening your resolve, you meet his gaze and give him the iciest glare that you could manage.

"we need to stop this charade, sylus. i can't go on working for you, not when you make it so damn obvious that i was never the one for you."

a flash of emotion was seen within his crimson gaze before quickly disappearing. his jaw seems to tighten in response to the way he was now gritting his teeth, "what are you talking about?"

you sharply inhale, finally spilling your darkest secret to him, "i love you, but you don't give a damn about me- not like you do with her."

surprise flashes across his features, and he takes an unsteady step towards you, "you... what?"

shaking your head, you angrily wipe away your tears, "i love you, that's why i can't be with you anymore. everything i've done, i've done for you, to make you fucking happy- to make you acknowledge me."

with your head held high, you meet his gaze and tell him (all while managing to keep your voice even), "if you want me to come back to you, then you need to make a choice. knowing how i feel about you, how i've always felt about you, you need to choose-

if you want me to come back, it's me. but if you choose her, then i'll be forever gone from your life."

sylus looks away from you, remaining silent for just a few seconds before his body began to shake, his laughter seeming to pierce through your heart, "you have no idea how long i have yearned for her... so to have lorelai so much closer to me than ever before, it's clear that i would accept any losses, including you."

the devastation you felt in that very moment was almost too much to bear, with you quickly running away from him. the tears continue to cascade down your cheeks, and every memory you shared with him continues to play within your mind.

your love-

the sacrifices you had made for him-

it had been all for naught.

when you were hired to work as one of the general surgeons as akso hospital, you felt as though you had hit the jackpot, landing a job at such a prestigious hospital in the heart of linkon. feeling happy at being able to further your career, you didn't think that anything could possibly distract you.

that is... until dr. zayne came into the picture.

you had heard about his achievements in the medical field, and you held a great deal of respect for him. becoming a cardiac surgeon of his caliber was no easy feat, and the fact that someone so young could accomplish it was commendable to you.

in fact, you were eager to start your work life with dr. zayne-

however, what you didn't expect was to fall so deeply in love with him at first sight. his bright eyes and the way his tiny smiles would constantly invade your mind was taking its toll on you. each time you would think about him, daydreaming of scenarios with your beloved doctor, your coworkers could see your lovestruck expression and take note of how your cheeks would suddenly go warm at the sight of zayne.

you were just so enamored with him that you gathered your courage and asked him out, first. after all, there was no penalties for developing a relationship between coworkers as long as both parties kept it professional while on the clock.

the memory of you confessing to zayne became a fond one. you had heard from yvonne that his favorite food were macaroons, and you figured that you had a better chance of winning his heart by gifting him his favorite food. so, with the box of colorful cookies in hand, you step into zayne's office and offered the gift to him all while confessing your feelings for him.

"zayne, i apologize if you find this... unprofessional, but i can't hide my feelings for you any longer. i... i truly like you so much, so please, will you give me a chance and go out with me?"

you watch as his eyes grow wider, an embarrassed expression taking over his expression as he hides his lips from you with the palm of his hand. he seems to be deep in thought, and after much deliberation, he accepts your confession and agrees to date you.

for the first couple of weeks, you were on cloud 9. zayne was nothing short of being the perfect boyfriend, taking you out on weekend dates at the end of your long shifts while giving you special trinkets here and there.

but there was one glaring issue-

zayne never once kissed you.

sure, he gave you gentle hugs here and there, yet each time you would lean up to try and kiss him, zayne would inevitably look away from you, saying that he was tired or how it wasn't the right moment to kiss.

despite how he never once complained or said a word to you, his lack of affection-

or rather, the lack of him reciprocating your affections, was taking its toll on you.

and you couldn't figure out the reasoning behind his distance until much later.

you had just come out of surgery, and as you stepped out into the lobby, you saw something that made you freeze, unable to move or say a single word.

standing a mere few feet away from you was zayne, and he was smiling at a petite woman. never before had you seen zayne appearing so soft before. the woman seemed to be chattering on about something to zayne, and your boyfriend did nothing but smile at everything she said-

as if he were hanging on to her every word.

feeling the pinpricks of jealousy beginning to surface, you march towards zayne and take a hold of his hand, doing your best to maintain a casual air as you cling to zayne and smile at the other woman. "zayne, i was looking everywhere for you!"

your laughter was strained as you eyed the woman, feeling the envious feelings begin to rise upon seeing how... perfect she looked. with kind eyes and full, rosy lips tilted up in a smile, she greets you. "hello, you must be zaynie's girlfriend! my name is ashley, and zayne's been my friend since we were little kids! he talks a lot about you, and i'm happy he's met someone so wonderful."

from your periphery, you could see the way zayne winces upon hearing ashley's words. it was clear that her calling zayne as simply her friend was enough to earn a wounded expression from him-

and that was the moment your epiphany came.

there was a reason why zayne never kissed you; why he never went beyond hugging you while taking you on simple dates-

it's because his heart had never been yours to begin with-

it belonged to her.

the blood had already rushed to your ears, blocking out whatever ashley had said before she excuses herself, leaving the hospital lobby. in your daze, you look down to see zayne clutching on to something tightly, realizing that ashley had made lunch for him.

feeling your throat go dry, you manage to tell him, "we need to talk."

zayne gives you a stiff nod, following you towards the upper floors and into his office with almost robotic movements. upon reaching the privacy of his office, you close the door, watching as zayne gingerly places the container filled with ashley's homemade lunch on his desk.

"who is she?"

zayne doesn't meet your gaze, simply staring out the window, answering your question softly, "it's like she said, she's a childhood friend."

"...a childhood friend that you love."

your heart was felt shattering all over again when zayne stiffens momentarily before visibly relaxing, as if feeling some type of relief-

like he didn't need to lie to himself or hide it anymore.

you thought hearing him confirm your suspicions would be the end of your heartache, but it was so much worse when he admits to you, "ashley is the reason why i worked so hard to become a cardiac surgeon. she... she has a heart defect, and i wish to save her life... to keep her alive and live a happy, fulfilling life."

his admission has left you reeling in response, the pain becoming so palatable that you could feel your heart begin shattering into a million pieces. "if you love her so much, why aren't you with her?" you ask him, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes.

zayne simply shakes his head in response, "she doesn't feel the same way for me... and truth be told... she deserves better than me. even though i've loved her through every timeline and universe, i-"

your heart couldn't take zayne's pain any longer, the hurt you once felt for him quickly becoming overshadowed by the unconditional love you still felt for him. taking him within your embrace, you feel the way he trembles against you, clinging to you as soft sobs were wracked through him.

and when he finally lifts up your chin, meeting your gaze while sayig your name with a broken gasp, he finally kisses you-

the taste of your first and last kiss with him was salty with his tears, yet you were too far gone to realize that this single kiss of desperation was made in response to his own lingering emotions for ashley-

never for you.

"there's a new girl that's going to be my partner at the association... and i'm in charge of looking out for her."

xavier tells you as you prepared dinner for the night. you frown at this information, but thought nothing of it. after all, he was skilled at his job as a hunter, often receiving praise for his strength when it came to dealing with the wanderers that roam the world.

"that's fine, i know what your work entails, xavier. you're a hunter, and if there's a newbie you need to train, then that's the end of it." you tell him with a hum, your back now facing him as you focused on cooking once more, missing the relieved expression on his face.

you serve dinner and ask him about his day, only to receive one word answers in response. this also seemed a bit strange for you, since xavier never really shied away when it came to telling you about his day and how he felt.

you had both been dating to close to a year now, with you growing closer after becoming friends. you realized that you both shared similar interests and just... naturally progressed your relationship into something a bit more romantic. at the 6 month mark of your newly developed relationship, you decided to move in together with him.

it was true that you dated and had a few other boyfriends before, yet none of them were quite as serious as your relationship with xavier. despite never once saying the l word to each other, deep down, you knew that you were falling for xavier. in fact, with the sheer amount of times you had gushed to your family and friends about how much you adored him, they were confident that you would get engaged the moment your one year anniversary hit.

with the date quickly approaching in just a few weeks, you began to paint your daydreams, thinking of different ways xavier would propose to you while giggling like a little girl. you had always dreamt of having the perfect proposal, and you couldn't help but feel giddy at the thought of what was to come.

after serving dinner, you sit across from xavier, taking a few bites here and there all while sneaking glances at him. you couldn't stop grinning at him, which makes xavier raise his eyebrows at you in suspicion.

"what? do i have sauce on my face?"

you snort and quickly shake your head, reassuring him that you were simply caught up in your reveries. xavier doesn't bring up the subject any longer, simply returning to his meal.

later that night, as you both got ready for bed, you were dressed comfortably in your favorite pajamas all while anticipating xavier's return to you. after his usual shower, he comes out of the bathroom with a plush towel wrapped around his head. tossing the damp towel into the hamper, he gets into bed, with you expecting your boyfriend to face you while taking you in his arms.

but when he gets into bed with his back turned towards you, you had to fight back the strange pang felt within your chest. your mouth kept opening and closing, asking him if he was okay-

"sorry, i'm just a bit exhausted. let's just sleep..."

ignoring the way your throat seemed to clench in response, you give him a stiff nod, only to realize that he couldn't see you. "r-right... i understand, you're tired, that's all."

the tears were felt brimming against your eyes, but you quickly wiped them away, falling into bed while clenching your eyes shut. you tried to ignore the lingering suspicions, distracting yourself by counting sheep until you could fall into a restless slumber all while trying to convince yourself that everything was going to be okay...

{ ... }

the weeks leading up to your first anniversary with xavier was strained, to say the least.

for starters, he seemed to be taking on more missions than usual, all while telling you that teresa was still new and needed someone with experience like him on these higher level missions.

at first, his reasonings didn't bother you or raise any alarm, and you simply allowed him to work with teresa because it was his job and that woman was his partner. you couldn't let your insecure thoughts put a damper on his job.

even when you saw him less and less-

your love never once wavered for him.

on the day of your one year anniversary, you decided to surprise him at work instead. surely, he would have completed his mission sometime during the late afternoon, and you were certain that he would appreciate your kindness.

with his favorite takeout in hand, you walk into the hunter association building, weaving your way through the area. it takes you a few minutes to locate him, but when you went down to the lower levels and could see his familiar, blond hair, you quicken your pace, his name already on the tip of your tongue when you freeze in your steps.

"i thought i had lost you!" xavier's voice was heard cracking as he wrapped his arms around another woman, seeming to crush her slender frame against his chest. your heart begins to ache at the sight, making your labored breathing feel even more painful as you struggled to remain calm and not hyperventilate.

but, it was clear that such a heartbreak would not break even when he opens his eyes and sees your trembling form staring blankly at him. even after seeing you, xavier does not move away from the woman, seeming to hold her even closer to him as he shakes his head at you.

while meeting your gaze, he mouths a few words, and you could read his lips while taking in those harsh syllables. you drop the bag of takeout, your choked sob echoing throughout the area as you ran out of the building.

your sobs coupled along with your gasps for air were making a scene, with some of the civilians looking at you with bewildered expressions. yet you stopped caring, allowing your mind to piece together what had always been in front of you ever since teresa had come into his life.

xavier distancing himself from you-

xavier suddenly filled with the desire to protect teresa, a woman he had just met-

the way he held her so tightly at the memory of nearly losing her-

a sudden cry of your name stops you from taking another step, your stupid heart suddenly filling with hope when you hear xavier's voice and his rapidly approaching footsteps.

you hear him stop a few feet away from you, his voice strained once he begins speaking once more. "i... i'm so sorry, i didn't want you to find out like this, but you have to know the truth."

it takes you a herculean effort to fight back your tears, but you knew you had to hold it together and allow xavier to finally explain himself. "i do care about you... but... fuck, the moment i saw her, everything else just melted away. all of my life, my entire existence, was simply waiting for her to come back to me. i've waited so long for her... and what i feel for her... it's like... like gravity isn't what's keeping me grounded, but she is."

you had no idea what kept you rooted on the spot, knowing that both your heart and mind were screaming at you to move away. but, you couldn't find the strength to do so. instead, you had to listen to his words once more, the same ones he had mouthed to you earlier-

"i'm sorry, but i love her..."

when the beautiful and charming rafayel confessed to you, you accepted his feelings and simply wished to date him just to have fun. despite his occupation as an artist, rafayel was so full of life- so full of light that you couldn't stop yourself from basking in his brilliance.

during the first few weeks of your relationship, your rafe was achingly sweet and cute, often giving you sketches he made of you when he drew your portraits on a whim. he liked calling you his muse before pressing audible kisses against your features, earning a series of joyous laughter from you. because of how much you adored rafayel, you often liked to spend the night at his place, where you would both order your favorite seafood and simply watch cheesy rom-coms together.

as time went on, you began to realize that you were falling hard for the young artist, with him being constantly on your mind even when you were at work. and just when you thought you couldn't love him anymore than you already did, he surprises you by gifting you a gorgeously crafted bracelet that had cute little seashells along with aquamarine gemstones.

altogether, your relationship was achingly perfect with rafayel, with you being certain that he would become your endgame. truly, there were times where you felt like your relationship with rafayel was too good to be true-

yet sadly, you would learn the harsh reality when it came to his feelings for you, realizing that the love rafayel had given you had been his own way of coping.

when it was nearing your 8 month mark of being together with him, rafayel suddenly became distant with you, often locking himself within his studio as he seemed to produce copious amounts of artworks. of course, when you tried to see his new paintings and sculptures, rafayel would hide them all away from you, covering them all with a thick sheet while distracting you with a date.

this behavior was strange, but you thought nothing of it. perhaps he was nervous about an upcoming art exhibit, and he didn't wish to reveal anything until the day of his exhibition came.

so, you went along with it, making up excuses each time rafayel would stiffen when you hugged him, or suddenly turned his head away from you each time you tried to kiss him.

but perhaps what hurt the most was the day you found out the reasoning behind his growing distance. rafayel told you he needed to take a break from making art and invited you over to enjoy the evening with him. you arrive an hour earlier (unable to contain your excitement at finally spending some time with him), and caught him with streaks of paint decorating his outfit.

he mentions how early you are, yet still allows you inside, telling you to make yourself at home while he takes a quick shower. as you rest against his kitchen counter, you hear the shower go off and smile. a few minutes pass, and you felt the palm of your hands begin to itch with a sudden sensation.

biting down at your bottom lip, you look towards the area where rafayel keeps all of his artwork. you were filled with curiosity, wondering what he was working on that made it such a touchy subject for rafe each time you asked about it.

you close your eyes, still hearing rafayel in the shower when you decided to push yourself away from the counter. "i'll just take a quick peek, then put the sheets back in place. he won't even notice."

stepping into his gallery room, you turn on all the lights, coming closer to the sheet as you gripped at the corner of it before pulling it away-

only to reveal a gorgeous carving that depicted a mermaid. she was by far the loveliest creature you had ever seen, with her soft features carved with a gentle smile as she held a pearl within her slender hands. from the amount of care rafayel had put into making her, it was clear that this sculpture was made with love.

there was just one problem-

the mermaid looked nothing like you.

your throat was felt painfully clenching at the sudden realization, but you brushed it off as mere paranoia. surely, there was some other art piece that held your likeness. as you trail your eyes towards a canvas now, you felt your heart sink even further.

it was the same woman; her features matches that of the mermaid sculpture, but this time, you could see the colors. her cheeks were painted in a rosy hue, with each paint stroke seeming to accentuate the soft beauty the woman displayed. around her neck was an aquamarine pendant in the shape of a banded tulip seashell. trailing your eyes further downwards towards the frame, you felt your heart clench upon seeing the title of his painting:

melody, my beloved queen

your mind was racing now, and the sheer intensity of the hurt and envy you felt renders you incapable of taking another step. you were so caught up in your reveries that you didn't even realize that rafayel had come out of the showers until he places the sheets over his works once more.

"you- you weren't supposed to see that."

slowly, you turn around to face him, and his guilty expression was more than enough proof, confirming your suspicions that the woman he kept painting and sculpting- this melody-

he loved her.

"why did you even approach me when your heart was never mine to begin with?"

you were proud at how even your voice came out, and when rafayel tried to stutter out some excuse, you immediately cut him off.

"no more bullshit lies, rafayel. tell me."

the artist lets out a string of curses, running a hand through his damp hair. unable to meet your gaze out of shame, he sighs before admitting, "it's because she doesn't remember me... even after meeting her, she only sees me as a friend. she... doesn't remember me."

your throat was burning now, and you could feel the tears streaming down your face, "then why waste your time with me?"

rafayel meets your gaze, a pained expression painting his features. yet his next words succeeds in absolutely devastating you:

"i used you as a means to try and forget her."

the agony you felt was indescribable, with you immediately turning away from rafayel. the sting of his betrayal was felt coursing through your very veins when you rushed out of his home and into the cold, night air.

you wanted to grip at your hair and scream at the top of your lungs-

you wanted to claw at the sidewalk, making sure that your nails bled with each scrape against the concrete-

but perhaps most of all, you wanted to rip your heart out for still loving rafayel despite it all-

even when you were no longer his muse.

[ all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!! ]

[aspenmissing]

Trinket anon here! Sorry for the confusion! It’s the arcane character’s s/o that’s leaving the tiny gifts behind.

And as to this: ‘little things that made them think of their partner and ended up just left behind for them when they recalled the item was still in their pocket or bag’. …I meant s/o often picks up/makes their little gifts/trinkets/crafts and mindlessly tucks them away only to remember they even exist later on, then just leaves them behind for the arcane character. Ex. s/o passes a shop with a tiny wind-up monkey in the window and thinks of Jinx, buys it, then shoves it in their bag and forgets all about it until they’re digging around for a pen or something and remembers it and just quietly leaves it behind to be found.

Did I help? 🥹

ᴛʀᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 6688 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴᴊᴜʀʏ/ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ (ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ɴᴏ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪꜱᴇ, ᴍʏ ʙʀᴀɪɴ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴡᴀꜱɴ'ᴛ ʙʀᴀɪɴɪɴɢ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴄʟᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴜᴘ - ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʜᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ! <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ/ᴊɪɴx

JAYCE

Jayce prided himself on his ability to read people. Whether in the Council chambers or on the workshop floor, he considered himself adept at deciphering motives and peeling back the layers of those around him. But Y/N? She was a mystery, like a riddle told in whispers. An enigma wrapped in feathers and scattered trinkets.

The first time she left him a gift, it was so subtle he almost missed it. A small mechanical gear sat on his workbench, its brass edges polished to a gleam. It wasn’t one of his own, nor was it something he’d misplaced. Beneath it, a folded slip of parchment lay, the inked message in her unmistakable hand:

"It reminded me of your hammer. I thought you'd like it."

He stared at it for a long moment, perplexed yet intrigued. A gear? Of all things? He turned it over in his hand, noting the weight of it and the way it glinted in the light. It was oddly thoughtful, and that thoughtfulness warmed something deep inside him. From that day forward, the little gear had a permanent spot beside his tools, a tiny reminder of her unique charm.

And then it began.

The gifts started coming with more frequency—never announced, never explained beyond the simple notes she left with them. A pressed flower, its petals faintly glowing with an otherworldly Zaunite shimmer, encased between two sheets of glass. A silver button with intricate engravings, undoubtedly scavenged from some forgotten corner of the Undercity. A scrap of fabric embroidered with gold thread, torn from what must have been an old banner.

Each trinket was as eclectic as it was endearing.

The notes were always short but brimming with quiet affection.

"Saw this in a market. Thought you'd like it." "It made me think of your smile." "You seem stressed—this might cheer you up."

At first, he didn’t know how to respond. What did one say to a gift like a bird’s feather, black as night, accompanied by a note that simply read,

"Your coat matches this. Thought it would go well with it.”?

But slowly, something in him softened. Each time he found another trinket—on his workbench, slipped into his pocket, or perched on his windowsill—he found himself smiling. The gifts weren’t random, not to her. They were little pieces of her world, little fragments of her mind that she thought he’d appreciate.

Jayce began keeping them all.

=

One evening, after a particularly gruelling day of debates with the Council, he returned home feeling drained. The sun was sinking low, casting its golden light across the skyline, and as he stepped out onto his balcony, he found her there. She was perched on the railing, her figure silhouetted against the orange and pink hues of the horizon. Her hair danced in the breeze, her posture as relaxed as if she belonged to the wind itself.

“You’re quiet today,” he remarked, leaning against the doorway.

She turned to face him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Am I? Maybe I’m plotting my next gift.”

Her teasing tone made him chuckle, and he stepped closer, folding his arms. “You know, you don’t have to keep leaving things for me.”

Her smile faltered, her brows furrowing slightly. “You don’t like them?”

“No, no! I love them,” he said quickly, holding up a hand as if to ward off her doubt. “I just… I don’t want you to feel like you have to. It’s not the gifts that matter to me. It’s you.”

Her expression softened, and the mischief returned to her eyes. She tilted her head, the sunlight catching the curve of her cheek. “But the gifts are me, Jayce. They’re little pieces of my thoughts about you. Isn’t that the point?”

His heart stuttered, caught off guard by the simple honesty of her words. “Pieces of you, huh?”

She nodded, and without breaking eye contact, reached into her pocket. “Speaking of…” She pulled out a small figurine, carved from wood. It was unmistakably his hammer, though crude and slightly lopsided. The runes along its head had been painstakingly etched, their imperfect lines speaking of hours spent crafting it.

“I made this today,” she said, her voice soft. “It’s not perfect, but—”

“It’s perfect,” he interrupted, taking it from her hands with a reverence that surprised even himself. His fingers brushed hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them. “Y/N, you don’t know how much these mean to me.”

She laughed, light and airy, a sound like the rustling of wings. “Then you’d better make some room, because I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

Jayce didn’t reply with words. Instead, he pulled her into his arms, the little wooden hammer pressing against his palm as he held her close. Her cheek rested against his chest, and he felt her smile against him.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmured.

She grinned, her voice teasing. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Jayce thought of the collection of trinkets waiting for him inside. They weren’t just gifts—they were a window into her soul, a reflection of the way she saw the world and, more importantly, the way she saw him.

And in that moment, he realised she hadn’t just left him little pieces of herself. She’d taken every piece of his heart in return.

VIKTOR

The hum of machinery filled the lab, punctuated by the occasional clink of metal tools as Viktor worked intently at his station. His cane rested within arm’s reach, leaning against the bench. The faint smell of oil and metal lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of parchment and ink. But lately, something else had been weaving its way into his space—small, peculiar trinkets that carried with them a strange, unspoken warmth.

The first one had appeared two weeks ago. It was a small bird figurine, carefully carved from wood, its wings outstretched mid-flight. It sat precariously on the edge of his workbench, as though someone had set it down mid-thought and wandered off. Viktor had frowned at it, confused. The bird was exquisitely detailed, the feathers etched with precision. When Jayce denied any involvement, Viktor set the figurine aside with a shrug, thinking it had been misplaced by one of the other researchers.

But then another item appeared.

This time, it was a tiny gear encased in clear resin, its edges smoothed out as though it had been polished with care. It had been left atop his blueprints, almost as though it were a paperweight. Viktor had tilted his head at the odd little object, his brow furrowed in curiosity. There was something strangely endearing about it. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands, and felt a flicker of warmth stir in his chest. The resin caught the light, the gear glinting faintly within. He didn’t discard it. Instead, he placed it neatly alongside the wooden bird.

The pattern continued over the next few days. A pocket-sized notebook bound with worn leather appeared on his chair one morning, the edges of its pages slightly frayed. A shard of coloured glass, smoothed by time, was tucked into the folds of his coat when he went to retrieve it. A bundle of dried flowers, tied with twine, rested on his windowsill, the soft purple hues of lavender standing out against the grey of the lab. Each item seemed to materialise in the most curious places: next to his cane, atop his desk, or even peeking out from the stack of notes on his workbench.

And then there was her. Y/N.

Viktor had always found her charmingly unpredictable. She was a whirlwind of energy and curiosity, breezing through the lab with a kind of reckless grace that left him both amused and exasperated. She had a knack for spotting discarded odds and ends and turning them into something new, her eyes lighting up like a child discovering hidden treasure. She was a magpie in human form, drawn to shiny things and curious scraps, collecting them with the same enthusiasm that Viktor reserved for innovation.

=

Today, Viktor caught her in the act.

She stood near his workbench, holding a small brass key in her hands. The key was tarnished with age, but its intricate etchings hinted at a careful craftsmanship that had long since faded from use. Her eyes sparkled as she turned it over, examining every detail with the rapt attention of someone who saw value in things others might dismiss.

But rather than handing it to Viktor directly, she simply set it down absentmindedly on the corner of his desk and wandered off, her attention drawn to a pile of blueprints scattered across a nearby table.

“Y/N,” Viktor called softly, his voice carrying just enough warmth to catch her attention.

She turned, startled at first, but her face quickly broke into a delighted smile. “Oh, Viktor! You’re back.”

“I never left,” he replied with a quiet chuckle, gesturing to the key. “Another gift?”

Her cheeks flushed a faint pink as she glanced at the key, as though noticing it for the first time. “Oh, that? I found it at the market yesterday. It reminded me of you—don’t ask me why, though. Maybe it’s the craftsmanship. I thought it was... neat.”

“You’ve been leaving these for me, haven’t you?” His voice was soft, curious, without a hint of reproach.

Her expression shifted to one of sheepish amusement, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. “I suppose I have. I didn’t really think much about it. Whenever I see something interesting, it just… feels like it belongs with you. I didn’t mean to clutter your space or anything.”

Viktor shook his head, his smile deepening as he leaned on his cane. “You’re not cluttering anything. In fact, I quite like them. They make the lab feel… warmer. Less clinical.”

She blinked, a little surprised. “Really?”

“Really,” he assured her. His golden eyes softened as he studied her, and for a moment, the hum of the lab seemed distant, like a world apart. “You have a gift for seeing beauty in the small things, Y/N. It’s… endearing.”

Her cheeks deepened in colour, and she looked away, trying to mask her embarrassment with a teasing tone. “Endearing, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As you should.” His voice carried a quiet warmth, his gaze steady. “Thank you, Y/N. For all of it.”

She waved a hand dismissively, but her lips curved into a pleased smile that she couldn’t quite hide. “It’s nothing, really. Just a habit of mine. You know how I get.”

“I do,” Viktor replied, his smile lingering as he picked up the brass key, running his thumb over its surface. It felt cool and smooth in his hands, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. “And it’s one of the things I like most about you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, her breath catching, but before she could respond, the sound of Jayce’s voice echoed down the hall, calling for Viktor.

“Duty calls,” Viktor said, setting the key down alongside the rest of her gifts with a quiet reverence. “But don’t stop, Y/N. I quite enjoy your… distractions.”

With that, he gave her a small nod and made his way towards the door, his cane tapping lightly against the floor. Y/N stood there in the soft glow of the lab’s overhead lights, her heart fluttering as her mind raced ahead, already plotting the next trinket she would leave for him.

JAYVIK

Y/N had always been drawn to things that sparked her curiosity. A gleaming bit of metal, intricately carved figurines, or even oddly shaped stones—to her, they all held a certain magic. It was as if the world whispered to her, pointing out treasures that others might overlook. Her fascination with these objects wasn’t just a passing quirk; it was a part of who she was. Naturally, she couldn’t resist sharing her discoveries with Viktor and Jayce. If something reminded her of them, she felt an irresistible urge to leave it for them as a gift, a silent expression of her affection.

The habit began subtly. Viktor had walked into the lab one morning to find a tiny clockwork bird perched delicately on his desk. Its design was crude, but it was charming in its simplicity. When he wound it up, the bird’s wings moved in small, jerky motions, as though it were trying to take flight. Viktor had tilted his head, studying the little contraption with a faint smile of bemusement. The very next day, a shard of dark glass appeared on his desk. It wasn’t just any glass—it caught the light in a way that made it shimmer and glow, reminiscent of the Hexcore’s faintly eerie brilliance. Then came the delicate sketch, hand-drawn by Y/N, depicting him and Jayce engrossed in their work. The attention to detail was staggering, and Viktor found himself quietly marvelling at her talent.

Jayce, on the other hand, was far more vocal about the gifts. One day, he walked into the lab holding a polished stone Y/N had painted with gold flecks, its surface arranged to resemble constellations. “Y/N, you’re spoiling us,” he said with a wide grin, his voice warm with affection.

“I’m not spoiling you,” Y/N replied, her tone teasing yet light-hearted. “I just see things that belong with you two. That’s all.”

It wasn’t about the value of the gifts for her. It was about the thought, the connection. Viktor’s appreciation for intricacy and invention, Jayce’s love for beauty and sentimentality—she found ways to reflect those qualities in every trinket she left. It became her silent language, a way of saying, “I see you. I cherish you.”

=

Over time, they came to expect her little surprises. Viktor began to notice how his heart lifted whenever he found something new on his desk, and Jayce’s exuberant reactions became a fixture in their shared moments. But one gift—one particular project—was different. This wasn’t a found object or a hastily crafted token. It was something she had poured her heart and weeks of effort into. It was a gift for both of them: a small, mechanical music box, powered by Hextech.

The design was intricate, each gear carefully calibrated to work in harmony. The melody it played was one she’d composed herself, a soft, lilting tune that captured the essence of their bond. It was warm and comforting, like the evenings they spent together, filled with laughter and quiet camaraderie.

She hid the music box in her workshop, determined to keep it a secret until it was perfect. But, as it turned out, her secret wasn’t as well-guarded as she believed. One evening, Jayce had been searching for a misplaced tool when he stumbled upon the half-finished music box. Its exposed gears and partially assembled casing caught his eye, and he immediately realised what it was. “Viktor,” he called softly, beckoning him over.

Viktor limped over, his cane tapping against the floor. When he saw the music box, a knowing look passed between them. They didn’t say much; they didn’t need to. They both understood how much Y/N enjoyed surprising them, and they agreed, wordlessly, to keep her secret.

Over the following weeks, they watched her out of the corners of their eyes, noticing the subtle hints of excitement she tried to suppress. It was endearing, how much effort she put into her project, and they couldn’t wait to see the final result.

=

The day finally came when Y/N decided the music box was ready. She waited until they were both in the lab, engrossed in their work. With a deep breath to steady her nerves, she placed the music box on the table between them and stepped back.

Jayce looked up first, his eyes widening in mock surprise. “What’s this?” he asked, picking it up carefully, as though it were made of glass.

“Just something I made,” Y/N said, trying to sound casual, though her excitement shone in her eyes.

Viktor examined the intricate craftsmanship with a keen eye. He wound the small crank, and the soft melody filled the room. His gaze softened as the tune played, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. “You composed this yourself?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost reverent.

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. “Do you like it?”

“Like it?” Jayce repeated, his grin spreading wide. “Y/N, this is incredible. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s perfect,” Viktor added, his tone sincere, his golden eyes meeting hers. “Thank you.”

Relief and joy flooded through her, and she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. She had no idea they’d already seen the music box, no idea they’d been waiting for this moment just as eagerly as she had.

As the melody played on, Jayce reached out to pull her into a one-armed hug, his warmth enveloping her. Viktor, more reserved but no less affectionate, gave her hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a silent gesture of gratitude.

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of their affection and the soft, lilting notes of her creation, Y/N felt a profound sense of belonging. The trinkets, the music box, the countless hours spent together—they all wove a tapestry of connection that bound them together. And for Y/N, that was the greatest treasure of all.

VANDER

The Last Drop was quieter now, the usual rowdy buzz of conversation replaced by a mellow hum, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across the worn wooden floors. Vander leaned over the bar, wiping down a glass with a rag, his thoughts momentarily lost in the usual routine of the night. His mind wandered to the trouble the kids had caused earlier in the day. Vi had nearly gotten herself into a scrap, Mylo had been making his usual sarcastic remarks, and Powder had been running around, her energy boundless. Claggor was the only one who seemed to keep a level head, but that was no surprise.

As Vander absentmindedly cleaned, his eyes fell on something out of place on the bar. It was a small bundle of glossy, iridescent feathers—strangely beautiful, like something you might find in a market stall or tucked away in the corners of the undercity. He raised an eyebrow, his rough fingers lightly brushing the soft feathers, a slow smile creeping across his face.

He knew exactly where it came from.

Y/N.

She had that way about her. Always leaving little gifts—trinkets, oddities, things that carried meaning, even if only to her. The thought crossed Vander’s mind that Y/N was like a crow or a magpie, collecting things that stood out, things that reminded her of people or places. Every gift, every trinket she left behind seemed like a piece of her heart, given freely without asking for anything in return.

This wasn’t the first time she had left him something. Over the past few weeks, little gifts had started to appear—small things that made her presence known. Some were objects she had found, like this bundle of feathers, and others were things she had crafted herself, with care and precision. Each one felt like a message, a silent connection between them.

=

A few days ago, she had left a worn-out leather coin pouch for him, filled with bits of metal and coins. The moment he picked it up, it had reminded him of the time they’d shared a quiet drink together in the bar’s back corner, chatting about the state of Zaun and life in general. It had been a simple gesture, but it had carried the weight of something much deeper. Vander couldn’t help but smile every time he reached into the pouch, each coin a small token of her thoughtfulness.

The kids, too, had their share of trinkets. Y/N always left them little gifts as well, sometimes something she’d found in the city, sometimes something she’d made. For Vi, it had been a small, hand-carved charm of a hawk, a symbol of strength, something Y/N thought would suit her. For Claggor, it was a smooth rock with a perfectly round hole in it—a sign of patience, a trait the boy showed more of than he let on. Mylo had received a small metal ring that Y/N had fashioned herself, a reminder to hold his tongue on occasion, something she teasingly told him every time she handed it over. And Powder... Powder had received a plush rabbit, sewn together from scraps of fabric Y/N had found in the alleyways. The doll was ragged but loved, always with Powder wherever she went, a symbol of the bond they shared.

Vander chuckled softly to himself as he continued to run his fingers over the feathers, the quiet familiarity of Y/N’s gifts making him feel oddly at ease. It wasn’t just about the objects themselves, it was what they represented—the thoughtfulness, the care. Each trinket had its own story, each one meant to remind the recipient of something important. It was clear to him now that Y/N had an eye for the significant details, the small things that most people would overlook.

Suddenly, the door to the bar creaked open, and Y/N stepped inside. Her presence was unmistakable, always with that quiet energy that seemed to fill a room the moment she entered. Her eyes sparkled, and her lips curled into a mischievous grin as she spotted Vander.

“You’ve found it, then,” she said, her voice light and teasing.

Vander looked up from the feathers, smiling. “You always know how to leave me something to remember you by.”

Y/N stepped forward, her hands tucked behind her back, and she held out a small, worn wooden box. It was plain, nothing too fancy, but when Vander opened it, he found something that took him by surprise—a delicate brass key, its surface polished with age, the teeth worn down from years of use. Vander’s fingers ran over it, and for a moment, he just stared at it in silence.

“Don’t ask me where I found it,” Y/N said with a playful glint in her eyes, “but I thought it might remind you of something.” Her smile softened slightly, and she leaned against the bar, watching him closely.

Vander’s brow furrowed slightly, his thoughts spinning as he examined the key. It was beautiful, in its own way, but the mystery of it only deepened as he thought about it. The key could open anything—perhaps an old lock somewhere, or maybe just a memory of a place long forgotten. Either way, it was something that felt tied to the past, and somehow, that felt appropriate. He reached over and placed the key carefully on the counter, beside the feathers.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, the sincerity of his words carrying weight. “You have a way of making things feel... meaningful.”

Y/N shrugged, the playful gleam never quite leaving her eyes. “It’s just a trinket, Vander,” she replied lightly. “But sometimes, that’s all you need. A little reminder.”

Vander couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Well, I’ll certainly be reminded of you every time I look at it.”

Y/N’s smile widened, and she ruffled his hair playfully before turning to head toward the stairs. “Glad to hear it. You know where to find me if you need more reminders,” she called over her shoulder with a wink.

Vander watched her go, a soft chuckle escaping him. He had no idea where she found all these things, but one thing was for certain—Y/N had a way of leaving little pieces of herself everywhere she went. And somehow, those little reminders of her presence had become something more than just trinkets; they had become small treasures, each one a story, a connection that tied her to him and to the kids in a way words never could.

As he picked up the key and the feathers, Vander realised that Y/N, with her quiet, unpredictable way of showing affection, had become a constant in his life. The trinkets she left behind weren’t just objects—they were pieces of her, scattered throughout his world, making it just a little bit brighter.

SILCO

Silco sat in his dimly lit office, the silence broken only by the soft rustle of papers on his desk. His fingers traced the edges of a pile of small, intricate trinkets scattered across the polished surface — a delicate shard of glass, an ornate key with a faint gleam of gold, a worn leather bracelet. At first, he had thought them to be a mere coincidence, random items left behind by careless hands. But as the days went by and the trinkets grew in number, he began to realise they were far from random. They were gifts, or more accurately, offerings.

And they all came from the same person.

Y/N.

Her habits were curious, almost like a magpie, drawn to shiny things. But unlike a typical bird, she didn’t just hoard them. No, Y/N had a strange need to leave them behind, like a secret trail that only he was meant to follow. Each trinket, each piece of jewellery, came with its own story. She didn’t simply take these objects; she earned them, weaving chaos and intrigue into every acquisition.

Silco's eyes narrowed as he studied the latest gift, a small but intricately crafted brooch, its fine silver feathers shaped into the wings of a raven. It had been left on top of the stack of trinkets hours earlier, a symbol of something deeper than mere theft. He recognised the craftsmanship. This piece had been taken from the front of a merchant’s shop in the marketplace. But what intrigued him was not the brooch itself — it was the way Y/N had obtained it. A quiet brawl had erupted between some rowdy patrons in the merchant’s shop earlier that day, a well-placed distraction, and then... the brooch was hers.

The thought of her, pulling the strings behind these little antics, made Silco grin despite himself. She had a way of getting what she wanted, no matter the means. And he had to admit, it was entertaining. Y/N was a force of nature, a storm in human form, capable of weaving chaos with a skill that he couldn’t ignore.

He glanced back at the pile of trinkets. Each one spoke to the mischief she carried with her. There was something alluring about that.

His thoughts drifted to the most recent encounter.

=

She had appeared in his office one evening, that same mischievous grin on her face, a small but glimmering bracelet dangling from her fingers. She had placed it gently in front of him. The bracelet had once adorned the wrist of a wealthy, well-connected trader earlier that day. Silco had watched her from across the room, as she caused a minor uproar in the tavern. The distraction had been perfectly timed.

“Don’t tell me you went through the trouble of setting up that little… distraction for this?” he had asked, his eyes flicking between her and the shiny object in his hand.

"Me?" Y/N had replied with feigned innocence. "I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. The distraction was… an unfortunate accident." Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and Silco could almost hear the laughter hiding behind her words.

"Do you ever get tired of causing trouble?" Silco had asked, his voice smooth, yet tinged with curiosity.

She had leaned in, brushing his hand with hers as she whispered, her breath warm against his skin, “Why get tired of something that brings excitement, Silco? You should try it sometime.”

Her words lingered in the air, a challenge, a lure that piqued his interest even further. There was something intoxicating about her — the way she embraced chaos, the way she toyed with it like a fine art. She was a captivating nuisance, and he found himself not minding it at all.

=

As the days passed, more trinkets appeared on his desk. A delicate pocket watch, cracked and worn from use, was the latest addition — a guard’s prized possession that had gone missing just the previous night. Silco couldn't help but smile as he turned the watch over in his hands. The lengths Y/N must have gone to acquire it were amusing.

“I think I’m starting to grow rather fond of these gifts of yours,” he said aloud, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he looked up at her.

Y/N entered the room, her lips curling into a playful grin. “Oh, I knew you’d come around eventually,” she teased. “Do you think you’ll ever get bored of me?”

Silco met her gaze, his tone smooth but deliberate. “No,” he said, his voice steady and unwavering. “In fact, I think I may just be getting used to this trouble of yours.”

She slid closer, her fingers tracing the edge of the desk where the trinkets lay, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Good,” she murmured, her voice low and enticing. “Because I plan on leaving you many more.”

And with that, as Y/N flashed him one of her trademark devious smiles, Silco knew she would — and he would happily indulge her, even if it meant tolerating the chaos that accompanied it.

But Y/N’s pursuit of the perfect trinket didn’t always go according to plan.

=

It had been one of those rainy, miserable nights in the city, the streets slick and dark, the flickering lamps casting long shadows. Y/N had spotted it in the window of a high-end merchant’s shop: a silver chalice, intricately crafted, the kind of item Silco would appreciate. Regal, expensive, and rare. A fitting tribute to him, she thought.

But acquiring such a treasure was no easy task. The merchant’s shop was heavily guarded, and it had taken Y/N days of watching, waiting, and carefully scheming. She knew she’d have to be quick.

That stormy night, when the streets emptied and the merchant left the shop for an appointment, Y/N slipped inside. She moved with the grace of a shadow, her breath coming in soft puffs as she crept toward the back of the room, where the chalice sat gleaming on a pedestal under the soft glow of a lantern.

But just as she reached for it, the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed through the shop. The merchant had returned early. Panic surged through her veins. Her heart raced as she grabbed the chalice, but in her haste, her foot snagged on the edge of a rug, sending her crashing into a nearby shelf. The noise was deafening in the stillness of the shop.

The guard appeared at the doorway, eyes wide with shock, just in time to see Y/N clutching the chalice as though her life depended on it. A desperate struggle ensued, punches were thrown, and in the chaos, Y/N managed to break free. But not without a cost.

The corner of a wooden shelf slammed into her side, sending a sharp spike of pain through her body. She staggered but kept running, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she darted through the streets, the chalice still clutched tightly to her chest, its cold surface pressing against her skin.

=

By the time she reached The Last Drop the pain was nearly unbearable. Blood soaked through her shirt where the shelf had struck, and her side was bruised and swollen. But she had succeeded. The chalice was hers.

Silco was in his office, as always, when she stumbled in. She tried to hide the grimace of pain behind a playful grin, but the blood on her shirt gave her away.

“Y/N,” Silco’s voice was low, almost dangerous. He stepped forward, his gaze sharp as he inspected the bruise already forming along her ribs. “What happened?”

She winced but forced a grin, raising the chalice with a flourish. “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she said, though the pain was evident in her voice. “I thought this might remind you of your… finer tastes.”

Silco’s expression softened for just a moment as he looked from the chalice to her battered form. He took the item from her hand, placing it gently on the desk before pulling her closer to inspect her injury. His fingers brushed lightly over her side, and Y/N winced.

“You’re getting reckless,” he muttered, a hint of concern lacing his voice, though his tone remained steady. “But… I can’t say I’m displeased with the results.”

Y/N chuckled softly despite the pain. “You should know by now, Silco… trouble’s just part of the package.”

As he continued to study her, a flicker of something unreadable crossed his expression. Something that wasn’t just annoyance, or amusement, or even concern. Something deeper. Something that, much like Y/N herself, he couldn't quite place but found himself unwilling to ignore.

"Next time," Silco said, his voice quieter, almost possessive, "maybe try a less dangerous approach."

Y/N smirked, the same playful glint in her eyes. "Oh, I’ll think about it," she teased, but neither of them truly believed she would.

And as Silco continued to inspect her wound, Y/N knew that the games would only escalate from here — and that Silco, despite his annoyance, would be more than willing to play along.

JINX/POWDER

Y/N was always a bit of an enigma to the children of Zaun. She wasn’t like the others—never quite fitting into the world of pulsing technology that surged through the streets of Piltover or the gritty underbelly of Zaun. Her ways were different, more primal, almost magical. She was a collector, always with an eye out for anything that could catch her attention: trinkets, shiny bits of metal, feathers, and oddities. They were her treasures, and each one seemed to have a story behind it.

Over time, she began to leave small surprises for Jinx. They weren’t extravagant, nor were they meant to impress. It was more like a quiet, personal gesture, a language only Jinx could read. At first, it was subtle. Jinx would find a small, brightly coloured ribbon tied neatly to her bunk, or a peculiar little mechanical trinket—gears and bits that didn’t quite match but somehow worked in a way that made sense to Jinx. There’d be times when a smooth, weathered stone, the kind that shimmered like it had been kissed by the sun, would appear on her desk. Or a small pendant, hand-carved by Y/N, a reminder of something unique—something just for Jinx.

=

One evening, Jinx found a silver locket on her pillow, the edges rough, as though someone had tried to smooth them down but hadn’t quite succeeded. Inside, tucked carefully, was a curled black feather. It was glossy, dark as the wings of a crow, and something about it felt right, as though it had always belonged there. Jinx’s fingers lingered over it, and for a long moment, she wondered what had driven Y/N to leave this behind. It felt oddly intimate, yet without any pressure. There were no expectations, just a simple act of kindness.

The next day, she approached Y/N, the locket in hand.

“Why’d you leave this for me?” Jinx asked, holding it up between them. Her voice was cautious, though her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

Y/N looked at the locket for a moment, her smile soft and knowing. “Because I thought it would mean something to you.” She paused, her tone gentle. “Things like that have a way of making us feel seen, don’t they?”

Jinx’s lips twitched, unsure how to respond. “I don’t need to be seen,” she muttered, twirling the locket between her fingers.

Y/N’s eyes softened, the warmth in her gaze never leaving. “Maybe not, but I think you deserve it. You deserve to be known for more than just your explosions and wild ideas.”

Jinx scowled but there was no real malice in it, just confusion. “You’re weird.”

Y/N chuckled. “I get that a lot.”

It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it was something. Y/N didn’t need to push Jinx or force her into anything. She simply understood. She laughed at Jinx’s antics, but never in a way that made her feel small. It was a different kind of laughter—tender, warm, not mocking, like the soft hum of a lullaby in the middle of chaos. Y/N always seemed to balance Jinx in a way that no one else could, offering her things that spoke to the very heart of Jinx’s peculiar soul. Some were just odd little objects, while others were handwritten notes, jotted down on scraps of paper, full of praise and encouragement.

“Some of us have a knack for turning trash into treasure,” one note read, written in a crooked, playful script. It was the sort of note that didn’t need to be perfect to be meaningful, much like Y/N herself. Rough around the edges but with a heart full of understanding.

=

One day, as Y/N wandered through Zaun, her attention was caught by a tiny shop nestled between two buildings. In the window, behind the grime of the glass, was a small wind-up monkey. It was a trinket of the sort that would likely be dismissed by most, a toy that appeared clumsy and outdated. But to Y/N, it was perfect. She could almost see Jinx’s delighted expression when she would find it. She could imagine the way Jinx would wind it up and watch it move, its tiny mechanical arms clanging away. Without a second thought, Y/N stepped inside and bought the monkey, shoving it deep into her bag as she continued on her way.

Weeks later, as Y/N searched through her bag for a pen, she stumbled across the forgotten wind-up monkey. She smiled softly to herself. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it was something. So, without any ceremony, she slipped it into her coat pocket and, later that evening, quietly left it behind for Jinx to discover.

The next morning, Jinx walked into the cluttered room she called her own and stopped dead when she spotted it. The little monkey sat on her desk, its key gleaming under the light. She stared at it for a moment before reaching down to wind it up. The tiny mechanical arms began to move in jerky, rhythmic motions, a sound almost too faint to hear but comforting all the same. It was like a heartbeat—a constant, reassuring rhythm.

Jinx couldn't help herself. She chuckled, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of her lips. For the first time in ages, she felt… cared for.

Later that day, she sought out Y/N, holding the wind-up monkey in her hands. “Hey, uh… I found this. From you, right?”

Y/N’s smile widened when she saw the little toy in Jinx’s hands. “I thought you might like it.”

Jinx blinked, her fingers gently turning the key on the monkey. “It’s not much, but... thanks.”

Y/N nodded, her gaze soft with understanding. “It’s never about how much something costs, Jinx. It’s the thought behind it that matters.”

Jinx huffed, her fingers turning the key on the little monkey as it awkwardly danced in her hands. "You’re still weird, you know that? But... I guess it’s grown on me."

Y/N chuckled warmly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

It wasn’t just about the gifts, the trinkets, or the oddities that Y/N left behind. It was the understanding that Jinx wasn’t broken or beyond saving—she was simply lost, a puzzle missing a few pieces, and Y/N was quietly trying to help her find them.

As time went on, Jinx started to grow accustomed to finding these little surprises left in unexpected places. And in turn, she began leaving her own small tokens for Y/N to discover—bits of scraps, hastily drawn pictures, and jotted notes. They weren’t much, but they were everything to them. They were Jinx’s way of saying thank you, a silent gesture that showed, despite everything, someone saw her. And for once, that was enough.

[facioleeknow]

Dive ° Hwang Hyunjin

After spending years at sea, you thought you had seen everything until one day you saw something that wasn't supposed to exist. And so your life was changed completely.

Genre: Pirate AU, Mermaid AU, fluff, smut 18+ ONLY minors DNI

WC: 3k +

Warnings: pirate captain! reader, pirate! itzy, mermaid/merman! Hyunjin, fighting, weapons and guns, kissing, drowning, dry humping, violence, badass women, monster x human, attempted kidnapping, threatening, let me know if I missed anything

A/N: Inspired by the fantastic work of @skzms . Banner by @strangergraphics .

First meeting

The ship swayed to the rhythm of the ocean, gently and elegantly. The crisp night air filled your lungs and refreshed your spirit.

‘You are going to regret leaving everything here, young lady,’ your mother's words echoed in your head. Since you had run away from home to live at sea, every day had felt like a dream. The thrill of the rush, the unknown, those were all things that you loved and hoped you could experience for a long, long time. Until the ocean had decided your time had come.

A flash of light blinked in the corner of your eyes. You swiftly turned and then gasped at the sight. The vice grip of your fingers on the banister made the wood creak and whine. 

A mermaid, or merman, they were so ethereal you couldn't really tell, was taking a peek at you from behind a rock. His jet black eyes and hair and shiny fish-like skin drew you in. Your body pressed against the wooden railing. Your lungs burned and begged for a breath of fresh air, but you just couldn't, you couldn't breathe, you couldn't move, you couldn't speak.

A little pinching pain, little pins prickling, broke the eye contact and the magic between you. A tiny wooden splinter had pierced your skin and a little droplet of blood dripped down your finger and onto the deck of your precious ship.

When you raised your head back again to catch another glimpse at the inhabitant of the sea, they were gone without noise, just like they appeared.

Hyunjin had never seen such a creature before. Human, he believed they are called. He had almost thought that his friend Seungmin had lied to him, he was known for causing a little mischief, but he hadn’t and you were the tangible evidence. Humans, if that was actually their name, were strange; no fins, no tail, no scales, no gills and they had hair! on their arms, not only on their heads!

Strange, strange creatures, but still, when he had laid eyes on you, he had thought he had never seen a more beautiful being. His heart beat fast against his ribs as he swam to the seabed, his home. Did humans have luring ability like mermaids and sirens? Because if so, he was sure you had used his powers on him. Why else would he feel so attracted to you?

The intervention

“Are you sure we must leave now?” 

The storm blew strong all around you. The sky looked sad and angry, the palm trees whipped around and snapped under the enormous force of the wind. The howling was so intense and strong that your crew could barely hear your words. 

“Yes, it will only get worse. See the clouds up there?” Lia, your navigator, pointed at the right corner of the sky, to you it looked as bad as the rest of the sky but you were sure she was seeing something.

“We should wait it out! We can stay on the island,” Chae, another member of your crew, screamed over the overbearing noise.

“No, we can’t, we’ll be stuck here for days and the marines are too near. Besides, I’m pretty sure that in the open sea it won’t be as bad,” Lia barked back. Judging by her tone, there was no arguing with her, not this time. Chae glared at her, but deep down knew what she was suggesting was the best option; highly dangerous but the best. 

“Stop it, both of you. Gather your things and load them into the boats, it’s an order from your captain,” you tried to sound as stern as possible. Fighting with your girls wasn’t something that you enjoyed, and you were sure that they didn’t enjoy it either, but you knew what a captain had to do and you wouldn't have stepped up if you weren’t ready for the hardships. Chae and Lia immediately quieted down, Yuna and Ryujin had stayed silent through it all.You turned to your second in command, Yeji. 

“You get one of the boats, I get the other one. We gotta be as quick as possible.” Yeji just nodded and ran towards one of the lifeboats where two of the crew were.Once the small boats were out of sand and into the water, everybody got in except you and Yeji who still had some heavy work to do, to prevent the boats from getting stuck into the wet sand. The waves were high, higher than you had anticipated, and strong; so strong you had to hold onto the boats for dear life. 

“Yeji, get into the boat, I’ll do the final push by myself.”

“But-” Yeji tried to argue, you had never seen her that worried.

“This is an order from your captain, remember that you are the second in command so your first thought should always be the crew.” You could see her battle against her sense of authority, you were her captain but also her friend; instead of talking back like Ryujin or Chae would’ve done she pursed her lips and gripped your hand tightly, and then jumped on the boat.

The waves stood tall and angry in front of you, the sea looked like a stranger: gray and white unlike the usual blue, sparkly water. 

“Captain, please, get on the boat,” Yuna the youngest member of your crew pleaded. 

“Yuna, you know that if I stop pushing the boats right now, we’ll only be overwhelmed by the waves. Look ahead.”

After pushing the two small boats full of people for what seemed like forever, you stopped. The water lapped at your chest, the boat would have had no problem continuing on to your ship. A sudden colossal wave towered over you and you barely had the time to look Yeji in the eyes before it overwhelmed you. 

Air came out of your lungs at a concerning speed, a mixture of sand and foam made seeing where you were going an impossible feat. Your eyes started to feel heavier and heavier until you blacked out. 

When you came to, you were on one of the small boats with your crew, at the corner of your eyes you saw a glimmer of fish scales and dark hair. Drifting in and out of consciousness, you didn’t even realize when the girls dragged you on the ship, The Pearl, and then to your cabin. Behind your eyelids you could still see the pearly light blue scales of your saviour.

Hyunjin was worried. Seungmin had told him that humans couldn’t breathe underwater, it didn’t make sense for you and your other humans to go near the sea when it was this angry and swollen. He could see you talking, almost fighting with your friends and then pushing the small boats by yourself. He knew you had no hope of succeeding, not when his house looked menacing even to him. He dived. When he got underwater, you had already been taken by the currents. Hyunjin swam as fast and as hard as he could, until his fingertips could grace your skin and his hands could close against your limbs. When he came in contact with your skin, he felt his body tingle, a sensation of warmth and safety spread through him. 

He clutched you to his chest and hoped you hadn’t been in the water for too long. He was fast, one of the fastest inhabitants of the ocean, so reaching the little boat and depositing you there without being seen was a very easy task. He watched and watched until he saw you open your eyes and sputter out an alarming amount of water. You were alive. 

He dived again and swam straight down with a precise location in mind.

“Seungmin, teach me the human language.”

First words

“Let’s dock here for the night, I don’t want to steer too far from the route we decided on,” your navigator was strict when it came to following the agreed path, so no one had the guts to protest, even if it set you back a few hours. 

“There are a few rocks there, we should drop the anchor. We're not too close to the shore, they won't see us,” Ryujin grumbled, already with a rope in her hands, ready to tie up the sails. 

“So, there’s something else on your mind besides your swords,” Chae giggled, mocking her friend. Ryujin scoffed but looked at Chae with an amused glint in her eyes.You just watched from afar; those girls had gone through hell, the sea had strengthened them in the worst way possible. But here they were still joking around with each other.

Once the Pearl was settled, in the distance between the rocks you saw the familiar glimmer of scales.

Everytime he laid his eyes on you Hyunjin had felt like his breath was stuck in his lungs, like that one time when one triton had messed with his gills. He watched you descend from the ship and onto the slippery rocks he laid his torso on. 

“I won’t hurt you,” you whispered sweetly. He was now glad that he had pestered Seungmin to learn the human language, he could understand you and he could hear your voice up close. He felt like he was in a land of dreams. 

“I…am …Hyunjin,” the language felt weird in his mouth but when he talked your eyes lit up so prettily that he didn’t care how unharmonious it sounded.

“I’m Y/N. Hyunjin is a nice name.”

His name on your tongue tasted like honey  and milk and sounded even more luscious. He was glad he went to the dry world because he was curious. Now he had discovered his own treasure.

Roles reversed

Being on an island full of pirates was never something any of your crew enjoyed, and when said island was full of slimy disgusting men it was even worse. The way they looked at the waitresses at the inn, the way they talked about them when they thought they weren't listening, it made bile rise to your mouth. Unfortunately everybody needed supplies for the journey and pirate islands were the safest since there weren't any navy posts. 

Chae and Ryujin appeared from behind a bush and on the shore, you had instructed everyone to sneak around. A woman, even an armed one, was never safe in the company of men. They were scowling.

“I see I'm not the only one this island has put in a bad mood,” you half joked. 

“Let's just go,” Chae, not one to usually talk back to her captain, murmured. Oh she was definitely in a bad mood. 

Getting all of the supplies into the small boats was easy, but there was this urgency that nobody could shake off. Everybody knew what happened to most women pirates. Just as you were about to push your only means of transport to your ship off the shore, something caught your attention. A voice, male one and judging by the tone it wasn't anything good.

“This one is worth a lot of money, John, I tell you.”

“I thought mermaids were extinct.”

“Apparently not.” The men laughed like one of them had said the funniest joke ever heard on planet earth. 

At the word mermaid, your head shot up. It couldn't have been, but what if it was?

“Yeji, Ryujin, come with me. Chae stay with others.”

Chae straightened her posture and grabbed her sword while the other two were at your side in mere seconds. You dived into the bush again, the element of surprise was always a good thing and assessing the situation and surroundings was a must when you got into a fight with a pirate. The men weren't far from you, it only took a few steps. 

Your fingers tightened around your pistol; Hyunjin laid on the ground, bound and scared. 

“Fuck,” you whispered. With just a few gestures you instructed your women on what to do, you had done plenty of ambushes. The darkness was a pleasant advantage, a way of Mother Nature of saying ‘I'm on your side, child’. It all happened in a second and by the time the man closest to you had noticed you, Ryujin’s blade was already uncomfortably close to his throat. His mate’s hands shot to his pistols but he froze instantly.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” Yeji came out of the darkness, rifle pointed at him. You stepped out as well and with a knife in your hand, you made your way to Hyunjin. The knots were tied poorly by clearly drunken hands and they came undone in seconds. 

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” you exclaimed without even looking at the pirate in front of you, “ Yeji is the best sniper of the whole sea, you'd be dead before even taking out your pistol.”

When you looked up, the man gulped and visibly started shaking. He knew who you were.

“I suggest you run away now while you still have legs.” The men scrambled away from your weapons and off into town. Your eyes landed back on Hyunjin again.

“Captain..” Yeji started.

“Thank you,” Hyunjin croaked.

“Do you need help?” Your fingers wrapped around his and squeezed.

“No, I will be fine. You and your companions have my deepest gratitude.”

Exploration

Since you had saved him, Hyunjin had gotten closer to you, both physically and emotionally. He was less careful, he was starting to trust you. Maybe what his preceptor said about humans was wrong, maybe they were not all bad. Some of them were good, he was sure of it, and you were one of them. 

That day the merman had followed you everywhere, from the moment you had stepped foot on the island to when all of your companions had entered a mysterious building, leaving you to yourself. All alone. Hyunjin went back into the water and swam to the nearest creek. You had a routine every time you stayed on an island: he would follow you to ensure you were safe then you would meet at a creek or on the beach and talk for hours until you fell asleep together on the sand. 

The small pond was beautiful, the water shone and twinkled with the light of the moon. Your skin looked soft, Hyunjin wanted to wrap himself around you and lose himself until there was no him, only you.

Hyunjin looked breathtaking under the light of the moon. His scales looked iridescent and glittery. Until then you had never thought about the difference in species between you two, but in that moment under the light of the moon, you were sure that he wasn’t human. Such a beautiful creature could have only existed inside the most beautiful of dreams. 

That night was different from the others, there was a certain something that hung in the air; maybe it was the coming of the spring or maybe it was the insane beauty you were witnessing, but your skin felt hot to the touch and inside your stomach pooled different emotions that you hadn’t felt in many years. Without even realizing your clothes slipped off you body, undone by your own hands and fell to the floor. Hyunjin was staring at you, at your exposed skin; his eyes didn’t stop for an instant. 

When your feet touched the water you gasped, it was cool and refreshing but you longed to feel some other type of sensation. Like two magnets attracted to each other you and the mermaid embraced one another. You lips found his in an instant, Hyunjin was clumsy but after a mere few seconds he proved himself the fastest learner on the planet. His tongue was colder and longer than a humans, and while it danced with yours you couldn’t help but think what it would feel like on your pussy, lapping at your folds. 

After a few seconds of heavily making out, you separated, both of your breaths heavy and ragged. In the midst of the heat of your kiss, you had started to gently but rhythmically move your hips up and down. Hyunjin’s scales felt cool and smooth on your clit, a little slimy too, but you didn’t mind. It felt too good and you never wanted it to stop. 

“Oh, Hyunjin, you feel so good,” you threw your head back while you moaned. The half human took the opportunity to place a tentative kiss on your neck and when you keened and sped up your movements on his tail he placed his mouth at the base of your neck and licked a long strip of skin. 

Your clit bumped against something big and hard and Hyunjin let out a strangled moan. He had never felt like that, not even when during lonely nights he had  teased his cock through his slit. You were warm and slippery, way better than his hands, your breasts pressed against his chest. Your nipple rubbed against his.

Both of your highs fastly approached, you were strung up because of the life of a pirate and Hyunjin was very inexperienced. 

Your mingled breaths bounced off the sides of the creek. The place became hotter and hotter until both of you wailed and shook when you came to your highs.

You loosely wrapped your hands around Hyunjin and buried your face in his neck. His presence was comforting even if the water was starting to get cold. He clutched you to his chest and started humming a sweet melody.

Satisfied and loved you closed your eyes and let the siren song lull you to sleep.

Forever 

The sun shone brightly on the deck of your ship while Hyunjin laid sprawled on the damp wooden deck. He had waited for you for more hours than he could count but apparently being a captain was more demanding than he thought. 

“I am here, my love.” You laid on the floor next to him. 

“I have something for you, my little human.”

Hyunjin extended a closed fist towards you, his eyes twinkled full of expectation. Then he opened his hand. A round sparkly pearl laid in the middle of his palm, a delicate little chain wrapped around it.

“We are forever my little human.”

“Forever, my love.”

@kflixnet

[milotraflgkl]

.☘︎ ݁˖ Fur, Feathers, and Chaos

.ᐟ WHO: Crocodile / DoFlamingo / Garp One Piece

.ᐟ CONTENT: Crocodile a bit OOC, Trigger Warning for DoFlamingo he’s abusive and there is bird death mentioned!! Wholesome moment with Garp, overall pretty cute except for DoFlamingo cause… obvi.

.ᐟ WORD COUNT: 1304

.ᐟ AUTHORS NOTE: Sorry for not uploading so recently, I’ve gotten caught up in working on transferring to my college and everything. I’ll try to get back into my swing again!! please ignore the random banners i used im lazy…

Crocodile

He wasn’t thrilled to learn that you had brought home a pet, specifically a lizard, and found it mildly insulting.

Did you get a lizard? A pet? And brought it to life along with you in your home.

He forces you to keep it in a separate room away from everything. He does not want to know it exists, and when you bring it out, he becomes all pouty.

“I am not sure why you are so adamant about keeping that thing.” He grumbled, staring down at the newspaper, his glasses sitting on the edge of his nose before he looked up at you with furrowed brows. “At least this one gives me attention instead of reading that damned newspaper.” You tell him with a bit of attitude, moving to pick the lizard up, setting it onto your shoulder, and walking to the kitchen. He glared at the lizard the whole time, but he continued to read his newspaper, swearing under his breath.

Sometimes he thinks about getting rid of the lizard without you knowing, selling him for a scam to earn more money than he should be.

He doesn't know when he walks past the room where you sit, whispering to the lizard and placing little kisses against its head.

He realized how endearing it was, seeing you so gentle with a creature smaller than you. The idea that you are completely different from him, how you treat things smaller so tenderly, while he would crush something like that without a second thought.

He would approach you in the room where you kept the reptile, being cautious not to let the thing slip out and being blamed because it was a tiny creature that truthfully at any point escaped the room. He was surprised it hadn’t yet. He studied the room taking it all in for a moment before he finally spotted you on the floor with limbs spread out in a starfish pose, he chuckled at first before momentarily worrying you were dead stepping closer only stopping when he noticed you peek an eye open. “You like that thing more than me?” You instantly sit up with furrowed brows, “What happened to hello?” You bite back.

You have to then reassure him and give him more time of your attention, he had silently grown more jealous and resentful over the creature.

After a while of all of this back and forth you finally forced him to tell you the truth, in which he admitted he hated that you gave the creature more attention so you worked out a schedule that made the reptile have less time with you unless you said it was necessary (He still followed you even then.)

Doflamingo

He honestly didn’t care, You got a new pet? Fine. Just don’t expect him to do anything for that piece of meat.

You got a bird, he thought it was stupid that you got a bird when he was right there.

“You talk to that bird more than you talk to me.” He pointed out as he walked over uncaring for the safety of the bird he grabbed it and moved to push it back into the cage, slamming the door shut and making the hook go back on so the bird couldn’t get out before he walked over to you grabbing your waist pulling you toward him and licking his long-strange tongue over your face before finding your tongue and shoving it down. “Maybe I should claim this tongue as mine so only I can hear you talk.” He growled against your lips.

He would make more of these empty threats to you and eventually, you learned to only be around the bird when he was the busiest, hoping he would notice. He did.

He would start forcing you to follow him around every time he got busy, unless it was dangerous then he’d lock you away in your shared room.

You soon found a way to sneak around and feed the bird and give it time to play, making sure DoFlamingo never found out and you kept a good record of that for almost a solid month!

Then someone snitched.

He came storming into your shared room late one night, he had been working a bit late so you had gone to bed without him - which only pissed him off even more. He slammed the door open and under his glasses, there was a prominent glare coming from him, “You dare break my rules and go around my back?” He quips standing over and grabbing your neck to lift you from her causing you to yelp in surprise, “I should lock you in a cellar.” He growled and since you were still half asleep you couldn’t think straight so, stupidly you responded with “Over a bird? Doffy, grow up.”

He kept you in the cellar for a month and a half, then when the bird died soon after he got someone to get rid of only keeping a feather to taunt you. Often using it to bribe you or upset you when you did something to piss him off.

Garp

You got a bulldog that looked extremely close to him, so that’s why you got it. It had the same angry expression on its face as Garp.

He didn’t understood why you needed a dog so he asked and you explained for protection, which only just offended him and slightly upset him.

But he ends up loving the dog a lot more than you ever think you could, giving the dog bones on his way out and bringing home things for JUST the dog. You grew a bit jealous over it before you realized it was just unnaturally sweet for him.

“I’m home!” He announced to your nice little cottage hidden from pirates and any other sort of dangerous things that could lurk near you, you made your way to the front door only to see you had been beaten by your dog by a mere minute and you could’ve sworn that the dog was side-eyeing you with a smug smirk on its face. You pouted and walked over giving Garp a quick peck hoping he’d give you the same attention as the dog but he didn’t, so you turned away upset.

This continued for weeks, so much so that slowly over those weeks you stopped greeting him at the front door. You stopped giving him a peck goodbye and you barely even spoke to him before bed, whispering a simple goodnight love you.

He caught on instantly since the first time he saw you pouting in the kitchen while cleaning the same spot on a frying pan for about five minutes.

One day he came home and was greet with the dog again, only giving it an ounce of his attention before he made his way toward your shared room finding you there in bed reading a book - you didn’t dare look up.

“I brought you flowers.” His gruff voice broke the silence, your eyes immediately darting up in surprise to see the just torn-out-of-the-ground flowers and a small box in his other hand. You were shocked, shocked that he knew you were still a real person and very much living in the same house as him and his dog. “It’s not much but I think you deserve it.” He nods to you before walking over gently playing the flowers to the side and handing you the box.

It was a ring, a promise one. A good one at that, you cried and hugged him before you spent the rest of the night cuddled up to Garp while the dog? It had been locked outside of the room because Garp didn’t want to make the attention on you disappear for even a second.

Cause he felt guilty.

[calebsdog]

It was your birthday today. Through the entire week you've been handing out party invitations to your classmates. If someone was out sick one day you'd give them the invite the next. You would stop at nothing to make sure you got the biggest birthday celebration!

So... How come Gran's house was completely empty? Gran had soothed your nerves when nobody showed up at first.

"The clock just hit noon, dear. I'm sure your friends are already on their way. Sometimes people run a bit late." Her words were enough to keep you calm for a little while. But the clock kept ticking. First it was ten minutes. Then thirty minutes.

The first hour moved by painfully slowly. You sat and sat in front of the clock. It was okay to be a few minutes late to a party. Maybe even half an hour. Or there was the possibility of someone misreading their card and thinking they had to show up a different time.

But no sign of anyone after the first hour? How could that be possible? You were positive everybody in your class had received one. So why...

"Hmph!" Abruptly standing up from the floor, you stomp your foot. Your tiny hand grabs the colorful party hat on your head. The flimsy paperboard creases when you slam it against the ground.

Angry tears were beginning to well up in your eyes. You were super angry, of course. How dare your entire class abandon you like this? You drew each and every card by hand! One of your favorite crayons broke in the process.

But it wasn't just an angry feeling clawing at your chest. You've never been left in the dust like this before. Why had the world suddenly forgotten that you existed? It was your special day! Everyone should be thinking about you. There should have been a line outside of your door with people begging to be let inside.

It was all too much. You rush out of the kitchen. Tiny legs carrying you past party streamers, a banner hung in the entryway of the kitchen, and floating balloons. Gran and Caleb had also worked hard to give your guests a fun party. Now, nobody was there to appreciate it.

Caleb watches helplessly as his pipsqueak finally snaps. The longer that passed without a knock on the front door Caleb knew it was only a matter of time before you got fed up and stormed off.

His heart hurts in tune with you. Nonstop this week you had been gushing about how grand your birthday party would be. You truly believed none of your classmates would miss the opportunity to come celebrate.

Underneath the table, out of Gran's sight, Caleb's small fist clenches underneath the table. Not a single person bothered to show up? They couldn't even stop by to say hello? You clearly put your heart and soul into your party today.

It doesn't take long for Caleb to follow you. You're tucked away in the corner of your bedroom. He finds you with a party invitation clutched to your chest.

"Gege..." You whimper into your knees as Caleb approaches. Too miserable to move as Caleb sits down on the floor, you continue to cry.

"Does everyone hate me? I thought they were all my friends. Nobody cares about me!"

Caleb tugs your crying body into his chest as he's done a thousand times before. And though Caleb wishes he could keep a smile on your face forever, this definitely won't be the last time he holds your crying body. That was okay. His shoulder was always available.

"Hey," Caleb whispers close to your ear. He starts to rub your back while you soak his shirt with your fat tears.

"What does it matter? If they weren't as happy coming to your party as you were inviting them— then they didn't deserve to hang out at our house anyways. They're the ones who get to miss out on all the fun."

It was still early in the evening. It'll be a few hours before it's your bedtime. Caleb still has some time to make it up to you.

"They don't understand that the day you were born... Is the most important day in the world. But I understand, pipsqueak. So you just forget about all those jerks. I can make your birthday party way cooler than they could!"

[bumblebeeswrite]

Can you do a Simon Kalivoda request please

All Y/N wants is Simon to ask her to prom but she's convinced that Simon is not attracted to her and has no interest in her and thinks Simon is going to ask another more gorgeous girl in their grade.

MOVIES & CASSETTE TAPES | SIMON KALIVODA

summary: prom night with simon

The fluorescent lights of the Shadyside High hallway hummed, a monotonous soundtrack to your internal anxieties. You leaned against the sticky lockers, pretending to be engrossed in the worn paperback in your hands, but your gaze kept flickering towards the cluster of students near the guidance counselor's office. Promposals. They were happening.

Each burst of glitter, each carefully crafted sign, each squeal of delighted acceptance felt like a tiny pinprick to your already deflated ego. All you wanted was for him to do that for you. Simon. With his perpetually rumpled shirts, the way his light curls fell across his forehead when he was concentrating, the surprisingly insightful things he'd blurt out in history class- he'd somehow burrowed his way into your heart months ago.

But you were realistic. Simon was.. Simon. Endearingly awkward, always broke, and in your mind, completely oblivious to your existence beyond shared classes and the occasional mumbled 'hey'. And then there was Kate. Kate Schmidt with her dark curls and smile that could melt glaciers, and a laugh that echoed through the hallways like wind chimes. They'd been partners in chemistry, and you'd overheard snippets of their conversations- something about exothermic reactions and shared lab reports. In your mind, it was practically a marriage proposal.

A sigh escaped your lips, fogging over the cover of your book. You were probably overthinking everything. But the prom was looming, a glittering, terrifying event on the horizon, and the silence from Simon was deafening.

"Lost in the literary world again, Y/N?"

You jumped, nearly dropping your book. Simon stood before you, a lopsided grin on his face and a worn pink jacket slung over his shoulder. Your heart did a little flutter-kick in your chest.

"Uh, hey, Simon." You managed, your voice coming out a little breathier than you intended. "Just.. rereading." You quickly tucked the book tighter against your chest, suddenly self-conscious about its dog-eared pages.

He leaned against the lockets beside you, his gaze drifting towards the promposal happening down the hall- a giant banner proclaiming "Be My Date, Tiffany?" surrounded by ballons. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face.

"Crazy, right?" He asked, his voice low. "All this.. production?"

"Yeah." you agreed, trying to sound nonchalant. "A lot of effort."

An awkward silence stretched between you, filled only by the distance cheers and the rhythmic thud of basketballs from the gym. You desperately wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension, to steer the conversation towards.. well, prom. But the words seemed to be trapped somewhere in your throat, tangled with your anxieties.

"So," Simon began, turning back to you, his hands shoved deep into his jean shorts pockets. "You.. uh.. got any plans for Friday?"

You heart leaped. Was this it? Was he finally going to..?

"Friday?" You echoed, trying to keep your voice steady. "No, not really. Why?"

He shuffled his feet, his gaze fixed on a loose thread on his shorts. "Just.. there's this movie playing at the Dreamland. This old horror flick, "Night of the Creeps'? I was thinking of checking it out. You know, if you're free."

Your shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. A movie. Just a movie. With no mentions of corsages or awkward slow dances.

"Oh," you said, trying to mask your disappointment with a casual tone. "Sounds... cool."

"Yeah," He said, looking up, a hopeful glint in his eyes. "So.. you wanna go?"

You hesitated for a fraction of a second. A part of you wanted to decline, to wallow in your self-pity and the certainty that he was going to ask Kate to prom any minute. But another part, the part that still held onto a silver of hope, urged you to say yes. A night with Simon, even if it was just watching a cheery horror, was better than another night spent staring at the ceiling and imagining what could have been.

"Yeah, Simon," you said, a small smile finally gracing your lips. "I'd like that."

The rest of the week crawled by in a haze of nervous anticipation and gnawing doubt. Every time you saw Simon talking to Kate, your stomach would clench. You imagined their perfect prom night – slow dances under the disco ball, whispered secrets, maybe even a tentative hand-hold. Meanwhile, you were going to be watching a movie about alien slugs. It wasn’t exactly the romantic fairytale you’d envisioned.

Friday evening arrived, and you found yourself getting ready with a strange mix of excitement and resignation. You’d chosen a simple dress, a deep blue that made your eyes feel brighter. You’d even attempted a slightly more elaborate hairstyle, though a few rebellious strands kept escaping.

When Simon arrived at your door, he looked… nice. He wasn’t wearing his usual white shirt. Instead, he had on a button-down shirt, slightly wrinkled but undeniably a step up. But of course, his jean shorts and boots stayed put. He even seemed a little nervous, fiddling with the strap of the worn-out VHS case he was holding.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, his eyes widening slightly as he took you in. “You look… good.”

A blush crept up your neck. “Thanks, Simon. You too.”

The movie was exactly as cheesy and gloriously gory as promised. You found yourself jumping at the ridiculous special effects and clutching your popcorn in mock terror. Simon, surprisingly, seemed to enjoy it immensely, punctuating the particularly gruesome scenes with enthusiastic commentary.

Halfway through the movie, during a particularly suspenseful moment, your hands brushed as you both reached for the same handful of popcorn. A jolt, small but significant, shot through you. You quickly pulled your hand away, your cheeks flushing. Simon, however, didn’t. His fingers lingered for a moment against yours before he, too, drew back, a shy smile playing on his lips.

After the movie, instead of heading straight home, Simon suggested a walk through the park. The night air was cool and carried the scent of blooming flowers. The streetlights cast long shadows, and the only sounds were the chirping of crickets and the soft crunch of gravel beneath your feet.

An awkward silence descended again, but this time, it felt different. Less tense, more… expectant. You stole glances at Simon, noticing the way the moonlight caught the angles of his face, the thoughtful expression in his eyes.

“Y/N,” he said finally, stopping near a small fountain. He turned to face you, his hands once again finding their way into his pockets. He seemed to be gathering his courage.

Your heart hammered against your ribs. This was it. He was going to tell you he had a great time but he was really into Kate, wasn’t he?

“I… uh…” he began, his gaze flicking everywhere but your eyes. He cleared his throat. “Prom’s coming up, right?”

You nodded slowly, bracing yourself.

“Yeah,” you managed, your voice barely a whisper.

He took a deep breath. “And, you know… people are going.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, trying to sound indifferent.

He finally met your gaze, and you were surprised to see a hint of nervousness, maybe even… vulnerability?

“And I was thinking,” he continued, his voice a little rushed, “that maybe… just maybe… you might want to… go with me?”

The question hung in the air, shimmering like the water in the fountain. You stared at him, your mind reeling. Had you heard him right? Was Simon Kalivoda actually asking you to prom?

“Me?” you asked, the word barely audible.

He nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Yeah. You. Unless… you already have someone to go with?” His voice held a note of uncertainty that tugged at your heart.

A wave of relief, so intense it almost made you dizzy, washed over you. All those weeks of agonizing, all those imagined scenarios of rejection… they were wrong.

“No, Simon,” you said, a genuine smile finally breaking through your apprehension. “I don’t have anyone to go with.”

His face broke into a wide, relieved grin, a grin that made your stomach do another one of those flutter-kicks.

“Really?” he asked, his eyes shining.

“Really,” you confirmed, feeling a lightness you hadn’t felt in weeks.

He reached out, then seemed to think better of it, his hand hovering awkwardly in the air before retreating back into his pocket.

“That’s… great,” he said, a little breathless. “Really great.”

Another comfortable silence settled between you, this one filled with a shared sense of relief and a budding excitement.

“I… I wasn’t sure if you’d even want to go with me,” Simon admitted, his gaze dropping to his shoes. “I figured you’d probably… you know… have other options.”

Your heart softened. He was just as insecure as you were.

“Simon,” you said softly, reaching out and gently touching his arm. He looked up, surprised. “I wanted to go to prom with you. I just… I didn’t think you felt the same way.”

A look of genuine surprise crossed his face. “You did?”

You nodded, your smile widening. “Yeah. For a long time.”

He grinned again, a little wider this time. “Wow.” He shook his head, a small laugh escaping his lips. “I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not,” you said, squeezing his arm gently. “You’re just… Simon.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, well. Simon would really like to take you to prom, Y/N.”

“And Y/N would really like to go with Simon,” you replied, your voice full of a happiness that felt almost surreal.

The rest of your walk through the park was filled with easy conversation, punctuated by shy smiles and stolen glances. You talked about the upcoming school dance, the questionable music they’d probably play, and your shared relief that you wouldn’t have to endure it alone.

As Simon walked you to your door, he pulled something out of his pocket. It was a small, slightly battered cassette tape.

“I… I made you something,” he mumbled, handing it to you. “It’s… some songs. For… you know. Prom. Or… whenever.”

You took the tape, your fingers brushing his. The label, scrawled in his familiar handwriting, read “For Y/N.” A wave of warmth spread through you. This was better than any glitter-covered promposal. This was Simon.

“Thank you,” you whispered, clutching the tape to your chest.

He shrugged, a shy smile on his face. “See you Monday?”

“Definitely,” you said, your heart soaring.

As you watched him walk away, the cassette tape warm in your hand, you couldn’t stop the grin that stretched across your face. The prom might be a chaotic, slightly embarrassing affair, but you knew one thing for sure: going with Simon was going to make it perfect. You couldn’t wait to see what kind of music he’d put on that tape. You had a feeling it would be just as wonderfully, endearingly Simon as he was. And that, you realized, was all you ever wanted.

[ikeukiss]

HIGH & DRY | 최한솔

➸ First story in the @hogwartsaltior universe!

⟢ PAIRING: chwe (vernon) hansol x fem!reader ⟢ WORD COUNT: 4.5K ⟢ GENRE: fluff, some comedy⟢ TAGS: hogwartsaltior!au, dj!vernon, gardener!reader ⟢ SYNOPSIS: Vernon is good with his words behind a microphone and with hundreds of students listening to him. Why is it so hard to talk to one girl in the gardening club? original banner by @okiedokrie-main at the end of fic!

“Thank you for listening to Chwe’s Power Hour sponsored by Hogwarts Altior. Have a good day and night folks.” Vernon puts the headphones down on his makeshift desk, surrounded by studio equipment and paperwork that he always neglects to turn in on time. His homework also sits unfinished in his backpack, but he’ll worry about that later. His focus is on looking over the stats for his latest stream.

Dokyeom, Vernon’s roommate and fellow Gryffindor, gives him a thumbs up as he scours the laptop screen in front of him for the numbers Vernon’s after. “Best show so far man.”

“But do the views say that?” Vernon looks over Dokyeom’s shoulder, anxiety bubbling in his stomach.

“Read it and weep, kid.” To his surprise, his best friend is actually right for once. Almost two hundred students listening in, both on and off campus. The outreach Vernon’s radio show has gotten so far is something to be incredibly proud of, but he wants more. Maybe if he can prove music is not a waste of time, his parents may take him more seriously when he talks about switching majors.

“Holy shit,” Vernon says out loud, smiling at the evidence.

“I know.” Dokyeom closes his laptop and begins getting his stuff together. “Listen, I gotta head to Combat Training, but we’ll go over the next show tonight.”

They exchange handshakes as Dokyeom exits the tiny office space the university gave them as a studio, leaving Vernon alone with his thoughts to ponder during what remains of his lunchtime.

Astrology isn’t the worst degree in the world, not by a long shot. He likes to learn about the constellations, the stars, how the planets moved in tandem with one another in a symbiotic pattern. And sure, being in one of the longest educational tracks seemed daunting, according to his friends, but it’s interesting to look up at the sky and know there’s a system up there that needs to be understood and appreciated like everything else.

But does he love it? After a year of studying, that remains to be seen.

What he does love, though, is his Power Hour.

It gives him a zest to his daily routine that didn’t exist before. His schedule had just been friends, Quidditch, and studying. It was fine at first, but being without something that truly drove him to do more, be more, had become taxing after a while.

Walking out of the building, he decides to go home and eat lunch in the comfort of his bed before his next class, Star Charts.

Vernon loves to take note of the greenery as he passes the gardens towards the student quarters. But he knows it’s deadly to step foot near the many plants and flowers, not just because of his allergies. He doesn’t want to smell like a joint if he steps in the wrong spot thanks to Josh and Jeonghan’s extracurricular activities in the horticulture club.

What does make him stop today, however, isn’t just the plants. It’s mostly the girl plucking weeds from the ground at the entrance of the courtyard, stealing his breath in a way pollen never could.

Face caked in soot and a messy bun at the top of your head, you know a steamy shower is in your plans as soon as classes are over. You loosened the yellow tie around your neck hours ago to focus on the gardening work in front of you, but it turns out to be a bad decision due to it flopping around in the wind. If only the last root could give…

You look up to see a guy facing your direction, mouth lightly agape and seemingly looking directly at your spot on the ground. Was something or someone behind you that you failed to notice? You turn your head to look over your shoulder, finding nobody down the path or coming out of the greenhouse you were in prior to your work outside.

You look back in the guy’s direction, but he’s gone. He’s speed-walking up the path to the student quarters when you do catch the image of him, his back quickly going out of sight.

Shrugging, you go back to the stubborn weed that has taken up too much of your time. Maybe you’ll cut it at the base and call it a day.

Vernon scribbles the score of the student’s assignment on the front of the paper, relieved it’s the last in the stack. TA duties have been completed to fruition, possibly for the first time in weeks. He wishes him and Wonwoo got to switch TA positions, but Vernon’s aware that it breaks all kinds of moral codes for a TA to also be a student of the very professor they’re assisting.

At least Vernon gets to see the architecture of the Law building for reference in his drawings. He didn’t have any painting classes yet, but the more he could practice now, the better. If he was to ever become as good as his mother, anyway.

The tall doors of Professor Sung’s class open, and Vernon almost can’t believe his eyes.

It’s you. You’re not covered in dirt but still entirely breathtaking, holding a large potted plant in your hands. As you walk closer, careful not to bump into the desks on your way towards him, he is unsure what to say for the first time to capture your interest.

You smile and set the pot down on Professor Sung’s desk. Both of you speak at the same time, words blended on top of each other’s.

“Sorry to bother-“

“I’m allergic to pollen.”

Your face morphs into confusion, but you laugh all the same. Vernon wants to immediately crawl into a hole. Why in all things magical did he just let those words come out of his mouth? 

“Okay, noted.” You point to the plant. “This is for Professor Sung. It’s asphodel. No pollen, I promise.” You look over the graded papers on the desk. “You must be his TA.”

Vernon nods immediately and stops, feeling ridiculous again for being so eager and forthcoming with information. What was wrong with him? You were just a girl. A beautiful, cute, hardworking, breathtaking girl, but still a girl!

Your mouth goes slack in recognition, eyes suddenly widening. “I remember you now! You were outside of the student grounds the other day.”

Vernon laughs nervously. He puts the papers in front of him into a neat pile, trying to stifle his panic. All he remembers from that day is you and trying to run from the fact you caught him staring. The cringe he feels is excruciating. “Yeah. I like to look at the plants on my way to my room. You guys have done a great job with the…selection.”

You laugh again and bite your lip. “Yeah, it’s mostly me and Jeonghan. You probably know him.”

He nods again. “We practice together on the Quidditch field. Well, us and my roommate Seokmin.”

“I know Seokmin! And forgive me, I forgot to ask your name.” You hold your hand out politely and give him your name in turn.

How can a person be so gorgeous and nice? Vernon thinks maybe it has to do with your Hufflepuff placement, but he has a feeling the evidence lies in your personality. One he wants to get to know now as soon as possible.

“Hansol,” he replies after placing his palm in yours, your soft skin making him weak in the knees. “Most people know me as Vernon or DJ Chwe or Chwe but y’know—what I’m saying is, my name is Hansol.”

You smirk. “Nice to meet you, Hansol.”

You play on Vernon’s mind in a loop. The feeling mimics the visual graphic Dino made for Vernon’s radio station icon, the turning CD adorned with the words “CPH.”

“Alright, listeners, I hope that music mix brightened your day and leaves you in anticipation for the next one. My name is Hansol Vernon Chwe. Thank you for another installment of Chwe’s Power Hour, once again sponsored as always by Hogwarts Altior. And you have a good day and night. Peace!”

Dokyeom and Vernon take their. headphones off at the same time, Vernon’s best friend blowing out a breath. “At this rate, man, you’re going to be turning discs all over the world.”

Vernon chuckles. “I don’t know if I’d go that far, bro.”

“C’mon! You talk about it all the time. Pull the plug. Chase your dreams.” Dokyeom knocks Vernon in the shoulder with his fists multiple times, turning the younger boy into a heap of laughter. “And, maybe before that, let in the girl you’ve been talking about?”

Dokyeom motions for Vernon to look towards the clear windows of the station. When he does, he finds you there with a smile on your face, an entirely new plant in your hands. It’s smaller than the asphodel you harvested for Professor Sung. The plant, like its pot, is in an assortment of bright colors, mostly teals and greens.

Vernon motions for you to come inside, so you do. You greet Dokyeom before Vernon. “Seokmin and I share a free period, and he told me he helps you with your station stuff.” You smile and put the plant on Vernon’s desk near his headphones. “Don’t worry. No pollen.”

Vernon inspects it with his eyes, unfamiliar with the plant in front of him. His brows narrow in pure curiosity, and you answer the question that sits on the tip of his tongue.

“Muggles call them succulents. They’re really easy to take care of. Just a little sunlight and watering once a week should be enough.” You laugh to yourself and glance around the office space. “Thought the place could use some color.”

“Thank you,” Vernon says. His heart can’t help but be shaken up even more by your presence in his sacred space. He barely knows you, yet he’s so enraptured at your mere existence.

He used to make jokes about his friends when they were down bad for girls, ones that they knew were out of their leagues. Now, he feels like an asshole for doing so. Clearly the workings of the heart are something out of a person’s control.

Vernon isn’t idiotic enough to call it love, but it’s as intense as infatuation can be.

“I’m gonna go, but I’ll see you guys later.” As Dokyeom’s leaving, he raises his arms in the air in a silent chant for Vernon. Thankfully, you don’t notice Vernon’s idiotic best friend and roommate, entirely focused on him.

You stand there, unsure what to do now, but Vernon fills the space with the dumb courage he musters. “I was just on my way to grab a bite to eat. Do you want to join me?” 

He stutters, suddenly trying to play it cool. “I mean, unless you have a meeting or something with the gardeners. In which case, I don’t want to intrude—“

You raise your hand to shut him up, giggling. “I would love to, Han.”

The nickname on your lips makes his heart stop and start again in a millisecond. He could get used to that. Definitely.

On the brink of midnight, Vernon gets a text from Jeonghan.

[YJH]: Got party favors in the greenhouse. U in?

Vernon groans, stuffing his head in the pillow. Should he smoke when he has an early class tomorrow and another Power Hour special? Probably not.

But the second text that pops up makes Vernon sit up straight in his bed.

[YJH]: Your missus is our DD, if that changes your mind ;)

Lunch a few days ago had been a success. You laughed at all of his jokes and even took his hand when he offered to help you up from the picnic table. Although you exchanged numbers at the end of the “date,” he hadn’t found the nerve to text you.

But now, he won’t waste the opportunity to see you.

Vernon puts on his old Quidditch hoodie and a bit of cologne to mask the odor. The next step after he sees you is to do his laundry to avoid smelling as much as possible. Homework sits somewhere in the middle of that plan.

He closes the door to the greenhouse behind him, the smell of the herbs hitting his face immediately. It wasn’t a mystery how Josh continued to supply himself and his friends with…supplements. As the president of the Horticulture club, he can access any specimens at any time. Surely it should been you, your care for plants and flowers not going unnoticed by him and probably your other classmates. Pretty privilege has to apply, for sure. But you’re much prettier than Josh, too, so what the fuck’s up with that?

You smile when you see Vernon enter the greenhouse. Your new friend skates by the stoned, giggly man-children sitting in the lawn chairs and passing their joint around. Hoshi is practically asleep, eyes almost closed and chuckles leaving his lips at the speed of a young schoolgirl. Vernon has the passing thought about how ironic it is all the Slytherins he knows take up their efforts with “gardening” yet probably know only a handful of plants.

“Hey, flower child,” Vernon says, sitting next to you on the workbench.

“Oh, spare me. Is that my nickname now?” You jut out your bottom lip, pouting.

“I think it’s nice. It fits!” Vernon motions with his hands to the surrounding vines and other foliage within the greenhouse. 

You nod in agreement. “Okay, point taken.”

He looks over at the assignment you’re doing, some form of chemistry if he had to guess. “What’re you working on?”

“Lab stuff. If I want to be a herbologist, I have to pass this class,” you say with a groan.

“Wait, you’re telling me there’s actually something you’re not good at?”

You stick your tongue out at him, threatening to poke him with your pencil. “Just wait, you’ll see I have many flaws.”

He knows that can’t be true. To him, even the most minute flaw of yours is impeccable.

“But yeah, just balancing equations and the like. I know astrology is more metaphysical stuff, but—“

“I love chemistry,” Vernon says, standing up and grabbing leaves from random plants between his fingers. Strangely, the more he walks around and steps into your world, the more confident he feels. “Speaking of that, I wanted to ask—“

“Hansol, watch out!”

Little does Vernon realize his back is perfectly positioned in front of an adult sprig of venomous tantacula, the plant ready to spring for the sight of prey. In an instant, Vernon sees your wand appear from your side and ducks out of the way to avoid the impending spell.

“Diffindo!” The venomous tantacula shrivels as soon as its body is separated from the base of the plant. You breathe in a sigh of relief at the fact your friend has not met his demise at the hands of the creature. However, Vernon’s quick dive turned out to be a bad choice. He managed to drop into a large pile of terracota plant pots. Some of them cut up his arms and a small part of his face in the process of his crash landing.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” you ask, bending down to inspect his face. You touch a hand to his cheek, moving his face in your direction. Vernon responds with a gummy smile.

“Nothing a bandaid can’t fix.” Vernon releases a breathless laugh.

“I have a medical kit somewhere around here.”

You run to find it. Vernon’s just dumbfounded and pleased he got so close to you on a technicality. Yes, his face is probably bleeding a good amount, but he knows it’s worth it to see your pillowy lips and doe eyes up close and personal.

When Joshua stumbles up to Vernon on the brick floor of the greenhouse, stoned out of his mind, he laughs like a madman. “Did you fall or something?”

Vernon smirks, resting his head happily on the ground. “You could say that.”

The collection of vinyls, CDs, and musical content in Vernon’s room is a marvel. The piles are mixed in with the typical items in a guy’s room, socks strewn about the floor and star charts leaning against the wall. When you call Vernon a slob in a playful tone, he can’t deny it.

“I have to be in the mood to clean,” Vernon says in his defense. 

You roll your eyes. You’ve met messier guys, but Vernon’s definitely making his way to the top of the list. “If I had to be in the mood to garden, half of the greenhouse would be withering away as we speak.”

“Is that how Josh keeps his presidential position, by only doing half of the work?” Vernon smirks, running his hands over the map in front of him. The homework needed to be done yesterday. Calling you as a reinforcement to make him focus is his best chance at getting it done.

Then again, seeing you now, he thinks that was a mistake. How can he focus when you’re in his room, chastising him to work and clean his room in such a cute way?

You may just be the end of his academic career as he knows it.

“No. Josh is a good president, and he really stands up for us with the student government. If he hadn’t advocated for muggle flora imports when they wanted to put more money in the Quidditch reserves, the greenhouse wouldn’t look half as good as it does right now.” You snap your fingers together. “Like the succulent in your radio station! Josh is technically to thank for that.”

“Don’t let him take the credit. I bet you put in a lot of effort growing that thing.”

You scoff and go back to inspecting his music collection. “Have you listened to every album you own?”

Vernon nods, smiling. “Some more than once. But that’s because some of those are my folks’ copies.” He gets up from his bed to stand next to you, tracing the outlines of the vinyl jackets with his fingers. “Like this one? Stevie Wonder’s In Square Circle? One of my favorites.”

The corners of your mouth turn up. “Surprises me you’re not a music undergrad. You already know so much.”

He chuckles sadly. “My parents thought it would be best to find something more practical to study.”

“Astronomy is practical?”

A smirk appears on his lips. “Point taken.”

You huff. “Anyway, it’s your life. It should be about what you love to dot. My parents wanted me to be a lawyer, but herbology’s my calling.”

“No kidding, flower child.”

“You know that nickname is cringe!”

In the midst of your banter, Vernon was unaware how much the distance between you closed. He can smell the perfume lingering on your neck, the scent of moondew driving him insane. His better impulses tell him not to stand so close. He should avoid inching further towards you. It’s wrong to focus on the look in your eyes that tells him not to stop.

Your breath hitches just a touch, and that’s his signal to throw all of his reservations out of the window. He presses your back to the vinyl player, caring little for the scratch of the record at the sudden movement. He can buy another one later.

He captures your lips with his and instantly feels every worry sap out of his being. You wrap your arms around him, hands firm against the back of his neck and fingertips grazing the ends of his hair. Magic in his world is not just exclusive to charms, potions, and cauldrons anymore.

He has you to thank for the definition expanding.

When a moan slips out of his mouth, you pull away breathless.

“Sorry if I was too forward. I—“ Vernon blurts out.

“No, no, don’t apologize.” You smile shyly. “I wanted you to.” You press your hands to his chest, feeling the beat of his heart under your palms. “Just don’t want to rush into anything.”

He nods without a second thought, hanging onto your words with glee. You’re into him. Enough to want him to kiss you, at least.

“Does this mean I can ask you on a proper date? Not just lunch after CPH?”

You giggle into his neck. “Yes, I would love that.”

After a month of secret kissing behind corridors, study dates in the library, and even Vernon helping tend to pollen-free plants in the garden with you, he may have to admit he’s fallen into the deep end.

But how does one say that, especially someone as terrible with non-lyrical words as him?

So, he decides the perfect way to tell you isn’t in the standard sense.

He writes.

He writes down his thoughts and feelings to a random beat that popped into his head, the rhymes that show up on the notepad in front of him exactly what’s inside of his heart. He makes final touches, moving a word around and then repeating some others. It’s not a full song, just the idea of one at this point, but it says what it needs to, and that’s more than enough.

Vernon texts his parents about his next special, and this time, they promise to listen. Maybe now he can prove to them it isn’t a fruitless endeavor not worth pursuing.

He puts the headphones over his head, one half of his mind occupied with a million thoughts and the other half excited to see what will come after the special. Dokyeom counts him in, mouth in a thin line from focus.

“Welcome to Chwe’s Power Hour, everyone. I’m Chwe Hansol, the man himself behind this lovely hour of music, and I thank you all for tuning into this special episode of the show.”

They go on as usual, answering user-created questions from the last stream and also playing a couple of requested songs. When they make it to the ten-minute mark, Vernon sees Dokyeom’s cue.

“So, recently, I met someone who has quickly become a very important part of my life. So, today, I want to share something that was on my mind with all of you.”

Vernon nods his head to Dokyeom who begins playing the backing track for Vernon’s song. Some guitar strings and a welcoming beat begin to play. The confidence suddenly rises out of Vernon, taking on its own life as he begins the song. The words come out of him effortlessly, the poetry he wrote for you synchronized with the music in a way that has even Dokyeom swaying in his seat cheerfully.

Flower child,

Why can’t I keep my thoughts off of ya?

You grow in my chest without my consent.

Please help when my heart’s under arrest.

Flower child,

I always recognize your steps

When you walk around my head.

The path you have to be familiar with.

Don’t tell me your interest’s a myth.

Flower child,

Is this garden ready to bloom?

You drive me wild.

Can I grow with you?

Flower child,

Can I show you?

You’ve left me beguiled,

Flower child.

The guitar and beat of the song fade out gradually. Dokyeom can’t help himself when he claps his hands together and cheers for his best friend, the sounds coming through in the stream. Vernon laughs and clears his throat.

“As you can hear, my co-host DK seems to have enjoyed my song.”

“Are you kidding?” Dokyeom says, mouth agape. “Best thing we’ve played on this show, no doubt.”

Vernon chuckles heartily, his chest filled with pride. Not just for himself, but for this creation he’s found enough conviction to share with the world. 

“Thank you again for all tuning into this episode of Chwe’s Power Hour, sponsored by Hogwarts Altior. I cannot wait for the next episode and your thoughts on this one. It was without a doubt my favorite special so far. To all of you listening, have a good day and night.”

When the stream comes to a close, Dokyeom grabs Vernon in a tight bear hug, screeching in glee for the younger one’s success. “That was fucking incredible!”

Before Vernon can reply, he feels the buzz of his phone in his back pocket, your name lighting up his screen.

Meet me in the greenhouse? x

Vernon walks through the greenhouse. The foliage and flora he’s encountered many times in the past since meeting you and beginning your love affair greet him. He hopes the flowers he picked up on the quick run from the radio office to the courtyard capture your heart in the same way the plants in the greenhouse do.

Even if they make his eyes itchy around the eyelashes, he will deal with it. No amount of pollen could ruin this day.

You’re working on some homework at the gardening bench when he comes in. You drop your pencil immediately when you spot him out of the corner of your eye. You smile at the bouquet in his hands. “Usually I’m the one bringing you plants.”

Vernon grins as well. “Thought I’d return the favor this time.”

You leave your stool and walk towards him. Pecking his lips, you grab the flowers from him. “You know zinnias have pollen in them.”

He shrugs, taking no stock in the stuffy feeling in his nose. “You’re worth all the allergies in the world.”

Your cheeks turn a deep shade of red. Pressing your nose into the flowers, you take in the smell with a satisfied hum. “They’re beautiful.”

“They represent long-lasting affection, according to Joshua. But he might’ve been stoned when he said that.” Vernon smirks, grabbing onto your free hand.

You giggle. Staring deep into his eyes, your expression suddenly becoming serious. “Speaking of that, I listened to your show.”

Taking a deep breath, Vernon hopes he can find the same courage he had in the studio then now to use exclusively for you. “Since the second I saw you, I was drawn to you. And all the feelings I’ve had since then I put into that song to express just a fraction of how amazing you are. And I know it’s cheesy, but I meant every word, and I hope you feel the same.”

You step away from him, letting go of his hand and walking back to the gardening workbench. Vernon’s anxiety spikes, unsure what your next step will be. Would you say what he wanted to hear, or would you tell him something that would break his heart altogether?

You drop the bouquet on the table and run back to him, knocking all the air out of Vernon’s lungs with a sudden, soul-encapsulating kiss.

In the pressure, movement, and heartfelt nature of your lips against his, he feels idiotic second-guessing you for even a minute. 

You both separate, lips still inches away and smiles abound. Despite your actions saying everything he needed to hear, the words leaving your mouth just confirms every emotion in his heart. “I love you, too.”

[ittybittyfanblog]

I Exist to Nobody (but you.) – Part 1

Summary: You meet your soulmate on a serendipitous afternoon in your grandparents' backyard.

And on all levels except physical, Xavier is a normal boy.

Word Count: 4.2k

Tags: fem!reader x xavier, you x xavier (no use of Y/N), imaginary friend AU, imaginaryfriend!xavier, childhood friends (to lovers, but not in this chapter!), themes of codependency?, lil sprinkle of family issues lol, growing up, time skips as a plot device, again– pretty self-indulgent 

A/N: I understand that AUs aren’t everyone’s cup of tea and that’s okay! Xavier’s always been a comfort character to me and I wanted to write something different for him, which led to this baby <3 

(art + banners are made by urs truly x)

Part I

You stand a little over three feet, and your hair is in braids. 

You’re wearing your Sunday special; a pretty purple dress with a frilly skirt and your favorite pair of stripe-print leggings. Your sparkly jelly ballerinas have been long since discarded somewhere in the grass as you run barefoot in your grandparents’ backyard. 

You’re playing hopscotch by yourself, with the family Shiba for company. The sky is starting to turn into a pretty orange hue and you hear your mom calling from inside the house when you see something white move from the corner of your eye. 

With all the curiosity befitting a four-year-old, your tiny feet carry you in the direction where you saw it; near the mossy undergrowth, beneath the canopy shade of the old Kousa dogwood tree that stood for more than four generations behind the residential building you’d spent some days hiding in when you didn’t want to go back inside for dinner. 

It’s as safe a spot to you as it is familiar, so it takes you by surprise when you find something unexpected; in the form of a small, pale boy with hair the color of rain clouds in the summer, sitting with his legs up to his chin, looking like one of those little elves in your fairytale books. 

A pair of blue eyes meet yours, alight in childlike wonder.

_____

Xavier doesn’t know how he came to be; just that he’s now present in this plane of existence, in the phantom body of a four-year-old boy, in a place he knows human beings call a back-yard. 

He knows this—just as he knows things on an objective level; like what a house is, what the creature covered in fur is called (a small wolf), or what a human girl looks like. 

What he doesn’t understand is the knee-jerk reaction to hide when his sudden appearance catches your attention, which brings him to his current attempt at concealing himself amidst a thicket; beneath the tree with star-like blooms. 

He doesn’t account for the beating of his heart when your searching gaze lands on him, nor the unfamiliar excitement of being seen feels like. 

“Hi!” You finally exclaim after a few seconds of consideration, squatting down in front of him. Xavier notices that you’re missing a front tooth when you give him a big smile. He also notices how his heartbeat quickens at the sight. “Are you an elf?!” 

“No,” he responds quietly. “I’m human. I think.” 

His voice sounds odd to his ears. 

“Oh,” you say with an undercurrent of disappointment. “Well, that’s okay! I’m human too!”

You say it with such enthusiasm that Xavier’s lips pull up in a hesitant smile.

Bouncing back up to your feet, you pat away the nonexistent dirt from your dress and extend a hand towards him. “D’you wanna play with me? Oh, oh—we can play hide-and-seek! You seek, I hide!” 

You're off to run somewhere before he could answer. He doesn't know what hide-and-seek entails, nor what it means to be amongst the living.

He doesn’t know that many things, but he thinks he’d like to know more about you.  

___

You head inside the house after your mom calls you for a fourth time, her voice straining in (rising) agitation. Towing behind you is your new (best!) friend, who you decide is joining you for dinner.

 

“This is Xavier!” You point at the boy sitting on the chair you dragged near yours, eyes wide as he takes in the spread on the table in front of him. “I saw him outside and we played hide-and-seek!”

  

Your mom exchanges a look with your grandmother. She glances at the chair beside you, then at you. 

She sees your wide grin. Resigned, she sighs and smiles indulgently. 

“Hello, Xavier.” 

The boy perks up at that. She could also–?

…No. 

It’s not obvious at first glance. But when he studies the expression of the woman who shares the same nose and chin as his new friend, he notices that her eyes look past him. Not at him. 

Xavier falters upon realizing the… facade. He is aware that his form isn’t as corporeal compared to yours. His skin has a certain translucent quality to it, more obvious under the stark, fluorescent lighting. The manner in which he moves isn’t unlike the minute particles floating in the air; more buoyant, less solid. Less tangible. Less aliv–

You squeal in excitement, and he’s distracted. He watches as you turn in your seat to face him– to look straight into his eyes and tell him—

“I’m your bestest friend now, okay?” 

You say it as a statement; like a promise. And for a second, he feels more present in the world.

So you are. His bestest friend. 

Xavier’s chest feels warm; he likes the sound of that. 

___

“Grandpa, Xavier says your beard looks funny!”

“Huh? Who’zat??” 

_____

You learn the concept of an imaginary friend after introducing Xavier to person number six, who happens to be your preschool teacher. 

You overhear her discussing boring adult stuff with your mom when the latter comes to pick you up after school. You and Xavier are in a corner, playing princess and knight. It’s just the two of you, away from the other kids, since your friends refused to join when you’d asked them if they wanted to play too. 

Or rather— they don’t think it’s fair that you just made someone up to be the knight, and have them play the villains. 

That confused you. You also notice how it made your best friend sad. So in the end, you decided that you don’t need anyone else! Xavier is already the best knight who is now also an evil dragon.

“Honey, don’t you want to play with your other classmates?” Your teacher, Miss Dahlia, asks you as she and your mom amble closer to where you and Xavier are; her tone gentle, yet careful. 

You shake your head, a ‘harrumph!’ leaving your mouth. “They didn’t wanna play villains with us. But ‘sokay, Xavier is an evil knight dragon now.” 

Miss Dahlia smiles the same smile your mother gave you at dinner last night. “Oh, of course, sweetie. But maybe you and… Xavier can find someone else to join you?” 

Your brows furrow, starting to feel irritated about the whole thing. “I told you, they don’t wanna! They said they dun’ wanna have someone made up play the knight!” 

Your mom sighs and the two share a look. 

After a moment of hesitation, your teacher begins to explain how your friends “may not be able to see” Xavier since he’s special and only appears to you. That “It’s good you’re being very independent, sweetie, as long as you don’t let Xavier prevent you from hanging out with your actual friends.”

Because, according to Miss Dahlia, he’s just an imaginary friend. 

You blink, not understanding. Xavier is silent beside you. “Huh?” 

You’re looking at the boy in question, trying to make sense of how the other kids—and apparently, everyone else—can’t see him when he’s sitting right there. You don’t understand, and it’s making you more annoyed. 

So the moment Miss Dahlia finishes talking, you tell her that you’re happy playing with just Xavier, and that you’re gonna continue to play princess and evil knight dragon now, please and thank you. 

___

Back home, you and your imaginary friend lie starfish on the floor of your bedroom. You stay quiet while you count the barely visible water spots on your ceiling, waiting for the other person to speak. 

He doesn’t. 

Feeling fidgety, you break the silence. “They don’t see you.”

“I-I don’t think so.” 

“But I see you.” You stress the word, turning on your left to look at Xavier when you say it. 

“Yes,” He agrees, twisting his head to the right so that he’s facing you too. You try to figure out how he’s feeling about the situation—with all the naivety of a child your age—but his expression doesn’t give much away. 

You’re about to ask him directly when, finally, his lips curve into a small smile. A knot loosens in your chest.

“Don’t worry,” Xavier assures you. “That’s enough for me.” 

_____

You lost another round of hide-and-seek.

“‘S not fair,” you grouse, stomping a foot in frustration. “You always find me so fast!”

“We could always play tag instead,” Xavier offers. 

“As if you don’t win at tag too!” 

_____

It’s another bright, sunny Tuesday and your mom leaves you with her usual instruction to behave well for Mrs Dela Peña, a kind—albeit a little strict—lady in her mid-seventies who lives a block away from your house, and your babysitter since you were in diapers. You’re eight now, and starting to make heads with your multiplication tables, but your mom still thinks you’re a big baby that needs looking after. 

You think you’re old enough to be left alone during your summer break when she has to go to work, but she refuses to leave you by your lonesome no matter how much you insist. 

“I have Xavier with me anyway!” 

Your mom just shakes her head whenever you use that as an argument, not bothering with a response. 

So with the usual pout on your face, you stand at the front door with your arms crossed as you grudgingly bid your mother goodbye. 

“–and don’t forget to eat all your greens later for lunch, okay?” She reminds you one last time before giving you a wet kiss on the forehead. You scrunch your nose as you wipe it off. “Love you, honey. I’ll be home by six.” 

And off she goes. You turn to face Xavier—whose hair is a little longer now, almost past his chin, but with eyes the same shade of marble blue—and complain, “She always treats me like a little kid!” 

“But you are a kid,” he tells you, sounding a little confused by your ire. “And it’s normal for parents to care for their children, no matter how old they are.” 

You grumble, narrowing your eyes at him. “I know, but you’re supposed to be on my side.” 

“I am on your side,” Xavier says, blinking innocently. “I tell you when Mrs Dela Peña isn’t looking so you could hide your broccoli before she sees.” 

He does make for a good lookout. You divert the subject. 

“Okay, whatever. But we’re still on Project: Veggie Throw, right?” You ask him, excitement replacing the crabbiness from a moment ago.

Xavier hums in assent, both him and you sharing the same aversion for all things leafy and (barely) edible, despite the other one’s inability to eat. 

Apparently, just explaining to him the yuckiness of a watercress salad is enough for him to take your side of things. 

Xavier sneaks into the kitchen—quiet as a mouse, as usual—to observe the old woman who’s starting to prepare for lunch. He notes the celery stalks being chopped on a wooden board and makes a sound of disgust.

The little phantom boy waits until the woman finishes the rest of the vegetables to put on a corner before calling out to you:

“The veggies are contained in one spot, agent. Over.” 

Your head pops out to peek from behind the wall that connects to the kitchen. Xavier, who’s now sitting cross-legged on the countertop close to the awning window, waves you towards the sink while Mrs Dela Peña’s busy taking something out of the fridge. 

Trying your best to move swiftly before she could catch you in the act, you zip straight to where the sliced vegetables are, bath towel ready to snatch them away when—

“There’s that tuxedo cat again from yesterday,” Xavier casually comments, peering through the open blinds. “I think he’s brought a friend this time.”

Like second nature, you respond without thinking, “You mean Mr Snuffles?”

“...”

“...”

“Oh, I didn't see you there, sweetie!” Mrs Dela Peña exclaims, eyes crinkling from the smile that graces her face as she sees your frozen form over by the aromatics. “Would you like to help with the cooking? Oh-ho! Be a dear now and soak those mung beans in water, will you?” 

“... Sorry,” Xavier sheepishly offers, then shrinks down from your betrayed look. 

You end up on stir duty. The large pot filled with beans and green produce seems to bubble ominously as you’re forced to listen to the same story about Mrs Dela Peña’s neighbor for the nth time. 

An apologetic Xavier dutifully recites to you the play-by-play on how Mr Snuffles and his racoon friend are rummaging through the trash bins as penance, and you swear to be more conscious of your audience next time you’re speaking to your invisible friend. 

_____

You’re in fourth grade, and exam week is coming up.

You look at the textbooks that are laid neatly on the living room table, untouched. Then at the TV. Maybe you could sneak in one episode before—

“No screen time before you finish studying, dearie!” An older Mrs Dela Peña calls out from the kitchen, apparently having a sixth sense for children and their sneaky ways. “Your mother wants you to complete the set of exercises she’s left for you there before you watch your an-e-mays.” 

Groaning in response, you let your head fall down onto the table with a thunk. “But it’s booooring!”

Xavier hums sympathetically, patting your head with a spectral hand. “I can read beside you. Do you want me to ask you the questions?” 

“I want to watch Killua beat those guys at dodgeball,” you sulk, voice coming out a little muffled against the oakwood surface. “Not memorize dates from, like, a hundred years ago.” 

“Killua isn’t here to help you with The Revolution, I am.” You’re caught off-guard by the shortness in Xavier’s tone, enough to raise your head to stare at your friend curiously. He keeps his gaze fixed on the questionnaire in front of him. 

Wait. That gives you an idea.

“I think I know how you could help me, Xavi,” You say slowly, excitement creeping in your voice. Why haven’t you thought of this before??

The pouting boy tilts his head in confusion. You start explaining what you have in store for him for the next couple of days, and before you even finish your spiel, the pout is gone and Xavier’s nodding along with your plan, seeming to be fully on board. 

The idea that his… nonphysicality could finally be of use to you has him feeling oddly giddy. You, on the other hand, look identical to a cat that ate the canary as you reach for the remote. 

Seems like you’ll be able to watch your second favorite pale-haired boy after all. 

___

You’ve been asked to stay after class, two days before the end of midterms. 

Your history teacher has been on it with your adviser for a while now, in a heated argument about your test results. Well, yours and another student in your class. 

“How is that even possible? He’s sitting three rows behind her!” 

“I don’t know how she did it, but they even got the same answer to the third essay down to the last sentence!” 

You and your partner-in-crime share a look of alarm. Uh-oh.

Any attempts at making you fess up led to nowhere. You keep denying all claims of cheating, and your adviser recalls nothing that could warrant suspicion on the day of your World History exam. 

Without enough conclusive evidence of your dishonesty for them to be able to pin the blame on you and call it a day, their resolution to this ‘conundrum’ is to have you take another test in the faculty office tomorrow after school, under the watchful eyes of two (wary) teachers. 

-

-

-

You let Xavier help you one last time—by relaying to you the answers from the paper tucked between two books on your teacher’s desk—before deciding that it’s probably for the best if you refrain from using your invisible friend for anything that could cause you more trouble in the long run; especially on the remaining days left of midterm week. 

Xavier looks deflated, but agrees. (The pout is back, though.) 

_____

“Where’d you get the name Xavier anyway?”

“It came to me in a dream,” he says cryptically. His face betrays nothing, so you can't figure out whether he’s telling the truth or just messing with you. 

“... Right.”

Xavier hides a smile. 

_____

“Hey, what are they talking about?” You ask Xavier from your perch on top of the staircase. You’ve been eavesdropping on the conversation downstairs for a while now, but you could barely make sense of the words being thrown around except for a couple of bad ones. 

Xavier cocks his head to the side, trying to listen in as well, before deciding to just transport himself closer to the source. 

Your dad, a man that you’ve spent considerably less time with compared to your grandfather (or basically everybody else, for that matter), came to visit today for reasons that aren’t really clear to you. But judging from the hushed whispers and periodic bouts of angry shouting down the living room, it isn’t for anything good. 

Your mom frequently uses the term “deadbeat”, and sometimes when she’s really in a mood, “a good-for-nothing waste of a man” when describing your father. You don’t have much of a relationship with him to feel offended on his behalf so you just nod along and agree when your mom goes off in a tirade.

You wonder sometimes, how things would be if you had a dad. A better one, perhaps. The kind of dad that picks you up after school in an SUV, just like how the dads from your class do for their kids. Or someone that’d take longer “shifts” at work to bring home enough to take care of the family, like how your mom does.

You wonder what it would be like to spend the holidays with another parent – the three of you welcoming New Years at home with a bunch of round fruits and maybe some sparklers, instead of having to sleep early at your grandparents’ house. 

Xavier floats back to your side after a few minutes, face set in a frown. “They’re saying something along the lines of moving somewhere nearer the city and finalizing the papers for the divorce. Your father’s talking about remarrying, as well.” 

It’s relayed to you in monotone, like someone reading off a script—or reciting exactly what they’ve heard sans the curse words—that it takes you a moment to process the information. 

After a beat, the only thing that comes out of you is a small, “oh.”

“Are you… okay?” 

It doesn't take much time for you to shake your head, along with the passing pipe dream you’ve entertained, if only for a few short minutes. 

You stand up from your crouched position near the top banister, leaving your little hiding spot to go back to your room. Xavier follows. 

“It’s fine,” you tell him with a shrug. “Do you wanna read Nightwing with me?” 

He agrees, of course. If he curls up closer to you when you stay up later that night to stare quietly at the glowing stars on your bedroom walls, neither of you brings it up in the morning.

_____

You had a fight with your mother earlier today. Xavier’s with you while you sit quietly on the tire swing behind your house. 

“Would you come with me if I go someplace far away from ‘ere?” 

“How far do you want to go?” 

“I dunno,” you shrug half-heartedly. “It’d be cool if we could go live on a planet of our own, don’cha think?” 

“Just the two of us?”

“Yeah. Somewhere I can just…” You struggle to find the words, but you settle on– “Breathe, I guess.” 

A flock of birds fly eastward. Envy colors you green as you think about the fact that they could call any place home without being tied down to a single location. 

“I’d like that,” Xavier smiles. “Maybe we could, one day. Once mankind improves the means for intergalactic travel.” 

“...Whatever you say, Xavi.” 

_____

It's your twelfth birthday.

You’re sitting at the head of the table surrounded by friends and family as they sing you a happy birthday. In front of you is a sunflower yellow buttercream cake with rainbow sprinkles and two lit candles in the shape of a large ONE and TWO. 

“Happy birthday to you,”

You watch your friends; girls in school that you grew up with since kindergarten, and some boys that you’ve climbed trees with during lunch breaks. Almost all of them have already gone through one or two phases over the course of years you’ve known them, and some you consider your closer friends are even acting a little distant as of late, already outgrowing old interests that you’d once shared. 

Even the general consensus on shows like Adventure Time and Spongebob has changed drastically ever since they all started watching Disney Channel. Flashy cell phones and handheld consoles are traded in place of old Barbie dolls and LeapFrog books; the latter are now kept hidden inside a dusty box underneath the bed, like forgotten relics of a simpler time.

“Happy birthday to youuu,”

They look different now, too. Some shot up in height, others gained a measly few inches. Some ditched the braids in exchange for a shag cut. The cooler kids even started wearing makeup. 

(You think you’d like to try putting on eyeliner if your mom wasn’t so strict.)

“Happy birthday, dear– ouch!” A yelp. “Jeremy, you dumdum, stop moving the cake too much!” 

Your gaze then shifts to your right, almost instinctively, to a space that all your other guests would find empty.

There, always by your side, your best friend remains the same as ever. Not the same in the sense that he looked the way he did when you first saw him eight years ago in your grandparents’ backyard, no. You’re not blind to the changes he’s gone through, in stages similar to your own. 

He’s grown taller, for one; almost as tall as you are now. The chub in his cheeks lost some of its roundness, and his limbs are lankier. His hair went through phases of being short, long, and the awkward in-between. When you had asked a couple years back how he’s able to change the length of it without going to a salon, he simply said he does it “to match yours when you do.” 

All-in-all, his physical appearance passes as a regular twelve-year-old boy, if not for the slight ‘otherworldly’ aspect one could probably… overlook. So ‘the same’ isn’t really how you’d describe him. 

“–happy biiirthday to youuu!” 

Xavier mouths the song along with the people in your life, his gaze trained on you the entire time. You look into the same galaxy-blue that you’ve associated with home, comfort, and just Xavier in every way—and you understand.

Constant. The word you're looking for is constant. 

You blow out your candles, wishing it could last forever. 

_____

“Don’t you think you’re getting a little too old for an imaginary friend, dear?” 

_____

Xavier finds you up the roof one rainy afternoon. You look like you’ve been crying. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, a heavy feeling settling in his stomach from the sight of your red-rimmed eyes. He sidles beside you, close enough that his right side almost merges with your left. 

(He’d like to imagine that you could feel him—as a source of warmth, of comfort to you while you shiver from both the cold and the heavy emotions weighing you down. He wishes he could be more than just a presence.)

“M-mom said that,” you sniff, angrily rubbing away the wetness in your eyes with the back of your hand. “–tha’ when I grow older, you won’t show up anymore.

That—that you’d be gone, ‘cos imaginary friends don’t stay with you when you’re all grown up.” Your bottom lip wobbles by the end of your sentence. 

A dark rain cloud looms overhead, signaling the coming of a storm stronger than the current downpour that’s drenching you to the bone. 

“You won’t leave me, would you, Xavi?” You whisper, turning to gaze at your dearest friend with greedy eyes, committing his form to memory, just in case he— “You won’t disappear on me, right?” 

There’s a crackle of energy in the air; a drop in temperature that causes the fine hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end.

“I don’t want you to ever go away.” 

(Neither does he.)

Something builds up inside Xavier. A desire, a need stronger than the limitations of the circumstance he’s dealt with since the beginning of his existence. It’s as vast and tumultuous as the birth of a star, and equally as brilliant. 

(He wants, he needs, he wishes–)

An answer from the high heavens comes in the form of a lightning strike, illuminating the world in a blinding veil of white for less than a second. The resounding “crack!” feels like a blessing. Like an affirmation from the court of gods listening in on the boy’s plea. 

A boon is granted, born from an ambition so great. And for a moment, Xavier burns brighter than any of the billion pinpricks of light in the night sky. 

-

-

-

On a roof, two children sit facing each other under a raging tempest, threads of fate tying them together in an unbreakable bond. 

Snip.

Something falls into place. 

“Never,” he vows. “I’ll always be with you. Forever.” 

[princessseeun]

You Were More Than A Muse

pairings: sion x m!reader

genre: fluff

🎵ZOOM UP! - Kahimi Karie🎵

a.n : banner was not loading so...

It started with a forgotten notebook.

Not on purpose, of course. M/N was many things—quiet, observant, the kind of person who got lost in margins and daydreams—but careless wasn’t one of them. Except maybe just this once.

It was a Tuesday. The final bell had rung, students flooding out of the classroom like water through a broken dam, and in the rush to tuck away his pencils and sketchbook, M/N didn’t notice the smaller, well-worn notebook slip from the stack.

And of all people who could have picked it up, it just had to be Sion.

Sion, with his annoyingly perfect smile and the habit of poking fun at M/N every chance he got. Sion, who always sat one row over and one seat back, close enough that M/N could feel the weight of his gaze even when he wasn’t looking.

Sion, who flipped open the notebook the moment he realized it wasn’t his.

He meant to return it, really. But a glance turned into a page flip, which turned into an entire chapter of doodles and small, careful sketches.

Of him.

Sion’s breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a quiet, stunned exhale. There he was, inked into the pages in every expression imaginable: yawning in first period, laughing with his friends, leaning back in his chair, smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world. All drawn with such gentle attention to detail it made his chest ache.

And in the margins—tiny hearts. Some dark and full. Some faint and half-finished.

He closed the notebook and held it to his chest, eyes wide, lips pressed together to keep them from curling too far upward.

Oh.

The next day, M/N was a mess.

He tore through his room twice before realizing he must have left the notebook at school. He spent first period clutching his bag to his chest like a lifeline, second period staring blankly at his notes, and third period avoiding Sion’s gaze so hard it looked painful.

Sion noticed.

Of course he did.

At lunch, Sion found him alone in the art room. M/N looked up like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide, panic painted clear across his face.

“Hey,” Sion said, holding up the notebook.

M/N froze. “You—”

“Yeah,” Sion said, voice softer than usual. “You left this.”

M/N reached out, and Sion didn’t let go.

“I looked inside.”

M/N stiffened. His hand dropped back to his side. “Oh.”

Sion waited. And when M/N didn’t say anything, he offered a small, almost sheepish smile.

“You draw me a lot.”

Silence.

M/N wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

Sion scratched the back of his neck. “So, uh. Should I start charging you a modeling fee, or…?”

M/N looked up sharply, mortified—but then paused.

Sion was blushing.

He wasn’t teasing. Not really.

“I didn’t mean for anyone to see it,” M/N mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. “I was just… you kept showing up in my head. And then on the page. I couldn’t help it.”

Sion stared at him for a long moment, like he was trying to memorize every word.

“Good,” he said finally.

“What?”

“Good that you couldn’t help it. Because I kept noticing you, too.”

M/N blinked.

Sion took a step closer. “You’re quiet. You always look like you’re thinking a hundred things at once. I thought maybe you didn’t even know I existed.”

“That’s… impossible,” M/N whispered.

Sion smiled. “Apparently not. And now I know you think about me. A lot.”

“Stop,” M/N muttered, hiding his face in his hands.

“No,” Sion said, laughing now. “Because I think about you too. And if you ever want to draw me again, maybe next time, I could be there on purpose.”

M/N peeked at him through his fingers.

Sion grinned.

“Like a date,you know.”

M/N’s heart tried to leap out of his chest.

He nodded.

And this time, when Sion handed over the notebook, he let go.

Only to reach for M/N’s hand instead.

[pascalispretty]

hold me down

Miguel Galindo x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: somnophilia, implied consent (they've done this before), fingering, prone bone, daddy kink (sue me), reader has a bit of a praise kink, D/s vibes, AU where Emily doesn't exist

Summary: You only moved in a few days ago, but Miguel is already reaping the benefits. (ao3)

A/N: whew, it's been a minute since I wrote for Miguel. That stupid final season totally zapped my desire to write for him for a good while. You can thank @misscharlielulu for sending me the gif that started this whole idea, and @loveletter444-kb for being such a supportive gem. Title is from 'hold me down' by Halsey. Tumblr ruined my gif banner, so alas it's only still images. There is a version of this story that involves anal if anybody wants it 🫣

Miguel still isn’t used to coming home and finding you in his bed.

You’ve only been living with him for a little over a week. When he comes home a little after one in the morning, he’s preoccupied. The contract for the latest land deal is on his mind, all of the tiny details that have to be tended to and carefully managed. He’s somewhere in the middle of planning the ecological survey when he steps into his bedroom and is momentarily surprised by the sight of you asleep in his bed.

Your bed too now, he supposes. He’s given you permission to change what you like in your new home, but you haven’t made any decisions yet beyond asking for a bigger closet. He wants you to feel at home here, wants to satisfy every whim you might have. Making room for a few more racks of dresses feels like a small price to pay for your contentment.

Miguel shoves the thought away from his mind, focusing his attention on you as he gets ready for bed.

You’ve rolled over onto his side of the bed in your sleep. Your face is pressed against his pillow, he notices smugly. Even in your sleep, you can’t get close enough to him. You look so peaceful, not a care showing on your pretty face as you nestle into his pillow. The bedsheets are a mess around your legs, your body not quite acclimated to the desert heat of Santo Padre yet.

Miguel strips off his three-piece suit methodically, his eyes on the rise and fall of your chest as he undresses. His clothes go into the hamper, leaving him naked. He can’t be bothered to find a pair of pyjama pants; he’d much rather feel you pressed against him.

He walks around to his side of the bed to plug his phone in, footsteps silent on the rug. You don’t stir, even as he gets closer, even when he’s standing right beside you.

It’s when he’s stood right beside you that he sees why the sheets are in such a tangle.

You’ve managed to kick them part of the way off you, but they still cling around your calves. It leaves your ass and thighs sticking out from under the covers. You couldn’t have posed for it better if you’d tried. The silky slip you wore to bed is rucked up around your hips, showing off the lacy panties you’re still wearing. He wonders if you got dressed up for him before falling asleep.

For a long moment, Miguel just looks. He’s enjoyed having you living with him for the past ten days, but it feels like the full potential is finally occurring to him.

He can enjoy you like this whenever he wants.

Nobody has to jet halfway across the country, or traipse up to a hotel room. You’re right here, exactly where he wants you. It’s the perfect remedy to such a long day.

He can only keep his hands to himself for so long. When the two of you were coping with hotel visits and brief stays, you’d often maximise the time together by waking the other up for sex. He’s lost count of the amount of times you’ve woken him up with your mouth around his cock; he’s equally beyond numbering the times he’s woken you with his fingers or his tongue (and once, so memorably, a slap).

Carefully, so you don’t stir, he sits on the end of the bed. He reaches out carefully, brushing the back of his hand so gently against the curve of your ass that he barely feels you. It does make you shift, almost imperceptibly. He does it again, your skin so warm under his fingers that he sighs.

Miguel loves you like this; soft, sleepy, malleable.

Turning his hand over, he lets his fingertips wander over your supple flesh. You make a soft, contented noise that’s half-muffled by the pillow. It makes his cock twitch, makes him hungrier for more. His fingers sweep upward, coming to rest at the juncture of your thighs.

He can’t feel you properly through the lace covering your cunt. For a moment, he lets his fingertips rest against the outline of your slit. One of your legs moves, and he waits to see if this will wake you. Instead, you just seem to be shifting, getting more comfortable. Satisfied that you’re still asleep, he lets his fingertips press a little more firmly, his index finger tracing lightly over your clit.

Miguel swallows thickly, uncomfortably aware of how hard he’s getting. With his free hand, he reaches down to adjust himself. He’s not surprised to find that he’s already half-hard. If anything, he’s surprised he’s not so stiff it hurts; not when he has you tucked up in his bed, waiting to be played with.

He moves slowly, carefully tracing and teasing at the outline of your cunt over your underwear. More soft sounds start to escape you, little hitches in your breath and quiet whimpers. Every noise goes straight to his cock. Other men wind down with alcohol; he has you to get drunk on.

It doesn’t take long before he can feel your slick starting to soak into the lace of your panties. It starts as a tiny wet spot right over your entrance and it takes all his willpower not to yank your underwear down and bury his tongue in you. Instead, he keeps playing with you, tracing firmer circles over your clit until the lace is thoroughly ruined.

Carefully, he hooks a finger around the crotch of your underwear and pulls them to one side. It gives him the barest peek at your pretty cunt. It’s enough to make his mouth water on instinct. You squirm in your sleep, and he wonders if you can feel the cooler air of the room hit your soaking folds. He lets his fingertip touch your bare flesh, shivers licking down his spine as he feels just how wet you are.

Part of him is curious about what will finally wake you up. It’s that part of him that makes him tease your entrance with his fingertip, coating his skin in your slick. You give a shuddering gasp as he slides his finger inside of you, but you still don’t wake. He moves slowly, deliberately avoiding the spot on your walls that makes you quiver when he hits it. You’re more restless with his finger inside of you, squirming at the intrusion and curling your hand in the sheets. Your hips buck a little, the sight of you trying to fuck yourself back onto his finger in your sleep making him feel like a man bewitched.

Miguel knows he’s tempting fate when he adds the second finger. He thrusts slow and deep once, twice, knuckle deep inside you when he finally hears it.

“…Miguel?”

****

It feels like you’re dreaming at first. A blissful wet dream that makes your toes curl. You’re not sure what exactly wakes you, only that you eventually become aware of two long, thick fingers carefully working inside of you.

“…Miguel?” You ask, your voice thick with sleep. It’s disorienting, waking up so agonisingly close to coming.

“Hi, baby.” His fingers don’t stop moving. If anything, he lets his fingers curl a little now he knows you’ve awoken, pressing against that spongy spot inside you. Your brain feels foggy with sleep still, miles behind your body as you abruptly crash into the pleasure of his touch.

“Daddy’s home,” whispers something deep and primal in your mind.

“Oh God, Miguel- ‘s so good,” you manage as he moves his fingers a little faster inside you, sending more heat lancing through your veins. You have no idea how long Miguel has been playing with you for, and that somehow makes it even hotter. Every thrust of his fingers makes you moan, your back arching into his touch.

“Need you to be a good girl and come for me,” he murmurs, his voice low with arousal. You do as you’re told, rocking yourself back on his fingers. It doesn’t take you long at all to tip over the edge into a blinding orgasm, one that hits you like lightning and leaves you clutching the pillow so hard your knuckles go white. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps as Miguel works you through your climax, dragging it out until your legs quiver.

The loss of his fingers leaves you feeling devastatingly empty, and you whine at the feeling.

“Ya lo sé, baby.” His fingers find the waistband of your underwear, tugging them impatiently down your legs and discarding them somewhere in the room. Once they’re off, he moves you towards the middle of the bed, leaving him enough room to climb in beside you.

“Miguel-” you start, trying to turn to face him. He doesn’t let you. One of his large hands curls around your shoulder, pressing you forwards.

“You sound tired, amor,” he says, even as he rolls you onto your stomach. “Do you want me to stop?” His weight settles over you, pinning you down against the mattress. The press of his warm, broad body over yours pulls at that tension in your core, threatening to start building again.

“No! ‘m not too tired.” It’s a lie; you’re exhausted. But your need for him overrides all practicality. “Please, daddy.” If he doesn’t fuck you now, you think you might actually cry yourself back to sleep.

Miguel’s mouth finds your ear, nipping carefully at the lobe. He’s hard against the curve of your backside, and the two of you groan together as his cock presses against your slick folds.

“My good girl,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck. He gives an idle thrust of his hips, the head of his cock brushing against your clit and making you cry out under him. “Perfect, pretty girl,” he continues, one of his hands disappearing between your bodies as he lines himself up.

The blunt head of his cock swipes through your folds again, and you tilt your hips up for a better angle. You barely have time to enjoy the feeling of him notching his cockhead against your entrance before he sinks into your cunt, filling you so exquisitely that you think you might actually black out for a moment. The stretch of it pulls a sob out of your throat. It’s a pathetic little noise that makes him smirk smugly against your neck.

His hands find yours, his palms covering the backs of your hands and lacing your fingers with his. It’s somewhere between pinning you down and holding your hands, and it only adds to the tension coiled tightly in your core.

Miguel starts fucking you slow and deep, every measured roll of his hips making you cry out against the pillow. He lets go of one of your hands just long enough to push your hair out of the way of your neck. His beard prickles the delicate skin as his mouth nips and sucks at your throat. You can feel him everywhere, on every inch of you.

The lines between you begin to blur in your mind, until you’re hard pressed to say where exactly you end and he begins, and it’s still not enough. In this position, he can hit so deeply that you feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against the very end of you. The room fills with the sounds of your moans mixing together, and the slap of skin. Miguel’s breath is ragged against your ear, and when he licks a line up the column of your neck, actual tears well in your eyes.

“Fuck, feels so good,” you gasp into the pillow. “You always make me feel so good.” Miguel only groans in response, and you can’t help but feel gratified that, for all his words before, he rarely manages to keep talking once he’s inside of you. It makes you feel powerful. Even when he has you pinned like this beneath his body and the bed, even when he’s woken you up to use you, you have the power to leave him speechless.

It’s utterly intoxicating.

Miguel loses his patience before long. He speeds up his thrusts, hips snapping roughly against you. All you can do is make choked little ‘ah’ sounds, half-muffled by the pillows. You cling to Miguel’s hands as you tip over the edge of another devastating climax, your whole body shuddering in what little space you have beneath him. Tears squeeze out from beneath your lashes as you screw your eyes shut, your body feeling too small to contain the heat tearing through you. It must hurt, the way you’re gripping his hands, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

Instead he fucks you harder as you clench down around him. His teeth find your neck again, pulling a feral sound out of you as he tightens his arms around you, holding you closer, surrounding you utterly. His hips grind against you as he comes, pressing himself flush against your body as though he can somehow force himself deeper.

Miguel stays there, his breath ragged in your ear as he starts to come down. His fingers slip from yours and it makes your hands ache as the blood flows back into your fingertips. Slowly, reluctantly, he moves off you. You can’t help the hitch in your breath as his cock, still half-hard, slips out of you. Slick drips between your legs, a mix of his come and yours. Some perverse part of you likes it, gets a thrill out of him making a mess of you. Tired as you are, you don’t bother to clean yourself up.

Instead, you let Miguel pull you into his arms and nestle your head against his shoulder. You move blindly, your eyes still closed.

“You must be so tired, baby. You’re such a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice back now he’s no longer inside you. You nod into his shoulder; the adrenaline high of your orgasm quickly gave way to such a drop that it’s a wonder you didn’t fall asleep while he was still fucking you. Miguel wraps an arm around you, his hand resting at the curve of your backside as you get comfortable.

“One last thing,” he says softly, squeezing your ass. “You’re not allowed to wear underwear to bed unless you have a very good excuse.”

“Sorry, daddy,” you mumble into his chest. Your eyelids are too heavy for you to open them again for more than a second. All you see is the briefest glimpse of his chest before they close, and you can’t reopen them. You can only yawn and nuzzle against his warm skin, enjoying the way his thumb is stroking your skin.

“It’s okay, baby. I know you won’t do it again.”

****

You wake up to an empty bed. It’s a little disorienting; the lack of Miguel makes you wonder if the night before hadn’t been a particularly vivid dream. You stretch out, something cracking in your spine as you starfish out on the huge bed. It’s been days since you moved in, but you’re still not used to having quite so much space in bed.

You’re too hungry to linger long.

Instead, you slip out from the tangle of sheets and throw on a pretty, light robe. It was a gift from Miguel, like most of the lingerie and nightwear you currently own, and you can’t help admiring yourself in the mirror for a moment. The colour brings out your eyes; he has such lovely taste.

The house is quiet as you make your way towards the kitchen. There’s faint music coming from somewhere, deep within the house, but you can’t quite pinpoint it. You don’t know everyone’s schedules well enough to know if it’s the maid listening to the radio as she cleans, or the gardener working outside. You’re not even sure if Miguel is home or not. It’s a strange feeling, to feel so detached from what’s happening inside your own home.

You’re so convinced you’re alone that you jump when you see Miguel. He’s sitting at the head of the dining table, a mug of fresh coffee in hand and a leather portfolio spread out in front of him. You’re still not used to seeing him in such a domestic setting; from the bare feet to the robe thrown over his black vest and pyjama pants, it feels a little like seeing a teacher outside of school.

“Good morning, mi amor,” he says with a smile when he notices you. He holds a hand out for you, and you take it eagerly, letting him pull you onto his lap.

“Morning, sweetheart. I didn’t sleep in too late, did I?” You ask, making yourself comfortable on his thighs. Miguel wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close as you settle, and kisses your temple.

“No, I’ve not been up long myself. And I thought you could do with the rest after the very warm welcome you gave me last night.”

“Oh. Not a dream then.” You can’t help the flush that spreads across your skin, making your cheeks burn. It’s no different in practice than what you and Miguel would play at in hotel rooms, or on your fleeting visits to Santo Padre, but it feels different now. It’s not out of a desire to maximise his time with you; it was simply because he came home needing you. Your insides twist pleasurably, and you tangle your fingers in his hair.

“Not a dream,” he confirms, his lovely dark eyes boring into you. There’s something in the way he’s looking at you that makes you look away, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze. It’s soft, but with an unmistakable demanding edge that makes you squirm.

“Do you know what I realised last night?” He asks, catching your chin gently between his forefinger and thumb and forcing you to look up and meet his eyes. “That my days at work are going to feel a lot less tedious now I know I’ll be coming home to you.” He lets go of your chin and leans closer, his lips brushing the delicate shell of your ear.

“That’s romantic,” you manage with remarkable composure as his lips ghost over the bite-mark he left last night. Your hands grip a little tighter to his shoulders.

“Mm. Coming home to you waiting in my bed. Ready for me to use.” A little less romantic, you suppose, but any comeback vanishes from your head when he traces the line of your throat with the tip of his tongue.

“God, always. Whenever you want.”  You mean it too, insane as it might sound to an outsider. Miguel gives you everything you might ever want, makes you feel adored and cherished and desired in a way no other man has even come close to. Why wouldn’t you want to give him the same?

“I always want you.”

Taglist:

@avengersfan25 @misscharlielulu @apenny4thots @burningtacozombie @ben-c-group-therapy @90sisthenew80s @beccabarba @christinabae @pear-1206

[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chapter 1 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose.  A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!! //

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out. Section Specific Warnings: casual drinking, piv sex, , nip stim, reader on top, drunkenness to the point of blacking out, vomiting due to overdrinking (mentioned very briefly), dirty talk, implied drug use / vernon is high, heavy themes in regards to mental health - allusions to unspecified mental illnesses in the realm of depressive and anxiety disorders

wc: 5800

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

Now

You’ve been used to seeing his face only in puzzle pieces, triangular fragments of glass beside a fallen picture frame. Mostly in flashes of light that are gone too quickly to process the whole picture - as the car he drives passes under a streetlight, as the flashing lights from a dj booth sweep over you before moving on, as the moon crosses over the gap on your window’s blinds that your cat broke two years ago and you never replaced.

Despite this, you know everything about it: how he keeps it carefully flat, but when it breaks it’s always to jump to extremes. How he laughs so hard his features distort and shatter, how his eyebrows nearly meet when he’s breaking and pressing fingers to his eyes, how his eyes squeeze shut when he mouths your name against your neck and presses his fingertips tighter against your skin before letting go. You have it all memorized. You know it by heart, even in the dark. 

That was how you met - in the dark. You were dragged to a bar by your best friend Chan, determined to drink until you weren’t annoyed by the existence of everyone around you, until the music and lights seem to flow over and around you, like you’re experiencing them through a thick pane of glass. 

He’d been invited, too. He and Chan had friends in common. You’d noticed him early in the night, sometime before things got foggy. Of course you did - even in the dim lighting you could see how good-looking he was, all sharp points and edges. You made note of how he stayed quiet, a tiny smile on an otherwise unchanging face, but his eyes had darted around, following the conversation sharply. 

Sharp is your favorite word for him. It fits everything about him, top to toe, inside and out. 

Sharp, sharp, sharp. 

He looked how you feel inside, even now. 

You’d gone back to his place, that night. You still remember him leaning back against the wall of the bar, arms crossed against his chest, mostly in shadow until a pink light passed over you both before leaving you in shadow again. As your eyes adjusted again, pieced his face back together in the dark, one of those eyebrows had lifted in question. 

You were surprised at how clean his place was; he was surprised by how cluttered yours was, the next time you’d come together, maybe a week later. 

This was almost two years ago; you’d both gotten used to each other since then.

It wasn’t a surprise, each time, when he gasped and then whined when he came, when his grip tightened like he had to make sure you stay put until his heartbeat starts to slow again. Not a surprise when he’d pull his ripped jeans back on less than ten minutes later. Not a surprise when he’d reach out to wiggle your foot through the blankets to make sure you were awake to hear him mutter, “See you,” on his way out. Nothing surprising about how you’d go four days without talking and then send him a wyd?, nor about how he’d come to pick you up, his car idling outside your building within the half hour. 

You’d been doing things this way for ages. It was practically a routine. This was just what you two did, in the dark. 

You weren’t sure what he did during the day. You and him, you only existed when the sun went down. 

You didn’t know what he looked like in the golden hour, or at a restaurant table, or hurrying through a rainy afternoon. You didn’t mind; he belonged to you like this - only in the dark, only in pieces, only in too-quick flashes of light.

It was enough.

Or, you’d pretended it was, for as long as you could. 

1 yr 11 months ago

The first few times were simple. You both knew what you were there for. You’d text, he’d come get you. You’d watch his hand on the gear shift as he drove you back to his place. You’d undress each other across his living room, a breadcrumb trail to follow back out when it was over. He’d order you a ride when it was done, you’d get home and shower, sinking into your own bed just as the light started to shift outside, warning everyone that dawn was imminent once again.

Or, conversely, he’d text instead of you. Or he’d drive to your place and stay, pressing you against your entryway wall before even closing the door behind him, threatening all your neighbors with a show. He’d slip out, after, leaving the smell of his cologne on your skin, on your sheets, even - somehow - in your kitchen, where you’d gone for water while he got dressed. 

You both knew why you were there. You both knew what you needed out of it: just sex, just fun. You couldn’t even call it friends with benefits because you weren’t friends from dawn to dusk.

The just of it failed to last.

You know precisely the first time it was different, the first time you needed him. You needed the same things as always - his mouth hot on your skin, his hands alternating between sparks of pain and soothing caresses, the stretch of him emptying your mind and pushing every bad feeling out like there wasn’t room for them anymore. But for the first time, you didn’t want those things for enjoyment.

You wanted them as a salve.

Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose. 

You did ask him, in your own way. With your tongue, with your hands, with your hips. You didn’t know if he could tell that something was different, that you were using him to hide, that your urgency was because you wanted to feel something else. As you moved together under the fairy lights above your bed, the motions were the same as always. 

It was after, that was different. Before he got dressed, he’d rolled to face you across the few inches of dark. His statue-like face wasn’t blank, now. Instead, his brows knit just slightly, his lips frowning on the hint of a pout.

“You okay?” he’d asked.

You’d looked back at him, goosebumps rising up and down your arms as your skin cooled. Should you lie? That was the best way to keep him at arm’s length, the best way to make sure this didn’t get too deep, the best way to ensure you didn’t scare him away.

But something made you tell the truth.

“A little better, now,” you admitted, quiet, your voice creeping through the dark like it was avoiding landmines as it tiptoed over your mattress. 

He’d nodded, slipping back into the silence he wore best. Then he’d stayed just a few minutes, breathing quietly beside you, before getting up and sliding back into the routine. A few extra minutes of not being alone, like he knew you needed it even if you couldn’t ask for it. 

In the silence he left behind, the truth had ballooned into the empty room: something had shifted. Now, on the nights when you hurt, when you weren’t sure you wanted to keep clawing your way through, you had another vice to pick from for distraction. More or less destructive than your other, older vices? You weren’t sure.

Almost two years later, you’re still not sure. 

1 yr 10 months ago

The levels of separation were just enough that you didn’t cross paths at a lot of social events. But it was always a little thrilling when the circles did converge, when he appeared at the edge of the group, when the game became act normal in front of everybody. 

You like games.

Vernon does, too.

The first time he showed up unexpectedly at the bar, your stomach swooped, and you hid a sneaky smile by tipping back your glass, draining the rest in one go and announcing that you needed a refill. 

A game, knowing he’d watch you walk away. A game, knowing he’d have to look away again quickly, before anyone caught on. A game, pretending when you return to the group that you don’t remember his name. A game, knowing that at the end of the night, he’d come home with you and make sure you didn’t remember anything but. 

You had too much to drink, too caught up in the fun, in the promise of later, in the thrill of feeling like you were harboring a secret like a precious plant, cupped in loose soil between your muddy fingers. 

The alcohol made you lose track of your friends, of the time, of directional stability. You stumbled to the hallway you thought held the bathroom, one sweaty palm slapped against the wall to help you get there. 

You’d only been sleeping with him for two months, but his hands on your waist were familiar. So was his mouth, near your ear, asking a familiar question - “You okay?”

“Should probably go home,” you muttered, still present enough to know you were a mess. That others could see your mess. 

“Can you get yourself out front?” he asked, and there was something gentle in it. It made your stomach turn; or maybe that was the vodka. It made you want to run, to put distance between you, to remind him that you weren’t his to take care of. It made you want to hiss and spit to remind him that you’re an outdoor cat.

“Why?” you asked, turning in place to face him, something hard riding up in your chest. 

He shrugged one shoulder, like it didn’t matter to him if you listened or not. “If you go out now, I’ll order a ride. Then I’ll head out in a few, when the car is here. It’ll look like you left already when I go.”

You narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re being awfully strategic.”

He lifted that eyebrow again. “You want Chan to know we’re fucking?”

The word sizzled through you like an electric shock. But you took a breath and considered the question. “No,” you answered, once you muddled through your soupy brain enough to find the word. “No, I don’t.”

“Okay,” he said, as if that settled that. “I’ll order the ride. Your place okay?”

“Mhm,” you said, distracted, suddenly aware of your lack of equilibrium, nausea making its presence known. You might not have told him goodbye before pushing your way back into the crowded dance floor, weaving around people and squeezing through impossibly tight spaces until you find Chan again.

“My uber’s out front,” you said in greeting. 

“What?” he cried, looking betrayed. “It’s not even one-thirty!”

“If I stay,” you told him seriously, “I will hurl. Talk tomorrow?”

He pouted a little but nodded, waving goodbye as you turned and struggled towards the front door. 

Stepping from the loud, crowded bar into the quiet street was almost dizzying in itself; you struggled to adjust as you took a few steps away from the door. The lit-up signs from the nearby businesses swam around the edge of your vision, and you swallowed down a fresh wave of nausea. 

It seemed like only seconds later, though it must have been at least five minutes, when the car pulled up and Vernon appeared from out of nowhere to usher you into the backseat. 

You don’t remember the ride home. You don’t remember Vernon supporting you by your elbows to keep you from toppling sideways (or backwards) down the stairs. You don’t remember dropping your keys so many times that he’d taken them from you, let you both into the apartment. You don’t remember him helping you remove your heels, or placing a glass of water by your bed. 

You do remember waking up somewhere in the bright hours of early morning, still in your tight dress, head pounding and stomach rolling. 

Your apartment was empty; you hadn’t expected him to stay, but you’d checked the couch anyway, just to be sure. You drank the whole glass of water, sat on the floor of the shower and let the hot water punish you for your bad decisions, and then crawled back to bed. You texted Vernon - the first time either of you had texted while the sun was up - and apologized, thanked him for getting you home. 

You expected an answer as reserved as he normally plays things. You were surprised when, instead, he sent you back, “i think i’d be good at rodeo”, followed quickly by, “rodeoing???”

Frowning, you sent back a line of question marks.

His answer made you laugh through a groan, pressing your face into your pillows in embarrassment - “corralling you was NOT easy… but i did it 🤠”.

Face flushed with embarrassment, you sent another apology. 

You sank into quiet after that, unsure if you’d messed things up, made it too real, became a thing of responsibility instead of a thing of attraction. But he’d texted you the next weekend, those three little letters sending relief through your system: wyd? 

“Not drinking,” you said, and he wasted no time in sending back, “want to not drink at mine?”

1 yr 9 months ago

come over?

you come here?? ill order ur ride

ok 👍

“You seem weird.”

Vernon kept his expression even, though hearing the words made him want to grimace at being called out so immediately. He’d been spiraling for at least an hour; had at one point gotten so worked up that he’d slammed his laptop on the desk, causing it to show a shuddering blue screen before restarting on him.

If it hadn’t stumbled back to life, he honestly thought he would cry over it.

He might anyway. Fucking shit.

“I’m a weird guy,” he deadpanned instead.

“Weirder than normal,” you volleyed. “Everything okay?”

Vernon sent a dark look over his shoulder, where the textbook he’d been burying himself in still sat open on the page he’d been on when your text had rolled through.

But you weren’t here to help him study. You weren’t here to listen to him complain that he’d failed his last test, that his scholarship rode on this next one. You weren’t here to help him make flashcards, or even to rub his shoulders while he hunched over the textbook.

You were here so he could forget, for just a little while, that he was stressed in the first place. You were here to help him feel something besides the knots in his stomach, so he could hear a voice echoing in his head that wasn’t his own calling him stupid, stupid, stupid. You were here to melt the edges of his anxiety, the way he could have with a shot or a pill, if he were in a different mood.

He replaced the textbook on the flat surface of his desk with your bare ass, leaning over you to brace an arm next to his sleeping laptop. He let your soft cries take up space in his mind, crowding out his internal admonitions, his mind’s noisy cycling through the list of things he should be doing instead. His stomach muscles clenched because your fingertips trailed over them, not because he was imagining having to tell his parents he’d lost his scholarship. He groaned, long and guttural, because you felt like heaven clenching around him, hot and silky and perfect, not because he’d read the same paragraph three times and retained none of it. His fingers found the back of your neck and gripped you hard, holding you in place as his hips snapped into yours, instead of gripping the pen that refused to write answers that made any sense.

It worked; it helped. It was the first time in days that Vernon felt okay. He wished he could last forever - just so that he didn’t have to go back to reality, to life outside of this.

“Car’s on its way,” he told you, after you were cleaned up and dressed again.

You looked up at him from where you were perched on his desk, the same spot where he’d been drilling you only ten minutes ago.

“Thanks,” you said, then looked down at the textbook in your hand. You’d picked it up absently, but now you turned it over, reading the cover.

“This looks hard,” you observed. “Is this why you’re all…” You trailed off and made a face to indicate that Vernon was the human equivalent of a keysmash. You even mimed the keysmashing, in the air in front of you, with both hands.

The smile he gave you was probably sheepish. “Yeah. Test tomorrow. Flunked the last one.”

And he wasn’t sure why he was telling you, but you nodded slowly, eyes still on the cover of the book.

“Sucks,” you said sympathetically, and that was that. You didn’t make it a thing. You gave him a quick smile as you closed his door, and then you were gone.

Vernon took a shower, dissociated in the warm water until it ran cold. Then he heated up some instant noodles, and set everything back up on his desk to try again.

Maybe he should make fucking flashcards.

He was still at it around two in the morning, literally holding his eyelids up to stay awake, when his phone rattled on his keyboard.

good luck tmrw. hwaiting.

1 yr 8 months ago

“Go talk to him!”

“Chan, from the bottom of my heart, fuck off.”

Your best friend pouted at you over the top of his beer. “You haven’t dated in forever.”

You hadn’t needed to. You didn’t want domesticity, nor partnership. And the parts that were left, Vernon had been handling just fine.

But Chan didn’t know that.

“I don’t want to,” you snapped. “I don’t want to talk to that guy, and I don’t want to date someone. I want to drink with my idiot friend Chan. Is that a problem?”

His pout deepened. “No,” he sulked. “But I’m worried about you, noona.”

“Well, don’t be,” you said, softening. “I’m fine. I’m just not after… all that.”

Still looking a little bit like a kicked dog, Chan glanced down at his beer and then back up at you, timid. “Have you been… working on anything lately?”

You wanted to crawl out of your skin. You wanted to evaporate, slip towards the ceiling in tiny droplets of not-matter, vanish as you got too close to the sun.

“Nope,” you said, forcing a breezy tone.

His eyes on you were too knowing. Your clothes all itched, suddenly. “Nothing, since -?”

“Chan,” you said, not even trying to hide the desperation on your face, in your voice, in the way your hands reach out for his. “Please, can we not do the intervention thing right now? I really, really cannot.”

He went quiet. “Fine,” he said finally, and the timid-younger-brother thing was gone, replaced with something almost angry. Frustrated, at least. “Fine. You need a refill?” He downed the last of his beer and reached for your glass.

“No,” you said, pulling it further from his reach. “I need shots. Let’s go.”

The burn in your throat helped you move on, move away from the uncomfortable moment. You relished the slight sting, closed your eyes as you felt the heat make its way to your stomach. Kept them closed, felt everything tight inside you loosen by degrees, until you could breathe again.

You danced, you drank more. You did tequila shots, licking salt off the back of some girl’s hand, both of you giggling even though you never saw her before in your life and probably wouldn’t again once the shots were done.

At some point, you stilled, realizing you hadn’t seen Chan in a while. You rested your elbows against the bar for balance and pulled out your phone.

where are you? you sent.

His answer confused you. told you goodbye almost two hours ago, you fucking mess.

Then, another, do I need to come back and get you?

Shame engulfed you. You were a mess, always a mess. A fuck-up, a drop-out, a waste of potential. The idea of him having to come take care of you, come back to get you and babysit you, made you want to crawl under the sticky floorboards.

no, you sent back. i’m leaving now.

But the shame hovered over your shoulder. Its breath coated your neck in humid huffs, its claws pressed into the flesh of your arms hard enough to leave little crescents, its tail curled around your leg to hold you in place.

You ordered another shot.

The room was dark, and smelled stale, like a window hadn’t been opened in months.

The room was not the bar.

Your body flooded with adrenaline so fast that you had to close your eyes and force an inhale.

You didn’t remember leaving the bar. You didn’t know where you were. You didn’t know how you got here.

The shame was back, tail heavy over your abdomen, but the spikes of fear were worse. You felt around the darkness until you could find your phone. You used its light to look around - you seemed to be alone on someone’s couch. Hand shaking, it took you three tries to open your maps app. You couldn’t get the screen to focus, couldn’t read to see what neighborhood you were in.

The screen swam before you and you clicked it off, closing your eyes and trying to breathe, trying not to cry.

Who could you call?

Not Chan, the shame whispered to you, lifting its head from slumber and opening its beady eyes, yellow across the dark room.

You didn’t have many other choices. You'd found that a symptom of isolation is that fewer people stick around, waiting for you to come out of it, to be normal again. You'd known this, logically, for years. You still couldn't help it when the urge to hunker down and speak to no one but Chan and your mom took over; you couldn't help when your stupid, broken brain told you that you were bothering everyone but to believe it. Don’t call Chan. You closed one eye and turned your screen on again, determined to make it make sense.

It was almost three in the morning.

You knew one person who might still be up.

Vernon’s hello sounded awake, and that’s what made you crack, tears starting to slide down your cheeks without permission.

“I don’t know where I am,” you admitted. The shame gave a hearty huff and lowered its head again. “I can’t - I can’t get a car because - I can’t see the - the buttons aren’t working -”

“Put me on speaker,” he said calmly, and you clung to his voice like the rung of a pool ladder. You didn’t need to climb up, you just needed to hold on.

“Okay,” you said, when you’d managed it.

“Go to your messages,” he said next, and walked you through each step until you’d managed to drop him your location.

“Thank you,” you’d said, tears dry. Everything dry. Even the shame seemed a bit opaque, the numbness strong enough to push away even this least desirable companion as it came creeping in. “Thank you, I’m sorry, I -”

“Stay on the phone with me,” he instructed.

“Vernon, no,” you protested. “You should go to sleep.”

“Wasn’t sleeping anyway,” he said flatly, and there was no room to argue.

You stayed on the line in silence as you hunted around for your shoes, or a coat. You found neither, though somehow your purse was still strapped to you. You did manage to find a front door. You exited the house, closing the door quietly behind you. You still didn’t know whose fucking house it was.

You threw up next to the mailbox. You collapsed into the grass, wet with morning dew under your back. You shivered, coatless and barefoot. Your phone was somewhere in the yard behind you, the call still connected.

Above you, the shame swam between the stars, twisting and undulating amongst the constellations until it made you so dizzy that you rolled over to throw up again.

When you saw headlights, you pushed yourself to sit, trying to breathe. The driver wouldn’t let you in the car if they thought you might be a puke risk. You looked around the ground near where you were sitting, trying to find your phone, realizing belatedly that you were still on the call with Vernon.

“Sorry,” you said, bringing it to your ear again. “I dropped my phone in the yard. The car's here.”

“I know,” he said simply, which didn't make sense, but you were too gone to figure it out.

“I'm gonna hang up now,” you said quietly. “Thank you for helping me.”

He made a noncommittal noise and you ended the call as the car coasted to a stop. You started to rise, to make your way unsteadily to the back door. Instead, the driver’s door opened.

“Vernon,” you complained, horrified that he'd come out at three in the morning to get you. He was supposed to be home, in bed, while a stranger drove you home - a stranger who you paid in money, owed no emotional labor for this effort. A stranger who could see you like this - a wreck, makeup smudged, confused, lost in multiple ways - and never see you again.

Vernon looked you over, then shook his head. He walked around his car and opened the passenger door, looking at you silently, waiting.

Finally, you stalked over.

“Why are you out here with no shoes on?” he asked, voice lower than normal.

“Lost them,” you muttered, dropping into the passenger seat. Your stomach swam again, but it seemed to be empty enough now that all you got was the suffering.

He drove you in silence for a little. Then, at a red light, looked over at you, that expression as blank as ever.

You were starting to learn his tells, though. His fingers tapped on the gear between you.

You’d made him anxious.

“What happened?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Blacked out,” you said, looking at your knees. “Didn’t mean to. I think some girls invited me along to their place? And then I must have passed out.” The tequila shot girl’s face swam in your mind - this seemed correct.

“Girls?”

You looked at him, surprised. Pieces clicked together.

“You think I called you to get me from a hook-up’s house?” you asked, defensive. “I’m a disaster, but I’m not a bitch.”

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t say that.”

You were both quiet a little longer.

“I’m not… I don’t…” You weren’t sure how to say it. “I know you didn’t ask me not to - and I’m not asking anything from you - but - I don’t…”

“Okay,” he said, stopping your ramble. You looked at him, relieved, so glad he understood. That you didn’t have to say it. “Cool.”

Cool.

If you could without throwing up again, you’d shake your head. He was just so… Vernon.

You were hungover for two days; you even called out of work for one of them. When the headache finally subsided, you told the cat you were never drinking again.

The cat jumped off the bed and trotted away; it might as well have called you a liar.

When the weekend rolled around, you didn’t text Vernon. The shame lay its heavy, clawed foot on top of your phone, leveled you with an even look that said don’t even think about it.

How could you face him again, anyway? Why would he want to see you, after he’d seen the truth so clearly - that you were messy, a mistake, more trouble than any situationship was worth?

Friday night came and went in silence. You were right - he wanted out. You didn’t blame him at all.

Then, Saturday night, a text came through.

you coherent? 😏

You laughed, rolled your eyes, sent back, unfortunately. can we change that?

want to try a different poison tonight?

is that supposed to be flirty?

if you need me to do the hard sell, my offer won’t end you up at a strangers house at 3am

that’s a solid argument

i’ll come get you. need some time?

yeah, gimme 30 min?

cool.

You snorted again. Cool. He was such a dork.

“Thanks for getting me,” you said, when you slid into his passenger seat.

“Can’t let you entertain yourself,” he said, ticking his head to the side like he’d learned his lesson. “You end up without shoes.”

The callback to last weekend made your face heat, and you expected him to lecture you - to tell you to be more careful, that you shouldn’t put yourself in situations like that, that your liver will quit someday.

He didn’t - didn’t bring up anything that happened until -

“Only need me, huh?” he asked, later, pressing so deep into you that you squirm away, delighted when he pulls you back roughly, puts you right back where you’d both rather you be. “No one else does it this good, right?”

“Shut up,” you huffed, half-laughing. “God.” Then he shifted his angle and you repeated yourself, a broken record, god god god, for a whole new reason.

1 yr 7 months ago

Everything was slow and heavy. Vernon’s eyelids lowered and then slid open again, slow… slow. Air army-crawled on elbows and knees into his lungs, slipped out too easily. His blood in his veins trudged; his heartbeat couldn’t whip it into going faster. The ceiling fan above him circled, chasing its tail in an endless loop.

come over.

It must have taken him two hours to type the text. Two hours for it to fly through space - is that how texts send? through space? - to your phone. Two hours for you to get there, to let yourself into his unlocked apartment.

“Took you forever,” he muttered, still watching the ceiling fan.

He was a little out of it, a little bit on another plane. Your hands were cool against his cheeks, thumbs cool as they traced his jawline. For a minute, they felt like the only thing tethering him to earth, keeping him in this room, in this apartment.

“You in there?” Your voice came from far away.

“Yeah.”

He opened his eyes again, and found you hovering above him, light streaming from behind you.

You didn’t mention his red eyes, didn’t tease him for the way his words came out one phoneme at a time. You just pulled your shirt over your head - he may have groaned when the fabric passed your tits, fuck you for showing up without a bra on - and then reached for his hem. Then you lay tight up against him, one hand absently stroking over his chest.

You let him make every first move, let him decide when he’s in his own body again. He kissed you slow, licked into your mouth like it was viscous, marveled in how your skin felt when his hands skated over your back.

It must have been two hours that he kissed you, only that, before finally tugging you to straddle him.

He’d been fucked up when he texted you, but he was feeling clearer now. Clear enough to peel your leggings over your ass, to lift his hips when you tugged on his sweatpants. Clear enough to let out a breath that shuddered embarrassingly when you positioned him at your entrance and sank to the hilt, stilling and tilting to look him in the eyes.

Sometimes Vernon thinks about Giles Corey. He shouldn’t even know about this random piece of American history; he definitely didn’t learn it in school. But sometimes Vernon would procrastinate real work by going to random Wiki articles, and sometimes what he read would stick. 

He remembered this one. During the early Salem witch trials, Giles Corey was tried as a witch, but not hung. Instead, he’d been pressed to death - the stones added one by one to the board over his chest. He was supposed to confess. 

He’d died that way, had been literally crushed to death, one stone at a time.

His last words had been more weight.

That’s how Vernon felt, most days. One stone at a time, pressing on his ribcage. It was never enough to crush him, just enough to make him feel like he couldn’t take a breath, enough to make him feel like his bones might crack and cave and it’s scary - but they never did. Or, they hadn’t yet.

Every day, Vernon woke up, spit at the feet of whatever church was awaiting his confession, and demanded, more weight.

But the stones had felt heavier, today. Some days were like that. Some days felt like hardly any at all. He tried to remember that - the lighter days would come.

He didn’t feel them at all, now. The only weight on his chest was your hands as you leaned your body forward for leverage, riding him at the pace he set with his hands on your hips, guiding you up and back - slow, slow.

“Fuck,” you groaned, eyes squeezing shut and then opening again, blinking quickly. “It’s too - god, I can feel everything - I don’t know if I can - it’s too -”

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmured, reaching up to pull you closer, to bring you chest to chest.

“I need you to move,” you whimpered, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “Please, I need you to go faster.”

Vernon swore fiercely as his body obeyed without his permission, feet flattening against his mattress and arms crossing over your back to hold you in place against him. You both gasped, equally shocked at the sudden change.

“More,” you begged. “Please, Vernon.”

More weight, he thought, and then he wasn’t thinking anything because you were wailing, fingers twisting in the sheets next to his shoulders, pulsing around him in dizzying, soul-sucking waves.

Sometimes Vernon thinks being alone will be the stone that kills him.

He almost asked you to stay, after, just to keep it at bay. Almost.

He thought that you might be his new favorite vice.

1 yr, 6 months ago

wyd tonight?

uhhh awkward. i’m. on a date?

why awkward? you’re allowed.

thanks for the permission.

i’m generous, what can i say

dont worry though its nothing. we got set up. its… not going great lol

i understand. hes got tough competition.

Please. 🙄

have fun

im not going home with him. i promise.

prove it.

how?

come here after.

ykw?? i think i will. Next ->

my first svt fic ever!!! thank you so much for being here! i hope you continue to enjoy!