#Reader Rabbit Math & Read
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The My Reader Rabbit Math & Read ScrapBooks
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Carmen Sandiego was the bomb. Hijacking this post to brag that I was her for Halloween last year cause she still is that cool.

i just made a number munchers reference in a finance meeting and nobody got it because i’m the only one in the elementary school classroom computer generation, so i’m coming to the sweet embrace of tumblr to discuss a very important question:
#Carmen Sandiego!!!#omg I was obsessed with that game#but pour one out for Reader Rabbit Pirate Island where you learned math not reading#I spent HOURS on that island
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SITUATIONSHIP | asakura shin x f!reader
You are both the most diligent worker at Sakamoto's Store and the most hypersexual person that Shin knows. Overhearing your thoughts and accidentally seeing your fantasies routinely leads to profound psychic damage for him, as well as the most poorly timed boners in the world. All of this only gets worse when the two of you start hooking up.
6k words. comedy, smut. all the sex scenes are vanilla; however, the reader constantly reads and thinks about horny fanfiction tropes including: free use, omegaverse, and breeding. these are all mentioned but not discussed in detail. warning: the reader has a warped/unhealthy relationship with her sexuality, this fic is about shin fixing her with his stroke game lol. credits to @/cafekitsune for the dividers and @hansolen for the fic brainrot <3
You are the worst coworker that Shin has ever had.
This is saying a lot, given that he's worked with countless two-bit assassins who could barely a handle a gun (no one he worked with in his late teenage years could hold a candle to Mr. Sakamoto, truly), as well as Lu, who can barely orient herself within the store. You are, in contrast, brutally efficient with your work, incredible with the customers, and very cooperative with Shin. You even know how to handle a gun, and you do it with such pinpoint precision that it's always nonlethal despite being brutally debilitating. (Your skill level does hold a candle to Mr. Sakamoto in this respect, and Shin wonders if his boss has given you some kind of private training—a thought that fills him with such jealousy that it makes him want to chew on the sale stickers in his hands.) There's just one problem.
You are probably the horniest person alive, and Shin is about to lose his fucking mind listening to your thoughts.
Now, Shin is used to hearing the unfiltered stream of consciousness of the average human being. This naturally includes carnal desires here and there. He’s desensitized to most people’s erotic fantasies about their favourite gravure idol, memories of their last sexual encounter, intrusive thoughts about their friends, et cetera. He habitually tunes it out. But whereas a regular person might have these thoughts once or twice a day, you seem to have them once or twice an hour. And none of your thoughts are ever brief or underdeveloped. They usually last at least ten minutes each, with detailed internal monologuing and accompanying 8K UltraHD visuals, and you really only ever stop when you're trying to remember a code at the till or doing some quick mental math with the accounts.
Needless to say, Shin tries to keep you at the register as much as possible.
You used to tell yourself (in your head) that your mental fixation on sex was a natural consequence of your dry spell. After quitting the assassin life, you'd been celibate for the first time in at least a decade, forced to attain sexual gratification with nothing but masterfully written fanfiction and your vast collection of vibrators. (Your favourite one is hot pink, seven inches, rabbit eared. You sometimes have trouble getting it to fit, but it’s worth it for the way you cum when you do, and this knowledge makes Shin want to die.) You were convinced that getting laid would bring you enough relief to stop thinking about sex every hour of the day. You had thought that you'd go back to “normal” after that, though Shin doesn't know what “normal” entails for you. (One free-use fantasy a day instead of twelve? Daydreams strictly featuring humans rather than tentacle monsters? It's hard to say.)
Regardless, Shin had to agree: surely, there would be a limit to your sex-obsessed thoughts. It made a lot of sense that you were simply frustrated and in need of an outlet. Naturally, after sleeping with you, he'd expected your thoughts to quiet down.
(Yes—Shin slept with you. It was an accident, through and through, and he routinely feels bad about it. He'd been meaning to ask you out, treat you to dinner, maybe even get you flowers depending on the vibe. The type of thing that Mr. Sakamoto did for Aoi, when they first started dating. If everything went well, then you two could consider getting intimate. His interest in you has nothing to do with sex, after all—no, not even the fact that you've had explicit fantasies about deepthroating him while he works the cash. He'd die if you ever tried that, actually.
The plan was always to take things slow and maybe even start a relationship if the two of you really hit it off. He'd even asked Mr. Sakamoto for advice on what a civilian romance should look like! But then Shin walked you back to your apartment one night when you were feeling down, and you invited him upstairs, and one thing led to another, and, well… it turns out that you aren't the type of person to take things slow. Or think about relationships. Shin’s never overheard any thoughts from you about actually dating him, come to think of it. And no, before you ask—that doesn't bother him. Not at all. Not one bit.)
To both his surprise and yours, getting laid somehow had the opposite effect on you. Rather than being calmed, you're somehow even hornier—and now all your horny thoughts are about Shin.
It's nonstop. Shin can't believe it. Whereas you used to think about all sorts of people in your sexual fantasies (mostly your fanfiction men, but also some BL characters, occasionally Keanu Reeves, and very often that Nagumo guy), you now think solely of Shin. You're thinking about him right now, pausing as you finish restocking the onigiri.
Shin can hear every single thought from across the room, the way you feel the edges of your sanity fraying with the memory of his touch. The whole day, you've been remembering how it felt to have your pussy stretched around his cock, how it felt to have his hands on your curves, how he seemed to know exactly how to touch your body to make you keen. (Shin admits he cheated; a little ESP goes a long way in bed.) You soaked the sheets when you finally came, and he kissed you relentlessly through your orgasm. It made you so horny that you had to immediately go another round.
No other man’s ever made you cum like that, you keep thinking. You've fucked more people than you can count, but not a single person has ever felt so good inside you. The realisation is driving you crazy, and Shin feels like he's about to go crazy with you. In the absence of a cold shower, he wants to shove himself into the freezer right now. There's no other way to get rid of his raging boner.
How did it feel so fucking good?! you keep thinking, oblivious to his struggles. I need his cock inside me again. I need him to hit it raw this time. I need him to bend me over the counter and cum in my pussy right now—
It makes him want to die, listening to your thoughts. It also confuses him, somewhat: he isn't that experienced, and objectively he’s a little clumsy in bed. His performance is probably mid in the grand scheme of things, which makes him wonder why you feel like his dick is heaven-sent.
But more than anything, Shin wonders if you ever think about anything other than his dick. Sex isn't the only thing the two of you have done together. The first time you hooked up, he'd spent the night at your place. You clung to him in his sleep and you drooled on his chest and he thought it was kinda funny. He was careful not to wake you as he wiped your chin. You’d cooked him breakfast by the time he'd woken up: homemade miso, fresh rice, tamagoyaki. He made you burnt coffee after. You gave him a goodbye kiss, which somehow turned into a goodbye blowjob, which then escalated into wasting the day together in bed. You were really cuddly the whole time, and Shin could hear you think, how weird, I hate it when people hold me, and I hate it when people kiss me, but you liked it from Shin. You liked it so much that your pussy started dripping, and then what else could you do but suck him off again? (He returned the favour, of course.)
There was a lot more than just fucking, but you never think about any of that other stuff. You only ever think about his stroke game.
Not that that bothers Shin. Not at all. Not one bit.
By noon, he reaches his limit.
Shin considers himself a responsible guy and dedicated employee. He'd ordinarily never want to take off in the middle of the day to fool around with you—or anyone else—but it's his lunch break, and he has to get you to stop fantasizing. His dick is so hard that it's painful, and even with the apron it's getting tricky to cover up. As soon as the clock hits 12, he's throwing it off and making a beeline for you.
“We need to talk,” he says, grabbing you by the hand, and the face you make is so giddy that he can't help but sigh. You’re practically beaming as you take off your apron and say bye to Lu. We’ll be back in 30! you tell her in a sing-song voice, because you’re a very conscientious worker even when outrageously horny.
“You heard my thoughts?” you ask as the two of you climb the stairs to his room, and he snorts.
“How couldn't I?” He gives you a miserable look, cheeks flushing. “Were you doing that on purpose the whole morning?”
“No.” He raises a brow. “I'm serious—I wasn't trying to cause any trouble for you! It's just…” You bite your lip, and it takes all of Shin’s self-control to stop himself from staring at its glossy sheen. “I really just need to be touched again.”
“I don't believe you,” he says as he pulls you into his room.
“You're an esper! You should know I'm telling the truth!”
“I also know you like to torture me with your thoughts.”
“Well, yeah…” You smile at him, sheepish. “But I really just need a bit of relief. Want me to prove it to you?”
There's a sudden glint in your eye that makes Shin nervous, out of his depth. Sometimes he gets the feeling that you want to eat him alive, and he never knows how to handle it. He’s never gotten this level of attention before, and never in his wildest dreams did he think he'd get it from someone like you.
(Yeah—you're way out of Shin's league. For all his plans of a civilian romance, he wasn’t sure if he could actually score a date with you. He still isn't sure if he can score one. He's also not sure he’ll survive this encounter.)
He swallows. “Prove it…?”
“Uh huh.” You look so pretty right now, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Let me show you.”
You read too much hentai. Shin knows this firsthand (you read a lot of it on the clock, and all the images get blasted right into his prefrontal cortex), but he can also tell from how you act. It’s just way too fucking outrageous when you spread your legs for him, pulling up your skirt, and he's greeted not by the sight of your panties (you wore a lacy pair to work and kept bending over in hopes of flashing him—you had not been shy at all in this thought), but your bare, glistening cunt.
No fucking way.
“You’ve been working like that?!” he blurts out, mildly horrified even though his dick is jumping at the sight of you. You laugh, and you conjure up your panties from somewhere. They dangle from your fingertips, sheer and drenched.
“Took them off as we came up here. They're useless now anyway, see”—they’ve been soaked through for hours, and my thighs are all sticky—“and besides… I wanted to give you easy access.”
He thinks he's going to pass out.
“Easy access,” he repeats stiffly, bright red.
“Uh huh. Wanted to be efficient—we only have, what, twenty minutes?” Before he can even react, you're already turning around, bending over for him, ass up. From this angle, he can see just how wet you are—and how you're clenching around nothing, your cunt empty and needing to be filled. You glance over your shoulder, give him a teasing smile. “What are you waiting for?”
It’s a wonder that Shin doesn't cum on the spot, really. Like he said—he isn't an experienced guy. He's never slept with anyone so forward, or so—well. Smoking hot, for lack of better word. Half of him has a mind to just stand there and say that he can't believe you, and half of him has a mind to fuck you like you've been hoping all morning. Thankfully, this latter half of him wins out—probably for the better. If he helps you work this out of your system, you'll probably stop assaulting his mind with all your horny thoughts and his dick can exist in peace for the rest of the afternoon. Right?
Right?
(He ends up being extremely wrong.)
By the time he's pulled down his pants, put a condom on, and started pushing inside you, the two of you have seventeen minutes left. He worries briefly that it won't be enough time to get you to cum (nor him, though that isn't his goal currently), but it turns out to be a non-issue. Your pussy swallows his cock easily, stretching around him so perfectly that he nearly chokes. He always hears you talking about how sex with him feels leagues better than with any other person, but he’s not sure if you know that the same is true for him. No one's ever felt as good as you, and it takes every ounce of willpower in him not to cum immediately.
You're already close to the edge, too. Probably pent up from squeezing your thighs together all morning and thinking about his touch. You moan in a way that is obscene, like something out of an AV—but Shin knows that it isn't a performance. He can feel your body and hear your thoughts, all the genuine bliss you get from being filled up. When he starts moving, it's with intent. He fucks you like you’ve been fantasising all day, all week—with a relentless pace, focused on giving you nothing but pleasure. You tighten around him like you were made for him, and—
—apparently you feel like you're being used? Like a hole? The fuck! Shin almost stops mid-stroke to balk at you—he wouldn't do that to you!—but then you moan and he feels you getting wetter at the thought, and then he has no choice but to keep going. He's not about to kill your high.
Nine minutes left. Your clit is throbbing, neglected, and as soon as you think about touching yourself, Shin’s fingers are circling it instead and making you keen. He hits the spot inside you that has your eyes rolling back and your spine arching beautifully, and you can’t speak with your mouth, but he hears you anyway: the begging, the neediness, right there right there you're doing so good Shin you feel so good don't stop don't stop don't, don't—
“Oh fuck,” you whimper, pressing your face into the sheets, and then Shin feels you pulsing around him, drenching him. He gets dragged over the edge with you, gasping sharply as he finds his own release. You collapse as he twitches inside you, spilling himself inside the condom, and he almost snorts when he hears you thinking, wish you were cumming in my pussy instead. Do it raw next time, okay?
“You know we have to use a condom,” he says between pants.
“But I'm on birth control! Read my mind—you know I'm telling the truth!”
“And I also know that birth control is only 93% effective,” he says, rolling his eyes. He glances at the clock. “C'mon—we only have five minutes until our lunch break ends.”
It feels a little weird, rushing you. He’s never had a quickie before, but he understands that you can't exactly take your time with cleaning up afterwards. Still, he thinks about what it was like the last time the two of you did this—how slow and soft it was after, how he stayed inside you for a bit, how he kissed you long and cleaned you up carefully. It just felt like the right thing to do after sleeping with someone, especially given that that someone was you. He'd much prefer to do that right now.
But you are both punctual workers, and anyway Shin’s heard enough of your idle thoughts to know that you’re fairly apathetic to aftercare—you never expect it, and you’re never particularly sad when you don't get it. Sometimes you even fantasize about being used roughly and then discarded (a thought that he finds so unpleasant that it instantly kills his boner every time).
So it's probably fine to rush back downstairs, he figures. He throws you some wipes, lets you clean yourself up. You do it without complaint. You're not upset. He can even hear your mind humming with satisfaction, coming down from the highs of sensory pleasure.
Which is why he's confused when he hears you think, Huh. That didn't feel as good as I thought it would.
It's not like it felt bad.
This is what Shin hears all afternoon: You had a good time. You generally like being treated like a hole. You hadn't thought that Shin would have it in him to do that (neither did he, he admits), but it was kind of thrilling that he did. You want him to do it again for sure. He hit your g-spot with the kind of precision that only an esper can manage, and your vision nearly went white as you found your climax.
And that's what matters, right? You came. You had an orgasm. The little death. The ultimate goal of sex. You used to have a hard time with it, but after so many missions your body started to enjoy sex and now you cum very easily. And you came very easily with Shin, so that means you must enjoy having sex with him too, right?
But it was better the first time you had sex. Objectively better. You came way harder. You even squirted during your second round with him! Your orgasm was so intense that you felt blissed out for the rest of the night, and even the morning after. When you woke up and realised that Shin was not only still there, but also holding you, it made you so horny that you nearly woke him up with a blowjob. It was only with great self-control that you woke him up with breakfast instead.
You don’t feel like that right now, though. You don't feel horny and you don't feel like cooking and the euphoria of your orgasm melted away a while ago. You just feel sort of… empty.
You don't feel bad, though. It's a beautiful day. The char siu bao in your hand is incredibly fragrant. Piisuke is on your shoulder and chirping in your ear. Shin looks really handsome in his apron—did you know that, Shin? you ask him in your mind—and he goes bright red at this thought and looks away. You don't feel bad, you mentally reassure him. You just don't feel as good as you thought you would.
But Shin does feel bad. He feels miserable, actually. He's not a very experienced guy, but even he can tell that you’re the type of person who needs to be held after having sex. It seems like you probably don't realise it, but it's clear as day to Shin, and for the rest of the afternoon he hates himself for not having done it. It wouldn’t have had to be for very long.
Lu could have covered for an extra fifteen minutes, he keeps thinking. Fuck!
Eventually, you ask him to come over in the evening, and he scrambles to agree, desperate for a do-over.
Shin’s not really good at this hook-up business.
Now—he isn't exactly good at relationships either, but he feels exceptionally awkward about coming over to your place with the express purpose of having sex. He isn't familiar with dick appointment etiquette, especially not appointments involving a friend. Was he meant to bring a gift? A Netflix movie recommendation? It would have felt wrong to show up completely empty-handed, so he ends up bringing your favourite snacks and two bottles of Pocari Sweat. If this is anything like the first time he stayed over, you'll probably both need it.
You're delighted by the snacks and amused by the drinks. He wrestles with himself over what kind of small-talk to make—there’s a PS5 out right now, and your TV screen is paused on Leon Kennedy’s face, so maybe he can start a conversation about the horror genre? He watches a lot of films—but you're dragging him into your room before he can overthink it.
“I missed you,” you say, voice all sweet with affection as you straddle his lap.
“It's been two hours,” he points out, somehow managing not to stammer.
“Eight hours since we fucked.”
“That's not very long at all.”
“Felt like forever to me.” Your whisper is so tender in his ear, incongruent with the absolute filth you're thinking about right now. You need his cock so, so bad—you’d have it inside you 24/7 if you could have it your way, though he's also free to help himself to your body at any hour of the day. Sure, he can't smoke on the premises, but there's no rule against hiking up your skirt and pushing your panties to the side so he can—
“I wouldn't do that in the store!” he squawks, and you giggle.
“Then you should start taking me up to your room more often.”
Shin would be more than happy to host you, actually. He’s been thinking lately about having you over for dinner—Aoi’s been teaching him how to cook—and getting to know you better, in a non-Biblical way. But Shin knows that's not what you mean. You want him to carry you upstairs without asking and to throw you onto his bed and to fuck you into the mattress. You want to go back to your shift without your panties, his cum dripping out of your pussy and sliding down your—
“You really want me to finish inside you,” Shin remarks, bewildered at your sheer obsession over it, and you tilt your head.
“Don't you?”
“No. I mean, yes. I mean—we shouldn't. It's, uh. Risky. I don't want to get you, y'know… pregnant…” His dick twitches in a way that makes him grateful that you don't have ESP. He's realising something about himself that he absolutely cannot think about, and which you would absolutely exploit if you figured out. He clears his throat, hoping he looks normal. “Like. You know. It's better to be on the safe side.”
You study him carefully. “I dunno, Shin.” You smile knowingly. “I don't think I'd mind it if you wanted to breed me.”
Shin is going to die.
The next twenty minutes pass in a horny blur. The two of you spend it all over each other, his cock sliding along your opening—dangerously close to pushing in. You beg him for just the tip, both verbally and mentally—pleaaase Shin please please please it'd be so easy, I'm still stretched out from before, you know it'd feel good—and he's watched enough adult films to know that this is a blatant trap. He somehow pulls away, and immediately feels bad at the crushed expression you make, so he decides he has no choice but to make it up to you by putting his head between your thighs. Within minutes he’s sucking on your clit and making you keen, his fingers curling inside you. He knows your orgasm is intense both from the way you gush all over his face and how your mind goes pleasantly, blissfully quiet for a moment.
It doesn't stay quiet for long.
The most debauched image possible comes to his mind—you, underneath him, your legs folded into a mating press as you take his cock. He’s giving you another load, pumping you full. It's filling up your womb, and you'll definitely get pregna—
“You’re fucking evil,” he groans. “And you read way too much hentai. Those visuals were so goofy.”
You laugh, unbothered. “Sorry, I'll adjust them for realism next time.”
“Please don't,” he begs, even though he knows he's going to spend the next week being mentally assaulted by your breeding kink fantasies. He just hopes they stay relatively normal and don't devolve into the weird omegaverse stuff. Or the monsterfucking stuff. Or the gangbang scenarios. Please, God, anything but the gangbang fantasies. He’ll scream if you imagine another threesome with him and that invisible asshole who kidnapped Lu. He’ll simply resign if you add Nagumo.
To your profound disappointment, Shin ends up using a condom. He doesn't give you much time to feel sad about it, settling quickly between your legs and practically knocking the breath out of you as he thrusts into you. He’s left kind of breathless too. You weren't lying—you are still stretched out from earlier in the day, wet and pliant for him, and there's hardly any resistance as he starts pumping into you. He watches you carefully, laid out underneath him—your eyes squeezing shut as you're made to take his cock. Your mind goes a little quiet again, overwhelmed by pleasure. It's simultaneously a blessing and a curse: Shin’s finally getting a break from your psychic teasing, but the knowledge that he's fucking you dumb is doing something horrible to him.
He changes his angle, and a whimper leaves you. You tighten and gush around him in a way that makes it obvious what he’s hitting; he doesn't need ESP to know to keep doing it. Still, your thoughts are going haywire, a tangle of desire, and it's impossible for him to ignore. I need, he keeps hearing as your thighs starts to twitch, as you start tearing up, I need I need I need I need—
Your eyes land on his lips, and Shin hears you.
His kiss is open-mouthed, clumsy, but you’re hungry for it anyway. You’re panting into each other’s mouths when you start pulsing around Shin’s dick, and you end up cumming so hard on his cock that it's dizzying for you both. He fucks you through your orgasm, and it's only when you're glassy-eyed and limp beneath him that he finally lets himself finish. He pulls back as he does, gasping sharply, but not for long—you draw him back in quickly, clinging to him as you seek out another kiss. The two of you stay like that for a long moment—still connected, breaths heavy with exhaustion, lips slow and lazy against each other.
“Enjoy yourself more this time?” Shin asks, and you hum sweetly against his mouth. You’re still too mindless from your orgasm to form any real thoughts, but Shin can tell that you don't really want to talk. You want to keep kissing him. And you want him to hold you while you do it, which he happily obliges.
Some ten minutes later, you make a small noise of protest when Shin pulls out of you, and it turns into a look of outright betrayal when he gets up. Shin’s heart clenches immediately.
“Just getting stuff to clean up,” he explains, and you relax visibly.
“Oh,” you say. “Right.”
You seem antsy. You feel antsy. You're antsy because you just realised how much you like kissing Shin. Specifically, you've realised that kissing him elevates your orgasms into mind-blowing experiences, and now you're questioning every other orgasm you've had. Maybe I don't actually enjoy sex that much? you wonder. Or maybe I always needed to be kissed to enjoy it more? Wait, no. I hate it when people kiss me. It's gross. Except for when it's Shin. Why Shin? Hm… that apron must really be doing something for me.
Your head hurts. Shin patiently watches you replay your past experiences in your head, comparing all those nights with this one, and he can’t help but frown. Deeply. Your eyes go wide when he gives you an alarmed look at one particular memory.
“Shit, sorry! I forgot you’d see all that.”
“No, I'm sorry,” he says, feeling—not for the first time—guilty about his powers. “If I could turn it off, I would.”
“Don't be sorry. You can't help it. That'd be like if I were sorry for breathing.” But despite your easy words, you’re watching him carefully, and your mind is stirring in an unsettling way. I'm nervous? you realise. Your heart is beating in a way that suggests a flight or fight response. It gets worse the longer you stare at him. Why am I nervous? Tell me, Shin.
“I wouldn't know.” Except he’s got a good guess, and he'd rather die than say it out loud because it would be embarrassing for you both if he were wrong. He'd have to resign. Nevertheless, he tries to guide you in a specific direction: “Have you really never liked it when people kissed you?”
“No,” you reply immediately. “I don't see the point of kissing during sex.”
He gives you a long look. “What if it’s not just sex? What if it's just a regular kiss on a regular day with, like, a partner? Someone you're really serious about.” He blinks at the confused stare you're giving him. “You mean you don't like that either?”
It's suddenly very noisy. Shin can hear your mind buzzing as you stare at the ceiling of your room, not with coherent sentences so much as shapeless confusion. His skin crawls with the echo of your discomfort; it's a wonder you aren't slipping out from the sheets to run away.
“...I don't know,” you finally decide. “I don't have much real dating experience.”
“Huh? You’ve said before that you've dated lots of guys.”
“Um.” You’re careful not to look at him. “Yeah, I guess. They all sucked though. I, like, wanted to kill every single one of my exes.”
“Like they were shitty boyfriends?”
No, like they were assassination targets, you think, and Shin has to keep a straight face as you reply, “Yeah, something like that.”
You rarely lie to Shin. You did it somewhat frequently until you figured out that he was capable of ESP, and then you stopped because you didn't see a point anymore. You only do it now when there's something you really don't want to talk about, so Shin relents. He focuses on cleaning himself up, and he interrupts the tense hum of your thoughts when he turns his attention to you. By the time he's finished and slid back into bed, your more complicated emotions have vanished, and you're back to marveling at the quality of the orgasm you just had. Apparently you like to keep things fairly simple in your inner world.
When Shin puts an arm around you, he can hear your pleasant surprise—and your immediate desire to press into him.
You're so happy just being held by him, it's shocking. And painfully endearing. Shin tries to pretend not to notice the warm glow of your thoughts, as well as your confusion over them: surely the simple act of being close to someone can't feel so good. Maybe the whole kissing thing was just a coincidence and Shin happened to be hitting it just right when your lips met. Or maybe he used his ESP on you to make you cum extra hard and he's still influencing you, and that's why you feel so tenderhearted right now.
“My powers only allow me to read minds,” he tells you. “I can't control other people.”
“Aw,” you say, “that's too bad. I bet forced orgasms with ESP would feel amazing.”
“...”
Shin realises something else about himself that he absolutely cannot let you know. Thankfully for him, you're none the wiser. Your mind’s somewhere else entirely when you climb on top of him, smiling neatly. Mind you, what you're thinking is still making him feel nervous. He's always a little out of his depth with you.
“Shin…”
You lean in, breath sweeping over his lips. His heart jumps.
“Y-yeah?”
“I'm still confused about how that felt so good.”
“I’ve noticed.”
You hold back a laugh. “Yeah, I guess you would have.” Then you give him an apologetic look. “Sorry I'm so stuck on it. I just thought I knew my body, y'know? I felt like I had tried everything worth trying. Sex was starting to feel boring, including the freaky stuff. But this is very new to me.”
This close up, Shin can feel the brush of your lashes when they flutter. See the glossy swell of your lips from all the kissing. Take in the fragrance of your hair. He starts to feel dizzy. “I-is it? I don't think we've been doing anything, uh. Crazy.”
“I didn't think so either.” Your thumb traces his lip. You're thinking about kissing him again, and you're also thinking about riding him as you do it. “I can't help but want to try it a few more times, you know? Just to make sure it wasn't a fluke.”
“A few more times,” he repeats, and you smile.
“You don't have anywhere you need to be tonight, do you?”
The two of you get two hours of sleep that night, and you end up going through both bottles of Pocari Sweat and all the snacks. There's no time for breakfast or burnt coffee the morning after; you make the executive decision to just eat something at the store instead. Shin leaves behind a toothbrush and you tell him he should also bring an extra set of clothes next time. He tries not to get too excited about the fact that there's going to be a next time. He fails.
Mr. Sakamoto sees the two of you as you make it to work just on time together and immediately figures out what's happened. Shin gets a mental reprimand for not marrying you first, and the disappointment from Mr. Sakamoto is so strong that he briefly considers resigning out of disgrace. But he stays on, and the days pass, and your relationship with him remains the same. Sort of.
Because, see. Now that you're regularly getting laid, your horny thoughts have finally (finally!) calmed down. You now have one free-use fantasy a day instead of twelve, and your daydreams only occasionally feature tentacle monsters. You do like to torture Shin with breeding kink scenarios, but that's only once a day, and they never involve any other guys. Shin considers this a victory, respite from the psychic agony that he was previously experiencing.
There's just one problem.
You want to kiss Shin all the time now, and it's making him feel like the horniest person alive.
He can't believe it. He doesn't have a particularly strong sex drive, and he rarely ever has sexual fantasies. But holy shit is he having them a lot now, and he can't say it's strictly your fault.
You spend most of the day now thinking about what it felt like to kiss him in bed, and what it felt like to hold his hand as he moved inside you, and what it felt like to be in his arms afterwards. What it would feel like if you were to do those things that you used to hate—kissing someone, linking fingers, embracing them—with Shin. Not just in bed, but on a regular day, out in the open. In a secluded park somewhere, or maybe at the top of a Ferris wheel, or even on a random street corner if the mood is right. All of these daydreams are usually followed by very explicit fantasies about public, unprotected sex, but the kissing is the most important part of it. The subsequent creampies are pretty significant too, but not nearly as much as the bits where you make out.
And somehow, the thought of cumming in you is not the part of the fantasy that's driving Shin crazy.
You give him a meaningful look. A week ago, this would have been a sign that you wanted him to bend you over the counter and give you backshots. Now it means you want to sneak away to kiss him and hold hands, and this makes him want to do things to you that would get him fired immediately.
Shin sighs, and he contemplates shoving himself into the freezer.
END
I wrote this with one hand and did not proofread it. my apologies if you see any errors. I just needed to be free of these thoughts asap. release me...
PS - I know the Resident Evil/Leon Kennedy mention must have felt very random, but it's set-up for potential future sequels haha.
#shin asakura x reader#asakura shin x reader#sakamoto days x reader#sakadays x reader#someone please release me from these thoughts#sakamoto days smut#shin asakura smut#shin smut
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So Ma, What Do You Wanna Do?

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Short!Reader
Fandom: WNBA-Dallas Wings
Summary: never were just friends…
A/N: starting off Pride with a Hard launch fic
🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @zizi-bee-yapping , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsav
The thing about dating Paige Bueckers—America’s golden girl, walking highlight reel, everyone’s favorite hooper—is that no matter how private she tries to be, people watch.
A lot.
Not just fans.
Teammates.
Coaches.
Her family.
Random baristas who pause halfway through her iced matcha because “Wait, are you Paige Bueckers?” And since I’m, well… me—barely 5’2” on a good day wearing heels and introverted enough to disappear in a crowd—we’ve been playing this very careful game.
To the outside world, we’re best friends.
Roommates, if anyone asks.
And yeah, besties hold hands sometimes, maybe nap on each other on planes, maybe share hoodies and match sneakers—but PDA?
Affection that reads as romantic?
Never too much of that. Not yet.
But today? Today changed everything.
It started on a lazy afternoon. Paige had a the day off from practice, and I was curled on the couch in one of her oversized Wings tees—correction: our oversized Wings tees—scrolling through TikTok while she finished up a call with her agent in the other room.
I was bored. Dangerous level bored. So naturally, I fell into a rabbit hole of Paige edits.
Then, BookTok edits/ trends.
The trends kept coming up.
One in particular.
You know the one.
The tall person (Paige). The short person (me). The quiet tension. The “two fingers under the chin, lift your face and make you look them in the eye” trope that sent people feral in the comments.
I’d seen versions of it all week.
And now? All I could think was: Would it really be that hard to recreate?
So I did what any slightly chaotic, secretly in love girlfriend would do.
I set my phone up on the entry shelf behind a plant—just enough coverage to keep it hidden, but still in full frame.
Paige wouldn’t notice. She was too busy dragging herself around the apartment like a sleepy golden retriever in slides.
“Paaaaige,” I sing-songed.
She appeared around the corner, barefoot, hair pulled back, sleepy eyes scanning me like I was up to something.
“What, baby?”
“Dinner,” I said, backing into the doorway casually. “Should we eat out or stay in?”
She shrugged, walking closer putting her hair in a low messy bun. “You wanna go out? I’m good either way. What are you in the mood for?”
I was already fidgeting.
Avoiding her gaze like usual when it came to that topic.
Going out together as just the two of us still felt… vulnerable. I hated being the one people stared at when they recognized Paige in public.
Hated the weird math they did in their heads when they saw us holding hands like, wait… that’s not just a friend, right?
And Paige always noticed when I started deflecting.
“You’re doing the thing again,” she said quietly, stepping closer, her frame easily boxing me in against the doorway.
I glanced away, lips twitching. “What thing?”
“That thing where you look at every surface except my eyes.”
“I dunno,” I mumbled. “That’s why I’m asking you, P.”
She tilted her head, slow and soft. “Nah, baby. We’re not doing that.”
She raised her hand—two fingers under my chin—and lifted my face so we were eye to eye.
Camera still rolling.
“Look at me and tell me what you wanna do, mama.”
I felt myself short-circuit. Literally buffering. If this were a live stream, I’d be frozen in 144p with the spinning wheel of death.
“I—um,” I blinked, eyes wide. “I mean—like—we could go out if you want—”
She hummed. “So, m’onna ask again-ma, what do you wanna do? Because we don’t have to go out if you don’t wanna. I get it. I really do.”
God, her voice was low. Kind. Patient. Gentle dominance at its finest. Her fingers never dropped from my chin.
I melted.
Folded.
Like a human pretzel.
I had nothing left. All thoughts gone.
“We can… we can eat out tonight,” I whispered. “Don’t really feel like cooking. Plus by the time we umm… we ordered and it gets here it’ll be like warm.”
She nodded then leaned in, kissed the side of my forehead, then a quick soft one on my lips and said, “Cool. Get dressed. We’ll hit that TexMex place you like.”
She walked off like she didn’t just drop a TikTok nuke. (Which she had no idea about)
Two hours later, we were seated in a corner booth of La Cabaña, half a bowl into the best queso in Dallas, and I pulled out my phone like it wasn’t burning a hole in my pocket.
“I, uh… may’ve recorded something earlier.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Of me?”
I turned the screen to face her and hit play.
We both watched as she slowly, unknowingly gave the world the softest, most heart-melting alpha moment in TikTok history.
Me, looking like I was trying not to spontaneously combust. Paige, calm and smooth and built like a tall glass of “yes ma’am.”
The trend. Executed. Perfectly.
“Oh,” she said after the video ended. “Baby, you really folded.”
I covered my face with my hand. “I told you. You had me buffering like a broken smart fridge.”
She smiled, barely fighting a laugh. “You gonna post that?”
“Thinking about it, but I dunno” I mumbled.
She shrugged and sipped her horchata. “Post it if you want. I really don’t care. Just know…” She leaned across the table, eyes dropping to my lips. “The PDA? It’s not gonna be ‘friendly hand holding’ after that video goes up.”
I choked on a tortilla chip.
She smirked.
Once back at home, I uploaded it. No captions about “guess who” or “my bestie lol.” No ambiguity. Just the truth.
Caption:
Nothing about this says just friends. Especially not dishing out these types of kisses either.
@PaigeBueckers
#booktoktrend #girlfriendsoftiktok #tallgfshortgf #hardlaunch
Paige’s comment came not even a full minute later.
@/Paige Bueckers:
I said what I said. And I’d say it again. louder. with tongue. 🧏♀️💋😈
The likes blew up. Comments exploded. People were freaking out.
• “THE WAY Y/N FOLDED LMFAOOOO IKEA CHAIR ENERGY 🪑😮💨”
• “if someone ever said ‘what do you wanna do, mama’ i’d die.”
• “this was not a soft launch. this was a full Broadway debut.”
• “Paige said ✨look at me✨ and we ALL looked.”
• “BookTok ain’t never seen it done so real.”
• “I need this kind of dominance in my life immediately.”
Fran, my childhood(and current) best friend texted within five minutes: “EXCUSE ME?!?! YOU AND PAIGE?!?!?!? I’M CALLING YOU.”
I put my phone face down.
“Too much?” I asked, settling into Paige’s side on the couch.
Her arm slipped around me. “Nah. Just enough.”
We watched the likes climb. The comments multiply. The secret we’d been keeping finally out in the open, loud and proud.
And true to her word, the next time we went out? Paige didn’t just hold my hand.
She kissed me—gently, sweetly—right on the sidewalk. Right in front of everyone.
And not a single person thought we were just best friends again.
Not after that.
Not ever.
■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■
-Thank You For Reading!💚💙
-prettygirl-gabi✨️💗
#paige bueckers#uconn wbb#wbb#gabi writes#support the writers!#°~prettygirlgabi ask~°#gabi answers#uconn women’s basketball#uconn huskies#oneshot#paige bueckers dallas wings#dallas wings x reader#wnba dallas wings#dallas wings#wnba x reader#wnba#wnba basketball#wnba paige bueckers#women’s national basketball association#pb5#paige#paige bueckers fluff#paige bueckers x fem reader#paige x reader
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Hello! I'd like to please request a little scenario for multiple characters if possible; I'm especially interested in your take on this with Law, Sanji and Ace given their backstory. If you're open to writing for the ladies as well then adding Robin into the mix would be appreciated! My idea is simple; an S/O with a child, and the aftermath of discovering that fact. I don't mind if it's an established relationship and there just wasn't an opportunity to meet the kid before or something else, I just like the idea of these characters dealing with the concept of surprise family/parenthood, the angst that may arise from dealing with the role of a stepparent if they want a relationship (and its happy ending if possible!) Good luck with all the requests, I hope you have fun with them!
Found Family (Reader with a Kid)

gn!reader
characters: law, sanji, ace, nico robin
tags: under each character + secret child
a/n: I started it with a fem!reader in mind and changed it to gender neutral only later since the post didn't mention the gender, so please if I missed some changes please tell me
words count: around 0.8k - 1.7k each
masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi
── .✦ Law:
Tags: Established Relationship, Surprise Family, Angst to Comfort, Fluff
The wind blows soft through the port town. Law steps off the ship, coat flapping behind him, hands in his pockets. He’s quieter than usual, eyes scanning the street ahead. He’s not here on a mission. He’s here for you.
You sent a letter three weeks ago.
Just one line: “I need to talk. Come if you can.”
Law doesn’t like surprises. But he comes.
He finds you standing outside a small house with peeling paint and flower pots on the windowsill. You smile when you see him, but it’s tight, like you’re scared.
He frowns “You alright?”
You nod “Yeah… I just—can we go inside? I don’t want to do this out here.”
Law follows you in. It’s warm. Smells like soup and soap. A small jacket hangs on a hook by the door. Not yours. Too small.
His sharp eyes catch it, but he doesn’t say anything yet.
You lead him to the living room and sit. He stands. Watches you.
You look down “There’s something I never told you.”
Law’s voice is low “I figured.”
You breathe in deep “I… have a kid.”
Silence.
You look up. His face is unreadable. Like ice. You hate that expression, it means he’s trying to think without feeling. To stay calm.
He speaks finally “How old?”
You blink “She’s five.”
He does the math. That means before him.
“She yours?” he asks, even though he already knows.
You nod “Yes. Mine. The... other parent's gone. Completely.”
He nods slowly. His voice is cold, but not cruel “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was scared.” You twist your hands “We met during a war. We never talked about kids, or… futures. Then we got together, and things felt good. I didn’t want to ruin it.”
“You thought this would ruin it?”
“I thought you might walk away.”
He looks away “You didn’t trust me.”
“That’s not fair,” you say, standing now too “I’ve been through things. I didn’t know how you’d react. You’re not… You don’t talk about family. You barely talk about your past.”
His jaw tenses. You hit a nerve.
You try softer “I wanted to wait for the right moment. But there never was one. Until now.”
Silence again.
Then small footsteps.
You freeze.
Law turns just as a tiny figure walks into the room, clutching a stuffed rabbit.
“Who’s this?”
Her eyes are big, curious. Law stares.
You kneel “Sweetheart, this is Law. He’s… He’s my friend.”
Law doesn’t speak. He just looks. She hides behind your leg.
You don’t blame her.
“She’s shy,” you say “But she’s smart. She reads pirates like storybooks.”
Law kneels too, finally, lowering himself to her level. His voice softens.
“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” he says “I’m just… surprised.”
Your daughter peeks out “You talk funny.”
Law blinks.
You laugh nervously “He’s from the North Blue.”
“Oh.” She tilts her head “Do you have a boat?”
Law nods “A submarine.”
Her eyes widen “Cool…”
She steps forward. He doesn’t move.
Then she offers her rabbit “You wanna hold Mr. Bun?”
You almost cry.
Law takes it. Careful. Gentle. Like it’s glass.
He looks at you over her head. Still unsure. Still quiet.
But he’s here, and he’s not walking away.
The rabbit sits on the table between you.
Law hasn’t said much since dinner. He eats quietly, politely. Your daughter sits beside him, munching rice balls like they’re treasure. She’s talking to him. A lot.
“Do submarines have beds?”
“Yes.”
“Do you sleep in them?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you dream of fish?”
“…No.”
You nearly laugh into your cup. Law sends you a look. It says help me. You shrug. You’re doing fine.
When she finishes eating, you ask her to brush her teeth. She runs off with Mr. Bun in her arms. The house falls quiet again.
Law leans back in his chair.
“You didn’t even flinch,” you say “When she offered you the rabbit.”
He shrugs “She trusted me. I didn’t want to break that.”
You nod, chewing on your lip “That means a lot, Law.”
He looks at you. Eyes sharp but not cold “I’m not angry.”
“Really?”
“I’m hurt.” His voice is honest now “You didn’t tell me. I could’ve helped. Been there. Or at least known what I was walking into.”
“I know,” you whisper “I was scared. I didn’t want to push you away.”
“I’m not made of glass, Y/N. I’ve lost family. I’ve lost everything. But I never said I didn’t want to build something new.”
You look down at your hands “She’s my whole world.”
“I can see that.”
“And now that you’ve met her… what do you want?”
He pauses.
That pause stretches long and sharp between you.
Then, softly “I don’t know.”
You nod. You expected that. You’re not mad. Just scared again.
Law stands and walks to the window “She’s a good kid. Brave. You raised her well.”
You smile a little “She’s got my temper.”
“I noticed.”
You walk over to him. You both stare outside. The moon is bright tonight.
“I’m not asking you to be her father,” you say “You don’t have to… take that role if you don’t want it.”
He turns “What if I want to?”
Your breath catches.
“I don’t know how to be that,” he continues “A father. A parent. I’m… I’m a surgeon. A pirate. I know how to fight, how to cut, how to survive. Not how to raise a child.”
You place your hand over his “She doesn’t need perfect. Just present. Just kind. Even I didn’t know how to be a good parent.”
He watches you. Something cracks in his expression.
“I want you.” he says.
“I want you too.”
“But I can’t lie to you… I’m afraid. I don’t want to mess this up.”
You squeeze his hand “We’ll learn together. She’s not looking for perfect either. She just wants someone who doesn’t leave.”
That hits hard.
He nods and then tiny footsteps again.
Your daughter peeks from the hallway “Hey... can he read me a story?”
Law blinks “Me?”
She nods “You have a cool voice.”
You laugh softly “What do you say?”
He hesitates. Then walks over.
“Alright, let’s try.” he says “But only one.”
She beams.
You stand in the hallway, listening through the door. His voice is low, slow, careful. Reading a picture book about sea creatures. She’s tucked in, eyes half-closed. The rabbit is between them on the bed.
Law finishes the page. She murmurs, “You’re not scary like someone said.”
You gasp quietly. Betrayal.
Law chuckles “Someone said that?”
“Mhm. They said you’re all sharp eyes and brooding. But you’re kinda soft.”
Law mutters, “I am never going to live that down.”
You grin and walk back to the living room.
He stays. Finishes the story. Even tucks her in.
When he comes out, he looks… changed.
“You did good.” you say.
“I didn’t even sweat.”
“Liar.”
He sighs, then smirks “Okay, maybe a little.”
You take his hand again “So…”
“So.” he echoes.
“You staying the night?”
He raises a brow “You asking?”
You smile “I have tea. And a couch. Or a bed, if you behave.”
He smirks “I’ll try my best.”
── .✦ Sanji:
Tags: Flirting Sanji, Soft Sanji, Humor, Fluff, Unexpected Bonding, Found Family
Sanji flirts with you every time he sees you.
At the market “Ah, Y/N! Did the sun rise just to see your face today?”
At the docks “Want me to carry those for you, my love? Your hands are far too lovely for heavy lifting!”
Even after the battle in your city, where the Strawhats helped “You’re even more beautiful covered in blood. Should I be worried about how much I love that?”
You never fall for it. You roll your eyes. You walk away. You don’t even blush.
It drives him insane.
“You’re difficult to get,” he says one afternoon, following you through town “but I like that.”
“I don’t fall,” you say flatly “Especially not for men with hearts in their eyes.”
“Ahhh, but my heart is sincere!”
You stop and face him “Sanji. You don’t even know me.”
“I want to.”
You pause. He’s annoying, yes. But not bad. He’s never pushed you too far. Never said anything mean. Just flirty. Charming. Too charming.
You sigh “Fine. You want to know me?”
He lights up “Yes! Of course!”
“Then come with me.”
You lead him through town, away from the market, away from the noise. Into a quiet part of the island. A garden path. A small house tucked in the trees.
He’s still smiling “So this is where the beautiful Y/N hides. A date, then?”
You don’t answer. You open the door. Inside, it’s neat. Warm. Lived-in. There are toys in the corner. A tiny pair of shoes by the door.
Sanji frowns “Is this… your house?”
“Wait here.” you say.
You go into the back room. A few seconds later, you return, holding a small child. Sleepy-eyed. Holding a stuffed whale. While another lady leaves the house as if her job there is finished.
You look Sanji in the eye.
“This is my daughter.”
Sanji freezes.
Dead silent.
You wait.
You expect a nervous laugh. A fast goodbye. A dramatic “I’m not ready for this!” speech.
But it doesn’t come.
Instead…
“Her hair’s like yours,” he says softly “She’s beautiful.”
Your daughter rubs her eyes, looks at him “Who’s that?”
You answer “Just... a friend.”
Sanji kneels slowly “Hi, sweetheart. I’m Sanji. Can I say hello?”
She shrugs. He waves. She waves back with the whale.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Whale.” Sanji says seriously.
You blink.
She giggles.
You didn’t expect this.
You make tea. Sanji helps. He insists, actually.
“She can’t have sugar this late.” you say.
“Then honey,” he says “Gentle on the stomach.”
You watch as he puts her cup in front of her like a butler. Bows. She bows back. You nearly choke on your tea.
“Do you cook?” she asks.
“Oh yes,” he says “Better than anyone.”
She claps “Make us dinner!”
Sanji glances at you. You nod. Why not?
He makes a simple meal. It smells amazing. Your daughter eats two full plates.
After, she sits in his lap and shows him a book of sea animals. He listens. Really listens.
You don’t understand what’s happening.
You were trying to scare him away.
Instead, he’s… perfect.
When she falls asleep, he carries her to her bed. Quiet. Gentle.
He tucks her in, fixes her whale beside her, and kisses her forehead.
You follow him back to the living room in silence.
“Well...” you say, still confused “That wasn’t what I expected.”
He smiles but smaller this time. Softer.
“I flirt because it’s fun,” he says “But I stayed because I wanted to see you.”
You stare at him “You weren’t scared?”
“I was shocked,” he admits “But not scared. You’re a single parent. That’s strong. She’s lucky to have you.”
You look away “I thought it would make you leave.”
“I’m not that easy to get rid of.”
You smile at that and look at him again. This time longer.
Sanji isn’t just charm. He’s heart. He’s warmth.
And… maybe you were wrong about him.
Your daughter’s asleep.
Sanji’s sitting on the couch, arms stretched over the backrest like he belongs there. His jacket is off, sleeves rolled up, and a soft smile on his lips.
He looks so… calm. Like this is normal. Like he wants this.
You sit across from him, legs tucked under you. You sip your tea. Your hands are shaking just a little, but you hide it well.
“Thanks for dinner,” you say “She loved it.”
“She’s adorable,” he says, smiling “And polite. You’ve done an amazing job.”
You stare into your cup “I didn’t do it alone. But… it’s been a long time since I shared her with someone.”
Sanji watches you quietly. No teasing now. Just listening.
You swallow. Here goes nothing.
“So,” you say “I’ve decided something.”
He leans forward “Oh?”
You lift your eyes to meet his “I’m saying yes.”
His brows lift “Yes to what?”
You smile “A date.”
He freezes “Wait. A—really?”
You nod.
“I mean, I’ve been asking for weeks, but I thought you hated me.”
“I didn’t hate you,” you say “I just didn’t believe you.”
“And now?”
“Now I do.”
He stares at you for a second. Then a slow, beautiful grin spreads across his face. Like he’s won a war. Like the clouds finally moved for the sun.
He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days.
“You—you have no idea what this means to me, Y/N.”
You chuckle “I might have some idea.”
“Do you want flowers? Candles? Music? Should I wear a suit? I’ll cook, of course—”
You laugh softly “Just come as you are.”
He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly flustered “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”
You sip your tea again. Calm on the outside.
But inside? Your heart is thundering. So loud it feels like it echoes in your chest. And he doesn't even know your heart is actually beating faster than his own.
You’ve had to be strong for so long. For your child. For yourself. Love always felt like a luxury you couldn’t afford.
But Sanji… he’s something else.
Not because he’s charming.
But because when it really mattered, he stayed.
And now, you let yourself fall a little deeper.
You stand. Walk over. And press a soft kiss to his cheek.
He goes still.
You pull back and say quietly, “Can't wait for the date.”
His eyes widen, then fill with something warm surprised, happy, maybe even a little nervous.
“You… really?” he asks, softer than you’ve ever heard him.
You nod “Don’t make me regret it.”
His laugh is breathless “Never.”
You smile, heart pounding, but you don’t let it show. He doesn’t need to know yet how much this means.
A few nights later for your first date Sanji goes all out, but not in a flashy way. It’s thoughtful. Intimate.
He sets up dinner on the ship’s deck. Small candles, soft music from a den den mushi radio, and a view of the sea under stars. He cooks something warm and comforting, not fancy, just full of love.
You talk for hours. About silly things, quiet things, your pasts and dreams. It’s easy. He listens more than he speaks, and when he does talk, it’s gentle.
No cheesy lines. Just Sanji. Real and warm.
After dessert, he walks you home in silence. Not awkward, just peaceful. The kind of quiet where you don’t need to fill space.
At your door, he looks at you with hopeful eyes but doesn’t move in. He’s waiting for your choice.
So you step closer.
You kiss him.
Soft. Sure. Just once. But it’s full of everything you’ve been holding back.
When you pull away, he blinks like he’s just been hit by a wave.
You smirk “You were taking too long.”
He laughs, dizzy and full of stars.
And for the first time in a long while, so do you.
── .✦ Ace:
Tags: Friends with Benefits, Angst, Humor, Emotional Reveal, Mutual Feelings Hidden, Teasing to Serious, Marine Conflict
The sun burns above you. You’re lying on the deck of your ship, one leg over the other, a half-empty bottle between your fingers. Ace is beside you shirtless, grinning, sweat on his brow, flame flickering off his fingers like it’s breathing with him.
“You always steal my rum.” you say, kicking him lightly.
“You always keep it warm,” he shoots back “I’m doing you a favor.”
You roll your eyes “Your idea of favors sucks.”
He leans closer, his voice lazy and smug “You didn’t say that last night.”
You groan “Get a new line, fire boy.”
He grins wider. You punch his arm. He fake-winces, like it hurt. It didn’t.
That’s the two of you: teasing, biting, half-fighting, half-kissing. No promises. No labels. Just good fun and bad timing.
Pirate life is rough. You take what joy you can.
“Hey,” you say after a long silence, watching the sky “Wanna hear a secret?”
Ace smirks, eyes still closed “If it’s about that thing you did in the galley with the honey—”
“No, dumbass. A real secret.”
That makes him open his eyes. He turns to look at you “Alright. Hit me.”
You sit up. Serious now. The bottle rests on your knee.
“I have a son.”
Ace snorts “You what?”
You nod, eyes still on the horizon “Yeah. He’s five. His name’s Ren.”
He blinks. You go on before he can interrupt.
“I had him before all this, before the piracy, before you. I got caught in something messy with the Marines. To keep him safe, I left him with my parents. Changed my name. Ran.”
Ace stares.
You keep talking “I go see him when I can. Disguised. Just for a day or two. He thinks I’m some traveling doctor or something. He doesn’t know who I really am.”
You pause. Swallow.
“It’s hell, leaving every time. But I’d rather he grow up safe than have him hunted.”
Ace starts laughing.
You blink “What the hell?”
He’s full-on laughing “Holy shit, you got me! I thought you were serious. What is this, some new kink? Roleplay? Mommy pirate stuff?”
You just look at him.
Dead quiet.
No grin. No tease.
Ace’s smile dies instantly. The flame on his fingers goes out.
“…Wait,” he says “You’re not joking?”
You don’t say anything.
His expression changes fast… shocked, confused, then something close to guilt “You really…?”
You nod once “I’m not playing around.”
He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly tense “Shit.”
“Yeah,” you say, dry “That’s usually the first response.”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again “Why are you telling me this now?”
You shrug “I don’t know. Maybe because you’re the closest thing I’ve had to a real connection in years. Or maybe I just got tired of lying all the time.”
He stares at you.
You look away “I didn’t expect you to laugh. That sucked.”
“…I’m sorry.”
“Forget it.”
“No,” he says quickly “I’m serious. That was a shitty reaction. I just… I didn’t think you were the kind of person to hide something that big.”
You exhale “Turns out, I’m full of surprises.”
The silence between you is heavy now. Not like before.
Then Ace says quietly, “What’s he like?”
You blink “Huh?”
“Your kid. Ren. What’s he like?”
You smile a little “Stubborn. Smart. Messy. Loves drawing fishes. Hates carrots. Thinks I have the coolest boots in the world.”
Ace nods, quiet. He looks down, then up at you again.
“I meant what I said,” he murmurs “I’m sorry for laughing. And I’m… kinda honored you told me.”
You raise a brow “Didn’t peg you for the emotional type.”
He shrugs, eyes soft “Didn’t peg you for someone with a child.”
Touché.
Ace doesn’t talk much for the next few days.
No flirting. No teasing. Just quiet looks when he thinks you’re not watching.
You try to act normal with some old jokes, same smug grin as always, but you feel it too. Everything changed with that one secret. The space between you now holds more than just fun.
It holds truth. Real, heavy, warm truth.
You’re standing at the helm when he walks up beside you.
“I want to come.” he says.
You glance at him “Come where?”
“When you go see your son.”
Your hands tighten on the wheel “Ace—”
“I’ll stay out of sight. I swear. I just… want to see him. I want to understand what you gave up. What you’re protecting.”
You study him for a moment. His eyes don’t waver. There’s no joke. No smirk.
Just Ace. Real. Honest.
You nod.
Months later — The island is quiet. A small village with stone houses, chickens in the streets, a little bakery that still smells like your childhood.
You pull your hood low. Ace wears a cap, sunglasses... he looks ridiculous, but no one’s looking at him. Just another traveler.
Your parents’ house is at the end of the road. Garden full of wildflowers. Paint peeling on the fence.
Your son is playing outside.
He doesn’t see you at first. He’s chasing butterflies. Laughing. Barefoot.
Ace stops walking.
“That’s him?” he asks, voice rough.
You nod “Ren.”
Ace just stares. His hands slowly curl into fists.
You call out softly, “Ren?”
The boy turns. His face lights up.
He runs to you screaming. You drop to your knees and catch him in your arms. He’s warm. Real. Solid.
Ace looks away.
Inside, your parents keep things short. They know who Ace is. You warned them. They’re not happy, but they trust you.
You all sit outside. Ren sits on Ace’s lap by accident. You try to grab him, but Ace just holds him steady.
“It’s okay,” he says “He’s light.”
Ren shows him a toy ship made of sticks “I made this!”
Ace chuckles “Really? That’s better than some ships I’ve sailed on.”
You stare.
Ren grins proudly “My parent used to tell me stories. About pirates and fire powers. Did you know there’s a pirate who can set his fists on fire?”
Ace raises a brow “Sounds dangerous.”
Ren gasps “But so cool!”
You laugh softly. Ace sends you a small look. It’s gentle. A little sad.
Later, when Ren naps, you and Ace sit on the back porch.
“He’s amazing.” Ace says.
“I know.”
“You’re amazing,” he adds “You left this. For his safety.”
You stare at the grass “I think about quitting all the time. Just staying here. Being at his side full time. But… the world’s not kind. And if they find me—”
“I get it,” he cuts in “You’re doing what you have to.”
You glance at him “I didn’t expect you to care so much.”
He shrugs “Neither did I.”
Then he adds, “But now I can’t stop.”
Your heart stumbles.
“He’s got your eyes.” Ace says softly.
“Don’t get attached.” you warn “This life… it’s dangerous.”
“So is mine,” he says “But that didn’t stop you from letting me in.”
You look at him. Really look.
“I didn’t plan for this...” you whisper.
“Neither did I.”
But here you both are.
And suddenly, fun doesn’t feel like the right word anymore.
The sound of quiet laughter wakes you.
You blink against the morning light, still groggy, still warm under the blanket. It takes a second to remember where you are... your parents’ house, back in your old bed.
And then you hear it again.
Ren’s voice.
And Ace’s.
You sit up, heart skipping.
You slip out of bed, still barefoot, and pad toward the living room. And there they are.
Ren sits cross-legged on the floor, his little wooden ship in one hand, while Ace sits across from him, mimicking an enemy pirate voice.
“Noooo! You got me again, Captain Ren! My ship is sinking!”
Ren giggles and throws a pillow at him “That’s what you get, bad guy!”
Ace dramatically falls back, hands in the air “Ughhh… defeated by the mightiest pirate on the seas…”
Your heart squeezes.
Ace looks so natural. Hair messy. Eyes full of warmth. Like he belongs here.
But then your parents come in.
They freeze when they see the scene.
Ace doesn’t notice at first, he’s laughing with Ren, his smile unguarded.
“Ren.” your mother says, sharply.
Your son turns.
“Come away from him,” your father says quickly, stepping forward “Now.”
Ace blinks, confused “I—”
“Ren,” your mother repeats “Come here.”
Ren looks at you, unsure.
You step in “What’s going on?”
Your father’s jaw tightens “We don’t want him near the child.”
You stare “Excuse me?”
“He’s a pirate,” your mother hisses “A famous one. Fire Fist. He’s dangerous.”
“He’s also sitting on the floor playing ships...” you snap.
Your parents say nothing.
“You trusted me enough to come here with him,” you continue, voice rising “Now you’re trying to pull Ren away like he’s some kind of monster?”
“We’re protecting our grandson.” your father says coldly.
“From what? A man who’s been nothing but kind to him?”
“You don’t know what kind of life he brings.”
“I do,” you shout “I live it too. If you forgot. And yes, it’s dangerous. Yes, it’s hard. But Ace has done nothing but respect my family, protect me, and treat Ren with more care than anyone ever has!”
They go silent.
You’re shaking now, fists clenched.
“And for your information, I love him.”
The words fall like a hammer in the room.
Ren blinks.
Your parents’ eyes widen.
Ace just stares at you.
You don’t move.
You didn’t mean to say it... not like this, not loud, not angry... but it’s out.
And real.
You look at Ace, heart thundering “I love you.”
A beat.
Then Ace stands slowly, eyes locked on yours. He walks to you, quiet. The room holds its breath.
He stops in front of you.
“I wasn’t sure if I should say it first,” he says, voice low “Didn’t want to scare you off. But you beat me to it.”
You blink.
“I love you too.” he says.
He reaches out, gentle, and takes your hand.
Your parents stay silent. Ren looks between the two of you, then claps once like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.
“Can I have pancakes now?” he asks.
You and Ace laugh at the same time, breathless.
And just like that, the tension cracks.
── .✦ Nico Robin:
Tags: Established Relationship, Soft Confession, Emotional Intimacy, Bittersweet Past
It’s late.
Most of the crew has gone to bed, except you and Robin. You're both in the library room. She’s reading. You’re not. You're just holding the edge of a piece of paper... frayed, uneven, and pulsing with life.
A vivre card.
You don’t have to look at it to know it’s still there. Still pointing somewhere far away, where you can’t be.
Robin closes her book softly “Is that what’s been on your mind all day?”
You glance over.
Of course she noticed.
You nod “Yeah.”
She tilts her head slightly “Can I ask who it’s for?”
You hesitate.
You’ve never told her. Not because you didn’t trust her, but because it always felt like a story that belonged to a different version of you. The you from before the sea. Before the Straw Hats. Before her.
But she’s already part of everything now.
So you answer.
“My son.”
Robin says nothing but her gaze sharpens. Attentive. Careful.
“He’s with his other parent now,” you continue, voice quiet “I raised him alone before I joined the crew. He’s the one who said it was okay. Actually, we were always together, in another small crew. Then he wanted a different kind of life. One with… peace. So we contacted his other parent.”
Robin nods, slow “He sounds mature.”
“He was always like that. Smarter than me, I think.”
There’s a short silence.
You look at the vivre card “I haven’t seen him since I joined. We talk through letters, sometimes den den mushi. But I don’t know when I’ll be able to see him again.”
Robin’s eyes soften “Do the others know?”
You shake your head “No. Just you.”
She reaches out. Her fingers brush yours, just enough to touch the vivre card “Thank you for trusting me.”
You smile, small but real “I didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t want you to see me differently.”
Robin hums “I already see you. Clearly.”
You blink.
She looks at you steady and kind “You carry something heavy. And still laugh with the crew. Still help cook. Still stand beside me in battle. That’s not weakness.”
Your chest aches in the best way.
She pauses, then adds, “If one day… you want to try and see him again, I’d go with you.”
Your voice catches “Really?”
She nods “Of course. I’d like to meet him. He sounds like someone I’d admire.”
You look down at the vivre card.
Still warm. Still burning.
Maybe not as far away as it feels.
It’s just past dinner.
You’re with Robin as she asked you to stay close. A soft excuse about helping her with some documents. You're both sitting on the floor, back against the wall, a soft lamp between you.
You have the vivre card on the table. You don't always keep it out, but tonight you felt the need to hold it.
You glance at the Den Den Mushi nearby.
You hesitate.
Then pick it up and dial a number you’ve had memorized since your hands first held his.
The snail blinks sleepily… then perks up.
“Hello?”
Your chest tightens at the voice.
You smile “Hey, kiddo.”
A pause, then, “IT’S YOU!!”
You laugh, caught off guard by the pure excitement.
“Oh my god—FINALLY! You didn’t forget me, right? You didn’t sail into a storm and disappear forever, right?”
Robin lifts an amused brow, watching you with quiet interest.
“I didn’t forget you,” you say softly “You know that.”
“Just making sure. I’ve been drawing so many sea monsters lately you would not believe. I made a kraken with three hats.”
You laugh again, voice cracking slightly “Three hats? He must be important.”
“Very.” He pauses, then adds, “...I missed you.”
You shut your eyes “I missed you too.”
Robin looks away respectfully, but stays close.
Then, from the snail: “Hey, wait—who’s near you? Are you with someone?”
You glance at Robin, who blinks, caught.
“She’s... a friend.” you say carefully.
Robin speaks, her voice soft “I hope I’m more than just a friend.”
The Den Den Mushi mimics a shocked face.
“...OH MY GOD. IS THIS YOUR GIRLFRIEND??”
You bury your face in your hand.
Robin chuckles lightly, graceful even when embarrassed “Hello. I’m Robin. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
There’s a long pause.
“...You sound really cool.”
Robin smiles “Thank you. So do you.”
“Wait—how much do you know about them? Like... do you know about the time they tried to cook without instructions and set the wall on fire?”
You groan “Don’t tell her that.”
“It was a microwave! The noodles caught on fire!”
Robin’s shoulders shake with laughter.
You shoot her a glare that holds no heat “I regret this entire call.”
“No you don’t.”
And he’s right. You don’t.
Not even a little.
Later, when the call ends, you sit in silence.
Robin’s hand reaches for yours “He’s amazing.”
You nod, voice soft “Yeah. He really is.”
She squeezes your hand gently “He has your spark. And your chaos.”
You smile through the ache in your chest “He’s better than I’ll ever be.”
Robin rests her head against your shoulder.
“You’ll see him again. When the time is right. And I'll be with you... if you want me.”
"Of course I do."
And somehow, with her beside you, that feels like a promise you can believe in.
#one piece#one piece x reader#one piece fanfic#one piece x y/n#one piece x you#one piece fanfiction#one piece fluff#black leg sanji#vinsmoke sanji#sanji#one piece sanji#sanji x reader#sanji x you#sanji x y/n#trafalgar law#trafalgar d law x reader#law x you#law x reader#law x y/n#trafalgar law x reader#trafalgar law x y/n#nico robin#nico robin x reader#nico robin x you#portgas ace x reader#portgas d ace#portgas ace x you#portgas ace x y/n#trafalgar law fanfiction#nico robin fanfiction
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Simple Math / Part Twenty One
Simple Math masterlist
Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.1k words - AO3 CW: 18+ mdni, discussion of kidnapping, sedation. Angst.
“Da?” Penny points at the guest room. “Bunny?”
“Aye lamb, Bunny.” He tries not to look at the door, tries to push away the avalanche of despair. If he could dig it free it from his brain, he would. He’d take it away from everyone, you, Si, himself. He’d rewind time, take it all back, start from the beginning and fix it all.
The memories burn like fire. They’re ash in the back of his throat.
“We’d never hurt ye, we jus’ want to take ye home.”
What a lie. Who were they kidding, doing this? Pretending they were some knights in shining armor, coming to rescue you?
They became everything you feared.
Pen nestles into his neck, gripping his shirt as she wiggles. “Story?”
“Jus’ one alright?” She signs okay, and sighs.
“Gus?” He grits his teeth. Penny's love for Gus has been a tiny bright spot in an abysmal expanse of misery, but her obsession just reminds him of everything else.
“Gus is downstairs, it’s nap time.” He can feel the tumultuous slope of a tantrum, Penny’s mood ratcheting up and up until it explodes. She’s tired, and stressed, too much like her Dad, reading the emotions in the house like its second nature. She knows something is wrong.
“Gus Gus,” her lower lip trembles, legs kicking. “Wan’ Gus Gus.”
“Ye’ll see Gus later.” She doesn’t understand anything that’s happened, and the guilt eats at him, at what they’ve done to their family, what they’ve brought into their home.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
He holds her tight, kisses her forehead. “I love ye, Penny.” She sniffles.
“Luh you.”
“Not at all?”
“No idea mate. Looked at me like she’s never seen me a day in her life. A bit bizarre if you ask me.” Simon rubs a hand over his face. “But she also pointedly avoided looking at me. Tried to make herself smaller.” Johnny grimaces. They've moved as fast as they could, but you didn't make it easy.
In a weird way, Johnny is proud of you.
“How does she seem?” He knows this answer. To not recognize Kyle you must be tired beyond belief, operating on autopilot, frozen stiff with fear.
“Skittish. Exhausted. Scared.” His shoulders slump, entire body sinking into the cushions of the couch. Your frightened face haunts his dreams, a little rabbit running for her life. He can't imagine how you must feel, believing you were betrayed by them, running away with their babe in your belly.
In another life, maybe they’d stay in Scotland with you. He’d show you all the things he loves about it, all the things he still calls home, the same things he showed Pen. Maybe it would be different.
“Did you get it done?” Simon interrupts his spiral, redirects their focus.
“Yeah, managed to slip it into the little pocket at the top, she had no idea. It’s online and I sent you guys the link; you should be able to see the ping. I’ll stay on her until you get here.”
“From a distance.” Simon reiterates, and Kyle scoffs.
“Do you think I’m an amateur?”
Penny isn’t in her room after her nap.
She gets up at the same time everyday without fail, dependable clockwork that they work their lives around.
Johnny’s heart jumps into his throat. Logical thinking starts to fade away into panic, fear, his fumbling fingers swiping at his phone just as her little giggle echoes from down the hall, and relief rushes through his bones.
She's in your room. Curled up in your side, feet in your lap, little palm on your belly, staring up at you like you hung the stars in the sky.
“And then the cow said-”
“Moooo!” He’s sick at the sight, another tidal wave of grief pulling him out to sea, reminding him of things they’ll probably never have now, your love, your trust, a family with you.
But you haven't left, a desperate voice in his head reminds him, you've had plenty of opportunities, but stays here. Why?
Maybe all hope isn't lost.
“That’s right,” you brush her wispy curls back from her face and smile, “you’re such a smart girl Pen.” She pats the curve of your stomach, and then signs.
“Baby?” Your hand folds over hers, and Johnny’s throat is so tight he can barely breathe. “My baby.” You laugh, and she giggles as you hug her close, kissing the top of her head.
“This is your baby brother or sister Pen. What do you think? Boy? Or girl?” Penny shrugs, giving you a sheepish look.
“Gus?”
“Didn’t you see Gus earlier? Did you feed him breakfast?” There’s some shuffling, and she wiggles down to the floor, waiting patiently as you groan and swing your legs over the bed. “Alright, he could probably use some more fish flakes anyway.” You look tired, weary, but still your smile is soft for Penny, gentle and encouraging.
It fades when you catch him in the doorway.
“Hey.” You nod, the small spark in your eyes dying immediately as you watch him cautiously. Like he’s a threat.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Er, not long.” What’s another lie in the long list of transgressions at this point?
“Pen wants to see Gus so… I thought I’d take her downstairs.” You shift uneasily, and he steps aside. Penny’s hand is tucked in yours, and a vision of one of you falling, tripping, and taking the other down flashes in his mind.
“Be careful on the stairs Pen.” She goes down on her knees now, backward, sliding her stomach across each step in a slow but methodical process. One that could trip you up. “I can take ye down-”
“No,” she vehemently refuses, “I do it.”
“She can do it on her own.” You back her up immediately, both of his girls united in solid opposition against him. Bleedin’ Christ. Penny points downstairs.
“Da. Gus.” She signs for both, for once oblivious to your agitation, and he winces when you shoot him an annoyed look.
“I’ve got her Johnny.”
“Okay,” Penny’s already started on her descent, and you hold onto the banister, still glaring at him. He gulps. “Ye be careful too.” For a second, the storm breaks, the thunder rolls over the hill into the distance, torrential downpour turning a drizzle, and the sun tries to peek through the clouds. Sadness and longing, flickers in your eyes, so clearly displayed that it urges him forward, a step too close. You back away.
The sun is gone, and the storm rages.
The prefilled syringe glints in the sunlight where it sits on the table. Johnny tries not to look at it.
“Are ye sure-”
“No,” Simon snaps, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, I’m not. But I don’t see what our choices are. We can’t leave her on her own with Graves at large. I promised… I promised she’d be safe. That I’d take care of her.”
“We both did.”
“Well we did a shit job.” He pales when he looks back at the needle. “We’re one hundred percent sure? It’s not going to harm them?”
“Aye, triple checked. Safe for mum and baby.” They sit across from one another in silence. Simon is far away, somewhere even Johnny can’t reach him, and when he speaks next, his voice cracks.
“She’s going to be so scared. She won’t understand what’s happening.” He covers his face, heels of his hands pressing into his eyes. “She already thinks… she thinks we’re a threat. She’s not going to listen to anything we say.”
“I know.”
“We have to do it this way.” He’s whispering, locked in an endless battle of wills with himself, and Johnny reaches for his hand. He doesn’t know what else to do. Sick with dread twisting his heart, he knows the options are limited. He knows this is a good course of action, possibly the safest, the most rational.
Even if it will turn them into your monsters.
“I know, Si. I know.”
You’re on the patio.
He’s found you there a few times, curled up on the outdoor couch, sun on your face as you read or scroll on your phone.
He wants to go to you, encouraged by the sliver of something he saw in your eyes earlier, but he knows he can’t. If he pushes too hard, it will only make you retreat.
“She’s been out there for an hour.” Simon stands at his side, and if you look up, you’ll see both of them staring. Watching.
“Did ye talk to her?”
“Tried. She ignored me.”
“Did ye actually?” His patience is thin today, a fine thread threatening to fray. “Try?” Johnny knows what it truly is, this avoidance of you. Simon brings you meals, checks in, but keeps away, holds his position at a firm distance.
He can’t live with himself.
“Johnny,” it’s a warning shot, but he chooses not to pay it any attention.
“Did ye? Try at all? Because I haven’t seen ye try since we got home, since that day she woke up.” Simon stiffens.
“She doesn’t want me.”
“She doesnae want either o’ us Si. What did ye think would happen? That everything would be fine and she would forgive us? She would trust us automatically?” He’s on the verge of yelling now, and instead of trying to soothe him as usual, Simon scowls and turns away. Johnny snaps. “We said it’d take time an’ work but ye’re jus’ runnin’ away now, every chance ye get, an’ leavin’ everything to me!”
“I…” He’s never seen his husband so lost. These past two weeks, every day he’s slipped further and further away, and nothing Johnny says or does brings him back. “I can’t, Johnny.”
“Ye have to try.” For her. For me. For your family. Simon shakes his head.
“I can’t.”
“Jesus.” The heel of your palm goes to your temple, and he holds his breath. “What-” You trail off as you look up, take them in, guilty as sin.
If only his Ma could see him now. See what he’s done.
You shoot upward, scrambling towards the head of the bed, eyes wide and frozen with fear.
Shaking and terrified. A little rabbit caught in a snare. Their snare.
You watch them like they're executioners leading you to the block.
“Wh-what…”
“Listen to us sweetheart, just listen,” Simon soothes, voice low and cautious but fast because he knows they’ve got to get it out, establish the truth right away. “You’re safe, everything’s okay, you and the baby, you’re safe here.” You shake your head, tears rolling down your cheeks.
“You… b-brought me back?” Your voice cracks. “You brought me back and n-now he’s…” you break apart on a sob.
“He’s never going to touch ye ever again, bunny. We swear it. I know,” you try to scoot off the bed, but Simon holds you still by your shoulders. They have to get this out, have to get through this part no matter how difficult it is, no matter how much you don't want to listen. You have to hear the truth, the reasoning.
“I know you don’t believe us, but we can prove it.” Johnny pulls out his phone and clicks open the secure email attachment. It’s the mission report from when Graves betrayed them outside the Mexican Special Forces base, and it’s only partially redacted thanks to Kate.
It’s a risk.
It will confirm your fears and dissolve them. It will tell you who they truly are, what they truly do, while proving they’re telling the truth.
It’s a gamble.
“Read this,” Simon pushes it into your hand and you recoil. It doesn’t stop him, he wraps your brittle fingers around it and then stands, Johnny right behind him. “Take as long as you need. We’ll be here.”
“Did ye like it?” You refuse to look at him, half of a pot pie eaten and sitting at your side on the tray. No answer.
You blink at the ceiling.
“Wanted to check in, see if ye needed anything?” Please, say something. Say anything. “Somethin’ else to eat, maybe? Si said ye didnae eat much of yer lunch. Are ye feeling sick again?” You’ve been having bouts of nausea, which you’ve told them is normal. You said you brought it up with your midwife at your appointment last week, she wasn’t concerned, and left it that. He knows you only supplied the information because they were badgering you about it, and as you told them the other day-
“I’d do anything to get you to leave me the fuck alone.”
When you turn to look at him, he almost wishes you hadn’t.
There’s a lifetime of pain in your eyes. Anger. Distrust. Hurt. All of it caused by their hand, their decisions.
He tries anyway. He has to.
“Did ye know goldfish can grow up to ten inches? Researched it when we…” he swallows the lump in his throat, “when we got home.” Still nothing. Your fingers twitch on the edge of your kindle, and he’s overcome with the urge to place his hand there, to hold yours. “Ye know, Si an’ I were talking, it might be good for you to come down for a meal? Maybe ye could come downstairs for breakfast tomorrow? Pen asked.” Using Penny is wrong, he knows that, but he’s drowning and he doesn’t know how much farther they can sink at this point.
But it all falls on deaf ears.
You give him one last long look, another glare overflowing with malice, more rage, more despair, everything twisted up into a complicated knot.
He's well practiced with bombs, confident, rarely makes a mistake-
but this is one he's terrified to defuse.
“Johnny�� just... leave me alone. Please.” No, he wants to tell you, no, I'd rather have you scream at me for hours on end, I'd rather have you throw another mug at my head, over all of this... this agonizing silence.
“Okay,” he whispers, “I’ll… leave ye be.”
“Upset?!” You cover your heart with your palms. “Upset…”
“Sweetheart-” Simon hangs back behind Johnny, allowing him to take the lead, again, but still trying to coax you to calm, and you look at one then the other, shaking your head, tossing the phone on the bed.
“You… you hid all of this from me. I knew you were military but this…” You’re angry, but beneath it, fighting for freedom, is pain. Pain caused by them, by this betrayal. “Phillip aside, you kidnapped me!”
“We had no choice,” Johnny’s voice wavers and he scrambles for control. “We couldnae leave ye alone and unprotected, an’ we knew ye wouldnae listen to us if we just… showed up.”
“I wish I had better aim,” you spit, staring daggers at where Simon’s arm sports a fresh bandage, covering the stitches. He flinches.
“We would never hurt ye-” A bitter laugh cuts him off, and you throw your hands up, gesturing around the room.
“What do you call this then, Johnny? What would you call drugging me and hauling me away from my home?”
"That wasnae yer home! Yer home is wit' us, bun." You stare at him in disbelief.
"You're out of your fucking mind if you think this... this could be my home now."
“I promise-” Simon starts again but you glare at him.
“Your promises mean fuck all, Simon Riley.”
“We’ve never lied to ye, bunny, an’ if we had known from the beginning, we could have protected ye, made sure he never came near ye again.” It’s low to use your own evasion against you, your own survival instincts, but he’s grasping at straws. He’s not sure it’s possible to tell you how sorry they are anymore, they’ve said it a thousand times. You snort.
“You’re unbelievable. Both of you. And you’re no better than him.”
“That’s not true.” Simon cuts, sharp edge slicing through your declaration. “We would never, ever hurt you. We love you.” Your swallow is audible, and for a second, you falter. A tear falls. Johnny steps forward.
“Bun-“
“I want you to go.”
“Ye have every right-”
“Get out!” You scream it, pointing at the door with a shaking finger. “Get the fuck out.” Simon doesn’t take a single second before turning his back and disappearing, leaving Johnny alone with you.
Defeated.
“I love ye.” He murmurs softly, and you scoff.
“Fuck your love, Johnny. It means nothing.”
The scream wakes them both at zero two hundred.
It’s blood curdling, could shatter the windows, shake the house down to the studs.
Simon’s faster than him lately, gets the drop-
But he bypasses your room.
“I’ll take care of Penny.” Of course. She’d be awake. That would’ve woke anyone.
The door creaks when it flings wide, and then he’s sitting at your hip on the mattress, holding you, calling your name. The whites of your eyes shine in the dark, pupils slowly adjusting as he flicks the light on next to the bed.
He braces for a fight, shores his defenses, readies himself for the venom, but the only thing you give him is the trembling of your lower lip, and your tears, your hand stretching for his. “Shhh, ye’re okay, it’s okay. Was jus’ a dream bunny, jus’ a dream.” Your chest heaves.
“I… Phillip...”
“He’s no’ here, it’s just ye and me. Simon and Pen down the hall.” He’d be lying to himself if he said this isn’t making a sick part of him happy, this need you seem to have for him, for comfort, even if it may be fleeting. “Ye’re safe, pretty girl.” A moan escapes you, working its way into a sob, and you curl forward.
Into him.
In this darkness, the early hour of the morning, the two of you are suspended in time, alone in this world where nothing bad ever happened and you’re safe in his arms. Like the man he sees in the mirror doesn’t disgust him, like his remorse isn’t a living, breathing thing, a reaper waiting to take him away.
And when your nose presses to his chest and you wet his shirt with tears as he rocks you, promises you’re safe, that they’ll take care of you, that he loves you, all the words they’ve said since the day they met you, the guilt threatens to drown him-
And his own tears drip from his face.
#ghoap x reader#peaches writes#simon riley x reader#soap x reader#simon riley#john mactavish x reader#ghost x reader#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader
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MAD WOMAN

warnings: sleep paralysis, mental illnesses (schizophrenia), mentions of suicide (reader’s mom has committed), emotional and psychological manipulation, childhood trauma?, (short) smut, unprotected sex, betrayal, lmk if I missed anything
wordcount: 6.5k | there won’t be a 2nd part.
masterlist
You remember how your mother used to wake up screaming every night. The sound would rip through the house, sharp and desperate, like a wounded animal caught in a trap. It started when you were six, maybe seven, too young to understand why her cries carried such raw terror.
You’d lie in your bed, clutching your stuffed rabbit, its worn ears pressed against your chest, listening as her screams echoed down the hall. Your dad would always tell you it was just sleep paralysis. He’d sit on the edge of your bed, his voice steady but tired, explaining that your mom’s body was playing tricks on her, locking her in a state where she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t escape the horrors in her mind. You believed him. You had no reason not to. He was your dad, the one who fixed your scraped knees and read you stories about brave knights and faraway lands. He was the one who made the world make sense when it felt like it was crumbling.
You believed him too when he told you the reason why your mom committed suicide was because of the constant sleep paralysis. You were twelve when it happened. The memory is fragmented, like a half forgotten dream. You came home from school, your backpack heavy with textbooks and a crumpled math test you’d failed. The house was too quiet, the kind of silence that presses against your eardrums and makes your skin prickle. Your dad was in the kitchen, sitting at the table with his head in his hands. You’d never seen him cry before, not even when your goldfish died or when you broke your arm falling off the swing set. But there he was, shoulders shaking, his voice thick as he told you your mom was gone. “She couldn’t take it anymore,” he said. “The sleep paralysis, it was too much for her.” You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t know how. You just nodded, your throat tight and let him pull you into a hug that felt more like a plea than comfort.
You were so scared of sleep paralysis after that. The fear rooted itself deep in your bones, a constant whisper in the back of your mind. Some nights you couldn’t even sleep. You’d lie awake, staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster to keep your mind busy. You’d listen to the creak of the house settling, the distant hum of the refrigerator, anything to drown out the thought of waking up trapped in your own body, just like her. Your dad noticed. He’d find you in the morning, bleary eyed and trembling and his face would soften with that same weary concern. “You need to sleep,” he’d say, his voice gentle but firm. That’s when he started giving you the pills.
They were small, white, bitter things that stuck to the back of your throat no matter how much water you drank. You’d take them every night, standing at the kitchen counter while he watched, his eyes fixed on you like he was afraid you’d vanish if he looked away. “For your own good,” he’d say, ruffling your hair the way he did when you were little. You hated the pills, hated the chalky aftertaste that lingered until morning, hated the way they made your thoughts feel heavy, like wading through mud. But you took them because he said they’d help you sleep, because he said they’d keep the nightmares away. And for a while, they did. You slept dreamlessly, your nights a void of black, uninterrupted by screams or shadows. You thought it was a small price to pay to avoid your mother’s fate.
Years passed and the pills became routine, a ritual as familiar as brushing your teeth or tying your shoes. You grew up, moved out, got married. Sunghoon came into your life like a burst of light, all easy smiles and warm hands that held yours like they were made for it. He was your anchor, the one who made you laugh when the weight of the past pressed too hard against your chest. You told him about your mom, about the sleep paralysis, about the pills. He listened, his eyes soft with understanding and promised to keep you safe. You believed him, just like you believed your dad. You wanted to believe in something, someone, who could keep the darkness at bay.
But then the dreams started. They crept in slowly, like a fog rolling over a still lake. At first, they were vague, fleeting images that dissolved when you opened your eyes. A figure in the distance. You didn’t think much of it, chalking it up to stress or the lingering effects of the pills. But the dreams grew sharper, more vivid, until you couldn’t dismiss them anymore. You started seeing a man in your dreams. He looked ethereal. You couldn’t really see his face, but he must be ethereal, you thought to yourself. He was tall, his silhouette cutting a striking figure against the strange landscapes of your mind. always standing with his back to you, silent and unmoving.
The first time you saw him, you were in a field, the grass swaying around your knees, the sky above a bruised purple. He stood at the far edge, his form blurred but unmistakable. You called out, but your voice was swallowed by the wind. He didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge you. You woke with a start, your heart pounding. You didn’t tell Sunghoon. You didn’t know why. Maybe it was because the dreams felt private, like a secret only you were meant to keep. Or maybe it was because you were afraid he’d look at you the way your dad used to, with that mix of pity and worry that made you feel like you were already breaking.
The dreams came more frequently after that. Sometimes he stood in a forest, the trees gnarled and ancient, their branches clawing at the sky. Sometimes it was a deserted street, the pavement cracked and littered with leaves, the streetlights flickering like they were about to die. Once, he stood on the edge of a cliff, the ocean below churning with a violence that matched the storm in your chest. Each time, his back was turned, his silence a wall you couldn’t breach. You started to dread sleep, not because of paralysis but because of him. Who was he? Why did he feel so real, so familiar, like a memory you couldn’t place? You tried cutting back on the pills, thinking they might be the cause, but it only made the dreams more intense, the man’s presence more solid.
You didn’t tell Sunghoon, but he noticed something was wrong. He’d catch you staring into space, your coffee going cold in your hands, or find you awake in the middle of the night, sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. “You okay, baby?” he’d ask, his voice soft but laced with that same concern your dad used to have. You’d nod, force a smile, say it was just a bad dream. But you could see it in his eyes, the doubt, the fear that you were slipping into something he couldn’t understand. You hated that look. It made you feel like you were already half gone, like your mother, like a ghost haunting your own life.
The dreams were changing you and you didn’t know how to stop it. You didn’t know if you wanted to.
-
The air was heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and decay, as you found yourself in the middle of a graveyard. Some tombstones were tilted, sinking into the soft soil as if the earth were swallowing them whole. Others stood tall, defiant against time, their edges sharp enough to cut through the moonlight that spilled across the scene. The sky above was a deep, unnatural gray, streaked with clouds that moved too slowly, like they were watching you. A chill crawled up your spine, not from the cold but from the weight of the place, the way it seemed to pulse with a quiet, unspoken grief. You knew you were dreaming. The edges of the world were too soft, the colors too vivid, but that knowledge didn’t lessen the dread curling in your stomach.
He was there again, the man from your dreams, standing a few paces ahead. His silhouette was unmistakable, tall and broad shouldered. He stood with his back to you, as always, motionless, his presence both a magnet and a warning. You could feel the pull of him, like a tide dragging you under, but there was something different this time. The graveyard wasn’t just a backdrop. It felt alive, aware, its silence heavy with secrets. You took a step forward, your bare feet sinking into the cold, wet grass. The sensation was too real, grounding you in this unreal place. Your heart pounded, a steady rhythm that echoed in your ears, louder than it should have been.
You realized you were in a dream, but it didn’t feel like one. The details were too sharp. The faint moss creeping up the base of a nearby tombstone, the distant hoot of an owl, the way the air tasted faintly of iron and rot. You wanted answers, needed them. The man had haunted you for weeks, maybe months, his silent presence a puzzle you couldn’t solve. You took another step, your voice trembling but determined. “Who are you?” you shouted, the words slicing through the stillness. They hung in the air, unanswered, as he remained still, his back a wall of shadow and red.
You moved closer, your steps quicker now, driven by a mix of fear and frustration. But every time you advanced, he drifted further away, his form flickering like a candle flame caught in a draft. It was maddening, the way he stayed just out of reach, always a step ahead, always untouchable. “Stop running away!” you shouted again, your voice raw, cracking with the weight of your need to know. You weren’t sure why it mattered so much, why this stranger in your dreams felt like the key to something you couldn’t name. But you were tired of the silence, tired of the mystery, tired of waking up with more questions than answers.
And then, he stopped.
The world seemed to hold its breath. The clouds froze, the owl’s call cut off mid note and even the air felt heavier, pressing against your skin. He stood in front of a grave, his head slightly bowed, as if paying respects. Your chest tightened as you followed his gaze, your eyes landing on the tombstone. The moonlight illuminated it just enough for you to make out the name carved into the stone.
your mother’s.
The letters were sharp, precise, her name a wound etched in granite. The dates below were blurred, unreadable, but you didn’t need them. You knew them by heart. The day she was born, the day she died. Your knees buckled, but you caught yourself, your hands clenching into fists to keep from collapsing. The sight of her name here, in this dream, felt like a violation, like someone had reached into your chest and pulled out your heart.
You wanted to scream, to demand why her grave was here, why he was here, but your voice caught in your throat. He spoke first, his voice low and resonant, like it came from the earth itself, vibrating through the ground and into your bones. “This isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. They’re going to kill you again.”
The words hit you like a physical blow, stealing your breath. “What is that supposed to mean?” you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper now. “Who are you?”
He turned around and for the first time, you saw his face… or tried to. The shadows clung to him, obscuring his features, but his eyes burned through the darkness, sharp and piercing, like they could see every secret you’d ever buried. They were a color you couldn’t name, somewhere between amber and blood, glowing faintly in the dim light. His presence was overwhelming, not just a man but a force, something ancient. “They’re going to call you crazy,” he said, his voice softer now, almost tender, but heavy with certainty. “They will call you a mad woman. When they’re finally done with you, I’m going to take you with me, baby. Trust me.”
Before you could process his words, he closed the distance between you in a single, fluid step. His hands were warm as they cupped your face, his touch both gentle and possessive, like he was claiming you. He leaned in, his lips brushing your forehead in a kiss that felt like a promise, a vow sealed in the strange magic of this place. The warmth of it lingered, spreading through you, chasing away the chill of the graveyard. Then his lips found yours and the world dissolved into a haze of sensation. The kiss was deep, consuming, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that made your pulse race. You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. The dream had you now and so did he.
-
The graveyard melted into a haze as his kiss deepened, pulling you under like a current you couldn’t fight. The cold grass beneath you pressed against your skin, the dampness seeping through your clothes, but it didn’t matter. His hands were on you, warm and sure, anchoring you to this dream that felt more real than anything you’d known. His lips moved against yours with a slow, deliberate hunger, his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth, coaxing it open. You let him in, your breath hitching as he explored you, tasting you like you were something precious, something he’d been starving for. The world around you faded until it was just him, just you, just this.
He pulled back, just enough to look at you, his eyes still shadowed but burning with that strange, unnameable color. They held you captive, stripping you bare in a way that made your heart pound and your skin flush. His hands slid from your face, trailing down your neck, fingers brushing the sensitive skin over your pulse. You shivered, not from cold but from the heat of his touch, the way it sent sparks skittering through your veins. He didn’t speak, but his gaze said enough. Desire, possession, a promise you didn’t fully understand but wanted to believe.
His fingers found the buttons of your shirt, moving with a careful precision that belied the intensity in his eyes. One by one, he undid them, the fabric parting to expose your skin to the cool night air. You didn’t stop him. You didn’t want to. The dream had its own logic, its own rules and in this moment, you were willing to surrender to it. His hands slid beneath the open shirt, warm against your bare skin, tracing the curve of your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. He cupped them gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they hardened under his touch. A soft gasp escaped you and his lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.
He leaned in again, kissing a path down your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he worked his way lower. His mouth closed over one nipple, tongue swirling, teasing, drawing a moan from deep in your throat. Your hands found his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle, needing something to hold onto as the pleasure built. He took his time, lavishing attention on your breasts, his hands and mouth working in tandem to drive you to the edge of reason. Your body arched toward him, instinctively seeking more and he obliged, his touch growing bolder, more insistent.
He pulled you down onto the grass, the cold earth a sharp contrast to the heat of his body as he settled over you. His hands roamed lower, tugging at the waistband of your pants, sliding them down your hips with a reverence that made your chest ache. You were bare before him now, vulnerable in a way that should have terrified you but didn’t. Not here. Not with him. His fingers traced the curve of your hips, the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, parting your legs with a gentle pressure. You felt exposed, alive, every nerve ending singing under his touch.
“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice rough with want, low and resonant like it was part of the earth itself. His fingers found your core, stroking you with a slow, deliberate rhythm that made you tremble. You were already wet, aching for hi and he knew it, his touch confident as he explored you, teasing your clit until you were gasping, your hips bucking against his hand. He watched you, his shadowed face unreadable but his eyes blazing, drinking in every reaction, every sound you made.
When he finally pressed a finger inside you, you moaned, the sensation overwhelming in its intimacy. He moved slowly at first, letting you adjust, then added another, stretching you, preparing you. The pleasure was sharp, almost too much, but you didn’t want him to stop. You couldn’t. Your hands clutched at the grass, tearing at it as he worked you closer to the edge, his thumb circling your clit while his fingers curled inside you, hitting a spot that made you see stars.
He withdrew his hand and you whimpered at the loss, but then he was shifting, positioning himself between your legs. You felt the hard length of his cock against your thigh, thick and warm and your breath caught in anticipation. He entered you slowly, inch by inch, filling you completely. The stretch was exquisite, a mix of pleasure and pressure that made your toes curl. He paused when he was fully inside you, letting you feel him, letting you adjust to the way he claimed every part of you. His eyes locked on yours and for a moment, you thought you saw something beyond the shadows. A flicker of tenderness, of something deeper than desire.
Then he moved, his thrusts slow and deep, each one sending waves of pleasure through you. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, needing him deeper, harder. He obliged, his pace quickening, his hips snapping against yours with a rhythm that was both gentle and relentless. The sounds of your bodies moving together filled the air, mingling with your gasps and his low groans. The pleasure built, coiling tighter and tighter, until you were trembling beneath him, your nails digging into his back as you chased release.
When it came, it was like a dam breaking, your orgasm crashing through you with a force that left you breathless. You cried out, your body shuddering, clenching around him as waves of pleasure rolled through you. He followed moments later, his thrusts growing erratic as he spilled inside you, his release warm and heavy, marking you in a way that felt permanent, undeniable. He collapsed against you, his breath ragged, his weight grounding you in the aftermath.
For a moment, you lay there together, tangled in each other, the graveyard forgotten. The dream felt so real. His skin against yours, the heat of his breath, the steady beat of his heart under your palm. You forgot you were dreaming, forgot the tombstones, forgot the name carved in stone. There was only him and the way he made you feel wanted, whole, his.
-
Your eyes snapped open, but your body refused to move. A suffocating weight pressed against your chest, pinning you to the bed as if the air itself had turned to stone. Your limbs were locked, unresponsive, your fingers twitching uselessly at your sides. You tried to scream, to call out, but your throat was a prison, trapping the sound before it could escape. Sleep paralysis. The realization hit you like a cold wave, flooding your veins with panic. Your heart thundered, each beat a desperate plea for freedom, but the world remained still, the room cloaked in a darkness that felt alive, watching. The ceiling above you was a blank canvas of shadows, the faint outline of a crack you’d never noticed before twisting like a smirk in the dim light filtering through the curtains.
You tried to focus, to ground yourself in the familiar. the soft hum of the air conditioner, the distant creak of the house settling, the warmth of Sunghoon’s body beside you but the fear was relentless, clawing at the edges of your mind. You wanted to reach for him, to feel his hand in yours, but your body betrayed you, a traitor to your will. Your eyes darted to the side, straining to see the door, the only exit from this suffocating nightmare. It was closed, the handle glinting faintly in the moonlight, but as you stared, it began to move.
The door creaked open, slow and deliberate, the sound scraping against your nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Your breath hitched, shallow and uneven, as footsteps echoed in the silence, soft but purposeful. They grew closer, each one a hammer strike against your fragile calm. Then you saw him. the man from your dreams, his silhouette unmistakable even in the dark. He moved with a grace that didn’t belong in this world, his presence both a comfort and a threat. You wanted to scream, to demand answers, but your voice was still trapped, your body a cage.
He stopped at the foot of your bed, his shadowed form towering over you. His face was obscured, just as it had been in the graveyard, but his eyes burned through the darkness. They held you captive, stripping away every defense you had left. He leaned closer, the air growing warmer, heavier, as he bent down until his face was inches from yours. His breath brushed your ear, hot and intimate, sending a shiver down your spine that wasn’t entirely fear. “No one likes a mad woman,” he whispered, his voice low and smooth, dripping with a certainty that made your stomach twist. The words were a blade, sharp and precise, cutting through the fog of your paralysis. Then he was gone, vanishing like smoke, leaving only the echo of his voice and the lingering heat of his breath.
The spell broke. Your body jolted free, a gasp tearing from your throat as you sat up, clutching the sheets to your chest. Your skin was clammy, your heart racing so fast it felt like it might burst. You screamed, the sound raw and piercing, shattering the silence of the night. The room came alive around you, the shadows retreating as your voice filled the space. Sunghoon stirred beside you, his movements sluggish at first, then urgent as he registered your distress. He sat up, his hair tousled, his eyes wide with concern as he reached for you. “Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep but laced with worry.
“I had sleep paralysis,” you stuttered, your words stumbling over each other, your voice trembling with the aftershocks of fear. Your hands shook as you gripped his arm, needing something solid, something real to anchor you. The memory of the man’s whisper clung to you, his words looping in your mind like a warning you couldn’t decipher.
Sunghoon’s face softened, but there was something in his eyes. Pity, just like your father’s, a look that made your stomach churn. He pulled you into his arms, his hands warm against your back, but the embrace felt hollow, like he was holding you out of obligation rather than love. “Baby, it’s happening again,” he said softly, his voice careful, measured, like he was speaking to a child. “This isn’t normal anymore. Please, you have to go to the doctor.”
You pulled back, staring at him, your heart sinking. “What do you mean, Sunghoon? This is the first time I’ve had sleep paralysis…” Your voice was small, uncertain, as if you were trying to convince yourself as much as him. But the way he looked at you, the way his brow furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line, made you doubt your own words. Had it happened before? You couldn’t remember, not clearly, but the doubt was there, gnawing at you like a parasite.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, his frustration barely masked. “You’ve been… off, lately. The dreams, the way you’ve been acting. I’m worried about you.” His words were gentle, but they carried a weight you didn’t want to bear. You saw it in his eyes, the same look your dad used to give you when he handed you those bitter white pills. Pity. Fear. The belief that you were fragile, broken, just like your mother.
You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, that you were fine, but the memory of the man’s voice “no one likes a mad woman” stopped you. It felt like a truth you weren’t ready to face, a shadow cast by your mother’s fate. You leaned against Sunghoon, letting his warmth chase away the lingering chill, but the doubt remained, a seed planted deep in your mind, waiting to grow.
-
Your eyes opened to a stark, sterile room, the kind of place where the air tasted of antiseptic and despair. The walls were too white, glaring under the harsh fluorescent lights that buzzed faintly overhead. There was no window, no glimpse of the outside world, just four walls closing in around you. A single bed, its sheets crisp and thin, sat in the center of the room, its metal frame cold to the touch. Above you, two cameras hung from the ceiling, their unblinking lenses trained on you like silent sentinels. The sight of them made your skin crawl, a reminder that you were being watched, judged, cataloged. Your head throbbed, a dull ache that pulsed in time with your heartbeat and your mouth was dry, the faint aftertaste of those bitter pills lingering on your tongue. You didn’t remember falling asleep, didn’t remember how you got here, but the realization hit you like a punch to the gut. you were in a psychiatric hospital.
Panic surged through you, hot and suffocating. You scrambled off the bed, your bare feet hitting the cold linoleum floor, the shock of it grounding you for a fleeting moment. You rushed to the door, a heavy slab of metal with a small, reinforced window that showed nothing but a dimly lit hallway beyond. You pounded on it, your fists aching with each strike, your voice raw as you shouted, “OPEN THE DOOR! I’M NOT INSANE!” The words echoed in the small room, bouncing off the walls, but no one answered. Your hands shook, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you hammered harder, desperation clawing at your chest. You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t crazy. You couldn’t be.
The door clicked, a sharp sound that cut through your frenzy. A nurse stepped inside, her face stern, her eyes cold with practiced indifference. She was older, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, her uniform starched to perfection. “Stop shouting,” she said, her voice flat. “You’re waking the whole hospital up.” Her words were a reprimand, but there was no warmth in them, no trace of compassion. She looked at you like you were a problem to be managed, not a person.
You stepped back, your hands still trembling, your voice dropping to a shaky whisper. “Where is Sunghoon? Call him here.” Your husband’s name felt like a lifeline, a tether to the world outside this sterile cage. Sunghoon was manipulative, sure. you’d seen it in the way he could charm anyone, twist conversations to his advantage, make you question your own decisions. but he wouldn’t use your supposed illness against you. He wouldn’t lock you away for his own benefit. He loved you. He had to. You clung to that thought, even as doubt gnawed at the edges of your mind, whispering memories of his pitying looks, his careful words, the way he’d echoed your father’s concern.
The nurse didn’t answer right away. She adjusted something on the clipboard in her hands, her movements precise, mechanical. “Your husband will be notified,” she said finally, her tone clipped, as if she were reading from a script. “Now sit down and calm yourself. You’re making this harder than it needs to be.” She turned and left, the door locking behind her with a heavy thud that reverberated in your chest. You stood there, staring at the closed door, your mind racing. Schizophrenia, they’d called it. You’d overheard the word in fragments, whispered by doctors in the haze of your arrival, but you didn’t believe it. You couldn’t. You weren’t like your mother. You weren’t.
Minutes later, the door opened again and Sunghoon walked in. He looked impeccable, as always. his dark hair neatly styled, his shirt pressed, his smile just wide enough to seem genuine. But there was something in his eyes, a glint of satisfaction that made your stomach churn. “How are you feeling, darling?” he asked, his voice smooth, almost too gentle, like he was speaking to a fragile child. He stepped closer, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture relaxed but calculated.
“You made me this way,” you said, your voice low, trembling with a mix of anger and fear. “I’m not insane.” The words felt like a plea, a desperate attempt to make him see you, the real you, not the broken thing he seemed to believe you were.
Sunghoon’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes darkened, a flicker of something cold passing through them. He tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he’d already solved. “Oh, my dear,” he said, his voice dripping with pity, “you are crazy. When will you finally accept that?” His words were soft, but they cut deep, each one a reminder of the man in your dream, his whispered warning. “No one likes a mad woman.” You wanted to scream, to lash out, to make him understand that you weren’t what he said you were, but the weight of his gaze held you in place.
You argued, your voice rising, words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “I’m not crazy, Sunghoon! I know what I saw, what I felt! You can’t just lock me away and pretend this is for my own good!” Your hands clenched into fists, your nails digging into your palms as you fought to keep your voice steady. “You’re doing this for you, not me. Just like my dad. Just like what happened to my mom.”
His expression didn’t change, but he stepped closer, close enough that you could smell the faint cologne he always wore, sharp and expensive. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear and whispered, “No one likes a mad woman.” The words were a chilling echo, a perfect mimicry of the man in your dream and they sent a jolt of déjà vu through you, freezing you in place. He pulled back, his smile still in place and turned toward the door. “Get some rest, darling,” he said over his shoulder. “You’ll feel better tomorrow.” And then he was gone, the door locking behind him with that same heavy thud.
You sank onto the bed, your legs giving out as the weight of his words settled over you. The room felt smaller, the walls closer, the cameras’ gaze sharper. You curled your knees to your chest, your mind spiraling. Your mother’s fate loomed large, her screams echoing in your memory, her end a shadow you couldn’t escape. Was this what she felt? Trapped, dismissed, called mad until the label consumed her? Sunghoon’s whisper lingered, a poison seeping into your thoughts. He was just like your dad, you realized, his love a mask for control, his concern a tool to keep you small. You weren’t insane. You couldn’t be. But the doubt was there, a crack in your certainty and it terrified you more than the locked door or the watching cameras.
-
Days bled into weeks, each one indistinguishable from the last in the sterile confines of the psychiatric hospital. Time was a slippery thing, marked only by the routine of pills, meals and the occasional visit from a doctor whose questions felt more like accusations. The room remained your world. four white walls, a bed with sheets that smelled faintly of bleach and those two cameras, their lenses glinting like cold, unfeeling eyes. The fluorescent lights buzzed constantly, a low hum that burrowed into your skull, making it hard to think, hard to hold onto the fragments of yourself that still felt real. You stopped counting the days after the first week, stopped looking for patterns in the nurses’ schedules or meaning in their clipped words. It was easier to exist in the haze, to let the hours slip by like water through your fingers.
They gave you pills twice a day, small and white, just like the ones your father used to hand you. You took them at first, swallowing them under the nurse’s watchful gaze, but they dulled your edges, made your thoughts sluggish, your memories soft at the corners. You hated the way they made you feel like a ghost in your own body, drifting through a life that wasn’t yours. So you started hiding them, tucking them under your tongue when the nurse turned away, spitting them into your palm when you were alone. You’d flush them down the toilet, watching the tiny tablets swirl and disappear, a small act of rebellion that made you feel alive, if only for a moment. The fog in your mind began to lift, but with it came the dreams, sharper and more vivid than ever.
He was there again, standing in the graveyard where it all began. The tombstones stretched endlessly around you, their surfaces etched with names you couldn’t read, their shadows long and jagged under the moonlight. He stood in front of your mother’s grave, his back to you at first, his silhouette a dark flame against the gray sky. You felt the same pull, that magnetic force that drew you to him, but this time there was something else. anger, defiance, a refusal to let him slip away without answers. You stepped closer, the grass cold and wet beneath your feet, your voice steady despite the trembling in your chest. “Who are you?” you asked, the words cutting through the silence like a blade.
He turned, his face still cloaked in shadow, but his eyes were brighter now, glowing with that strange, unnameable color that seemed to shift between amber and blood. They held you, as if they could see every crack in your soul. “You’re waking up,” he said, his voice low and resonant, vibrating through the earth and into your bones. “They can’t keep you forever.” His words were a lifeline, a spark of hope in the darkness, but they also carried a weight, a promise of something vast and terrifying waiting just beyond your reach.
You took another step, your hands clenched into fists, your nails biting into your palms. “Who are they? Sunghoon? My dad? Why are you here? What do you want from me?” The questions spilled out, each one more desperate than the last, but he only smiled, a slow, enigmatic curve of his lips that made your heart stutter. He reached for your hand, his fingers warm and solid as they closed around yours, pulling you closer. His touch was electric, grounding you in the dream, making it feel more real than the hospital bed or the cameras or Sunghoon’s pitying smiles.
“I’m here for you,” he said, his voice softer now, almost tender. “When you’re ready, I’ll take you away from all of this. Trust me.” His words echoed his earlier promise, but this time they felt different, heavier, like a vow carved in stone. He didn’t let go of your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that made your breath catch. You wanted to ask more, to demand answers, but the dream began to fray, the graveyard dissolving into a blur of gray and green.
You woke in your hospital bed, the cameras still watching, their lenses catching the faint light from the hallway. Your heart was racing, your skin damp with sweat, but you didn’t scream this time. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, the crack in the plaster a familiar map of your confinement. The man’s words lingered, a whisper in the back of your mind. “They can’t keep you forever.” You clung to that, a fragile thread of hope, even as doubt gnawed at you. Sunghoon’s visits continued, each one a performance of concern, his smiles too perfect, his words too careful. “You’re doing better,” he’d say, his hand resting on yours for just a moment too long, his eyes searching for something you couldn’t name. You saw it now, the manipulation, the way he twisted your fear into proof of your instability, just like your father had done to your mother.
You started to wonder if he wanted you here, locked away where no one would believe you, where your voice would be drowned out by labels like schizophrenia and delusional. The thought made your blood run cold, but it also sharpened your resolve. You stopped arguing with him, stopped pleading. You smiled back, mirrored his concern, let him think you were breaking. But inside, you were gathering pieces of yourself, piecing together the truth. Your mother’s screams, your father’s pills, Sunghoon’s whispers. they were all part of the same thread, a pattern you were only beginning to see.
The man in your dreams was still there, waiting, his presence a constant in the chaos. Was he your salvation, a guide to pull you out of this nightmare? Or was he something darker, a temptation leading you deeper into madness? You didn’t know and the not knowing was its own kind of torment. But as you lay in that bed, the cameras’ gaze heavy on you, you felt a spark of defiance. You weren’t your mother. You wouldn’t let them break you. The question was what came next. escape, or surrender to the man who called you his, who promised to take you away. His voice echoed in your mind, soft and certain. “No one likes a mad woman.” And you wondered, as the night stretched on, if you’d ever find out who he was, or if you’d be lost in the attempt.
The end.
#sshnzsr#enhypen#park sunghoon#sunghoon#sunghoon hard thoughts#sunghoon au#sunghoon hard hours#sunghoon x you#enhypen sunghoon#sunghoon ff#sunghoon x reader#sunghoon angst#sunghoon smut#enhypen niki#enhypen ff#enhypen heeseung#enhypen jake#enhypen jay#enhypen jungwon#enhypen x reader#jake enhypen#enhypen sunoo#enhypen au#enhypen x female reader#enhypen x y/n#enhypen x you#kpop bg#kpop#kpop au
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Ik the cringey Gen Z in me is literally trying to claw through the bars of my mind because why the fuck do I want to write a video game streamer! Arlecchino. These are very incoherent and nonsensical thoughts bc I am tired.
Bro, in the most deadpan voice after getting destroyed by some kid: "Well. That's not very skibidi of you 😐"
Her fanbase only has two sides: thirsty for her, or is desperately clinging onto every paternal advice and praise that Arlecchino didn't even know she had said
"Chat, why do you keep calling me a dilf. What is that."
Has children. She does not know of it, even when CatMagacianBoi sends her a donation message saying "I think I failed my math test :(" and she starts on a whole rant about how failures is okay, and it's one step closer to success and that your setbacks will never define you. Has paused stream to teach someone how to tie their tie.
Wears fucking cat ear headphones. Until someone gifts her a custom made headphones with rabbit ears
Is actually really good at games when she tries. Is also terrible at sandbox games. (I can go on a whole rant of how I think Arlecchino will be like in Minecraft).
Another streamer colleague (Tartaglia) suggested she streams herself reading fanfictions of herself. (Never again. Ever seen a grown woman get traumatized over stream?) "What does the tag 'x Reader' mean?"
Does lots of charity streams, especially for orphanages.
Guys I'm actually in need of some crack ideas, I'm going insane.
(Maybe Arlecchino x streamer! Reader 🥺 fic? Mayhaps a slow burn where they basically unknowingly stream their e-dates?)
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Take Your Time, Miss Deer (Sylus x Reader) - Epilogue: Side B
In a tailor shop tucked in the calmer side of the N109 zone is a little room where all clothes of many different designs come together under the delicate hands of an unassuming deer living in the den of all sorts of beasts and sitting on them is the dragon who wears your clothes.
Your many interactions with Skye, Mr. Sylus’ messenger or-
-Sylus is waiting for you to finally figure out he is playing his own messenger.
A Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus Fic
Tags: Sylus x Reader, Hybrid AU, Suggestive Themes, Fluff, Angst, Predator/Prey
Chapter Summary: If she does enough good deeds, maybe they will be convinced she is a good dragon.
In which the last dragon isn't the last one anymore.
Author's Note: I can't believe this is the final chapter too.
TW: Bullying, Trafficking
Tagging: @phisen @wrimaira @lads-ficrecs
AO3
Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10 / Side A / Side B
Side B: Our Little Dragon, Determined
Red.
That’s how she wants to be called by her papa, mama, and her big brothers these days.
“That’s my hero name!”
She exclaims over meal times, quick to correct anyone who calls her by her real name (Of course, there are times she has to chew and swallow her food first because mama said that’s what heroes do.)
All the names in her worksheets, the tags with her real name embroidered by her mama, and even the nameplate her papa made for her to hang on the door of her room has been changed with her hero name.
Having a hero name isn’t enough.
There are three checkboxes that must have a big check once she did them (and it has to be papa’s pen! The fancy one he uses to sign those papers with no pictures.) for her to know she is a hero people can depend on.
Checkbox # 1: Every hero has a cape and armor.
Using an old kettle she found when she sneaked inside the kitchen for a macaron and an old woolen blanket she asked mama to turn into a cape, Red knows she is ready to take on all the baddies in the world (One by one, of course.)
Checkbox # 2: Every hero has a weapon.
“I’ll punch them all like you do,” Red told her papa once but he only shook his head, poking her cheek.
“Choose something else for now, little dragon,” he replied and she only understood why when her papa let her touch his knuckles.
So a sword (It is the nicest stick she has picked up from the greenhouse, easy to carry and it fits well inside the part of her bag where she puts her water bottle) should do for now but before she goes to bed, she always tells herself she will be like her papa soon, punching the baddies when she grows taller and stronger.
“If I work hard, I’ll be a powerful dragon like papa too!”
Checkbox # 3: Every hero does not turn away to do an act of kindness.
“Why be good? Be evil,” Big brother Luke said when they picked her up from school and big brother Kieran always slapped his shoulder and he only does that when big brother Luke says the most “ri-di-coo loos” things. (She will have to ask mama how to spell that word.)
Of all the checkboxes, the last one always stumped her just like the last question of a math test (But she always manages to solve it because mama said she is smart like papa.)
“Helping others is an act of kindness, little miss dragon,” her mama always tells her.
It should be easy.
Every hero in every story book her papa and mama read her always manages to help the villagers.
Helping others should be easy, right?
But why is it every time she tries to approach someone in the classroom, they always run away?
You can’t help people if they don’t even talk to you! That’s not how this ‘helping others’ work.
“This is hard,” her rabbit hybrid classmate said once when he was trying to solve his math worksheet and because her teacher said she was smart, she immediately stepped up, that’s what heroes do.
“I am done! I can help.”
“Oh, I was just joking.”
But she knows he is lying because he passed his worksheet almost blank and he would look anywhere but her.
Helping others should be easy, right?
But why is it every time she tries to approach someone in the playground, they always run away?
“I scratched my knee!”, a human kid said once after they tripped when playing hopscotch and she immediately stood from the sandbox, turning her bag upside down so she wouldn’t have to look for the small box of band-aids her mama put inside for emergencies.
“Here!”, she said, offering a band-aid (The one with the best design too, the one with the cute kitties.)
Yet, the human kid only stared at her, all of his playmates did and she blushed so hard that she just walked back to her sandbox.
She suddenly doesn’t have the energy to continue her sandcastle, much alone walking back to the car and talking to her big brothers.
Helping others should be easy, right?
But why is it every time she tries to approach someone in school, they always run away?
It was after class when she saw the gardening club put up posters looking for new members.
Plants? She loves them! Mama and papa let her plant seeds at the greenhouse and they have taught her everything from how to water them and how to transfer them to their new pots.
Her feet carried her so fast to the school gardens, her tail swishing in excitement with the poster on her hand.
“I wanna join!”
She announced, holding up the poster, and every student inside the club immediately looked up from the vegetables they were tending.
Why are they suddenly quiet? Was she too loud? She just got really excited, that’s all.
“I want to join,” she said softly this time, her arm dropping by her side and her eyes at her shoes.
There was a pause, murmurs, and then the oldest one finally spoke.
“Sorry, we’re full.”
“Oh.”
The walk back to the school entrance seemed so far away and even when she was already inside the school, she heard the club members welcome a new person who just passed by her.
“Why do I have to hear so well?”, a little voice in her head spoke, full of anger but she shook it off because mama told her she inherited it from papa, and it had always helped papa look for them in a large crowd.
Little miss dragon didn’t answer when papa and mama asked her about her day.
Little miss dragon didn’t say anything when papa and mama finished reading her favorite book, even when Mister Unicorse tried to ruin the story.
Little miss dragon didn’t have good dreams, she didn’t have bad dreams either. Just a black picture, the one shown when a movie ends.
Her kettle and her cape aren't as colorful as before.
.
.
,
.
.
Why did they run away?
────────────────────
Your daughter has always been cheerful.
A ball of energy and you and Sylus had made the right call to reorganize the base so she will have all the space she can run around when she is born.
Perhaps, it also helped that she is surrounded by hybrids who dote on her, who listen to her talk even when they are in the midst of a task Sylus assigned to them (Even with the distraction, the productivity was at its highest ever.)
She moves so much inside of you back then, excited when you and Sylus talk to her, and you wouldn’t deny she tires you out that you often sleep for too long.
Even then, you don’t mind.
It is a sign that she is well and happy.
You and Sylus know that you can never shield her from everything the world throws at her and when she was born, Sylus cried.
He cried when he held her, her small hand gripping his thumb.
He cried in happiness seeing a small dragon hybrid just like him.
He cried in frustration that he can never fix the world who views his kind as monsters.
Yet, he can always try.
“Miss Shopkeeper.”
A small, amused smile formed in your lips when you heard your husband refer to you to the nickname your daughter gave to you.
Sometimes, you are the shopkeeper, the place where she gets her ‘supplies’ before her big adventure.
Sometimes, you are the princess, the one being guarded by a large dragon (“I’ll be the dragon worthy of looking after her soon!”, your daughter says every time she challenges Sylus before bedtime.)
“Yes, Mister Blacksmith?”
Sometimes, Sylus is the blacksmith, the place where your daughter has her ‘armor’ polished before her big adventure.
Sometimes, he is the big dragon, the one guarding the princess (“Drink your milk, then you’ll be worthy,” he always says after he ‘defeats’ the small dragon.)
“I was wondering if you saw the little miss hero around?”
“Not yet but today is a perfect day for an adventure, don’t you think?”
“It certainly is. It would be a shame to miss out.”
Sylus and you did not miss the old upside-down kettle, the spout poking slightly at the gap of the door to your studio and the tufts of unruly, white hair.
She is sad, both of you know so when she didn’t even react when Sylus used Unicorse which always made her laugh (You have always loved the twins’ gifts but this unicorn puppet, you are unsure why they regal it with a rather rude attitude.)
It would be unwise to poke her further after that so the next thing you can do is cheer her up and hope she will tell you what is bothering her.
Your little dragon opens the door wider this time, a sheepish smile and she dragged her favorite stick with her as she stood in her tiptoes across from your sewing table.
“Shopkeeper?”, she started.
You and Sylus exchanged looks.
This is good.
“Oh there you are, little miss hero.”
“It’s Red but that one is fine too.”
“Yes, my apologies,” you smiled, and you don’t have to turn around to see your husband is also wearing the same expression, “What brings Red here?”
“I need a ticket to where the old wizard lives,” she answered, the usual cheerfulness slowly returning. (Your father had shown her a card trick once and that convinced her that her grandfather is a sorcerer. “Mama, why didn’t you tell me?!”, she exclaimed after you left your old home.)
“A ticket?”, Sylus mused, and her tail swished in excitement. “That’s all, little miss hero?”
She shifted back and forth, looking down at her shoes and both of you waited patiently for her reply.
“I need my armor polished too,” she added, a hopeful smile directed to her papa.
“How about I throw in a new cape too?”
“Oh but I don’t have enough money for that!”
“It’s for free since the little miss hero has been working hard.”
Sylus answered, walking around your sewing table and stooping down on one knee to replace the old woolen blanket on her shoulders with his coat, fastening it securely with the silver accessory he wears.
“It’s too long,” your daughter pointed out, disappointed, and well, she is right, the cloth had pooled around her feet.
“That can be fixed,” you replied and with your safety pins, you have modified your husband’s jacket so she can run around, altering it based on her height while Sylus cleaned her kettle with his handkerchief.
“Better?”, you inquired.
She resembled Sylus very well, with the color of her hair and eyes but he always says she has your nose and your smile.
Both of you watched her spin around, testing out her new cape while adjusting the kettle that managed to hide her horns since they are still small.
“Better!”
You and Sylus hope that her little trip to your old home in the corner of N109 zone where all the prey hybrids reside would brighten up her day.
Maybe, she will tell us what’s wrong, you said as you watch the twins help her inside the car but your husband had that certain knowing glint in his gaze.
He doesn’t need to access Mephisto and Faust to confirm.
Afterall, that is very the same expression he wore every time someone runs away from him when he was a child.
────────────────────
Louis knows when the small dragon is here, her parents aren’t too far behind.
Just like her father and all his vehicles that can shake the entire neighborhood every time he steps on the gas, her excited voice all the way from the old tailor shop always fills the streets.
“You’re looking for them, aren’t you?”, the older lion hybrid spoke, strands of his golden fur of his round ears and tail now silver, before taking a sip of his coffee.
“I just want to know why they had to disguise themselves,” he answered, his eyes scanning the streets from the al fresco table of the cafe they are at.
Last time, you and Sylus just wore colorful head scarves with sunglasses on while both of you followed your daughter from a certain distance and other than that, both of you didn’t even bother changing from your usual fashion.
They are such poor disguises too but it is either your kid actually does believe you are strangers or your family takes “learning via roleplay” very seriously.
“Sylus had to make sure his child goes home safely after her little adventures.”
“I have seen that kid hit a guy with a stick who is trying to rob an old lady before. She is strong for someone her age.”
“She is seven years old, Louis.”
The same age as the deer hybrid they have taken in recently, a few weeks ago, a little girl from the prey hybrid black market the smugglers are transferring with the others using the N109 zone as a route to their destination.
Those people should be grateful it was them who intervened first and not Sylus.
The girl was a good kid, her home is the homes of all the prey hybrids residing in this small corner of the N109 zone but her main house is where he lives and if he ever come crawling back to his father, his father will assume his act of rebellion had finally ended when he has a mouth to feed.
As if.
He is double digits going strong and he is sure the old man has forgotten him already, even though he is the sole heir to a massive fortune.
Spots.
It was her name for now, not when every name they suggest to her is immediately turned down with her shaking her head shyly while she holds the broom close to her chest (She has been told there is no need to do chores but she refuses to listen, doing these on her own accord.)
It suits her, maybe because of the white spots on her tail.
“The little menace is the same age as Spots,” Louis mused and the older lion hybrid nodded.
“They’ll make good friends.”
“Maybe. The father and the mother worked out well anyway.”
(“But does the little menace even have the patience to hold a conversation with a quiet little deer?”, Louis thought to himself and right on cue, the small dragon’s laughter could be heard from across the street.)
It would be quite amusing to see another pair of dragon hybrid and deer hybrid running around these streets soon.
────────────────────
“Old wizard, do you still need my help?”
Her grandfather smiled at her question after she wiped all the dishes beside him, hopping from the little stool she was standing on and then wiping her hands on her papa’s coat (No, it is not papa’s coat. It’s her brand new cape now.)
“I don’t think so, tinsel,” he answered and she giggled when he pinched her cheeks, suds of dishwashing soap sticking in her skin. “You should go out and play.”
Yet, she saw piles of books on the table, rolls of fabrics scattered, and buttons separated from their siblings.
Surely, he needs help with them, right?
She asked him before why can’t he just wave his hands like in the shows she watched so all of the items would return to their homes but the old deer, quick to reply (You have told your father ahead that his grand daughter is very, very convinced he is a magician.), told her that, “Well, I can’t ask their day if I just wave my wand now, do I?”
“But I still want to help you out!”, she protested and your father sensed that she had become a little too eager today even when she first arrived in front of the shop earlier with a sad smile.
Usually, the little dragon is content helping out with a chore or two before going outside to say hi to the neighbors, always excited to see everyone.
“Maybe the bakery down the street needs your help more than I do today?”, he suggested, fixing the old kettle she always wears on top of her head.
“You think so?”
“Of course. Simon said you do well with the deliveries and his sister said you knead the dough better than her.”
She fidgets, looking down at her socks then asks, “You think Miss Sheepie will not run away?”
Ah, he should have known.
Outside Sylus’ territory, not everyone would be welcoming to a dragon hybrid, even if they are young and his granddaughter, sweet as she can be, is slowly realizing not all hybrids are nice to someone like her.
“If anything, she will run towards you because she said you have the softest cheeks.”
The little dragon’s tail wagged.
“I am glad,” the little hero replied, relieved, “I like Miss Sheepie because she is very warm. Like a croissant.”
A few reassurances and the little dragon waved goodbye, the shop’s door closing behind her and off she goes to the bakery that makes the best strawberry shortcake according to her mama (and according to her papa, the best lemon tart too.)
“Oh, I thought she would stay cooped up inside,” you said, watching your daughter across the street from the bench.
Sylus hummed, tearing another slice of bread for the pigeons before shifting his eyes back at the little dragon skipping about, waving the stick she loves so much and shouting, “My kingdom for a horse!” (He never quite figured out how no one is yet to raise a complaint about his daughter’s ramblings every time she comes over.)
“Your father has a way with words,” he replied and he had to suppress a chuckle together with you when your little girl tripped over a curb but quickly stood up, pointing her stick at the offender, “You are a menace to this kingdom!”, and then repeatedly hitting it.
“Where did she learn to say that?”
“I have been reading her a classic recently, sweetie.”
“Word per word?”
“Why not, wife? It makes her sleep immediately during school nights,” he shrugged, and then he helped you stand up so you could continue tailing your daughter, holding your hand.
Sure, Mephisto and his little family can look after her but Sylus would hate to miss out to see in person his daughter’s feats.
Or as she calls them-
- Acts of kindness.
────────────────────
Red knows everyone in this neighborhood because it’s the job of the hero to remember the names of the people she helps.
Miss Sheepie and her brother, Simon, and their parents who let her help out in their bakery when she comes over.
(They always give her a pastry before she leaves but when she said heroes work for free, they shook their heads and told her that heroes accept gifts.)
The lions who help new people move in the area.
(The lions let her sit on top of their shoulders sometime every time they go to the cafe after they unloaded all the boxes from the truck.)
The owl doctor who flies her drones on the nearby field during the afternoon.
(She gets a nice feather after which she puts inside the tin can that used to contain chocolates her papa got when she got full marks on her math test.)
She knows everyone but maybe not anymore.
“Hello!”, Red greeted a deer hybrid kid almost as tall as her.
The deer hybrid stopped sweeping the fallen leaves from the gutter in front of the bakery, making a small noise and then immediately ran off to the nearby tree to hide.
“Don’t run away!”, she cried out, and then quickly picked up the broom dropped by the deer hybrid peeking behind the tree. “You left your broom!”
Please.
Please, don’t run away.
A little voice in her head kept repeating as she cautiously stepped towards the deer hybrid, afraid that if she spoke too loud, she would never find out the name of this newest addition.
“My broom.” (Gentle. She has the softest voice, softer than her mama’s and the phrase sounded more like a question.)
“You were using it awhile ago.” (Hesitant. The little hero is unsure but this is her chance.)
Finally-
The deer hybrid slowly went out of her hiding, taking the broom from her then guarded look and was replaced with a shy smile.
“Thank you, miss lizard.”
Perhaps her little brain short circuit, her face red like the name she has given to herself, and she quickly removes the kettle covering her horns, the stick falling on her side.
“N-not a lizard!”, she protested and then shifted back and forth, before saying in a small voice, “But you’re welcome.”
“Miss dragon.”
“Yes, a nice dragon.”
“Miss nice dragon.”
She didn’t run away, the voice in her pointed out, as awed as her, and the little dragon didn’t even bother correcting the deer who doesn’t call her by her hero name.
This is it.
“Do you need help with that?”, she asked, pointing at the scattered leaves.
“Help?”
“I can help you clean.”
“Yes. Thank you, miss nice dragon.”
All that the little hero can think about is how happy she is that there is finally someone her age who doesn’t mind her nearby, how that someone hums a tune as she scoop the pile of leaves into the trash bag she is holding open for her.
Red can’t wait to tell everyone back home that she finally did it.
────────────────────
“This is child labor, sheepie.”
Kieran pointed out to the sheep hybrid standing behind the counter, his hand reaching out to twirl a lock of her playfully while she wrote on her notebook, taking into account the sales of the shop.
“They volunteer and you two are not any better just watching them instead of taking over,” the sheep hybrid replied, not looking up.
Everyone in this corner of the N109 zone is already looking forward to when Mr. Sylus’ kid and Mr. Louis’ adopted kid will finally meet each other and the day has come.
A quiet deer hybrid and an energetic dragon hybrid whose common ground is helping other people.
If she has a nickel for that specific pair, she will have two which is very odd and here they are, taking orders from customers who are all too happy to see them together.
“Can’t take away things that make them happy, cream puff” Luke shrugged then leaned towards the counter, his tail wagging, “So you free tonight?”
“Are you two hitting on me in front of your boss?”
“We can hit on you anytime-”, Kieran answered then faltered, “Boss?”
“Yeah, the kids you are babysitting are serving them right now.”
The twins turned around and their favorite sheep is right, the boss is here together with you sitting at the usual corner booth talking to your daughter and the little deer and the only difference right now is-
-The boss is wearing a long wig this time and you have a mustache, both of you are sporting sunglasses.
“Does Red knows it's them?”, the sheep hybrid asked, watching the little dragon hybrid eagerly take down her parents’ orders while the little deer hybrid shyly accepted pats on the head from you.
“She thinks they are different people.”
“That’s bullshit. They don’t even put an effort into their disguises.”
“We’ll let the boss know your feedback. You are such a hard customer to please, sheepie.”
She rolled her eyes and smiled when she saw the familiar kettle spout poking over the counter, ringing the bell beside a pair of short antlers.
“Order up,” a soft voice followed by a small hand raising order tickets for the sheep hybrid to take then whispered, “Did I do it right, miss nice dragon?”
The kettle moved in sync with the head of the young dragon hybrid, nodding, “She did well, right, Miss Sheepie?”
The pinch in their cheeks from Miss Sheepie answered the question for them before she went at the back to hand the orders for the kitchen to prepare.
“Do you think she recognized us?”, you asked, shifting closer to Sylus to read the newspaper with him.
“Our disguises are impeccable as always, sweetie.”
“You’re such a terrible liar, mister dragon, but good enough to convince our little girl.”
“I didn’t even recognize myself in the mirror, wife. I even thought you were someone else.”
Sylus loves the sound of your laughter that comes after you do a rain check every time you ask if your daughter finally realized her parents are tailing her to all of her adventures.
Of all of her adventures he is glad he didn’t miss this one, especially when finally-
-His daughter found a friend her age.
“I wonder if her new friend will catch on,” you mused, leaning your head against his arm, watching your daughter now prepare for a delivery run together with the little deer, followed closely by the twins.
“It did take you a while to catch on that I am Mr. Sylus, sweetheart.”
“It isn’t my fault Mr. Sylus acts so well.”
“Oh, and I thought I was a terrible liar, wife.”
“But good enough to convince me,” you giggled, and he smiled when you kissed him, the newspaper he was holding hiding the little gesture.
Through the glass and across the street sitting on one of the al fresco tables of another cafe, Louis sighed heavily.
“Finally found them?”
“This is their worst disguise to date.”
────────────────────
Luke and Kieran knew something was up with their little sibling when she climbed inside the car after picking her up from school yesterday.
“Hey Red, want to go get ice cream?”
“Kid, it’s Friday and Sheepie’s cramming her paper, we can take you to the arcade with us.”
“Red, we got this new game. Wanna play?”
The best reply they got was a quiet ‘Okay’ and then she continued to just stare out of the window, holding a wrinkled poster tightly. It continued onwards until they got back at the base and even the combined effort of the boss and you is not enough to make her smile.
One thing they learn is if everything does not work is to let her have time to process everything.
It sucks that their little sister has to experience what every predator hybrid has to go through everyday outside of the N109 zone and it doesn’t matter if the boss sends her to the most prestigious school.
Kids will be kids and kids can be so fucking mean.
Yet, it looks like the heavens can’t bear to see her sad for too long because it was quick to give her someone who looks at her as if she is the greatest hero.
“What’s your favorite pastry, Spots?”, Red asked, walking beside her new friend who is also carrying boxes of pastries, “Mine is Pavlova!”
“Pavlova?”
“It’s white and it has lots of fruit inside!”
“Pavlova,” the deer hybrid repeated, testing the new word slowly.
“I will ask Miss Sheepie to make one if you haven’t tried it yet,”, Red exclaimed and she was about to raise her arms but realized she was carrying her own set of deliveries then added sheepishly, “It’s the best.”
The little deer giggled, “You’re funny, miss nice dragon.”
The twins didn’t miss the blush on the little dragon’s face, or how her tail was wagging too much at every praise her friend said and they nodded at each other.
This is good.
They hope Mephisto’s taking pictures from somewhere.
Besides, the small hero deserves it anyways and they are secretly glad that in this place, they wouldn’t earn odd looks from people who will most likely call the police when they see two wolf adults with two children, especially that the other child is a prey hybrid.
In this neighborhood, they are just four kids going about their day.
“There you are!”
A voice, belonging to a woman, called out and they all turned around to see a gazelle hybrid walk towards them, reaching out to hold Spots’ arm.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”, she continued even when the little deer looked at her confused, “Who are these people?”
“Are you Spots’ mama?”, Red spoke.
Yet, the twins’ had seen this act too many times to know she wasn't. Oh no, she isn't, especially with how Red’s new friend is refusing to go with her despite being pulled.
A six-digit number tattooed in the nape of her friend’s neck is barely visible because of her hair.
A slight scarring on her right ear but it is easy to piece together she used to wear an ear tag.
Her way of speaking, limited vocabulary.
It takes one to know a fellow hybrid who suffered in the hands of anyone and the only difference is that-
Luke and Kieran are labrats-
-While this little deer is livestock.
And her farmers have come to retrieve the cattle seized by Louis’ group a few weeks ago.
“No, she isn’t Spots’ mama,” Kieran answered calmly, his hand reaching to hold the gazelle hybrid’s wrist that didn’t falter.
They know the little hero is confused right now but this topic is best explained by the boss and you later tonight.
“Lady, you chose the wrong place to cry wolf,” Luke added, his eyes already scanning the surroundings. Everyone is giving them odd looks and it did not help that the gazelle hybrid is going on about how her baby is kidnapped and how she braved the N109 zone for this.
All of this, you and Sylus have witnessed a few feet away.
He knows they are bound to collect the little children they lost when transporting them using this route in the N109 zone and perhaps he should make his words loud and clear after this that he strictly forbids them to even step foot in this place.
“This is getting out of hand,” you said quietly, your deer ears drooping at the sight, seeing your daughter grow even more confused and scared at the situation currently unfolding.
Is Sylus angry?
An odd question. This hybrid ruined a perfectly good day and possibly left a very, very lasting impression on your little hero.
Sylus is more than angry.
He was about to intervene but you held the cuff of his sleeve, stopping him.
“Don’t worry, sweetie, no mess this time.”
“I am not going to let you or our boys harm a woman.”
You didn’t give him a reply, walking ahead of him as fast as you could.
Everyone in this community is kind but it is easy to take a photo or video out of context if someone from outside the N109 zone sees your husband or your boys harming a prey hybrid.
Sure, your dragon has a certain reputation but he has always been a gentleman, kind, and he never acts without a cause.
But people will talk.
You wouldn’t let him or your boys harm a woman so-
A resounding slap echoed through the entire street, the gazelle hybrid stared at you, shocked and maybe your daughter, her new friend, the twins, Sylus and the other bystanders too as well.
-You would do it yourself.
────────────────────
“Mama, you should have seen it!”
Red exclaimed, her arms flailing about as she recounted to you and Sylus her day (Even if both of you have seen everything, hearing it again from her is quite enjoyable especially when she adds her own flair to it.)
“The person in the mustache was so cool!”, she continued and you nodded, smiling while Sylus chuckled.
“Are they now, little miss hero?”, he asked, reaching out to put her dinosaur plushie beside her.
“But you’re still the coolest, papa.”
“I don’t know. It looks like I have competition now, small dragon.”
“No one can beat papa!”
“Even you?”, he asked playfully and you smiled, knowing how much Sylus enjoys the playful roughhousing between him and his daughter. “Are you going to challenge me again tonight to be the princess’ new dragon?”
Her answer, well, surprised you and him but both of you should have seen it coming the moment she met a new friend.
“No, I think you can keep looking after your princess,” she smiled, burying herself beneath her blankets to hide her blush, “I don’t think a small dragon can look after two.”
Little miss dragon, all smiles, clapping again when her mama and papa read her favorite fairy tale book with puppets.
Little miss dragon, all smiles, now off to dreamland after her mama and papa kissed her good night on both of her cheeks.
Little miss dragon, all smiles, excited to meet her new friend again tomorrow and she hopes Miss Sheepie will make pavlova for both of them.
“It looks like I won’t face any challengers tonight, sweetie,” Sylus whispered softly, brushing aside the hair of his little daughter, the little hero that could.
“A dragon with two princesses does sound odd.”
“Well, that makes me an odd dragon then because I am guarding two.”
Sylus reached for the lamp, turning it off and the stars casted by the night lamp taking over.
Good night, good night little miss dragon.
Luke and Kieran waved lazily from their bedroom as both of you passed by, their lights turning off.
Good night, good night, good wolf cubs.
Mephisto let out a soft caw, a little greeting from its nest and so did Faust and the dove before you put a blanket over them to keep them warm.
Good night, good night, little crows.
In the corner of the N109 zone, Spots lay on her bed, Louis fixing her blanket before shutting the door behind him.
Good night, good night, little friend.
“Shall we call it a day, miss deer?”
Yet, your soft breathing was the only response he received and he just laughed softly, careful not to wake you up and pulled the blankets over your heads.
Good night, Miss Deer.
Good night, Mister Dragon.
────────────────────
Author's Notes: I have always like the idea of a little hero subverting stereotypes, working hard to do good deeds to show they meant no harm. (My beta reader said to mix in the characteristics of Don Quixote from Limbus Company, Bluey, and Greg from Over the Garden Wall and here we are with Red.)
Anyways, a thank you note!
When I started this work, it all started because I wanted to make references to things I have read and watched.
Did I expect it to turn like this? Not really, the outline always seemed underwhelming compared to the actual product but here we are, standing together in the finish line.
To you, I am glad this story reached you.
Will I still write? Yeah, I like doing it but I also know I had to take a breather and I wanted to pick up the Luke & Kieran fic but work on it in a more lax pace.
For now, I'll draw Miss Deer and Sylus together, just to practice how to panel.
Will there be spin-offs? Yah, I think but I can't make promises. Had to consume art and touch grass in the next months.
AO3
Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10 / Side A / Side B
#love and deepspace#love and deepspace sylus#sylus x reader#sylus x you#hybrid au#lads hybrid au#lads#lads sylus
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[warning: while f!reader is not described with any specific physical characteristics, the child in this fic is described as having inherited all of Megumi’s attributes and none from reader! please read with that in mind, or pass over this fic if not <3]
"We've got some stuff to talk about."
Megumi watches as Kota's little sock-clad feet swing back and forth while he sits in his chair at the table in the middle of the staff room of the veterinary clinic. He's eating some of the chocolate covered mushroom-shaped cookies the vet keeps tucked away in the back corner of one of the tallest cabinets out of sight, with a glass of milk.
At the counter on the opposite side of the room, Yuuji is slicing him an apple. Megumi stands at his side.
"What do you mean you don't know?" Yuuji asks him under his breath, in response to the answer Megumi had just provided him about who this kid is and why he looks just like him. "He's clearly—"
Yuuji's voice pitches up a little too loudly and both men quickly glance over at the little boy on the other side of the room, who is watching them curiously. Yuuji smiles, though Megumi can see just how strained it is from up close, and then the two men shift away so their backs are to the child once more.
"Fushiguro, that's clearly your kid."
"Not possible," Megumi replies immediately, and he means it. Sure he'd thought the same thing when he first saw the boy, but with every passing moment he's come more firmly to the conclusion that it simply isn't plausible. There's just no way.
Right?
"Hey, Kota-chan?" Yuuji calls over his shoulder, still hacking away at the apple in his hands. "When's your birthday?"
Kota's lips purse, a smudge of chocolate next to his mouth.
"I dunno," the little boy replies.
Both of the men hold back their groans.
"Mama never bought you presents and gave you cake after she sang you a song?" Yuuji tries again.
Kota's eyes light up and he nods. "Yeah!"
Yuuji laughs a little at how the child's expression has changed. "What was the weather like outside that day?"
Kota seems to think very hard about this new information. "There was snow outside. Mama made a snowman with me and then we went inside to eat cake."
Megumi watches as Yuuji does the calculation in his head. It takes a while.
"Kota told me he's four, so who were you seeing in the... late winter or early spring five years ago?" he finally works out the math and asks his friend from the corner of his mouth.
Megumi thinks back, though reluctantly.
"No one," he says finally, upon a moment of reflection.
Yuuji looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel.
"What are you doing, by the way?" Megumi asks, watching Yuuji drag the knife along one of the apple slices, peeling away only a small section of the skin.
"Making bunnies," Yuuji replies, holding one up for Megumi to see.
It does kind of look like a bunny, he has to admit, with two little bits of the peel cut out into points. It's not the most realistic rendition he's ever seen, but it's a close enough approximation. He watches as Yuuji sets the last rabbit-esque slice onto a plate and carries it over to Kota at the table.
"Here you go," he says with a smile, setting the plate down in front of the boy.
Megumi can practically see the sparkles in the child's eyes when he looks at the slices of fruit.
"Bunnies!" he says, beaming up at Yuuji. The pink haired man returns his smile with an equal enthusiasm. The boy picks up a slice immediately, holding it up to his face to appreciate it. "Mama puts bunnies in my lunch sometimes."
Yuuji's smile falters a little. "Hey, Kota-chan, is there anything else you can tell me about your mama? She must be really worried about you, you know."
Kota's lips curl into a sad little frown. He avoids Yuuji's eyes. "Mama was working, and I knew she wouldn't let me help the bunny if I told her because she was really busy, but I had to help him."
Yuuji softens a bit, huffing out a breath. He plops a hand down into Kota's dark hair, ruffling it gently. "You're not in trouble, buddy. And you did help the bunny. But we've gotta try and get you home now, okay?"
Kota nods a little.
"You said your mama works nearby right?" Yuuji asks, and again Kota nods. "And it's a restaurant?" Another nod. "What does mama do there?"
"She brings people their food! And she brings them drinks!" Kota replies.
A server, obviously.
"Okay, good job, Kota. I'm gonna see if I can figure out how to get you home, alright?"
The little boy nods, taking a bite of his apple slice.
Yuuji approaches Megumi, still hovering on the other side of the kitchen. "I'm gonna give Nanamin a call and see if anything's come in about a missing kid at the station, if not I'll jog around the block and check the local restaurants. You stay with Kota and write me down a list of all the women you've—"
Both men look over at Kota, who's watching them raptly with a cheek full of apple.
"—been friends with." Yuuji finishes his sentence strangely, but Megumi gets the message anyway.
The dark haired man feels heat flare in his cheeks, grabbing Yuuji by the front of his shirt before he can step away.
"I've always been very..."—he glances over at the child on the other side of the room—"careful with my friends."
Yuuji understands what he means.
"You can never be careful enough," he remarks pointedly, albeit a bit awkwardly—his cheeks are a little bit pink now too.
Yuuji and Megumi don't ever talk about stuff like this, at least not in such specific detail. This is the kind of conversation Yuuji'd have with his friend Todo, or maybe Nobara, and the kind of conversation Megumi would rather take with him to the grave.
Megumi grits his teeth. "I'm not making a list."
"Fushigu—"
"I don't need one. It doesn't merit the paper." Megumi cuts him off, his cheeks burning so hot he's surprised the room hasn't gotten brighter. Yuuji's eyes widen a little as he processes the admission. Megumi's never really been one to sleep around, and while he's had a few long-term partners, none of them were around the time that Kota would have been born. Plus Megumi's relationships all ended relatively amicably—he'd have known if one of his exes had a baby. "I'm telling you, it doesn't make sense."
Yuuji nods a bit, patting his friend on the shoulder. "Alright, alright," he says. "Let me go call Nanamin and we'll get this figured out."
Megumi watches as his friend steps out through the doorway to the staff kitchen, breathing out a long, weary sigh once he's gone.
"Erm—Doctor Shiguro?"
Megumi freezes, glancing over at the little boy at the table. He'd sort of momentarily forgotten he was even there.
Kota is sitting at the table, rubbing at his eyes with his small fist.
Megumi looks at him expectantly.
"I'm sticky," Kota says, holding up his hands with his fingers splayed.
The man blinks for a moment, and then nods, retrieving a small bit of paper towel and running it under the tap to dampen it. He brings it over to Kota, handing it to the boy, but the child sticks both of his hands out. Megumi hesitates and then takes one of his small hands in his own, sweeping the damp towel across it.
He repeats the motion with the second hand, making sure to get any lingering stickiness off of his smooth skin. His hand is incredibly tiny, Megumi can't help but notice—there are dogs he'd tended to with larger paws than Kota's little hand.
Once Kota's hands are clean, Megumi glances up at his face. His eyelids are drooping, and the man realizes it's quite late for such a young boy to be awake (and eating snacks no less.) That smudge of chocolate is still on Kota's cheek, so Megumi wipes it away with the damp towel too.
"Doctor Shiguro?" Kota mumbles tiredly.
"Fushiguro," Megumi gently corrects him.
"Is my bunny really gonna be okay?" the little boy asks, rubbing at his eyes again.
Megumi thinks back to the way Kota had the little rabbit held against his chest underneath his coat to protect it from the rain; how desperately he'd asked him, a stranger, for his help; how scary it must have been for such a little boy to be out so late, in such a bad storm, all alone.
He nods.
"Yeah, he'll be alright."
#megumi x reader#megumi fushiguro x reader#fushiguro megumi x reader#jjk drabble#jjk writing#writing#mini megumi#tw parenthood#tw pregnancy
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You are amazing, I just love your writing so much, especially BTS Dad scenarios. I am addicted! So I wanted to ask if you could write some headcanons or short imagine of the BTS members having a child, their gender is up to you, that wants to race. Like they love F1 and racing in general and want to do it as well. I cannot get this out of my head and would die to read something like this. Preferably with Yoongi of Jungkook, but I leave that up to you. I hope that's not to weird, if so just ignore me but thanks in advance.
💌 Reply:
OH MY GOD THIS REQUEST MADE ME SQUEAL LIKE A 10-YEAR-OLD AT THEIR FIRST F1 RACE!!!! 🏎️ (Which, fun fact, was me. I had a Vettel poster on my wall and everything...) THANK YOU FOR THIS MASTERPIECE OF A PROMPT!!! I loved writing these headcanons and may have fallen into a 3-hour rabbit hole about Asian F4 teams? ADHD isn't a joke xD If you want a full imagine, my DMs are WIDE OPEN. 🏁 I hope it's what you wanted, if not - let me know. – c – 💜 ohh and THANK YOU P.S. tumblr decided to crumble every time I tried to add pics, and my migraine is currently killing me, so please forgive me for the missing pics...
BTS as Racing Dads Headcanons
Pairings: OT7 x Child!Reader (Parent/Child Dynamics) Rating: PG (K+) Genre: family fluff, sports drama, hurt/comfort Warnings: none
KIM NAMJOON (RM)
CHILD
Name: Soo-Yeon (she/her)
Team: Prema Racing (F4 → F3 → F2), Possible Future: Red Bull Junior Team (Engineering-Focused Development Route)
[note: she’ll probably be the only driver who sends Prema engineers correction emails with footnotes]
Personality:
cerebral introvert
quiet obsession for motorsport engineering
not drawn to the glamour of racing but to the physics of it
= fluid dynamics, tire compounds, energy recovery systems
bedroom walls plastered with diagrams of F1 aerodynamics
scribbles differential equations on her homework
HOW IT BEGINS
at age 12
she stumbles upon a documentary about Adrian Newey
becomes fixated
builds miniature wind tunnels out of cardboard and obsessively testing toy car designs
Namjoon finds her at 2 a.m.
= adjusting the angle of a paper rear wing with surgical precision
First Conversation
“Appa, did you know downforce is just controlled air resistance? It’s… math in motion.”
he blinks
coffee forgotten
“You… built this?”
kneels beside her
studying her makeshift lab
“Explain it to me. Slowly.”
NAMJOON’S REACTION
Initial Thoughts
Pride
“She’s a genius. A literal genius.”
Worry
“Racing is dangerous. What if she gets hurt? What if the world exploits her mind?”
Guilt
“Did I push her into overthinking? Is this my fault?”
What He Says
Day 1:
“Let’s start with the basics. What’s your favorite part? The engineering or the speed?”
Week 2:
“I found a junior karting team with a good engineer. Interested?”
SUPPORT & SACRIFICES
education first
enrolls her in STEM camps
tho lets her skip lectures to shadow a Hyundai N mechanic
“Experience is the best teacher.”
karting phase
buys a used kart
insists she designs the modifications herself
“You want to race? Build it first.”
they spend nights in the garage
her hands greasy, his glasses smudged
safety obsession
researches FIA safety protocols
gifts her a custom HANS device for her 15th birthday (Head and Neck Support device)
“Your brain is your greatest asset. Protect it.”
CONFLICTS
First Crash
she flips her kart during a test run
he sprints to the track
panic clawing his throat
finds her already out, scribbling notes on a clipboard
“The roll cage held! My calculations were right!”
His Response
Outward Calm
“Good. Now let’s improve the chassis.”
Inward Meltdown
calls Yoongi at 3 a.m
“Hyung, what if I’m failing her, what if she gets hurt?”
LEAP TO F4
at 15/16
recruited by a Formula 4 team
he negotiates her contract
adding clauses for academic continuity
“You’ll finish school. And change the game.”
Proudest Moment
watching her explain energy recovery systems to engineers twice her age
“That’s my kid...”
Quote to Her
“You’re not just a driver. You’re a visionary. Make them see it too.”
KIM SEOKJIN (JIN)
CHILD
Name: Ha-Eun (she/her)
Team: Kart Republic → Iron Dames (F4/F3), Possible Future: Ferrari Driver Academy (if she pushes herself hard)
Personality
bubbly, competitive extrovert
lives for the thrill of the race and the cheers of the crowd
she’s less about the mechanics
more about the drama
customizing her kart with glitter sticker
naming it “Pink Lightning”
trash-talking Jin (and the rest of Bangtan) during backyard races
her dream?
= be the first (female) F1 driver with a themed victory dance
HOW IT BEGINS
during a family outing at an amusement park
she drags Jin to the go-kart track
overtakes him on the final lap
“BYE, APPA!”
staff hands her a plastic trophy
“I’m gonna be a racing queen.”
First Conversation
Ha-Eun: “Appa, I’m faster than your dad jokes!” Jin: “Yah! That’s Worldwide Handsome’s kart you’re insulting!”
fake-pouts, then grins
“But fine. Let’s see if you can handle real competition.”
JIN’S REACTION
Initial Thoughts
Pride
“She’s a star. A sparkly, chaotic star.”
Panic
“What if she flips the kart? What if someone breathes on her wrong?”
Excitement
“Finally, a worthy rival for my Singin’ in the Rain karaoke crown.”
What He Says
Day 1:
“Okay, champ. Rule #1: Always let your Appa win. Rule #2: Never follow Rule #1.”
Week 2:
“I booked us matching racing suits. Yours has glitter. Mine has my face.”
SUPPORT & SACRIFICES
themed training
turns practice into “Jin/ Ha-Eun Grand Prix” events
cones become “dinosaur obstacles”
pit stops involve juice boxes and dad-joke riddles
“What’s a race car’s favorite snack? Vroom-sticks!”
safety first (but make it fashion)
buys her a neon pink helmet with “PRINCESS OF SPEED” on the side
“Safety’s boring unless it’s fabulous.”
secretly researches the safest tracks
social media hype
posts slow-mo videos of her wins set to “I’m the Best” by 2NE1
caption: “Future F1 CEO. (P.S. I taught her everything.)”
CONFLICTS
First Loss
she loses a local race by 0.5 seconds
throws her gloves
yelling
“I HATE KARTING!”
Jin’s Response
outward calm
“Okay, let’s hate together. Dramatic sigh I hate… broccoli. And slow Wi-Fi.”
inward angst
texts Yoongi
“How do I fix a broken heart? Asking for a tiny dictator.”
solution
hosts a “Losers’ Party” with pizza, disco lights, and a dance-off
“Win the next race, and we’ll crash a real F1 party. Deal?”
LEAP TO COMPETITIVE KARTING
at 11
she joins a regional league
he becomes her hype man
waving a custom banners
“HA-EUN: FASTEST & PRETTIEST.”
Proudest Moment
watching her podium speech
“Thanks to my Appa, who’s almost as cool as my kart.”
he fake-sobs into the mic
“She’s lying! I’m cooler!”
Quote to Her
“Remember: If you’re not first, you’re… still my favorite. But always try to be first.”
note: definiteley plays EA F1 with her, or the sim but NEVER wins
MIN YOONGI (SUGA)
CHILD
Name: Yumi (she/her)
Team: Hitech GP or ART Grand Prix, Possible Future: Alpine Academy (quiet prodigy path)
[note: pit engineers start whispering, “She sees lines we don’t” after analyzing her onboard footage]
Personality
fierce, stubborn introvert with a gasoline-and-metal soul
she’s tactical
calculating lap times in her head during dinner
thrives under pressure
her idea of small talk?
“Appa, do you think Verstappen’s tire strategy in Singapore ’23 was reckless?”
HOW IT BEGINS
at 10 (after years of building Carrera tracks, and decorating her walls with team posters)
she discovers an old racing sim in Yoongi’s studio
he’d bought it years ago (probably for a one time try)
she sneaks in
cracks the top 10 global leaderboard under the username “SHADOWSPEED”
Yoongi finds her asleep at the rig
hands still gripping the controller
First Conversation
“…You did this?”
gestures to the screen where her lap record glows
Yumi: “It’s not hard. Just physics.” Yoongi: “Wear these. The engine sounds are better.”
silently hands her his noise-canceling headphones
YOONGI’S REACTION
Initial Thoughts
Pride
“She’s a goddamn prodigy.”
Terror
flashbacks of his own accident
= rain-slick roads, injured shoulder, the smell of burnt rubber
“What if she…?”
Resolve
“If she’s gonna do this, I’ll make sure she’s safe. Even if it kills me.”
What He Says
Day 1:
“You want to race? Fine. But you learn to fix the engine first.”
Week 2
slaps a fireproof racing suit on the kitchen table
“Try it on. Before you argue.”
SUPPORT & SACRIFICES
karting phase
buys a secondhand kart
spends months reinforcing the chassis himself (with her)
“Safety isn’t optional. Ever.”
F4 debut
pulls all strings to get her a spot on a team
insists on meeting every engineer
“The car’s data system is shit. Upgrade it or I walk.”
rainy day ritual
texts her a single emoji before wet races: 🌧️
code for “Don’t be a hero. Just come home.”
CONFLICTS
Crash
she spins out during a monsoon-like F3 qualifier
Yoongi watches from the pit wall
jaw clenched so tight he almost cracks a molar
when she limps back, he barks
“You’re done.”
Her Rebellion
Yumi: “You don’t get it! This is my life!” Yoongi: “I do get it. I’ve..”
slams his fist on the table
voice shaking
rolls up his sleeve
shows the surgery scar on hie shoulder
“This is what ‘life’ looks like when it goes wrong.”
Resolution
they don’t speak for days
Yoongi appears at her door with a helmet
modified with extra impact padding
“Race smart. Or I’ll sell the sim.”
SUZUKA GIFT
her 14th birthday
he tosses her an envelope
inside, two VIP passes to the Japanese Grand Prix
“Pack your bags. And… bring a notebook. Take notes on the real pros.”
At Suzuka
she vibrates with excitement
scribbling notes on tire temps and apex speeds
Yoongi is silent
grips her hand during the start
“If you ever…”
he stops
clears his throat
“Just watch, yeah?”
that night, he admits it over ramen
“I hate this. But I'd hate seeing you not do it more.”
ONGOING SUPPORT
custom safety gear
commissions a fireproof suit
her name stitched inside
“For luck. Don’t tell the team.”
post-race ritual
plays her a lullaby-like piano track he composed
“Checkered Flag Lullaby”
it calms her adrenaline
legacy
secretly funds a junior racing scholarship in her name
“So the next kid doesn’t need a scared shitless dad to make it.”
JUNG HOSEOK (J-HOPE)
CHILD
Name: Min-Jae (he/him)
Team: Williams Racing Young Design Talent → Karting Support Team Livery Artist → Mercedes Junior Creative Division, Possible Future: Lead Livery Director for Mercedes or independent design phenom running his own F1 visual branding agency
Personality
bubbly, hyper-creative whirlwind with a neon imagination
hands are perpetually stained with marker ink
tarted sketching liveries at 5
he talks a mile a minute about "making cars dance with colors!"
he names his designs things like “Rainbow Rocket” and “Glitter Shark”
HOW IT BEGINS
at 5
Min-Jae scribbles a chaotic, crayon masterpiece on the living room wall
= a race car with rainbow flames and polka-dot wheels
J-Hope, mid-dance practice, freezes
“Yah! Is that… a car?”
he beams
“Appa, it’s faster than your moves!”
First Conversation
“Explain this. Now.”
trying to sound stern but failing miserably
Min-Jae: “The polka dots are speed bubbles! And the rainbow is for when it flies!” J-Hope: “…You’re a genius. But never draw on walls again. Here, use this.”
hands him a F1 sketchbook
J-HOPE’S REACTION
Initial Thoughts
Pride
“My kid’s a creative monster! Look at those colors!”
Panic
“How do I nurture this without our house turning into a graffiti warzone?”
Excitement
“We’re gonna collab. Father-son design duo. Let’s go!”
What He Says
Day 1:
“Min-Jae-ya, let’s make a rule: Paper only. Unless it’s Appa’s dance shoes... those need glitter.”
Week 2:
“... gonna teach you about balance. No, not math... color balance! It’s like choreography for your eyes!”
SUPPORT & SACRIFICES
art studio overhaul
converts the guest room into “Min-Jae’s Mad Lab”
= walls covered in whiteboard paint
shelves stocked with every art supply known to humankind
J-Hope hangs a sign: “Caution: Genius at Work.”
field trips
takes him to the Seoul Auto Show
letting him interrogate designers
“Why is that car boring? It needs fangs!”
J-Hope translates
“He’s asking about… aerodynamic expression!”
matching kits
designs father-son overalls with “Team Hope-Jae” logos
Min-Jae adds doodles to J-Hope’s pair
= a tiny ARMY bomb with wings
CONFLICTS
Meltdown
Min-Jae throws a marker at a failed design
“It’s ugly! I hate it!”
J-Hope swoops in
spinning him in a chair
His Response
tough love
“Yah! Markers are for art, not tantrums.”
encouragement
“Remember when Appa fell during ‘Dope’? I ate the stage! You gotta own the mess!”
collaboration
they “trash” the design together
splattering paint everywhere
the result?
livery titled “Chaos Victory”
LEAP TO KARTING
at 9/10
local karting team asks Min-Jae to design their livery
J-Hope films the entire process for VLOG content
crying behind the camera
“That’s my son! Look at him glow!”
Proudest Moment
watching Min-Jae present his design
= a tiger-striped kart with holographic accents
team owner whispers
“He’s… ten?”
J-Hope grins
“Nine next week. Discount rate.”
Quote to Him
“You’re not just an artist. You’re joy on wheels. Make the world dance with you!”
PARK JIMIN
CHILD/TWINS
Names: Min-Jae (son) & Hae-Won (daughter)
Personalities
Min-Jae
Team: Red Bull Racing - Young Driver Programme, Possible Future: Red Bull Racing (F1) or AlphaTauri as his launchpad
[note: already has a penalty record in karting]
hot-headed
bold
fiercely competitive
drives for Red Bull Racing - Young Driver Programme
idolizes Max Verstappen’s aggression
wore his racing gloves during dinner when he was younger
Hae-Won
Team: McLaren - Young Driver Programme, Possible Future: McLaren F1 Team or Aston Martin (Talent-Precision Hybrid Route)
analytical
ice-cool under pressure
races for McLaren - Young Driver Programme
worships Lando Norris
keeps a race logbook titled “Emotion is Drag."
Dynamic
sibling rivalry on steroids
they debate tire strategies over breakfast
bet allowance money on lap times
refuse to carpool to the track
HOW IT BEGINS
at 4
they’re given toy karts for Christmas (Jungkooks gift)
Jimin films them racing around the living room
giggling as they crash into the couch
by 12, they’re dominating local karting leagues
Min-Jae wins by sheer grit
Hae-Won by calculating apex speeds
First Rivalry Flashpoint
during a regional final
Hae-Won blocks Min-Jae on the last lap
he retaliates, spinning her out
Jimin, watching in horror, sprints to the track
Jimin’s Reaction
outward:
forces them to shake hands
“You’re teammates first. Always.”
inward:
cries in the bathroom
texting Namjoon
“Hyung, what if I’m ruining them?”
JIMIN’S DAD MODE
Support System
dual team gear
wears a Red Bull cap and McLaren jacket to races
“I’m Switzerland. Neutral but fabulous.”
pre-race rituals
braids Hae-Won’s hair
for “aerodynamics”
tightens Min-Jae’s helmet strap
“Breathe. Think. Don’t murder each other.”
slips handwritten notes into their cars
“Proud of you. Love, Appa.”
Conflict Mediator
post-race debriefs
hosts “Family Meetings” with a whiteboard
“Min-Jae, stop dive-bombing. Hae-Won,stop smirking when he does.”
therapy sessions
drags them to family counseling
therapist quits after three sessions
“They’re… ´too passionate.”
JIMIN’S FEARS
safety
stares at crash compilations at 3 a.m.
“What if I lose them both in one day?”
sibling estrangement
finds Hae-Won crying after Min-Jae calls her a “robot”
Jimin tucks her into his side
“He doesn’t mean it. He’s just… bad at feelings.”
burnout
cancels a tour date to attend their first F3/2 race
“They’ll only be kids once. Priorities.”
BREAKTHROUGH
Monaco F2 Incident
Min-Jae and Hae-Won qualify P2 and P3
on lap 15, they battle through the hairpin
tires screeching, inches apart
Jimin clutches one of the members arms so hard he leaves bruises (they all came to watch)
Post-Race
they podium together
Hae-Won 1st, Min-Jae 3rd
instead of fighting, Min-Jae hugs her
“Don’t get used to it...”
Jimin sobs into a custom Red Bull-McLaren flag
Jimin’s Proudest Moment
overhearing Hae-Won defend Min-Jae to a reporter
“He’s the only driver I’d trust to race wheel-to-wheel with.”
KIM TAEHYUNG (V)
CHILD
Name: Min-Jae (he/him)
nicknamed "MJ" by the press
"Jae-Jae" by Taehyung
Team: Ferrari Driver Academy (F4 → F3 → F2)
Personality
firecracker with a Senna poster taped to his bedroom ceiling
brash, fearless
allergic to caution
MJ thrives on the edge
overtakes on the inside
revs engines like they’re percussion instruments
wears a permanent smirk under his helmet
media dubs him “The Little Phoenix” after he flips his kart in qualifiers only to podium the next day
Obsessions
Ayrton Senna’s 1988 Monaco GP
“He drove like it was jazz!”
customizing his gloves with paint splatters
“For luck. And style.”
collecting vintage racing helmets/suits
Tae turned his bedroom into a “museum” with display cases
HOW IT BEGINS
at 10
MJ finds Tae’s old Rush DVD
watches it 17 times in a week
then drags Tae to a go-kart track
he watches MJ lap seasoned adults while humming “Boy With Luv.”
First Conversation
MJ: “Appa, I wanna fly like Senna.” Taehyung: “…In a car? Or literally?”
TAEHYUNG’S REACTION
Initial Thoughts
Awe
“He’s a painting in motion. A… Pollock with a steering wheel.”
Terror
“He’s going to die. I’m going to watch my child die.”
Pride
texts the group chat
“MY SON’S A GOD. SUCK IT, KOOK.” (ofc banter)
What He Says
Day 1:
“You’re not allowed to die. Ever. It’s in the dad contract.”
Week 2:
“Let’s make your kart art. Pink flames? Gold tires? Yes.”
SUPPORT & SACRIFICES
aesthetic overhaul
designs MJ’s kart livery
= neon splatter paint inspired by Basquiat
“If you’re gonna be fast, be iconic.”
mental health checks
hires a therapist who races
“Dr. Nara does donuts and CBT. Multitasking queen.”
Senna pilgrimage
takes MJ to São Paulo (his favourite track)
films him crying at Senna’s grave
posts it with “Legends recognize legends”
MJ threatens to leak his unfinishes tracks
CONFLICTS
MJ attempts a Senna-style “no-look overtake” in the rain
kart hydroplanes into a barrier
Tae, mid-photoshoot in Milan, flies home on a private jet
still wearing Gucci loafers in the ICU
His Response
outward:
“You’re grounded. To… the kart track. After you heal.”
inward:
paints a mural titled “Phoenix Rising” on MJ’s cast
“Scars are just proof you outran death.”
LEAP TO F4
at 14/15
MJ joins Formula 4
Tae negotiates a sponsorship deal
the car?
= a rolling canvas
abstract designs that shift under UV lights
Proudest Moment
MJ wins his first race
dedicates it to “Appa, who taught me crashes are just plot twists.”
Quote to Him
“You’re not just a driver. You’re a performance artist. The track’s your stage... burn it down.”
JEON JUNGKOOK
CHILD
Name: Haneul (Sky) (she/her)
Team: ART (Asia Racing Team) (F4 → F3 → F2)
Personality
spitfire with a lead foot and a chip on her shoulder
Haneul inherited Jungkook’s competitive strea
battles a storm of self-doubt in a male-dominated sport
she’s all grit behind the wheel
= aggressive overtakes, daring late brakes
off-track, she folds her race suits meticulously
as if perfection could armor her against the world’s whispers
“They don’t see a driver. They see a girl driver.”
HOW IT BEGINS
at 6
Haneul begs to ride shotgun in a Porsche GT3 during a track day
he lets her “steer” on a straightaway
her tiny hands gripping the wheel like it’s a lifeline
“Faster! Faster!”
she shrieks, and Jungkook grins
First Race
he buys her a junior kart for her 8th birthday
they paint it purple and gold
“Team Jeon colors”
he kneels in the gravel
teaching her heel-toe braking
“Smooth, Haneul-ah. Like dancing.”
JUNGKOOK’S REACTION
Initial Thoughts
Pride
“She’s a natural. Look at her lines...cleaner than mine at her age.”
Fear
“What if she gets hurt? What if they break her spirit?”
Protective Fury
“I’ll crash anyone who touches her.”
What He Says
After Her First Win (Age 10)
“You’re a monster out there. Proud of you, champ.”
When She Asks for F4 (Age 15)
“You sure? It’s not just speed. It’s war.”
SUPPORT & SACRIFICES
training regimen
wakes her at 5 a.m. for endurance runs
then cooks galbi at midnight after sim sessions
“Champions don’t sleep. Naps.”
public persona
uses his fame to shield her
brings her on live, arm around her shoulders
“Meet my co-pilot. She’s better than me.”
tattoo
after her F4 debut
he inks her car number (#07) and chassis outline on his ribs
shows her post-race
“Now you’re always with me.”
CONFLICTS
First Slur
rival team owner mutters “Go back to makeup tutorials” during qualifying
Haneul pretends not to hear
Jungkook slams his fist into a garage locker
denting the metal
His Response
outward
storms into the stewards’ office
demands the man’s ban
“Apologize to my daughter. Or I’ll park my car in your pit lane.”
inward:
cries alone
“I should’ve protected her better.”
Haneul’s Breaking Point
she quits mid-season after online trolls photoshop her into a doll
Jungkook finds her dismantling her helmet in the garage
Dialogue
Haneul: “I’m not strong like you. I can’t just… ignore it.” Jungkook: “You think I don’t see the comments? ‘Washed-up idol. Failed racer.’”
COMEBACK
Training Redemption
Jungkook hires a female ex-F1 test driver as her coach (Jessica Hawkins)
“Learn from the best. Better than me.”
Proudest Moment
Haneul podium’s in F4
dedicating the win to “the Appa who taught me to never lift.”
Jungkook, wearing her #07 cap, sobs into his headset
Quote to Her
“You’re not ‘Jungkook’s kid.’ I’m Haneul’s dad. Remember that.”
#magicshopstories#bts imagines#bts fanfic#bts headcanons#btsAu#bts x reader#bts x you#namjoonheadcanons#jinheadcanons#yoongiheadcanons#sugaheadcanons#jhopeimagine#jimin imagine#taehyung headcanons#jungkook headcanons#jungkook imagine#btsxF1#namjoon fanfic#jin fanfic#suga fanfic#yoongi fanfic#jimin fanfic#jhope fanfic#taehyung fanfic#jungkook fanfic#bts scenarios#bangtan fanfic#bts requests
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No shame! here’s proper punctuation with a simple format and the dictionary definitions because i used to be that writer who was where some of you are now. 💖
1. Full stop
A full stop is the punctuation name for a mark that is used to show the end of a sentence, as shown in this punctuation example:
'Lucy went clothes shopping. She bought a lovely new skirt.'
Full stops are used to indicate that it is the end of a sentence, usually communicating a complete point or thought. It highlights a new sentence is about to begin.
2. Commas
Commas is the punctuation name for a mark that aregreat for breaking down sentences, combining two clauses or showing us when to pause.
'Despite the fact I hate maths, I quite like learning about fractions.'
This shows how commas can add emphasis and tell the reader when to pause. Sometimes, commas can be misplaced. This is called a comma splice, where two independent clauses are connected by a comma, when they should really be separated with a full stop or semi colon or connected with a connective.
3. Question marks
Question marks simply indicate that the speaker is asking a question. They're used at the end of question (or interrogative) sentences.
'Do you still want to keep your teddy bear?'
4. Exclamation marks
Exclamation marks is the punctuation name for a mark that can change the meaning and tone of a sentence. They still end a sentence, but they can add emotion - whether that's excitement, anger or nervousness!
'Look, it's a cat!'
'I'm so nervous about my SATs exams!'
'I can't believe you just said that!'
All three of these sentences convey very different emotions using an exclamation mark, so it can be confusing. Yet imagine if they used a full stop instead - these emotions would be much harder to read and understand.
A sentence which needs an exclamation mark is called an exclamatory sentence.
5. Colons
A colon is the punctuation name for a mark that is used to connect two clauses.
'Never go out in the sun without sunscreen: you#ll damage your skin.'
They're also great for introducing a list of three or more things.
'I'm visiting four cities this summer: Rome, Florence, Paris, and Seville.'
6. Semicolons
Semicolons get a bad reputation for being difficult, but in truth, they're super handy!
You can use a semicolon to join 2 main (or independent clauses) which have equal importance. For example,
'Katie was hungry; she hadn't eaten all day.'
Semicolons show a closer relationship between the clauses than a full stop would show.
7. Apostrophes
Apostrophe is a punctuation mark that can be quite confusing for many children, but it's really important that children learn how to use it properly.
Apostrophes are used to identify something that belongs to someone or to show a letter or multiple letters are missing from a word. Yet as simple as this sounds, many children and adults often misplace or forget apostrophes, even putting them somewhere they shouldn't be altogether. The following sentence shows how to use an apostrophe for contractions, where letters are missing from "were not", "of the clock" and "cannot".
"We weren't meant to leave before 4 O'clock, so we can't go yet."
Apostrophes can also be used to show the possessive form of a singular noun.
"The student's job was to make sure no one touched the pet rabbit's breakfast."
With plural nouns where the word already has an 's' at the end, an apostrophe just gets added at the end.
"The girls' toy truck had broken."
If the word is plural and doesn't have an 's' at the end, again one can be added.
"The women's business meeting had been delayed."
One of the most common misuses of apostrophes is putting them in words which are just plural and don't show possession or contraction. For example, words such as pencils, ghosts, houses, or guests never need an apostrophe.
8. Dash
A dash is the punctuation name for a mark that used to separate words into statements. There are two common types of dashes: en dash and em dash which vary in length. The en dash is twice as long as a hyphen and is most commonly used to signify a range between two words or numbers, for example the date range:
1990-2014.
Meanwhile,the em dash can be used in place of a comma, parenthesis, or colon to enhance readability or emphasize the conclusion of a sentence. For example:
She gave him her answer—No!
8. Hyphen
This list of punctuation marks isn't exhaustive, but it does contain the most commonly used punctuation marks with names. For example:
Sarah had a part-time job that she worked on a Saturday
9. Parentheses
A parenthesis is a word, phrase, or sentence that is inserted into writing as extra information using brackets, commas or dashes. For example:
'James (who was terrified of heights) was going to ride the biggest rollercoaster in the theme park
When a whole sentence is written inside a parenthesis then the full stop will be included inside the parenthesis, for example - Please read this story. (You'll be amazed.). However, if the majority of a sentence is written outside the parentheses, then the full stop should also be used on the outside, for example, You are late (aren't you?).
10. Brackets
Brackets is the punctuation name for a mark that is a curved symbol that looks like () and they are used to separate non-essential or additional information from a sentence. For example:
She finally answered (after taking five minutes to think) that she didn’t understand the question.
11. Quotation marks
Quotation marks is the punctuation name for a mark that is the primary type of punctuation used in quotes. These are inverted commas that are used as either single (‘ ’) or double (“ ”) sets. They are used either to mark the beginning and end of a title or quoted passage. For example:
Walking across the beach Mary said, "the weather is very sunny today".
12. Ellipsis
An ellipsis(plural ellipses) is a punctuation mark made up of 3 dots. Ellipses are commonly used to indicate the omission of words, lines or paragraphs from a quoted passage. For example:
'Today...we are proud to announce our new product.'
Dictionary version [better version In my opinion]
What is a typographical symbol?
The term typographical symbol, or any other number of phrases, refers to a character or symbol that isn’t considered to be a punctuation mark but may still be used in writing for various purposes. Typographical symbols are generally avoided in formal writing under most circumstances. However, you may see typographic symbols used quite a bit in informal writing.
Typographical symbol examples
The following examples show some ways that a writer might use typographical symbols. Keep in mind that some of these sentences may not be considered appropriate in formal writing.
The frustrated actor said she was tired of her co-star’s “annoying bull****.”
For questions, email us at [email protected]!
The band had five #1 singles on the American music charts during the 1990s.
My internet provider is AT&T.
Period (.)
A period is used to end a declarative sentence. A period indicates that a sentence is finished.
Today is Friday.
Unique to them, periods are also often used in abbreviations.
Prof. Dumbledore once again awarded a ludicrous amount of points to Gryffindor.
Question mark (?)
The question mark is used to end a question, also known as an interrogative sentence.
Do you feel lucky?
Exclamation point (!)
The exclamation point is used at the end of exclamations and interjections.
Our house is haunted!
Wow!
Comma, colon, and semicolon
Commas, colons, and semicolons can all be used to connect sentences together.
Comma (,)
The comma is often the punctuation mark that gives writers the most problems. It has many different uses and often requires good knowledge of grammar to avoid making mistakes when using it. Some common uses of the comma include:
Joining clauses: Mario loves Peach, and she loves him.
Nonrestrictive elements: My favorite team, the Fighting Mongooses, won the championship this year.
Lists: The flag was red, white, and blue.
Coordinate adjectives: The cute, happy puppy licked my hand.
Try out this quiz on the Oxford comma!
Colon (:)
The colon is typically used to introduce additional information.
The detective had three suspects: the salesman, the gardener, and the lawyer.
Like commas, colons can also connect clauses together.
We forgot to ask the most important question: who was buying lunch?
Colons have a few other uses, too.
The meeting starts at 8:15 p.m.
The priest started reading from Mark 3:6.
Semicolon (;)
Like the comma and the colon, the semicolon is used to connect sentences together. The semicolon typically indicates that the second sentence is closely related to the one before it.
I can’t eat peanuts; I am highly allergic to them.
Lucy loves to eat all kinds of sweets;lollipops are her favorite.
Hyphen and dashes (en dash and em dash)
All three of these punctuation marks are often referred to as “dashes.” However, they are all used for entirely different reasons.
Hyphen (-)
The hyphen is used to form compound words.
I went to lunch with my father-in-law.
She was playing with a jack-in-the-box.
He was accused of having pro-Britishsympathies.
En dash (–)
The en dash is used to express ranges or is sometimes used in more complex compound words.
The homework exercises are on pages 20–27.
The songwriter had worked on many Tony Award–winning productions.
Em dash (—)
The em dash is used to indicate a pause or interrupted speech.
The thief was someone nobody expected—me!
“Those kids will—” was all he managed to say before he was hit by a water balloon.
Test your knowledge on the different dashes here.
Parentheses, brackets, and braces
These pairs of punctuation marks look similar, but they all have different uses. In general, the parentheses are much more commonly used than the others.
Parentheses ()
Typically, parentheses are used to add additional information.
I thought (for a very long time) if I should actually give an honest answer.
Tomorrow is Christmas (my favorite holiday)!
Parentheses have a variety of other uses, too.
Pollution increased significantly. (See Chart 14B)
He was at an Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meeting.
Richard I of England (1157–1199) had the heart of a lion.
Square brackets []
Typically, square brackets are used to clarify or add information to quotations.
According to an eyewitness, the chimpanzees “climbed on the roof and juggled [bananas].”
The judge said that “the defense attorney [Mr. Wright] had made it clear that the case was far from closed.”
Curly brackets {}
Curly brackets, also known as braces, are rarely used punctuation marks that are used to group a set.
I was impressed by the many different colors {red, green, yellow, blue, purple, black, white} they selected for the flag’s design.
Angle brackets <>
Angle brackets have no usage in formal writing and are rarely ever used even in informal writing. These characters have more uses in other fields, such as math or computing.
Quotation marks and apostrophe
You’ll find these punctuation marks hanging out at the top of a line of text.
Quotation marks (“”)
The most common use of quotation marks is to contain quotations.
She said, “Don’t let the dog out of the house.”
Bob Ross liked to put “happy little trees” in many of his paintings.
Apostrophe (‘)
The apostrophe is most often used to form possessives and contractions.
The house’s back door is open.
My cousin’s birthday is next week.
It isn’t ready yet.
We should’ve stayed outside.
Slash and ellipses
These are two punctuation marks you may not see too often, but they are still useful.
Slash (/)
The slash has several different uses. Here are some examples:
Relationships: The existence of boxer briefs somehow hasn’t ended the boxers/briefs debate.
Alternatives: They accept cash and/or credit.
Fractions: After an hour, 2/3 of the audience had already left.
Ellipses (…)
In formal writing, ellipses are used to indicate that words were removed from a quote.
The mayor said, “The damages will be …paid for by the city … as soon as possible.”
In informal writing, ellipses are often used to indicate pauses or speech that trails off.
He nervously stammered and said, “Look, I … You see … I wasn’t … Forget it, okay.”
I don’t do not own any information listed above. This can all be found on google/chrome/safari
Divider credits go to @cafekitsune
#punctuation is important#punctuation mark#no punctuation#punctuationverse#zero punctuation#fanfic writer#writing tips#for writers#writing#fanfiction writer#writing advice#writer things#writer tips#writer problems#writers and poets#support fanfic writers#writerscommunity#writers on tumblr#writing help#writing reference#writblr#how to write#writing tools
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Für das Writers Ask: Alle Nummern teilbar durch 3 😎
Also jetzt auch noch Mathe machen hier XD
3. What is the most amount of research you’ve done for the smallest detail? What was the detail and how much time/effort went into researching it?
hier beantwortet.
Ich habe im Zuge von Blind Ermittelt sehr ausführlich über das Ritz Carlton, das ja in den ersten 5 Folgen als Drehort gedient hat, recherchiert. Insbesondere über die Presidential Suite und bin für immer dankbar, dass es sehr detaillierte Zimmerpläne auf der Website gibt.
Damit aber nicht genug, in dieser Suite, die im ehemaligen Palais Gutmann liegt, gibt es ein Deckengemälde von 12 pummeligen Engeln, die die Monate symbolisieren und ich bin mal in ein sehr tiefes rabbit hole über dieses Gemälde abgestiegen und war sehr frustiert, dass es im Internet seht wenig zu finden gibt. Eine Abbildung gibt es zum Beispiel hier.
6. What is your favorite type of feedback to receive (favorites/kudos, comments, DMs, complete and utter silence in the pursuit of remaining unperceived?)? If comments or DMs or anything else involving a reader writing, do you have a particular type of feedback that excites you more than other types?
Kommentare und DMs/tags bei reblogs von Fic Links, definitiv. Klar ich mag auch kudos (und gebe all zu oft auch welche, ohne zu kommentieren), aber ich möchte auch immer gerne wissen, was den Lesenden gefällt. Like, tell meee what I did good!
Und bei Kommentaren gerne die, die einzelne Sätze oder Szenen hervorheben.
Ooohh forgot to add: my forever favorite feedback (if you will) is other art inspired by mine. First and foremost @foxesonstilts art for il mio bungalow.
9. Do you prefer to read angst or fluff? Which do you prefer to write?
Ich lese fast lieber Angst und es macht mir auch viel Spaß es zu schreiben, weil es immer Spaß macht, die blorbos in Ausnahmesituationen zu bringen und zu sehen, was passiert und Fluff ist mir manchmal etwas zu viel des Guten.
12. What are your thoughts on slow burn romances?
*insert Weeeiß nich, Digga-Meme* Gemischt sag ich mal. Meistens hab ich dafür nicht die Geduld oder der pay-off, wenn es dann zur Romanze kommt ist zu gering. Ich glaube, dass der Polizeiruf Rostock mir das auch etwas verleidet hat.
(Yet I'm HOOKED by die Welt in unseren Händen :D )
15. Is there any genre, trope, or style that you find particularly challenging to write? Do you enjoy the challenge or prefer to avoid it?
Case-Fic all the way. Also ich glaube, ich könnte, müsste mich aber sehr anstrengen. Wobei ich dann auch an mittelmäßige bis schlechte Tatort-Plots denke und mir denke, dass ich das Imposter Syndrom auch mal beiseite lassen könnte, weil es immer noch Fanfic ist und kein TV-Drehbuch.
18. Share a headcanon relating to (insert desired theme here)!
ja, dann inserte mir doch ein theme ;)
writer's ask
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Welcome!!! Could I please request a soulmate au with Kyle and a fem!reader? Maybe one of the ones where they share emotions / sometimes items from their rooms randomly spawn in the other’s / first words said to each other tattooed somewhere or literally anything that would be fun for you to write??? I literally love soulmate aus so I’m gonna gobble up anything u write no matter what. + I loved your Craig fic so much!!!! Thank you <33
thank you so much!! i love this so much, soulmate aus are so silly and giggly 🤭 (using the item spawning one 🤭)
is that mine? || kyle broflovski x fem reader (soulmate au)

My actually useful shit had been disappearing for weeks. I was constantly loosing pens and pencils as well as the book I was reading for school. What had I gotten from my soulmate? Socks. At least I knew my soulmate had big ass feet.
Coming home from school, I didn't expect to have anything new in my room, but I was wrong. A green notebook sat on my desk, the front covered in random brand stickers. I pick it up, sitting on the edge of my bed, deciding to flip through it. It's not like my soulmate would know that I was snooping.
The pages were filled with neat notes. Scanning over them, I realized they were just about the same as my history notes, just with a little more detail. So we have the same history teacher?
I had found out we went to the same school weeks ago, a South Park Cows sweatshirt winding up on top of my dresser, but I had no clue if we were in any of the same classes. As I continued to flip through the pages, I noticed a page with different handwriting accompanying my soulmate's.
It seemed to be a conversation between two people that went from messy to neat writing, drawings of dicks all over the top of the paper. I look more towards the bottom seeing my soulmate's writing with the words, "stop drawing dicks on my paper, kenny"
Kenny? Kenny McCormick? Well, damn. That crosses Kenny off of the list of possible people my soulmate could be. I was only slightly disappointed. Never once did I see my soulmates name anywhere in the stupid notebook. Tossing it to the side, I go to start on my homework that was due yesterday.
"Really?" I groan, noticing my favorite pen missing from its spot on my desk. I don't know why I liked it so much, it was just funny. It had a stupidly big pompom at the end, frilly ribbon around the rest of it. I end up just using a random pencil I found in the bottom of my bookbag, completing about half of my homework, before deciding I deserved a break.
After, like, three hours of going down a conspiracy theory video rabbit hole on youtube, I end up falling asleep, only to be woken up the next morning by my alarm. After snoozing my alarm multiple times, I finally pull myself out of bed, looking through my clothes.
Would I be insane for wearing my soulmate's hoodie? No, I like living in delusion. Pulling the hoodie over my head, I was quick to notice how clean it smelled. It smelled so much like laundry detergent, I was almost convinced it had never been worn.
Noticing I was already running behind, I finish getting dressed, grabbing my bag and rushing out of my house so I could get to school on time. I pull into the parking lot, deciding to just chill for a minute since I was already late.
Eventually, I ended up dragging myself into my math class, sitting down near the back. Pulling out my notebook and a pencil, I begin to doodle, not too invested in the lesson
"Dude, where the fuck did you get that pen," I hear someone whisper, a snicker coming from the same direction. Looking up, I notice a curly redhead holding a pen. My pen. What the hell?
"Is that mine?" I whisper, gaining the boy's attention. "What? No, it's my soulmate's." He replies, glancing at the hoodie I was wearing, his eyes widening. "That's my pen." I say, before looking down at the hoodie myself. "Is this...?" I begin, the boy nodding. "Mine. Yeah, that's mine."
I found myself just staring at him for a moment, before my lips tug upwards. He was cute. He gives me a bashful grin, handing me my pen.
"I would give you the hoodie, but I'm not wearing anything under it." I say, butterflies erupting in my stomach as I hear him laugh. "That's okay. You can keep it. Did you ever realize my name was on the tag?" He asks, causing my face to drop. "No. Damn, I would've found you a lot faster if I'd seen that," I mumble.
There was a silence, until he sighs, brushing his curly bangs out of his eyes. "Are you free after school?" My smile widens at his question, looking down to my shoes. "Yeah, you gonna ask me out?" I joke. "Maybe. You gonna say yes?" "Maybe."
a/n: GUYS I'VE NEVER WRITTEN A SOULMATE AU I'M SO SORRY, HOPING IT'S CUTE 🤞😍
#kyle brovlofski#kyle broflovski x reader#south park imagines#south park fanfiction#south park x reader#x reader
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Do you know it's a common misconception that the writer of Alice in Wonderland (Lewis Carroll) based his story on an LSD trip? However, it is very much fact that my favourite philosopher had a psychedelic experience trying Mescalin (under the observation of Humphry Osmond).
It was the year 2020 and something called out to me in my local bookstore. The Doors of Perception by Aldous Huxley, it’s cover seemed to send me into a daze of memories and spirals. I wasn't much of a reader anymore, I was more of a films type of girl, but something about city living made me want to start again.
I'm not quite sure what tonight's art journal page is about, but I began with The Chain of Being, only to find out it was related to Huxley and now i’m down the rabbit hole of memories.
When people tell me I get weird after dark, I only kind of see it now. I mean, visually. I see it. There's something about a quiet world, that's when I do my best thinking. That or the shower…but I usually get distracted and start singing Sunday Morning and I’m definitely no match for Maroon 5.
When it comes to art I've always been a perfectionist, deeming anything as a failure if it didn't live up to my standards. Interestingly enough, scribbling quotes from books and movies or anything along the themes of the universe, maths, geometry etc has a way of opening up my mind. It's become fun not to care about perfection and to let it flow. It feels like art without the intention to be viewed, art that could be coded for my own eyes only, almost like a new way of 'writing' a diary.
I love how hours go by, and I forget I even exist or anything else for that matter. I drink water, snack, listen to music, stretch, watch clips from my favourite movies and go down the dangerous alley of YouTube videos of information. It's become apparent to me that I never disliked studying, I merely wasn't studying anything that interested me.
And now I have to go to bed but I don’t want to forget any weird thoughts so no one else read past this point unless you want brain damage. For some reason if I put it on tumblr I’ll never forget it. Unlike my notes app…
*Notes to self: try Mescalin*
*Watch that weird movie from your childhood with the men in bright coloured teddy bear suits. Uma Thurman was lost in a maze of identical rooms she couldn't escape. I think it was called The Avengers and it was about spies. Feels important*
*and for the love of god, figure out what that creepy movie was with the men (aliens) in black suits and that kid that stuck a jewel up his nose and no it wasn’t men in black. If felt like aliens were hunting humans to cover up a secret and there was no where to run*
It’s not X Files and it’s budget was evidently fucking low enough to give you goosebumps.
I really need a tape recorder if I’m to become an evil mad scientist.
*insert Johnny Depp secret window gif*
Goodnight to any freak who read all of this.
C, xoxo
#art#art diary#note to self#dear future chrystal#no offense#youre a bit weird#I like it#add some butterflies#page 5
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Nostalgic Lookback: Computer Games
The games pictured above are far from the only MS-DOS or CD ROM computer games I played with frequency as a child*, but they are some of my most fondly remembered and among the ones I often return to playing every now and then. I know I revisited them quite a lot during quarantine five years ago, and would gladly do so again!
* There's also the other Reader Rabbit games, other Super Solver / Treasure Land games, other Carmen Sandiego games, other Blaster games, other JumpStart games, Mickey Mouse: Follow The Reader, Forever Growing Garden, Word Muncher, Candyland Adventure, Disney World Explorer, Disney Magic Artist, DK Encyclopedia, Nature World, Microsoft Entertainment Pack, Revenge Of Arcade, Math Workshop, Thinkin' Things, Sky Island Mysteries, Spy Fox, Troggle Trouble Math, Winnie The Pooh Reading and Math games, and Probably a lot more I played at school that I can't even recall!
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