#try to open the treasure chest | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inseobts · 1 month ago

Text

Uniform Trouble

trafalgar law x fem!reader

he gets turned on by you wearing the crew’s uniform…

a/n: another smut another fail but at least I made it funny lmao

tags: MDNI, nsfw, no graphic details of body parts, humor, teasing, established relationship, possessive law, crew dynamics, fluff-to-smut build-up

word count: 7.7k

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

You walk through the halls of the Polar Tang, hair messy and face still heavy with sleep. You’re cold. You’re annoyed. And you’re stuffed into Penguin’s uniform, which fits you like a badly wrapped sandwich.

It’s too tight across your chest. The sleeves are long, but the fabric hugs your curves in all the wrong ways. The pants sit awkwardly on your hips, the zipper strained and the waistband digging in. You didn’t exactly have a choice. Every single piece of clothing you owned was either burned, sliced, or left behind after the last mission.

So now you’re in a stretched-out black and yellow Heart Pirates uniform that clearly wasn’t made for your body. You try not to think about how ridiculous you look as you push open the door to the dining room.

The crew’s already there. Shachi, Penguin, and Clione are eating like animals. Law sits at the head of the table, sipping black coffee and pretending he doesn’t exist in the same reality as them. Standard morning chaos.

You drop into the empty seat next to Law with a heavy sigh and mutter, “Captain, I need new clothes. Can I have some money from that last treasure haul?”

Law doesn’t even glance at you “You had plenty of clothes. You just keep destroying them.”

You glare “That’s not my fault. You’re the one who keeps sending me into fights first.”

“No one’s forcing you to get blown up every mission.”

You scoff “You’re lucky I like you.”

He finally looks your way to snap back but then he freezes. Completely. His words die in his throat. You see his eyes drag over you, slow and sharp, from the tight jacket stretched across your chest to the pants clinging to your hips. He doesn’t even blink.

From across the table, Penguin suddenly snorts “Wait. Hold on. Is that my uniform?”

You glare at him “What was I supposed to do? Everything I own is in pieces!”

Shachi chokes on his toast “You look like someone stuffed a melon into a bottle.”

Clione’s already laughing “That jacket is fighting for its life.”

“Don’t act like you guys wear it better!” you shoot back “You look dumb all the time!”

Penguin grins “At least it fits us. You look like a bootleg Heart Pirates mascot.”

“You look like a groupie who snuck onboard.” Shachi adds, trying not to laugh with a mouth full of food.

You roll your eyes “Whatever. Captain’s the one who keeps sending me into fights. He owes me a shopping trip.”

Penguin snickers “Even he had to stop talking. Look at him! Captain’s laughing at you.”

You turn toward Law. He’s still staring at you, but his expression hasn’t changed. His eyes are dark. Serious. No smirk. No twitch. Just pure focus.

“Do I look like I’m laughing?” he says, voice low and sharp.

The whole room goes quiet. Even Shachi shuts up.

You blink “Wait… so you’re not—?”

You cross your arms over your chest and sink into your seat a little “I knew it. I look ridiculous.”

Law’s voice drops even lower, enough that only you can hear “You look like you’re trying to get me to throw the others out of the room.”

Your heart skips. You forget how to breathe for a second.

He straightens in his chair, goes back to sipping his coffee like he didn’t just say something that made your whole body heat up.

And the worst part is that he hasn’t stopped looking at you.

The crew is still chuckling, though not as loud as before. Law’s sharp voice “Do I look like I’m laughing?” killed most of their confidence.

You shift in your seat, heart pounding a little faster. He’s staring. Not annoyed, not amused, just… still. Focused. On you.

Your voice drops to a whisper as you lean toward him, confused, maybe a little too hopeful.

“Wait… this?” you ask, gesturing vaguely to the outfit. Your fingers point without thinking, straight at the your chest, where the stolen uniform stretches tight across your breasts “This turned you on?”

Law’s gaze drops, automatically following where you pointed. He sees your hand. Sees what you’re pointing at.

Then his ears turn red. Fast.

He jerks his head away like he touched something hot, suddenly avoiding your eyes completely. His hand grips his coffee cup tighter, jaw tensing as he pretends to study the table.

You blink. That’s all the answer you need.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You sit back slowly, cheeks warming as the realization sinks in.

Penguin starts rambling again about how maybe the jacket looks different because it’s been stretched out by “unauthorized boobs” and Shachi loses it all over again.

You don’t hear any of it.

Because Law won’t look at you and you know exactly why.

Your stomach flips. You cover your mouth to hide a small, involuntary smile. So much for looking stupid.

The crew can’t stop laughing, even as they’re finishing breakfast. The jokes keep flying, Shachi says you look like you lost a bet, Clione offers to “adjust” the uniform for you, and Penguin’s on his third impression of how you stomped into the room earlier, tugging at the too-tight pants like they were trying to eat you alive.

But you’re barely listening now.

Your eyes keep drifting to Law.

He hasn’t looked at anyone else since that moment you asked him the question. Since you whispered if this turned him on. Since you accidentally pointed to your chest like you were trying to prove a point and did. He hasn’t said a word. Hasn’t smiled. Hasn’t blinked much either.

You know that look. He’s trying to hold it together. Barely.

You cross your legs slowly, giving him a little innocent glance, just to watch his jaw clench again. It’s too easy.

Penguin finally leans back with a smirk and says, “Next time you wanna wear my uniform, at least ask first. Now you look like my girlfriend.”

The table howls with laughter.

You don’t laugh.

You hear the scrape of Law’s chair shift just slightly. He’s still quiet, but something in the air around him shifts. His shoulders go rigid. His fingers flex on the table like he’s trying to decide if throwing someone out of the submarine is worth the paperwork.

You can feel the jealousy coming off him like steam.

Your head snaps toward Penguin and you roll your eyes “Relax. As if I would ever be with you, dumb idiot.”

Shachi nearly chokes from laughing too hard.

But you don’t stop there. You lean in close to Law again, just loud enough for him to hear, your lips almost brushing the shell of his ear.

“First you get turned on,” you whisper, voice soft and sharp like a secret, “and then jealous? Pick a side… Captain.”

That does it.

Law’s body tenses completely. His hand moves quick, grabbing his long black coat from the back of his chair. He shrugs it on fast, pulling it across his lap with a subtle but telling shift. He adjusts it again. A second too long.

You glance down.

Oh.

That explains it.

You smirk, biting your bottom lip just a little. You don’t say anything else, don’t have to. His body is saying enough. It’s saying yes, he’s turned on. Yes, the thought of you being anyone else’s makes him furious. And yes, he’s barely holding it together in front of the crew.

You sit back casually and start eating your toast like nothing happened, while Law stares straight ahead, clearly trying to murder his thoughts with focus.

But his eyes flick back to you every few seconds. And every time, they look darker.

You don’t even remember what dumb joke Shachi made. Something about how if you bent over in Penguin’s uniform, half the ship would pass out. Something crude. Loud. Predictable.

But that’s when it happens.

Law pushes his chair back. Fast. Sharp.

Everyone flinches.

He stands, coat still draped over his lap like it’s glued there. One hand presses it down as he rises, obviously, painfully trying to keep his situation under control. His voice is clipped and hard, not even looking at anyone when he mutters, “I’m going to my studio.”

He walks out before anyone can respond, boots loud against the floor, coat still gripped tight in front of him.

Everyone at the table stares in confused silence.

You watch him go, pulse quickening.

And then you move.

You finish the last of your drink in one gulp, slam the cup down, and stand up so fast your chair skids. “I’m tired of all the teasing,” you say, loud and annoyed “I’m going to change and burn this stupid uniform.”

Penguin shoots up in panic “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Burn it?! That’s my uniform! I only have three!”

“Then maybe keep them out of arm’s reach next time!” you snap, already storming out of the room.

You don’t even hear his protests because you’re gone.

But you’re not going to your room. You’re not changing. You’re definitely not burning anything.

You take the sharp left turn down the hall, heart pounding, boots echoing off the steel walls. You know exactly where he went. And exactly why.

You reach the studio door. No one’s around. You don’t even bother knocking.

You slip inside and shut it quietly behind you.

Law’s standing by his desk, back turned, his coat already off and thrown over the chair. He hears the door click and stiffens slightly, but doesn’t turn.

You don’t speak.

You just walk forward, slow, step by step, until you’re close enough to see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand grips the desk edge like it’s the only thing holding him upright.

This uniform’s almost gotten you both killed, but it’s not staying on much longer.

The air in the room shifts. Heavy. Heated.

Law still hasn’t turned around. His hands rest on the desk behind him, grip tight, knuckles pale. You don’t rush. You just walk up slowly until you’re close enough to feel his body warmth, your fingers brushing his shoulders.

He breathes in, shallow. Controlled. Barely.

You slide your hands down over the curve of his arms and gently tug, making him turn around to face you. His back hits the edge of the desk behind him. His eyes finally meet yours—dark, wild, still trying to stay calm.

You smirk up at him, soft but bold.

“If I knew the uniform would get you this hard,” you say, voice low and teasing, “I would’ve worn it the first day and spared us both months of hidden glances.”

You don’t give him a chance to answer. You drop your hands to his waist, bending slightly, just enough to lower yourself.

“Now let me help you—”

But before your knees hit the floor, his hands come up fast, grabbing your wrists, not rough, but firm. He stops you, breath catching hard.

You blink, surprised “Law?”

His eyes narrow slightly, not in anger, just heat. Intensity. That quiet dominance he carries even when he’s silent.

“First,” he says, his voice like gravel, “I help you.”

His fingers trail down the tight zipper of the uniform jacket you’ve been suffering in all morning. He drags it down slowly, just halfway, just enough to open it under your collarbones, exposing the skin that’s been pressed tight for hours.

“Looked like you couldn’t breathe.”

You laugh once under your breath, sharp and breathless “Makes two of us.”

And then it’s your turn. Your fingers move to the front of his pants, slow, careful, dragging the zipper down just enough to reveal how hard he’s been since breakfast.

You don’t need to say anything else. You see the way he shudders under your touch, how his eyes snap shut for half a second like he’s losing that last thread of control.

You smirk harder.

Game on.

You’re kneeling between his legs, fingers teasing, when you look up at him through your lashes and smirk. His back’s still resting against the edge of the desk, but his hands are gripping it tighter now, as if the wood’s the only thing keeping him sane.

He looks completely undone.

His voice is tight when he says your name, almost like a warning, but he doesn’t stop you. Not yet.

His breath hitches as your fingers brush against him, slow, light. When you lean forward, lips barely ghosting over his skin, he mutters something under his breath that sounds dangerously close to a curse.

You’re not rushing. You take your time. You’re gentle, steady, mouth warm around him, careful but purposeful. You feel the way his thighs tense, the way his head drops back for a second, eyes squeezed shut, trying to keep his breathing even.

But just when you start finding a rhythm, when you think he might let himself fall apart, his hand comes down.

Firm. Not forceful. But stopping you.

You blink up at him, surprised. You pull back slowly, lips parted.

“Law?”

He doesn’t speak right away. He leans forward, reaching down to you, his hand brushing gently against your cheek. Then he takes both your hands in his and tugs you upward.

“Come here.” he murmurs.

You rise slowly, heart racing for a whole different reason now. He shifts just enough to pull you between his legs, hands sliding to your waist, then up trailing over your ribs, the other cradling your jaw as his eyes lock on yours.

“My turn...” he says quietly, voice low and certain.

You almost laugh, a breathy sound caught somewhere between amusement and arousal, but the smile melts off your lips when he tugs the zipper of the stolen uniform down again, but lower this time. It opens right below your chest, finally giving you room to breathe.

You feel the heat in his breath when you lean in again, teasing his mouth with a slow kiss, tasting him soft before dragging your lips to the edge of his jaw. His hand tightens on your waist.

And then, with a breathless laugh against his skin, you say, “All this over Penguin’s uniform.”

He freezes. Stares at you like you just offended his bloodline “Stop ruining the mood.”

You grin, satisfied, and he kisses you again to silence you, rougher now, hungrier, like he’s trying to wipe your words off your tongue. Your back bumps into the desk now, and he leans in, pressing against you fully.

You feel him again... hard, needy, pressing right against your thigh.

His lips trail down to your neck, teeth just grazing your skin before he pulls back just enough for you to catch your breath. You lean into him again, your voice playful now, teasing right at his ear.

“What happens if I wear your clothes?”

He laughs under his breath, low and dark.

“We’ll find out later.” he mutters, and then kisses you again, harder this time, like he already has a plan.

And judging by the way he’s gripping your hips like he’s trying not to lose it later is going to be worth the wait.

You feel his hand slip around your waist, drawing you in, like he’s settling into the moment, fully focused on you now.

The room’s quiet. That heavy kind of quiet, where you can hear his breath, your own heartbeat, the distant hum of the submarine. His lips move against yours, warm and controlled. Not asking. Taking.

His hand moves to the zipper of the uniform. His fingers brush your chest lightly, just above where the fabric starts to cling, and you feel the hesitation. Like he's checking if you’ll stop him.

You don’t.

You meet his eyes, and he watches you as he slowly pulls the zipper down. It’s not smooth. It’s deliberate. Like each click of the metal is another second of you unraveling beneath him.

He lowers the zip and he leans in. His mouth finds that newly revealed spot, and he kisses it... gentle, slow, leaving warmth behind like a mark.

You breathe in, shaky. His lips brush lower. The zipper slips another inch. Another kiss, right at the top of your chest.

“Law…”

He hums against your skin. Not in answer, just acknowledging you. Still moving at his own damn pace.

The zipper goes down another inch. And another.

Now it’s halfway down your chest, and the jacket is parting around your body. You’re not wearing a bra underneath it. The fabric had been tight enough to feel suffocating even without it.

He looks at you like you’re the answer to every locked door in his head.

His lips move lower, finding the center of your sternum. Another kiss. Warm. Open-mouthed this time.

His hands slide to your waist, holding you steady as he leans down further. You grip the desk behind you with one hand and his shoulder with the other. You don’t know if it’s to keep yourself upright or to keep him close.

He tugs the rest of the zipper all the way down. The jacket falls completely open now, hanging off your shoulders like it’s given up. You’re left standing there, half-covered, half-revealed, and completely owned by the way he’s looking at you.

His hands trace the edges of the fabric, fingers ghosting over your curves.

Law rises fully and slowly now. There’s something deliberate in the way he moves now, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and he’s in no rush to let you off easy.

Your breath catches as he leans in again, the air between you warming. His eyes search yours for a brief, charged moment, and then his lips brush yours, soft, teasing, maddening. It’s a barely-there kiss, gone before you can fully taste it.

You chase the next one, and he lets you catch it, lets you sink into it, but he keeps it brief again. When he pulls back, there’s the faintest smugness in the way he breathes, controlled and steady, like he’s enjoying your growing impatience.

You blink up at him, heart thrumming in your chest, and murmur, “Why did you stop there?”

Your voice is soft but edged with need. Your hands slide up his chest, fingers curling in the loose front of his open jacket. You pull him just an inch closer.

“Kiss me lower,” you whisper “Will you?”

Law doesn’t answer at first. He studies you with dark eyes unreadable but clearly amused, like he’s weighing the tension he’s winding around your body. Then, that familiar, dangerous smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Calm down…” he says, voice a low drawl, rich and quiet “I’m getting there.”

His head tilts slightly as he leans back in but not for another kiss.

“Do you think I’m the type who stops like this?”

Before you can even reply, he presses in fully and that’s when you feel the hard press of him through the uniform he’s still got you trapped in. The heat of it, firm and undeniable, pushing right up against between your thighs.

You gasp, not meaning to, and his eyes flicker in reaction, pleased.

Your fingers tighten around the fabric of his jacket as your voice finds its edge again.

“Seems like I’m not the only one in a rush.”

Law doesn’t even pretend to deny it. His smirk deepens, and he moves in even closer, like he wants to leave no room between your bodies at all. You can feel the rise and fall of his breath now, slow and heavy against your collarbone, and the way his hands settle at your hips, fingers sliding just beneath the hem of the uniform shirt as if he's trying to remind you who it belongs to now.

“You’re right,” he murmurs against your throat “You started it.”

Then he kisses you again, harder this time. It’s not gentle anymore. It’s deep, insistent, like he’s claiming something he’s been patient with for too long. One hand stays firm on your waist, the other drifting up, brushing beneath the fabric until his fingers find the bare skin of your ribs.

He takes his time there, lips skimming your skin, tongue barely tasting you. You shudder under him, and that only makes him go slower.

He mutters something against your neck, something you can’t fully hear but you feel it. You feel every word in the way his voice rumbles against your skin.

His hands slide lower, around to your back, pulling you closer until there’s nothing between you but the maddening layers of that uniform. The friction between you sharpens everything, at every movement, every shift of your hips, every low sound he makes when your body rolls against his.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, lips grazing your ear now.

You can barely answer.

“I’m not going to stop until you’re shaking for me.”

Your breath stutters again, and your voice is barely audible when you speak “Then stop wasting time.”

He lets out a low, approving sound at that, half a laugh, half a growl.

“I'm not wasting it.”

Everything blurs except the sensation of his hands, the weight of him, the tension that’s been winding tighter with every second.

His mouth is on yours again. Deeper. Hotter. His tongue slides against yours and you moan into him, unguarded now, and he takes it like a challenge, pressing harder, kissing rougher, gripping you tighter like he needs more, always more.

He pulls back just enough to speak, his breath ragged now too, matching yours.

“I want to hear everything,” he murmurs “Don’t hold anything back.”

And then he’s lowering himself again. His lips following the trail as he’s silently drawing down.

And he doesn’t stop.

Not this time.

He drags it down slowly, knuckles brushing the fabric as it slips and he catches it with one hand just as it starts to slide to the floor.

He pauses and hold it up between two fingers like it’s evidence in a case, looks at it for a second, then glances at you with something wicked in his eyes.

“I think Penguin won’t want this back now” he says flatly and tosses it across the room.

You open your mouth to reply, something biting and smug, but the words vanish the second his hands grab your thighs.

He grips you firmly, dragging you just a little forward on the desk, and then sinks to his knees in front of you. His mouth finds the inside of your thigh, warm, open kisses that start slow but deepen with each one of them. You gasp, not just from the sensation, but from the pace. It’s like he’s making up for every morning in your life that you teased him and got away with it.

You shift automatically, spreading your knees without thinking, giving him more room, welcoming him in. Your body reacts before your mind does. You barely realize how far back you’re leaning until you hit some books and papers behind you.

And then things start falling from his desk.

First it’s a cup of pens. Then a few stray maps. One of the rolled charts smacks the floor with a hollow thud. Something heavy clatters off the far edge of the desk and crashes onto the floor, loud. You flinch slightly, blinking through the haze of heat and pleasure.

Outside, you can hear muffled voices in the hallway. Shachi shouting, “What the hell was that?” Clione yelling something about “incoming earthquakes”. Footsteps getting closer.

But Law doesn’t even blink.

He’s focused. His hands pin your thighs with that practiced precision only a surgeon could manage, and his mouth doesn’t stop for anything, not even the apocalypse. He’s methodical. Thorough. His mouth moves slow at first, drawing sounds from you he clearly enjoys hearing, then picks up rhythm when he feels your thighs twitch beneath his grip.

Your hand flies to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his dark hair, not guiding, just needing to hold onto something. Anything. You arch, letting the mess behind you fall, letting the tension inside you rise.

You whisper his name once, and it breaks something in him.

He growls and grabs your hips, pulling you flush to the edge of the desk now, fully exposed, fully under his control. You adjust, shifting to plant your feet up on the edge for better balance and you hear the scrape of more items falling off the desk as you do.

You barely notice.

Outside, someone knocks on the door... once, awkwardly “Uh… Captain? Everything okay in there?”

Law doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch. His mouth is relentless.

You’re the one who answers, your voice ragged and half-wrecked with breath “Go. Away.”

The footsteps retreat.

Law pulls back only enough to breathe, and when he looks up at you now, his mouth slick, his expression hungry, and you can barely breathe.

“You’re loud...” he murmurs.

“You told me to... and you’re good...” you shoot back, breathless.

He chuckles softly, licking his lips once like he’s debating how much further to push you. Spoiler: the answer is all the way.

He stands slowly, looming over you again, his hand brushing your inner thigh once more on the way up.

You look at him like you’re ready to ruin him in return.

He leans in, breath ghosting your lips, and whispers low “Your turn.”

As you turn, the shift in momentum has Law leaning against his desk now, his hands behind him. A loud clatter rings out as something metal hits the floor... maybe a compass, maybe something else. The sound cuts through the air like a crack of tension.

Then comes a knock... again.

“Captain? Is everything alright in there?”

You groan and turn toward the door, clearly annoyed “I said y’all go away!”

Then you walk towards the door with your naked figure, scaring Law as if you're about to take the handle of the door and open it. Instead you lock the door.

Law raises a brow, glancing at the door, then at you “It was unlocked all this time?”

You flash him a guilty smile “Oops.”

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” the voice outside insists.

You roll your eyes “Read the room!”

Law steps forward and calls, “We’re just... cleaning.”

Then, without another word, he sweeps the rest of the desk clear, scrolls, pens, maps, gear, everything clattering to the floor in one decisive motion.

Clatter. Clink. Thud.

You look shocked at him but with your smirk still on.

“Hear that?” he says dryly “Just cleaning. Now tell everyone to go work on the maps and find the nearest island for supplies. We’re low on food.”

A pause. Then a flustered, “Y-yes, Captain.”

Footsteps retreat quickly.

You turn to him with a smirk “Mmh… bossy. I like that.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, but his gaze darkens slightly, tracking your movements as you step in closer, hands reaching for the buttons of his coat. Your fingers working at his buttons with unhurried precision, brushing the fabric open as your lips find his again. He lets you take your time, watching with sharp, attentive eyes that grow darker with every breath. When the last piece of his shirt falls aside, you trail a kiss up to his jaw and murmur, “Can we skip the boring part?”

Without waiting for an answer, you tug him toward the chair behind his desk. He doesn’t resist, just raises an eyebrow with that quiet, unreadable look of his before sitting down and settling into the chair.

You take your place on his lap like it’s always belonged to you.

He rests his hands on your waist, tilting his head slightly “And I’m the bossy one?”

You smile down at him, brushing your nose against his cheek before kissing just beneath his ear.

“You still are,” you murmur, “but right now, you’re letting me take charge.”

He doesn’t deny it. He just leans back slightly, letting you hover over him, watching with an intensity that says he’s just as captivated by your boldness as you are by his restraint.

The chair creaks quietly as you shift your hips, the only sound in the room for a beat—and Law’s fingers twitch at your sides.

Your answer is a slow grind of your hips that wipes the smugness off his face for half a second. He closes his eyes with a sharp inhale through his nose. He’s not even inside you, you’re just purely teasing him.

You run your hands through his hair, tugging lightly, and he tilts his head back for you with a low, involuntary sigh. His grip on you tightens again.

“This still part of the ‘boring part’ you wanted to skip.” he asks, but his voice is lower, rougher. He obviously doesn’t find it boring.

You kiss his jaw slowly, not answering right away. Then, “Not quite. But we’re getting close.”

You shift again on his lap, just enough to make him grip your hips tighter, and that gets a small noise out of him—more breath than voice, but it’s enough.

“You’re not as patient as you look” you murmur.

He gives you that same half-lidded look, somewhere between warning and interest “And you’re not as innocent as you act.”

He slides a hand up the back of your neck and pulls you in for another kiss—firmer now, more certain. The kind of kiss that says you’ve pushed enough and now it’s his turn.

“You talk too much.” he murmurs against your mouth.

You hum “And yet you never stop listening.”

Law chuckles, low and brief. Then he stands up from the chair with you still in his arms, strong enough to lift you like you weigh nothing. You wrap your arms around his shoulders out of instinct, caught off guard but not surprised.

“Desk or chair again?” he asks.

“Mmh… surprised bed isn’t an option.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. So?”

“You did all that space on the desk, so why not use it?” you say making him smirk and setting you down not just to sit but to press closer, legs tangled now, bodies flush.

There’s no space left between you now. Not physically. Not emotionally. A rhythm builds between you both without a word spoken. You arch into him as he leans closer until you can’t tell where you end and he begins.

Moving as one. Every motion smooth and purposeful, every moment drawn out and deepened by the way his eyes don’t leave yours—like he’s watching your reactions just as much as he’s feeling them.

He shifts to kiss your collarbone, slow and reverent. Then he reaches for your chest with his soft lips, leaving kissed and tongue plays, and making you arch at his touch.

A small muffed moan leaving your lips as you’re trying your best to stay silent.

The desk creaks beneath you both as your movements sync... slow, then urgent, then slow again, like a tide neither of you controls.

You still try to stay quiet, biting your lip, every soft sound swallowed before it can escape. But Law notices. Of course he does, he notices everything. He leans in closer, his mouth grazing your ear.

“I don’t care if they hear us,” he murmurs, voice low and rough “Let me hear you.”

You meet his eyes and you hesitate only a second before the next breath slips out at his movements, and he exhales as if he’s been waiting for it all along.

“Good,” he whispers, his forehead against yours, the edge of control in his voice thinning “Just like that.”

The rhythm between you deepens. He’s going faster as you lose yourself for a moment and let your voice slips free, louder than you meant.

“Law…”

Law stiffens slightly, eyes narrowing with a quick glance toward the door.

“Oi,” he mutters, but there’s no real bite in his voice, only a smirk tugging at his lips “Not this loud.”

You can’t help it, you laugh softly at his reaction. His eyes soften in an instant, and that smirk shifts into something gentler.

Before you can say anything, his hand leaves your hip, sliding up to cup the side of your face. He leans in and kisses you.

Your laughter melts into the kiss, and you reach up, your forehead brushing his as your fingers weave into his dark hair. He exhales against your mouth, his free hand now tangled with yours between your bodies.

The final wave crashes through both of you at once. Your bodies move in sync, like every breath and heartbeat has lined up perfectly.

When it’s over, the tension finally melts from his shoulders. You collapse against each other, slick with heat and breathless, the air around you still humming from what just happened. You rest your back fully in on the desk’s surface, trying to steady your breathing.

He leans down without a word and kisses your forehead... a quiet, grounding gesture. Then, without a sound, he slips away, leaving the desk suddenly colder without his presence. You hear the sound of running water from the bathroom.

When he returns, without asking, he sweeps you up into his arms, lifting you effortlessly from the desk.

You blink up at him, surprised by the sudden gesture, but then melt into a soft smile “Taking me somewhere, captain?”

He doesn’t look down at you, but you see the corner of his mouth twitch “Let’s take a bath.”

Your eyes narrow with mock suspicion “Already planning round two?”

That gets a short, amused exhale as he shakes his head “Idiot.”

You giggle into his chest, still letting yourself be carried “What? I wouldn’t mind. We’ve never done it in the bathtub…”

He pauses in the doorway, gives you a look, one of those tired, fond looks like you’ve just offered him chaos he’s going to pretend to say no to.

“We can try,” he mutters “Next time.”

You pout playfully as he steps into the steamy bathroom with you in his arms “So no round two today?”

“No,” he says, but this time he kisses the top of your head again as he lowers you into the warm bathwater “But you can talk as much as you want, if that helps.”

You laugh, making space for him to sit on the opposite side of the bathtub “You’ll regret that.”

He closes his eyes with a tired smile “I never do.”

The bathwater is warm, infused with something vaguely herbal he probably picked up in some small port town. You’re nestled between his legs now, your back against his chest, and his arms resting loosely around you on either side. For a while, neither of you says much.

But silence never lasts long between the two of you.

“Can’t believe you dropped everything on your desk trying to be dramatic.” you murmur with a lazy grin, eyes closed as you stretch your legs forward.

He huffs quietly through his nose “You were the one who knocked over books, a compass and half the map pile before I even touched the desk.”

“Details.” You splash water lightly at him, just enough to get his nose wet.

He opens one eye “Seriously?”

You splash him again, this time laughing “My body hurts, what do you expect me to do?”

He sighs, mock-dramatic now, “That’s what you wanted” he mutters, voice low and amused.

You lean your head back against his shoulder with a playful little groan “I didn’t know wanting you came with full-body consequences.”

He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he picks up a soft towel that’s been resting nearby, already damp from steam and shifts slightly behind you. He taps your chin gently “Come here.”

You blink and turn to face him, curiosity quietly rising.

Then, with a patience that feels almost sacred, he starts wiping your face. Small circles, careful touches. Around your cheeks, along your jaw, even brushing your eyebrows clean with the gentlest sweep of the towel. It’s quiet again, but this time, it’s a different kind of quiet, soaked in something you can’t quite name.

He’s so focused on the act, so strangely tender, that something slips out of your mouth before you can catch it.

“I love you.”

It’s barely a whisper. Maybe you weren’t even planning to say it. But it falls from your lips anyway, naked, unpolished, real.

His hand pauses mid-motion, the towel still held just against your cheek.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just looks at you, wide-eyed, not with panic, not even with shock. Just… caught.

You feel heat rise in your face, instinctively looking down, almost ready to deflect it with some teasing quip. But before you can, his fingers cradle your jaw gently.

“Say it again” he says. Low. Almost a breath.

You try to play it off, suddenly anxious.

“I’m sorry...” you say, almost with a laugh, like it might cover the way your voice shakes.

He blinks, frowning slightly. “Why are you apologizing?” His tone isn’t sharp but it’s confused, like he genuinely doesn’t understand “Didn’t you mean it?”

That panics you more. “Of course I meant it, I just—” You falter. You don’t even know how to explain the way your chest feels like it’s collapsing from the weight of saying it first, from the silence that followed.

But he sees the way your breath hitches, the way your eyes avoid his. So he drops the towel into the water and reaches for your face, cupping your cheeks with both hands. He’s gentle. His thumbs stroke just under your eyes as he tilts your face up, making sure you look at him.

His voice is soft now “Hey… look at me.”

You do.

“I’m not teasing you.” He holds your gaze steady “I just didn’t expect it. But not because I don’t feel the same.”

His forehead leans lightly against yours “I love you too.”

Your breath catches, not from shock this time, but from the way he says it. Slow, like it’s sacred. Like it matters more to him than anything else in the world. His hands don’t leave your face, but one slips up into your hair as he smiles faintly. Not his usual sarcastic smirk, something gentler. Honest.

“I wanted to say it when I was looking right at you.”

He kisses your forehead, lingers there for a beat, and then rests his head beside yours. The water around you ripples softly as you melt into him, the warmth between you wrapping around everything that’s left unspoken. You don’t need to say another word, not right now. He already knows.

You’re still wrapped in the warmth of what just passed between you, your bodies washed clean, your hearts quietly tangled in new, deeper ways, when you finally stand up and step out of the tub, grabbing a towel. The silence is soft now, easy. But of course, you can’t leave it that way for long.

“And to think,” you murmur with a mischievous glint in your eye as you dry off, “this whole thing started because you got turned on by Penguin’s uniform.”

He groans audibly from behind you.

“Oi. It wasn’t about the uniform.”

He reaches for his own towel, drying his arms roughly like your words physically offended him.

“Don’t make it sound like I’m into Penguin.”

You burst into soft laughter, and he glare at you, but it’s half-hearted. He takes your towel from your hands and helps dry your back with practiced care, still muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “idiot…”

Once you’re both mostly dry, he moves toward a side cabinet, pulling open a drawer with familiar movements.

“Here,” he says, tossing something soft your way “I keep spare clothes in the studio for emergencies. Let’s find out how you look in mine now.”

You smirk immediately, already holding the shirt up to your chest.

“I know how I’ll look. Amazing.”

He sighs, but you catch the slight smirk he tries to hide.

“No matter how hot you might look,” he says, turning around so you can dress, “I meant what I said... no round two today.”

“Party pooper...” you mutter as you slide into his clothes.

They’re warm and smell like him. His shirt fits awkwardly tight across your chest, and the waistband of his pants clings a little more than it should around your hips. You glance at your reflection in the metal drawer for a second, then back to him.

He’s already half-dressed, grabbing pieces of his own outfit that are scattered across the studio. When he finally turns to check on you, his gaze falters.

He freezes. Blinks.

“…What?” you ask, pretending innocence as you tuck the shirt into the waistband, lifting your arms slowly just to stretch.

“Nothing.” His voice is tight. He looks back down and starts buttoning up his shirt too fast.

“Just… the fit. Didn’t think it’d… fit like that.”

You grin. He’s blushing.

You lean on the edge of the desk now freshly cleared, tilting your head.

“Tight around the curves, huh?”

He coughs. Looks anywhere but at you.

“Don’t start.”

“Oh? But I thought I looked hot in your clothes.”

He groans again and hides his face behind his hand for a second.

You’re absolutely glowing now, satisfied at how flustered he still gets, even after everything.

And he absolutely hates that he loves it.

You’re just about to tease him again when there’s a sudden knock at the door. You freeze mid-sentence. Law curses under his breath.

“Captain, sorry to interrupt but...”

Before Bepo can finish whatever he’s about to say, you stride to the door like you own the ship and swing it open. Law doesn’t even get the chance to stop you.

Bepo blinks at you, wide-eyed and just a little caught off guard by your… confident energy and your clothes.

“Uh… uhm…” He clears his throat politely “We’re about to land on this small island… Thought you wanted to know.”

Then his gaze drifts past you.

You follow it to where Law is still in the middle of the studio, shirt rumpled, hair a little too tousled, and a subtle flush lingering on his skin. The floor around him is an absolute mess... books, maps, clothing, and that damn Penguin uniform in a crumpled heap like it’s been through battle.

Bepo’s ears twitch.

“Uhm…” he says again, squinting slightly, clearly trying to process what his innocent brain thinks is going on “Did something happen with the cleaning?”

You don’t even get the chance to panic before Bepo sniffs the air lightly.

“It smells weirdly in here.”

Your eyes go wide. Fire rushes to your face, your body tensing like you just got struck by lightning.

“Okay! Thank you, Bepo!” you blurt, slamming the door so fast it nearly takes a chunk of your sleeve with it.

Your back hits the door as you press yourself against it, mortified, hands over your face as your entire soul screams in embarrassment.

Law doesn’t even try to hide the low laugh that escapes him this time.

“Really smooth,” he says dryly, arms crossed, “just opening the door like that.”

“I didn’t think he’d… sniff the room!” you groan, sliding down to a crouch on the floor as if that’ll erase the memory.

Law walks over and stands in front of you, tilting his head slightly down to look at your red face. His lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile too much, but he’s failing.

“You’re lucky Bepo’s too polite to ask questions,” he says, offering you a hand “And probably too naïve to connect any dots.”

You take it reluctantly, letting him pull you to your feet.

“We’re going to have to live with this shame forever.”

“You’re going to have to live with it,” he corrects, voice low and way too amused, “You weren’t that subtle when you kept telling at them to read the room go away during our… cleaning.”

You shoot him a look.

And he just smirks.

But the blush still lingers faintly across his cheeks and you both know it.

You’re adjusting the cuffs of Law’s shirt while scanning the new island coming into view from the nearest window.

“Hey,” you say, glancing over your shoulder at Law, who’s busy pretending like he’s not sneaking glances at how well his clothes fit you “You owe me, by the way.”

He raises an eyebrow “For what?”

You gesture around dramatically “For helping you clean your studio. If that wasn’t the most intense spring cleaning I’ve ever done, I don’t know what is.”

He scoffs, but you don’t give him time to argue.

“Pay me. I need money to buy actual clothes that aren’t…” you trail off as you tug at the hem of his shirt, “…yours or Penguin’s.”

Law’s eyes narrow like he wants to argue again, but then he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small pouch of beli, and tosses it to you. “You’re ridiculous.”

You grin. “And clothed. Barely. Thanks to you.”

Before he can answer, you spot Penguin’s crumpled uniform on the floor. With a wicked little smirk, you grab it, drape it over your arm like a trophy, and head toward the door. Law follows behind you, resigned.

The crew’s already gathered on the deck, prepping to disembark, when you step out and heads immediately turn.

You don’t waste time.

You spot Penguin among them, and toss the uniform right at his chest. It flops against him with a satisfying slap.

“Thanks for the loan,” you call with mock sweetness “When I need it again, I’ll come to you.”

Penguin stares at the uniform in confusion, then looks at you decked out in Law’s shirt, his jacket hanging off your shoulders, the unmistakable energy of something lingering between you and your captain.

Then he glances at Law, who stands beside you looking vaguely menacing and mildly annoyed.

Slowly, suspiciously, Penguin brings the uniform to his nose.

Sniffs.

Pauses.

Sniffs again.

“…Ew. Disgusting,” he mutters under his breath like he regrets everything, and promptly tosses the uniform back at you like it’s cursed “Take it. Gift. Yours now.”

You catch it, laughing, and sling it over your shoulder like a prize.

Law pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You make everything worse.” he says flatly, but there’s no real bite in it.

You glance at him with a smug smile.

“Yeah, but you love it.”

He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t deny it.

And as you both step onto the gangplank, heading toward the unknown island ahead, his hand brushes yours, casual, fleeting… but still enough.

1K notes · View notes

xhyjin · 8 months ago

Text

husband toji! who would try his best to spoil you, even when he’s struggling financially. you want a romantic getaway? don’t worry, because he’s already saving up, cutting corners wherever he can, just to see the joy on your face when he surprises you with the trip of your dreams.

husband toji! he isn’t the most romantic man, but he tries his best. when he notices the small smile on your face as you watch a man surprise his partner with flowers hidden behind his back, he makes a mental note. the next time he’s away on a mission that lasts too long, he shows up at your door with a slightly crumpled bouquet in hand, looking a little awkward but secretly proud when he sees your face light up.

husband toji! who loves when you fall asleep on him—not just because he enjoys running his fingers through your hair as you rest on his chest, but also because it’s the perfect opportunity to snap a picture of the two of you. with a smirk on his face in the photo, he sends it to shiu with the caption, “bet you don’t have a cutie laying on you right now.” it always earns him an immediate middle-finger reply from shiu, which only makes his grin wider.

husband toji! who never expected to find himself in this position again—so lovestruck and soft for you that it sometimes scares him. he’s torn between wanting to bare his soul to you and protect you from the weight of his past. he doesn’t know if he should tell you about his late wife and the son he left behind, afraid it might change the way you see him, but also yearning for you to understand the parts of him he’s kept hidden for so long.

husband toji! who knows it’s wrong, knows he should let you be independent, but he can’t help himself. when you think he’s at work, he’s actually following you from a distance, keeping an eye on you to make sure you’re safe. the guilt of shadowing you like a stalker eats at him, but the thought of failing to protect you is even worse. so, he watches quietly, torn between trusting the world and trusting only himself to keep you safe.

husband toji! who finds himself spending money on “useless” and “childish” things like cute plushies or clothes simply because they remind him of you. he’ll grumble about it under his breath, but the moment he sees your delighted smile when he gives them to you, he knows it’s worth every penny.

husband toji! who doesn’t prepare for missions by training or strategizing beforehand, but by taking a long shower using your body wash, your shampoo, your conditioner, and your lotion—anything that smells like you. he sprays your perfume all over his body and clothes, not caring if anyone (shiu) questions why he smells so feminine and sweet. the comforting scent of you clings to him like a shield, grounding him when he’s away and reminding him of the warmth waiting for him at home.

husband toji! who secretly adores when you ask for his help with the little things. need help putting on your necklace for date night? he’s already behind you, gently moving your hair aside, his fingers brushing your skin as he clasps it on, all while staring at you lovingly through the mirror. need help opening a jar? don’t worry—he’s leaning over you in an instant, taking the jar from your delicate hands and twisting it open with ease. before you can thank him, he dips a finger into the jam, tastes it, and smirks, “almost as sweet as you,” he whispers in your ear, walking away just as he catches the sight of your flustered reflection in the marble counter.

husband toji! who sometimes forgets the strength of his own body, so he’s always extra, extra gentle with you. whether it’s holding your hand, pulling you into a hug, or brushing a strand of hair from your face, he moves with deliberate care, afraid of even the slightest chance of hurting you. his touch, though strong, always feels like the softest embrace, as if he’s protecting something he treasures more than anything.

husband toji! who picks up your hobbies just to have more in common with you, even if they’re things he never imagined himself doing—like painting, baking, or knitting. at first, he fumbles awkwardly, grumbling about how “this isn’t his thing,” but before long, he finds himself enjoying it more than he expected. the real joy, though, comes from seeing your excitement as you share these moments together, making him realize he’d try anything if it meant spending more time with you.

husband toji! who, after a gut-wrenching moment during one of his missions, realizes he doesn’t want to do it anymore. he doesn’t want to risk his life when all he wants is to spend it with you. knowing it’ll be hard to convince shiu, he brings you along under the pretense that you’re just meeting his friend. as you take a seat beside him, your face glowing with excitement at finally meeting one of his friends, toji and shiu sit across and beside you, their expressions serious as they speak in coded phrases to keep you blissfully unaware of toji’s real job. toji glances at you, his heart softening at your smile, and silently vows to make his case to shiu—because you’re his reason to walk away from it all.

husband toji! who will gladly hold your purse without hesitation when it keeps slipping off your shoulder, or carry your heels in one hand while giving you his slippers to wear, walking barefoot himself without a second thought. he doesn’t care about the stares or the inconvenience—your comfort is all that matters to him, and he’d do anything to make sure you’re at ease.

husband toji! whose favorite hobby, out of all the ones he picked up from you, is coming home to find you asleep on his side of the bed, wearing his tee and boxers, clutching his pillow to your chest. he gently removes the pillow, replacing it with himself as he slides into bed, pulling you close. with his arms around you, he kisses your forehead and whispers softly in your ear how grateful he is for you and how deeply he loves you, even if you can only hear him in your dreams.

3K notes · View notes

himasgod · 3 months ago

Note

I, umm, hey uhhh,,, can I get uhh, uhmm…

Could I perhaps get a Leona, Azul, Jamil, Rook and Malleus with reader who can’t help stop staring at them because reader thinks they’re captivatingly beautiful?

Platonic please :3 Okthankyoubye-

(scurries away and bonks head)

LEONA, AZUL, JAMIL, ROOK AND MALLEUS X READER

Where you can't stop looking at them because they're captivatingly beautiful

You weren’t trying to be weird about it. You really weren’t.

But there he was again, standing under the shade of an old tree with the sun casting a gentle halo around his dark hair, and something about it just froze you in place.

Malleus Draconia looked like he’d stepped out of a fairytale—tall, otherworldly, and still as stone, like a statue carved from night sky and obsidian.

And you were staring. Again.

Malleus turned his head slowly, eyes curious, catching your gaze without the slightest flicker of discomfort.

"Child of man," he said, voice deep and smooth, “You gaze upon me often. Is there something you seek to understand?”

You flinched slightly, caught, but you didn’t look away.

“…You’re just… really beautiful,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. “It’s hard not to look.”

There was silence—long enough that you started to panic.

Then, unexpectedly, a soft laugh rumbled from his chest, low and warm.

"Is that so?" he mused, “Most avert their eyes, yet yours linger.”

You could feel the heat creep up your neck. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

“There’s no need to apologize.” His voice was gentle now, almost amused. “You remind me of the fae children from long ago in Briar Valley. They, too, used to look at me with wonder, not fear.”

He looked upward, towards the sky.

“It is a rare thing… to be seen not for what I am, but simply for how I appear. You have an honest heart.”

He turned his gaze back to you, eyes soft.

“You may look as much as you like, if it brings you peace.”

You blinked. “Really?”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Truly. After all… beauty is meant to be admired, is it not?”

You didn’t mean to stare at Jamil. It just… kept happening.

It was like your eyes had a mind of their own, always drifting back to him—when he was tying his hair with practiced ease, when he danced through the kitchen like it was muscle memory, when the sun filtered through the dorm windows and turned his bronze skin to gold.

He wasn’t loud or flashy. He didn’t demand attention. But maybe that was what made him so easy to admire—quiet, composed, and captivating in a way that made your heart still.

So of course you were staring.

Again.

Jamil looked up from his textbook, narrowed eyes flicking toward you. “What?”

You jumped a little. “What—what do you mean ‘what’? I didn’t—”

“You’re staring,” he said flatly, though there wasn’t real anger in his voice. “You’ve been doing it for five minutes.”

You swallowed. “Sorry. I just… think you’re really beautiful.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you immediately wished the earth would open and swallow you whole.

Jamil froze.

“…You really say stuff like that out loud?” he asked, almost incredulous, looking anywhere but at you.

“Well… yeah,” you mumbled, fidgeting. “I mean, it’s true. I didn’t think it was weird until you made it weird.”

His lips twitched slightly. “I made it weird?”

You shrugged, a little defensively. “Sorry for appreciating art.”

Jamil let out a breath that was almost a laugh. He turned back to his book, but you caught the tiniest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“…You’re weird,” he muttered, eyes scanning the page again.

“You already said that.”

He didn’t look up. “Yeah, but it’s still true.”

You weren’t trying to get on his nerves.

But Leona was lying under a tree in the courtyard again, one arm draped over his face, hair splayed out like molten gold across the grass, and the sun was glinting off his earrings like they were little pieces of treasure.

So yeah—you were staring.

A lot.

“…You’ve got a problem or something?” he muttered without even lifting his arm. His voice was rough with sleep, low and edged with annoyance.

You blinked. “Uh—what?”

“You’ve been lookin’ at me for ten minutes straight. I can feel your eyes burning a hole in my face.”

“I wasn’t—! I mean—okay, maybe I was.”

Now he peeked at you with one eye, clearly unimpressed.

“You’re just… really beautiful,” you blurted out. “Like, annoyingly so. It’s distracting.”

A beat of silence.

Then he groaned and dropped his arm back over his eyes. “Tch. You’re seriously wasting your time, herbivore.”

“I’m not wasting anything,” you shrugged, plopping down next to him in the grass. “You’re just aesthetically pleasing. Like a lion basking in the sun. It’s art.”

Leona grumbled something under his breath that sounded like “ridiculous,” but he didn’t get up. Didn’t tell you to leave.

After a moment, he muttered, “If you’re gonna stare, at least shut up about it so I can nap.”

You grinned. “Got it.”

And even if he didn’t say it, you noticed the tiniest flick of his tail. Like he didn’t mind the attention as much as he claimed.

You didn’t mean to make Azul self-conscious.

But you’d been staring a little too long while he adjusted his gloves—again—polished his glasses—again—and ran a hand through his neat waves of silvery-blue hair—again.

“...Is there something on my face?” he asked tightly, stilling with a wary glance.

“Nope.”

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?”

You blinked. “You’re really pretty.”

Azul sputtered. “Wh—? That’s—that’s not the point!”

“But it’s true,” you said casually, tilting your head. “Like… annoyingly flawless. Your hair always looks like it was done by a professional stylist. Your skin’s like porcelain. Your whole aesthetic is ‘dangerously beautiful businessman’ and it works.”

His face was rapidly turning pink.

“You—you can’t just say that kind of thing!” he hissed, pushing his glasses up. “Do you know how embarrassing—”

“I mean, you didn’t deny it,” you smirked.

Azul looked like he was about to melt into the floor from sheer secondhand embarrassment. Floyd, passing by, cackled and said, “Oooh, shrimpy’s got a fan~!”

“Floyd, leave.” Azul snapped.

But later, when it was just you and him, and the noise had faded, he let out a breath and asked softly:

“…You really think that?”

You looked at him, sincere. “Yeah. I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

Azul looked away, but his voice was a little less tense when he replied.

“...You’re something else.”

There was no helping it.

Rook Hunt wasn’t just beautiful—he was unfairly beautiful. The kind of beauty that made you stare a little longer than you should. The kind that made you forget what you were even doing.

So when he caught you staring across the courtyard—again—you weren’t surprised when he smiled and practically glided toward you.

“Mon ami!” he greeted dramatically, taking your hand as if you were in a ballroom. “Your gaze—so intense! So poetic! What have I done to deserve such attention today?”

You laughed, letting him twirl your hand before letting go. “You’re just… really pretty, Rook. That’s all.”

His eyes lit up like you’d just given him the greatest gift.

“Ahh~! What a flatterie exquise! And so earnest! You pierce my heart with your words!”

“Rook,” you grinned. “It’s not that deep.”

“Oh, but beauty is that deep, mon ami,” he said with a dramatic flourish. “To be so moved by someone’s appearance that you cannot look away—c’est magnifique!”

You rolled your eyes, but he just laughed. “Would you like to paint me? Or write an ode? I would stand still for hours if it meant inspiring art.”

“I was just looking,” you chuckled. “That’s enough.”

Rook smiled, warm and knowing. “Then look, my friend. I shall always face your gaze with pride.”

And with that, he bowed like a prince onstage, basking in the compliment as if it were the spotlight itself.

#malleus x reader #jamil x reader #azul x reader #leona x reader #rook x reader #jamil x yuu #leona x yuu #azul x yuu #malleus x yuu #rook x yuu #jamil viper x reader #malleus draconia x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #rook hunt x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #this platonic yknow #twisted wonderland x reader

1K notes · View notes

beloveds-embrace · 7 months ago

Text

(more of designationless!reader)

Soap found the box by accident. You never meant for it to follow you, never meant for it to be seen by anyone but yourself. It was a relic from a past you thought you’d buried, stuffed away in a dark corner of the storage room, forgotten like so many other things, brought by mistake when you changed between units again and again.

But Soap found it.

The box was old, its cardboard edges soft and sagging, your name scrawled on the side in faded, uneven marker. He wasn’t trying to pry- it was just there when he searched for a field manual in the storage room, and something about it drew him in. He brought it back to the common area where the others were gathered, setting it down on the table with a curious tilt of his head.

“Lassie never mentioned this, aye?” he asked, more to himself than to anyone else, and opened it; too curious, but also aware that if you truly did not want anyone to look through this, you would not have placed it in the storage room.

The scent of aged paper and something faintly bitter wafted out, and the pack stilled. Not because it smelled bad- it didn’t- but because something about the box immediately felt wrong; like a wound forced open.

Price was the first to step forward, instincts prickling at the edges of his senses. Ghost and Gaz followed, hovering close as Soap pulled out the first item.

At first, it was harmless. A broken doll with tangled hair, a few faded toys with their colors leeched by time, certificates bearing hollow phrases like “good effort.” Price’s eyes softened, his brow furrowing as he turned a small, threadbare ribbon over in his hand. None of it spoke of joy or pride. Instead, the items lay heavy in the box, the remnants of a childhood where love had been scarce. It wasn’t a treasure trove of cherished memories.

But then, Soap pulled out the sketchbook.

It was fragile, the cover warped and frayed, its edges curling inward as if trying to protect what lay inside. Price’s hand shot out, steadying Soap’s wrist, and he took it into his own hands. “Careful,” he warned. “Looks quite old.”

The room held its breath as Price opened it.

The first drawing made something deep in his chest rumble- a low, warning growl of distress that made the others tense.

You, as a child, stood apart from a group of faceless figures. They huddled together, faceless and warm in orange and yellow crayons, while you stood small and distant, alone in the cold blue. The faint, childish scrawl beneath it read:

“I think this is what love looks like.”

Price’s hand tightened on the book, the paper crinkling slightly under his grip. Ghost’s shoulders stiffened, and Soap let out a soft, chuffing exhale, his fingers twitching like he wanted to grab something, someone, and shake them. Like he wanted to grab you, and draw you into his arms.

The next drawing was no easier.

A child stood under black clouds, the page marked with teardrops, their hands pressed to a glowing window where a family sat warm and dry inside, nestled together. You’d drawn yourself outside, drenched and shivering, a frown on your face.

“When? If I’m good, will they let me in?”

Gaz made a sound low in his throat, a soft, mournful keening that was almost drowned out by Ghost’s steady, quiet growl, while Soap hisses, his pacing steps breaking the stillness.

And then, there were the drawings of your family- your siblings, your parents- but their faces were always blank, their hands never reaching for yours. Sometimes, you drew yourself trying to smile, trying to be part of the picture, but it was always wrong. You were always smaller, always separated.

Page after page followed, each one another gut-wrenching blow. Each one a testament to your loneliness.

A little girl sat at the edge of a family dinner table, her chair slightly too far away, the space between her and the others gaping like an abyss. In another, she stood in the background of a family photo, smaller and faded, as though she didn’t belong.

“I think I’m broken.”

“They don’t want me.”

“I wish I wasn’t me.”

“Mama and papa say I will ruin the nest.”

The drawings became messier, the lines shakier, as if your younger self had pressed harder into the paper with each word, each scene, trying to make the feelings go away by burying them in the lines of graphite and crayons.

The pack’s scents filled the room, heavy and overwhelming- John’s cedarwood sharp with anger, Ghost’s smoky musk thick and oppressive, Soap’s bright citrus tinged with distress, and Gaz’s soft vanilla almost bitter with grief.

But then, at the back of the sketchbook, they found something worse than the drawings.

At the back of the book, a final drawing waited- a page filled with one stick figure: just you. Moldy green, sickly yellow and bruise-blue.

At the bottom, scrawled so faintly it was almost invisible, the words read:

“Why wasn’t I enough?”

Gaz turned away, his hand pressed against his mouth as his shoulders shook. Soap’s fists clenched, his growl low and guttural, unable to contain his restlessness. Ghost’s fingers curled into tight fists, his knuckles pale as his eyes burned with something fierce and protective.

And Price… Price’s throat bobbed as he stared at the page, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap.

How could they?

At the bottom of the box, folded and tucked away like a secret, was a letter.

It was written in a child’s handwriting, shaky and full of misspellings, far younger than the last few drawings.

“Dear family, I’m sorry I’m not good. I’ll try harder. I’ll fix myself. Please love me. Please don’t leave me out. I’ll be good I promise. Love you even if you don’t love me back.”

It was dated years ago. The creases in the paper showed it had been folded and unfolded countless times, carried like a wish you couldn’t bear to let go of.

They didn’t need to ask. They knew the letter was never sent. And the silence that followed was suffocating.

When you came back that evening, you were left utterly confused by the strange atmosphere. The pack stood there, their only company a tense, heavy silence you had no idea where it came from.

Price stepped forward first, his arms wrapping around you in a hold that was both firm and trembling, and you huffed in surprise… but you didn’t pull away. His voice rumbled low and deep, a steady, grounding purr that vibrated against your chest. He didn’t say anything; he picked you up and just like that, began carrying you to the nest that you were becoming more and more familiar with everyday per their insistence.

Soap was next, once you were in the nest, his hands cupping your face as he pressed his forehead to yours, wrapping himself around you like sunshine. “Relax, bonnie lass.”

“So why-“

Gaz hugged you from behind, his soft, soothing purr blending with Price’s as he buried his face in your hair, his words drowing out your question. “You belong here. With us. Always.”

And Ghost… Ghost didn’t speak. He simply knelt in front of you, his large hands resting on your hips as he pressed his forehead to your stomach. His growl was low, protective, vibrating through you like a shield against the world. And with Price joining as well, you were effectively surrounded in the nest.

That night, they pulled you into their arms and didn’t let you go. They surrounded you with their warmth, their scents, their steady, comforting presence. They rubbed their faces against your neck, your wrists, your shoulders, marking you thoroughly, their purrs and low chuffs filling the space until you couldn’t think of anything else.

Though you still wondered what brought this on. Weird pack instincts you probably wouldn’t understand, perhaps.

2K notes · View notes

lyrefromthesea · 1 year ago

Note

Blind reader x hashira + kokushibo? (since she's blind she doesn't know he's a demon?)

Please 🙃

Male hashira (+ Kokushibo) x Reader - Blindness is something I can overlook

author's note: fun fact, i am partially colorblind.

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Gyomei x reader

content warning: none

Tengen:

"i like these.." you told him, holding a small chain of jewelry in your hands. the man looked over your shoulder, a content hum leaving him.

normally, people wouldn't take a blind person to shop for accessories with them, but Tengen didn't seem to care. in fact, he had appeared quite eager to take you with him.

now here you were, trying to find a "flashy" - as he'd like to call it - accessory for him. not knowing how they looked, you decided to feel them instead.

some of them were lightly sharp, sure to leave small scratches on his skin. others were rounded and had a smooth surface. you preferred them over the sharp jewelry, but weren't happy with those either.

finally, when your hand brushed over diverse stones, you felt content with the jewelery you've found. it felt like a rope in your hand, but it was made out of small cold stones, which were the perfect mix of smoothness and sharpness.

they varied in size and shape, leaving a good impression on you. especially since they reminded you of the big stones on his headband. when you told him that you liked them, his eyes lit up.

"there's another one here." he said, taking the second chain into his hand. the cool color of the new accessory matched the pink diamonds he already wore.

"they're perfect, beautiful." he told you, giving the cashier a handful of money. he didn't wait to get the rest of his money back, too focused on the gift you've found him.

"are you just saying that or do you mean it?" you ask, yet you smiled right after, knowing that he was being honest when he talked to you.

"they're great - flashy. i'll make sure to wear them everywhere." he was already attaching them to the side of his headband, determined to keep his promise true.

yet you were only focused on the softness that had sneaked into his voice, showing his appreciation for the newfound treasure.

Obanai:

he didn't mind your blindness, welcomed it even. he would've never admitted it to you, never told you - knowing it would probably hurt your feelings.

but he felt it was better that way, better for you not to see him. he was hideous and he knew it.

so why, after years of insecurity, he allowed someone to see his state of weakness. his heart nearly sunk when you asked him to let you see him.

he had told you it wasn't important, that he just needed to be there for you, but you had insisted and he couldn't deny you a single wish.

now he held himself back from moving away, his heart beating faster as he saw your hands nearing his uncovered face.

yet the contrast of his feelings and the soft warmth of your touch left him puzzled. you were sitting right next to him, hands cupping his cheek. more importantly, your thumbs were carefully tracing over his scars.

he knew you could feel the difference under your thumb, could feel how different he was from other people. part of him had expected you to leave him after finding out how hideous he truly looked.

"you're beautiful.." you whispered, his eyes widening like they've never done before. he was left speechless by your words, swallowing down his fear to respond.

"you don't have to lie." he answered, voice unstable. he couldn't believe that someone could love him, not when he was like this.

"i wish i could see you with my eyes." his trembling hands touched yours, squeezing them just lightly. he knew how much those words meant, you had never spoken them out before.

and it wasn't only your wish. he could feel the desire to make you see swell up in his own chest. to imagine that he thought differently before - it felt stupid to him now.

Rengoku:

"open your mouth and close your eyes!" he instructed, making you halt.

did he just? he did not, right? ..right?

"Kyojuro..?" you carefully said his name, making the man answer with a hum. he still held his spoon in hand, having wanted to give you a bite of his food.

you raised your hand, waving it in front of your face. it took him a moment to catch on, realizing that his words had been stupid to the core.

"oh- i certainly didn't-" he stopped when he heard you snort, wide eyes watching you smile and laugh. his heart started beating faster, his cheeks flushing.

you clearly weren't mad or disappointed, but he felt embarrassed for forgetting something so obvious. the words slipped out of his mouth before he could even register it.

"it's fine, don't worry." you answered, putting a comforting hand on his. you leaned forward, taking the spoon into your mouth and chewing on the food before swallowing it down.

"is that sashimi? it's really good." you complimented, the note of wasabi still lingering on your tongue.

"do you want me to order some more?" he asked, turning his hand around to hold yours. you hummed, a small smile forming on your face.

days like these were your favourite - the perfect mix of romantic and silly.

Sanemi:

"it should be around here.." you mumbled, pulling the white haired man with you. his eyes were fixated on your surroundings, trying to figure out what exactly drove you towards this place.

"ah- can you smell it?" you gasped, turning your head towards the right, trying to pick up on the floral scent lingering in the air.

"no.." he answered, shaking his head lightly. no matter what he thought off, he couldn't come up with a reason why you'd bring him here.

nevertheless, his legs continued moving, not because he was necessarily interested, but because he wanted to make you happy.

that's why his eyes widened when you walked past multiple trees, reaching a giant flower field.

now he understood what you were talking about, the floral aroma enveloping his senses. he felt you letting go of his hand, leaning down to pick one of the flowers and smell on it.

the field was beautiful, full of the prettiest flowers he had ever seen. however, he realized that was a sight you'd never experience, slowly lowering himself in the grass next to you.

he took one of the flowers, mimicking your actions and breathing in it's scent. if you couldn't see what he was seeing, he could at least try experiencing the same as you.

"it's beautiful.."

Giyuu:

"like this." his voice was quiet, but it sounded much thicker and lower than the night's silence. he had asked you to show him your hand, but when you asked how, he guided it into the correct position.

your palm was facing him, fingers feeling the wind brush between them, teasing you with light touches and the surrounding silence.

you felt his hand on yours, his fingers brushing over your palm, gently drawing different forms onto your skin.

"it tickles.." you whispered, a quiet chuckle escaping you when he started tapping along your skin. a gentle huff escaped him, the one that made you know he was smiling.

"that's how i feel when i see you.." he answered, his hand finally pressing against yours, fingers interlocking in a gentle hold.

you silently scooted closer, the night's air sending a comfortable chill over your body. it didn't take him long to hold you closer, letting his body's warmth settle into your skin.

"you make me feel ticklish all around.. sometimes i worry i won't be able to think when i see you." he admitted, coaxing a smile out of you.

he didn't mind that you couldn't see, because he could see your beauty either way.

Gyomei:

some might say it would be ironic for two blind people to fall in love or befriend each other, but it certainly worked out for the two of you.

you admired his strength and he admired yours. truthfully, he hadn't noticed you at first, hadn't questioned why you used another weapon than the other demon slayers, but it all made sense when he found out about your blindness.

"this is your weapon of choice?" he had asked when the two of you joined a mission. he held a long rope dart in his hand - your treasure. Haganezuka had created the weapon for you.

the usually normal rope was made out of a thin chain, helping you coordinate throughout the fight. naturally, Gyomei who also used a special weapon, was intrigued by it.

"due to my lack of strength, it's the only suitable weapon for me." you answered, your fingers tracing over the axe he carried around with him. it was much heavier than your weapon, fitting for the man, who was much taller than you.

"it is a good choice indeed. i admire your critical thinking skills." he admitted, a smile displaying on his face.

and though you would sadly never see the happy look he'd give you in the future, you certainly liked the content tone of his voice.

Kokushibo:

he didn't remember his former loved ones. he didn't remember his wife. he didn't remember his child. their faces were a blur that he had created himself.

but you weren't. you were well. you were alive. he didn't need to remember the past when he could enjoy the presence with you.

his own human, the one he swore to protect. perhaps the gods have blessed him this time around, just like they had blessed his damned brother before.

the one person Kokushibo yearned to have just had to be a human. his surprise when he realized you weren't able to see was immaculate. he felt compassionate. and relieved.

"greetings.." the male spoke, stepping through the small gate of your house. the area was surrounded by wisteria, but like the gods had wanted him to find you, they left a small path for him.

"Kokushibo, it's you!" you smiled, standing up and letting go of the flowers in your hand. it took some time, but you managed to grow some in your garden.

the demon watched you move towards him, affectionately taking his hand like you've known each other forever. "you came back earlier this time."

"i happened to have a bit of free time.." he answered, low voice filling you with contentedness. while he made sure to look at you, his other eyes glanced at the garden.

the world could be dangerous for a blind person, but you've built your own small paradise between the rows of poisonous trees.

"let's get you inside, it's quite cold." you said, leading him towards the entrance of your very own home.

he wondered if he could keep up this facade of trust or if you would hate him after you've found out that the enemy stood in your house.

4K notes · View notes

ari-ana-bel-la · 5 months ago

Note

charles getting his four year daughter leo and leo is cutest puppy but someone even looks at her and the puppy is growling at everyone, leo lays on her protectively and won’t let her sleep alone, charles always finds them together

Leo, the bodyguard

Charles loved his daughter more than anything in this world.

Nothing brought him more joy than hearing her sweet laughter echo through their home or feeling her tiny arms wrap around his neck in an excited hug. At four years old, Yn was his entire universe, and Charles would do absolutely anything to make her happy.

So, when she had a bad dream, he immediately rushed to her side, brushing her tears away and whispering sweet reassurances until she fell asleep again. When she was hungry, he never hesitated to cook her favorite meals, even if it meant burning pancakes a few times before getting them just right. And when she had a wish? Well, Charles did everything in his power to make it come true.

And for the past three weeks, Yn had wished for one thing and one thing only.

"Papa, I want a puppy," she had said, her big, bright eyes shimmering with hope.

Charles had smiled at her request the first time she mentioned it, thinking it was just a passing thought. But when she brought it up again the next day, and the day after that, and every day after for three weeks, he realized this wasn't just a fleeting wish—this was a dream.

And if there was one thing Charles couldn’t resist, it was his daughter’s dreams.

Which is how he found himself standing in their living room one sunny afternoon, holding a small, wriggling bundle of golden fur in his arms. The tiny dachshund puppy tilted its head curiously, its long ears flopping as it let out a soft yawn.

"Yn!" Charles called, trying to keep his excitement in check. "Come here, ma chérie. I have a surprise for you."

It only took a second before the rapid sound of tiny feet echoed through the hallway. Yn came dashing into the room, her pink dress fluttering as her curls bounced with every step.

"A surprise?" she asked eagerly, her face lighting up.

Charles knelt down, revealing the little dog in his arms. "Meet Leo," he said softly, watching her expression carefully.

For a moment, Yn just stood there, her mouth slightly open in shock. And then, with a squeal of pure joy, she threw her arms around both the puppy and her papa. "A puppy! You got me a puppy!" she cried, her voice filled with wonder.

Charles laughed, the sound warm and full of love. "I promised I'd always listen to your wishes, didn't I?"

Yn pulled back, cradling the tiny dog against her chest like the most precious treasure. "He's so cute, Papa," she whispered, her eyes sparkling with happiness. "I love him."

Leo, as if sensing her affection, licked her cheek softly before snuggling closer to her. Charles couldn't help but smile at the sight—his daughter holding her new best friend, her face glowing with delight.

From that day on, Leo became Yn's constant companion. Whether she was playing with her toys, drawing pictures at the kitchen table, or snuggled up on the couch watching cartoons, Leo was always right beside her. And Charles, despite having expected chaos from adding a puppy to the mix, found himself utterly charmed by the tiny dog.

It didn't take long for Charles to realize one very important thing: Leo was fiercely protective of Yn.

It first became obvious when a few of Charles' friends came over one afternoon. The house buzzed with laughter and conversation as the drivers settled into the living room, chatting about the upcoming season.

"Where's your little shadow?" Max asked, leaning back against the couch with an easy grin. "I haven't seen her all day."

Charles chuckled. "She's in the playroom with Leo. Probably making him wear another tutu."

Just as he spoke, Yn emerged, her small form half-hidden behind the doorway. True to Charles' words, Leo followed close behind, his tiny body nestled in her arms and wearing a sparkly pink bow around his neck.

"Papa, look!" Yn giggled, holding Leo up proudly. "He's a princess now."

Daniel let out a loud laugh, clapping his hands together. "I think Leo's the most patient dog in the world."

But as soon as the drivers shifted closer to get a better look, Leo stiffened. His little ears perked up, and with a low, rumbling growl, he flattened himself protectively against Yn's lap.

The sound wasn’t exactly menacing—coming from such a tiny dog, it was more amusing than anything else—but it caught everyone off guard.

"Is he… growling at us?" Carlos asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

"I think he is," Pierre grinned, leaning forward slightly, only to be met with another determined growl.

Yn just giggled, stroking Leo's head gently. "He doesn't like when people come too close," she explained matter-of-factly, as if her little dog protecting her from a group of grown men was the most normal thing in the world.

Charles shook his head fondly, though he couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath. "Leo takes his job very seriously," he said, pride and affection mingling in his voice.

"Well, I wouldn’t want to mess with him," Max joked, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "He clearly runs this house."

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of warmth and laughter, with Leo remaining firmly planted on Yn's lap, keeping a watchful eye on anyone who came too close. Even when Daniel tried to tempt him away with a treat, the tiny dog refused to budge.

Later that night, after the guests had left and the house was quiet once more, Charles tiptoed down the hallway to check on Yn before heading to bed. The door to her room was slightly ajar, and he pushed it open gently, peeking inside.

There, nestled beneath a mountain of soft blankets, was his little girl, her face relaxed and peaceful in sleep. And right beside her, curled protectively against her chest, was Leo.

The tiny dog blinked sleepily at Charles as if acknowledging his presence before burrowing deeper into Yn's embrace. Charles felt his heart swell with warmth, the sight filling him with an indescribable sense of peace.

Quietly, he stepped back, closing the door with a soft click.

He knew, without a doubt, that no matter what, Leo would always be there to protect his daughter. And in that knowledge, Charles found a deep, abiding comfort.

Because if there was anyone in the world who deserved to have every wish come true, it was his sweet, precious Yn.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading my work. Mt requests are always open for you!

-💙🦋

#f1 drivers as fathers #formula 1 #formula one #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x daughter!reader #charles leclerc #leclerc!reader #dad!charles leclerc #carlos sainz x reader #lando norris x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #george russell x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo x reader #💙🦋

1K notes · View notes

cryinggirlnamedhelen · 5 months ago

Text

thank you so much to @rybunnie @rybunbun for the info/inspo for this and so many other posts!!! i owe u so much🥹

you knew that nagi seishiro loved you.

he clung to you, he played video games with you, he binged watch anime with you, he slept most nights holding you close to his chest, and he looked at you as if you were the most precious, extravagant treasure, as if you were irreplaceable and that he could never love another nearly as much. even if he didn’t express it through his words, his actions told you all that you needed to know.

you also knew that nagi seishiro was the bane of your existence.

skipping dates because he was too lazy to go, thinking that not replying to your texts was okay because it was a hassle, skipping dates because of soccer practice (in which he just scores 50 goals and falls asleep), being completely unaware of anyone else who had romantic interests in him and trying to steal him away from you, often flat-out ignoring you in favor of playing video games, insensitive words that he thinks are alright to say.

you’re sitting on the chipped and white wooden bench at the park, four fingers drumming on your thigh impatiently before you finally sighed, pressing the bright green “call” button once more. and once more, a robotic female voice replied. “the number you have called is currently unavailable. please send a voicemail.”

finally, you got up, hands in your pockets and grumbling profanities under your breath. angrily, you began typing on your phone, nagi’s contact photo clear as day.

you: ik that u didn’t have soccer practice today because reo said so

you: where the fuck r u???

another date, skipped for video games. probably a date that was completely forgotten about again. you were tired of this; this was the what, third time already these past two weeks? and you guys never even went on dates that often either. you groaned, walking back to your crappy little school dorm that was a whole damn building away from nagi’s.

when you were at school the next day, you ignored nagi’s overwhelming presence in the classroom. you ignored him following you around like a lost puppy. you ignored him trying to talk to you. you ignored his nudging and poking. you ignored his constant quiet apologies.

after school ended, you immediately walked back to your dorm swiftly, not turning back to see nagi almost chasing after you through the crowded halls. your eyes widened a fraction when you realized how quickly nagi was walking; he would usually find walking too fast a hassle. but just before he could catch up to you, you reached your dorm and slammed the door, leaving him outside.

“‘m sorry.” nagi muttered. “please let me in. it’s gonna rain soon, and i miss you.”

“go back to your own dorm. or go to reo’s bigass company-house-penthouse-apartment thing.” you replied hastily. “go away. you’re annoying.”

you could almost feel nagi’s pout through the door, and for a moment, you almost felt tempted to let him in. but he didn’t show up to your date last night and left you freezing on the park bench, so this is well deserved.

a few minutes later, a rainstorm thudded through the city, the clouds gray and dull. as you stared outside, you wondered if nagi had made it to his dorm safely. no, he probably had. he played soccer after all; he was fast. but your thoughts came to a halt when a loud knock came on the door.

“can you let me in? it’s really wet out here.”

you nearly sprinted to open the door, and there stood nagi, his hair and clothes wet, holding an all too familiar plastic bag. inside, you could vaguely see your favorite snacks and foods from the nearby convenience store. “sei? what the hell are you doing out here?” he stepped in, dropping the plastic bag on your counter.

“missed you, and i felt bad.” his puppy dog eyes made your own soften, and you even felt a little bad yourself. “i’ll try not to do it again. i told reo to text me whenever i have a date with you now, and i’ll try to remember more often now.”

your eyes softened, and despite how soaked his clothes were, you embraced him. “at least you’re trying.” nagi lazily draped his arms around you.

“i thought you thought that i was annoying.” nagi mumbled.

“i did. but then again, i remembered that your my boyfriend and i love you, and that my love for you cancels out my annoyance at your stupidity.”

nagi laughed before he looked down at you, and despite the rain and clouds outside, his eyes turned into glittering gems underneath the sunlight when he looked at the love of his life.

a/n: did you catch the kim possible reference???

1K notes · View notes

st4rpiece · 7 months ago

Text

needing space after an argument

SFW

characters: luffy, zoro, usopp, sanji x reader summary: an argument with the boys puts your relationship on hold CW: angst no comfort, breaking up (sanji), reader gets hurt, and over 600 words each

pt. 1 | pt. 2

────────────────────₊˚.༄

Monkey D. Luffy

The Sunny swayed gently on the open sea, the rhythm of the waves doing little to soothe the tension that crackled in the air. The ship’s usual harmony, filled with laughter and chatter, had been shattered by the argument unfolding on deck.

“You’re seriously impossible, Lu!” you snapped, your voice rising in frustration. Your chest heaved as you stared him down, fury blazing in your eyes.

“You keep charging into battle without thinking, and we’re always left picking up the pieces!”

Luffy stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, his straw hat tilted forward. His usual grin—bright and carefree—was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his face was set in a rare, serious frown.

“So what?” he said, his tone almost dismissive. “It worked, didn’t it? We’re fine!”

“Fine?!” you repeated, incredulous, your voice rising an octave.

“Sanji’s limping, Zoro’s covered in bandages, the ship’s a mess, again, and you—” you jabbed a finger toward his chest—“you nearly got yourself killed over some stupid treasure we didn’t even need!”

Luffy threw his arms in the air, his voice growing defensive. “It was shiny! I wanted it!”

You groaned, rubbing your temples as you turned away for a moment, trying to reign in your growing frustration.

“Lu, it’s not about the treasure!” you finally yelled, spinning back toward him.

“It’s about how you never listen to anyone! One day, your recklessness is going to get someone killed!”

The deck fell silent, the rest of the crew lingering nearby, pretending not to eavesdrop as they exchanged wary glances.

Luffy’s jaw tightened at your words, his posture stiffening. His carefree demeanor, the one you had come to rely on, was replaced by something cold and uncharacteristically sharp.

“You’re the only one who seems to always have a problem with the way I do things,” he said, his voice low but cutting.

You froze, staring at him as his words began to sink in.

He took a step closer, his dark eyes burning into yours.

“If the way I run my ship bothers you so much…” He hesitated, as if daring himself to say what came next, but when he spoke again, his tone was firm, biting. “…then maybe you should leave.”

It felt like a slap across the face. The air around you stilled, and for a moment, you couldn’t even process what he had said.

“Luffy,” you said, your voice softer now, as though testing to see if you’d heard him right.

But he didn’t take it back. He just stood there, his face stony, his gaze unreadable.

The silence between you stretched, heavy and unbearable. The rest of the crew watched from their spots, wide-eyed and frozen. Even Zoro, who typically stayed out of these things, had shifted slightly, his hand resting on the hilt of his katana as though bracing for the worst.

You clenched your fists, forcing yourself to swallow past the lump rising in your throat. The sharp sting of his words echoed in your mind, cutting deeper with every passing second. When you finally spoke, your voice was low but steady, masking the turmoil inside you.

“Fine,” you said, the word dropping heavily between you.

Luffy’s eyes widened just enough to show a crack in his hardened expression, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t take it back.

Your voice quivered ever so slightly as you drew in a shaky breath, but you straightened your shoulders, determined not to let him see how deeply his words had cut. “I’ll be gone by tonight,” you said, firm and unwavering despite the ache in your chest.

His breath hitched, and for a split second, his resolve seemed to waver. “No wait—” he said, his voice breaking as he took a step forward, his hand lifting like he was reaching for you.

But you didn’t stop. You turned on your heel and strode toward the stairs, your head held high even as your vision blurred. By the time he worked up the courage to say more, you were already gone, leaving behind a silence even heavier than before.

Roronoa Zoro

The dim glow of the setting sun reflected off the water as you stood on the dock, arms crossed tightly over your chest. The once serene atmosphere was marred by the frustration bubbling inside you as you paced back and forth, stealing glances at the path Zoro should’ve come from an hour ago. The excitement you’d felt earlier now replaced with frustration and disappointment.

Finally, you heard the familiar shuffle of his footsteps, followed by his exasperated grumbling.

“Sorry I’m late,” Zoro muttered as he approached, scratching the back of his neck. His face was impassive, as if showing up an hour after your agreed time wasn’t a big deal.

You exhaled sharply, your patience already frayed. “Late? Zoro, you’re not just late—you’re ridiculously late. Again.”

“I got lost,” he said bluntly, like that was supposed to excuse everything.

“You always get lost,” you shot back, exasperated. “I’m not mad about that—I get it, directions aren’t your thing. But you didn’t think to ask someone for help this time? Or maybe even leave a little earlier?”

Zoro let out a short sigh, his arms crossing over his chest. “What do you want me to do? It’s not like I meant to get lost. I tried.”

“Then maybe next time we can just go together,” you suggested, your voice softening slightly despite your frustration. “That way, we can avoid all this and actually enjoy our dates.”

Your words were meant to be a compromise, a way to avoid another night like this, but Zoro’s face darkened at the suggestion. He scoffed, the sharp sound cutting through the cool evening air.

“Go together?” he repeated, his voice sharp. “What, you think I need you to hold my hand everywhere? I’m not a kid.”

“Zoro,” you blinked, taken aback by the sudden hostility in his tone. “That’s not what I—”

“No seriously,” he cut you off, his voice growing louder. “That need of yours to control everything—it’s annoying.”

You froze. For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped moving, his words hitting you harder than you thought possible.

“Controlling?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. “Annoying?”

Zoro faltered for a moment, his expression shifting as if he hadn’t meant for the word to come out. But instead of apologizing, he doubled down, his jaw tightening. “Yeah,” he muttered, though his voice had lost some of its bite.

Your lips parted as you stared at him, completely thrown. You had only wanted to help, to make things easier—for both of you. But now, he was looking at you like you were the problem.

“I… I didn’t think trying to help you was so annoying,” you said quietly, your voice trembling. “I just didn’t want us to keep missing time together because you—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head as the lump in your throat grew.“Forget it.”

“Wait,” Zoro said, stepping forward, but you instinctively took a step back.

“No, it’s fine,” you said, your voice tight as you forced a bitter smile. “If me trying to help makes me so controlling and annoying, then I won’t bother anymore.”

“Babe, that’s not—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, your voice firmer now. “I get it, Zoro. You don’t need me, and you sure as hell don’t want my help. Message received.”

You turned away before he could say anything else, your heart twisting painfully as you walked back toward the ship.

Zoro remained motionless, his chest heavy as he watched you walk away. His hand started to lift, a silent urge to call out to you, to stop you—but it faltered, falling limply to his side. The realization settled in like a weight: in his frustration, he hadn’t just lashed out—he’d driven away the one person who always tried to understand him. And now, he could only watch as you disappeared.

God Usopp

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut through as you sat on the Sunny’s deck, fidgeting with your hands. Usopp had been distant for the past two days, barely sparing you a glance and keeping his responses short whenever you tried to talk to him. It wasn’t like him—not with you.

You stole a glance across the ship where he was working on one of his gadgets, his movements tense and hurried, the usual care he put into his work noticeably absent. You’d been patient, waiting for him to come to you, but whatever was bothering him wasn’t going away.

“Usopp,” you finally called, your voice gentle but firm as you stood and walked over to him.

He didn’t look up. “What?”

The coldness in his tone made you flinch, but you pressed on. “Can we talk? You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you,” he muttered, fiddling unnecessarily with the gadget in his hands.

“Yes, you are,” you said, standing your ground. “What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”

At that, he froze, his fingers tightening around the tool in his hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said flatly, but his voice lacked conviction.

You crouched down beside him, your brows furrowed. “Then what is it? Why won’t you talk to me?”

He finally looked at you, his jaw tight and his eyes flickering with frustration. “Why’d you call Luffy?”

The question caught you off guard. “What?”

“Two days ago, when you were in trouble,” he said, his voice louder now. “You didn’t call for me. You called for Luffy.”

Realization dawned on you, but before you could respond, he continued.

“Was I just not good enough?” he asked, his tone bitter. “Did you think I couldn’t handle it? That I’d just screw it up and get hurt?”

“What? No, that’s not—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, standing up abruptly and taking a step back. “Just don’t. I get it. I know I’m not as strong as Luffy or Zoro or Sanji. I know I’m not the first one people think of when they’re in danger. But I thought… I thought maybe you—” He stopped himself, shaking his head as he clenched his fists. “Forget it.”

You stood as well, your chest tightening at the hurt in his voice. “Baby, listen to me,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “You are strong and very capable. I called for Luffy simply because he was closer. That’s it.”

But he didn’t look at you, his eyes fixed on the deck. “It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “I just… I need some space, okay?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Usopp, the one who always sought you out, who always seemed happiest when you were by his side, was asking you to leave him alone.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sting. “If that’s what you need,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll give you space. But I’m not giving up on this, Usopp. Or you.”

He didn’t respond, only nodding slightly before turning his back to you. You lingered for a moment, hoping he’d say something, anything, to stop you from walking away. But the silence stretched, and eventually, you had no choice but to leave him be.

As you walked away, your heart ached for him, for the insecurities he tried so hard to hide. You could only hope that when he was ready, he’d let you help him see the truth—that in your eyes, Usopp was more than enough.

Vinsmoke Sanji

The evening sun bathed the deck of the Sunny in golden light, but the sight before you felt anything but warm. Sanji stood at the railing, surrounded by a small group of women from the port town you’d just docked in, his eyes sparkling as he lavished them with compliments and dramatic promises of eternal devotion.

You stood at a distance, arms crossed over your chest, watching the scene unfold before you. It wasn’t the first time Sanji had acted like this, and you had always let it slide, convincing yourself that he would stop eventually. But now, the painful truth settled in, and it felt like a dagger twisting in your chest.

When the women finally left, giggling and waving, you stepped forward, your footsteps deliberate. “Sanji,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

He turned, his usual cheerful expression faltering when he saw the look on your face. “Oh, my love! Did you see those ladies? They were absolute angels—”

“Why do you keep doing this?” you interrupted, crossing your arms tighter.

“Doing what?” he asked, genuinely confused, tilting his head.

“This,” you said, gesturing toward where the women had just walked off. “Flirting with every woman who so much as glances your way.”

Sanji blinked, his confusion deepening as he processed your words.“My love, what a wrong? You never complained about this before?”

Your jaw clenched, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “That’s because I thought it would stop once we got together. I didn’t think that as your girlfriend I would still have to compete with every pretty women you see.”

His eyes widened, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “But, sweetheart, it’s not like that. You’re not competing with anyone I—”

"It is like that Sanji, and honestly, I can't keep doing this," you interrupted, your voice trembling. "It's clear we're not on the same page when it comes to what’s acceptable in a relationship."

The air between you shifted, thick with the weight of your words, each one hanging in the space between you like an unspoken truth.

Sanji’s mouth opened slightly, his brow furrowing as if he were about to protest, but no words came out. He stood there, frozen, as if the reality of the situation hadn’t fully hit him yet. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he managed to say, his voice a little rough, “Why does this feel like a breakup?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. Every word felt like it was trapped, lodged somewhere deep inside, fighting its way to the surface. But you couldn’t hold it back any longer. Your eyes never left Sanji’s face, watching the shock and confusion slowly morph into something you couldn’t bear to see.

“That’s because it is,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible, the weight of the words pressing down on you.

The finality of it echoed in your ears, louder than you ever expected. You wanted to say more, to explain, to somehow make him understand that this wasn’t easy for you, that it wasn’t what you wanted. But the truth was, you had already said everything you needed to. This was the point of no return.

“Wait,” he said, stepping closer, his voice desperate. “Don’t do this baby, please. I didn’t know it bothered you. If I had, I— I would’ve stopped. I’ll stop now. I swear.”

You looked away, willing yourself to stay firm despite the raw emotion in his voice. “It’s not just about stopping, Sanji. It’s about the fact that you didn’t even realize that your actions would hurt me. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t see a problem with flirting with others.”

“Please, my love,” he said, reaching for your hand, but you stepped back, shaking your head.

“I can’t, Sanji,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, each step pulling you further from him.

Sanji stood there, his hand outstretched for a moment longer as if he could reach out and somehow make you stay. But the weight of your words hit him like a punch to the gut. He had lost you—not because he didn’t care, but because he hadn’t shown you he did in the way you needed.

───────────────────₊˚.༄

one piece masterlist

question! how do you guys feel about a queer version of the smau’s with fem or gn reader (idrc) for nami, robin, vivi, perona, boa, and yamato?

it’s in my drafts and i’ll still post it when done just wanted to see if the gays see my vision 🤭

i have two more (one request) for angst but i'll have those up soon now that i’m free from the shackles of school.

anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed :).

not proofread and caps may look weird typed this on my phone and computer 😭

(had to re-upload this didn't realize it posted before I was done)

2K notes · View notes

spiderfunkz · 7 months ago

Text

HYUN-JU x SHORT!READER

pairings. cho hyun-ju x f!reader

author's note: if u wanna see an x tall!reader click here. as always, my requests for hyun-ju are open! just be sure to read this before sending me an ask🫶🏻 also i've been wanting to write for kang dae-ho, so pleasee send me some ideas for him!!

▸ we love to see a cute height difference in a relationship. hyun-ju's tall, 6ft-ish. she towers over you, you find it intimidating but she finds it funny, how you look so tiny from her perspective.

▸ she treats you like a princess. i believe her love language is acts of service & quality time. she loves being around you and loves spending time with you.

▸ i don't think the height difference would make a huge change in the relationship, but it definitely shows subtly.

▸ like how you have to go on your tippy-toes when you kiss her, how you're usually the small spoon during cuddles, and when hyun-ju's the small spoon your legs hang a little.

▸ it's cute for sure. since she's taller she'll appear more dominant, through her actions you could totally see that.

▸ how she rushes to open doors for you, she'll spoil you with whatever you want; flowers, matching necklaces, rings, or just anything you bat an eye at, hyun-ju gets it immediately. she lends you her coat when you're cold, even if it's oversized on you, she thinks it's adorable.

▸ you of course repay it, in your own way. giving her kisses while cupping cheeks, her hands holding your waist, giving you support as you try to get to her height— kissing her until your lipstick stains her face.

▸ since your clothes are smaller than hers, you share your jewelry or items with her. your purse with the keychain she gave you, a necklace with a pretty butterfly, anything!

▸ if you see her like a specific item— "you wanna keep it? looks really good on you, hyun. so pretty."

▸ most of the sweaters you wear are hers, it's scented like her and it's engraved in your head. it gives you warmth and comfort.

▸ hugs with her are the best. it can cure you like medicine.

▸ when cuddling, she'll let you lay on her chest, hearing her heartbeat while you both stay in comfortable silence. it's one of her favorite moments during the night, just peaceful quiet with the occasional soft whispers from you.

▸ after a long day, she loves to lay her head on yours. and you'd lay your head on her shoulder. it makes for a sweet and genuine moment.

▸ she basically treasures you. that's how all relationships should make you feel, treasured.

▸ if you ever get picked on for your height, i'll say it again— hyun-ju can be really intimidating. like really, really, really intimidating.

▸ ouhhhh, AND SHE'S STRONG. sorry, i just had to mention that. you've basically hit the jackpot.

▸ that also means she can carry you anywhere, regardless of your height or weight. this is what i mean when i say she treats you like a princess. she'll literally pick you up just to tease you, she knows how flustered you can get.

▸ you know how to pick up as well, as in "pick up lines". you're quick with it too. oh and, hyun-ju blushes from her ears. it's just a tiny thing to notice, but it's so cute.

▸ you two would just be the sweetest duo. with the multiple vases full of fresh flowers in your home, framed photos of each other, the 0.5 pictures hyun-ju has saved of you on her phone (she has a whole album for it), the surprised dates. she'd just be so lovely and fun.

1K notes · View notes

inthelow · 4 days ago

Text

TEMPORARY FRAGMENTS — jeon jungkook (1).

summary: When you meet Jungkook— an older man who is amazing in bed, you thought it would be a simple arrangement of casual sex. Except things start getting serious and before you know he’s asking you on dates and introducing you to his daughter… Of course, he doesn’t know that you’re bad with kids and never wanted one of your own— well, at least it was just something temporary… right?

pairing: business! fem reader x dad! jeon jungkook

genre/warning: fluff, crack, smut, angst / a lot of themes like insecurity, jealousy, death, dysfunctional family, etc— This chapter contains a lot of sexual talk/scenes (fingering, penetration, oral sex, dirty talk). Read under your own discretion. — reader mentions her age but just for the plot of the age difference.

chapters: intro; one; two; three; four; five; six; seven; eight; nine; ten; eleven; twelve; thirteen; fourteen; fifteen; sixteen; seventeen; eighteen; epilogue

You woke up to the smell of coffee. Not burnt espresso or whatever horror So-hee brewed from your capsule machine when she crash in your apartment — this was rich, earthy, and freshly ground. It filled the air like something deliberate. Comforting. Domestic. You blinked your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the dim, warm light spilling through the window. The sheets were cotton, the good quality, not stiff or scratchy. The bed was too big for one person but clearly used to being slept in alone. You could tell by the symmetry of the pillows, the quiet in the air. No mess. No clutter. No sign of another woman.

Your head didn’t ache. Your limbs didn’t feel heavy. There was no immediate rush of regret flooding your chest. Instead, there was quiet. You turned your face into the pillow, let out a breath, and muttered to no one, “Okay.” Time to face the uncomfortable talk after sex.

You sat up and took in the room. Simple. Masculine. Clean lines, warm colors, nothing flashy but nothing lazy either. There were books on the nightstand — actual books, not decorative ones —, a leather jacket slung over the back of a chair and some paintings around the drawers. On the dresser: a watch, a set of keys, and a single photograph of a little girl with messy hair and a missing tooth smile, holding a glitter-covered rock like it was treasure. You stared for a second and then looked away.

You found your dress draped neatly over the foot of the bed. Your heels were lined up side-by-side. Your phone was plugged in. He had plugged in your phone.

Jungkook was already annoying.

You uncomfortable put the dress on and wandered barefoot into the apartment, your shoes and bag in one hand. The smell of coffee led you to the kitchen, where you stopped. It looked like a catalog ad. Sleek counters. Stainless steel. A French press on the counter, half-full. And Jungkook — standing at the stove, shirtless, in grey sweatpants, flipping something in a pan like this was a Tuesday. You could see all his tattoos better now in daylight.

“Morning,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Hope you like eggs.”

“Are they poisoned?” you asked, voice scratchy with sleep.

“Only slightly,” he said. “I didn’t want you getting attached.”

You smirked, leaning against the wall. “You cook breakfast for all your one-night stands?”

“Only the ones who snore like they pay rent.”

“I don’t snore.”

He shrugged. “You snore pretty.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled.

There was something infuriating about how comfortable he looked. Like your presence didn’t throw him at all. Like he’d been cooking for someone his whole life and had learned the art of giving without asking. He handed you a mug of coffee without being prompted.

You took a sip. “Okay, fine. This is good.”

“Roasted it myself,” he said. You narrowed your eyes. He raised a brow. “What? You think tattoo artists can’t have hobbies?”

“No, I think you’re trying too hard to be impressive.”

“I’m really not,” he said, plate in hand now. “You’re just easily impressed.”

You followed him to the kitchen island, sliding onto the stool while he set down two plates — eggs, toast, avocado. Clean, unfussy, hot.

“You know,” you said between bites, “I was expecting more… chaos.”

“Because I have tattoos?”

“Because you have a child.”

Jungkook nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “Fair. But I like things in order. When you’ve got a seven-year-old who believes glitter is a personality trait, you need to carve out the calm somewhere.” You paused mid-chew. He caught it. “Yeah, you saw the picture.”

“I saw a glitter rock,” you said carefully.

“Suni’s masterpiece,” he said. “It lives in my glove compartment now. She made me promise to take it with me ‘in case the car gets sad.’” You blinked, and for the first time that morning, something twisted slightly behind your ribs. Jungkook reached for the pepper grinder. “Relax. She’s with her mom this week. You don’t have to run screaming just yet.”

Now you knew his daughter’s name. You needed to leave that place as soon as possible.

“I’m not running.”

“Yet.”

You tilted your head. “You’re older than me, aren’t you?”

He smirked. “What gave it away? The bad jokes or the emotional regulation?”

“Both,” you said. “How old?”

“Thirty-three.”

“Shit.”

“You?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Seven years,” he said, sipping his coffee. “Not bad.”

“Debatable.”

“Oh, come on. That just means I had a flip phone while you were still wearing glitter lip gloss.”

You gave him a long look. “It was Dior glitter lip gloss, thank you.”

Jungkook chuckled. “Of course it was.”

You two ate in a companionable silence for a moment. The kind that only came when both people knew exactly what this was and weren’t pretending otherwise.

“You live alone?” you asked.

“Most of the time. Sunni’s here on weekends and some weeknights. Her mom’s got a career that eats up a lot of travel.” You nodded, impressed by how easily he said it. No drama. No resentment. “And you?” he asked. “What do you do when you’re not scaring men in bars?”

“I run a company.”

“What kind of company?”

“Some Italian restaurants” you shrugged.

Jungkook blinked. “You don’t look like a woman who tolerates gluten.”

“I don’t,” you said, joking. “But I respect the culture.”

He smiled. “You’re funny.”

“I know.”

There was a pause. He leaned back, watching you now. Not ogling, but observing. Calm. Focused. The kind of gaze that made most men look like they were fidgeting.

“You’re smart,” he said. Not like a pickup line but just a fact.

You didn’t hesitated. “I am.”

“Went to school for it?”

“Law. Worked in a firm for three months and then I got bored.”

“Of course you did,” he said. “You’ve got that ‘I will destroy you with precedent and poise’ energy.”

You laughed again. Goddammit. Jungkook reached for something on the counter — a pen, a sticky note — and scribbled quickly. Then slid it toward you across the granite like it was a contract.

“My number,” he said. “In case you ever want to feel in control again.”

You stared at it for a second, amused. “You giving this to all your hook-ups?”

“No,” he said. “You’re the first one who’s tried to negotiate my egg seasoning.”

You folded the note, sliding it into your bag. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Didn’t say it did.”

“I’m not looking for anything serious.”

“Neither am I.”

You two locked eyes for a beat too long. Then you stood, brushed invisible lint off your dress, and said, “Well. This was surprisingly pleasant.”

Jungkook leaned on the counter, smiling like a man who had nothing to prove. “You say that like it’s a threat.” You didn’t reply. He watched you slip on your heels, toss your hair over one shoulder, and head toward the door. “Hey, Y/n,” he called out as you opened it.

You turned. “Huh?”

“You left your phone” he said, holding it up.

You crossed back, snatched it from his hand, and paused. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

You left. And Jungkook… shirtless, with two empty plates and the smell of coffee still warm in the air, just stood there for a second. Then he smiled to himself, shook his head once and thought softly, “Trouble.”

———

The Mariani office didn’t look like a restaurant headquarters. It looked like a magazine spread — clean marble surfaces, white oak floors, carefully curated vases that changed weekly, and coffee that somehow tasted like it had flown first class. You stood at the far end of the long glass conference table, arms crossed, legs sharp under a tailored navy suit dress that made people listen harder. The sunlight hit your hair just right, enough to not make you more annoyed that you already were.

You weren’t yelling. You never needed to yell. You just asked one question, the kind of question that made three department heads rethink their career choices.

“Why,” you said, tapping your finger once on the printout, “are there plastic menus in a space with velvet chairs and hand-painted walls?”

The woman across the table, Marisa, Events Director, blinked once. “They’re temporary. Just for the soft launch. We thought—”

“No. You didn’t think. You assumed,” you said, calm as possible. “Do you know what assumption tastes like, Marisa?”

The woman swallowed. “…cheap.”

“Exactly.”

You turned, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the street below. Your office was just the penthouse floor of a restored building full of different offices in the heart of the city. Elegant but not flashy. Just like you. The newest Mariani location was three blocks away, still about to finish some last touches but the soft launch was already sending out invitations to critics and investors who had the collective power to destroy or elevate a brand in one dinner.

“Look, I’m not being difficult for sport,” you added, softer now. “We’re selling an experience, not just spaghetti and rigatoni. That means everything, from the plates to the fucking bathroom soap, tells the story of who we are. And we are expensive.”

There was silence. Then murmurs of agreement. You didn’t gloat. You just sipped your cold espresso and moved on when everyone agreed that it needed to be changed immediately.

Later that morning, you stepped into your personal office, shut the door with a firm click, and let yourself exhale. The new espresso cup you had was stale. You didn’t care. You hated interruptions when you were working, and this place - this bubble you’d built of quiet control - was the only space that ever felt fully yours.

You sat behind your desk and opened your laptop. Three dozen emails. Menu revisions from the Spain team. Budget approvals for Valencia. A note from the lawyer about a new licensing regulation. You moved through it fast, efficient, razor-sharp, completely in command. You weren’t just pretty or rich or terrifyingly well-dressed— you were brilliant. The kind of person who caught the missing zero in a spreadsheet before the finance guy noticed. Who remembered the name of the pastry chef’s dog and the exact shade of red the director had painted their front door.

And yet, despite your ruthless control, there was something fragile beneath it. Something you kept buried.

Halfway through responding to an investor memo, your phone lit up with a notification from the nursing home. You stared at it. Then clicked.

Rosa Mariani - Medical Update Available.

Rosa had been the only person who ever told you “no” and meant it. She had raised you between revolving door babysitters and parents who treated affection like a tax write-off. Rosa, with her gruff voice and soft hands. With her biscotti that could break teeth and the gentlest lullabies in Italian you had ever heard.

Now she was fading. Slowly, stubbornly, but definitely fading.

You sat back in your chair and ran a finger along the edge of your espresso cup. You didn’t cry. You never cried at work. Instead, you picked up your phone, dialed the facility, and asked for an update in that same composed, expensive voice you used with investors. After a few minutes of reassurance and politeness, you hung up.

Then you sat there for a moment, just breathing.

No one in the office would know that you were two seconds from driving to the other side of the city to sit at a bedside and beg a woman with Alzheimer’s to remember your name. No one would see that the CEO of and Italian chain food, a rich egocentric girl, was still the twelve-year-old girl who once clung to an apron and begged for another bedtime story in Italian.

You straightened. Pulled your jacket tight. And got back to work. Because vulnerability was not part of your brand. You decided to walk it off. Going to see the next thing in your list of duties of the day.

The new photos of the new - at least, about to be- Mariani location in Spain was a construction site dressed in potential. You were sure it smelled like sawdust and cement dust, but you could already picture the finished space in perfect detail: soft warm lighting, high arches, the curve of the host stand, the brass cutlery that would feel cool in a diner’s hand. You could see it like memory— because you’d built it in your mind a hundred times. You were ready to invest in that place. A step closer to Italy.

With a better mood, you decided to visit the new location in Seoul. The one that was about to launch soon and was just some streets away from the office.

You moved through the site in Louboutins, naturally. Your team… architects, designers, the head chef, a frazzled assistant named Gina with three iPads and a mild caffeine addiction, swarmed around you like bees trying to keep up.

“This wall was supposed to be Venetian plaster,” you said, voice calm, pointing at a freshly primed panel. “That’s drywall. Fix it.”

“Noted,” the contractor muttered, scribbling.

“And the sconces?” you asked, turning toward the entryway.

“Delayed. Backordered,” Gina jumped in, already scrolling.

“Find alternates. Hand-blown, amber glass, minimum three inches in diameter. If you show me anything that looks like it belongs in a Marriott I will walk into traffic.”

“Yes, boss.”

You turned on your heel, barely glancing at your tablet. “And where’s the espresso machine?”

“We change it for the bigger one you wanted. Shipping tomorrow,” one of the kitchen leads said. “Alessandro said he’d handle the calibration once it lands.”

“Good. Alessandro likes the pressure at 9 bars, not 11. It messes with the crema. And it actually makes the cortado taste better.”

There was a pause. “How do you know that?” Gina asked, blinking.

You looked at her. “He’s always bitching about it”

You knew the effect you had in people. The scary boss, the annoying CEO. The hateful manager. You knew what most people thought about you the first time they met you. Annoying, only cares for money and her business. It was true, in part.

You never smiled for effect. Never performed softness. But you remembered birthdays and food allergies. You caught mistakes before they became issues. You knew which chef refused to work under fluorescent lighting and which server got anxious before inspections. You expected excellence but you rewarded loyalty. And most people would rather disappoint a god than disappoint you. So you let the hate happened, because your team knew you by now. Specially when the pressure got you.

This, the life you had worked for. It was something that made you happy.

———

Your apartment sat like a crown atop the building — two floors of steel, glass, and unapologetic luxury. The kind of place people only saw in movies or real estate porn. High ceilings, dark marble floors, a spiral staircase that curved up like sculpture. Every detail was intentional. The lighting was soft, the art minimalist but personal — a giant abstract canvas from an artist Bohyung had once drunkenly hooked up with in Berlin, a few framed black-and-white photos from a trip the three of you had taken to Tokyo five years ago. The penthouse smelled like fresh basil and roasted tomatoes, the aftermath of your very rare decision to cook. Not that you couldn’t cook, because you definitely could. But it usually meant taking time for it — and you couldn’t waste seconds when you were running a big company— so you just preferred not to, unless you were showing off or trying to forget something.

Tonight was neither. Tonight was routine. Tuesday night dinner. An unspoken tradition between your two best friends and you, no matter how busy or jetlagged or generally dramatic your lives got.

Bohyung was already barefoot on the couch, swirling wine in one hand like a bored nobleman. His linen shirt was half-buttoned, his hair messily perfect. He worked in luxury estate acquisitions aka convincing rich people to buy even more properties they’d never live in. He had a gift for languages, for diplomacy, and for saying devastatingly rude things with a charming smile. Se-hoo sat across from him, legs crossed, sipping slowly from a glass of Barolo she’d brought. She ran a private consulting firm for high-profile rebrands — politicians, CEOs, scandals waiting to happen. She had a mind like a scalpel and the emotional range of a Russian novelist. Beautiful, deliberate, and cool as ice — except when she laughed, which was rare but honest.

You and Bohyung had been friends since kindergarten— trauma bonded over ballet recitals and broken curfews. Se-hoo arrived later, in your second year of university, transferring in after a semester scandal involving someone else’s fiancé and a shattered Baccarat tumbler. You two hated her for a week, then fell in love with her for life.

“You used real garlic,” Se-hoo said, tasting the pasta like she was judging it for a Michelin star.

You poured yourself a glass of wine. “I’m not a monster.”

“I mean, you are,” your other friend said, “but a monster with taste.”

“Thank you,” you said, pleased.

The three of you sat around the open-plan kitchen island, warm lighting and an already half-finished bottle of wine in the centre. The three of you ate, the three of you bitched. The three of you gossiped. And eventually, after the pasta had been cleared and the gelato opened, Bohyung struck.

“So,” he said casually, “how was mystery man?”

You rolled you eyes. “There is no mystery. He was just… you know.”

“Oh,” he said, lips twitching. “Just a fuck.”

“Exactly.”

Se-hoo raised an eyebrow. “A nameless fuck?”

“Jungkook,” you muttered.

“That sounds hot. He was hot.” she pointed out

Bohyung snorted. “Oof. That’s such a daddy’s name.”

You took a slow sip of wine. “Funny you say that.”

There was a beat of silence before Se-hoo blinked. “No way.”

“Yeah.”

“Like… actual dad?” she asked.

“Seven-year-old daughter,” you said, licking a bit of pistachio gelato off your spoon. “Mild glitter obsession, according to him.”

Bohyung leaned back. “Jesus. How did that come up? During foreplay?”

Se-hop snorted. “Did he show you her report cards between rounds.”

“No, he didn’t. And Ew, disgusting.”

Your friend raised his glass. “Honestly, missed opportunity.”

“He mentioned it over breakfast.”

“Oh, you stayed?”

“He made eggs. I didn’t want to be rude.”

Bohyung put a hand over his heart. “Wow. Look at you, supporting single fathers. You’re basically a philanthropist.”

You gave him a flat look. “It was good sex. He was hot. I was bored.”

“And emotionally repressed,” Se-hoo added helpfully.

“Exactly,” you nodded.

“He was hot.”

You laughed. Not in a cruel way — just the kind of laugh that came with knowing someone too well to lie. The kind of laugh that loved you, even when it roasted you.

“He was…” you trailed off, then shrugged. “Fine.”

Bohyung narrowed his eyes. “Oh no. She said fine. He was not fine. He was big and broad and responsible, wasn’t he?”

“He owns a tattoo shop,” you said, as if that answered something.

Se-hoo blinked. “Of course he does. Did you fuck a romance novel, Y/n?”

Your other friend leaned forward. “Wait. Does he have forearms? The kind that look like they could carry you and the weight of your childhood trauma?”

“Dude.”

“Did he call you sweetheart in that ‘I pay my taxes and use my hands to built furniture without instructions’ voice?”

You bit back a smile. “You are both insufferable.”

Se-hoo smiled lightly. “You’re still thinking about him.”

“I’m not. He gave me his number and I took it because I’m polite. I don’t even know his last name.”

“Sure,” Bohyung said. “And I only follow hot rugby players for their footwork.”

You moved on, eventually— because you always did.

Talk shifted to other things. Se-hoo’s newest nightmare client — a tech CEO with the personality of a wine cork. Bohyung’s latest business trip to Paris where a billionaire tried to buy a 17th-century chateau without seeing it. Your upcoming launch event and whether or not you were going to wear the red heels that cost too much.

It was comfortable, easy. The kind of dinner that felt like a deep exhale. A reminder that no matter what the world expected from you all — clean lines, sharp deals, expensive control — here, in this room, you could let it bend.

As the night wound down, Bohyung curled into the corner of the velvet couch and sighed. “Honestly, I love us.”

Se-hoo drained her glass. “I tolerate us.”

You leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, lips twitching. “You both wish you were me.”

The girl stretched. “I do wish I had your closet.”

Bohyung smirked. “And your apartment.”

“And your cheekbones,” she added.

“But not your daddy issues,” he said.

You raised your glass. “Cheers for that.”

You clinked glasses

Somewhere in the city, Jungkook was probably folding glitter-stained laundry or putting a little girl to bed. And here, in your castle in the sky, you were full, half-drunk, adored. And exactly where you belonged.

———

It was almost midnight when you stepped into the coffee shop.

The street outside was mostly empty, lights low and hazy from the rain earlier. The café sat on the corner of a quiet neighborhood you rarely visited— a little too slow, too far from the pulse of the city. But you’d had a meeting nearby that ran late, and after hours buried in contracts and menus and talking to architects who couldn’t follow instructions, you needed caffeine and a quiet table that wasn’t backlit by luxury branding. The place was warm, dim, and half-empty. Mostly college students with headphones and a couple of people staring blankly into their screens. The barista looked half-asleep. Jazz played low on the speakers, old-school and moody.

You stepped in, ordered a double espresso with an oat milk cookie— which took longer than it should— and turned to find a seat… when you heard it.

“Y/n.”

You looked up. Jungkook sat in the back corner, sleeves rolled, sketchbook open in front of him, a pen twirling loosely between his fingers. There was a mostly empty mug beside him, and a pastry he’d clearly forgotten existed. His hair was a little messy. He had glasses. His eyes were calm and sharp and amused… He looked better than you remembered. Or maybe exactly the same, and that was the problem. It had been almost three weeks.

“Well,” you said, walking over slowly, one brow raised. “If it isn’t the tattooed dad.”

Jungkook grinned. “Still remembering me by my most defining trait, I see.”

You sipped your coffee. “You wish. You’re also ‘that guy who made very decent eggs.’”

“High praise from a woman who probably eats in Michelin star kitchens by accident.”

“I don’t eat in them,” you said, sliding into the chair across from him. “I own them.”

He laughed, low and warm. He seemed amused by you “Of course you do.”

There was a pause. A beat where the past sat between you two like static. Both maybe trying to remember what was said that morning after the one-night stand. The first one that wasn’t awkward for you.

You tilted your head. “What are you doing out here? You work… where, exactly?”

“Ten minutes that way,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the window. “I was working late at the shop. One of the guys stayed late to finish a sleeve— and the AC jammed. Took me an hour to fix it.”

Of course he fixed it.

You nodded, leaning back. “So, caffeine and quiet?”

“Exactly. And you?”

“Work. I had a meeting with an investor who likes to schedule things at strange hours like he’s in some kind of high-stakes European thriller. I was ready to strangle him halfway through.”

Jungkook grinned. “Did you?”

“No. I just charged him an extra three percent.”

He laughed again. “Still terrifying.”

“I’m efficient,” you said, lips twitching. “Terrifying is a bonus.”

You two talked for a while. Nothing big. Just easy words in a quiet space. About the neighborhood (you still hated it), about tattoo machines and supply issues, about espresso and bad lighting and why good jazz never played in the places that needed it most… It wasn’t flirty. Not obviously. But there was something in the way he looked at you — calm, curious, still very much aware of every detail. And something in the way you kept glancing at his hands, remembering without meaning to.

Eventually, you both stood up at the same time.

Outside, the air was cool, damp from the earlier rain. Your steps slowed at the corner, where you’d have to split.

Jungkook looked at you. You looked back, lifting an eyebrow. “What?”

“You never saved my number, did you?” he stated more than asking.

You smirked. “I didn’t think we were doing that.”

“We weren’t.” You two stood there for a beat. Then he asked it. Quiet. Direct. “Do you want to come back to my place?”

You didn’t hesitate. You just smiled and said, “Lead the way.”

You walked off down the street. Not together, exactly. Just side by side. No promises. No labels. Just two people with unfinished business and nothing to explain.

His house wasn’t that far from the coffee shop. You remembered. Since he didn’t bring his car, he took your keys from your hands and drive you both to his place. At least you had a drive for later to go back home. It didn’t take you too much to arrive. Five minutes later you were walking inside his building and he was already grabbing your hand to lead you to the elevator and to his apartment.

It didn’t take him long to lose control and kiss you

Jungkook leaned you against the wall of the hallway, next to his door. His hands wrapped around the sides of your face as he kissed you hard and needy, as if he had been waiting for this more than he would like to admit. His lips pressed against yours with strength and excitement. It made you remember the first and only night you spent together. Slightly - too - drunk to remember it perfectly but sober enough not to forget how good it was.

His touch. His lips. His naked body against yours. You remember every moan and every thrust. You could remember the feeling of every sigh and every touch.

You wanted him more.

His lips were soft. His kiss searing and full of desire. The fire inside you almost flooded his, flaming and full of heat. His hands roamed to your body, from your cheeks to your hips, tracing every part of you with his fingers, burning every part of your skin over your dress and under your coat. He pressed harder on your hips and moved the hem of your dress to start pulling it up slowly until your your panties showed. The dress giving him better access to you.

He was burning for you. You could hear your heart trumping in your ears, Jungkook made you feel so alive and energetic— and you knew you made him feel the same way, for the way he kissed you hard and deep, coaxing your lips open and forcing his tongue inside. He wanted to burn his name inside your mouth and keep anyone else from kissing you again.

He takes one hand on your jaw to keep your mouth open and pliant while the other travels down to squeeze your hip and run wildly across your tummy to your core. Jungkook moved his mouth to your jaw, sucking the skin and trailing his lips down to your neck. even just touching you through your panties is getting him lightheaded. His fingers moved down to your center, his thumb starting to rub your clit on top of your underwear.

You threw your head back to the wall, sighing of pleasure.

“Wait— Jungkook, we’re in the…”

“Let me take care of you, pretty.” he didn’t let you finish, finger working on making you wet. His tongue laves over your skin as he pants into your neck. He has to keep himself from rutting against your thigh, getting too heady at the feeling of finally touching you again. “Tell me you like it.”

You sighed again, feeling your panties getting soaked wet, his fingers working slowly on you. Your voice barely hold its own. “I like it.”

But that wasn’t enough for him.

He wants to see your knees buckle and give up. He wants you crying. He wants to watch your eyes get glossy and wet. He wants you trembling and begging for mercy, wants to give you more and more because he knows that you’ll be good and take it. Because this time he wasn’t going to give you the control, he was the one to have it.

You gasp as his fingers circle your clit, and he’s starting to feel how wet you are even through the layers of clothes. He moves your underwear, his fingers tease your entrance and he presses down on your clit, watching your mouth drop open as he swipes it fervently, needing to get you dripping and ready. He steals your lips for another kiss, letting you pant into his mouth as he takes everything he wants from you.

“You want me to fuck you with my fingers, baby?” He asked, voice lower and rough, full of desire. “Is that enough for you, uhm?”

Baby.

“Shit— Just fuck me.”

Your voice was low, trying to keep it together. Jungkook liked how you tried to keep control, even in this situation. So he chuckled, a dark and grutal one that made you freeze slightly.

“Not yet, pretty. I’m just starting with you.”

He circles his finger around your entrance, teasingly applying pressure just to watch you squirm before slowly fucking two fingers into you, with the intention of making you lose your mind little by little.

And he wants to smile. With the way he has you pressed against the wall of his building, fingering you slowly and making you sigh in pleasure with the low lights of the hallway barely holding on. And he wants to fuck you there, where anyone can show up and see you breaking apart like this— but he has enough control to just made you lose your mind to have you beg for it. Just enough so you could ask for it— His cock sits hot and heavy in his pants, but he barely pays it any attention. He’s much more focused on working you up, make you dripping on his fingers.

He increases his pace a little more, curling his fingers up and fucking you harder. It takes him a minute to find the spot he was looking for, but he knows he’s got it when you moan and your leg kicks out helplessly. He keeps pressing into that spot, curling his fingers up to hit it every time, relishing in the garbled moans that spill out of your mouth.

“Ngh— shit, go harder.”

“Yeah?. Are you feeling good?” He increased his pace, fucking his fingers deeper into you. “You’re dripping on my hand, baby.”

His fingers continue to rub recklessly at your cunt, making you a little dumb. For a moment, Jungkook doesn’t care about being sweet or gentle or slow— he wants you to be blinded by your need for him, to ache for him so bad you’d cry. But then— he feels you tightening around his fingers so hard he can barely move, stuck pressing into you relentlessly to get you to your peak. And you’re getting there, so fast and excited—

But it stops.

Your orgasm doesn’t come.

Jungkook takes his fingers out of you and your hips involuntarily move to reach them in a needy way. He presses his palm to your tummy and you make a sweet little noise of complaint that he founds adorable and so hot it makes his cock twitch in his pants.

“What are you doing?” your voice sounds more needy that you wanted it to be.

“I won’t fuck you here, baby. Come on now.”

You blinked. Thinking how you were so horny you didn’t mind getting fuck like a whore in the middle of a hallway. But it makes you feel a little good how he was such a man to not do it and take you to his bedroom to fuck you properly.

It doesn't take you two long to get to his room. Jungkook giving you a quick kiss on the lips before pushing you onto his bed, moving you with little to none delicacy so he can spread your legs and kneel in front of you. Knees pressing hard on his cold carpet. He holds your legs open, staring at your center with a wicked grin, your panties ruined and soaked in full display. He kisses up your leg until he gets to your core, ghosting his lips over your heat and blinking up at you.

“I’m going to taste you. And I want you to look at me until you come in my mouth.”

His voice was rough. It wasn’t a request, it was a command.

And you were dripping for him. He was so hot you wanted him to fuck you all day long. The only thing you could do was nod slowly. And he smirked. Because you were such a bossy bitch and now you were spread, lying in bed and nodding like a good girl for him. And you knew how much he wanted that after the first night where you had him under you, grunting and trying to keep his composure while you were taking control.

He likes you that way. Too much to admit. Spread for him and ready to take him in any way. His hands roamed over your tights before taking your panties off. And it doesn’t take him long to give you what you want. Because he wants you more than he likes to admit. In less than a second, he’s salivating like a dog, abandoning all his patience and smothering his face between your legs without a care in the world. He brings his mouth to your clit, sucking lightly and rolling his tongue over the bud his tongue dives into your cunt, desperately pushing into your walls. He wants to hear you cry, to feel you squirm— for him. He likes to find relief in knowing he can make you feel good.

His nose is right against your clit as he fucks his tongue into you. You’re moaning out, a little louder, much whinier than the first night you had and what he’s heard from you. And that does crazy things to him. He wants to fuck you so bad. He’s rock hard, almost leaking from his jeans. Your fingers fist his hair, your back aching at the pleasure that his tongue was giving you.

Jungkook pushes his face further against you, desperate to get as close as he possibly can, reach as far into your cunt as his tongue will allow. He is aching to finally taste your orgasm. His fingers immediately moved to your cunt across your clit, he comes back down to your hole, lapping up the arousal that spills out of it hungrily, moaning at the taste.

But before he can taste all of your juices, your cunt dripping of your orgasm, you pulled his hair to look at him— too serious that he freeze for a moment.

“Jungkook, fuck me already.”

And he obeys.

He immediately pulls away from your cunt— not before sucking one last time your clit—, he stands up and kneels in bed, between your legs. Quickly taking off his shirt in one motion before using it to clean off your juices from his jaw. And he looks so hot on top of you. Perfect clean skin. Broad shoulders and back. Toned arms and abs. Tight stomach and narrow waist. He looked like a sin, specially with one arm all inked full of tattoos you want to lick to death.

Jungkook moves over you. His heat poured onto your torso immediately and you shivered, letting your fingers glide over his narrow waist, getting under the waistband of his jeans and pulling them down to his thighs with his underwear. You see his cock, jumping hard until it hits his lower stomach. Red, veiny and big, his tip leaking pre-cum. You wanted to lick it off clean. He was so hot and such a manly man.

Jungkook fisted your hair before kissing you, hard and open. His hands moved to your dress, taking it off fast as possible and leaving you naked. His body stretched as he reached for his bedside table, opening the drawer and haphazardly pulling out its contents until he found what he was looking for. Your mouth only left his mouth once he rose up, taking out a condom, looking down at you from between your legs. His eyes never left your body as he pumped his cock slowly, leaking more. He looked like a sin staring down on you as he rolled the rubber on.

“You looked so hot” He told you a little breathless. “I’m gonna fuck you hard now, okay?. And you’re going to take it.”

Jungkook kissed you again, hand in your jaw to keep you in place. He taps his tip against your entrance. And before you have time to register he slides his cock between your slick folds, aching to be inside you. You wrap around him tight, making his head spin, nothing but primal instinct driving his actions. He groaned into your mouth as he fucked you, keeping your hips still with his harsh grip.

He squeezed your thigh, pushing it down on the mattress, and you spread your legs wider. A whimper leaving your mouth when he came down grinding on you. Your back arching, eyes closing as he sucked a nipple into his mouth

His hips dipped again, rolling against you. And you bit your lips, pulling his face toward your mouth. “You told me—” you tried as another roll of his body made you clench. “Uhm— Is this hard for you?.”

Jungkook stops before looking at you. His hand in your jaw moving to your cheeks to squeeze tight, looking at you with narrowed eyes.

“This isn’t hard for you?” he nods, looking at your eyes. Dark and blown out. “This isn’t enough, right?. You’re a greedy girl, you want more. Fucking—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he proves you wrong. He slammed his hips into yours with strength. He sank into you, filling you to the brink, so deep, stretching you so completely that a single whimper torn straight from your throat. His mouth crashed into yours, making you moan, bringing your legs to the small of his back as he withdrew and sank back in deeper and harder. He fucks you hard, not faster. He thrust into you with meaning, deeper and meaner. Jungkook pressed a hand hard in your lower stomach, making you feel him better.

Your back arches and you moaned his name with meaning, feeling him so good, so rich. Jungkook rolled his hips into you on command. Sweat glistened your bodies, and it was getting hard to breathe for both of you. You moaned, relishing how he stretched you. You gasped, trying to mold his body to yours as your orgasm started building. Your nails dragged down his back, burning his skin as you arched into him again. His mouth finds your neck again, kissing harder. His fingers in your cheeks find your clit, moving them to it faster so you could reach your high.

“Shit— Jungkook. Fuck, wait—”

“No.” His voice is demanding, manly. In a way that makes you know you’re not in control. “This is what you wanted, right?. You can take it. You’re gonna take it, pretty”, Jungkook bites your neck and your eyes get glossy in tears. “Shit— Come on, you’re so good. You’re doing so good for me…”

You squeezed him hard, and his hips stumbled at the feeling. He moans, and lets a growl when you moaned his name into his ear. A sweet noise he’s sure he will remember for weeks. You cried out as you found your release. The world spinning, your body wrecked as euphoria crashed into you. Jungkook came completely undone a few erratic thrusts later, with the sexiest moan you’d ever heard in your life. He managed to hold himself from collapsing on top of you, shifting gently to the side.

It takes you both some minutes to come down from the high. Your body too tired to even get up to shower or clean yourself. Luckily, Jungkook seems to notice because— after catching his breath— he stands up to grab some tissues and clean you and him. With a softness that didn’t match the way he was fucking you just some minutes ago.

When he finish cleaning you off and putting his shirt over you, your face touched his pillow and you almost passed out of tiresome.

And you knew, that wasn’t going to be the last time you’ll be seeing Jungkook.

———

Sunday morning in the city was quiet in the way you liked: no traffic, no emails, no one asking you about marble tile samples or supplier invoices or which appetizer would look better on the press photos. Just the low hum of things waking up slowly — the clatter of silverware in cafes, the hiss of espresso machines, the shuffle of strollers and dogs and hungover twenty-somethings pretending they were early risers.

You were already on the street, oversized sunglasses on, coat tied loose at the waist. You hadn’t slept over. You never slept over. You’d left Jungkook’s place around five… still dark enough to pretend it was nighttime, early enough to pretend it wasn’t a walk of shame. Not that you felt any shame. You’d brushed your hair with your fingers, borrowed his comb, stolen a sweatshirt that definitely didn’t match your skirt, and left with your heels in one hand and your phone in the other. No kiss goodbye. Just a muttered “see you” that didn’t mean anything.

Which was exactly how you liked it.

By the time you reached the café, Bohyung and Se-hoo were already seated at a sidewalk table under the heaters, sipping coffee like they’d been there for hours instead of ten minutes.

“Y/n,” Bohyun said, without looking up from his phone. “You look like a sexy widow escaping a crime scene.”

“I am,” you said, slipping into the chair between them. “And I’m very tired of hiding the body.”

Se-hoo handed you a coffee. “Who was it this time?”

You took a sip before answering. “Same as last time.”

Your friend raised an eyebrow. “The tattooed dilf?.”

“God,” you groaned. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Well what do you want me to call him?” Bohyung asked. “Zaddy Ink?”

Se-hoo smirked. “How is he, anyway?”

You shrugged. “Still hot. Still knows what he’s doing. Still very much not my boyfriend.”

“Good,” your other friend said, dramatically relieved. “Because if you start dating a man who’s emotionally balanced and knows how to make eggs, I will actually die of neglect.”

“He does make excellent eggs,” you muttered.

Bohyung clutched his chest. “This is how it starts.”

“It’s not anything,” you said. “We’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks. We text. I go to his place. We have sex. I leave. That’s it.”

“No sleepovers?” Se-hoo asked, eyebrow raised.

“No after we establish this was casual sex,” you said firmly. “And before you ask—no, I haven’t taken him to my place. I’m not an idiot.”

Bohyung leaned in. “So you’re just casually boning a very hot, very grown man with a child, feelings nowhere in sight, and no complications whatsoever?”

“Exactly.”

He nodded. “You’re going to explode.”

“I’m fine,” you said, half-laughing. “You two are so dramatic.”

“You say that like it’s an insult,” he said, biting into a piece of toast.

You settled into your chair, sighing like you were exhausted by them both but secretly comforted. You liked this part of your life — the routine of brunch with your friends, the rhythm of easy conversations that didn’t require explanation or effort. The way Se-hoo always ordered the same thing and ate it with a knife and fork like a villain. The way Bohyung flirted with the waiter just enough to get them free mimosas but not enough to get banned.

You talked for a while. about her latest campaign (a tech CEO with a scandalous burner account), his new client (a Russian heiress trying to buy a vineyard in Spain because she liked the name), and whether or not you all should all just run away to Tokyo again and start over.

Then Bohyung leaned back, stretching, sunglasses catching the sun. “Oh, by the way,” he said, casually. “Your parents’ thing is next week.”

You groaned. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“You can’t skip it,” Se-hoo said, not looking up from her phone.

“I absolutely can.”

“You skipped last year,” she reminded you. “And the year before that.”

“And the year before that,” Bohyung added.

“And you know what happened?” you said, sipping your coffee. “Nothing. They made awkward conversation with people who don’t know my name, toasted to overpriced wine, and pretended to love each other. No one died.”

He grinned. “Come on. It’s a party. The food’s good. The gossip’s better. And your dad always hires at least two jazz bands for no reason.”

“Because he likes to feel cultured,” you muttered.

Se-hoo put her phone down. “You should go. Show face. Wear something sharp. Remind them you exist and are terrifyingly successful.”

You made a face. “You mean remind them I’m successful thanks to their money and that I didn’t marry Jungwoo and give them photogenic grandchildren.”

“Oh god,” Bohyun said, dramatically fake-gagging. “Jungwoo. I forgot that was almost a thing.”

“Same,” you lied. “Blessed amnesia.”

“Please, you loved him” Se-hoo said to your friend. “Smart. Witty. Generous. Could keep up with us.”

“Honestly, he was kinda perfect” Bohyung sighed. “Knew too much about my job and the laws of it. Was pretty funny, smart and hot. The perfect man— except for his ability to disappear for weeks because of his job.”

“And you didn’t have to have sex with him,” you said dryly.

He shrugged. “A perfect arrangement.”

You laughed, finished brunch, and ordered another round of coffee just because you could. After some talk, you said goodbye to your friends, you called your driver to start work.

Your car moved through the city like it had memorized every route. Your driver, Oscar, barely spoke unless you asked — which you never did — and the ride was silent except for the quiet hum of pop music from the speakers and the steady tap of your acrylic nail against your phone screen. You were way to a meeting with a wine distributor who had the social skills of a taxidermied cat but owned vineyards in Tuscany, so charm was optional. Your mind was already sifting through numbers, names, details — the things that mattered.

Then your phone lit up.

The name of a woman you knew.

You stared at the screen for a second before picking up. You adjusted the volume and cleared your throat.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Honey! Good morning,” your mother said, voice like a soft silk scarf — warm, polished, controlled. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“I’ve been up since five.”

“Of course you have,” your mother said with a light laugh. “You’ve always been my little early bird.” That wasn’t true. you hated mornings but always did the effort for work. “How are you?” she continued. “I feel like we’ve barely spoken this week.”

You tilted your head back against the seat, watching the buildings pass. “Busy. I bought the place in Spain so the launch it’s calculated to be in eight months or less so everything’s chaos.”

“You’ll make it perfect. You always do.”

There was something in the way she said it — kind, proud, but… automatic. Like she was reading it off a script.

You exhaled through your nose. “Thanks.”

“And how’s everything else? Life, love, health? Eating well?”

“I’m fine.”

“Just fine?” you mother’s tone lifted slightly. “You’re not burning yourself out again, are you? You know you tend to overdo it when you’re in your perfectionist mode.”

You smiled faintly. “That’s every mode.”

“Well,” she laughed, “then I suppose it’s genetic.”

Another thing that wasn’t true. You had no idea what mode your mother operated in. You barely remembered her outside being on a plane or in another time zone for most of your childhood.

“What about you?” you asked. “Where are you guys now?”

“London. Your father’s giving a lecture at the Royal Academy, something on architectural postmodernism and Eastern symmetry—I stopped trying to follow halfway through.”

Right. Your father and his lectures. Your mother and her panels and consultancy projects. They were always somewhere. You sometimes joked with Bohyung that you learned geography based on your parents’ voicemail greetings.

“How long are you staying?”

“Just until Thursday. Then back in time for the gala.”

You tensed slightly. “Oh, right.”

“I just wanted to remind you,” your mother said gently, as if she sensed it. “Next Saturday at the house. Cocktails at seven, dinner at eight. You don’t have to bring anyone, of course.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“But you’re coming?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause. Her voice softened. “I know it’s not your favorite thing. But it means a lot to your father.”

“I know,” you said. “It’s fine.”

It was always “fine.”

The party wasn’t a surprise. They hosted them every year… formal, elegant, full of silver cutlery and floral centerpieces and the kind of people who called you “impressive” and then forgot your name. Technically, it was a fundraiser — your father’s favorite word for throwing himself a well-lit celebration. This year it was for the city’s heritage commission. Last year it was for a scholarship. The year before, clean energy. All good causes. All good optics. And always the same. Same guest list. Same photographers. Same sense of standing in a house that wasn’t yours, surrounded by people who knew your face and none of your history.

“You still like the blue Valentino?” your mother asked suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“The dress I brought you last spring. You looked stunning in it. I thought you might wear it again.”

You paused. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“You can bring Bohyung and Se-hoo, of course. I mean they’re always there for the champagne but they’re always very fun to be around.”

You smiled, despite yourself. “You mean they know how to talk to people without sounding like hypocrites?”

“Exactly.” Another silence, not awkward — just empty. Your mom cleared her throat. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your day. I know how busy you are. I just wanted to hear your voice. You’ve always had the most beautiful voice.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I love you, darling.”

“Love you too.”

The call ended. The car kept moving.

You stared out the window, lips pressed together, hands resting on your lap. You knew your mother meant well. Always had. She was gentle, thoughtful, generous in her own manicured way. But there had always been a kind of space between you two. Like the difference between a hug and a photograph of a hug. Familiar, but never quite lived in. It wasn’t that they didn’t love you. They just… loved the version of you that they had imagined. The girl who never threw tantrums. The girl who skipped stages. The girl who grew up well, with straight teeth and good posture and business acumen.

A perfect product of two people who missed everything in the middle.

Fifteen years ago.

You had made it your personal mission to destroy every nanny who stepped foot into the house. It wasn’t that you liked being difficult — not exactly. But at twelve years old, you’d already learned that the quickest way to get your parents’ attention was through disaster. Broken windows. Expelled tutors. Hysterical voicemails. You didn’t cry anymore when they left for Tokyo or Berlin or Buenos Aires. You just got mean and loud.

It worked... Sometimes.

Today, you stood barefoot in the front hall, arms crossed, watching the newest casualty storm out of the house muttering something about demon children and emotional abuse. Your mother hadn’t even been there. Your father had sent a driver to escort the woman out, followed by a politely distant phone call:

“We’ll find someone new, honey. Don’t worry. We’ll be home next month.”

Next month. Always next month.

You kicked the wall and left a black scuff mark just because you could.

Two days later, the door dinged and out stepped a small, sharp woman in orthopedic shoes and a beige wool coat. She didn’t smile when she saw you. She didn’t compliment the apartment or coo over your name or ask if you liked ice cream or what hobbies were you into. She just looked you over, slowly, as if examining a stray cat on the edge of a good shoe.

“So,” the woman said, thick Italian accent curling the word. “You are the bambina selvaggia.”

You blinked. “What?”

The woman dropped her bag on the floor with a grunt. “Wild girl. The one who chases the nannies. You look smaller than I thought.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Who are you?”

“Mi chiamo Rosa,” the woman said. “But you can call me Nonna Rosa. Because I am too old for this shit, and la signora told me I could do whatever I want if you don’t end up in juvenile prison.”

You crossed your arms tighter. “You won’t last a week.”

Rosa shrugged off her coat and hung it— not on the rack, but on the bannister.

“You think I want to last?” she said, already walking toward the kitchen. “I came here to eat well and keep my bones warm. Your mother pays like a royal and doesn’t ask me to clean the floors. Perfetto. If you run me off, I’ll go back to Sicilia and you’ll still be crying in your golden room.”

“I’m not crying!,” you snapped.

“Not yet,” Rosa called from the other room.

It went downhill fast.

You refused to follow her schedule. You stomped around the apartment slamming doors. You threw a tantrum when Rosa moved your tablet charger without asking. At dinner, you dumped the minestrone Rosa made straight into the trash. Rosa said nothing. She just poured herself a glass of red wine, sat across the table, and ate the rest of the soup in silence.

On the second week, you locked yourself in the guest bathroom and refused to come out for hours. Rosa didn’t knock. Didn’t coax. Didn’t bribe. She just stood outside the door and said:

“Va bene. Then you stay in there. You don’t come out until you want to act like a person and not a porcupine with lip gloss.” Silence. “You’re not the first lonely girl I’ve met, bella,” Rosa added. “But even the loneliest wolf learns not to bite the hand that feeds it.”

You kicked the door. “I’m not a wolf!”

“No?” Rosa said, voice amused now. “Then come out and prove it.”

It wasn’t immediate.

But over the weeks, things shifted.

Rosa never coddled you. She corrected your Italian, rolled her eyes when you whined, and once smacked a Vogue magazine out of your hand and told you to read something with a brain. She throw you an Italian old book about the cold war— you didn’t understand anything at that time but for the first time you wanted to try. She made dinner every night. She remembered that you hated the smell of coconut lotion, that you didn’t like too much parmesan in your pasta. She asked about your day without making it sound like a checklist.

And one evening, when your mother called to cancel another return flight, you didn’t scream or cry. You just handed the phone to Rosa, sat down at the table, and ate your ravioli without speaking.

After the call, Rosa sat next to you, poured you both a tiny glass of wine. Your first one, even if you were twelve, and said, “You don’t need them to grow up strong.”

You looked at her. “Then why do I still want them to be here?”

Rosa sighed. “Because you are not a rock. You are a little girl. And little girls deserve to be held.”

Then she placed a hand on your head, softly, like she was checking your for fever and left it there a long time. And it made you a feel little more light to know someone was there, home with you. Hearing your nonsense and your feelings. And giving you your first taste of a good wine.

Present.

You blinked.

The memory lingered in your chest like a breath you forgot to exhale. You were still in the car, the city moving past the tinted windows, the sky turning the color of pewter. You didn’t know why you’d remembered Rosa just then. Maybe it was your mother’s voice still echoing in your head. Maybe it was the look on that little girl’s face you’d seen crossing the street, the one gripping her father’s hand like she didn’t want to let go… Or maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t called Rosa in over a week.

You pulled out your phone. Scrolled to ‘Nonna’ in your contacts. Paused. Then typed:

“Ti penso sempre. Sto venendo a trovarti questa settimana.” I’m always thinking of you. I’m coming to visit this week.

You hit send. And for the first time all day, you felt something close to peace.

———

Jungkook slammed his hips against yours hard. Your head fell back over his shoulder as you tried not to make louder sounds. He was fucking you good. Like he had learned how to better than before now that he knew your body better. There were little things you love lately about putting yourself out there in your single life, the first one being getting— very well—fucked.

Jungkook had you pressed against him, with your back against his torso. Fucking you against his mattress. His right hand was pressed against your neck so that you wouldn’t get far away from him every time he slapped his hips hard against yours. His right hand was pressed in your lower abdomen to hold you in place. He kissed and bit your neck delicately— delicately that was at odds with the way he slammed his hips against you. Your right hand was gripping his hair and the other was held tightly against the bed so you could have some control not to fall passed out in bed.

He was fucking you so good it almost made you cry.

“You feel so good, pretty.” he groaned against your ear. “Are you close?.”

You were only able to nod. Jungkook was becoming greater at making you feel good. Every damn time. And he knew it.

He slipped out of you. Man-handling you around to turn around. Your back hit the bed and he was quickly to grabbed your right thigh and put it around his hip before slipping inside you again. This time faster.

“Fuck me— faster.”

“Fuck, fuck. You’re so hot, baby.”

It didn’t take you too long to finish. And neither it did for him.

You leaned against the bed trying to come back to your senses, same as Jungkook who stayed on top you for a couple more seconds to come down from his high. It was good being like this. Quiet and close. It was after some minutes more that he kissed your naked shoulder softly before pushing himself to his drawer to take some tissues and start cleaning you both. It had become kind of a routine for him to be the first one to come to his senses and start the aftercare.

Your were both still catching your breath when you flung one leg off the bed like you were dramatically escaping a scene of seduction. Jungkook laughed quietly from where he lay, one arm behind his head, entirely too satisfied with himself.

“You always leave like you just robbed me,” he murmured.

You didn’t even look back as your reached for his shirt.

“That’s because I did,” you said, moving your hair outside the fabric. “You had something I wanted. I took it. I’m leaving victorious.”

“Criminal mastermind,” he said, smiling.

“Don’t compliment me,” you called over your shoulder. “It’ll go to my head.”

You padded barefoot out of the bedroom and down the hall, headed vaguely in the direction of the kitchen—or the bathroom—or anywhere that would lead to caffeine and/or soap. But then it happened. A crack, a pop, and a sound so visceral it could only come from one thing. A LEGO. Right beneath the arch of your left foot.

You let out a shriek that could’ve shattered glass. “FUCKING FUCK, FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?”

A worried voice came from the bedroom “Whoa—what?! What happened?!”

You limped forward like you’d been shot, one foot dangling mid-air like it had touched lava. “I stepped on a fucking landmine is what happened!”

Jungkook appeared around the corner in nothing but boxers, already looking half-concerned and half-amused. “Wait—did you just step on…?”

You held up the offending piece of plastic with the drama of a courtroom prosecutor. “This. This is what your spawn has left to assassinate me.”

Jungkook burst out laughing. “A Lego? You screamed like someone got murdered.”

“Because I was,” you snapped. “By a three-centimeter block of doom.”

He stepped closer, still laughing, and grabbed your waist before you could hobble any further. “Let me see.”

“I don’t need medical attention—”

“I’m not medically trained, I’m just trying not to let you die in my hallway.” You glared at him as he crouched slightly, inspecting your foot with exaggerated seriousness. “Okay,” he said gravely. “I think the Lego punctured your dignity.”

“Ha-ha,” you muttered, balancing dramatically against his shoulder. “Remind me again why people choose to breed.”

Jungkook looked up at you, biting back another smile. “We’re really doing this?”

“I’m just saying,” you continued, still wounded. “I never understood the appeal of tiny humans whose hobbies include screaming, spilling, and laying traps like this.”

“She probably dropped it by accident.”

“Oh, yeah?” you said, eyes narrowing. “You think it was a coincidence that the one Lego left in this fortress of neat-freak masculinity just happened to be where my foot landed?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think my seven-year-old daughter set a booby trap to take you out?”

“Absolutely,” you nodded. “She can sense I’m not one of them.”

“One of what?”

You gestured vaguely, still balancing. “The… happy kid people. You know. The ones who like park picnics and Baby Shark and post photos like ‘My whole life’ with a sticky toddler eating sand.”

Jungkook full-on laughed then, and it vibrated through his chest as he pulled you in slightly. “You’re insane,” he said, grinning.

“I’m in pain,” you corrected. “Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually.”

Still smiling, he gently set you foot down and looked up at you. “Come on. You survived it. You can have coffee. On me.”

“I want coffee and an apology from your child.”

“She’s at school,” he said, already turning toward the kitchen. “But I’ll write one on her behalf and draw a sad dinosaur. Will that help?”

“It might,” you muttered, limping dramatically after him. “But only if it cries.”

You were, once again, reminded why you didn’t like kids.

———

Jeon Jungkook’s mornings didn’t start with silence or introspective stillness. They started with cereal. More specifically, the sound of cereal being aggressively poured into a ceramic bowl by a seven-year-old who hadn’t quite figured out ratios.

From the bathroom, toothbrush in mouth, he called out, “Sunni, are you using the entire box again?”

“No!” came her innocent voice.

He stepped into the kitchen. The entire box was in the bowl. He just grinned, grabbed a second bowl, and redistributed the mountain of chocolatey puffed sugar without a word. It was a routine. Mess, correction, minimal drama. He liked those kind days, the ones where everything was the same and at the same time it wasn’t— you never knew what you could get from a seven-year-old child.

Sunni sat on the barstool with her hair half-combed and her socks mismatched. “Is it library day or music day?” she asked mid-bite.

“Music,” Jungkook said, sliding a thermos of coffee into his bag. “And don’t forget your recorder this time or Ms. Jennings is going to give me that look again.”

“She always looks at you like that.”

“Because she’s terrified I’ll volunteer to perform with you.”

The little girl snorted, and he ruffled her hair.

After school drop-off and a quick drive through traffic with his windows cracked and Springsteen on low, Jungkook walked into his tattoo shop just as the first artist of the day was setting up her station. The shop — “My Time” — sat on the corner of a leafy street just far enough outside the city’s most tourist-clogged parts to feel like a hidden gem. The windows were full of plants. The walls were covered in framed art, flash designs, vintage photographs. It was clean, calm, and smelled faintly of eucalyptus and ink.

It had taken him seven years to build it. Five artists, one piercer, and a rotating assistant manager who kept the books and occasionally brought him pastries he didn’t ask for but always ate.

“Morning, boss,” called Mia from her chair. Her hair was pink today.

“Morning,” he said, setting down his sketchbook and rolling up his sleeves. “Client at ten?”

“She’s early. Wants a floral rib piece. Showed me a Pinterest board the length of the Constitution.”

Jungkook groaned. “God bless Pinterest.”

He headed to his station, thumbed through his design folder, and sipped the coffee he didn’t really need.

The day passed in a quiet, rhythmic loop. Appointments, sketches, cleaning, music in the background, and the satisfying silence of people letting you create something permanent on their skin. He liked it. The small talk. The intimacy. The trust. Between clients, he leaned over the front counter where his best friend and shop partner, Park Jimin, was sketching in a notebook, AirPods in. Jungkook tapped his pen on the paper. The older looked up.

“You done ruining another collarbone or did your floral girl flinch again?” He pulled one earbud out.

Jungkook leaned on the counter. “No flinching. She was great. Talked about her dead grandmother for two hours and then tipped like a saint.”

“Damn. And here I thought tattooing grieving millennials would be the death of you.”

“Nah,” he said, stretching his shoulder. “They cry, I hand them a juice box, and we both survive.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “So… speaking of surviving. How’s your hot younger non-girlfriend?”

Jungkook snorted. “You mean Y/n?”

“Oh, we’re on a first-name basis now? Cute.”

The younger rolled his eyes. “It’s not a thing. We’re just— hooking up. Casually. Like grown-ups.”

“Right,” his friend said, leaning back in his chair. “Totally casual. No emotional involvement. Just penis diplomacy and the occasional Lego-related injury.”

Jungkook shook his head, laughing. “She stepped on one fucking Lego and acted like she got sniped by a Navy SEAL.”

“That’s because she’s a childless woman, man,” Jimin said, mock-serious. “They don’t understand the sacrifices we make daily. We’re warriors. Foot soldiers in the plastic toy trenches.”

He smirked. “You don’t even have kids.”

“I babysit my niece every two weeks. I’ve stepped on a Polly Pocket heel. I know pain. I actually empathize with that poor girl. You should clean your place better.”

Jungkook chuckled, flipping to a fresh page in his sketchbook. “Well, she’s hilarious. Kind of ridiculous. But smart as hell.”

“Yeah? She got a job or is she just hot and angry?”

“I think she manage some Italian restaurant. She’s very vague but brags a lot about it.”

The older blinked. “Damn. You’re dating a pasta tycoon?”

“I’m sleeping with a pasta tycoon. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is,” Jimin said, nodding sagely. “Until she meets Sunni and runs for the hills.” Jungkook didn’t say anything for a moment. Jimin looked up. “She hasn’t met the little one yet, right?”

Jungkook shook his head. “Not even close.”

“Smart. Don’t introduce your kid to a woman who’s allergic to Play-Doh and feelings.”

Jungkook let out a breath, one of those little huffs that was half amusement, half… something else. “I like how easy it is,” he admitted. “I don’t have to explain anything. She doesn’t ask about the future. We text, we hook up, we joke around, and she leaves with her earrings in her purse like a criminal.”

Jimin narrowed his eyes. “But?”

Jungkook shrugged. “No ‘but.’ Just— haven’t had something uncomplicated in a while. And that’s good.”

“Unless you start liking it too much.”

The younger made a face. “Christ. Spare me the Dr. Phil speech.”

“I’m just saying,” his friend said, putting his sketchpad down. “Don’t let the hot sex and sarcastic banter distract you from the fact that dating with a kid is like driving with a trunk full of explosives. You crash, the whole car goes.”

Jungkook nodded slowly. “Noted.”

But he wasn’t worried. He liked where things were. He liked that you made him laugh. That you never tried to impress him or prove too deep. That you didn’t flinch at his age or his kid or his life or his life before you. He liked that you weren’t also one of those who were crazy to just be in a family or try to get him because he was divorced with a daughter. And yeah, you definitely weren’t in it for Sunni. Or family vibes. Or cozy domestic bullshit. But it worked. It worked better than anything had in a long time for him. And he liked it enough to keep it that way for the moment.

That evening, He picked up Sunni from her after-school theater club. She ran to him with her backpack bouncing and her ponytail crooked, and he crouched down just in time to catch her mid-jump.

“Dad! I was the narrator! And no one forgot their lines except Thomas but we pretended he was a ghost so it still made sense!”

“Genius,” Jungkook said. “Absolute star behavior.”

She wiggled out of his arms and reached into her backpack. “Also I drew a tiger wearing a leather jacket. But I ran out of orange so it’s actually a bear.”

“Perfect. We’ll hang it on the fridge next to disco dinosaur.”

“Disco dino is sacred,” she said seriously.

They walked to the car, Sunni chatting nonstop about her music teacher, the cafeteria cookies, and whether or not dogs dream in color. Jungkook listened. Nodded. Threw in a “hmm” and a “tell me more” at the right beats. He’d gotten good at that, letting her talk and giving her space to be. He had learned how to be present and how to be patient. He knew how to move around any part of life without being scared or playing. He was mature enough to know how to do things right.

Back home, she ate spaghetti with too much cheese while he cleaned up the kitchen and checked a few shop messages. After she’d fallen asleep in her bed, diagonally, surrounded by stuffed animals it was almost dramatic, he showered and finally collapsed onto the couch with his phone. One new message.

Y/n: You alive or did your daughter finally kill you with Legos?

He smirked. Typed back:

Jungkook: She spared me today. You free tomorrow night?

Three dots appeared. Then:

Y/n: Sure. Your place. But hide the toys this time. Or I’m charging you for physical third-party abuse

Jungkook leaned back, smiling at the ceiling. No strings. No pressure. Just good sex, good banter, and the occasional Lego-related injury.

Perfect. For now.

so first chapter here!! i was supposed to put it out tmrw but i got excited hehehehe

WHY AM I SO NERVOUS ABOUT POSTING THIS??? guys i wrote this long ago and i edit it this week so if you see any mistake,NO you didn’t. Also:; you guys put me in so much pressure cuz why the fuck so many people wanted to read this??? anyway tell me how it was and if you guys are liking it so far pls >_<

anddd don’t quote me with my italian cuz it’s gonna be a lot more in the future hohohoh i cooka da pizza

taglist:

@sanguchitodeternera @yneisstuff @smoljimjim @almatiarau @annpeachy @mar-lo-pap @taetaecatboy @rrosiitas @httpsmei @jeonnabi11 @gigi4evr @sabrinahiddig @tatzzz-25 @slythermania @yuyu0y11 @ultracnt @baekpop05 @tinyxrose @satisfied18 @kissyfacekoo @synamon @smut02 @alextgef @lindsayjoy444 @ottergirl @imagine-this-motherfucker @dream-lover200 @astralovesu @dragons-flare @jungkookswifeeeeeee @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @yuniesluv @kookooquette @lanyia @dearkayzel-blog @katie-tibo @strawberryacethingz @jalexad @llallaaa @eyesforjungkook @wandabillywrites @flowinj @strawberrysweetness @osakis-gf @bambijuicee @dollyunjinz

#bangtan x reader #bts x reader #bts one shot #bts fanfic #masterlist bts #reader x jeon jungkook #jk x reader #bts army #jeon jungkook fanfic #reader x jk #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #reader x jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook oneshot #jk one shot #golden jungkook #jungkook

870 notes · View notes