#use this to practice coloring or something idk man

[natalicss]

SEVENTEEN (세븐틴) 5th Album 'HAPPY BURSTDAY' LISTENING SESSION

SEVENTEEN X 14TH MEMBER FEM!READER

summary: SVT has released their fifth album, Happy Burstday. Today, they will be listening to the album from start to finish for the first time, and hearing each others songs.

warnings: not proofread. pretty closely follows the video & what happens in it. no romance. most things are up to interpretation or implied. lots of chaotic fluff. only one or two swear words. i haven’t written anything on here in months so i already forgot how to use it (how do we do the ombré title colors? asking for a friend). i will be calling reader y/n in this but if we want her to have a stage name that we use for the future, we can absolutely do that. it can be like woozi where 90% of the time she's called the stage name but on occasion they burst out the "y/nnie!". also this is VERY much a self-insert fic idc. also? i wrote it in third person?? usually with x reader i write second person BUT this is meant to be styled after the video sooo we'll say it was an artistic choice and defintiely not something i didn't even notice until 3k words in.

word count: 7.4K (WTF?)

nats notes: this is my first svt fic!! if we want more of this universe let me know! i love reading 14th member fics & so IM DOWN to write my own. we can even do hay those svt_(name) accounts do just…with y/n and keep it as vague as possible so yall can imagine yourselves or whatever in the spot cause…that’s fun idk man im just here for fun. no romantic interactions but i tried to have her interact with every member & what not so if we WANNA have her have a relationship or something with a member, we can figure that out teehee. im a minghao/jeonghan/wonwoo bias so there is lots of moments related to them i cant help it. i also have a little aesthetic board for her in the thunder mv so i might post like an “y/ns aesthetics every era” or some shit. enjoy!! if you don’t…don’t tell me

tag list: nobody atm cause i lost my old tag list anyway

nats notes part two: HERES THE SONG BTW!! it’s one of the ones by maggie lindemann & i was listening to it & watching the mv & for some reason my soul said “YES!” & it inspired this whole thing (i forgot to add that before i posted this im insane). OKAY ENJOY OR DONT IDK BYE

[VIDEO STARTS]

The studio is empty. Cozy, with warm lighting dimly illuminating the space, which is slightly-cluttered with various equipments from keyboards to mixers to instruments leaning against different walls. A gray couch took up the entire far corner, as well as a table with chairs and a vacant swivel chair at the main monitors. 

Woozi’s voice fills the room before he enters the frame. 

“Hello,” He says, quietly, calmly. Maybe even tried from weeks of practice, of schedules, of working on this album with everything he had. He’s carrying a large bag, already moving to put it in it’s usual spot.

[CUT: the producers and staff taking the bag and putting it behind them, as to not let it take up room on the couch. Lord knows they need all the space they can get.]

Woozi sits at his chair, a familiar spot he’s been in a million times before. He’s wearing dark clothes, a usual attire for him, his glasses and a cap backwards on his head. He’s facing the monitors, getting to work as if there weren’t cameras decorating the space that hadn’t been there before. He’s clicking away, finding his way through what most would find to be a complex computer musical maze rather easily.

The door opens, and a well-dressed Dokyeom comes through. “Wooza!” He called out, smiling as he made his way to a chair at the table in front of the couch. Woozi hums in reply, glancing between the computers and his phone. DK makes himself comfortable, despite the bundle of excitement and nerves bursting in his chest.

Soon enough, more members started to pile into the space. S.Coups wandered in comfortable attire and held a cup of coffee. Hoshi and Dino came in together. Jun and Minghao came in, Minghao happily greeted Hoshi on his way in. Seungkwan came next. 

Then, Joshua, Y/N, and Vernon wandered in together. She ducked into frame quietly, maybe tiredly as she sipped on her matcha like it’d resurrect her from her sleep-induced haze. She was wearing baggy jeans and a baggy pink zip-up hoodie over a white tank top.

“Hey,” She said slowly as she felt Hoshi reach and tug at her jeans, pulling her close for a side hug from his chair. She pushed her hair over her shoulder, patting Hoshi’s shoulder as he tried to reach for her drink. “Nope.” She pulled away, leaning into Minghao’s side as she glared playfully. She slowly pulled her sunglasses off her head as she took a spot on the couch next to Jun. Eventually Joshua sat on her other side, the group finally there minus three members.

“We just have Mingyu left,” Woozi said, now facing the group but still sitting in his chair.

Seungkwan nodded, “We’re waiting for Mingyu,” He confirmed. Unfortunately for them, the remaining two members; Jeonghan and Wonwoo, who were off doing their military service. The first two to go, soon to be followed by more of them in the coming months. Though the group was full of people and personalities, the room still felt like it was missing some key people with the two of them absent.

[CUT: Y/N complaining about MINGYU taking too long. “He’s probably out there making some poor intern take photos for his instagram!’]

When Mingyu walks in, the group is smiling at him. He’s dressed up more than any of them are. Most of them were in jeans and sweatshirts; maybe slacks and a nicer shirt, but Mingyu came in in black pants, black turtleneck, and black sunglasses.

“You look cool today.” Joshua commented.

“Look like a Matrix character.” Y/n added, side-eyeing Seungcheol as he started playing with her matcha she’d placed on the table.

Dino crosses his hands over his knees. “That means we’re all here now!” He chimes, an attempt to start the video more properly. DK and Joshua confirm his words. “Everyone’s here. So let’s hear our songs one by one.” He says, like he came up with the idea himself. 

“We don’t need to listen to the group songs.” Woozi says from his chair.

“But we should…or not?” Seungkwan starts, before scrunching his face as he thinks out loud. “We’ve heard them a lot.”

“THUNDER, HBD,” Woozi counts off.

Y/n pipes up from her spot between Jun and Joshua, “We’ve practiced THUNDER a lot,” She points out.

“We already know all the group songs.” Vernon adds from the opposite end of the couch.

“We’ve listened to those three songs so many times already.” Woozi says. The group all is looking at each other, nodding or murmuring in agreement. 

Hoshi, sitting in a chair at the table next to DK, leaned back as he said, “Let’s listen to the solo songs!” He says, voicing the group's final decision.

To his right, DK lifts his arm. “We’re going by the order of the track list-”

“Go by the track list!” Jun suggests.

Woozi nods from his spot. “We have the track list order. We can follow that, or if anyone wants,” 

Quickly, voices from different spots of the table and the couch start to chorus to follow the track list. Hoshi lifts his head from his chair, “How was the track list set up?” He asks, looking around the room before looking back at Woozi at the front.

Woozi turned to face the monitors, pulling up the album as he spoke. “The album…It’s just that- It was put together based on vibes.” He explains. Members hum and nod in understanding, acknowledgement, and curiosity. The excitement and nerves all finally settled in more. None of them, other than Woozi, had heard every solo song. Even Y/n hadn’t heard many herself. And hardly anyone had heard hers at all. “Then, first up is Myungho-ya.”

Minghao, who’d been sitting in his spit smiling nervously because he knew his was first from looking at Woozi’s screen, only said “Yes,” As the members started to clap.

As Woozi starts to test the volume with THUNDER, Mingyu is moving to the other side of the room by S.Scoups, and Y/n ahs shifted to the spot on the couch between Dino and Vernon, forgetting all about her matcha which was still being poked at by S.Coups.

“I’m feeling nervous.” Minghao says as he stands up, pulling up his jeans.

“Who’s getting up? Why?”

[CAMERA zooms in on Y/N, who is watching THE 8 with a mixture of amusement and gentle concern]

“Let’s cut to the chase and go with Minghao,” Woozi chimes. “We’ll share the song title first and share our thoughts after listening to it.” He explains to the twelve people behind him. “Then, that person can talk about the thought process behind the song!”

The tracklist contained 17 songs total, but 14 of them were their solos. After HBD, THUNDER, and Bad Influence, it was Skyfall (THE 8), Fortunate Change (JOSHUA), 99.9% (WONWOO), Raindrops (SEUNGKWAN), Damage (HOSHI), one of the ones (Y/N), Shake It Off (MINGYU), Happy Virus (DK), Shining Star (VERNON), Gemini (JUN), Trigger (DINO), Coincidence (JEONGHAN), and finally Jungle (S.COUPS).

As Skyfall started, Y/n closed her eyes and hugged her knees to her chest to listen to the music without the distractions in the room. She tapped her fingers against her jeans to the beat, nodding along. His style was so his own, and the rest of the members would follow that trend in their own ways. 

When the beat dropped, she opened her eyes in surprise as the group mumbled in appreciation. Many of them now moving their heads, tapping body parts, etcetera. Y/n smiled happily as she watched Minghao move at the front of the room, trying to hop out of his nerves. 

“It’s so good,” She aid quietly, smiling brightly as she stood up to grab her drink. Seungkwan reached for it, handing it in her direction. The two of them tapped their drinks together and drank their respective regular orders. They remained standing, enjoying the vibe of the song, something completely new for a Seventeen album but something still so completely Minghao.

And the room chorused in claps as the song faded. “Of all of yoru solo songs so far this one’s my favorite.” Seungkwan said from his spot. Meanwhile, Y/n had wiggled her way from behind the table and was now next to Minghao, quickly wrapping an arm around him in excitement and appreciation. Vernon now glanced at her matcha, which she practically shoved into his hands. He slowly lifted it, taking a sip as he watched.

“It’s really so good.” Y/n affirmed. “It makes you wanna move to the beat without even thinking about it.” Minghao smiles shyly, adjusting his hood and letting the girl pull away from him. She listened attentively as he explained the music. How he’d gotten into EDM, started taking DJ lessons, exploring this new sound and finding his style of music, and more.

When they got to Fortunate Change, Y/n had been pulled to sit down between Scoups and Minghao. Vernon handed her back her drink. 

[CUT: Y/N smacking VERNON’s leg for drinking half of her matcha. MINGYU sighs and starts ordering her a new one despite having just gotten the members coffees]

“Woozi said this song would suit me and sent me the demo with him and Y/n singing it.” Joshua explained, gesturing to the girl in the oversized pink-hoodie. “I really loved what they came up with so I immediately said I’d take it.”

Woozi hummed, turning his head towards the group. “He did a great job with the singing.” He commented.

And when Joshua’s solo song played, Y/n having heard it before, she mouthed the words and moved herself side to side, She kicked off her sneakers, pulling her legs onto the couch and sitting cross-legged with her hands in her lap. 

As the pre-chorus hit, she dramatically leaned into Seungcheol, hand to her mouth like a microphone as she quietly sang along. “Then you, came and, stood by me baby,” Seungcheol looked up, laughing in confusion as she continued to sing along. She poked at his face as she pulled his phone away. “I’m in love! I’m in love! I’m in love!” Joshua smiled at her as she sang along, her excited presence bringing a sense of calmness.

“The reason I gave this song to Joshua is because our theme for these solo songs was to express Me.” Woozi says after the song ends. “When I think about Joshua I see a person with so much love and affection. He’s someone who really cares about synergy between people. So, for Joshua to be the person he is now by meeting Seventeen members and Carat…Those meetings have brought fortunate changes into his life. That’s what I thought of when I made this song with Y/n.” The girl nodded, leaning into Minghao slightly as Seungcheol stood up. “And we thought this fit Joshua perfectly.”

Eventually, as they talked, Y/n added, “Joshua hasn’t had the chance to do a lot of solo music, therefore he hasn’t had many chances to try different styles. When Woozi and I wrote this I just knew it would be perfect for him. I’m glad Woozi suggested it.”

“You don’t write many songs,” Seungkwan said, brows furrowing in thought. 

Y/n only shook her head. “No, not many. Only a few.”

“I’m very grateful to Y/n and Woozi,” Joshua said, smiling as he clasped his hands together. Y/n blushed and squealed, leaning over Seungcheol and squeezing Joshua’s hand.

When Wonwoo’s solo, 99.9% played, Y/n’s immediately sitting up straight, smiling wide, and nodding along to the beat as she listens to the lyrics. The tone was a lot different than what most fans would expect from Wonwoo, but that made her love it more. She clapped along with Minghao, the two of them dancing in their spots. A faint rosy color dusted over her cheeks as she listened to the chorus.

And when the song ended, the group was all nodding or tapping along once again, finding a lot of joy from the song and Wonwoo’s voice. “For Wonwoo, when I thought about a side of him that truly reflects who he is but hasn’t shown Carat yet, we know it!” Members started nodding and “We know how much of a cutie he is.”

[CUT: a zoom in of SEUNGKWAN looking directly at Y/N when he says that, still seen from overhead camera]

“And I wanted Carat to know that, too. That’s why I sent Wonwoo this song when Wonwoo said he wanted to work with me. I told him I wanted him to sing a song like this instead of something too serious. I just…wanted him to be exactly who we know him to be. And Wonwoo really liked it, too.”

Y/n nodded along as he spoke, staying remarkably quiet. A feat she didn’t accomplish often. She played with her sweatshirt sleeve, tilting her head onto Minghao’s shoulder as she listened with a soft expression on her face. It wasn’t said out loud, but the members knew she wished Wonwoo and Jeonghan were here to hear all of their songs together.

Seungkwan's song was next. Titled Raindrops, the song was a ballad of sorts that most of them hadn’t heard. Before the song played, Y/n rushed over to sit next to him on the floor, reaching for his nervous hands. It didn’t take much for her to notice his nerves over doing well, and people liking his music. So, despite usually being a louder member, she quietly took a spot next to him for support, tapping her finger on his knee as she listened to the song for the first time. 

She rocked along to it, registering the words and smiling up at him every now and again. The song was powerful, both in lyrics and in production. By the time it was ending, the others clapped excitedly as he quietly and humbly accepted the compliments. 

He explained how he wanted to write a rock ballad, talked about the recording and how different the production was in comparison to their usual work. The music is remarkably different but somehow still undeniably Seungkwan.

“Next up is Hoshi!”

Seungkwan smiled as he helped Y/n stand up, She moved back to her spot on the couch, whispering to him again that he did very well. She plops into the space between Seungcheol and Minghao, S.Coups instantly adjusting to make more room. His arm is sprawled over her shoulders, hanging loosely like it belonged there.

“It feels like we’re peeking into each other's journals.” Hoshi says.

“Everyone has a distinct color!” Minghao added.

Woozi continues introducing the eighth track. “The next song is called Damage.”

As soon as the song starts, the group knows this is exactly what Hoshi’s music sounds like. Y/n gasps in realization Timbaland produced it. Minghao leans closer into Seungcheol and Y/n, the three of them quietly talking about the song and the style and smiling wide. Y/n starts wiggling in her seat, snapping her fingers and moving along. At some point, her and DK start doing their mini choreo before Hoshi joins in.

When the song ends, Hoshi speaks first, “The story behind this song is, for LOVE, MONEY, FAME, Timbo did one of the remixes. So, I asked if I could with with Timbo and they said I could!” Hoshi says. Y/n sighs in slightly envy. “I got the track first. And I liked it as soon as I heard it.” 

Vernon, still sitting on the couch behind Hoshi, speaks up. “So, we have both Timbaland and Pharrell Williams on this album?” He asks.

The group choruses in quiet amazement at that. All of them amazed me in various ways.

“Next is Y/n’s song.” Woozi turns towards the computer. “One of the ones.”

DK sits up, looking towards the girl. “One of the ones!” He repeats easily.

All the excitement in her body was suddenly gone. Y/n’s eyes were wide in realization that her song was now about to play from these state-of-the-art speakers and everyone was going to hear it for the first time. She sinks into the couch, pulling her pink hood over her head and pulling the strings tight. 

“She’s nervous!” Seungkwan called out, pointing accusingly.

“I understand how you people feel now!” She yelps from behind the hood. The members are laughing.

Hoshi looks around curiously. “Has anyone heard it yet?”

“Only me and Vernon,” Woozi answers.

The members hum and nod, some surprised other members hadn’t heard it. Others completely expected her to keep it on the low. She pulled her hood loose and sat up, sighing as she put her feet on the floor, “Okay, I’m ready. Kinda.”

“One of the ones.” Woozi said before clicking play.

Immediately, Y/n’s voice filled the room with a quiet beat and a breath in the background.

“You could be the one or just one of the ones, I might hit it and run, my baby

You could be the one or just one of the ones, And my body's a gun with no safety”

Mingyu has his arms crossed over his chest as he’s nodding along. Seungkwan hums as the beat changes slightly for the first verse. “Oh! I like it!” He says loudly.

Please, hold me but don't get attached; Too close is a knife in the back

I'll give you a kiss, is it love or a fix? I don't know, what's the fun in that?

“The vocals!” DK points to his ears, liking the effects under the vocals.

Not trying to get in your head; These sheets are my kinda thread

Little drunk, don't believe what I said; When I said all the shit that I might regret

“Oh!” Dino sits up, looking at Y/n with wide eyes. “It’s good!”

When the second chorus started to repeat itself with the extreme beat drop, the group had started doing their body movements. Seungcheol was sitting next to her, nodding along as he looked at her with something that could only be described as pride. Minghao was smiling, finding the sound to be unexpected from her but something new and creative.

Y/n leaned over, looking at Vernon who gave her a thumbs up just before the second verse.

Oops, I made a mess, now you feel the side effects

Drive by then I left, now I'm moving to the next

Members sat up straight, about to open their mouths when both Woozi and Vernon held up their fingers to silence them. 

Snap, snap, bitch, better get your Nikon

Gonna wish you took a pic when I'm gone 

“CENSORED!?” Hoshi gasped at the part that had been bleeped for the streaming version.

“OH!” Seungkwan gasped as he realized what the lyrics were.

Joshua laughed, clapping his hands as he moved along to the beat.

[CAMERA rotates around the room from DINO moving in his chair to HOSHI smirking as he nodded along]

“Oh-KAY!” DK shouted, sitting up as he started fully dancing in his seat. Minghao stood up, moving around the small space between the chairs and the couch much like he did during his own song, This time however, he was more excited than nervous as he looked back at Y/n. She lipsynced along, tapping her hand on Seungcheol’s leg along to the final chorus.

And when the song finally ended, there wasn’t a moment of silence as the group had bursted into claps again. Minghao giggles as he leans down to the girl again, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and shaking her excitedly.

“That was so good!” Seungkwan gasped, shocked by the style Y/n had chosen. 

Mingyu sat up in his spot. “Sexy song!” He said in English, the others laughing or agreeing with him. 

Joshua speaks up, looking directly at the girl member. “I thought your solo would sound a lot different than that,” He says, eyes wide. “It’s so good! But unexpected!” Truthfully, Joshua had anticipated her song to sound more like his, considering she had written it with Woozi.

Y/n sat on the edge of her seat, squirming nervously as everyone looked at her to explain the story behind the song. “I wrote this song with Vernon,” She says, gesturing to the member a foot or so away, “I wanted to write something different than what I’m used to singing, and I really wanted to dive into the alternative pop genre as it’s always been a favorite of mine.” 

Jun nods in understanding. “You’ve always liked that style,” He comments, remembering even as far back as their trainee days the music she’d listen to during breaks at practice or getting ready in the mornings.

“Woozi told me that the theme of the album was ourselves, and trying to represent us in songs, I wanted to be vulnerable while still, um, cool,” She starts talking with her hands, keeping eye contact mostly with Hoshi across the room, Woozi and Vernon who were familiar with the story, or Seungkwan, her emotional support best friend. “But I struggle with vulnerability with people, even when I want to be. So the song is actually about that. The complicated feeling of wanting to love someone but being scared to get too close to them.” 

“Push and pull,” Woozi adds in English, remembering how she explained it the times she came in to work on producing it with him. 

Y/n, a bundle of baby pink, blushes and nods. “Yeah. I think it’s something honest and true for me. Without my, um, my members and Carat, I think I’d have a much harder time finding connections with people. I still do, but you guys are different,” She says. She scrunches her face as the boys around her start to squeal or aw at her. Seungcheol coos, laughing loudly as he hugs her tightly, ruffling his hands through her hair as her hood falls off. “So I had Vernon write it with me, and then I brought it to Woozi to help with the parts I wasn’t sure about-”

“I barely did anything,” Woozi shrugged, but she waved him off.

“I think the style is very Y/n!” DK comments, spinning in his chair slightly.

Hoshi lifts his head. “It’s not a sound you’d initially think of but when you hear it, it makes sense.” He reasons. 

Vernon, who’d been silent thus far during her solo discussion, speaks up. “Yeah. She was a little scared people would think she wouldn’t fit, but she really does!” He says, eyes wide as he looks at her. 

“She did really well.” Woozi is facing his computer again, preparing the next song.

“Thank you Vernon-ah and Wooz-ah,” She says softly, sinking into her seat as she smiles awkwardly. Ten years of being an idol and she still struggled taking compliments.

Mingyu’s song was next, titled Shake It Off.

[CUT: Y/N asking “Like Taylor Swift?” and earning a playful smack to her leg from DK]

As soon as the song started, Seungcheol put his phone down and he, Y/n, and Minghao adjusted their postures to move to the heavy beat. Y/n giggled as Seungkwan moved his arms to the music. She reached for her drink on the table, moving her hips and bouncing in her spot. 

She pulled Minghao up to move to the music, though he mostly stayed in his spot while she actually swayed around like she would if she was out at a club. She turned her back to the cameras, smiling at Joshua and Seungcheol who looked at her with wide eyes. “It’s so fun!” She chirped excitedly, moving around before facing the cameras again. 

[CUT: JOSHUA and SEUNGCHEOL sharing looks and laughing at how excited she was]

And when Seungkwan jumped up to dance too, Minghao was very surprised. He wandered over to talk to him while Y/n stayed in her spot. When the song ends, she moves to sit by Jun and Joshua again, oblivious to Seungcheol’s confused face that she moved spots. 

“I had a hard time getting used to it at first,” Mingyu recalls the recording experience, “I’d ask Bumzu doesn’t it have to go up here and do this here and stuff?” 

“I think it’s so cool.” DK compliments.

“But for this kind of genre, you keep pushing till the end,” Mingyu explains.

Jun leans forward, “It’s good to keep it simple!” He says. Everyone nods in agreement, a chaotic chorus of compliments towards him and the track.

Dino, sitting in a chair in front of Jun and Y/n, looks up. “If you take Mingyu’s image and turn it into music, this is what you’ll get.”

When DK’s song came on next, Y/n beamed at the title being Happy Virus. A song bright, filled with sunshine, and so incredibly Dokyeom. While DK sat in his chair nervously, the members moved to the song with smiles on their faces and gave quiet cheers of encouragement. Y/n was dancing in her spit, taking Jun’s hands and moving him to the music and giggling. She’d then turn to Joshua, leaning onto him and tapping on his arm to the beat while he tapped his hand on her knee. The song was so vastly different from Mingyu’s, a complete shift in tone, but somehow that made her love it more. 

Everyone’s songs were standing out in their own ways, with their own styles, their own stories, their own vocals. All of them are proud of not only themselves but each other.

“I feel so shy sitting here!” DK says as he laughed nervously.

“It’s so Dokyeom!” Minghao said, sunglasses hanging off his ears under his chin now.

Everyone agreed. “If DK was a song, he would be this.” Woozi explains, “Like how you make pottery!”

Dino gestures to his head, “Hearing this song, all I could think of was DK’s smile,” He says as they start giggling and continue to talk about the bright energy of the song.

“If you look at the lyrics, instead of just going be happy or anything like that, what I was originally going for was…” DK talks with his hands, members looking at him with curiosity and understanding. “This album is our tenth anniversary album. So, I wanted to reflect on the past ten years because so many happy things have happened and there were some tough times as well. I wanted to reflect that in the lyrics, but it was so hard to put all of that into one song.” Members hummed in thought. “So, I sent Woozi a lot of long texts-”

“He sent me a lot of long letters.”

“I talked about what I wanted and asked if it would be possible. And this is the song he sent me.” 

[CAMERA on DK spins to WOOZI]

“After reading everything he wrote, I put what I felt into a song and sent him that.” 

“He sent me the title Happy Virus. It’s something I said in our early debut days. And that kind of bright positivity is what I want to keep sharing with Carat. Never wanting to lose that even when things get tough. Woozi liked that message, and hoped for me to keep on showing that, and I wanted to share it with Carat as well. You could say this song has all of that in it”

“I wanted to make a song thats bright but also makes you emotional.” Woozi told the others. Members nodded, knowing that Woozi had the capabilities to do so and he had. “He has that brightness that makes you emotional. I tried to make that into a song.”

Minghao speaks up from beside DK, where he’d been hugging him throughout the listening session. “I think the song came out even better because it was Woozi.” Members start talking more about the song, Y/n nodding and agreeing with them.

[CUT: MINGYU getting up and sticking his head out the door to grab Y/n’s new matcha after VERNON drank most of her first one. This time, HOSHI takes it first and sips from it before handing it to THE 8 to hand to Y/N]

The twelfth song was Destiny, Woozi’s solo which was written by Bumzu.The members were quiet as they listened. The song and its meaning quickly dawned on Y/n as she realized it was about parents and things like that. She played with her sleeves as emotions swelled in her chest

I didn't believe in fate, because I thought it would only hurt

In case it was falsе hope, I thought it would hurt

Every day I laugh it off, I guess I'm still in pain

Y/n had quietly crawled behind Joshua on the couch to sit between him and Seungcheol, leaning into the oldest member and holding onto his arm like a child. Seungcheol accepted it silently, unclasping his hands to let her slip one of hers between them. He clasped his hands over hers, her free hand still wrapped around his arm while she leaned her head on his shoulder. Joshua looked over, placing a comforting hand on her back and giving her a comforting pat.

[CUT: WOOZI looking at Y/N for most of the song]

When the song ended, Y/n pulled away from Seungcheol with a thick sigh. He looked at her and she only smiled at him. She looked around as the members chorused in appreciation and clapped.

“I know it's rare, but I didn’t write this song. I got the song as a gift. Bumzu and Kitae gave it to me.” 

“It’s beautiful,” Y/n said softly.

“So, personally this song is very meaningful for me.” He says as he explains how he truly hadn’t written any of the lyrics nor touched the song at all. “For the first time since I debuted as a singer, there's just one main vocal track. There’s no chorus or anything.”

[CUT: S.COUPS walking out to go to the bathroom, Y/N sitting crossed legged in his spot and sipping on her matcha. JOSHUA’s hand is still on her back]

“No doubling?” DK asked, eyebrows raised.

“Nothing, just the main vocals. It’s a gift from the people who have made music with me the longest. So, it’s somehow moving for me, too.” He says. The members compliment the storytelling Bumzu and Kitae portrayed. “To call it a song written by people who have seen me a lot isn’t enough. I’ve shared so many emotions with them. They’ve watched over me.”

Y/n nods, “It’s like that when you make music,” She says. 

“Yes, and gave me this song after all we’ve been through.”

Vernon’s track was next after their three minute break. Which included more talks of Woozi’s track, members going to the bathrooms, and Y/n letting Vernon sip her matcha again while supervised. Joshua was now sitting in DK’s chair while DK sat on the couch between Minghao and Vernon. Seungcheol was cross legged on the corner of the couch while Y/n sat next to him with her hood up, lips wrapped around her straw while she nodded her head to the music.

His track was a little different than the music he’d made for himself in the past. Still rock, something he usually did, but with more electronic influence. The unique blend something new and, for the most part, unexplored with Seventeen, but the song definitely suited Vernon perfectly and made sense with his style.

“This song makes me think of the opening scene of a coming of age movie.” Y/n says as it ends, looking around. “Like the angsty punk teenager getting ready for school and this is the sound track.”

Members talked about the style, how it was something only Vernon could pull off. DK calls it alien rock. Joshua mentions how it reminds him of Samurai Jack which earns a gasp and nod from Y/n.

“This song was actually a song that my friend's band made and were going to sing themselves. But one day they reached out to me and asked if I wanted to sing it. And that was around the time we were working on our solo songs. So, I went with it.”

“Next is Jun!” 

Y/n gasps and nudges Jun with her foot. The song is titled Gemini, like his zodiac. The members all quietly listen in and nod along. Y/n is smiling and gasping and snapping along, looking over at Jun every now and again. She had always been one of the members that had been loud in supporting his solo music, and was familiar with his style.

“This may be my favorite song of yours now!” She says once it ends, “It’s really good!”

“You say that about every song!” DK says while laughing.

She whips her head around. “And I mean it every time!” She exasperates.

“I just picked the theme and since I couldn’t perfectly express everything in Korean, I kept thinking of why I went with the theme I did.” Jun explains, hugging a pillow to his chest. “That was when I was filming a series and I think I was influenced by my role.” Members hum and nod in understanding. “It’s like you have that side of you inside that you don’t accept at first and you go through the process of accepting it. If I think about it, it’s really similar to my character in the series. And I think that’s why I wrote it.” 

When Dino’s song played next, Trigger, Y/n instantly shot up in her seat and was snapping or clapping along. The song was completely Dino’s style, hip-hop, R&B with influence from the 2000’s. He was silent the entire time, only looking up from his alp a couple times. 

“I wanted to tell a story with it,” Dino explained after they gave their initial thoughts and compliments. “The vibe I had at the time was that I needed to work on my solo song but I just wanted to let go of everything. I wanted to express that in a song. I got the song, and I wanted it to be unfiltered and I just wanted to share my raw emotions.” 

“You’re pulling the trigger on yourself?” Hoshi asks.

Dino nods, “Yes, it’s like I’m playing a game of Russian Roulette with my reflection.” Y/n hummed in understanding, nodding. “That’s what I went for, but I don’t realize it’s me because I look so different. I keep telling him to stop but if I’d turn to the side just a little? I could put the gun down, but I’m not seeing that. It’s like I’m denying myself and seeing myself as someone else, and growing from that confusion about oneself.” He explains as the members nod, impressed by the depth and emotions. “There’s that, too, but it ends on a hopeful note.”

“I really really like that one!” Y/n says, beaming at Dino.

“You both wrote songs with very, like, deep stories but they’re very sexy,” DK says in thought. “Sexy duo.”

[CAMERA pans to DINO and Y/N high-fiving]

[CAPTIONED: SEXY DUO]

“Jeonghan’s song is great.” DK says as they prepare for the second to last song.

“This sign is called Coincidence.” Woozo says.

Minghao looks around, “We have both coincidence and connection,”

“There’s Destiny, too,” 

Y/n sinks into Seungcheol, who’s now leaning back on the couch. She looks over at his phone. “Did you text Jeonghan we’re listening to his song next?” She asks quietly.

“Yeah,” He says, holding it up to show his screen to the girl.

The song was a soft, gentle, emotional ballad. Something perfect for Jeonghan’s vocals that filled the room with warmth and ease. Y/n stayed tucked into Seungcheol, rocking herself to the melody while listening to the words.

I'm just saying it's all coincidence; I need to prepare my heart

But on that long day, in that long heart; It's not our fault

The chorus was a gentle swell of emotion. The room gently moving to it, looking down at their laps as they listened to the lyrics.

Just like the day we met by chance; We just left by chance

It's coincidence, coincidence, coincidence; This is the way I fool myself

Some members, like Dokyeom, gently mouthed the words from hearing the song before today. Even Y/n quietly sang along, shifting closer to Seungcheol like a child once again. A quiet source for comfort that was familiar and close to Jeonghan without him being here. 

“Did Woozi write it?” 

“Woozi and Y/n did,” Dokyeom answered.

“He did a great job singing it,” Joshua hummed, angling his chair so he wasn’t in the cameras' ways of viewing DK and Vernon.

“Seriously, he kind of, like, awakened.” 

Hoshi leaned onto the arm of his chair, scratching his ear as he looked towards the main producer in the room. “He recorded it before he left?” He asked, more-so to clarify for the viewers as Jeonghan had begun his military service back in September. 

“Yes, he did. It was done a while ago.” Woozi says. “It’s the story of a man who’s saying goodbye.” He explains, “When Y/n and I were doing a session, we thought about what could really represent who Jeonghan is. He can be very mischievous but he’s also very sentimental.” Y/n shifted forward in her seat, Minghao’s arm resting behind her while Seungcheol texted Jeonghan on his phone. “I imagined he’d be the kind of person who would part ways in a lighthearted way. Like he’s brushing it off.” 

His eyes made contact with Y/n, nodding at her to add on. She plays with her sleeves as she talks, “Like ‘How us meeting was just a coincidence, and us parting ways is also a coincidence,’ He has that attitude on the outside, but it comes from the idea that he wants the other person to be less hurt. He wants himself to be less hurt.” 

“That kind of thoughtfulness is at the base of it,” DK says, looking between the two writers in the room.

“I wanted that to be portrayed by the lyrics as we wrote them.” Woozi said as he rested his chin in his hand.

Seungkwan speaks from his spot at the piano, “How many songs did Y/nnie right?” He questions, looking at Woozi first before peering over at her.

“Just three!” She chirped, holding up her fingers to show. 

Woozi spun back to the monitors, “She wrote Fortunate Change, her song, and Coincidence,” He listed off as he began to pull up the final song.

“Y/n did a great job.” Hoshi says in awe, his mouth parted open in surprise.

“She’s very good!” Woozi says.

[CUT: Y/N blushing and hiding in THE 8’s side, getting teased by SEUNGKWAN for being, as he called her ‘too cute!’]

“S.Coups Jungle!”

“S.Coups!”

“Last up, it’s S.Coups’s Jungle,” 

Joshua looked over at the leader of their large, chaotic, beautifully messy group, “The title, Jungle, suits you so well,” He says with a smile.

Pretty much as soon as the song starts, Minghao, Y/n, and Seungkwan are on their feet. Heavy synth causing the entire room to bop their heads with more energy than before. A complete shift from Jeonghan’s gentle angelic ballad to a commanding and something wild and fun. 

“Why? Why?” Seungcheol chuckled nervously as Y/n pulled him up from his spot, diverting his attention from his phone.

“It’s your song!” She cheered, turning away from him to dance with Seungkwan a few feet away. The two of them moving their legs in slightly odd ways, moving their arms, and moving to the beat.

Even Mingyu ended up on his feet, moving himself to the music and getting closer to the monitor to read more details. Seungkwan and Y/n stood side by side and rolled their shoulders in sync with each other as a random choreography. They continued making up their own moves the entire song until the final beat. 

“The reason I chose this song after thinking about it long and hard is I felt like this song would best show who I am when I’m on stage.” 

Seungkwan spoke up, still next to Y/n now. “Did you work on it with Bumzu?”

“Yes, with Bumzu.”

Y/n nods, “I can imagine like, S.Coups from the Thunder music video performing this song,” She says with a giggle. Dino hums in agreement, looking up at her as she pats his shoulder.

“I can already see Ingyu go like,” Mingyu starts doing a move in his chair. Woozi joining in as they mumble the song.

Minghao speaks up, letting Y/n take back her seat next to him. “Mingyu and S.Coups have similar vibes.”

“But their colors are so different. Their completely different-”

“But they’re in the same vein,” Hoshi finished Dino’s sentence, the group agreeing quickly. “If you mix these two together it could become a Hip-Hop Team song.”

Seungcheol nods, “Exactly.”

“They could be connected!”

Y/n claps her hands together, matcha's drank and pink hood completely off her head. “What did you all think!?”

“That was fun!”

“Listening to all of them, seeing how we all do solo,”

“Wow, so much variety,” DK says. 

Seungkwan looks up from his hands. “Even we didn’t realize it.”

Minghao rests his chin on his fist. “I can tell that we’ve all grown so much.” He says, the members nodding and murmuring. “We’ve been a team for ten years and we weren’t able to really show who we are as individuals, but through this music, we’re able to show how we’ve each grown over the last ten years. You can really feel each person in the music.” 

“I feel like each song reflects the personality of that person.” Hoshi has his arms crossed behind his head as he talks, “You can see what we like and the stories we want to tell. It’s in the lyrics and our tones.”

“Since it’s such a meaningful album, I’m sure we all wanted to do well.” DK hums.

Y/n nods, “It’s our tenth anniversary album.” She says, the statement still feeling completely surreal.

“As the person who oversees our albums,” Woozi starts, adjusting his hoodie as he speaks. “Compared to our previous albums, I feel a lot more pride in this album, because I know it sounds funny and I know that it’s obvious for a singer with ten years of experience to pour love into an album, but being an idol for ten years it must’ve been easy to fall into certain mannerisms. But it felt like we were going back to our roots. Actually, it was more than that. It went beyond that. Seeing everyone care so much and keep working so hard to create even better music for this album as a member of this team, and as the one who oversaw this album, I knew that I’d feel so proud of the album we created as we were working on it.”

“I think Carat are really going to like this album,” DK says with a gentle smile. “I’m pretty certain about that.” The group chorused in agreement, as well as sharing their gratefulness and respect for Woozi for doing so much work for them the last ten years.

“I really owe it to you guys big time for this album.” He countered. “You each thought of your lyrics and music style. Some of you brought your own songs. I received a lot of help.” The group nodded and applauded each other for such a feat like the album. “I’m not just saying this. Each and every song is of such high quality.” 

Y/n adjusted the strings of her hoodie as Seungkwan spoke up. “Now! Let’s all vote for our favorite on the way out There’s a ballot box. First place buys steak for dinner.” DK and Y/n burst into their loud laughs, the group smiling and giggling. Jun seems shocked for a moment, believing it’s real until Joshua clarifies it’s a joke.

[CUT: Y/N saying to vote for S.COUPS and he glares at her]

And with that, the group chorus final congratulations and start grabbing their things. Y/n squeals as she stretches, beaming at Dino as they talk quietly about the tracks. The cameras cut to Woozi and Seungkwan's final words while she and Dino walk out of the room, arms linked.

[CUT: Y/n in the hallway running to catch up to VERNON and JOSHUA as they were leaving in the same car]

HAPPY BURSTDAY LISTENING SESSION

[VIDEO ENDS]

[wishfulsketching]

Another Re-Animator lineart/sketch thing. Made everything in like half an hour and then fought with Dan's hands for days.

I cannot be bothered to color this but you can if you feel like it. Just credit and link me so I can see it. Tho my linework is such a mess so good luck trying to figure out what the background is. (do not edit the lineart/signature. And DO NOT use AI. NO. AI. NO AI.)

(here's one without the little shade)

[moe-broey]

You would not believe how badly history is repeating itself.

[jacksabbotts]

. ᵒ .༄ FRANK x ROBINAVITCH!READER !  ࿔* ·˚ ༘ ┊͙ # 🩺 possible trigger warnings frank and abby are divorced bc i say so, mentions of an absentee mother, reader has a chronic illness, dont ask me why all my readers end up in the er ( i am a SLUT for the er visit trope especially with my pitt men lmao ), probably incorrect medical information ( while i work in healthcare this IS NOT my department so some things may be wrong ), metion of frank having an absentee father ( idk if this is canon )  ‧ 💉 ‧ ━━ WC 8.9k

main masterlist || more frank langdon ━━━ * ✷ ⊹ * ˚ ✷ dividers by @cafekitsune + @anitalenia

⤷ ✵ ✧ . · * . · .  RISK FACTOR ━━ ⋆ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ summary when a cardiac episode sends you back to the pitt, the last person you expect to see at your bedside is frank langdon—your father’s former golden boy, now tarnished and freshly rebuilt after rehab. but one brush of his hand, one kiss you never should’ve shared, and suddenly you’re standing between the man who saved your life, the man who raised you, and the secrets that could break you all.

you do not work at the pitt. in fact, you’ve made it a point not to work at the pitt, despite raised eyebrows, glowing recommendations, and thinly veiled nudges from faculty advisors who insist it would be good for your career.

it’s a legacy move, they say. a golden opportunity. but they don’t understand what that place has cost your father. or you.

you didn’t inherit his last name—at least, not publicly. you go by something shorter, cleaner. a first name and a clipped surname on all your ids. you didn’t want anyone to know.

at least not at first. you wanted to be taken seriously on your own. but people talk. professors connect dots. one attending caught sight of the robinavitch tattoo on your inner wrist—the subtle symbol you and your dad share, inked the day you got your med school acceptance. now, it’s no use pretending.

your father still calls you kid. always has. even now, when you’re correcting his latin terms over dinner, or teasing him about misdiagnosing fake patients in medical dramas. he says it with a kind of soft defeat, like he knows you’ve outgrown the name but can’t quite let it go. you let him. most days.

you’re brilliant, and everyone knows it. but you don’t lead with that. you let people underestimate you. you’re quiet, careful, observant. you don’t speak unless it matters—and when you do, people shut up. not out of fear. out of precision. you don’t waste breath.

your coffee is black, double-strength. your notes are handwritten and color-coded. you carry electrolyte packets in your coat and granola bars in your bag. you don’t party. you don’t flirt with classmates. you don’t give anyone the chance to think they’re ahead of you.

because you know what it’s like to fall behind.

you were fifteen the first time your heart betrayed you.

track practice. sprint drills. you hit the curve, then the ground. knees buckled. everything went dark. you remember the sirens more than anything else.

the er said dehydration. maybe a panic attack. but your father wasn’t having it. he pushed for more testing—holter monitor, echo, stress test. you spent the next month with wires taped to your chest and bruises blooming under hospital bracelets.

finally, you had a name for what was wrong with you. hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. a thickening of the heart muscle that makes it harder for blood to flow. rare. inherited. dangerous if not monitored carefully.

they told you it was manageable—but that you’d never be normal. you were pulled from sports. put on medication. monitored constantly. no caffeine. no stimulants. no high-impact stress. your dad bought a home defibrillator and a pulse ox monitor before your next appointment. you were barely allowed to carry your own backpack.

you remember resenting the diagnosis—but you hated the way your dad looked at you now. like you were already halfway dead. still, you adapted. you always do.

you take your meds. you avoid your triggers. you know what the dizziness means. you know what a bad rhythm feels like in your bones. you know the limits of your own body—at least most days.

some of your classmates know. most don’t. professors are told on a need-to-know basis. you have formal accommodations, but you almost never use them. you don’t want special treatment. you just want a shot at being a doctor without people calling it brave every time you show up.

since the diagnosis, your relationship with your father has become a lot more complicated.

you love him. that’s the easiest part. he raised you alone. he made your school lunches, signed your permission slips, taught you how to change a tire and recite acls protocols in the same breath.

when your mother left, he became everything.

but after your diagnosis? he became too much. too careful. too controlling. too afraid.

he started calling cardiologists by their first names. he memorized every new study on hcm. he argued with specialists about treatment plans like he was the specialist. you were just a teenager trying to live—and he was the man convinced you’d die if he looked away for more than five minutes.

even now, he texts to check your heart rate between classes. he has your mychart login saved. he has your medical alert tag copied in his wallet, just in case.

and maybe it’s sweet. maybe it’s love. maybe it’s everything a daughter could ask for.

but you can’t breathe like this. not when someone else is holding the oxygen.

so you moved out earlier than he wanted. picked a med school outside his comfort zone. you make your own appointments now. you manage your own refills. you don’t tell him when you feel a flutter in your chest unless it lasts more than five minutes.

you are not a child.

you’re not his patient.

you’re trying to be a doctor.

and you know—know—he’ll never fully accept that. but you’re doing it anyway. even if it kills you. even if it breaks his heart.

frank langdon is the kind of man you remember by how he sounds before you remember what he looks like.

soft-spoken, measured. a voice like gravel pressed through gauze—low, warm, steady. he talks the way good doctors do: calm under pressure, never wasting words. but underneath that calm, there’s something else. something harder to place. like everything he says is holding back something he doesn’t want anyone to see.

he’s thirty-something. early thirties, probably. not much older than some of your classmates, but something about him always felt heavier. more lived-in. like he’s seen more than he’s saying.

he’s not flashy. he doesn’t wear expensive watches or drive a fancy car. he wears scrubs like armor and exhaustion like perfume.

but when he smiles? it’s quiet. small. devastating.

frank langdon was, for a while, the golden boy of the pitt. a trauma senior resident with a reputation for being unshakeable in crisis and weirdly good with terrified kids.

he was married when you met him—barely, from what you gathered. you never saw a ring, but the nurses whispered about it when they thought you weren’t listening. the marriage was fraying long before you walked into the picture. that part had nothing to do with you.

you don’t know him. not really.

but you’ve seen him before—on the worst nights of your life.

he’s treated you maybe twice. three times, if you’re counting consults. the first time, you were eighteen. a cardiac episode triggered by dehydration and stress—textbook hcm flare.

you remember opening your eyes to his voice, low and calm and telling a nurse to keep your legs elevated. you remember the way he didn’t look afraid of you. didn’t treat you like you were breakable.

he was different from your father in that way. not better. just different. he didn’t hover. he didn’t panic. he just handled it. quiet hands. quiet voice. the kind of presence that made it easier to breathe.

you’d seen him a few more times after that. er visits spaced out between college and med school. nothing dramatic. he was always professional. always kind. he never lingered. but you remember every time.

you might have had little crush, honestly you couldn't help yourself but he was married then. you told yourself that mattered. it did.

but sometimes he’d ask how med school was going. or crack a tired joke that made you forget your heart was trying to kill you. and you’d remember that too.

you found out the way you find out everything in that hospital : from princess and perlah, your favorite nurses.

you’d come in during a med school break—mild flare, nothing new. frank wasn’t on that day. you were halfway through vitals when princess leaned over the desk and said, “girl, you hear about langdon?”

you blinked. “no? why?”

perlah chimed in without looking up from her keyboard. “caught stealing benzos.”

“can you believe it? frank. mr. er ken himself.”

“court-mandated rehab. and abby? done. served the papers while he was still drying out.”

you’d felt it in your throat. a strange, sinking weight. you hadn’t realized you cared. not like that. but still. something about hearing it secondhand—casual, gossipy, unkind—made you feel sick.

you wished it hadn't changed your perception of him.

you wish you could say it didn’t change anything—that you held the same level-headed compassion for him that you would for any patient struggling with substance use disorder. that you kept it clinical. clean.

but that would be a lie.

the truth is, it gutted something. not because you were shocked—no, it wasn’t that. it made sense, in a terrible, retroactive way. the exhaustion in his eyes. the slightly-too-steady hands. the rare, fleeting moments where his focus slipped just a fraction of a second too long.

it didn’t feel like discovering a stranger. it felt like confirming something you hadn’t wanted to see.

and worse? you’d looked up to him. not as a mentor, not even as a role model—but as a fixed point in a world that often made you feel like you were coming apart at the seams. he was calm when your heart raced. gentle when everyone else was urgent. he treated you like a person, not a risk. not a diagnosis. not robby robinavitch’s fragile little girl.

he made you feel normal.

so yes, it changed things.

it made you angry. at first, mostly at him.

because how dare he. how dare he use while treating patients. how dare he put himself in your trauma bay and act like he wasn’t unraveling.

but also, how dare he lose the version of himself that had made you feel safe. you didn’t realize how much it mattered until it was gone.

and then the anger turned inward. because you couldn’t stop wondering : how long had you been wrong about him? or worse: had you ever really known him at all?

and once upon a time, robby adored him also.

frank was like a second son. he mentored him through residency, backed him for fellowships, put his own name on the line to defend frank’s instincts more than once. they were close. too close, maybe. enough that you noticed the way your fathers whole posture would change when frank walked into the room.

robby believed in him. maybe more than he should have. so when frank got caught? it wrecked him. more so because he was the one who had to turn him in.

robby wasn’t just angry. he was betrayed. humiliated. he’d gone to bat for frank more times than he could count. put his reputation on the line. and frank had lied. stolen drugs. risked patients. undermined everything the pitt stood for.

he didn’t speak about it for weeks. not even to you. the silence said more than words ever could.

it shattered it. not all at once—but loud enough that the cracks were visible in every room you shared after.

you’d never seen your father that angry. not even after your diagnosis. not even when you fainted mid-lecture during undergrad and tried to walk yourself home instead of calling him.

when frank got caught? robby wasn’t just angry. he was changed.

he stopped sleeping. stopped smiling. he snapped at nurses. fought with attending staff. came home gritting his teeth so hard you could hear the bones in his jaw click. you tried to talk to him—once. you asked if he wanted to sit down. he looked at you like you were the one who betrayed him.

it felt like he was forgetting about you.

that was the worst part. for weeks—months—you didn’t exist. not in the way you were used to. you weren’t his daughter. you were just someone in the blast radius.

he poured all that rage into silence. into paperwork. into working extra shifts to avoid thinking about frank. and you started quietly putting up walls.

because how could you trust a man to protect you when he couldn’t even recognize the way his anger was tearing you apart?

you stopped calling as often. stopped answering every text. you lied about your heart rate, your episodes, your check-ups. you told yourself it was for your independence, but really it was because you couldn’t stand being in the same room with all that resentment even though none of it was really directed at you.

it wasn’t fair. to him. to you. or to frank.

but that’s what made it real.

for the first time in your life, you were afraid that the man who had saved you so many times might not see you anymore.

and for the first time ever? you didn’t want to be seen.

when frank came back—after rehab, after everything—robby didn’t say a word to him for almost three months. he refused to sign off on any of his shifts. refused to consult on shared cases. wouldn’t even say his name in front of you.

and when he did speak to him again?

it wasn’t for forgiveness.

it was a warning.

you were at your clinical rotations.

not at the pitt. never the pitt. you were assigned to a community outpatient clinic—basic triage, patient interviews, chart reviews. nothing dramatic. nothing dangerous. just steady, dull medicine.

but you hadn’t eaten. not properly. just a protein bar and coffee twelve hours earlier. you hadn’t slept—not since the midterm. not since the last night of practice osces.

you’d felt it earlier that morning, the hum. that hollow tremor in your chest that didn’t quite hurt, didn’t quite warn. you ignored it. like always.

because you’re used to the hum. you’ve lived with it longer than you’ve lived without it.

it wasn’t dramatic.

you were reviewing a chart. a man with uncontrolled diabetes, hba1c through the roof, chart flagged for noncompliance. you stood up to go ask your attending a question, and everything inside your body tilted.

not the room. not the chair. your heart.

you felt it stutter—just once—like a hiccup from deep inside your ribs. your knees buckled on instinct. but you didn’t fall. not fully.

you grabbed the desk. blinked. there was sweat on your upper lip. your ears rang. your left arm tingled—more pressure than pain. you could feel your heart spiraling upward, pounding in a way that felt wrong—not fast, not slow, but off-rhythm.

your attending turned just in time to see the blood drain from your face. you remember someone saying your name. you didn’t answer.

then hands on your shoulders. then the floor. then nothing.

heart palpitations that were not just fast, but uneven. like someone dropped a wrench in your chest and now everything��s grinding out of sync.

sweat collects behind your knees, at your collarbone, under your eyes. your whole body sticky with adrenaline and failure.

your fingers were twitching, left hand tingling, jaw tight.

you visions blurred, peripheral mostly. like looking through frosted glass. shortness of breath, but shallow, like your lungs are just going through the motions.

and worst of all : the fear. that quiet, sickening, this one is different feeling

you know the difference between discomfort and danger. you’ve been doing this long enough. and this is danger. a red zone.

you come to with the siren screaming over your head and the rattle of speed under your spine.

the straps are tight across your chest. you can feel the buckles digging into your hips. your whole body pulses in time with your heartbeat—uneven, arrhythmic, mocking.

there’s a paramedic above you. male. late twenties. gloved hand pressed over your radial pulse, frowning down at the monitor beside your head. he’s not panicked—but he’s not relaxed either.

he’s watching numbers you can’t see. you’re watching the ceiling. your mouth tastes like copper. your arms are shaking. you try to move your hand, just slightly, but the tremor is too fine to fight. you don’t even try to speak.

there’s an oxygen cannula in your nose. sticky pads across your chest, running wires to the portable monitor. you can hear the beep, beep—but it’s irregular. two fast. one slow. a pause.

you know what it means. you’ve seen it in simulation labs. in real patients. you just never thought you’d feel it in your own throat.

the paramedic calls something over the radio—your name, your age, your condition. you hear hypertrophic cardiomyopathy like a curse, like a trigger warning.

and then you hear it, “…en route to the pmtc.”

the ceiling spins. your stomach twists. you want to scream no—but you can’t. not because of the words. but because you know who is on call.

you lie still. focusing on the rhythm of the wheels under you. trying not to cry. because if he sees you like this—if your father finds out—that is a fight you don't want to have right now.

you don’t remember coding.

you remember the beeping. the metallic hum of the defibrillator warming in the corner. the way the paramedic’s voice tightened—not panicked, just clipped—like he was trying not to scare you.

and then—nothing. again. that was the second time you had lost consciousness in the last half hour.

the fluorescent ceiling tiles blur in and out like someone’s manually dragging the opacity up and down in your peripheral vision. your body feels distant, thick with static. a body-shaped silhouette that used to belong to you. your limbs are moving. or maybe it’s the stretcher. hard to tell.

you’re aware of being rolled in, but not of the doors opening.

the air shifts. that’s the only thing you register: the sterile rush of it, cold and clinical. it smells like antiseptic, sweat, and last-minute decisions.

the pitt.

god help you.

you're here.

the paramedic's voice cuts into the noise like a scalpel.

“—female, twenty-two, known hcm. witnessed syncopal episode on site. decompensated en route. flatlined at 11:47. returned with one round epi and compressions—five seconds max. resumed rhythm. holding stable now.”

you don’t recognize the voice that answers. but you recognize the shoes—black nikes with pink laces. dana. charge nurse. crowned queen of controlled chaos. and one of your father's closest friends.

“you said she coded?”

“briefly. on route."

you want to ask what time it is. you want to ask if they called your father. you want to ask who’s on call. you ask none of those things.

because you’re too busy looking for the one face you don’t want to see. and that’s the worst part. not the pain. not the cold. not the oxygen still burning your nostrils or the vomit drying sour on the side of your mouth. no.

the worst part is that you’re scanning this chaos not to find your father—but to avoid him because you can’t bear the look on his face if he sees you like this.

you blink. the overhead lights flicker like halos in water. dana appears in your frame of vision. her chopped hair in a low ponytail, scrubs a muted blue, voice too calm.

“we’re gonna take care of you, sweetheart, alright? just hang tight. langdon—langdon, can you—?” your stomach turns to stone. you don’t hear anything else for a second.

because that name shatters whatever calm you were pretending to cling to.

langdon?

frank was here.

no. no, no, no, no—anyone but him.

you feel him before you see him.

there’s something about the way the energy shifts. not loud. not dramatic. just quieter. like the room folds itself around his presence. a pause, tucked into the noise. your eyes flutter open in time to see the curve of his jaw, the scrub top pulled tight across his chest, the latex gloves snapping into place like punctuation.

and then—“the hell are you doing here, lil' robby?”

that voice.

god. that voice.

it’s softer than it should be. not accusatory. not clinical. just tired. wary. as if seeing you there—on the gurney, pale and shaking—is the last thing he ever expected.

your throat works around a breath you can’t quite catch. the room swims. “don’t,” you whisper. or maybe you don’t. maybe it’s just in your head.

because frank’s already beside you now, chart in hand, brow furrowed so deep it carves years into his face. he leans in, eyes scanning the vitals on the monitor, mouth pressed into a line. you feel the shift in him, the way his whole demeanor locks down—hyperfocused. unforgiving.

not of you.

of this.

of what your body has done to you again.

he doesn’t say your name. not out loud. but his hand hovers over your shoulder for a second too long. “she coded in the rig?”

“five seconds,” the paramedic says again. “we got her back fast. but i don’t like that rhythm.”

frank’s eyes narrow. “i don’t either.” he rattles off orders like he’s reading them from muscle memory. “one liter ns bolus. hang mag and run a full panel—cmp, cbc, bnp, trop just in case. get cardio up here. and someone find me a damn bed.”

dana mutters something about room two. someone wheels you toward it. frank walks beside you the entire time. not looking at you. not touching you. but he’s there. and that’s worse. because it means he saw.

you try to keep your eyes open. you try to hold onto anything that doesn’t feel like drowning. but all you can think about is how this isn’t how he was supposed to see you again.

not like this. not hooked to machines. not oxygen-masked and half-conscious with dried vomit on your neck and hospital tape across your chest.

not this version of you.

you don’t know where your father is.

roof, maybe. bathroom. break room. it doesn’t matter. because if he finds you now—if he sees you like this, after all the space you put between you—he won’t just panic. he’ll break.

and you don’t have the strength to hold his pieces tonight. frank slows as you’re wheeled into room two. he doesn’t say anything. just nods at the nurse. squeezes the bridge of his nose. stares at your chart like it might rewrite itself if he reads it hard enough.

and then—finally—his voice, low and bitter, “anyone know where robby is?” but you already know what you want to say. not here. not yet.

the monitor hums steady, green lines crawling in jagged loops across the black screen. heart rate : 118. irregular. bp too low. o2 holding steady under the cannula.

frank’s eyes flick over every number, trained, unblinking. he could read them in his sleep, and tonight, he’s half afraid he will.

he’s telling himself not to look at you. he’s looking everywhere else—the monitor, the iv line, the chart dana clipped to the foot of the bed. anywhere but your face. because if he does, he’s not sure what he’ll see.

you make the first move.

a sound—a tiny, broken sound—pulls his gaze before he can stop himself. your hand moves. just barely. it’s trembling, pale fingers brushing against the scratchy hospital blanket. he doesn’t think you’re reaching for him. not at first. he thinks you’re shifting, twitching under some half-dream of pain or memory.

then—he feels it.

your fingertips brush his wrist, clumsy and unfocused. and then your hand closes, weak but deliberate, clutching him like a lifeline.

“hey—” he’s startled. not at the touch, but at the way it jolts something in his chest. he glances down, sees your eyes half-lidded, barely open, lashes sticking together. “you’re okay. you’re in the er. i’ve got you.”

your lips move. words spill out, but they’re slurred, soaked in exhaustion and adrenaline crash. “don’t… don’t call him…” frank blinks. he thinks he misheard.

“what?”

your grip tightens—or tries to. your hand shakes against his pulse, desperate. “please,” you rasp. “please don’t tell my dad…” frank freezes.

the er noise fades into static. dana’s footsteps, the beeping monitors in the hall, the paramedic giving report at the nurses’ station—it all turns to white noise.

your words hang there between you, fragile and heavy.

don’t tell my dad.

of all the things you could say to him—this wasn’t on the list.

confusion hits first. because as far as he knows, you and robby are unbreakable. you’ve always been “lil rooby.” robby’s shadow. his kid. his pride. he talks about you like you hung the damn moon.

so why—why are you looking at frank like this? why does your voice sound scared? not of him. not of what’s happening. but of your father finding out?

“hey, hey, slow down—” he tries to coax you, voice dropping low. “you don’t have to worry about that right now. just breathe for me.”

but you’re already shaking your head weakly, lips parting to say something else—and then your eyes roll back. just like that, you’re gone again. your hand slips from his wrist, falling limp against the bedrail.

frank stares at your hand like it’s still holding him.

there’s a war going on inside him. protocol says he should inform next-of-kin. that he should call robby. that of all people, robby has a right to know his daughter is lying in a hospital bed with a heart like a grenade.

but something stops him.

maybe it’s the law— you’re an adult, twenty two, and legally, he can’t say a damn thing unless you give consent.

or maybe it’s something else. something harder to admit.

maybe it’s because you asked him not to. and for reasons he doesn’t want to pick apart just yet. whatever the reason, it's enough.

frank’s legs carry him to the nurses’ station like someone moving on autopilot. the kind of autopilot you don’t notice until you stop—and he doesn’t. he doesn’t stop. not when his pulse is still faster than yours was when you came in.

he sets the chart down a little too hard. the sound makes dana raise an eyebrow, but she doesn’t say anything. not at first. she’s busy typing vitals into the emr, chewing on a pen cap.

he leans against the counter, hand curling around the edge, fingers white-knuckled. god, he hates this feeling. like he’s caught in some crossfire he didn’t agree to.

he stares straight ahead at the heart monitor readouts across the bay. he knows your numbers are stable now. he doesn’t need to check again. but he does anyway.

“you tell robby yet?” dana doesn’t even look up when she says it. she just flicks a glance toward room two, where you’re lying unconscious, and then back to the screen. casual. like she didn’t just fire a bullet straight through his chest.

frank’s jaw tightens. he’s good at hiding it, good at keeping his face calm. ( except for the fact that he’s so not calm right now. not in the slightest. )

“uh… not yet,” he says.

“not yet,” dana repeats. looking at him now, her eyebrow arches now, slow and deliberate.

“langdon. you’re telling me robby’s kid just rolled in here coding, and you haven’t called him? what’s the holdup?”

frank’s throat is dry. he clears it, aiming for casual. he does not feel casual. he feels like someone is peeling the skin back from his ribs with a scalpel.

“i can’t,” he says simply. dana snorts. “can’t? or won’t? look if your tryna punish robby for what happened—”

“i'm not. that not what this is,” frank fires back, maybe a little too sharp. he sees her brows rise, so he drops his voice. “she asked me not to. and she’s twenty-two. hipaa’s clear as day.”

dana leans back, folding her arms. her expression is the exact mix of judgment and curiosity he hates. “yeah, but it’s robby. robby. you know how he’s gonna react when he finds out you kept this from him? especially you?”

frank’s gut twists. because yeah, she’s not wrong. robby finding out—especially from anyone but him—will be a goddamn nuclear detonation.

but frank just shakes his head. “doesn’t matter. law’s the law. she’s an adult. she said no, i don’t call. simple.”

he says it like it’s easy. it’s not. it feels like every word is dragging across glass on the way out. dana tilts her head, studying him like he’s some kind of strange case study.

“you sound awfully… protective for a guy who’s supposed to be switzerland here.” frank scowls. “i’m not protective. i’m on the straight and fucking narrow now, dana.”

that for once lands heavy, even to his own ears. he swallows hard. because yeah, this isn’t just about hipaa. and he knows it.

because as fucked up as it sounds, betraying you feels like betraying himself. like he’d be breaking something fragile you put in his hands the second you reached for him in that trauma bay.

but betraying robby? that’s like betraying family. hell, robby’s been more like a father to him than his actual one ever was.

frank’s been on this knife-edge before. when he was stealing from patients, hiding bottles in lockers, and robby looked at him with that combination of disappointment and fear. he swore he’d never feel that way again.

and yet, here he is. standing in the middle of the nurses’ station, lying by omission.

he hasn’t let himself think about you in a while. not really. not since that first time you came in on his shift, maybe twenty, pale and shaky but still managing to glare at him when he told you to lie back.

he’d been married then. and you're robby’s kid. so whatever he felt—whatever flicker of something sparked when you smirked at his bad jokes—he buried it so deep it might as well have been dead.

except it wasn’t. not really. and tonight, seeing you like that—grabbing his wrist, voice slurred, begging him not to call your dad— god, it rattled something loose.

he clears his throat, realizing dana is still staring at him. “look, i’ll… figure it out. but i’m not calling robby yet. not unless she says i can, ok.”

dana narrows her eyes but doesn’t argue. she just mutters, “you’re insane,” under her breath and swivels back to her computer. frank doesn’t answer. because maybe she’s right.

as he turns, walking back toward room two, his chest feels too tight. not in the bad way—not panic, not a relapse—but like he’s holding onto a secret that’s too heavy for just one person.

he tells himself again : hipaa. that’s it. just the law. nothing personal. but it feels like a lie. because the truth is, if you asked him for anything tonight, he’d give it to you. no questions.

even if it means betraying robby again.

the er has quieted. not silent—never silent—but quieter. the chaos is a low hum now : shuffling feet, printers spitting out labels, dana’s voice calling someone’s name over the din. far-off beeping. a monitor alarm two bays over.

frank’s been avoiding robby like it’s his damn job. which, ironically, it kind of is. he ducked into trauma when he saw robby pass the station earlier, kept himself busy with a triage from the waiting room.

avoidance has become second nature—both of them circling the hospital like boxers refusing to throw the first punch.

now, though, his feet carry him back to you.

your room is dim. the harsh overhead light is off, replaced with the soft blue glow of monitors. you’re propped slightly on your side, cannula still in place, iv fluids dripping slow and steady into your arm. there’s a blanket tucked over your legs that you don’t remember anyone putting there.

when the door slides open, you don’t realize it’s him—not until his voice cuts through the haze. “welcome back.”

you blink up at him. he’s leaning casually against the doorframe, but his eyes—man, his eyes—are sharp, locked on you with an intensity that feels like it could strip the oxygen from the room.

your throat is dry, but you manage, “you . . . you didn’t tell him, did you?” it’s not a question, not really. because if he had, your father would already be here, storming in like a hurricane.

frank’s mouth ticks into something like a half-smile. “you asked me not to. so i didn’t.” you exhale, a shaky breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. relief slides through you like warm water. your fingers relax against the blanket.

he moves closer.

not rushed, not hesitant—just steady. like he’s made this decision and there’s no going back. he comes to stand beside your bed, eyes flicking over you, reading every line of your face like it’s a chart he’s memorized.

then, without asking, he takes your hand. his palm is warm, his grip firm but careful, like he’s afraid of breaking you.

the monitor behind you is already telling him your vitals—but apparently, he doesn’t trust it. because his other hand slides to your wrist, two fingers pressing lightly into your pulse point.

thud-thud. thud-thud.

slow. steady.

the kind of rhythm that melts something deep inside you.

“what’s that all about?” he asks after a beat. his tone is curious, not accusing. “hiding from your dad?” you hesitate. your gaze drifts to the ceiling.

“we’re . . . not on the best terms right now.”

frank tilts his head, frowning faintly.

“what? since when? last i heard, you two were thick as thieves.”

you bite the inside of your cheek. the words hover on your tongue—since you got caught stealing drugs and broke my father’s heart. but you can’t say that. not out loud. not when he’s looking at you like this.

“it’s been hard since—”

you stop. the silence is heavier than your words. frank blinks, confused. “since what?” you swallow, sheepish now. “since . . . the whole benzos thing.”

the moment hangs in the air.

frank doesn’t flinch—but something changes in his face. his jaw works once, like he’s trying to grind down the weight of what you just said. his thumb brushes your wrist, unconsciously, like he’s searching for something steady.

“that…” his voice is low now, strained. “that messed things up between you and him?”

you look away. “it messed up a lot of things.”

frank doesn’t let go of your hand right away.

if anything, his thumb lingers against your wrist, tracing the faint beat beneath your skin like he doesn’t trust the monitor behind you. he’s looking at you like you’re something fragile and dangerous all at once—like if he lets go, you’ll disappear, and if he holds too tight, you’ll shatter.

finally, he shifts, dragging the worn plastic chair closer with his foot and sinking into it. the vinyl cushion squeaks under his weight. it’s the sound of someone settling in for the long haul.

he doesn’t look at you right away. he’s staring down at your hand in his, as though it’s an exam he’s still figuring out how to pass. his thumb brushes over your knuckles once. twice.

“i didn’t know,” he says quietly. “about you and robby. that things were . . . bad.”

you shrug a little, your gaze fixed on the faint scuff marks on the floor. “i didn’t think it mattered—” you stop, catching yourself before you say too much. “he’s my dad. it’s always complicated.”

frank exhales, leaning back slightly in the chair. “complicated, huh? that’s one word for it.” you glance at him, and for a moment, there’s something there—something you can’t name. his face is caught halfway between frustration and regret, like he’s been carrying something heavy for a very long time.

“you know…” he clears his throat, fingers drumming lightly on the arm of the chair. “when all that shit went down—” he pauses, looking for the right words. “i wasn’t thinking about who else i’d hurt. not really. i told myself it was just me. my problem. my screw-up.”

his voice dips, soft but steady. “but then robby wouldn’t look at me. wouldn’t speak to me. and i realized i’d trashed something bigger than just my own life.”

he glances at you now, eyes sharp and searching. "i said a lot of things to him that i regret when the whole thing went down but i didn’t think… i never thought it would spill over onto you.”

there it is. the almost-apology. he doesn’t say i’m sorry, but it’s written all over his face. the exhaustion in his voice. the way he looks at your hand when he speaks, like he’s not sure he deserves to hold it.

you blink, trying to process the weight of his words.

“you really thought that it wouldn't?” your voice falters. “do you even realize how much you meant to him. some days i actually thought that he loved you more than me. robby was—he still is—so angry. and when he’s like that, he . . . i don’t know. he looks at me like i’m gonna break. like i’m next.”

frank’s jaw tightens. his hand squeezes yours, firm but careful.

“you’re not next,” he says. there’s no hesitation in his tone, none at all. “you’re nothing like me.”

the way he says it—low, intense—makes something twist in your chest.

for a moment, neither of you speaks. the monitor hums behind you, its steady rhythm filling the room. frank doesn’t move, his hand still warm against yours. you’re aware of every detail: the roughness of his palm, the faint scent of antiseptic and coffee clinging to him, the weight of his presence right beside you.

he leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, but doesn’t let go of your hand. his gaze drops to your wrist again, thumb brushing your pulse point like he’s reassuring himself you’re still here.

the silence stretches, warm and heavy, and you’re not sure how long you’ve been staring at the broad line of frank’s shoulders. he’s still leaning forward, elbows balanced on his knees, his hand wrapped around yours like it’s an anchor. he hasn’t moved in what feels like forever, like he’s afraid that if he does, you’ll vanish.

you swallow against the tightness in your throat. your voice comes out soft, but it breaks the moment in half.

“frank . . . i’m sorry.” his head lifts slightly. his eyes, shadowed from lack of sleep, flicker with confusion.

“sorry? what do you have to be sorry for?” your fingers shift faintly under his, tightening like you need him to hear you.

“i… uh, i heard. about abby. and the custody battle.”

there’s a pause, sharp and immediate. the words hang there, heavy as lead. he looks more embarrassed than upset about it.

for a moment, frank doesn’t move. his thumb stills over your wrist, and you see it—a flicker of something raw passing through his eyes. something almost too intimate, too unguarded, like you’ve hit a nerve he can’t shield.

“you . . . heard about that?” his voice is rough. quiet. not angry, but tired. bone-deep tired. you nod, hesitating. “princess and perlah, you know . . . they talk. i wasn’t trying to listen. it just . . . i’m sorry it’s been so hard.”

frank exhales, leaning back into the chair, running a hand over his jaw. there’s a faint rasp of stubble, the sound filling the small room for a second. he doesn’t look at you right away. when he does, his expression is strange—soft and closed-off all at once.

“it’s messy,” he admits finally. “was always gonna be messy, i guess. abby and i . . . we were over long before the paperwork said so.”

his hand slips from your wrist to your fingers again, holding on like he needs the weight of something steady. “the custody stuff—” he shakes his head slightly, like he’s trying to find the right words. “i hate it. i hate what it’s doing to tanner. but it’s not your problem. you don’t have to be sorry for me.”

“i know i don’t have to,” you murmur. “but i am. you didn’t deserve all of that. i mean…” you trail off, unsure how far you can go without digging up all the wounds he’s already bleeding from. “you’re a good doctor, frank. and i know you’re a good dad.”

his eyes flicker at that. like you just said something he hasn’t heard in a long time. “yeah?” he asks, voice almost too quiet.

“yeah,” you whisper back.

he looks away for a second, jaw clenched, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand again. he doesn’t thank you—not out loud. he doesn’t say you don’t know how much i needed to hear that. but you can feel it in the way his grip tightens, in the small exhale he lets out, almost like relief.

frank is quiet for a long moment, his thumb brushing slowly over the back of your hand. he’s not looking at the monitor anymore. he’s looking at you.

like he’s really seeing you for the first time since you walked into his er all those years ago. except now, you’re not a patient with a father hovering at your bedside. you’re twenty-two. a med student. and still, somehow, you’re looking at him like he isn’t the sum of every bad choice he’s ever made.

his brow furrows slightly, the tension there not harsh, but uncertain and confused. “why are you being so nice to me?” his voice is low, almost hoarse. “after everything you’ve heard—everything i’ve done?”

the question stuns you for a second. not because you don’t know the answer, but because it feels like such a frank thing to say—like he truly doesn’t believe he’s worth anyone’s compassion.

“because i know what it’s like to feel like you’re failing everyone.” you swallow, searching his face. “and because you've seen me at my worst. and you were still kind. even when you didn’t have to be.”

he blinks. that knocks something loose in him, you can tell. he leans back slightly, running his thumb absently over your pulse like he’s grounding himself.

he huffs out a laugh, but it’s not really a laugh. more like disbelief. “you make me sound better than i am.” you shake your head, small but firm.

“you’re better than you think you are. my dad wouldn’t have believed in you if you weren’t.” there it is—your father. the elephant in the room.

frank looks away for a beat, jaw tightening, before his gaze finds you again.

“he might not believe in me anymore,” he says quietly. and god, there’s something in his tone that aches—like a confession he didn’t mean to say out loud.

you can feel his thumb lingering over your pulse. the weight of his hand on yours. the closeness of him, so still and watchful. you can see the exhaustion in his face, but also something softer, buried deep.

“well,” you say, voice low, “i do.”

those two words feel heavier than they should. his lips part slightly, like he’s not sure what to do with them, and for a moment it’s just silence, so loud it almost drowns out the monitor.

frank doesn’t move for a second. he just stares at you, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. the kind of look that pins you in place, like he’s seeing through you. his grip on your hand tightens just slightly, his thumb brushing your knuckles in a rhythm that feels almost frantic.

“don’t,” he says softly. “don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“i do,” you whisper, without hesitation.

and something breaks in him.

it happens so fast you almost don’t register it—just the scrape of the chair legs as he leans forward, the warmth of his palm sliding over the side of your face, his thumb brushing the curve of your jaw.

then his lips are on yours.

not tentative. not testing. just need.

like he’s been holding back since the moment he met you and had finally, finally lets go.

your breath stutters, but you don’t pull away. not even a little. your fingers—still trapped under his—curl, clumsy, desperate. the kiss is soft but rough around the edges, like he’s not sure how to handle this kind of gentleness.

it’s over too quickly—just a few seconds, barely long enough for your mind to catch up. when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours for a moment, his breath warm and uneven.

“i shouldn’t…” he murmurs, voice ragged. “god, i shouldn’t have done that. i'm sorry.”

you’re still catching your breath. “then why did you?” his jaw tightens, like he’s searching for an answer.

“because i—” he swallows hard. “because i can’t remember the last time someone looked at me the way you just did.” he pulls back, standing to his full height and taking a step back as if the distance would change anything.

but you don’t let him go.

your grip tightens around his hand, the one still tangled with yours. he freezes, glancing down, confusion flashing across his face.

and then—slowly, deliberately—your other hand slides up his arm, tracing the hard lines of muscle beneath the sleeve of his scrubs. he’s solid. warm. you feel him tense when your fingers curl around his bicep, holding him there.

“wait,” you whisper. your voice is hoarse but steady. “don’t stop.”

his breath catches. “we—” he swallows, shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. “we shouldn’t—” he mumbled as if he wasn't the one to kiss you the first time. but you’re already tugging, dragging him back down toward you.

and this time, when his lips meet yours, there’s nothing tentative about it.

the first kiss was instinct, a slip. this is fire.

frank kisses you like he’s been starving and just realized what hunger really feels like. his hand slides back to your jaw, then the side of your neck, thumb brushing just under your ear as he deepens the kiss.

you feel him everywhere—his warmth, his scent ( antiseptic and coffee and something just him ), the weight of him leaning into you. it’s dizzying, but not in the way your heart condition makes you dizzy. this is the kind of dizzy that makes you want to chase it.

you breathe his name against his mouth—just a whisper, but it undoes him. his lips part, and his forehead presses to yours for a second, like he’s grounding himself, but then he’s back, kissing you again. harder. deeper.

it’s messy and desperate, like neither of you know when or if you’ll get the chance again.

when he finally pulls back, it’s not far. his lips hover just over yours, breath ragged. his eyes are dark and conflicted, like he’s one breath away from doing it all over again.

“you don’t know what you do to me,” he murmurs, voice rough, like gravel. “you—god, you shouldn’t . . . ”

you smile faintly, dazed and warm.

“then stop.”

but he doesn’t. he can’t. his thumb brushes your jaw again, and for a moment it feels like he might actually lean in a third time.

frank’s breath is warm against your lips. he hasn’t moved, not really—just hovering, his lips a whisper away from yours, his eyes locked on you like he’s drowning and you’re the only lifeline in sight. your fingers are still curled tight around his bicep, feeling the tension in him, the way every muscle is coiled and ready to snap.

you lean in—just barely—your chest brushing his scrubs as if the world isn’t ready to swallow this moment whole.

and he’s about to break. you can feel it in the way his grip on your jaw tightens, in the low, ragged sound that escapes him when his lips ghost against yours.

then theres a drag of a curtain. the unmistakable whoosh of fabric on metal rings. a heavy boot scuff against the tile. and a voice—low, harsh, furious—slices through the air.

“what the fuck?”

it’s like a grenade goes off.

frank jerks back so fast the chair nearly tips, his hand ripping from yours like he’s been burned. his breathing is unsteady, his lips still parted like he was caught mid-confession. he doesn’t even turn right away—because he doesn’t have to. he knows that voice.

robby.

your father.

frank's boss.

your heart spikes—not from the arrhythmia this time, but from pure panic. you whip your head toward the doorway, pulse pounding in your ears. robby stands there, eyes wide, jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscles twitching under his skin. his gaze snaps from you—disheveled, propped on the bed—to frank, who looks like someone just caught him with a hand grenade in his pocket.

for a split second, frank feels seventeen again. like a kid caught sneaking out. except this is worse—so much worse. he swears under his breath, running a hand down his face, trying to find words that don’t exist.

“robby…” his voice cracks slightly, half-apology, half-disbelief. “i can explain.”

“explain?” robby’s voice is a growl now, low and sharp like broken glass. “explain why the hell you've got your tongue down my daughter throat and your lips all over her? or explain why you didn’t think to call me the second she came in?!”

“dad—” your voice is soft, trembling, but firm enough to cut through some of his fury. “don’t. it’s not—” you glance at frank, at the way his jaw tightens, at the guilt written all over his face. “it’s not what you think.”

“not what i think?” robby steps inside, his shadow falling over both of you. his eyes lock on frank with the kind of anger that could end worlds.

“langdon, you’ve gotta be out of your goddamn mind.”

frank doesn’t flinch. not really. he straightens, meeting robby’s glare head-on, though his voice is quiet. “she asked me not to call you. she’s an adult now, robby. i . . . i was just respecting her wishes.”

robby’s eyes narrow, fire blazing. “you’re respecting her by—what? kissing her while she’s hooked up to a monitor? she's your patient. you’ve lost your fucking mind.”

frank’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away.

“that’s not—” he cuts himself off, struggling. “it wasn’t planned. i . . . it just happened.”

robby’s voice is rising now, sharp and cutting, echoing off the tile walls.

“what the hell is wrong with you? i trusted you, and now i find you with your hands all over my daughter? you think rehab bought you a clean slate? you think you can—”

“robby—” frank’s tone is quiet but firm, trying to de-escalate. “it’s not—”

“don’t you robby me. you’re lucky i don’t have you hauled out of this hospital for—”

“shut. the. fuck. up.”

the words rip out of you before you even think. the room goes silent. even the hum of the monitor feels muted. both men freeze, wide-eyed, because you’ve never spoken to your dad like that.

you push yourself up on the pillows, breath heavy, glaring between them. “both of you. just stop. right now.” your voice shakes but doesn’t break.

“do you have any idea what it’s like lying here, listening to you two scream like i’m not even in the damn room? like i’m some prize you get to fight over?”

your eyes lock on your father’s, and this time, you don’t flinch.

“you don’t get to yell at him like that. he’s the only one who actually listened to me tonight. i asked him not to call you. i begged him. and he respected me and my decision.”

“kiddo—” robby’s voice softens slightly, but you cut him off again.

“no. no, dad, you don’t get to spin this. you don’t get to barge in here acting like frank is the villain when you—” you stop yourself before the words turn to tears. “when you’ve been angry at me for months. like i did something wrong just by existing.”

you turn your gaze to frank, who’s standing frozen by the bed, jaw tight, clearly trying not to get in the way of this storm.

“he’s not perfect,” you continue, voice steadier now, “but he’s here. he’s the one who sat with me when i woke up. he’s the one who didn’t treat me like i was going to break. and i’m so tired of feeling like i’m the fragile thing in every room i walk into.”

the silence after that is deafening.

robby’s face is carved in stone, shock and hurt and something else—something softer—mixing in his expression. he glances at frank, then back to you.

“kid…” his voice is quieter now. “i’m just trying to protect you.”

“i don’t need protection. i need you to trust me. and to trust him. even if you’re angry. even if you hate it.” frank exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath the whole time.

you’re still glaring at your father, chest rising and falling faster than the monitor behind you can keep up with. the silence that follows your words is razor-sharp, hanging heavy in the air.

“and while we’re on the subject,” you snap, “you can’t keep punishing frank for a mistake. he paid his due. he did the work. he got clean. he’s back, and you are just gonna have to deal with it.”

robby doesn’t move. doesn’t breathe. his jaw clenches, but for once, he doesn’t have anything to throw back. your words hit like a scalpel—clean and impossible to ignore.

frank is still at your side, looking halfway stunned. like he’s not sure what to do with the fact that you just . . . defended him. fiercely. publicly. in front of your father.

his eyes meet yours for just a beat too long, soft and conflicted, like he’s silently saying thank you and please don’t stop looking at me like that all at once.

robby exhales—sharp and slow—and mutters, “we’re not done talking about this.”

“yeah,” you say, leaning back against the pillow, still burning with adrenaline. “we are.”

he stares at you one last time before backing out of the room, the curtain dragging closed behind him like a warning.

🔖 . want to join the taglist for future frank langdon fics??? click here!!!

# Ⓒ all rights to canon characters belong to the original creators. my character and non canon compliant events belong to me. under no circumstances are you to repost, copy, or redistribute anywhere with out permission. also mdni, this 18+. ageless blog will be blocked!

[hearts4hughes]

https://www.tumblr.com/hearts4hughes/786738253259816960/exbf-rafe-is-breaking-me-especially-reader

I hear what this anon is saying

But

I like ex!Rafe 🤷

Ex!Rafe finding out reader’s out with a guy who Rafe sees as a danger to her. Like idk the guy drives his bike without a helmet and Rafe catches reader and this guy going really fast and neither are wearing helmets. So Rafe, rightfully so, loses his shit at how reckless this man is being with reader

he shouldn’t be checking. it’s pathetic—he knows that. it’s the kind of behavior he’d mock if it belonged to anyone else. but rafe’s thumb moves anyway, thoughtless, practiced. tap, scroll, tap. your profile loads like muscle memory, like something god designed to live under his gaze.

you haven’t blocked him. though, you unfollowed him, obviously. but your account’s still public, and tonight you posted. his heart starts racing faster. he prays it’s a photo of you smiling. maybe candid. something to remind him what you look like happy. instead, it’s a video. some shaky clip from someone else’s story, reshared to yours. it’s short, grainy, barely visible. it’s loud with motion…wind…and you—

on the back of a motorcycle.

your bare arms are wrapped around someone else. someone taller, broader, clad in a leather jacket. he’s helmetless. that’s when rafe realizes that you are too. the speed at which the motorcycle moves, it’s not freedom, it’s a death wish. the kind of recklessness rafe is all too familiar with.

the video clicks off and he watches it again, and again. luckily you forgot to turn your location off. his jaw tightens. breath caught like smoke in his chest. he doesn’t think, just grabs his keys and slides into the porsche like it’s an exhale.

~

you don’t see the headlights at first. you’re smiling too hard, windblown, and dizzy from the ride. everything smells like late june and gasoline, and there’s a part of you that liked pretending you weren’t the kind of girl who used to fall asleep to rafe’s quarterly earnings calls and wake up to his cologne on your sheets.

then he’s there. almost like he never left. he’s pulling up fast, aggressive—like always. his windows are down, engine of the car you used to love purring with a threat. your stomach drops.

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” rafe says, stepping out of the car like a storm in black sweatpants—gray hoodie, hair wild, eyes darker than you remember. darker than they have any right to be.

the guy on the bike blinks. he looks between the two of you and laughs. “can we help you, bro?”

rafe doesn’t even look at him. his gaze’s locked on you like he’s trying to burn a hole clean through your chest. “get off the bike.”

your heart jumps and your cheeks fill with color. “rafe-“

“now.”

the guy scoffs. “you her dad or something?”

“no,” rafe says flatly. “but i know what her skull looks like on a CT scan. do you?”

the silence that follows his deafening. the guy clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. you swing your leg off the bike slowly, grounding your heels like it might keep the earth from shaking. “it was just a ride.”

rafe laughs. it’s not a nice sound. “yeah? just a ride on the back of a stranger’s death machine with zero protection while he weaves through traffic like he’s trying to impress you?”

“he’s not a stranger-” you begin. your knees start to buckle, lip quivers.

“you don’t know him,” he snaps. “you don’t know what he drinks, if he takes pills, if he texts while driving,” he inhales deeply. “you don’t know who’s holding your fucking life in their hands and you’re smiling like it’s a goddamn music video.”

you flinch. the guy shifts behind you, arms folding. “hey, man, maybe take it down a-”

rafe rounds on him. “shut the fuck up,” his tone leaves no room for debate. “don’t talk to me. don’t talk to her. don’t look at her.”

you don’t speak. not yet. your teeth dig into the inside of your cheek, adrenaline sharpening everything, the taste of regret already forming behind your tongue.

rafe turns back to you, jaw tight, hands clenched at his sides like he’s resisting the urge to shake sense into you. “what were you thinking?” his voice breaks. not loud, but raw. “you think this proves something? that you’re free? you’re not. you’re just-” he swallows and looks away for half a second. “you’re just lucky i saw it before the morgue did.”

you hate how your throat tightens. how the shame tastes so familiar. how his worry still lives on you like perfume that won’t wash off. “i didn’t mean to scare you.”

“you didn’t scare me,” he lies. then, softer he murmurs, “you gutted me.”

you look down. gravel crunches under your shoes as you shift your weight. “i don’t belong to you anymore, rafe.”

“you never stopped,” he says, almost too quiet. then he opens his passenger door before you can argue. he doesn’t say anything, but the disappointment in his eyes bores through you like a laser. you start to walk forward and the guy behind you scoffs before taking off. tears well in your eyes as you slip onto his leather seat.

the door clicks open as he gets in the driver’s seat. he turns his head, gaze softening now that you’re with him—safe. “if i catch you pulling shit like that again,” he pauses to regain his composure. “i’ll bury whatever asshole you’re with.”

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove @dsfault @missabsey

[adumbratrapedme]

“Caught, Almost!”

Pairing: kenma x reader

Synopsis: you and kenma. needy. school grounds. almost caught. ok? ok.

Warnings: “public” sex, smut, +18, p in v, etc. idk im too lazy to properly tag this uhhh, is my first time writing smut cuz i usually get too nervous while writting it ngl (i take constructive criticism, sooo point out what i could do better. thank you!). nyan!

╭⋅Tbh not even you know how you guys enfed like this huh ╭⋅You where supossed to JUST GO AND FIND YOUR BOYFRIEND that was skipping practice (again) ╭⋅He was tired you know?? You guys just finished exam season and! He got a new game! Common!! Let my man rest!! ╭⋅Anyways, you didn’t care, sorry ken ken, disadvantages of having a manager gf unu ╭⋅So, tbh i would never take kenken as someone that has public sex? But i mean lets try to understand him ok? A full exam week, no gf, no kisses and the only opportunities you had to get together he got cockblocked! Wether it was his or you family ╭⋅When you finally find him sitting in his desk playing with the psp you try to pull him away but he does not comply! ╭⋅Until well… you get irritated and start saying that you’d do anything he wants!! ╭⋅So here we go :3

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

“Kenma~!” you called out, your voice echoing through the empty halls as you searched for your elusive boyfriend. Frustration bubbled inside you, and just as you were about to give up, a familiar mop of pudding-colored hair caught your eye through the window of an empty classroom. “UGH! THERE YOU ARE!!” you huffed, storming into the room, Kenma flinched at your sudden outburst, his eyes still glued to his handheld console. "You're still looking for me? So... practice isn't over yet? Great..." he muttered under his breath, clearly bothered by the situation.

"Honeyyyy~" you groaned dramatically as you wrapped your arms around him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder. He didn't budge, his fingers tapping away at the buttons, “keEeeEn~” you whined, playfully trying to push him out of the chair.

"Come on! Kuroo is going to kill me if I don't bring you back!"

Still no reaction.

You leaned in closer, pressing your cheek against his. "Do you really want your beaaauuutiful girlfriend to fail at her manager duties, huh?"

Kenma finally sighed, his gaze never leaving the screen. "

...If it means

you'll leave me alone, then... sure."

"UGH! Kenmaaaa!" you pouted, slumping dramatically in front of him.

Dropping to your knees and hugging his legs you gave him your best puppy-dog eyes. "Please?"

His fingers faltered for a second.

"You're so annoying.." he muttered, but there was the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

After what felt like hours (okay, maybe just ten minutes) of begging and pressing Kenma to go to practice, you finally hit your limit. Refusing to stand from your spot on the floor, you crossed your arms and gave him your best fake teary eyes, complete with a trembling pout.

“Fine then… let them fire me from my manager position,” you huffed dramatically. Kenma finally glanced down at you, his expression flat. “Y/N… this isn’t a job. They won’t fire you.”

But then — ngh! — his gaze lingered. The sight of you sitting on the floor, all pouty and vulnerable? That triggered something in his brain.

Neurons? Activated.

Kenma? Horny

Y/n? Annoyed

Crops? Watered.

A faint blush dusted his cheeks as he averted his gaze, but his voice softened. “But… maybe there’s something we can do… if you really want me to go back to practice.” Your eyes lit up. “YAS! I knew it!” You leapt from the floor, wrapping your arms around him in excitement. “Come on, tell me! I’ll do anything you want!”

Kenma blinked, momentarily stunned by your enthusiasm, before a tiny smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “Well… you know how we haven’t been able to spend much time together lately?” You nodded eagerly, not missing the way his voice dipped into a quieter tone.

“And how every time we try to be alone… someone interrupts us?” he added, glancing at you briefly before looking away again, the blush deepening.

“Uh-huh,” you murmured, heart thumping in anticipation. Kenma cleared his throat. “Well… maybe we can do it now.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait… here?” “The school’s practically empty,” he murmured, setting his PSP down on the desk. “Only a few clubs and… maybe a janitor. But if we’re careful…”

He finally looked back at you, and the heat in his gaze sent shivers down your spine.

“You serious?” you whispered.

Kenma leaned in slightly, his voice low. “Only if you want to.”

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

So... in the end, you gave in—how could you possibly resist that pudding-colored mop of hair? And now, here you are, in this exact moment.

You're leaning over his desk, your hands pressing against the surface.

Honestly, you feel a little exposed. Your boyfriend's behind you, and you can feel his gaze, while all you can see is what's right in front of you. You feel his cold hand lift your skirt, the breeze of his breath hitting your core, making you shiver just a little..

"just look at this, huh kitten? i barely even told you what i wanted and you are this wet already?” he said as he pulled down at your underwear, “ so eager to please me huh?” He said leaning into you and giving your ear a few kitten licks.

"P-Please, Kenma," you whispered, a hint of shame in your voice. Doing this in school? It felt so forbidden, so sinful. But deep down, you couldn't deny it — you'd been waiting for this moment just as much as he had.

To be honest, Kenma had wanted to tease you a little longer, but even he couldn't hold back. After the past week of restraint, he was too pent up to keep it inside any longer.

"So whiny..." he murmured while placing open-mouthed kisses on your neck, while one of his hands ran down your shirt until he reached your breasts, the way he squeezed them was very rough, but it was the right one for that moment, his hand was massaging them and the other was busy unbuckling his belt.

"I'm sorry darling..." he whispered into your ear while holding his member with one hand and rubbing it against your entrance earning a soft moan from you "you know that normally I would go slowly but... I don't think there's enough time for that right now"

You nodded in agreement, eager to feel him inside you, you hadn't realized how much you needed this, how much you missed his hands, his kisses and his caresses...

Just when you were lost in your thoughts a sudden pressure at your entrance made you yelp, Kenma's hands gripped your waist firmly, fingers pressing into your skin as he pulled you closer. His breathing was uneven, his gaze heavy with desire as he leaned in.

"Ahh... Y/N..." His voice came out low and hoarse, roughened by the tension building between you. He pushed in deeper, his movements purposeful, each one making you gasp as your body adjusted to him. "You're so tight... nghh..." The way he muttered it, half a groan and half a breathless confession, made your stomach flutter.

A whimper escaped you, soft and broken, your lower lip trembling as you tried to speak through the haze. "K-Kenma... it's so big, I-"

Before you could finish, he picked up his pace, each movement making you lose more control over your voice. You couldn't stop the sounds slipping from your lips, and just as quickly, he silenced you with a kiss - rough, needy, possessive. "I like you better when you just moan for me," he mumbled against your lips, his voice low and commanding.

The words sent a shiver down your spine, making you melt into his touch.

You could feel the tension in your body rising fast, and by the way Kenma gripped you, he could feel it too. The way you clenched around him made him groan softly, his head dropping to your shoulder as he trailed kisses along your neck, leaving faint marks behind.

Normally, he would slow down - tease you, drag things out until you were begging for more. But this time, he couldn't hold back. His own release was close, and it showed in the way his thrusts grew more erratic, rocking the desk beneath you as he pushed deeper.

"Fuck... baby..." His voice was husky, strained, filled with urgency as he buried himself in you. "I'm really close..."

You couldn't hold back your own moans any longer. The intensity of his movements, the weight of his body against your back, the sound of his voice — it was all too much. You didn't care if anyone could hear, if anyone walked by. All that mattered was him.

Kenma's fingers tightened their grip on your hips, his forehead pressed to yours as he pushed you both toward the edge. His heart was racing, his breath ragged in your ear, and you could feel the tension winding tighter and tighter.

"Kenma... please." you whimpered, your voice trembling as you clung to him, your body shaking from the overwhelming sensation.

He groaned softly at the sound of his name falling from your lips, his movements never faltering. He could feel how close you were — he always knew your body better than you did.

And though his usual control would have him drawing things out, this time he couldn't stop. His release was so close, right there, and he didn't want to hold back.

Twenty minutes in, and he already had you falling apart twice. But still, he kept going, chasing that final high — for both of you.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Kenma's forehead rested against your back, his breath hot and uneven as you both tried to steady yourselves.

His fingers traced slow, soothing patterns under your skirt, a stark contrast to the urgency from moments before. There was a softness in his gaze now, something tender beneath the layers of intensity that still lingered in the air between you.

"Are you okay?" he murmured quietly, his voice softer, more familiar. The concern in his tone made your heart ache in the best way, and you nodded, lips curling into a faint smile.

"I'm okay," you whispered, though your voice still trembled slightly from the aftershocks, your body now fully resting in the desk in a weak attempt of catching your breath.

Kenma's lips twitched into a small smile at your answer. He wasn't always great with words, but his actions said enough. His hands lingered on your hips, steadying you before before turning you around, facing each other, his forehead brushing yours in a quiet moment of calm.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence was comfortable, filled only with the sound of your slowing breaths and the faint creak of the desk beneath you. His thumbs rubbed lazy circles over your skin, grounding both of you as you melted into each other. "I wasn't too rough, was I?" he asked after a moment, his voice quieter, almost hesitant. It wasn't like him to ask, but there was something different in the way he looked at you now — more vulnerable, more open.

You shook your head, cupping his face gently. "No... it was perfect," you said softly, and you meant it.

Kenma sighed in relief, his shoulders relaxing as he leaned into your touch.

His lips pressed a lingering kiss to your palm before he pulled you close again, wrapping his arms around you like he couldn't bear to let go just yet. "You make me feel things I never thought l'd want," he admitted quietly, his voice almost shy. "I've never... wanted someone like this before."

The honesty in his words made your chest tighten, and you couldn't help but smile as you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"I'm not going anywhere," you whispered against his skin. "You don't have to be afraid of wanting me."

Kenma's arms tightened around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His heart was pounding against yours, steady and strong.

What you both thought would be a peaceful moment didn’t last nearly as long as you had hoped. For a brief second, you let yourselves forget that you were still on school grounds, thinking you could steal a quiet moment together. But reality quickly came crashing back in the form of a loud, obnoxious voice that both of you knew all too well.

"KENMAAAAAA... Y/N!" Kuroo’s voice echoed through the hallways, sharp and unmistakable as he called out for you two. It was impossible to ignore. You exchanged a glance, both of you groaning internally.

"Come on, Y/N, I trusted you!" Kuroo’s voice whined from further down the hall, his footsteps growing louder as he approached.

"Shit," Kenma muttered, clearly irritated. He quickly pulled away from you, his eyes darting around in panic. "We should hurry," he added, his tone serious now.

Both of you scrambled to adjust yourselves. Kenma straightened his uniform with a quick tug at his collar, while you did the same at your skirt. You couldn’t help but glance at Kenma, biting your lip in a mix of amusement and slight concern.

"Do I have sex hair?" you asked, half joking but also genuinely curious, Kenma paused for a split second, giving you a once-over before shrugging. "Hmm... maybe just a little," he said nonchalantly, brushing his fingers through your hair to tame it.

"Great," you muttered, pushing your hair back into place as the sound of Kuroo’s voice drew closer. You had to think fast before he found you both in the hallway, and judging by the way Kenma was glancing nervously in the direction of the noise, he was already calculating your next move.

You both braced yourselves for what would surely be an uncomfortable encounter, wondering if this "moment of peace" was truly ever meant to be.

[mimasroom2]

My tennis star! (∩˃o˂∩)♡

Secretly dating jock!ellie

C/w: smut but for like 2 seconds. Mention of weed lol. Uhh that’s it this is pretty laid back. This is my first time using those fake texting things I think I like it? Idk

W/c: ≈ 800

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

- She plays tennis bc I said so 🎾

- She’d win a match and she’d post on her instagram story something REAL cheesy like “only reason why we won is because someone special was in the crowd💖” and everyone thinks she’s talking ab a guy but it’s really you >•<

- She’d pull you aside into an empty hallway and lean over you with her arm up (yknow. The classic masc move.) and whisper “You comin’ to the game tonight, baby?”

- It’s so fucking cheesy but you swear she makes your knees weak every time she talks with her sexy ass voice.

- “Too bad I can’t have a massive ass sign that says your name on it all big or something.” You grin widely and she laughs, leaning in to give you a soft kiss.

- You guys go on dates to the mall so she can buy new workout clothes & equipment. Every time you guys see someone you know in a store you split up and pretend to be looking at different things on other ends of the store. Eventually when they leave you two come back together and giggle.

- “Heya stranger.” She grins, showing you some knee high socks she found while she was pretending to look around.

- Only your two best friends know ab you and Ellie, so you’re always having to make up excuses as to why you’re going to the tennis games.

- “They needed help with grilling hot dogs and hamburgers for the game, and you know I always need more service hours!”

- “Man I’m sorry I can’t go to the movies tonight. I already told the tennis coach I’d do face painting for the little kids that come😕”

- You’re studying at your desk when the first message from Ellie absolutely jumpscares you. The girl really needs to learn about context 🙄

- Absolutely all the girls in the crowd and on the opposing team would swoon over her. She lovesssss the attention and always waves at the crowd and blows kisses to them. Sometimes she winks at the girls on the other team to purposefully distract them as they’re serving. You don’t feel jealous though because you know as soon as the game’s over you’re going back to her place to celebrate ;)

- You feel so fucking lucky you’re dating a jock as her toned muscular arm is pumping in and out of you.

- “Fuck,, guess all that racket swinging comes in handy when I’m fucking you, hm?” She smirks, and she was actually right. She could practically finger you forever and never get tired.

- She’s a perfectionist with her playing and in bed. She’d have to make you cum at least twice before she’s satisfied.

- The next morning Ellie has to leave early for practice so she lets you stay in her room to sleep in. She texts you a WHOLE BUNCH, effectively spamming your phone and waking you up:

- She comes up to you one day out of the blue and says “Hey y/n, I’m like so serious can you hide all my stoner shit until this season is over…?” You knew she smoked but she told you she only does it when she’s off in tennis, so you’re surprised when she hands you a shoebox full of all her stuff.

- “Yeah ‘m fine. Coach has been gettin’ on to me. Jus’ more stressed out is all.” Is all she has to say when you ask about it. She runs her hands through her hair, thinking you’re frustrated with her. You’re just glad she trusts you enough to make her keep her promises to herself.

- She’d ask you what your favorite color is and get a special racket in that color for whenever you see her play. She’d say it’s her lucky racket :,)

- You were never super into sports but you loveeeee spending time with Ellie, so she decides to give you some one on one lessons.

- “Yeah, thas’ it, baby.” She’d mutter in your ear from behind you. She’s holding the racket with you and helping you swing your arms the right way.

- You guys didn’t expect to see anyone on the tennis court this early, so when other people come and Ellie recognizes them, she quickly guides you guys behind a tree.

- Your stomach is filled with butterflies as she tucks your loose hair behind your ear and kisses you !!

- You feel like a little kid playing in the woods again because now you and Ellie are sneaking around the park/tennis court trying not to be seen by the other people

- She gets really cocky sometimes and posts soft launches of you on her insta stories

- It would be a picture of you in her lap WAHH! Her tattooed hand is on your thigh with the caption “keeping me occupied”

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

[ooffmlsorry]

OP Men Dating a "Girly Girl"

A/N: sorry this took so long and I haven't posted anything original in a minute my life is mess and I'm so very tired jfc...I know this isn't more than my usual group but I was just gonna stop at Luffy and then decided to add Ace and Sabo as a thank you because writing these and putting them on Tumblr has been really good for me, so thank you for always being here to indulge me 🥲 ❤️

Sanji, Zoro, Law, Luffy, Ace, Sabo

Sanji

Let's be honest, girly-girls drive Sanji craaaazzzzyy (not that all women don't, but he's definitely more partial to the feminine ones) Your make-up, pretty skirts and dresses, jewelry, and manicure, he can't help fawn over you constantly 😍Although you do it because you enjoy it, it's nice that your efforts are so appreciated!!

He spoils you soooo baaaddd!! He literally can't help himself when he sees something pretty or cute that reminds him of you, he has to get it for you. You're drowning in squishmallows at this point.

A river of blood shoots from him every time you show off a new outfit. You're going to kill him and he'll thank you for it.

Dressing up in nice outfits together, especially on date night, is a shared activity that you love to do together. Y'all are living your best happily ever after lives.

Ya'll definitely have scheduled self-care nights. You put on some slow music, open a bottle of wine, draw a bubble bath, all that.

He's utterly useless when it comes to helping you pick your outfits or makeup if you're stuck because he loves you in everything, it's too hard for him to pick. You're his perfect, beautiful Y/N-swaaaaan 😍💖💖✨

He does love to see you in pink or red though so he might default to those colors

Don't try to test your makeup on him lol, you're going to re-awaken the gender identity crisis...I mean Kamabakka trauma

Listen...I'm not saying Sanji has a mommy kink...I'm not even at Whole Cake Island so idk wtf is going on there. All I'm saying is if you give this man a bath, wrap him in a towel to dry him off, and rub him down with luxurious lotions and oils, you might awaken something...that's all...👀

ZORO

He has no clue wtf you're doing. If it weren't for the fact that there's no proof that witches exist in this world, he'd think you are one

He looks at your vanity full of serums, creams, scrubs, lotions, etc, not to mention the makeup and he's like "??????" Just completely baffled

But what do you expect? This man would use that five-in-one Irish Spring soap if he could.

Just because he doesn't understand it doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate and admire the fact that you have extensive knowledge in something he can't even comprehend

He knows you like nice shiny things, and again, while he doesn't get it, he does think it's really, really cute when you go starry-eyed over a necklace or an outfit in a store.

In the same vein, he knows how much you love cute things and animals. He has absolutely found a cute animal in the jungle, picked it up, and brought it to you just to show you because he knew you'd love it.

Sometimes in his own gruff way he'll agree with you that it's pretty cute. Thank you for helping this manly man admit things are cute and that's okay.

Other times, he's the one making sure you don't get distracted because it's so cute

Unfortunately and fortunately, you're pretty to him no matter what you do to yourself so it's all kind of a moot point to him.

You can try to ask him about which 'x' to wear, sometimes it's helpful because he'll throw out a really practical answer and then other times he's like "How 'bout you just go naked" 😏.

He'll wear a face mask with you like...twice a year. And he's going to bitch and moan about it but he does it because he loves you. The entire process is like trying to give a cat a bath "WHY IS IT SO COLD? THIS STAYS ON MY FACE FOR HOW LONG???"

Exfoliate this man at your own risk...I'm dead serious that water is going to be brown

LAW

I need you to know right now this man will let you paint his nails!!! I mean, not like gel or acrylics or anything, but he'll let you paint them any color as long as it's a dark shade of that color. You once designed Bepo on his middle fingers. He did in fact flip people off a lot more often when he had them.

Let's you wear a pastel boiler suit because you he loves you and wants to see you happy

Much like Zoro, he's got no clue what you're doing. He'll stand back and watch you while making the exact same face as the gif above.

He thinks he's being stealthy peaking around a corner to watch your morning or night routine, but you quickly catch on. Please please pleeaaassee ask him if he has any questions because he does. He's just really curious why you're doing what you're doing and what it does. It's basically skin medicine and he's really fascinated.

Knowing that you like shiny things makes his life admittedly a little easier, it's not that he doesn't think of what to gift you, he puts A LOT of thought into what he gives you, but knowing that earrings, necklaces, and bracelets always make you happy is great just in case of analysis paralysis or he forgets. Sorry.

Also you wearing the jewelry he gets you does something to him, especially a necklace he can pull on a little, mmhhm you're making this man struggle with impure thoughts.

You both love cute things, it's something y'all connect on. It's really good that you help him access that very neglected inner child of his and encourage him to coo and fawn over adorable animals with zero reservation.

He'll do skincare with you too when he's not super busy. He can admit it's kind of nice to sit in bed with a book, glass of wine, and a face mask and just bask for a minute

He acts like he hates when you rub serums across his face and use a derma roller on him but he loves it

Law doesn't really pay attention to your clothes, but when you really go all out he breaks out in a sweat and he can't keep his eyes off you.

LUFFY

I'm not saying he thinks it's stupid, it just...why have an hours long care routine when you could be going on adventure with him??? 😭😭😭

He will help you pick out your makeup but don't expect it to look good. You're gonna end up with neon orange eyeshadow and green lipstick. Like literally every "My Boyfriend Does My Makeup" youtube video.

Plays around with your stuff but that's because he has no idea what all these strange contraptions are. The moment you try to explain his eyes glaze over and next thing you know he's whisking you away to go do something more fun.

He likes the shiny bright stuff (highlighter), makeup probably is the only part he even remotely engages in because it's

Explain how contour works to this man and watch him lose his fucking mind, he thinks you're a shape shifter now (honestly this applies to all of them except Law and maybe Sanji)

He never notices what you wear, Nami is gonna have smack him on the back of the head to get him to realize you put on something fancy

Luffy points out everything, it just so happens that things he points out sometime happen to be cute animals

Hides in all the stuffed animals and squishmallows in your room to surprise attack hug you

*throws mud at you* "Is this the kind of mud you like, Y/N??" He really means well though.

You know those hair masks with all natural ingredients like honey and banana? Yeah, he's gonna start sucking on your hair like spaghetti...I'm so sorry.

He'll bathe with you but that's because he wants to be close to you, it's definitely not about being pampered or relaxing.

Try to put a face mask on him or something else and it'll just become a game of tag around the Sunny. You can't catch him and he's having a great time outrunning and outwitting you.

He knows this is all important to you so even though he doesn't get it he'd never make fun of you for it and the moment someone calls you "extra," he's kicking their ass.

ACE

Maybe all the glam is a little silly to him but that just makes you extra cute!

He will also absolutely let you paint his nails. Hell, he'll let you do a full beat on him just for fun and he'll wear it for the whole day because he's so unserious lol

...As long as he gets to do your makeup after...Much like Luffy you're gonna be covered in neon colors that don't even remotely match, but you guys have a great time lol

Admittedly likes to be pampered by you when he gets back from a long mission.

Please take a bubble bath with this man, it's not like the water is ever going to get cold!

I'm pretty sure you'd legitimately lead to Ace taking better care of himself. Got this man out here talking about his cuticles and shit lol

Honestly, it's really good for him because self care leads to self love and Ace needs a lot of help with that.

He tells Pops about all the stuff you do 1.) because he loves you and 2.) he hopes some of it will help Whitebeard heal a little, god bless him 😢

All of your hardwork doesn't go unnoticed, he legitimately gets kind of misty eyed when you really dress up because he's so so so lucky. He swears he doesn't deserve you.

He always brings back some kind of gift even whether it's a cute plushie or something exotic to wear from all of his long travels

I need to stress how much this means to him, everyone of these things is like a little proposal because he already knows you're it. Every little gift is leading up to a ring from this man.

He's also just genuinely impressed by the skill it takes to do your makeup so well, especially after he tries doing it on you

Much like his little brother unfortunately, he does play with all the little contraptions in your vanity, especially in the beginning because have you seen an eyelash curler? He's so confused lol

SABO

Sabo and Ace truly are his brothers because he really don't get all the effort lol

Admittedly, a lot of that is because he thinks you're so hot already what's the point???

Once he gets this is just how you are he's less confused, he's probably the most normal out everyone. He lets you do your thing, although he's really curious how you managed to always look amazing while being in the fucking revolutionary army!!?? Where are you getting the time???

If someone were to intrude on y'all on a free afternoon you're both in fluffy robes with face masks on and Sabo loves to pretend to act like a bitch when he's in selfcare mode with you lol

"Are you seriously bothering us right now, ugh! I can't even right now!!" And then you both break out in laughter

He really thinks you should teach others how to contour and do makeup because it has great applications for disguises and infiltration.

And brags about your skills to everyone

Wonders how many of your makeup supplies could actively be used as a weapon *eye roll* jfc Sabo

There's a part of you that secretly worries all your boujieness will remind him of his blood relatives, but he assures you that it doesn't because you have a good heart and he never doubts that

Besides, being a little extra with him helps him associate those things he used to associate with his blood relatives with you instead so it's even better

He spoils you so bad, but with a Sabo-flair, ie. stealing from shitty people and bringing it back to you because you're oh so more deserving of nice things let's be honest

He gets jealous of the cute animals that you squeal over hehehe, please hug him when he starts pouting

He'll always wear a little pink just for you ❤️

[scarletwinterxx]

this is how you fall in love - jeon wonwoo imagine

idk what to say except wonwoo is such a precious precious precious human🥺 i hope you're happy everyday, wonu🤍

i hope you like it!

alsooo if anyone want to be mutuals on X, i'm using the same un there😊

for my other svt fics, check them here

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

When you say your life turned technicolor when you started dating Wonwoo, you meant it both literally and metaphorically. Before him, life for you was black and white. A 24 hour rotation of the clock.

To put it simply, you just lived life as it is.

It's still a mystery to you how you manage to land yourself a wonderful boyfriend like him, there are moments it doesn't feel real. How could it be when your man looks and acts like he stepped right out of a fairytale book specially written for you.

"Hey pretty, I got something for you"

He swears gift giving isn't his love language and he knows you don't like getting such grand gifts, but time to time he brings home little trinkets that reminds him of you or something cute that he thinks you'll like.

Just the other week he got you shoes that matches the one he has, but yours was in pink. Very cute, you told him. He remembered you telling him you needed new shoes but couldn't decide what to get, you saw the pink version of his' and thought about getting those but you never got to doing so.

So a few days after that, he surprised you. The smile you had on was worth every dollar he spent. You even went on a walk with your matching shoes on.

Today it's something else. This time it's a cute yellow hair pin, perfect match to the scrunchie he got you before.

"You know my favorite color is purple, right?"

He chuckles at your question. Of course he knows. At this point there's little he doesn't know about you, from your little quirks, to your pet peeves to all your favorite, he have those all listed in his mind like his own commandments.

It also happens to be his favorite color too, so that helps

"I know, I just pick that one so I can easily spot you" he takes the seat beside you on the couch, throwing his arm on the back of the couch making you rest your head against him.

"Huh?" you ask, looking at him

"Just when I don't wear my glasses, everything else is blurry but atleast I can see the color. That way I know it's you" he smiles, playing with the yellow scrunchie on your wrist

"So you're telling me, you keep getting me yellow stuff so you could see me?"

He nods

You look at him before a smile breaks out of your face, taking Wonwoo's cheeks between your hands to squish them. Cuteness aggression taking over.

To some, Wonwoo might seem like a cold person, very nonchalant but that's the exact opposite. If you get to know him more, he's a big softie and likes to play practical jokes every now and then. One of the many things that made you fall in love with him was how easy it was to smile when you're with him.

Falling for him didn't feel scary. From your past relationships it always felt like a part of you was lost, like you're not you're own person anymore. But with him, it's different.

Wonwoo let's you be you. You feel loved just by being you.

"What got you thinking, pretty? Lost you for a second there" he whispers

"Just.. things"

"Want to share?"

It's cute he still asks, even after dating for some time he still asks if you want to share whatever thoughts you have in your mind instead of just making you say it. From day 1 he let you set the pace, no matter how slow or how fast you want to go he'll be right beside you happily holding your hand.

He tucks your hair behind your ear, cradling your face in his hands and you think this is where you feel the safest, the most secure.

"Just you, still wondering what I did in my past life to deserve you"

He shakes his head, leaning down to give you a kiss on the forehead. "I should be the one asking you that. I'm just happy I get to love you like this"

He watches you watch him, he knows you're still having an internal debate. Thoughts bouncing around in your head, sometimes that happens and he's always there to shut any doubts.

"You love me, correct?" he asks, you quickly utter a confirmation making Wonwoo smile

"You said, anything I love you'll learn to love too. Correct?" he asks again, you nod at his question

"I love you, more than anything in this universe. I love even the tiny flaws you think you have. To me, all those things are just... you. These cheeks? I love seeing them the moment i open my eyes in morning, pressed against the pillow making you look like a sleeping angel. These hands? I love how they hold me, keep me grounded when it gets too loud. Your laugh, especially the one that don't sound like anything because you're laughing too hard and you're so happy I cant help but smile too and make me want to make you laugh like that everyday."

He holds your hand in his, eyes looking straight into yours as he says the words. Each and every one of them is the truth and nothing but the truth.

"You, all of you I love. This mind, the one that keeps you up at night, makes you worry about the future that have yet to come and everything that could go wrong, I love that too. That's you, you and your nagging, your ups and downs, your mood swings and bad days. I'd have it all" He frees your hand so he can reach up to flatten the crease between your brows. You feel his fingertip ever so gently land on your forehead.

"Just once, even for a second I wish you see yourself through my eyes and know just why I look at you the way I do. If only you can feel what I feel because there isn't any word in any language to express it. Not yet anyways" he breathes out.

Before you, Wonwoo's life was monochromatic. Like a black and white silent film. And when he met you, that's when it all changed. He started to laugh a little louder, smile a little wider. You're the color of his life, not the overwhelming kind of color but instead the exact hues he loved.

"Do you ever feel overwhelmed with how you feel about me?" you ask him. He can hear the genuine wonder in your voice, instead of sugarcoating it for you he tells the truth because he would never know how to lie to you.

"Sometimes, I overthink too" he lets out a chuckle before continuing "Like what if one day I become too much, but I can't help it. I just want to do everything for you. Sometimes, I feel down. I don't want to make you feel that too so I just..." he trails off

He didn't need to say anything else for you to understand.

"Then will you tell me if you're having bad days too? I can take it." you tell him

"Love, I-" he pauses "I'm sorry. I know I'm not the most vocal person, I just don't want to burden you with my problems" he breathes out. His hold on you tightening.

"I'm your partner, I'm your girlfriend. Am I not?"

"You are"

"Didn't you tell me once you'd marry me"

"I did, and I will" he smiles, recalling that conversation in his head.

"Then talk to me, I don't care about the baggage, I don't care if they're too heavy. I'm here. You share your joys with me, then that's double the happiness. That goes the same with your sorrows, you tell me all about it so it's half the pain"

He smiles, heart filling up with more love for you he didn't was possible.

"You can tell me, you don't have to give it all to me. I just want to know if you're okay, or angry or worried or sad. I just want to know how to be there for you like you are for me" you tell him, tracing his features with your fingertips.

He hugs you even tighter, afraid of letting any space get between the two of you. "You being here is more than enough for me. Knowing I'm coming home to you is enough for me. You are more than enough for me, my love"

You didn't expect your afternoon to turn into love confessions but you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

[scribbles-here]

𝙰 𝚃𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚈𝚘𝚞

Synopsis: You and Ren have been cuddling for the past few hours, on their request, but then you get the urge to put something in your mouth. Good thing Ren’s here to help you to satisfy your needs. 

Tags: blowjob, established relationship, deepthroating, male pleasure, gagging, slight edging, smut, slight ooc Ren? idk

Word Count: 985

Pairings: Ren/Redacted x AFAB Reader

A/N: literally had no idea what i’m doing and it’s so bad omfg AHHH AND ANOTHER THING MINORS/ AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!!

Ren/Redacted belongs to @14dayswithyou

“A-ah! A-Angel…wai-fuck!~”

“Sl-..ngh! Slow down!” 

“Y-you’re so…mmf! Eager!”

The faint pounding of the rain echoed through the empty apartment. The room was dark and cold. The only source of warmth was coming from a bundle of blankets on the large bed and who laid in them was you and Ren, all cuddled up. The pink haired man had his scarred fingers scratch at your scalp, making you practically pur at the feeling. Your arms were wrapped around their waist, face snuggled into their cardigan. The smell of mint and fresh linen invades your senses. Ren beams at the sight of you so relaxed and wrapped up in his arms. 

You toss a leg over Ren’s hips and shift positions before grumbling and shifted into another position. Ren lifts his head from his soft pillow from your constant movements.

“[Name]?” They call out softly. You move your gaze over to meet concerned blue ones. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” You hastily replied, pulling your face away from Ren’s soft cardigan and instead rested your chin on his chest. “Just being weird, y’know?” They chuckle, nuzzling their nose into your head.

“You know you can say whatever's on your mind, Angel.” He softly kisses at your neck and your face heats up.

Sighing, you eventually gave up. “I kind of want something in my mouth, like candy to suck on.” Ren stutters and lifts himself onto his elbows, cheeks bright red. 

“I-is that so?” They were flabbergasted and you snort, hand going to caress Ren’s clothed stomach while you moved your body to settle in between Ren’s legs. 

“Obviously I’m not in a biting mood, more like a,” You drifted on, lowering yourself down his body, rubbing his thighs that shivered at your warm touch. “I want something to occupy my mouth kind of mood.”

The pink haired man lifts his arm to cover the bottom half of his red face, eyes not straying from yours. “[N-Name]!” He gasped, hips jerking into the air. Giggling you decide to stop your touching and rest your chin against his lower belly, he gulps. 

You stick out your tongue. “Just kidding!” 

Your boyfriend whines, rocking his hips into you in desperation. You were about to mock him when you felt a wet sticky substance on your shirt. Looking down, you spot a dark spot on Ren’s sweatpants. “U-unless you want me to…” You added, face growing warm as Ren rapidly nods their head. 

Taking that as a green light, you proceed to slide to the edge of the bed along with tugging on Ren’s pants down before scarred hands quickly grab onto yours. You stop and look at Ren who’s eyes dart around your face before meeting your [Eye color] eyes. 

“Do you, uhm, think you can wear a blindfold?” They nervously asked, intertwining their fingers with yours. “I-I’m sorry for the sudden request, [Name].” 

You shake your head, easing his nerves a bit. “Hey! No worries!” Scanning the room, you try to find something to cover your eyes with. Ren shifts and pulls something from underneath his pillow. It was a black silk sleeping mask. 

“Here, you can use this.” They reach over and place the mask over your eyes and your world is enveloped in darkness. Ren hums, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear and cups your cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “You look angelic like this, Angel.” 

You giggle, cheeks burning from your boyfriend’s compliments. Then you hear the ruffling of clothes being taken off and immediately lock in, licking your lips in anticipation. Ren lets out a sigh of relief after releasing their cock from its containment, the musky smell invades your nostrils and you fight the urge to just swallow it whole. 

“D-do you need help or should I-'' Ren begins only to be cut off with a yelp after you reach over to blindly brush against his weeping tip. White pearls dripped down your hand as you used a finger to rub the slit in a circular motion. Ren groans, reaching down to lift his shirt up to not dirty it, not like you noticed it or anything. “[N-Name]!” 

Scooching closer to the bed, you lick a trail from Ren’s cock from the base all the way to the tip. Their legs tensed, shivers of pleasure running down their spine. “Fuuu…uck!” More whimpers escaped his plump red lips from biting back his louder noises. 

The salty taste of their precum makes you lick your lips, your eyes fluttering at the taste. Ren groans, eyes locked onto your head watching closely as you open your mouth and take his head, giving it a harsh suck. They roll their blue eyes to the back of their skull, pearly rows of teeth biting down on his plump pink lips.

This encourages you more, one of your hands reaching over to fondle his balls causing him to let out another moan. Ren’s toes curl once his tip hits the back of your throat and you gag. “A-An-fuck! [Name]! I..I’m gonna-” 

The pink haired man shuts his eyes and arches his back beautifully off the bed as they release into your mouth. With a moan, you swallow what you could and remove your lips from their cock with a small wet pop! Ren’s face was flushed, chest heaving, and his cheeks were covered in tears. You wished you could see what their face looked like right now. 

Swallowing a glob of spit, Ren settles a scarred hand on your head. “W-wow Angel, you were very excited..!”

“I’m not done.”

He blinks, a confused smile forming on their face. “W-what?”

“We’re not stopping, I still want something in my mouth.” You purred, blindly placing your hand back onto his weeping cock and gave it a few pumps. Your boyfriend cries out from the overstimulation.

“W-well then!” He groaned. “You c-ccan…fuck- do whatever you - ah, want!” 

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

rushed and unedited, I might come back and actually make it better soon

also SOOOO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT! honestly I got lazy and then writers block and other shit happened ;(( but we good

Like my work? Buy me a ko-fi!

[slowdrawl]

Shear Luck | joel miller x f!reader | {18+ minors DNI} [masterlist]

{TLOU AU, modern-ish, no outbreak, Sarah lives!} |part 4| Wildflowers and Wine | 2.3k words|

Joel Miller, a single dad, came into your salon for a haircut, but he never expected to leave with a crush. Sarah's alive, tension's are high, the jokes are bad and the chemistry is crazy!

Fluff ?✔️ Slow burn? ✔️ Age gap? ✔️ Puns? ✔️

sprinkle in a little bit of smut 🔥 and dbf!joel energy and BOOM. You got this sweet-feel good fic.

“You bite back a laugh, heat flooding your face. You stand by the front for a minute, feeling a little dumb for moping around all morning thinking he didn’t really give a shit. You should’ve given him more credit—what a softie." |A/N Part 4 of these cuties. I'm thinking we might only see one more chapter for a while after this... unless I get some protest about it. not that I'm planning on wrapping them up forever, but I do want them to live hea and I have a few other fic ideas on the go. xox

Warnings: Mild language, alcohol use, flirting, fluff, puns, age gap (Joel's 38, reader's 23). eventual smut, alcohol use, YEARNING.

An alarm blares on your phone, and you groan yourself awake. You tap the screen and hit snooze. It’s been two days since the party, and the hangover is still lingering, fogging your head. You’re dehydrated, out of it, exhausted. You just lie there with your eyes clamped shut, willing yourself back to sleep. It’s no use. You spend the next fifteen minutes staring up at the ceiling fan, telling yourself you need to wait. You’ve spent the last 48 hours of your life checking your phone every fifteen minutes for something, anything, but—

bzz.

Your heart jumps, and you rip the phone out from under your pillow, tapping in your passcode with frantic fingers.

(8:07 PM) Kim: idk abt cam, hes cool but also lowkey clingy. hows old dude?

Disappointment floods into your chest, hollowing you out. You sigh, and it comes out half-strangled, throat tight with something—anger? Embarrassment? Shame, maybe? You roll yourself out of bed, bare feet hitting the hardwood, dragging yourself to the shower. You crank the handle to the left, letting the water rain over you, practically scalding. It soothes your muscles, but it doesn’t calm the ache.

//

The salon is humming with the sound of your hairdryer, clippers, and quiet conversation. The afternoon sun is shining through the blinds, hitting just low enough in the sky now that it’s blinding your left eye—sending a pang of pain through your skull, still recovering from the long weekend. You’re standing behind your client, Erin, applying her root color. She’s droning on about her daughter’s wrestling match out of town and her overnight shift in the ER clashing. She’s a single mom, three teenage daughters, working doubles just to make ends meet. You’re barely paying attention to what she’s saying, your mind entirely elsewhere, total dissociation. You hum and work, throwing out a “That’s crazy!” every once in a while for good measure.

The front door chimes open, and you hear heavy footsteps come in. You don’t turn, almost afraid to look. You stare forward and slow your hands, waiting for a natural break in conversation, trying not to be rude. The person at the front desk clears their throat. “Excuse me, Miss. I got a delivery for—” Your head whips toward the desk. You don’t remember ordering anything—probably a mistake, wrong address. There’s a man standing at the desk in a brown button-down shirt, “Freytag Floral” embroidered on the chest. He’s holding a bouquet wrapped up in brown kraft paper, a dark green ribbon tied around the stems.

“Uh, for who?” you call out, voice high enough to carry over David’s blowdryer, but it cracks. You slap what’s left of the color on your tint brush to Erin’s head and pause, placing the brush down in the bowl. “One minute, darlin’. Be right back.”

You walk over to the desk, watching the guy fumble with the flowers. He pulls out a little green card and squints as he reads it. “Looks like—you, if I had to guess. You’re the hairdresser?” He looks around the room like he’s deciding if it’s a safe bet to assume or not. He’s right. It’s just you and David today—unless his husband sent them. “Card says ‘Trouble.’ You Trouble?” He raises his eyebrows at you from behind the cardstock. David shuts his dryer off and shoots a smirk your way before going back to styling.

Yup, that would be me.

Nobody has ever sent you flowers before. You’re stuck standing there, wide-eyed and nervous, picking at the skin around your thumbnail and chewing your lower lip. “Oh—okay, do I have to pay—or sign? Anything?” you mumble to him, eyes on your feet.

The delivery guy just smiles and shakes his head at you, placing them down gently on the desk. “Nope, have a good day, Miss. Here ya go.” He turns and leaves the shop—thank God, because that was really fuckin’ awkward.

Erin’s already swung her chair to face you, grinning. “Who’s the admirer—secret or what? Go on, kid, read it!”

You slip off the dye-covered nitrile gloves you’re wearing, throwing them in the trash under the desk, before picking up the arrangement. It’s stunning—wildflowers, daisies, sunflowers, and lavender filling the spaces between. A single red rose sits in the middle; it’s messy and perfect and absolutely you. You stop for a second and wonder if it was Kim who sent them—she knows you well enough to pick out your dream bouquet like that. Maybe an apology for the “use protection” jab or something? You grab the card, fingers brushing against the rough paper, opening it, your heart hammering in your chest.

The envelope does indeed say “Trouble,” handwritten in sloppy, boyish cursive. The inside of the card says, “dinner, my place, tonight, 7. No complainin’, bring the bratty attitude with you.”

Yup—Joel for sure. What a dick. Two days of radio silence and then this stunt?

You bite back a laugh, heat flooding your face. You stand by the front for a minute, feeling a little dumb for moping around all morning thinking he didn’t really give a shit. You should’ve given him more credit—what a softie.

You slot the card back into the flowers and shove them under the desk. You take a deep breath, trying to play it cool, but Erin’s craning her neck, staring like she could read through the envelope with X-ray vision or something. You smile at her and walk back over.

“So, who was it? Spill it.” You can’t hide the smirk curling at your lips. “Just a friend, no big deal.”

She scoffs. “You’re so full of shit! He cute at least?”

Disgustingly, and so is his daughter.

“He’s alright, little rough ’round the edges.” You pick up the color brush and finish applying, glancing at the clock. It’s already 4:30—Erin’s gonna have to sit for half an hour, then another to rinse and finish. You’ll be out by 5:45 after cleanup. You look in the mirror and cringe—it wasn’t hair-wash day, and you’re wearing fucking cargo pants.

You text Kim and pace in the back room while Erin processes.

(3:42 PM) You: Joel sent flowers, dinner tonight at his place. I look like i crawled out of a dumpster. 👍

(3:45 PM) Kim: oh shit, you shave today? or is it like… the amazon rn. 😂

You did not.

You map out your plan of attack as you rush to finish Erin’s hair. You convince her to skip her haircut today, knocking off a good fifteen minutes or so. She heads out the door, but not before giving you a cheeky smirk, saying, “Have fun, be safe!”

You decide to do your hair at work, curling it into soft waves, nearly burning your forehead when your hands start shaking. You grab your purse and a plastic shower cap, practically running out of the shop to your car, flowers tucked under your arm. You’re nervously sweating the entire ride home, checking the clock every few seconds like time’s going to bend and disappear on you.

You rush into the shower, listening to the water hit the plastic on your head,distracting you. You move onto taming the beast, shaving every inch of your body until it’s slick like a hairless cat or something. When you get out, you lather yourself up in a lotion you bought a few weeks ago from the farmers market—it smells like patchouli and rosemary, real hippie shit. You bet yourself five bucks Joel will make some stupid comment about you smelling like a Portland bookstore or someone fresh from Burning Man.

You throw on some mascara and a bit of lip gloss and head to your closet, picking out something comfortable but cute, a black sundress that sits low across your shoulders and hugs you in all the right places. You’re about three minutes from leaving the house when it hits you—fuck, you don’t even know where this guy lives.

(6:45 PM) You: Hey, i tried texting the other guy, he said it wasn’t him who sent the flowers so ur my last guess.

(6:46 PM)  Joel: ha ha ha, very funny. Brat.

(6:46 PM) You: I dont have ur address, cuz im not a stalker like u are. plz send it.

He turns on his location and sends it to you.

Okay—domestic! Weird, but I like it.

(6:48 PM) Joel: there, now cool it with the attitude before i do something ’bout it. Don’t be late.

(6:50 PM) You: shaking in my boots rn. See you in 10 🤠

You do not see him in ten—it’s more like twenty, no surprise at all.

You pull up to his house, parking in the driveway next to his truck. It’s a cute craftsman rancher with a rocking chair on the front porch—very Joel. It’s only a few blocks from your house, the yard overgrown with shrubs. You laugh to yourself, thinking contractor, not a landscaper. You do one more mirror check, then stare down at the flowers in the passenger seat, picking them up as you push open the door. You give yourself a mental pep talk, psyching yourself up to walk to the house. You’ve got fuckin’ butterflies in your stomach like you’re a teenager again.

You knock twice, and he swings the door open like he was standing there already. He’s wearing dark-wash jeans low on his hips, a plain black t-shirt stretched across his chest with a—say it with me—flannel over the top, sleeves rolled up tonight to show off his forearms. The sight alone makes you salivate. His hair’s still damp from the shower, slicked back and off to the side just like you’d do it for him. He smells good too—cologne, no cedar today. He’s smiling at you, dimple flashing like he knows you’re already a goner.

What a slut.

“Well, well, well, look who showed up,” he drawls, leaning against the frame. “Thought you might’ve changed your mind—or chickened out, at least.”

“Me? Chicken out?” You scoff. “You’re the one who ghosted me for two days, remember that?” You grin, shoving the flowers into his chest. “Now you pull this corny bullshit? What’s wrong with you, Miller? What’s your game?”

He takes the bouquet from you, smirking as he steps aside to let you in. “No game. Figured you’d be less of a brat with some food in you, though. C’mon, dinner’s gettin’ cold.”

His house is decorated exactly how you’d imagined it—with mismatched furniture and paintings of woodland creatures here and there. Sarah’s drawings are Scotch-taped to the walls; it’s a little cluttered but in a homey way. You follow him toward the kitchen. It smells like rosemary and something roasted, vegetables, chicken maybe? Joel’s kitchen is airier than the living room, with big windows facing the backyard and an open layout. He grabs a mason jar and uses it as a makeshift vase for the flowers, setting them on the dining table. It’s set already, real proper-like—how fancy.

“Sit. You’re gettin’ the full Miller treatment tonight.”

You plop down, eyeing the spread in front of you—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, a salad, all simple, but it looks pretty damn good.

“This your apology for kissin’ me then actin’ like you fell off the side of the earth?” you ask, grabbing a fork.

“Maybe… drink?” He sits across from you, cracking open a bottle of white wine you can’t pronounce the name of—you’d bet money he can’t either. You don’t respond, but he pours you a glass anyway before going on. “Figured maybe you were busy with that other poor son of a bitch.” He’s trying to keep a straight face but failing. “Or maybe I just wanted to keep you on your toes.”

“You’re an asshole, know that?” you mutter, taking a sip of the wine. It’s cold, cutting through the end of your three-day hangover fog. Dinner is quiet at first—he’s got the radio on low in the kitchen; it’s all forks clinking and birds chirping outside. Then he starts talking, dumb stuff: Sarah’s school projects, work ordeals, a leaky pipe he fixed—and you’re trading jabs, laughing over nothing and everything. It’s domestic, easy…too easy, and you feel that ache from this morning start to fade away.

When your bellies are full and the dishes are cleared, Joel sits back down, folding his arms. “So, still thinkin’ about that other guy?”

You snort, shaking your head at him. “Nah, he didn’t even send me flowers. Think I’ll kick him to the curb.”

“Okay, good. Now c’mon, I got one more thing for ya—surprise.” He stands, grabbing your hand and the bottle of wine, leading you toward the back door. The yard is small and more manicured than the front, with a swing set, patio furniture, a big glass-top table, and green chairs—you know the type. There’s a propane firepit going already, crackling low.

“S’mores round two?” you tease, sitting down in one of the chairs next to the fire.

“Not quite…somethin’ better, I think.” He pulls his guitar out from beside the table, slinging it over his knee, grinning. “You wanted to hear Wonderwall, right?” He starts plucking the strings.

You laugh, real and loud. “Oh my God, no—please tell me you didn’t.”

He’s strumming a few chords now, laughing with you. “Nah, ain’t gonna subject you to that. But I figured you’d like somethin’ anyway.” He starts playing something you don’t recognize, soft and dreamy. His voice rumbles in, gravelly and warm. You lean forward, just watching, smiling like an idiot, hypnotized. You wish you could bottle up this feeling, film this memory, and watch it over and over again. That feeling from the other night comes back into your chest, but it’s lighter now, less “fucked,” less terrified.

He keeps playing for a while, the crickets coming out in full force as darkness settles in. The sky is open wide, the stars so bright, moon so close—like you could pluck her out if you reached up.

I could get used to this.

[saiintvalentiine]

the amber house

Summary: There is a house in the woods and Kenadian can't keep running.

Notes: this is. something. i have some other ideas in this realm that i want to work on, but idk when ill get to them. this is completely unedited, so pls feel free to point out any SPAG errors :} enjoy! divider

Word count: 2,160

Ken hates snow. He hates it in the way an animal might; it chills his clothes and sneaks into his ears and ruins his balance as he runs. It weakens him. He can’t hear the train tracks anymore, can’t feel the rumbling of dozens of cars rushing across thousands of miles of metal railing, but he can’t stop running and falling and scraping and standing and running. He’s been running for what feels like no time at all, what feels like forever, what feels like his last moments alive.

There were warehouses and wasteland where he began, but now there’s nothing but forest, thin and wispy and lashing his cheeks and blending with the sleet and—

And light. Sweet, orange-tinged light. He wants to crash into it, sink into it, feel if it’s as warm as it looks. He’s exhausted. He tumbles into the light, landing at the foot of a raised porch, all dark wood and hellebore petals.

He’s a wanted man. He can’t stay here. He doesn’t know where he can stay, his legs hurt, he’s—

“You look like you’ve been dunked in a bucket.”

A shadow cuts through the light. Ken struggles to get up, get off the ground, get back to running, but all he manages is to sprawl on the porch steps.

“Well. That’s not ideal, I’ll admit. Come on, come here, we’ll get you warm and dry.”

The shadow disappears and the light returns and Ken drags himself onto the porch and shakes his sopping wet hair out.

“Do you— you just leave your front door open?” Ken croaks as he stands up.

“You can enter if you want but don't critique a stranger’s life so flippantly.”

Ken staggers towards the doorway, pausing just before the threshold. The walls are pale and the floor is covered in jewel colored rugs and the smell of hot, spiced food slams into him like a bullet to the brain. He hesitates for only a moment before stepping inside.

“Welcome.”

Ken follows the scent into the kitchen, the heat of the house melting away the snow clinging to his clothes and dripping onto the floor of an overstuffed kitchen.

“I'm making rabbit stew, but it'll take a while longer.”

“That sounds. . .” Ken stomach clenches.

“Good. I'm Wifies by the way.”

Ken blinks through the rivulets of water melting into his eyes.

“Augh, stop dripping on the floor,” Wifies is suddenly in Ken’s space, manhandling him away from the kitchen. Ken hisses as he's shoved into a bathroom. “Shower. There's clothes and towels in the closet. Don't come out until you're dry.”

A light is flicked on, the door is slammed shut behind Ken, and then there's silence. The food smell doesn't reach under the door.

The bathroom is just as overstuffed as the rest of the house, the linen closet nearly spilling out with fabric and the countertop covered in lotions and soap bottles. Ken feels dizzy looking at it, but there's a shower, and when he tests the water, it's blessedly hot. He drops his soaked clothes on the floor and stands under the hot water and picks through what feels like fifty bottles of hair products and eighteen different soaps. He even conditions his tail for good measure. Best to use up all the goodwill he can before this guy realizes who he is.

He feels less like an icicle when he steps out. There's an eclectic collection of clothes stuffed into bins in the linen closet. He finds some sweatpants and a shirt that fits alright enough, and digs through his pants pockets. He pulls out his key necklace from the depths, but also his escape room keys and . Then, he bundles up his towel and possibly ruined clothes to take out. He's not even really sure what he's doing until he's back at the kitchen, watching the practiced dance of a familiar kitchen.

“Oh, you're done. Good, I'll just toss that stuff to wash, leave it on the bathroom floor.”

“Do you know who I am?” Ken blurts out.

“What, have you forgotten?” Wifies turns to look at Ken, and now without the sting of freezing air in his eyes, he gets a good look. Black hair streaked with white, pale skin, a smattering of moles, and most strikingly, violet eyes that narrow like the tips of pins. “No, you definitely know who you are.”

“I do!”

“Then why are you asking me?”

“Are you kidding me— I'm dangerous, don't you know?!”

“Dangerous?” Wifies snorts and turns back to the pot of stew. “You're like a bug to me. Annoying, but not dangerous.”

Ken prickles at that. He's dangerous, it's true, it's why he's here in the first place, why he was snow-slicked and half dead already.

“Kenadian, leave that wet pile in the bathroom before you drip anymore on my floor,” Wifies says. 

Ken sputters, saying, “So you do know who I am!”

“I never said I didn't.”

“You—”

Ken groans and does as he's told for once.

“Would you like to eat?” Wifies asks when he comes back to the kitchen, finally able to sit at the curiously empty dining table.

“. . . Yes.”

“Wonderful. I've made rabbit stew.”

Ken is served a steaming hot plate of stew, spoon place directly into his hand, and he wastes no time in digging in. He knows he needs to be more critical about what's happening right now, he's still on the run, he's still a killer.

Even killers need to eat.

Wifies sits across from Ken, eating his own bowl of stew at a much slower pace. It's much smaller than Ken's, which he'd find funny if he wasn't too busy stuffing himself.

“Once your clothes are dry, you can head out,” Wifies says, stirring his spoon through his stew slowly. “You can sleep in the meantime if you'd like.”

Ken chokes and struggles to swallow down a chunk of carrot.

“Wait, are you kicking me out?”

“You have places to be,” Wifies says, waving his free hand around. “And you wouldn't want to stay here anyway.”

Ken isn't restless. Not yet at least.

“Not my house,” Ken mumbles, looking back down at his bowl.

Wifies makes a noise, like a huff, but Ken just focuses on eating until he feels sick with it.

“Your earrings,” Wifies says suddenly. When Ken looks up, Wifies’s head is tilted as he stares at Ken's orange ear. “They're made of metal?”

“Yeah,” Ken can't help but touch them, a pink enamel flower and a gold and amethyst stud stacked on the outer side of his ear.

“You'll get frostbite on them if you keep them on,” Wifies says. He's not wearing any jewelry. “When you leave, you should take them off until you can get somewhere warm.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“No problem. I'll set the couch up.”

Wifies stands and puts his bowl in the sink, walking around Ken and further into the house. Hunger sated, clean and warm, Ken thinks. He finishes his stew and puts the emptied bowl into the sink and stands at the threshold of the kitchen and looks around. The entrance is like a small mudroom, most of the front of the house overtaken by the kitchen itself. Cold air breezes in from the wide open door, but no snow lays on the porch or wanders in, and the cold only brushes up against Ken when he stands right in front of it. He stares out into the wispy darkness, the snapping tree branches, the sizzling white of the world, and takes a step back.

There may be something strange here, but there's no train, no breaking of his memory, no mask. He touches his cheek. No mask.

“Ken?”

Ken turns around to see Wifies ducking out of a doorless doorway down the hall.

“Don't steal my clothes,” Wifies fusses, frown so deep that he looks comical.

“I won't! Jeez, I was just looking.”

“Well, I pulled the couch out and made it. You can lay down whenever you want. I'll get your clothes washed.”

Wifies enters the bathroom, taking Ken's clothes before disappearing into another doorway. Ken drags his feet until he reaches the first doorway, where a worn green sofa bed with overstuffed pillows and a patchwork quilt awaits him in a dimly lit room. Suddenly, he realizes how much he hurts, the strain in his thighs and stinging in his chest not quite gone. He finds himself crawling under the quilt and curling up.

Ken's going to die in this house isn't he? He's laying down to sleep in a house in the middle of the woods he found while running away from his trial.

He falls asleep anyway.

A tinny radio is what wakes him up. It's distant, and Ken's eyes still feel sticky, but he pushes himself upright. It sounds like— it's indistinct honestly, but there are no voices, just music. He rolls off of the mattress and follows the music back to the kitchen where Wifies is pricking his fingers sewing a hole shut on Ken's hoodie.

“Ah, Ken,” Wifies says, not looking up from his work. The door is still open, snow still floating down through the night. “Your clothes are all clean. I'm just mending this bit here.”

He snips the black thread and hands it to Ken, along with his neatly folded pants. Ken takes them. He sniffles, nose still stuffy from sleep. He turns. He shuffles his way back down the hall towards the bathroom.

“Don't forget to take your earrings off!” Wifies calls out. “Frostbite, remember?”

Ken grunts. He does, as he's getting dressed, take his earrings out and pocket them, though he has to take his escape room keys out to make sure they don't land on top of them and fall out. He puts them on the counter top and hunts for a nice smelling lotion.

Use up all the goodwill, remember?

Once he smells nice, he returns to the kitchen. Wifies’s plain blue sewing kit sits on the kitchen table, a dark, marbled wood slab that looks like it weighs a hundred pounds. He's put a kettle on the stove, bright orange and covered in poorly painted lemons, and there's a robin's egg blue mug next to it.

“The decor in this house is a mess,” Ken comments.

“You're insufferable, by the way,” Wifies says drily. “Get out of here will you?”

Wifies's tone is almost charmed, but the words themselves—

“Do you really know who I am?” Ken asks. His clothes are warm and clean and his stomach is full and he's got that itch under his skin that tells him he's been in one spot for too long. He just wants to know. “Like, really?

“You're Kenadian,” Wifies says. “I know what that means. Do you?”

Ugh. Philosophical shit.

“Obviously.”

Wifies groans and rounds up on Ken, pushing him towards the door. Cold laps at his feet.

“Yeah, alright, enough of that, get lost,” Wifies shoos him away with both hands. “You've got nothing left to do here.”

And the thing is, Wifies is right. Ken could try to sweet talk him into letting him stay for longer, but he doesn't want to. He wants to go— fuck, he's not sure, but he wants to go. He got out of the train, got away from his imprisonment, escaped his fate for another day, and he doesn't want to stay here. It's a nice house, but Ken doesn't want a home. He wants to go.

“Don't push me,” Ken grumbles, stepping onto the porch. He turns around to look at Wifies. “And, uh, thanks for letting me stay. Or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Wifies echoes with a snort. “Don't get caught.”

“I won't.”

Ken basks in the light for only a moment longer before hopping off the porch and running. He doesn't look back.

Wifies sighs as the kettle wails. He ignores it in favor of heading to the bathroom. Sitting on the counter is a carabiner with a handful of colorful keys on it. He picks it up and heads back to the kitchen, turning the heat off on the stove and twirling the carabiner around his finger over and over.

The radio on the windowsill over the sink, small and silver and still functional after all this time, sputters and spits.

Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run, it sings, Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run.

“Bang, bang, bang, bang goes the farmer's gun,” Wifies sings along, pocketing the keys for now as he pours the water for his tea. The scenery outside the window changes in streaks of static and light. “Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run.”

The snow is gone when Wifies looks up. Instead, it's endless rolling hills of grass and nothing else, moon bright and high and lonely in the sky.

He takes his tea and makes his way to his bedroom. He leaves the front door open, as always, just in case.

[teenycat]

falling in love with the fanmade wild kratts unicorns time to appreciate this media the only way i know how...

by shoehorning myself in as a super unnecessary third wheel oc!!!

gonna use Zweihorn as a placeholder name for this guy... update his name is now Spar but im too lazy to rewrite this whole post. he's a sickle-horned antelope, which is a species made by @ranfordgallus. the thoroughly unimpressed alicorn in the above pic is Aoife and she was made by @martincrushcameback

i encourage u to read about them on the original creators' blogs if u havent already... some context is probably helpful when reading this post.

disclaimer!! zweihorn is NOT canon. neither is his story. i dont really have the right to make edits to einhorn or aoife's canon stories and i did not consult ranford or tashi before creating him.

he's just a guy i made up for fun!

loooong yap post and some pics under the cut

purple unicorn is Einhorn and he is ranford's oc

zweihorn's coloring isn't typical but i really wanted him to be blue. also his horn shape is really dramatically curved and i think that's supposed to be a female trait but.. he is a male

he's einhorn's brother and he's very self-confident and has way too much energy all the time. if Einhorn is Bambi then Zweihorn is Ronno. or maybe its more of a scar-mufasa thing idk. he's also kinda aggressive to humans because he never spent time around them like Aoife or Einhorn.

he's one of the very few sickle horns who are fully wild... or at least he was.

he's not older he just developed a lil faster. anyway after Einhorn gets separated from his herd, Zweihorn grows up to be something like the leader/alpha antelope (idk if that's even a thing lol) and he loses his tail and an eyeball and a bunch of his fur because of competing antelopes and predators.

he gets separated from the herd somewhere in adulthood. maybe gets captured by a villain and the wild kratts can't find his original herd when they go to free him.

but anyways.. end point is he has to spend some time getting his injuries taken care of and then has to adjust to living in a national park (or wherever it is Aoife and Einhorn live)

and then.. idk he becomes competition for Einhorn. he tries to get w/ Aoife and is baffled at her rejecting him.

a big part of Einhorn's story is that he's isolated for his mutation, well. Zweihorn is definitely not helpful here. he tries to spar with him all the time (and wins whenever einhorn doesn't back off. because he has more experience. and more horns)

he started out as just art style/coloring practice and then i decided i liked him too much and gave him a story...man.

if u read this far... thanks man i appreciate you appreciating me.

[pedge-page]

I'm new to ur page idk if this is done but I...I want Joel to piss inside a plushie....

Puddles - a Plushies x PK drabble

Notes: I've been waiting to write this one so here we go! Can read more plushies!Joel through Plushies Series masterlist, though they can all be read as standalone fics

Warnings: Pisskink!Joel, piss kink, Drunk!Joel, solo masturbation with a stuffed animal, yes he is pissing inside poor plushie, plushie fucking briefly

18+ ONLY

- - - -

He may have gone a little bit overboard when Tommy invited him for the crew’s so-called ‘happy hour get together’. He knew they all liked to go out and celebrate with a few drinks after completing a project, and this last one they just wrapped up for some posh client with outrageous requests was no different. 

Joel usually liked to skip out on them. First, because he didn’t want to know what these clowns might be up to when they get tipsy, letting whatever sober-less things go on follow his mind to the next job site. But also because he’s getting too old for that college level shit. Hangovers aren’t nearly as fun when you’re pushing well past middle age. 

But, he didn’t want to be home alone since you were going to be working late.

So, two beers turned into twelve and a few more various alcohol spiked beverages here and there, and boom. Joel’s swaying side to side along the sidewalk with Tommy guiding him all the way up the front door.

“You sure you don’t need me, brother?” Tommy asks hesitantly. 

Joel, with lolling eyes and a grin, confidently waves him off after successfully entering his key into the door after 6 tries.

He stumbles through into the dark alone, and the first thing that hit him is how badly he wants to curl up on your plushie filled bed. He thought about you all night; your shampoo filling his nose when you cuddle him, the smooth streak of your naked back when you finish a shower, the wet indulgence of your pussy when he eats you out.

He’s never going to admit it, but the man is clingy as shit when you’re around. And he’s craving some much needed plushie pussy time.

Shit, the alcohol is really swimming in his brain. 

And, he realizes, with a firm and shiver-some squeeze to his crotch, elsewhere in his body. 

Ironically, the bathroom is not what beckons him.

With a devious smirk, he instead tumbles into the bedroom. Through the moonlit drapes, a wave of beady eyed babies stare back at him.

“Hello freaks,” he chuckles. They probably miss you too. Honestly it’s really rude, if you think about it, the way you abandon your buddies here AND Joel all in one night? Atrocious behavior. Someone ought to teach you better.

“Daddy’s home."

He falls forward, his knees catching the edge of the bed. An array of colorful volunteers practically jumping up and down at his presence to be engulfed by the precious aroma of Joel Miller.

That’s how drunk-Joel is seeing it. In reality, if they could run for their fluffy lives, they would. 

A quick hand snatches one yellow blob by its neck. His eyes struggle to get a clear picture—whether from the alcoholic haze or the darkness obscuring his vision. Possibly both. The dark bill and flappy arms come into focus.

“Duck,” he muses to himself. “Bet ya name is Duckie, some shit like that. She ain't good with the namein.” He rolls the unfortunate one over to its back, inspecting its caliber. Its definitely older: matted fur smushed down in certain areas, lack of vibrant coloring, some faded and torn edged fabric on its bow tie. Bitty holes sewn up here and there with mismatched (and poorly seemed) threaded needle. Your college waitressing job used to be for a place called the Quavern, so this little guy’s gotta be your graduation farewell from that team.

“Well mister Quakers. You n' me gonna get to know each other real well right now. Got something I need ya to hold f’me,” Joel slurs. One hand frees the button of his jeans while the other begins to prod at a loose tear in poor DuckDuck’s underside. He pokes and prods and scissors a little too harshly with his sausage fingers before a tell-tale rip echoes in the room. “Oops,” he chuckles with very little guilt as he forces the hole a bit wider and palms his crotch a bit harder. 

Yeah, he gets hard when touching your stuffed animals. He can’t help it! With all the naughty activities you do with them, they’re practically hug buddies by day, sex toy by night. His mind feels foggy, but the building sensation along his lower stomach is the only thing churning his actions. With a few lazy pumps, Joel slots his mushroom tip at the cottony hole he’s made in the poor plush. He pushes through, groaning with his head tossed slightly back as dry softness envelops his pulsing length. 

“Shit—that’s it. Take it little guy.” He bites his lips and peers below, watching his dick penetrate the stuffed animal.

He knows he should put it down, sew it up, put it back, and go do his business in the bathroom like a good, well trained boyfriend. But then again, he knows how fucking pissed you’ll be if he defiles your plushies again. Then you’ll never leave him unattended at home, and that means more pussy drinking and rubbing on these fuckers for him.

Joel doesn’t even realize he’s pissing inside the poor animal until it starts to sag heavily with the weight and wetness coating his hand. “Ooohhhhhhhhhh,” he gasps with furrowed brows. As his bladder empties, the duck grows damper and darker, the fur and cotton soaking it up from the inside out until it’s dripping down his ballsack.  He thrusts inside a few times, the warm wet sensation making him choke out a curse. It’s not quite like your pussy, but the heat is better than nothing. He pushes it flush against his pubic bone, another rush of liquid hissing through and muffled by Mr Quack’s soft innards.

If he wasn’t so fucking wasted right now, he’d fuck it into oblivion. give it the good ol'Miller beating. Fertilize its eggs, if you will. But with his bathroom situation now relieved, Joel yanks the thing off and chucks it to the ground. His brain collapses just as he falls towards the bed, drowning in his own much needed slumber.

-

you shake your head and laugh, hands on your hips at the sight in front of you.

Joel’s out cold face forward in your bed. His jeans are loosely wrapped around his hips and his old tee still on, so if it wasn’t for his loud snoring, you’d assume the man was dead. He hadn’t even made it fully on the bed, his tip toes still holding him up on the floor and legs dangling at an angle.

A few of your stuffed animals had managed to crawl out from underneath him, scattered around when he most likely dropped onto the bed. You pick them up one by one: dusty Carly the Crow, the now famed Mr Oinkers (with battery pack turned OFF), Whiskers the Cat, and poor old Puddles the Duc—

Your disgusted screech has Joel sitting up so fast he nearly capsizes off the bed. The confused, hungover lump is met with his bewildered and screaming girlfriend who’s yanking him by the neck and wringing him viciously with as much might as you can muster.

“STOP—FUCKING—PISSING—IN—MY—PLUSHIES!” You roar with wild eyes and gritted teeth, choking him within an inch of his life. You shake his neck up and down like you’re going to hammer his head into the bed post. 

It takes him a moment, with wide eyes and hands wrapped around your wrists, before his gaze lands on the poorly discarded evidence of last night: a very overly yellow duck soaking into the floor boards in a puddle of liquid gold.

- - - -

Taglist:

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[redrayvenrr]

Y'all are sleeping on Sweets headcanons, so I am here to pick up the slack (which ended up becoming a long rant, and I'm not sorry)

-Sweets' bitch from another ditch Gael is a tattoo artist, y'all know Sweets is Gael's test dummy

Sweets is probably covered head to toe in the randomists tattoos. They got at least one full sleeve, 7 of them are incomplete, and maybe like 3-5 of them are actually ones Sweets wanted

But I offer you Nat coloring Sweets' tattoos to the point where Sweets buys her temporary tattoo markers for her birthday

-Essence Eaters live longer than the average person, right? So Sweets could easily be twice Law's age but is still making fun of him and calling him an old man despite him being in his 20's (imagine Sweets being born in the 70's-80's and Law 90's-early 2000's XD Sweets is very happy that ripped jeans are back in style)

I also imagine Sweets with longer hair because at some point they decided that going to get a hair cut every month or so is too much of a hassle for how long their life span is (and I offer you Sweets eventually needing to dye their hair grey to match Law's so they still look like a couple to non-attuned (I'm not sorry))

Also, remember that in the "getting patched up-" video Law says that "this doesn't look like one of the little scuffles you do for fun at the circle"???? Hello??? Street fighter Sweets??? Go kick ass Sweets you got this baby

-And scars?? I'd imagine they'd obviously have the few you get from childhood, and if we're going with street fighter Sweets, then they probably have a bit more than normal. Like on their knuckles and maybe one on their cheek/forehead/lip/ankles or something. But ya know, it's just for fun, and every once in a while, they're not addicted to fighting or anything

But then the fight with Joel? Joel was out for blood, and Sweets practically died. There are definitely scars, one of which I imagine being a scratch over their eye cause I'm edgy like that (plus it makes sense that Joel would use everything in his arsenal to take down the all powerful Sweets which means nails and playing dirty).

But there is definitely a bite scar since he drained Sweets' lifeforce, which is why they were so concerned about Law getting scarred after the train incident. They don't want him living through that pain they feel every time they see their own bite scar (and ya know they can't live with the idea of hurting Law so "please at least don't let my mistakes scar")

-And speaking of the train incident Law stated that Sweets is strong as all hell and I'm here for it and I need them to crush a watermelon and Law looses his shit (buff Sweets for the wiiiin)

-Sweets' heartbeat was already a comfort for Law, but after Joel, you'll often find Law pressed against their heart. Cuddling on Sweets' chest is a must. When Law has a bad day, Sweets immediately presses him against their chest. Hugs often are one of Law's arms wrapped around them and his other hand press against their chest. Law sitting in between Sweets' legs so he can lean his back or shoulder against their heart

-I think it would be funny if Sweets also had an accent (like Bitish or Scottish or some shit) and everyone enjoys watching Nat struggle with her own accent because she'd have the weirdest mix of her father's southern, her mother's average american, and Sweets' (maybe a bit of uncle desdes)

(And while we're talking about Nat, when are we getting her dog!??! Please, I need the household to just become Spy X Family)

-Can we talk about how good Sweets is with kids? Where did you pick that up? Cause I just always imagined them as an orphaned only child? Like I physically can't see them with a family before Law and Nat, but maybe that's just me

(Maybe they grew up in foster homes and were always the older sibling of the group? Idk)

-One order of Sweets being good at the guitar and singing, strumming their guitar while Law plays the piano and singing Nat to sleep please

Sweets being in a band as a teen in the 80's/90's sounds like good blackmail for Gage to abuse (especially the hair) (but like imagine them doing a killer rift then proceeding to sing Def Leppard)

-I think their job would be like a metal worker or glass blowing, and I don't have an explanation as to why

-Sweets honestly feels like the most responsible and mature person out of all the characters they're just shit at taking care of themself and, say it with me: ✨️traumatized✨️

-I also imagine Sweets as a male, but that's my own problem

But imagine Nat finally calling them dad, and they just combust

Plus Sweets feels like one of those dads who drops a piece of lore then never speaks of it again (whereas Law is the hands on hips, legs apart dad pose (you know the one I'm talking about))

The idea of Sweets being "one of the guys" with Law's coworkers gives me life (because yes Love/Newbie is also a male cause if Desmond isn't just a pure gay man then you're wrong (honestly like 90% the listeners are male in my head)idk)

[shnowyfox]

stuff from today

it was supposed to be a firrib/fibrir joke and a detective genre spoof just to help me practice some shading, but i accidentally made it angst. an au where Soundwave goes missing and without him, perhaps without his help to rewind them or fuel them.. they're loosing their function. Soundwave is critical to the whole operation of course, so everyone's kind of doing their part to find him. Frenzy and Rumble are continuing Soundwave's duties as communications officer, Ravage, Buzzsaw, and Laserbeak continuing his spy work.. well, until Buzzsaw gets locked into his alt mode.. Which one is on the shoulders of the other? I think I initially intended it to be Rumble but as the comic is MEANT to be monochromatic, the punchline was "Man, even I can't tell which of us is which this comic is uncolored!" It really can be either as at this point they're around the same state mentally. Their colors I kind of headcanon even with soundwave around have the ability to swap, i just find it funny, they do it on purpose to mess with everyone. now the colors are blending, the blue getting warmer and red getting cooler. I think they really don't like being seperated right now, to a point that it might physically pull on their twin spark bond and cause them distress or even pain. Ravage is I think holding the whole unit together but they aren't faring well either. Soundwave I think is either powered down on earth and had been misplaced greately from his last known coordinates, an autobot prisoner (unlikely, girliepop could probably break out easy no sweat), or in space lost in a storm or something thats causing his comms to be down. I considered he might be dead, but I feel like even galaxies apart, the cassettes would be able to feel it, they would know. 00500 is meant to be Starscream, 90700 is meant to be really any decepticon but my mind keeps going back to Scrapper idk why he'd give a frag about starscream's well being though, 00600 is meant to be skywarp, 11503 is rumble/frenzy whichever you think is manning comms rn.

I think eventually they started teaching humans about autobot biology and first aid (hehe) before they died in 05, by that point I think the autobots and humans trusted each other enough for such a thing to be shared. They're doing their best but theres many MANY bloopers

bees

EM fields. Panic attack. POV you and your ex who killed you/you killed get locked into battle and you have to look at each other's faces. and of course. POV your ugly son finally lands himself a boyfriend