#and not afraid of settings menus

[marzeydoze]

"Good news! I'm very smart and willing to break things"

[sorrygotthesesacks]

What the actual hell with that dream (nightmare?) I just had?

Some kind of weird...ongoing horror thing that was like... had to just not only be last girl but also the last few of us making it to the end...?

There was some kind of ... movie I was watching but also living in? There were people watching and analyzing? But also not? Murder was on the menu and it didn't matter how old anyone was. And "we" (whoever "we" was composed of) was going from room to room on a vessel of some sort. It was part "kill or be killed" and part "damn there are some fucked up families on this vessel-of-indeterminate-type-other-than-has-multiple-areas."

I hate that unsettled feeling after a nightmare but there's the relief that it was a product of my sleeping brain.

[enjakey]

Physics and Arts

Jake x you | fluff, opposites attract, some smut, students au | smart kink, whimper kink | Jake is a science geek, reader is an academia geek | small drabble

Jake didn’t know how he ended up with someone like you.

For the longest time, he thought he’d end up with someone similar to him. Someone who liked math and physics, could solve numerical problems within seconds- just hand him a pen and paper and he’d prove it to you- and liked music the way he did. He was in a band with his college friends, he played the second guitar and was the lead rapper (whenever it was needed)

But you? You were nothing like him.

But it wasn’t to say you weren’t smart- no, you were so learned, so knowledgeable. Just not in the way Jake was. Because Jake was all about numbers, all about the way he could perceive the world through physics and mathematical theories. He could go on and on about Oppenheimer (he even read his book) and Schrödinger’s cat and about Murphy’s law and about how he wanted to become and space engineer one day. He could ramble about the physics of stars and galaxies and how our universe was infinitely stretching.

You, on the other hand, looked at the world through culture, social institutions and contemporary issues of race, class, gender and religion. You looked at the world through philosophies of Socrates and Nietzsche and whenever you talked about the theory of multiple universes, you looked at like a philosophical question rather than a scientific one.

It was an argument, a debate, you and Jake had been tangled in during many occasions- during breakfast coffees or nights where neither of you could fall asleep.

You liked to write essays, read knowledge heavy books and nitpick at research papers like it was your hobby. Jake hated reading research papers, hated reading books with too many words and hated doing his citations for his essays (and out of frustration, you started doing it for him, afraid he’d get called out for plagiarism).

While you liked to study in silence, Jake loved to listen to r&b music while doing assignments- cracking numbers in his brain like a calculator.

Your mind didn’t work like his, that much was certain. You disagreed on so many topics, looked at life and the world through complete different lenses and saw the future as two different destinations- one as death and the other as success.

Jake really didn’t know how he ended up here with you.

When he was set up with a blind date by a mutual friend- Heeseung, his senior, who thought the pair of you would be a great couple- Jake didn’t know how he came to that conclusion. Because during that date, where you sat across from him in a yellow-lit café surrounded by potted plants and flowers, he could only ever see you as a friend.

And for the longest time, the pair of you did agree to be friends. And that friendship consisted of early morning coffee runs at that very cafe, standing in line together to guess the special of the menu for that morning, talking about your classes from the day prior.

Your conversations consisted of you quoting various theorists across academia and philosophy- because that was pretty much your whole personality- while Jake hid most of himself away and only showed the fun parts, the goofy parts you seemed to enjoy being around so much.

But then, one day, you fixed his grammar while he was speaking and Jake was taken aback. Jake might have been a science geek but the knowing the English language was important to him. You knew that, and corrected his grammar- something about using the past participle in the wrong context. He didn’t know what else he was expecting- you, who spent most of your time writing essays and buried in academic literature, obviously knew the rules and regulations of English better than he did.

But it was finally when Jake actually started to let his interest show- his spanning knowledge on physics theory- did he realise how smart you actually were. Because when he talked about the string theory, you finished a lot of his sentences. And he was stunned that you’d known about it, that you’d once spent a phase in university studying about the physics of the universe, to see if the world could be explained and understood by scientific theory rather than sociological critique.

And you understood both worlds, unlike Jake. You understood the science of living as well as the art of living. And Jake almost envied that about you, that your brain had somehow unlocked crevices that could comprehend things Jake couldn’t fathom.

Because to him, the contemporary world belonged to all the social media scandals and TikTok videos explaining comedic politics and a dying economy.

But to you, it was more than that. It would always mean more than that.

It wasn’t until a night you found yourself laying on his bed that Jake started seeing you differently. Like, physically, actually differently after spending days coming to terms with the fact that he didn’t just find your mind sexy, but you as a whole person too. How did you end up on his bed? You were simply too lazy to leave in the first place, after having stuffed your face with too many bowls of Jake’s perfectly cooked ramen and after arguing over something about the science of manifestations.

Your brain was throbbing from all the times you’d raised your voice to prove a point and he raised his voice to do the same- not that any of it was out of malice. Such conversations were common to you, by that point. It was integral to your friendship with Jake.

Somehow, Jake found himself scooting closer to you, wrinkling the navy blue duvet under him. He hovered over you for only a moment, eyes locking, breath ragged as if he were afraid to you a question- a question of which you knew he’d ask you.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered under his breath and the words hit your cheek with a warm welcome.

And when you didn’t show any signs of discomfort, when you moved your face closer to his and fluttered your eyes closed, Jake kissed you. It was a kiss long over due and if Heeseung found out, he would brag about introducing you to each other- because, perhaps, he was right. He was right about you being a good couple and he was right about you getting along.

And, fuck, did kissing you feel right, too.

Jake didn’t know how to pull away from you. He just let his hands wander, holding and clutching anything he could get get a grip on- your jaw, your neck, your hair, your waist and finally, your hips.

He was heaving for air- but he kissed you like you were the oxygen he didn’t know was missing. He felt so euphoric, he was sure he’d wake up the next morning more blind than he already was.

In between all your pants, all the moments you refused to part your lips from his, your clothes had somehow (somehow? You knew where this was going) ended up in the floor. And as you ran your hands down his chest, his taut muscles under the tips of your fingers, writhing and desperate, you looked at him through your lashes.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

Jake let out a loud whine as he held your hips harder, feeling his cock twitch at your voice- usually so loud and confident, now teasing and sultry. He loved this change in you, this version of you that only he got to experience.

“Oh, Y/N,” he moaned as he let the tip of his cock slide through your wet folds, hips bucking in desperation. “Fuck.”

That night, he didn’t exactly rail you. He made love to you (the railing would happen later and a lot more throughout your relationship). He whispered all the sweet things that went through his head when you talked about your favourite things, kissed down your neck and chest, sucking on your nipples and the tip of his cock touched your cervix.

As his cock slid in and out of you, careful and calculated in motion to make sure you felt every inch of him, you moaned for him. Well, Jake wasn’t even sure if he could call it a moan- it was high pitched, perhaps a whine, that came in short intervals and sharp breaths.

A whimper, perhaps?

He didn’t know what it was but he loved it- and he planned on hearing it more. It took everything in him to not go feral at the sight of you, at the sounds you made- you looked so breakable under him, so responsive, so weak as you clawed at him, searching for your own high.

As Jake spent more time with you, he realised that those high pitched whines you made didn’t just come from sex. No, you made them in your sleep, when you were tired, when you were yawing or when you were tutting at something you were annoyed at.

There were times when you’d simply collapse on his bed, hugging his pillow and saying something about being too tired to sleep- and you’d let out that sound again, that whine that made his brain snap into two and his body beg for you.

It was hard to keep his hands off you.

Your relationship, now, consisted of a lot of nights just… doing things together. The pair of you liked to solve puzzles- puzzles of all kind, the kind that had Jake scratching his head over numerical patterns and the kind that made you have a hard time visualise a painting. You liked playing games together- like one of those name all fifty states type of games. They were fun and they made you laugh and by the end of it, if Jake couldn’t resist the allure of your mind, he’d rail you against his bed, into his navy blue sheets.

And he introduced you to a lot of music, not the type you heard in mainstream media, the ones that blew up on TikTok. No, the songs he listened to were personal, old and carried history. Your music taste was… really terrible compared to his.

And while he shared music, you shared your love for film. And not the movies type of film, you loved watching film that was critiqued, that transcended generations, the type that one wouldn’t have heart about if they weren’t keeping up with film history like you were. And though, at first, Jake resisted- absolutely hated the idea of spending three hours watching films he’d potentially hate- he succumbed to you. Because even though he hated the films you made him watch, he loved the wonder your expression held while characters unravelled their stories.

Study sessions meant that Jake would be sitting on his bed with a pen and notebook finishing questions from his textbook with earphones feeding soothing music into his ears while you would sit on his bed, laptop perched on your legs, typing away on essays.

The pair of you could have easily just studied in your respective spaces- you back at your own apartment. But you simply didn’t want to- it was more comforting to be right there, a few steps away from each other so you could reach out whenever work became overwhelming.

There were numerous occasions where Jake would simply give up on his work and would slide onto the bed. He’d close your laptop and slot himself between your legs, head buried in your chest while you killed him to sleep, hands buried in his hair. And there were numerous occasions where you would sigh over an essay and pad over to Jake, pulling his chair just enough to give yourself room to straddle him, to wrap your arms around his neck and cling onto him like a koala.

“What would I do without you?” You’d ask sometimes, accepting the fact that Jake was your anchor now- that there was no escaping it, no denying it. He was your rock, your pull and escape from reality.

“Don’t think about it,” Jake would say. “You never have to know,” because he didn’t plan on letting you go- not anytime soon, not ever.

Because he loves your mind too much- he loves you too much. And you were his counterpart, just as he was yours.

Time and time, again and again, the pair of you would prove that physics and arts went hand in hand, just as you and Jake went hand in hand.

[urdreamgirlangel]

a soft exit from doom scroll culture 𐙚🧸ྀི

Life wasn’t created to be lived through a screen, it was created to be lived through experiences ₊˚⊹ ᰔ michi

I constantly feel like I’m missing out on life. I’m never physically doing anything but I am always.. always scrolling. And for what? To be entertained. For those weak ass dopamine hits. To distract myself from my thoughts and my mental state. To have an excuse as to why I’m not doing something.

Neglecting yourself? Doomscrolling? Having trouble sleeping? Eyes always tired? Unhappy? Always feeling drained and tired?

Don’t you guys ever feel like you’re missing out? I mean you must since you’re here.

So I decided to try a digital detox.

Not in some extreme, delete-everything-and-vanish kind of way (I actually tried that many times and failed each one). I just wanted to see what would happen if I gave my brain a break. If I stopped reaching for my phone the second I felt bored, uncomfortable, or lonely. If I actually let myself sit with things instead of escaping into a timeline that never ends.

It was weird at first.

My brain kept telling me to “check something,” whether it's Instagram, TikTok, even Pinterest like ?? girl for what?? I realized I’d trained myself to need noise. Constant noise. And without it? I felt unsettled. Quiet. But underneath all that static, there was something else too. A kind of peace I didn’t know I missed. My mind actually started to feel like mine again.

Because the truth is, I don’t want to live a life I’m watching from the sidelines. I don’t want to be so overstimulated I can’t even hear myself think. I want to choose what I consume. What I feel. What I do with my time.

I want to remember that I don’t have to perform every moment. I don’t have to be productive to be worthy. I don’t have to post everything to prove I exist.

Sprinkles ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

I thought to myself I should have rules. I should try setting rules and boundaries because, as I said, social media isn't the problem, but rather how we use and interact with it is.

When you do scroll, do it purposefully (because you’re looking for something specific rather than because you’re just bored and you’re trying to entertain yourself quickly)

Delete and uninstall any apps you no longer use & make note of the ones you use too much - a lot of similar posts I’ve read on this topic always talk about keeping tumblr because it’s not that bad blah blah.. But can you really say you don’t scroll mindlessly on here? People use tumblr as an escape from all those other apps, but at the end of the day, it’s still social media.

Set time limits for screen use

Reduce use bit by bit

be careful with what you consume

Don’t be afraid to be bored. You are going to be bored and lonely.

Silence your notifications

Realize it’s okay to have social media but it shouldn’t be abused

Be in the moment. You don’t need to have a hot girl walk with a podcast playing in your ear. Bitch, be the podcast. Yap to yourself and look fucking crazy because I do. And it’s fun.

Find something to do with your free time, in my post Pretty Girl Content, you will find some hobby suggestions, or even in my Enhance Your Whimsy posts.

Tech-free zones - keeping your phone out of the bathroom, kitchen, bed, dining area

Check-in windows: only check social media during scheduled times

A ‘why I opened this’ list - every time you open an app, ask yourself why and write it down. Write it down. After a few days, review it to see your patterns and learn from them. nd if you wanna share thats ok too!

Dopamine Menu - a list of things that gives you pleasure or satisfaction a healthy way. instead of reaching for your phone when you feel lonely, bored or restless, pick something off the list and then do it.. They start easy with the first course, then require more effort and engagement as the course goes up.

Angel’s Dopamine Menu ꒰ঌ ໒꒱

🧁 Sweet Treats (Low-Effort)

Light a candle and practice breath work

Make a cute warm drink

Do mobility routine

take a shower

say affirmations

style dream closet mentally

cuddle blanket and/or pet

stand in sun for 3-5 mins

change into favourite cozy outfit

🍱 Comfort Courses (Medium Effort)

journal with dreamy prompts or about something i’m curious about

write a letter to my future self

Walk around the block

Bake something cute and simple

read a book

Reorganize space a bit (clear bed, fluff pillows, wipe mirror)

Watch a comfort show, no snacks, no other screens

have a tea party with plushies

🥘 Soul meals (High Effort)

solo adventure

Deep clean space

write letters to past you, present you and future you

go to a concert

choose a topic that fascinates me and go full research mode

start a new cute slice of life anime/kdrama

work on a hobby (start a scrapbook, upcycling an outfit, etc.)

write or continue writing a post

sign up for a workshop/class that excites you

learn a new skill (writing, language etc)

host a themed night for yourself (cottage core evening, 2000s movie night)

Plan my dream life

But now that we’ve got that out of the way, I have a question for you

What do you want from these apps? ೀ

𖹭.ᐟ Is it validation?

𖹭.ᐟ To feel seen without having to do much?

𖹭.ᐟ A distraction?

𖹭.ᐟ Community and connection?

𖹭.ᐟ Inspiration?

𖹭.ᐟ Entertainment?

𖹭.ᐟ Self-expression?

𖹭.ᐟ FOMO?

Are you actually getting it? Or are you just stuck in the loop, hoping the next scroll will finally give you what the last hundred didn’t?

People say cons of not having social media is not knowing what’s going on “in the outside world” but.. to me that’s a pro because I get to focus on myself and my mind and loa. So nothing else really matters to me since I’m focused on building the life for me starting with myself. Which I really need right now given my mental state. When i deleted tiktok, I feel good about not downloading it. Whenever I need it, I redownload it. Hair content. That’s about it. Then I delete. I dread even redownloading it because I’m kind of impatient. But I also do the same for tumblr. If I need a little pick me up, a sweet post and I know I have no one around give it to me and I really need to hear it from someone else, I redownload. I use it on my pc mainly now and I don’t find scrolling on my pc interesting enough to do it all the time.

So let’s get to the more philosophical, harsher side.

₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ Modern life encourages consumption, rather than understanding and contemplation - challenge yourself, learn about something that honestly doesn’t seem that big of a deal, like learning random facts about random things. Remember libraries and book shops exist.

₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ One thing about social media it will give you unsolicited advice and opinions, it will try to make you feel like you have to listen and believe what is being shown to you. It could cause you to stray from your own beliefs if you aren’t strong in them. People’s opinions being thrown at you left and right when you aren’t even comfortable and strong in yourself is… jarring. “You shouldn’t do this bc..” but what if I want to? And why are people mad that I want to? Or don’t want to? Realizing I don’t wanna hear anyone’s opinions before I was grounded in mine was a big reason for my detox and regulation.

₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ You pick up a lot of stuff you consume online unconsciously. For instance, I watched a lot of American and Canadian tv growing up.. now I react to certain situations in certain ways (just like a lot of the characters I saw on TV) and I literally didn't notice until like a few days ago. That's the result of repeatedly consuming the same kind of content. So guess what- the thing people call ‘brain rot’… is actually rotting your brain. Surprise, surprise.

₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ Social media constantly exposes you to other people’s timelines, and it quietly convinces you that you’re behind in life. But most people are only sharing fragments- the polished, curated parts. And when we forget that, it’s easy to start holding ourselves to unrealistic standards or feeling like we’re not doing enough. You are not late. You are not less. You are unfolding, slowly and softly, in your own time. And there’s something quietly magical about that.

₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ And on that note… influencers really do be scamming sometimes. Like, a lot of it is just the same old stuff, just prettier now. They take outdated ideas and wrap them in pink ribbons and call it healing or empowerment. Suddenly, being “feminine” means looking a certain way, acting soft and quiet, never taking up too much space, and spending money just to seem effortlessly perfect. But don't get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with liking pink, or soft things, or wanting to feel pretty. But when femininity becomes a performance—when it’s reduced to a list of aesthetics you have to buy into to be “the ideal woman,” that’s not empowerment. That’s marketing. They just dressed it up and made you feel like you chose it. But it’s still about control. About shrinking yourself into something small, sweet, and palatable. It’s not just influencers because some of them genuinely believe in this and don’t realize what they’re doing. In the end it just leads back to men trying to be in control... Ew. You might not even realize how much of what you like or think you like is just what society has convinced you need to like to be worthy of love or attention. This is not to say you can’t enjoy this stuff because I most definitely still do. But do so mindfully. This is also not to say that life can’t be aesthetic and pretty because it can and anybody that says not is just.. boring I guess. Just be mindful.

So I’m detoxing. To control the identity I’m building for myself and making sure it’s something I like, something I’m doing for me rather than for the algorithm. This is not to say that social media- or rather, how we use it- is to blame for everything. Because it’s not. People around you can genuinely suck. You have to pull away from that. The point is, if it’s not benefiting you, it’s depriving you.

Log out. Go outside. Touch the real world. You deserve to feel real again. -`♡´-🧁

follow @urdreamgirlangel 444 more

inspired by:

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ michi goodbye TikTok, hello living

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ xiao's you don't have to be that girl

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ denee you'd be hotter if you logged out

[cheollollipop]

green sector. | k. mingyu

genre: fluff. angst. smut (18+ MDNI)

wc: 4.7k

content warning(s): fast driving, smutty smut smut. pet names, reader shoves mingyu (out of love), breast play, oral (f! receiving), please lmk if i forgot anything!

🏁 author’s note!

loved f1 mingyu so much i decided to continue. this story takes places two years after pole position . this’ll probably be the end of this story so i wanted to give yall an even more happier ending for mingyu and reader. i hope you enjoy this as much as you all enjoyed the first one! and if you haven’t read it, please check it out <3 happy reading.

The Proposal wasn't subtle.

Not with Mingyu. Never with Mingyu.

He rented out the entire rooftop of the Park Hyatt Tokyo.

I thought we were there for a sponsor dinner. I'd slipped into a navy silk dress, hair swept into a low bun, heels echoing against polished floors as he led me through the hotel like he didn't already have a diamond ring burning a hole in his pocket.

When the elevator doors opened on the 52nd floor, I knew something was off.

No guests. No tables. Just a private pathway of soft lanterns and white roses, a string quartet tucked into the corner playing the instrumental version of my favorite song, and Mingyu grinning, nervous, stunning in a black velvet tux, reaching for my hand like he'd waited his whole life for this moment.

"Is this...?" I asked, voice already trembling.

He nodded. "Yeah."

I stepped onto the rooftop with him, the Tokyo skyline glittering behind us like a million stars had fallen just for us. There were candles everywhere. Soft light. A breeze that caught the hem of my dress.

"I thought about doing this where we first met," he said, slipping his hands into mine. "But we've been through too much. And you deserve the best."

He knelt then.

Right there, on imported Italian tile, with the city holding its breath around us.

"I want every version of you. The brave one. The scared one. The one who holds the world together even when she's breaking," he said, voice shaking. "And if you'll have me, I'll spend the rest of my life proving that forever doesn't have to be terrifying."

The ring was custom. Pear cut. Set in platinum with two tiny stones on either side, one for him, one for me.

I didn't cry. I sobbed.

And when I said yes, the sky lit up behind us, yes, actual fireworks and he kissed me like a man who had something to lose and wasn't willing to risk it.

⸻

The Wedding was in Florence.

Because nothing else would do.

We flew in two weeks early. Took over an entire vineyard estate. Thirty five rooms. Custom menus. A wedding planner who had previously done work for literal royalty. White glove everything.

My dress had a twenty foot train. A cathedral veil. Hand sewn crystals. I walked down the aisle to a string version of Debussy's Clair de Lune, escorted by my mother and the memory of my father.

Mingyu looked like sin in a cream tuxedo with black satin lapels. Hair slicked back. Jaw set.

He cried the second he saw me.

Hell, everyone did. Dokyeom handed Mingyu a tissue. Minghao lost it entirely. Jihoon pretended not to.

Our vows? We had to pause halfway through because I couldn't breathe.

"I've seen every version of you," he said. "The broken one. The furious one. The one too afraid to say she loved me. And I still chose you. I will always choose you."

We kissed under a rain of ivory petals. Doves were released. Champagne poured like waterfalls.

Our reception was candlelit under a grand tent in the olive groves. Seven courses. A live jazz band. Late night espresso martinis served with hand painted macarons that had our initials on them in gold.

And when we had our first dance, it wasn't practiced. It was messy. Clingy. He kept kissing me between spins, and I kept laughing into his shoulder, thinking

This. This is everything.

⸻

The Honeymoon we went straight from Italy to the Maldives.

Private villa. Overwater. Glass floors. Champagne on ice when we landed and a butler who knew not to disturb us unless it was an emergency, or breakfast.

He booked fourteen days. Two were spent outside the villa. The rest?

Let's just say the Do Not Disturb sign didn't come off the door.

The moment we stepped inside, he let go of my hand, only to wrap both arms around my waist from behind.

"Look," he whispered against my neck, chin resting on my shoulder. His voice was low. "The floor."

Glass beneath our feet. Blue water beneath the glass. And beyond that, miles and miles of nothing but ocean and sky, fading into molten gold as the sun began to set.

"It's like we're floating," I murmured.

He kissed the back of my shoulder. "We are."

I stepped forward slowly, hand brushing over the smooth edge of the four poster bed, across the ice bucket on the table with the already sweating champagne, past the sliding doors that opened to our private deck and infinity pool.

God. This was ours.

For two weeks, this little slice of paradise was ours.

Behind me, Mingyu didn't speak. Didn't move.

I turned slowly and found him watching me with that look again. The one he'd worn the moment I stepped out during the ceremony in Florence. The one that made me feel like the center of the universe.

"What?" I asked, soft and a little shy.

His eyes drank me in. He didn't smile. Didn't blink.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said, voice low. "I don't even know what to do with myself."

I walked toward him, my hands resting on his chest as he took me in his arms.

"You already married me," I teased, leaning into him. "You don't have to keep seducing me."

He tilted his head down until his mouth brushed mine. "I'm not trying to seduce you."

"No?"

"No." His hand slid down to the curve of my waist, fingers flexing gently. "I just want you."

The kiss that followed was slow. Warm. Familiar in a way that still felt like falling. His lips parted mine with ease, his tongue brushing softly against mine as he deepened it, hands tightening on my hips like he couldn't get close enough.

I sighed into him, fingers moving up to unbutton his shirt, one by one.

He let me.

"You know what I've been thinking about all day?" he murmured against my mouth, the last button slipping free.

"What?"

"This dress." He kissed down the line of my jaw. "How it clung to you in all the right places."

"Mingyu..."

"How I knew the second you put it on... that I was going to be the one to take it off."

Heat shot straight through me.

"Do it, then," I whispered.

His mouth curved into a smirk. "Say it again."

I swallowed. "Take it off."

He groaned, voice thick and reverent. "Fuck, baby. You don't know what that does to me."

He tugged the dress up slowly, exposing inches of skin with every pass. I helped him, lifting my arms as he slipped it over my head, then gasped when his hands found my bare waist and pulled me into him, skin to skin.

"No underwear?" he asked, eyebrows raised, voice wrecked.

I shook my head, already breathless.

"I'm obsessed with you," he whispered, dipping to press a kiss between my breasts. "I don't even care if we eat tonight. I just want you. Like this. All night."

"Then have me," I breathed, reaching for his belt.

His mouth met mine again, hungrier this time. Desperate.

I made quick work of his pants, and when we finally collapsed onto the bed, bare and flushed, the air was thick with salt and tension.

He hovered above me, dark eyes roaming, like he couldn't decide where to start.

"You okay?" he asked, brushing his knuckles over my cheek.

"Yeah." I nodded. "Just nervous."

"Why?"

"Because it's you. Because this is real now. And because you're looking at me like you're about to ruin me."

He grinned, wicked and beautiful. "Oh, baby."

His voice dipped lower, heat curling around each word.

"I'm not gonna ruin you. I'm gonna worship you."

He kissed down my neck, over the swell of my breasts, pausing to take one in his mouth. I gasped, arching into him, hand tangled in his hair. He took his time, alternating between soft sucks and gentle flicks of his tongue until I was moaning beneath him.

"You always make those sounds for me," he murmured, lips trailing down my stomach. "No one else ever will."

"No one else gets to," I whispered.

His eyes met mine just as he settled between my thighs.

"Good girl," he said.

I gasped when his mouth met me. Hot. Wet. Tender. His tongue moved with slow precision, circling, teasing, licking until I was writhing, my legs thrown over his shoulders and my fingers clutching the sheets.

"You taste so good," he growled, voice muffled against me.

"Mingyu-" I moaned, hips rising, "Please. I need you."

He came back up, kissing my inner thighs, my stomach, my chest, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

"Say it again."

"I need you."

"Say you're mine."

"I'm yours."

He kissed me hard, aligning himself at my entrance.

And then he was inside me.

All the way. Deep. Slow. Stretching me with a fullness that had me gasping and clinging to his shoulders.

"Shit," he hissed, forehead pressed to mine. "You feel so good. You always feel so fucking good."

He started to move with long, deep thrusts that had me gasping, whining, saying his name like a mantra.

Every time he hit that spot, I shook.

Every time he kissed me, I melted.

"Open your eyes," he said. "Look at me."

I did.

"I want to see your face when I make you fall apart."

I moaned, tightening around him. "You're going to make me come."

"Good," he whispered. "I want to feel it. Let go for me, baby."

And I did.

It hit hard, shattering and full and bright, like every nerve in my body had lit up at once. I cried out his name, trembling beneath him, and he held me through it, hips stuttering until he followed, spilling into me with a loud, broken moan.

"Fuck, I love you," he breathed, kissing my shoulder. "You're everything."

I was still panting when he collapsed beside me, dragging me into his arms.

"Can I say something?" I asked, half dazed, body still tingling.

"Always."

"I want round two after a shower and a snack."

He laughed, loud and shameless. "God, I married the perfect woman."

"You really did."

The next few days, we swam in nothing but skin and salt. I wore silk robes and no makeup. He couldn't keep his hands off me and didn't try to.

Dinners were on the beach. Lobster tails and caviar and fresh coconut water from golden rimmed glasses. Mingyu surprised me with a spa day that included a gold leaf facial and diamond oil scalp massage.

One night, he ordered a stargazing cruise.

Just us. A velvet sky. And the sound of the waves against the hull while he held me in his lap and told me he'd never stop chasing the life we had, no matter what the next season looked like.

We didn't check our phones once.

We didn't need to.

We had everything we needed right there.

Then, we came home.

To racing.

To Monaco.

⸻

I always wake up first on race day.

It's a weird kind of calm. The curtains are drawn back just enough to let in the early light, casting golden streaks across our hotel room walls. The bed's warm, our legs tangled, the weight of his arm heavy around my waist.

Mingyu's breathing is steady, face soft in the quiet. He always looks younger when he sleeps. Less like the man who commands a Formula 1 car at 300 kilometers an hour and more like the boy who held my hand the day my father died.

I brush his hair back gently, thumb grazing his temple.

"Gyu," I whisper. "It's time."

He groans softly and burrows into my side.

"I just got comfortable."

"You've had eight hours to be comfortable."

"Was more like six. You wouldn't stop stealing the blanket."

I roll my eyes and lean in to kiss his forehead. "Get up, Mr. Monaco."

"Don't call me that unless I win it."

"Well then I guess I'll keep calling you fourth place."

That gets him. He huffs and stretches, eyes still closed, but grinning.

"Savage," he mutters. "Didn't think marriage made you meaner."

"It made me honest."

He finally opens one eye. "...Still love me?"

"Stupidly."

"Good," he says, already reaching for me again. "That'll come in handy when I forget to pit and nearly wreck into turn 13."

"You're not funny."

He smirks. "Not yet."

⸻

Monaco is not Monza.

Monza is loud. Brutal. Fast. Pure speed.

Monaco is precise. Surgical. There's no room for mistakes here. One missed apex and you're in the wall. No runoff. No forgiveness. Just concrete and consequences.

I feel it in my chest as we get closer to the paddock, the way the streets narrow, how the yachts rise like silver monoliths in the harbor, how every inch of this place feels tighter than it should.

I hate it. But I respect it.

Mingyu grips my hand as we step out of the car. He always knows when my thoughts are louder than I'm letting on.

"Same track," he says softly. "Different story."

"You always say that."

"And I always come back to you after, don't I?"

I nod.

That's the truth I hold onto.

⸻

He suits up while I meet with Jinho and a couple of the engineers. We go over tire strategy, timing windows, what the simulations are saying. The car's been temperamental this weekend. He qualified fifth yesterday, frustrated, but not shaken.

"He wants to push on the first stint," Jinho says, tapping his tablet. "But if it's a safety car lap ten, we'll box early. Undercut could work here."

"And if it rains?"

Jinho just sighs. "Then God's got a dark sense of humor."

I glance out at the sky. Clear for now.

Back in the garage, Mingyu's climbing into the cockpit. I wait until his helmet's on, until his gloves are secured, until everyone else has backed off.

Then I lean in, one hand on his halo.

"You drive smart," I say through the radio mic. "No hero moves."

"Yes, wife," he mutters.

"I mean it."

He lifts his visor slightly so I can see his eyes. "I'm coming back to you. No matter where I finish."

I nod once. "Good. Because I married you for your ass, not your trophies."

He laughs, shaking his head. "You're such a menace."

"Go win something."

Race Start.

It's clean. Mostly.

Leclerc takes the lead. Norris in second. Mingyu holds fifth through the first corner, staying tucked behind Sainz. The team radio crackles with updates, Jinho murmuring times in my ear.

By lap 10, the gap to the car ahead is shrinking.

"Box now?" Jinho asks me.

"No. One more lap. Tires are hanging in."

"Are you sure?"

"I know him," I say. "He needs one more lap."

And I'm right. He overtakes Sainz coming out of the tunnel, textbook. Clean.

Now he's fourth.

I watch him through the camera feed, every sector. Every turn.

My hand doesn't shake anymore. But I still hold the chain around my neck tighter than I probably should. It's my father's. It's always with me when he races.

Lap 27. A yellow flag. Someone clips the wall at Sainte Devote, but no safety car.

Mingyu keeps pushing.

Lap 30. He pits. Perfect stop. In and out in 2.4 seconds.

Lap 34.

Mingyu is still in fourth.

The entire garage is wired tight, mechanics frozen mid breath, eyes flicking between monitors. Monaco doesn't forgive mistakes. It eats hesitation for breakfast. And right now, we're one bold move away from the podium.

He's faster than Norris ahead. He knows it. We all do. But he hasn't made the move yet.

"Gap is four-tenths," Jinho says in my earpiece. "He's faster in Sector 2. Could take him out of the tunnel."

I swallow hard. "Or end up in the wall."

Jinho glances over. "You want to call it?"

I nod once. Slide the mic closer.

My voice is calm. Clear. Because it has to be.

"Mingyu."

A second of silence. Then his voice crackles in.

"Yeah."

"You're faster."

"I know."

"So what's stopping you?"

I hear him exhale, hard through the comms.

"If I dive... there's no margin. He turns in a half second late and I'm in the barrier."

"Do you trust yourself?"

Beat.

"I trust you more."

My chest tightens.

"Then listen to me."

The tunnel looms on the feed. Lights strobing across the carbon fiber of his front wing.

"Win it."

A pause.

"You sure?"

"No," I whisper. "But I married you anyway."

Another second.

Then his voice comes in low. Focused. Full of everything we've ever been through.

"I'll come back to you."

And then he goes.

Straight into the tunnel. Tires locking. The car dipping left hard, reckless, perfect. Norris doesn't even have time to cover the line. He's through.

He's third.

The garage erupts.

Jinho yells. Hands fly. Someone throws a headset.

I just sit there. Frozen. Breathing.

Lap 45. Hamilton's up next. Mingyu's front wing is practically kissing his rear tire.

"He's holding you up," I say into the mic.

"He knows it," Mingyu replies, voice raspier now. "Can I take him?"

"Only if you want a heart attack waiting in bed tonight."

He chuckles once.

"Yeah. I want the win."

"Then go get it."

And he does.

Lap 49. Mingyu fakes left in the hairpin, then flicks right, inside. It's insane. Monaco doesn't allow that kind of pass.

But he makes it.

He's second.

Leclerc's up front, crowd screaming in red and white.

I press the mic again.

"Do you want Monaco or do you want to come home?"

"I want both."

Lap 66. The move comes at Tabac. Tabac. No one overtakes there. It's suicide.

But he doesn't lift.

I can't speak. Can barely breathe.

No.

No, no, no.

"He's not gonna-" I lean forward, my breath catching. "Gyu-"

"Tabac's too narrow," Jinho mutters, alarmed now. "Tell him not to-"

But I'm already pressing the mic.

"Mingyu, don't you dare-"

"I've got it," he cuts in, voice strained but steady.

"Don't do it!" I yell, louder this time. "It's not worth-"

But he's already committed.

And I see it. I see it.

He brakes late, dances the tires across the edge of traction, and takes the lead in a cloud of disbelief.

"Jesus Christ, Gyu-"

"Still here," he pants. "Still yours."

My knees buckle. I brace a hand on the pit wall.

Jinho exhales behind me like he forgot how.

"He made it," someone says.

I don't move. I can't. My hands are shaking, my eyes wide, locked on the feed like I'm waiting for it to rewind and prove me wrong.

"YN?" His voice crackles in my headset, ragged with effort. "You still there?"

My throat burns. "You weren't supposed to do that."

"I told you I'd come back."

"I thought-" My voice breaks. "I thought you were going t-"

"I didn't."

Silence.

"I'm still here," he says quietly. "For you."

⸻

Lap 70.

He's holding the lead now. My breathing hasn't evened out. I keep my mic off. If I speak, I'll lose it.

Jinho's giving him standard updates, sector times, pressure from behind. But I know Mingyu can still feel me on the line.

Because he keeps saying things like:

"This is for her."

"Tell her I'm okay."

"She's why I brake late and stay alive."

⸻

Final Lap. Lap 78.

He's golden.

Every apex kisses his tires. Every turn flows like a man dancing with death and calling it a partner. He doesn't touch the wall. Not again.

Not once.

⸻

Lap 78. Checkered flag.

Mingyu wins Monaco.

The roar is deafening. Mingyu's name lights up the leaderboard in gold.

P1 – K. Mingyu

The garage explodes in cheers, hugs, and chaos.

I don't move.

I'm still clutching the wall like it's the only thing keeping me upright. My chest is burning, my vision blurry. He won. He won.

And he scared the hell out of me.

The car rolls into parc fermé, still steaming. He rips off his gloves, tears the helmet from his head, and before the mechanics can even swarm him, he's already moving.

Straight for me.

No interviews. No fist pumps. Just tunnel vision.

Me.

"YN!" he shouts over the noise, voice raw. "YN!"

And when he reaches me, I barely have a second to breathe before he's in front of me, sweaty, flushed, shaking with adrenaline and smiling like a man who just rewrote the universe.

"I told you," he pants, grabbing my waist like he's anchoring himself. "I told you I'd come back to you-"

I shove him.

Hard.

Right in the chest.

Not enough to hurt but enough to make him stumble.

"What the hell was that?" I choke, voice trembling. "Are you out of your goddamn mind?!"

He blinks. "What?"

"TABAC, Mingyu? Really? You dive bombed a Ferrari at TABAC?!"

"I-" he grins, sheepish. "You told me to go for the win!"

"I didn't say almost die while trying!"

He laughs, wrapping his arms around me before I can protest, holding me tight even as I half punch his back in a fit of nerves.

"You scared me," I whisper into his shoulder. "So bad."

"I know," he says, voice quieter now. "But I had to. I felt it."

I look up at him, eyes stinging. "You're not allowed to feel anything until I give you CPR first."

He laughs again, this time, softer. "I'm okay. I'm really okay."

"I know," I murmur, resting my forehead against his. "I just needed to say it. Out loud. Because watching you risk it like that... I thought I was gonna lose you."

"You won't," he says instantly. "Not today. Not ever. I came back."

"And next time?"

"Next time," he promises, "I'll scare everyone else first."

I snort, then press a kiss to his jaw. "You better. I'm not going through that again."

"Deal," he whispers, grinning as he leans in. "But admit it. I looked hot doing it."

"You looked like a dumbass in a death trap," I shoot back, already kissing him before he can laugh again.

And when the crowd around us cheers louder, when the champagne starts popping and the reporters call his name, we stay right there.

Wrapped up in each other.

Alive.

I toss my earrings onto the marble counter, watching them spin to a stop. The bathroom light is warm, soft, and everything feels a little surreal in its stillness.

The race ended hours ago. The champagne's dried. The cameras are gone. The whole of Monaco has settled into its golden hum of post party haze.

And Mingyu?

He's in the other room, humming to himself as he unzips his race suit, trailing it off his shoulders and hanging it on the back of a chair. He's shirtless underneath, hair still damp from the podium spray, and smiling like he's got secrets tucked in his dimples.

We're in our comedown phase now.

The real life part.

The part that matters.

I pull the tie from my hair and glance at him through the mirror. He catches my eye and grins.

"What?" I ask.

He walks in behind me, hands slipping around my waist, bare chest pressing into my back. His chin rests on my shoulder.

"You looked good in the garage today," he murmurs. "All bossed up and biting your nails."

"You looked like a lunatic diving at Tabac," I deadpan, reaching for the cleanser.

He chuckles, kissing the curve of my neck. "Still got the win."

"Still shaved a year off my life."

"You married me knowing the risk."

"And yet," I mutter, squeezing product into my palm.

We brush our teeth together. Shoulder to shoulder. Married people things.

I rinse and pat my face dry while he spits and glances sideways at me.

"Back hurting?"

"A little."

He disappears into the room and comes back with the massage oil from his kit. "Turn around."

I do. He starts working into my shoulders with those warm, calloused hands slow, practiced, gentle. I melt instantly.

We don't talk.

Just soft jazz in the background from the TV we left on and the occasional Monaco breeze sneaking through the cracked balcony door.

After, I crawl onto the bed in my robe and he joins me, still in his boxers, hair tousled and eyes sleepy.

We don't need much to feel like home.

He spoons me from behind, pulling the blanket over us with a quiet yawn.

"Did I scare you that bad today?" he asks into my shoulder.

"Yeah," I admit.

"You hit me harder than the G-force."

"You deserved it."

A beat of silence.

"Would it help if I promised never to try that move again?"

"No," I say. "But it would help if you let me pick your overtakes next time, Mr. Monaco."

He snorts. "Deal."

I trace the scar near his rib, the one from last season's crash.

"You're all I have, you know," I whisper.

"I know," he says, voice low. "Same goes for me."

He kisses the back of my shoulder, his hand is in my hair, gently combing through the knots with his fingers. No words. Just the rhythm of his breathing beneath me, chest rising and falling like it has all the time in the world.

We've been quiet for a while.

It's quiet in the way that makes you feel like you're the last two people on earth. No cameras. No headlines. Just us.

Mingyu's legs are tangled with mine under the blanket. My cheek is pressed to his collarbone. His other hand is tracing the top of my spine, fingertips lazy, deliberate.

"Let's disappear," he says suddenly, voice low and scratchy against the hush.

I shift to look up at him. "Disappear?"

He nods, eyes still halflidded. "Just you and me. Somewhere warm. Somewhere no one knows my name and I don't have to put on a suit unless you ask nicely."

I smile, dragging my fingers across his chest. "Are you asking me to run away with you, Mr. Kim?"

He hums. "No. I'm telling you I already booked the flights."

My eyes widen. "You did not."

He smirks. "Villa in Crete. Secluded. Private pool. Outdoor shower. No agenda. Just us, white sheets, and whatever you want for breakfast every morning."

"You're serious."

"Dead serious."

I sit up a little, stunned. "When?"

"Day after tomorrow."

"Mingyu, we just got back from-"

"I cleared it with your calendar, too," he says casually, pulling me back down against him. "Your assistant's a gem. She said you've been needing a break."

"You're ridiculous."

"And you're overworked," he murmurs into my hair. "You always take care of me. Let me take care of you this time."

I'm quiet.

Because how do you even respond to that?

He turns on his side, propping his head up with his hand. "Come on. Picture it. You in a linen dress. Me in too short swim trunks. Sunsets. No emails. No calls. Just you laughing barefoot in the kitchen while I burn eggs."

I bite my lip to hide the smile. "You don't even like eggs."

"I like you. That's enough."

I groan into the pillow. "Stop saying stuff like that unless you want me to cry."

He leans in and kisses the tip of my nose. "We could take a boat out. Swim until sunset. Make love on a patio no one else can see. You can read. I'll sleep. And when you're bored, I'll cook for you."

"You'll cook for me?"

"I'll attempt. You'll laugh. We'll survive."

I shake my head, heart feeling too full. "You really booked Crete?"

"Surprise," he whispers. "I want to be selfish with you for a little while longer.”

I curl into him, kiss the corner of his mouth, and rest my forehead to his.

"Okay," I whisper. "Let's disappear."

His grin is soft. Slow. Married.

"God, I love you," he says, like it's easy.

Like it always has been.

And that night, before the world can knock on our door again, we dream in linen and lemon trees, tangled in each other and the life we're quietly building. A life that's not always loud. But full.

Exactly how we want it.

⤷ network tags: @svthub @k-films @blossomnet

･ ⟢ ⋮ svt masterlist

[writersdrug]

I need, need need neeeeed to know who you would picture bar owner price with 😩 picturing bar owner price has me week in the knees. I need more, how would he be around the bar when he was there? Supporting, bossy,silly? The possibilities are endless. 🥰

I'm loving how people are requesting things for the rest of the 141!!

Bar Owner!Price isn't there every day, and most often not during the actual shift. He's there some mornings, already at his desk on the floor above the pub, setting up the next inventory order and dealing out everyone's tips before Simon climbs down from his flat on the third floor. They both grunt at each other, tired and in need of a hot breakfast and some tea.

He helps set up for the shift - he likes being in the kitchen with Soap. He feels bad the man is back there all by himself, even though he says he doesn't mind it. "I get to cuss 'n bitch all I want back 'ere, sir." Still, Price spends a majority of his time back there with him, prepping burger patties and making sure everything is stocked and ready. Gets on his case about updating the menu, but Soap insists the customers like it the way it is.

Price makes an appearance on the floor every now and then, opting to help run food or bartend on the busier nights. He checks in with the regulars, leaning his forearms on the bar with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, laughing and chatting with them and occasionally offering to refill their drinks. Simon grumbles quietly about him being in the way, but Price doesn't take it to heart.

He doesn't stay late. John isn't that old, but he likes to be back at home by a decent hour. One ruined sleep schedule and he's a shot for the rest of the week. He likes to get back to his flat, make himself a sandwich and pour himself some whiskey, and be on on his sofa and reading his book no later than ten in the evening. Routines have always been a part of his military career, and what can he say? Old habits really fo die hard.

Then you came along.

You didn't just rock Simon's world - you'd gotten Price, too. Though introductions could have been smoother (you nearly beat him with a keg when he came in through the back door and scared you), he's grown fond of you. First, as a hard worker and go-getter; then, as a pretty little waitress with a dazzling smile that likes to keep him on his toes. You love poking fun at him, calling him "bossman" or "barmaster" (doesn't make sense to him, since he's hardly behind the bar - but he finds it cute). You tease him for the way he runs your food, then gets stuck at the table for five minutes just chatting up the customers. You ask him things like, "Who do you prefer, Cardi B or Nicki Minaj?" And laugh when he just stares at you with a furrowed brow. He'll happily let you tease him for being an "old" man just to hear your laughter.

Then Simon sent that photo in the group chat, and Price felt something stir in his chest: looking at you, posing all prettily for your picture, working to push your little idea out there and bring in a crowd. He's impressed, but he's also intrigued. He's got his sights on you, and he's dying to figure out more about his waitress.

"'S the post making any headway?" He asks one night, leaning on the bar next to where you sit. Your tips are finished, money waded into the pocket of your apron as you scroll on your phone, sipping on a screwdriver.

"Kinda..." You mumble, a pout on your face, creasing the skin between your eyebrows. "People are seeing it, and there are a few likes, but no one's really engaging. Not sure if this will do well."

Price hums thoughtfully, looking at your lips while you stare at your screen. He's holding back the urge to lean in and take a whiff of your perfume, afraid it might seem just a bit too strange. "Have you tried promoting it?"

You look at him, laying your phone on the bar top. "Well... I could, but..." You wanted to finish with 'it would cost money'. But then, you'd be insinuating that you expected him to pay you. You could boost the post yourself, but you'd rather not spend money on something that might flop.

"'S there a problem?" Price asked, leaning in closer to you.

"I mean... promoting a post costs some money. Like, for it to be advertised to five hundred people, you'd pay around one fifty. And I think, depending on how far you wanted the post to reach - like, literally, how big of a geographic area - that would cost even more."

Price chuckles. "You do realize how much business you've brought in since you've joined the team, hmm?"

That makes your cheeks warm, pressing your lips into a line to avoid grinning like an idiot at the compliment. "I mean... sure..."

"Go upstairs to the office and get my wallet." he says, standing up from his seat at the bar.

You watch with a stupefied expression as he walks to the POS and prints some blank receipt paper. "You- you mean it? Are you sure?"

He sits on a barstool near the kitchen door. "Wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it. Hurry up- before I change my mind."

You don't need to be told twice. You drop your phone onto the bar and bolt towards the stairs - you stop yourself, running back to where Price sits and hugging him from behind. He lets out a surprise grunt as you do your best to smother him.

"You're the best boss ever!" you squeal. Then, just like that - you're off to the office upstairs. He preens over the compliment as he hears you leaping two steps at a time.

"Be careful." he calls over his shoulder. He sits there a moment, staring at the paper in front of him. He's surprised he hadn't accidentally thrown you off of him purely out of instinct, but he can't say he isn't absolutely delighted by the hug. It lingers in his mind, his chest still remembering your arms around him. He shakes his head, reaching forward to grab a pen from behind the bar.

His eyes meet Simon's - the man is glaring daggers, his head framed by the window in the kitchen door, mask hanging from his ear. His lips are pulled down into quite possibly the angriest frown Price has ever seen. His nostrils flare as he exhales - Price wonders what sort of insults are flying through the bartender's head right now.

He glares right back. If Simon wants something, he'll give it to him. But he'll make him ask for it, like any normal human being. John isn't going to surrender just because Ghost is huffing and puffing, expecting his boss to back away from you just because he's stomping his foot and looking menacing. But how can he be sure that Simon really wants you, more than he thinks Price deserves you, if the lad won't say anything? It's only reasonable, right?

"If you want something, Simon, say something." Price calls out, never backing down from Simon's jealous gaze.

He huffs again and disappears from the kitchen window. Price can hear shuffling and banging, followed by Soap's irritated voice: "Oi, I got it! Get yourself outta my kitchen n' go your own shite, 'fore you break my stuff."

Price sighs, scribbling down some numbers on the paper in front of him. He'll cave, eventually.

[satori-runa]

—Under Terms and Service

Summary: Ena and you embark on a business based dinner date!

Tags: ooc, not proof read, romance, comedy

Words: 0,7k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Ena glanced at you. You glanced back.

"A contract?" you asked, raising a brow.

Ena nodded, her signature smile lighting up her face, charming, surreal, and just a little bit unsettling in the way only Ena could be. “Absolutely! To cover the points under the terms and service document and make sure that both sides are compensated. Someone like you, a fellow smart mind, would understand how business goes, right?” she said smoothly, holding up a piece of paper and pointing at the blank line meant for your signature.

You sighed, but you couldn’t help the amused smile tugging at your lips. “Well, I guess it's needed.” Your eyes flicked to the line of people growing outside your favorite restaurant. It was couples’ discount night—one you’d been looking forward to—but you had to find a date, even if it's fake. That's when Ena, ever the business opportunist , offered to step in as your pretend girlfriend.

All it took was a signature, and just like that, Ena was officially your partner for the night.

As you both reached the front of the line, the person at the entrance gave you a long, skeptical look. Maybe they sensed something was off. Maybe they saw right through your little charade.

But before you could even open your mouth, Ena stepped forward with theatrical flair.

“HOW DARE YOU TO ASSUME THAT I'M NOT ABSOLUTELY MADLY IN LOVE WITH THEM?!” she shouted, voice shaking with raw, chaotic emotion. “A LONELY MAGGOT LIKE YOU COULDN'T GRASP MY AFFECTION FOR MY PARTNER!”

The poor host flinched hard, eyes wide. Ena wasn’t joking, and if she was, she sold it terrifyingly well.

“I love my partner very much,” she added with a proud huff, her voice smooth like honey, “more than any paid vacation days.”

And with that, she grabbed your hand, smiling sweetly as if the outburst hadn’t just shattered the restaurant’s vibe like a thrown plate. You had no choice but to go along, blushing and trying not to laugh too hard.

Dinner was… intense.

The moment you sat down, Ena adjusted her seat like it was a throne. Her smile returned, bright and poised. “This is delightful, isn’t it? The ambiance, the lighting, perfect for a romantic evening between two… committed individuals.” She leaned forward just enough to bat her lashes at you. “And remember, any additional sides are covered under subsection 4-B of our temporary partnership clause.”

You blinked. “There’s a subsection?”

“There is now,” she grinned, sipping from her water like it was vintage wine.

The waiter approached, just barely

masking his discomfort. “And for the couple tonight, have you decided—?”

“ONLY THE MOST EXPENSIVE AND BEST OF COURSE!” Ena snapped. The waiter flinched.

You tried to intervene. “Actually, maybe something in the middle rang—”

“Silence, darling.” Ena turned her head dramatically toward you, voice low and venomously sweet. “Your opinions are valued, but we agreed, I am leading this date. Article 2, remember?” Her smile was the kind that made the hairs on your neck stand up.

But a beat later, she laughed and winked at the server. “Kidding! Just kidding. We’ll go with two of the set menus, please. Perfect for lovers, right? Because we’re so deeply in love and compatible and emotionally entangled.” Her tone dripped with sugar.

The waiter fled. Probably for his life.

You leaned in. “Are you trying to scare everyone into thinking we’re real?”

“I’m trying to win,” Ena whispered back. “There’s no prize, but I like winning anyway.”

Throughout dinner, her personalities flicked like a light switch. One moment she was feeding you a bite of bread and cooing, “Oh, open up, my sweet tax deduction~” and the next, she was glaring daggers at a passing couple. “If they look at us like that again, I smack their heads inside their soup.”

You weren’t sure if you should be afraid or impressed.

Probably both.

Midway through dessert, Ena leaned back in her seat with a satisfied hum, fingers interlocked behind her head. “This was a good idea. You get food, I get emotional dominance, and together, we get a 30% discount.”

You tried not to laugh. “So this is just business to you?”

She turned to you with a completely straight face. “Absolutely. Unless, of course…” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’ve caught feelings, haven’t you?”

You nearly choked on your drink.

Ena burst into a delighted laugh, her eyes glitching slightly in color and shape. “Relax, I’m only teasing. Probably. Maybe. Contractually, I’m not allowed to say.”

You stared at her. “...You are chaos.”

“I am your girlfriend,” she corrected with a wicked grin. “At least until the check comes.

[angelic--kitty]

dilf arlecchino stretching out a virgin reader on her fat cock

dom!dilf arlecchino x sub!fem reader

warnings: smut (minors/ageless blogs dni), wlw content, transfem!arlecchino, virgin!reader, age-gap (arle is in her late 30s, reader is in her early 20s), size kink, fingering, penetration, handjob

a/n: tagging my favorite silly @myfriendscallmebun who i hope enjoys this ♡ this is so long

she first hired you merely as a form of entertainment for her children. someone eager to please who wouldn't require such a large salary. someone who, at least, would never ask someone like her for more than she offered.

it's a surprising decision, on her end, to select a college girl to watch over her precious children. though, you presented yourself so nicely at the interview, and your references and resume did you well.

besides, it might be nice for the children to be around someone closer to their age for a change. they often spent time with arlecchino herself and occasionally her coworkers.

and, you had grown on her.

it's been nearly two months since you started working for her, and a few weeks since you began passing flirtatious remarks to one another.

the thing that finally melted her heart was an evening she worked late. she was already irritated her children would be asleep when she got home, but she felt guilty making you stay hours late at her home.

much to her surprise (and inner delight), when she came home, she found the children tucked into their beds, and you standing so sweetly at the door.

you had slipped her jacket off, hanging it up and tugging her into the kitchen. sure enough, you had saved her a plate of the spaghetti you made, along with a glass of her favorite red wine.

that was the day when she finally asked you to accompany her on a proper date.

and, now, here you are, standing in front of your mirror, fussing with your dress and jewelry. the dress she had bought for you special for tonight. it was black, falling just below your knees- rather classy for someone so young.

20 minutes. in 20 minutes she was picking you up.

nervous as you were, you couldn't believe you were going on a date with her. especially to somewhere so expensive and exclusive.

it was some sort of upscale bar with expensive alcohol and food. somewhere arlecchino claimed to frequent often when she needed alone time.

you almost broke out into laughter when she admitted she hired childe, her younger coworker, for the evening to watch her children.

"oh, i'm not concerned for my childrens' safety. if anything, he should be afraid for his own." was her reply, a small smirk on her lips that you nearly missed.

she lead you into the restaurant with confidence, turning heads, eliciting whispers as she kept her hand on the small of your back while the waiter brought you to your table.

"what do you think so far?" she asked, her wine glass already being filled, no need to speak her order.

"it's...definitely different than what i'm used to. but it's really nice. i like having an excuse to dress up a little." you smile at her and she raises her glass to her lips.

"i want to spoil you for the evening. for not only treating my children so well, but because you are an exceptional woman. i only hope my gestures come off as genuine as i intend." she sips her wine, setting it down to begin rambling to you about the menu.

but you're not quite listening, distracted by her hands, her lips, her eyes. how could someone be so perfect?

she's quite a bit older than you, probably much more experienced. does she truly feel the same way you do? and-

"sweetheart?" she breaks you from your thoughts and you stiffen up.

"i'm sorry- i'm listening!" you squeak, but she sees right through you.

although, she finds it rather cute. she's noticed before, obviously. your wandering eyes, the way you bite your lip when she picks up something heavy like it's nothing, or how your thighs press together when she takes a stern tone.

she simply wants to know the depths of your affection for her. after all, she has similar thoughts of you.

"which dish would you like then?" she asks pointedly, allowing you to hold the menu with shaky hands.

"ah...um..." the words blur together, not registering. "what do you recommend?"

she tilts her head, taking the menu back. "allow me to order for you then."

you like when she takes control. she knows what she wants, and she will have it. you wish it a quality you embodied more, though she fascinates you. it is almost natural to her.

dinner goes rather smoothly, and you get to taste test a few different wines, but not nearly enough to get you even remotely tipsy.

"i much prefer coherent company." her lips quirk up as she says this, and you laugh behind your hand.

she's funny, you admit. her dry humor is one of your favorite things about her.

it's a shame when dinner comes to an end, but you two mutually draw it out as long as you can. you share a dessert, and plenty of good conversation about yourselves. you learn things about her you never would've thought, and likewise for her.

the ride back to your place is just as pleasant, though you feel nervous inside. you want to make a move. you want to ask her to come inside. to stay...

but you couldn't possibly. that would be absurd... right?

regardless, she walks you in, ensuring you get into your place safely. she's a gentleman in how she holds your bags and all the doors at every stop.

the little bit of wine in your system has you feeling bold, stopping her in her tracks before she could put her shoes back on. "wait! why... don't you stay for a little? i could make us some tea. herbal! so you won't...uh... be awake all night."

she merely tilts her head, nodding either way. she listens to your rambling about the tea and the coffee mugs you have, her eyes wandering your walls when she sees familiar art.

"did the children draw these?" she interrupts, taking one off the wall.

it's a rather rudimentary stick-figure drawing, but she can tell who each one represents. this is one of lynette's drawings. she's drawn herself with pretty blue bows, along with her brothers, and, of course, their father.

and you.

there you are, standing on the other side as if you were the mother to complete their family portrait.

"oh- those? yeah, the kids drew them for me... i thought they were really cute, so i kept them." you smile and her heart flutters.

she skims her fingers over the papers, pausing when she sees one from freminet. he's drawn a flower field of green scribbles and rainbow dots, the children playing on a swingset while you and arlecchino watch.

with the words 'mom' and 'dad' written above your heads.

she can hear you nervously talking to fill the silence, and she turns to you. "they really do seem to enjoy having you around." she murmurs. "as do i."

you look up at her, feeling her lean in, gently holding your waist. "am i being too forward?" she asks, breath fanning over the side of your face as you shiver.

"not at all-" you breathe out, trembling as she lifts your chin gently. she can see your anticipation.

"you're not phased by our gap in experience?" she asks. "it's inevitable. i cannot change it, but i do not want you to feel forced."

"i actually like it. i really like it." you blurt, catching her off guard.

"oh?" her voice is low, sultry as she cups your jaw. "is this alright with you, then?"

"please-" and that's all she needs to connect your lips, kissing you so softly at first. her tongue gently prods for entrance, and she can instantly tell you truly are inexperienced.

she pulls away, gently swiping a thumb over your cheek. "is this your first time?"

"you could tell?" you groan, and she nearly melts.

"it is not shameful to wait. i only want you to be sure this is what you want." she explains, stroking your cheek as your eyes flutter shut.

"i want you. please? i want you to take it." you leave it open for interpretation, but she knows exactly what you're referring to.

"if you're certain, then i'd be honored, sweetheart." she says so gently you'd think she was someone else.

you bring her to your room, cringing at the mess. "i know it isn't what you're used to but mmph-!" you whimper when she kisses you, pulling you onto her lap on the bed.

she trails kisses down your neck, watching you tilt your head back instinctively. you pant, overwhelmed so quickly she almost feels guilty.

keyword: almost.

instead, it makes her twitch within the confines of her expensive suit slacks.

her hand tangles into the back of your hair, tugging you firmly so she can nip at your jaw. she takes it slow, easing you into things until you're practically begging her to go further.

your dress slides off slowly, a treat waiting when she sees the pretty matching lingerie set beneath. it's white and lacy, delicate, something she could easily tear right off, and it drives her mad.

"aren't you full of surprises? naughty ones at that." she tuts, squeezing your jaw as you gasp.

she unclips the bra, her gently squeezing your breasts as you moan for her.

she teases your nipples until they go pert, wrapping her tongue around them as you arch up into her.

you're being vulnerable with her; she knows this much. she holds you steady, ensuring you feel safe on her lap before pulling away with a soft 'pop.'

she unbuttons her shirt, tugging it off to match you. she watches your eyes go wide, eager yet embarrassed as she tosses her bra aside with the shirt.

"you're so...pretty." you gasp quietly, eyes wide.

"you can touch me, sweetheart." she pulls your hand to her chest, allowing you to explore. your fingers clumsily rub her nipples and she grunts, guiding them into place.

"does it feel good?" you ask her so hesitantly, and she kisses the top of your head.

"you're doing well." she watches your gaze slide down, eyeing the growing bulge in her pants. she dryly grunts, lifting your chin up. "something catch your eye?"

"i... i'm sorry- i didn't mean to stare-" your words are mumbled, your face hot as your mouth goes dry.

"you're curious. that's alright." she brushes a thumb over your lips, coaxing you to open up.

she slides her thumb over your tongue, gently easing it a little further until you gag, keeping you just like that. your eyes are so wide and pretty, glazed over with untapped lust.

she hums thoughtfully before withdrawing, using the thumb to brush over the front of your panties. you gasp, thighs snapping shut as she pushes them back apart.

she lightly smacks your thigh. "keep them open." she rubs gentle circles on your clothed clit, your body clearly unsure how to react. she can see it doesn't take much to bring you to the edge, and she lightens her touch, able to control her own desires with ease.

her hand comes back to your lips, sliding your wetness over your tongue while her free hand slides your panties to the side.

something you've missed before, but she's filed her nails down on this hand. just for you, though only she knew that.

she gently slides her fingers through your folds, hearing you whimper and squirm on her lap. she tucks your head under her chin while she eases a finger into you, feeling you squeeze so tight around just one digit.

she gives you time to adjust, feeling you clutch her wrist. you're such an angel, aren't you? holding so tightly to her, so cute, all while you fidget right above her confined cock, inevitably making her grow harder.

her second finger slides in slowly, with an intent to stretch you out enough to take her cock more comfortably. she curls them inside of you, hearing you whine loudly into her neck.

"ah- that feels-!" you squeal when she brushes against your g-spot. her finger pads rub into it, and you tremble, thighs clamping down on her hand.

"relax." she reminds you, pumping her fingers in and out, slick sounds filling the air. she stretches you out every so often, spreading her fingers slightly and hearing you whimper so sweetly.

your hand clumsily rests on her bulge and her fingers still as she inhales sharply.

"i... want to- try and make you feel good too..." you whisper, looking up at her.

and who is she to deny such a sweet girl?

she pops open the button, unzipping her pants and freeing her cock, allowing you to see her.

your eyes go comically wide, shocked by the size. "that's... i-"

she can feel your walls fluttering around her fingers and she nearly moans. "it's alright. don't be nervous." she practically reads your mind, soothing your concerns as her free hand unwraps itself from your body, collecting some of the messy slick from your thighs, sliding it over herself.

"you haven't done this before, i presume?" she's met with a shake of your head. she proceeds to guide your hand in wrapping around her cock. she hisses through her teeth. "archons-" she groans lowly, her fingers resuming their gentle in and out motions while she guides you to stroke her cock.

"tighter." she tells you, feeling your hand grip more firmly, her pre-cum oozing over your hand, spreading across her cock. "good girl-" she praises and you clench around her fingers once more.

she says nothing, but she knows exactly how her words affect you. such a sweet little thing you are, curled up on her lap, fingers stuffed inside of you while your hand wraps around her cock.

her hand covers yours still, dwarfing your hand and guiding you into her preferred rhythm. "that's it. you're doing well-" she tips her head back, hips grinding into your hand as she lets go.

she allows you to move your hand on your own, finger-fucking you faster. she knows you're losing focus, too overwhelmed by your own need to cum, though she doesn't mind too much. you're just so sweet with how your moans pick up in volume, your eyes closing as your hips chase her hand.

"go on." she tells you, her voice stern as you release around her digits like such a good girl for her.

she slides her fingers out, admiring the webbed slick coating them, cleaning them in her own mouth as you shyly hide in her chest.

she pulls you away, laying you on the bed. "wait! you didn't get to..."

she shakes her head, pushing her hair back. "hush." she simply says, spreading your thighs, pushing them up to your chest. it exposes you perfectly, allowing you to feel shy, yet unable to cover yourself as she studies your twitchy cunt.

arlecchino uses one hand to guide herself through your slick, sensitive folds, gathering the remnants of your orgasm. she is gentle when she slides into you for the first time, a thumb on your stiff, swollen clit to ease the stretch.

she watches your eyebrows furrow, nose crinkling as she stretches you out. "so big-" you whine, chest arching up against her own.

your moans are melodies to her, feeling you flutter around her was like heaven. she lifts you up to sit on her lap while she leans back, guiding you to slowly take more of her in.

"too much!" you whine, looking down.

"you haven't taken all of me yet." she hushes you, easing you down to swallow her all in your pussy until you're mewling incoherently.

"full-" your head falls back and she grabs your hips, her nails leaving sharp little indents as she guides you to shallowly fuck yourself on her cock.

"such a pretty little thing." she coos, slowly growing more harsh, grinding up into you.

and, oh, you sing for her the rougher she gets. you urge her to grow bolder, now using your body as a toy while you desperately try to match her tempo.

you're inexperienced, but oh, so eager to please, aren't you? what a good girl.

she grabs your ass, fucking you on her cock while you keep a vice grip, your tits bouncing with each thrust. "oh- archons!" you squeal.

arlecchino picks you up like you weigh nothing at all, settling you beneath her instead, fucking into you with boundless energy.

she knows the right spots to fuck, where and how to grind herself into a woman, she knows exactly when to speed up and slow down. yet it seems you don't even know your own body fully.

and the thought of helping you explore with her is enough to have her twitching inside of you.

your incessant mewling and moaning of her name is driving her mad for you. her hand wraps around your throat, earning her breathless gasps as she urges you to cum for her.

"be a good little pet and cum." she orders, slick sounds penetrating the air, the smell of sex coating you both. "cum for me."

she rubs your clit harshly, watching you shake as you do cum, tightening up around her cock, sending her eyes rolling back into her head.

the moment you loosen up, she pulls out, cumming onto your tummy, creating a filthy mess as she moans deeply for you.

"fuck..." she sighs, squeezing her cock to ease the rest of her cum onto your skin.

you pant, looking up at her. your eyes are blown wide, but you look exhausted as you lay limply beneath her.

and, well, you'll soon learn her cock may need time to recover, but her mouth and fingers certainly don't...

[friendlyneighborhoodshark]

"How to Life" Masterlist

Cleaning and Tidying

Make your bed in the morning. It takes seconds, and it's worth it.

Reset to zero each morning.

Use the UFYH 20/10 system for clearing your shit.

Have a 'drop-zone' box where you dump anything and everything. At the beginning/end of the day, clear it out and put that shit away.

Automate your chores. Have a cleaning schedule and assign 15mins daily to do whatever cleaning tasks are set for that day. Set a timer and do it once the timer is up, finish the task you're on and leave it for the day.

Fold your clothes straight out of the tumble dryer (if you use one), whilst they're still warm. This minimises creases and eliminates the need for ironing.

Clean your footwear regularly and you'll feel like a champ.

Organisation and Productivity

Learn from Eisenhower's Importance/Urgency matrix.

Try out the two-minute rule and the Pomodoro technique.

Use. A. Planner. (Or Google Calendar, if that's more your thing.)

Try bullet journalling.

Keep a notebook/journal/commonplace book to dump your brain contents in on the regular.

Set morning alarms at two-minute intervals rather than five, and stick your alarm on the other side of the room. It's brutal, but it works.

Set three main goals each day, with one of them being your #1 priority. Don't overload your to-do list or you'll hit overload paralysis and procrastinate.

If you're in a slump, however, don't be afraid to put things like "shower" on your to do list - that may be a big enough goal in itself, and that's okay.

Have a physical inbox - a tray, a folder, whatever. If you get a piece of paper, stick it in there and sort through it at the end of the week.

Consider utilising the GTD System, or a variation of it.

Try timeboxing.

Have a morning routine, and guard that quiet time ferociously.

Have a folder for all your important documents and letters, organised by topic (e.g. medical, bank, university, work, identification). At the front of this folder, have a sheet of paper with all the key information written on it, such as your GP's details, your passport details, driving licence details, bank account number, insurance number(s), and so on.

Schedule working time and down time alike, in the balance that works for you.

Money

Have. A. God. Damn. Budget.

Use a money tracker like toshl, mint, or splitwise. Enter all expenses asap! (You will forget, otherwise.)

Have a 'money date' each week, where you sort through your finances from the past seven days and then add it to a spreadsheet. This will help you identify your spending patterns and whether your budget is actually working or not.

Pack your own frickin' lunch like a grown-up and stop buying so many takeaway coffees. Keep snacks in your bag.

Food and Cooking

Know how to cook the basics: a starch, a protein, a vegetable, and a sauce.

Simple, one-pot meals ("a grain, a green, and a bean") are a godsend.

Batch cook and freeze. Make your own 'microwave meals'.

Buy dried goods to save money - rice and beans are a pittance.

Consider Meatless Mondays; it's healthier, cheaper, and more environmentally friendly.

Learn which fruits and vegetables are cheapest at your store, and build a standard weekly menu around those. (Also remember that frozen vegetables are cheap and healthy.)

Learn seasoning combinations. Different seasoning, even with the exact same ingredients, can make a dish seem completely new.

Misc

Have a stock email-writing format.

Want to start running, but find it boring? Try Zombies, Run!.

Keep a goddamn first aid kit and learn how to use it.

Update your CV regularly.

Keep a selection of stamps and standard envelopes for unexpected posting needs. (It happens more regularly than you would think!)

[sweetmisery]

first kiss with piwon | maknae line

pairing: intak | soul | jongseob x female!reader

genre: fluff

a/n: pt 2 of sharing your first kiss with piwon, hope you like it :)

part 1 - hyung line

INTAK - Nervous Hearts

The cozy hum of the restaurant surrounded you, warm candlelight flickering between you and Intak as you sat at your table. The soft clink of silverware and low chatter of other diners created a soothing atmosphere, but you couldn’t help noticing how nervous Intak seemed.

His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his napkin, his gaze darting between you and the menu as if he were afraid to mess up even the simplest decision. You tried to keep the mood light, but a part of you wondered why he was so tense.

Then again, maybe you already knew.

Earlier in the week, Theo had let slip the reason for Intak’s nervousness.

“So,” Theo started, resting his arms on the guitar he was lazily strumming minutes before as he leaned back in his chair. “Intak likes you.”

Your heart skipped. The words hit you like a soft blow, and for a second, you weren‘t sure if you heard him right. “Wait- what?” you blurted, sitting up straighter.

Theo laughed, shaking his head. “You heard me.”

The disbelief bubbled up, and yet… it didn‘t. Not completely. You blinked at him, trying to piece together your thoughts, but all you can picture is Intak - confident, easygoing Intak - stumbling over his words the last time he talked to you. The way he avoided your eyes and suddenly seemed more interested in his shoelaces. The way his smile lingered just a little too long before he quickly looked away, a faint pink dusting his cheeks.

“You’re serious?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

“Dead serious.” Theo grinned, setting the guitar aside. “He told me himself.”

The admission sent another jolt through you. Intak told Theo? Theo, your protective, overbearing older brother? The idea was almost laughable.

“And?” you pressed, your curiosity outweighing your shock. “What did you say?”

Theo leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees as he gave you a pointed look. “I gave him the big-brother talk, of course.”

Your brows furrowed. “The big-brother talk?”

“You know, the ’don‘t hurt her or else‘ talk.” He shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Told him I’ll break his nose if he hurts you, that kind of thing. He looked like he was about to faint, though. Honestly, I think the guy’s more scared of disappointing you than me.”

You had just stared at him, completely floored. "You're unbelievable," you had muttered, pressing your palm to your forehead.

You were still processing the sheer absurdity of Theo having this conversation with Intak - your Intak, the one who practically radiated self-assurance on stage but turned into a completely different person around you.

Theo picked up his guitar again, strumming a lazy tune like he hadn’t just turned your world upside down. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he said casually.

“For what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“For giving him the green light,” he said with a smirk. “Otherwise, he probably would’ve just kept staring at you from across the room like a weirdo.”

You groaned, throwing a pillow at him as he laughed. But beneath the teasing and the embarrassment, there was that same warm feeling growing inside you.

Intak liked you.

Theo’s expression softened, though there was still a mock sternness in voice. “But just so you know, I’m watching him. And you, too.”

Back in the present, you glanced at Intak as he nervously adjusted his silverware, his expression so earnest that you felt your heart soften even more.

“You okay?” you asked gently.

“Y-Yeah,” he said quickly, though his fingers fumbled as he reached for his glass. “I’m fine. Totally fine.”

But as soon as the words left his mouth, his hand slipped, and the glass tipped over. The dark liquid spilled across the table, pooling near your plate and dripping onto your dress.

Intak froze, his eyes wide with panic. “Oh no! I-I’m so sorry!” He frantically reached for napkins, but they scattered from his hands onto the floor.

You couldn’t help it - you laughed. The situation, his reaction, all of it was too endearing.

“Hey, it’s fine,” you said, holding up a hand to stop him before he knocked anything else over. “It’s just a little spill. Don’t worry about it.”

“But your dress-”

“I promise, it’s okay,” you said, smiling to reassure him. “Really.”

He slumped back in his chair, his face burning with embarrassment. “I… I don’t know why I’m so clumsy tonight.”

You tilted your head playfully. “I have a theory.”

“Y-Yeah?”

“You’re probably scared of Theo.”

His startled laugh broke through his nervous energy, and he finally met your gaze, his expression softening. “You’re not wrong about that.”

You grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from him.”

The playful comment seemed to relax him a little, and as the evening went on, the tension between you eased. But his clumsiness wasn’t finished yet.

The cool evening breeze brushing your face softly as you and Intak strolled down the path of the park. Dinner had been a mixture of laughter and clumsiness, but neither of you seemed to mind.

Intak walked a step behind you, his hands tucked nervously into his pockets. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but you could sense his lingering embarrassment from earlier.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” you teased, turning to look at him.

“I just…” He trailed off, looking up at the stars before glancing back at you. “I’m still kind of kicking myself about dinner. I spilled my drink, dropped the napkins… I must’ve looked so ridiculous.”

You stopped walking, stepping in front of him to block his path. “You know what I think?”

His eyes widened slightly as he tilted his head. “What?”

“I think your clumsiness made tonight even better.”

His cheeks turned pink, and he scratched the back of his neck. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I’m serious,” you said with a soft laugh, nudging his arm. “It’s cute when you’re nervous. You’re adorable, Intak.”

The words seemed to catch him off guard. He ducked his head, a shy smile spreading across his face.

You continued walking, spotting an empty bench under a nearby tree. “Let’s sit for a bit,” you suggested, gesturing toward it.

Intak followed and sat down beside you, though as he did, he misjudged the edge of the bench and nearly fell off. You burst into laughter as he quickly steadied himself, his face turning a deep shade of red.

“I swear I don’t normally do this,” he muttered, groaning.

“Sure, sure,” you teased, still laughing. “You’re just keeping me entertained, right?”

“Something like that,” he mumbled, slouching slightly. Then, his voice grew quieter. “I just… I don’t know why I’m like this tonight.”

You turned to look at him, tilting your head. “You don’t?”

He hesitated, then sighed. “Okay, maybe I do. It’s because… I like you. A lot. And I wanted tonight to be perfect, but instead, I’ve been a walking disaster.”

His honesty made your chest feel warm, and a smile tugged at your lips. “Intak…”

Before he could finish his flustered apology, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. His breath hitched in surprise, and when you pulled back, his wide-eyed expression made you giggle.

He raised a hand to touch his lips, his cheeks glowing red. “Wha… Did you just-”

“Yes, I did,” you said, cutting him off with a grin. “And for the record, tonight was perfect. Exactly because you were you.”

His lips twitched into a sheepish smile, and his gaze softened. “You really mean that?”

“Of course,” you said. “But just to make sure you believe me…” You leaned in again, this time kissing him a little longer.

When you pulled away, Intak looked completely dazed, his face lit up with an awkward yet happy smile. “You’re amazing,” he said quietly.

You laughed softly and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “And you’re adorable. So, stop worrying so much.”

For the first time that evening, Intak relaxed completely. The two of you sat there on the bench, your head resting on his shoulder and your fingers brushing lightly as the night carried on around you.

SOUL - One Step Closer

The clock on your desk blinked 11:47 PM, its numbers glowing faintly in the dimly lit office. Most of the staff had left hours ago, the once-bustling corridors of the label now eerily silent. You rubbed your tired eyes, a small pile of notes and schedules still waiting for your attention. You’d been organizing P1Harmony’s upcoming schedules for weeks, ensuring every detail was perfect. They worked so hard; the least you could do was support them.

As you tidied up your papers, a sudden thought made your stomach sink. My purse. You’d left it in the practice room earlier when you were running errands. Letting out a small groan, you grabbed your jacket and headed for the elevators. The practice room was on the third floor, and with every step closer, you braced yourself for the faint hope it wouldn’t still be locked.

When you arrived, however, the sound of muffled music greeted you through the door. It wasn’t just anyone practicing - this was P1Harmony’s practice room.

Curious, you opened the door cautiously and peeked inside. There he was: Soul.

Dressed in casual sweats and a tank top, his hair slightly damp from sweat, he moved to the beat with precision, repeating the same step over and over. You leaned against the doorframe, watching his determination. His members always joked that he was an “alien,” someone who could be weird and out of this world, but to you, his quirks were nothing short of adorable.

You cleared your throat gently, and Soul spun around, startled. His expression softened when he saw it was you. “Oh, it’s just you,” he said, breathing hard. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you replied, stepping inside. “It’s so late. Why aren’t you resting?”

He smiled faintly, brushing back a strand of hair from his forehead. “I needed more practice. There are still parts I keep messing up.”

“Messing up?” you echoed, incredulous. “Soul, you were incredible today. Everyone thought so.”

But his smile faltered. He dropped his gaze to the floor, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “I’m nervous about the comeback,” he admitted softly. “I don’t want to mess up and disappoint the fans. They expect so much from us, and I… I don’t know if I’m good enough.”

Hearing his doubt struck a chord in you. You’d never seen him so vulnerable before. “Soul,” you said firmly, walking closer. “You’re amazing. You’re one of the most talented dancers I’ve ever seen. Your fans love you, they adore everything about you. There’s no way you could ever disappoint them.”

His eyes met yours, searching, as if trying to find truth in your words. Finally, he sighed and gave a small nod. “Thanks,” he murmured. “I needed to hear that.”

A silence settled between you, comfortable yet charged. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “Do you want to learn the dance?”

“What?” you laughed, taken aback. “Soul, you know I can’t dance.”

He grinned, his usual playful side returning. “Everyone can dance if they want to. Come on, I’ll teach you.” Before you could protest, he grabbed your hand and pulled you to the center of the room.

For the next few minutes, you stumbled through the choreography, laughing at yourself while Soul patiently guided you through each move. He showed you the steps slowly, his hand resting lightly on your waist as he adjusted your posture or corrected your footing. His touch was warm, grounding, but it also sent butterflies fluttering through your stomach.

You felt at ease with him, even when you messed up. His laughter filled the room, infectious and pure, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him. For a brief moment, it felt like there was no one else in the world but the two of you.

Then it happened. You slipped on the polished floor, your footing giving way. Before you could hit the ground, Soul caught you.

His arm wrapped securely around your waist, his other hand steadying your shoulder. You were so close, his face mere inches from yours. His eyes were wide, his lips parted in surprise. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded, your breath caught somewhere in your chest. The world seemed to slow down as you locked eyes with him. Time hung suspended, the air between you thick with something unspoken.

“Soul,” you murmured, interrupting whatever he was about to say. You leaned in and pressed your lips softly to his.

Soul froze.

The kiss was soft, fleeting, but it carried so much that you’d been holding back for what felt like forever. Your heart raced as you leaned back slightly to gauge his reaction. His eyes were wide, his lips still parted in surprise.

“I… I’m sorry,” you stammered, suddenly unsure. “I didn’t mean to-”

He blinked, snapping out of his trance. “No,” he interrupted quickly, his voice soft. “Don’t be sorry.”

The corner of his lips quirked upward, a small, shy smile spreading across his face. The warmth in his eyes made your chest tighten, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t plan for you to find out like this,” you admitted, your cheeks burning. “I just… I couldn’t help myself.”

Soul’s smile grew a little wider as he let out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I guess we’re both full of surprises tonight.”

You chuckled nervously, but before you could say anything else, Soul spoke again. “You know,” he said, glancing down, “sometimes I feel like I’m not… normal. Like, maybe I don’t fit in with everyone else. The guys always joke that I’m weird, and I laugh it off, but…” He paused, his voice trailing off.

Your heart ached at his words. “Soul,” you said gently, reaching for his hand. “That’s what makes you you. The way you think, the way you are - it’s what makes you special. I’ve always loved that about you.”

The word “loved” hung in the air between you, but you didn’t take it back. You wanted him to know.

Soul’s gaze lifted to meet yours again, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made you hold your breath. “You really mean that?” he asked softly.

“Of course,” you replied. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

He nodded, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand. The small gesture sent a wave of warmth through you. Then, after a moment, he tilted his head slightly. “So… does this mean I get to teach you the rest of the dance now?”

You burst out laughing, the tension in the room breaking. “Soul!”

“What?” he said, grinning. “I mean, you’ve got potential. I think we could make a good team.”

You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t help smiling. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stubborn,” he countered, his grin widening. “But seriously…” He hesitated, then stepped a little closer, his expression softening. “Thank you. For everything you said earlier - and for this.”

Before you could reply, he leaned in and kissed you. This time, the kiss lingered, unhurried and full of unspoken feelings. When he pulled back, his face was tinged with the faintest blush.

“You’re amazing,” he said simply, his voice steady but quiet.

You felt your heart flutter at his words, a smile tugging at your lips. “So are you,” you whispered.

He exhaled deeply, glancing toward the clock on the far wall. “It’s late. We should probably call it a night.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, though part of you didn’t want to leave this moment behind.

As you both made your way toward the door, you paused and turned back to him. “Wait,” you said, and he raised a curious eyebrow.

“What is it?”

“There’s one more thing I need to do before we leave,” you said, stepping closer.

Soul tilted his head, clearly puzzled. “What?”

You leaned in and kissed him again. This time, his lips curved into a smile against yours, and when you pulled back, he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Okay,” he said, laughing softly. “Now we can leave.”

The two of you walked out of the practice room together, the quiet hallways of the label feeling a little less empty as your footsteps echoed side by side.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for now, you were content.

JONGSEOB - Unexpectedly Us

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, its golden rays seeping through the narrow windows of the studio as you stepped into the familiar building. Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you glanced at the message again. It was from Jongseob: “Can you come to the studio? I need help with something.”

Your heartbeat quickened, though you weren’t sure why. You had been by his side for years now: his best friend, his constant cheerleader, the one who always answered his calls. But there was something about him asking for your help in moments like this that made you feel… special. Maybe it was because you’d seen his journey from the very start, since the first time he nervously auditioned as a trainee, barely daring to dream of becoming an idol.

When you reached the door to the recording studio, you heard muffled sounds coming from inside. Pushing it open, you saw him immediately. There he was, standing in the booth, long hair tied into a half ponytail, strands falling loosely against his sharp features. He looked frustrated, pacing back and forth, muttering words under his breath as if rehearsing something he just couldn’t get right.

You’d never seen him like this before - so wound up and on edge. Usually, Jongseob radiated a quiet confidence, the kind that came naturally with his undeniable talent. You leaned against the mixing console, watching him for a moment, hesitating to interrupt his thoughts.

Finally, you pressed the button for the booth speaker and said teasingly, “You needed my help?”

The sound of your voice startled him. He jumped slightly and turned toward you, wide-eyed.

“Yah!” he exclaimed, clutching his chest dramatically. “You scared me!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, and as your laughter filled the room, his lips curved into a smile. Small at first, but then growing wider, accompanied by that high-pitched giggle you’d always loved.

He stepped closer to the booth window, his hands resting against the glass. “I need help with this rap,” he admitted, his tone softening. “I just… I can’t get it right.”

You nodded and took a seat on the other side of the console. “Alright. Show me what you’ve got so far.”

As he returned to the microphone, you settled in, resting your chin on your hand. Watching him like this, immersed in his work, focused, and pouring his emotions into every line, made your chest tighten in ways you didn’t fully understand. His voice was like a rhythm that only he could master, each word laced with a passion that had always made your heart flutter.

But today, that fluttering feeling was almost overwhelming. You shook your head, trying to focus on helping him, not on the way his jaw tensed when he concentrated, or how his hair fell into his eyes when he tilted his head.

When he finally finished recording the verse, he stepped out of the booth, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. His long hair was slightly disheveled, and his cheeks were faintly pink from exertion.

“Well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You broke into applause, grinning. “That was amazing. Honestly, I don’t know why you even needed my help.”

He giggled again,higher this time, a little shy, and your heart clenched. You wanted to freeze this moment, to hold onto the sound of his laugh forever.

“I mean it,” you continued, standing up. “Why do you always call me when you need help? You could ask one of the producers, or someone with more experience-”

“Because…” he interrupted, looking down at his hands. His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. “Because I feel like whenever you’re around, I’m at ease. The words… they just come naturally when you’re here.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of his confession sinking in.

“Jongseob…” you murmured, unsure of what to say. But before you could gather your thoughts, he looked up at you, his eyes searching yours.

“I’m serious,” he said, his tone firmer this time. “It’s not just today. It’s always been like this. Whenever you’re around, I feel different. And lately…” He trailed off, playing with his fingers nervously. “Lately, it’s been getting stronger.”

“What are you saying?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, he lifted his gaze to meet yours. “I don’t know exactly what I’m feeling yet, but… I know I don’t want to hide it anymore. Not from you.”

Your heart raced, the weight of his words leaving you breathless. You took a step closer to him, his familiar scent enveloping you. “Jongseob…”

He held up a hand, his cheeks flushed. “You don’t have to say anything right now. I know this is-”

“Wait,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “You’re not the only one who feels this way.”

His eyes widened. “You do?”

You smiled, your chest tightening with a mix of nerves and exhilaration. “Yeah. I do.”

He let out a high-pitched giggle, the sound filling the small studio. You couldn’t stop yourself. You took another step toward him, cupping his face gently in your hands. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and his cheeks burned red.

“That laugh,” you said softly, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “That’s exactly why I fell for you.”

His lips parted as if to respond, but before he could, you leaned in, your heart pounding. Your lips brushed his, a tentative, fleeting touch, and the world seemed to pause.

For a second, neither of you moved. The soft press of your lips against his felt both surreal and electric, like a line you’d both been toeing for years had suddenly disappeared. But when you pulled back slightly, just enough to see his expression, you were met with a sight you’d never forget.

Jongseob’s eyes were wide, his lips parted slightly in shock, and his cheeks burned an even deeper shade of red. His long lashes fluttered as he blinked at you, clearly at a loss for words.

“Cat got your tongue?” you teased, your voice light, though your heart was racing.

He opened his mouth, then shut it again, his brows furrowing as he tried to process what had just happened. You couldn’t help but laugh at his expression, it wasn’t often you saw Jongseob so completely flustered.

“Yah,” he finally muttered, his voice low and shaky. He glanced down, avoiding your eyes, but the redness in his cheeks betrayed him. “What was that?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Hmm, I think they call that a kiss.”

He groaned, dragging a hand through his hair as if trying to hide his face. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath.

You grinned, stepping closer to him again. “Oh, come on, you’re the one who basically confessed first. What, you didn’t expect me to do something about it?”

“I didn’t expect you to-” He cut himself off, turning his back to you as if to regain his composure. “I was trying to be serious…”

“And I was serious too,” you interrupted, your tone softening. “I meant it when I said I felt the same way.”

He turned to face you again, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, the teasing stopped. The air between you grew heavy with unspoken feelings, and you could see the vulnerability in his gaze.

“Really?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not just… saying that to mess with me?”

You sighed, stepping closer until you were standing right in front of him. “Jongseob, do I look like I’m joking?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “No,” he murmured.

“Good,” you said with a small smile. Then, unable to resist the chance to tease him again, you added, “But seriously, you should’ve seen your face just now. You looked like a deer in headlights.”

His mouth fell open, and you could see the mixture of embarrassment and indignation flash across his features. “Yah! Don’t do that!”

“Do what?” you asked innocently, biting back a laugh.

“Make fun of me!” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “This is already hard enough, and you’re just- ugh.” He let out a frustrated groan, but you could see the faint smile tugging at his lips despite his protests.

“I’m sorry,” you said, not sounding sorry at all. “But you make it so easy. You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?”

“Stop,” he whined, hiding his face in his hands.

Your laughter filled the studio again, and when he peeked at you through his fingers, his pout made your chest ache in the best way. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” you said, raising your hands in surrender. “But seriously, you’re not mad, right?”

He dropped his hands and gave you a long look. “Mad?” He paused, then shook his head, his expression softening. “No. I don’t think I could ever be mad at you.”

His words sent a wave of warmth through you, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The tension between you shifted, turning quieter, sweeter.

“Hey,” you said, breaking the silence. “You know I really do love your giggle, right? It’s kind of my favorite thing about you.”

“Why do you keep bringing that up?” he mumbled, his ears turning red. “It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not embarrassing,” you insisted. “It’s adorable. Just like you.”

His eyes widened, and you could see his ears turning an even deeper shade of red. “You’re seriously going to kill me,” he muttered, looking away.

You smiled and reached out, taking his hand in yours. “I mean it, Jongseob. You’re amazing - onstage, in the studio, and… just as you are. You don’t have to figure everything out right now. I’m not going anywhere.”

He looked down at your intertwined hands, his thumb brushing against yours, and when he glanced back up at you, his expression was softer, calmer.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “For being here. For… everything.”

“Always,” you replied, squeezing his hand gently.

For a moment, it felt like the world outside the studio didn’t exist - just you, him, and the quiet hum of the equipment around you.

And then, because you couldn’t help yourself, you added with a playful grin, “But seriously, next time you call me for ‘help,’ at least give me a warning before you make me fall for you all over again.”

He laughed - soft at first, then louder, that high-pitched giggle you loved spilling out of him. “You’re so annoying,” he said, shaking his head.

“And yet, here you are, holding my hand,” you shot back.

He rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face told you everything you needed to know.

© sweetmisery - please do not repost my works! ♡

[mischievousmoony]

𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎

⟢ frat boy!james potter x fem!reader ⟢ you work at the hot spot for all things caffeine on campus, and you weren't expecting your first customer of the day to be so charming ⊹ 2.0k ⟢ warnings/tags: talks of alcohol/being hungover, james and reader do not like coffee, reader's hair is described to be in a ponytail ⟢ part 1 ⟡ part 2 ⟡ part 3 ⟡ masterlist

note: this is gonna be a 3 part mini series! and james being in a frat isn't very impactful to the story i just love him so that's the version of james you get today!

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Most of your mornings start with an assault on your senses. The overwhelming fragrance of freshly brewed coffee, the relentless hum of generic pop songs that lodge themselves in your brain like immortal earworms, the beams of morning sunlight that slice through the cafe window perfectly shining right into your eyes—it all comes together to torment your mornings at Brewology.

Not to mention the morning rush that always comes like a slap in the face about thirty minutes into your shift.

Brewology is arguably the most popular cafe on campus. Your theory is that its popularity is riding on the fact that it resides right in the middle of the academic side of campus. Because, in your opinion, the drinks aren’t that good. But who are you to judge? You never really liked coffee anyway. A fact that, when shared, is usually met with the question, “Why would you work at a cafe if you don’t like coffee?”

The answer is simple. With your packed schedule, the only time you have to work is before your classes. And Brewology offers the earliest shifts on campus.

You’d work even earlier if you could; the cosmos knows you need the money. If it weren’t for your lack of a car, you probably would have found some bakery that opens at 5 a.m. to work at. But starting at 7 a.m. will have to do.

This morning is like any other. You come in, and your manager has already set up the cafe for opening, including flicking on the radio that’s always tuned in to the same station. It’s not that you dislike pop music, but the radio host seems to play the same ten songs over and over and over.

You take your place by the register and close your eyes for a moment. Both to block the intruding sunlight and to brace yourself for the impending day.

When the little bell above the door chimes, thirty minutes before it usually does for the first time, you bite back a groan and open your eyes. You have to squint to bear the light as your eyes land on your incoming customer.

He practically stumbles into the cafe. Sunglasses that he doesn’t take off inside and fraternity letters ironed onto his t-shirt tell you everything you need to know to predict his order. It’s a fun game you like to play, especially when business is slow. Sometimes you include your coworkers, but seeing as your shift partner is running late, you’ll have to play on your own.

So, fraternity guy. And, you have to hand it to him, he looks like he works out. A combination that suggests he’ll start his day with a protein breakfast wrap or two. He’s got messy hair that suggests he just rolled out of bed or he never slept. Someone needs a great deal of caffeine this morning.

And the way he’s stumbling through the cafe—is he hungover? It’s a safe bet: again, fraternity guy. Scratch the breakfast wrap. If he’s smart, he’ll eat something plain.

“Morning,” the boy greets you when he finally reaches the counter.

You’re pleasantly surprised he started with a greeting instead of just barking his order at you.

“Good morning, how can I help?” you reply, keeping your tone light. You’re still warming up to the day, so this customer will have to live without hearing your award-winning customer service voice.

“I need caffeine. A lot of it, preferably. Like, a bucket of it, maybe.”

Bingo. That’s half your guess.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. Though I’m afraid we just took ‘bucket of caffeine’ off the menu, so you’ll have to choose a drink.”

The boy's lips quirk into an amused smile. You can’t really tell because of his sunglasses, but you’re sure his eyes linger on you for a few moments before he diverts his attention to the chalkboard menu on the wall behind you.

“Small issue. Not a big coffee guy,” he says, staring at the menu with a furrowed brow. “I… don’t know what half these drinks are. What do you like?”

You hate that question. Telling the customer the truth, that you don’t like most of the drinks here, isn’t exactly good for business. And lying is never your first instinct, so there’s always an awkward moment of dead air as you try to figure out a suitable suggestion.

“Uh, well, you’re looking for something with lots of caffeine, right? But you don’t usually drink coffee? Do you like coffee?”

“It’s… fine,” he says as if it pains him. “I’m more of a Celsius kind of guy, but the vending machine was broken—anyway, I just need something with triple digits of caffeine that hopefully won’t make me feel like I’m drinking out of a black hole.”

His comment makes you laugh, mostly because you find it refreshingly relatable. You’ve been known to say that some stronger brews made you feel like all the happiness was sucked from your body when they hit your tastebuds. All your coworkers call you dramatic, but you bet this guy would resonate.

Of all the sips of coffee your coworkers have forced you to try, you attempt to think of one that was highly caffeinated and went down the easiest.

“If you want a lot of caffeine, your best bet is a blonde shaken espresso. Probably gonna want a flavored syrup. Vanilla? Or maybe brown sugar? And if you want to go full Starbucks, you can do it with oat milk.”

To him, you're speaking another language. Mostly because he got distracted wondering what makes an espresso “blonde.” And maybe the way you swept your ponytail over your shoulder as you spoke stole his attention, too. Is it weird to notice how soft a stranger's hair looks?

James shakes away his thoughts. “Sure. That. Whatever you recommend in a large, please.”

You start punching it in on the register, making any sweetener and milk decisions for him. “Well, for the caffeine content, it’ll certainly be tolerable.”

“That’s all I need it to be,” he says as he takes out his card to pay, a smirk playing at his lips. He leans over the counter slightly, deliberately inching closer to you, and his voice slips into something quieter. “You know, you don’t seem too fond of coffee yourself. Which I imagine is challenging for a barista.”

You bite your lip as you finish ringing him out. You know his eyes are boring into you from behind those dark lenses—you can feel his gaze piercing you. “You caught me. But don’t worry, I have tried this drink, and it’s, well, you’ll manage. I think.”

“I’m putting a lot of faith in this recommendation, you know? If I can’t stomach it, I’m gonna sleep through all my classes. My slipping grades will be on your hands.”

“Well, it can’t be as gross as whatever had you stumbling in here so hungover, can it?” You don’t know where you found the confidence to banter with this stranger so boldly. The wrong person would be asking for your manager.

Luckily, he seems amused. More than amused, judging by the way his lips curl into a wide grin around hearty laughter.

He knows you’ve read him to filth. He is hungover—miserably so. The only comeback is to play the customer card. “Is this how you talk to all your customers?”

He says it—customer—like he’s playing a part. As if that’s not exactly what he is. As if he could be, should be more.

Your fingers fumble with the plastic cup as you pull it out of the sleeve, as his words and his tone hit you.

“Only the ones that might still be drunk from the night before,” you muse as his ticket prints, and you plaster it to his cup, smoothing the shiny paper out longer than necessary.

“I’ll have you know I took my last shot over two hours ago,” he says, very matter-of-factly.

You shoot him an incredulous look. “So… around 5 a.m.? On a weeknight. You know, I’d probably feel bad about what I said if I had been wrong, buuut-”

“Okay!” He raises his arms in surrender. “If I fall asleep in class today, I will take full responsibility.”

“Well, it’s the least you could do,” you say sarcastically, evidence of your smile in your tone.

As you move down the counter to start making his drink, he slides down with you.

“You don’t need my name? For the order?” he asks.

“Oh, no. It’s based on order number, and yours…” You pick up his cup to examine the ticket. “…is lucky number two-hundred twenty-two.”

He hums in acknowledgment as you get back to making his coffee.

“Well, it’s James,” he says after a beat. “In case you wanted it anyway.”

You look up from what you’re doing and are surprised when you meet warm brown eyes. He took off his sunglasses.

“It’s nice meeting you, James,” you say softly.

“You too.” His eyes flicker to your name tag, and your name spills from his lips like warm honey.

You blame the warmth across your cheeks on the heat radiating from the espresso machine.

When you hand him his drink a few minutes later, you pretend not to notice his fingers brush against yours as he claims that he must try it in front of you.

“If you don’t like it, do me a favor and lie,” you tell him.

“You got it,” he winks as he punches a straw through the lid.

As he raises it to his lips, you find yourself wholeheartedly hoping that he likes the drink you made.

The fact that he doesn’t make a sour expression is a good sign. He goes in for a second sip before giving his assessment.

“It’s actually pretty decent. It’s coffee, but it’s not so bad.”

You grin triumphantly. “Well, then I guess I saved your grade today.”

He glances at you skeptically. “So you get kudos if I like the coffee, but it’s not your fault if I don’t?”

“Exactly.”

James’ shoulders bob in silent laughter. “Alright, sure. Kudos to you.”

“Please.” You wave a hand in the air, laying the ‘humble’ act on thick. “It’s just another day on the job.”

James chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Well, thank you for your service. This is truly my saving grace today.”

“It’s my pleasure, James.”

His lips stretch into a smile brighter than the morning light shining through the windows. It’s like hearing his name fall from your lips is the only pick-me-up he needs, screw the coffee.

And you may not know the reason he beams so brightly, but what you do see is a smile you could get lost in.

He’s about to bid you goodbye, but before he goes, he has a realization.

“Oh, almost forgot,” he mumbles, fishing for something in his pocket as he returns to the register. You follow with a knit brow as you watch him pull a $10 bill from his pocket and drop it into your tip jar.

You shake your head immediately. “That’s- your drink didn’t even cost that much.”

James shrugs, already backing away from the counter. “It’s the only bill I have.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want it.”

“Sorry,” James shrugs, not sounding very sorry at all. “What’s done is done. I can’t take back my tip, that would be despicable. I couldn’t live with myself.”

“You don’t need to tip at all, really.”

“Of course I need to tip. Especially here. Where would students be without their morning coffee? Where would I be?” he asks as his back hits the door.

It’s apparent this isn’t a battle you’re going to win, so you play along. “Probably not here. Suppose you would have flunked out after sleeping through too many classes.”

“Exactly,” he says through a triumphant smile. James slips his sunglasses back on his face as he backs through the door. “See you around.”

“Thank you!” you call after him about the tip, hoping you really do see him again.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

next part

[yesihaveaobsession]

alastor x nurse!female reader

Summary: The reader (you) are a ER nurse in the depths of Hell and the Radio Demon seems to be quite fond of you.

A/N- So y'all who gave me some ideas/ requests a few weeks back I haven't forgotten about you! So this request was from @artisticbishoujorin and instead of doing the whole human solider bit I decided to keep it in hell because I thought it was cuter! I hope that is okay and I hope y'all like this!! :))))

Like most things in Hell, it was quietly strange. You had just finished tending to a particularly loud sinner’s broken arm. Now, you were filling out a patient chart at the nurse’s station when the sliding doors opened.

You didn’t look up at first—you figured it was another demon coming in to complain about a scratch or something. But then came the static. A very unfamiliar kind of static.

It was radio static. That unnatural buzz that slithered into the corners of your mind and set your nerves on edge.

You looked up—and nearly dropped your clipboard.

The Radio Demon stood there.

Alastor.

The smile that carved horror straight from the airwaves himself. Crimson eyes glowing, his microphone in hand. That ever-present toothy grin stretched just a little too wide to be comforting.

Of course. How did you not notice it before?

You froze, afraid to move. Your instincts screamed at you to keep your head down. Keep filling out the chart. You’d heard the stories—everyone had. Alastor wasn’t the kind of demon you wanted in your clinic unless you had a death wish.

And yet, he was just standing there, eyes scanning the room like he was browsing a menu. Until finally...

They landed on you.

And oh, you felt it.

“You must be the nurse I’ve heard about,” he said, his radio-tinged voice both dangerously charming and deeply unsettling.

You tried to speak, but it came out as a whisper. “Heard about?”

“Oh yes!” He twirled his microphone and leaned on it like a cane. “I’ve seen you on my strolls through this part of town. Always so kind to your patients. And so very neat! Why, it’s a breath of fresh sulfur to see such professionalism.”

He chuckled at his own joke.

You honestly had no idea what to do. Laugh? Run? You figured one wrong move and you'd be done for. So, you forced a smile.

“Can I… help you with something?”

He tilted his head. “Not today, dear. Just curious. But I’ll be back.”

And he was.

Over the next few weeks, he came back again and again. Sometimes with real injuries—and only asking for you. Nobody dared to question it, so they always led him straight to you.

Despite the wounds he showed up with, you never asked how a demon like him even got hurt. Sometimes it was just a scratch. Other times, he brought "friends" who needed help. And once, he just came in to “ask about stitches” for a ripped waistcoat.

You never fully stopped being nervous around him.

But… over time, something strange started to happen.

He never once made you feel unsafe. As crazy as that sounds.

Sure, he was… odd. Too observant. Watching you with those crimson eyes as you cleaned a wound or bandaged someone up. But he never crossed a line. He listened when you spoke.

Once, while you were patching up a wounded imp with blood smeared across your cheek, he offered you a pristine white handkerchief embroidered with his initials.

“Can’t have you tarnishing that pretty face,” he said with a grin.

Was he flirting with you? No… impossible, right? Still, your cheeks burned for the rest of the day.

Eventually, you two started talking more—about everything and nothing. You told him how you ended up a nurse in Hell. How you liked helping people, even if most didn’t deserve it.

And he told you… well, vague, unsettling stories. But the way he told them was so dramatic, you couldn’t help but laugh.

You two grew close.

One day, after patching up a hellhound’s paw, you looked up and caught him watching you with a softness in his eyes.

A rare softness.

It startled you more than his grin ever had.

“What?” you asked, wiping your hands on a rag.

He simply smiled. “It’s just curious,” he mused, “how someone so bright ended up in such a dark place.”

You looked down and kept working. You didn’t know what to say.

“And yet you stay kind. Unafraid,” he added, tapping his cane once. “I find that… endearing.”

His gaze followed your movements.

You blinked and smiled a little. “Unafraid? I was terrified of you when you first walked in.”

He threw his head back with a laugh, a hand on his chest. “Good! Means I was doing something right.”

You smirked, just a little. “You still scare me sometimes.”

“Excellent,” he said, still grinning—because when was he not?

“But I do hope you’ll let me keep visiting.”

You hesitated… then nodded.

“Alright. But next time, bring actual injuries. Or at least a good story.”

He winked as he turned to leave. “Darling, with you? I’ll bring both.”

And with that, you heard him humming as he walked away.

You just smiled, rolled your eyes, and shook your head.

Not that you minded.

[snapscube]

I started ff14 labyrinth for the first time and got overwhelmed by all the shit in my screen and died 4 times is it over for me or is this normal

do u mean “labyrinth of the ancient” as in the raid? no its super normal to be kinda overwhelmed on ur first alliance raid. its a lot of players w a lot of stuff going on!

if you want a tip, somewhere in “character configuration” in the menu u can actually toggle a setting to simplify combat effects coming from either yourself, other players, or both!

would highly recommend setting “party” and “others” to “show limited” if you’re getting overwhelmed by battle effects! you can also toggle your own to limited but i wouldn’t recommend it if ur still learning the mechanics and vibes of ur job. show limited will keep essential effects like healing domes and shit visible for you to work around while cleaning things up a lot otherwise so u can focus on dodging the dangerous stuff.

even with that though it’s gonna be a learning curve! honestly to god i was actually pretty bad at the game for a lonnnggg time. as long as ur doing ur best dont be afraid of dying and using that as a chance to figure out what went wrong, especially in the early expansions. lotttsss of leeway to fuck up without ruining anyone’s day.

[wilwheaton]

hello mr wil wheaton when you were my age (like exactly i think) you were filming stand by me

I turned 13 during production, so if you're about to become a teenager, I hope you'll let me offer some thoughts that I wish an adult had shared with me, then?

I know this is a wall of text, and giving someone this much of your attention is a HUGE ask. Maybe bookmark this for another time, if you're not into hearing an old man talk.

I wrote this a few days before I turned 50. Thank you in advance for listening, and I wish you a life filled with joy, unconditional love, kindness, and adventure.

Hey everyone! An old man is talking!

In seven days, I will be 50 years-old. This is ... weird. I do not feel the way I expected I would feel when I was approaching 50, nor do any of my friends. The only time I feel like I'm middle-aged is when my body does some bullshit that takes me down for hours because I had the nerve to stand up quickly. And I really hate it when I have to use the flashlight on my phone to see a menu. I mean, at that point, I may as well be dropping my pants for free and singing the Old Gray Mare.

Anyway. This has been on my mind for a little bit, so I had something to say when someone used my tumblr ask me thingy earlier this week:

Q: I hope I'm as cool as you when I'm 49. I'd like to think I'm taking the right steps towards that version of myself. A: So I'm not sure I'm cool, but I do know that I don't suck, and that it's a choice I make every day. I desperately wish someone in my family had told me, or shown me by example, that getting older doesn't mean getting stupid and boring and stuffy and extremely uncool. I wish I'd known that, because I spent all of my life until I was in my 40s feeling like there was this day coming very soon when I would have to stop listening to punk, stop playing video games, put on a suit, and start yelling at kids for no good reason. I didn't know that you don't have to suddenly stop being who you are and become something or someone you hate, just because of a certain age. I know that's super obvious, but to young me, it was not. My dad was an asshole, my mom never showed up for me. Directors and people on set had been treating me like a thing for my entire life. I got yelled at for no reason from adults who knew better almost every day. Most of my elementary school teachers were authoritarian, evangelical assholes. All of these different adults, consistently, shut me down and made me feel like I didn't matter, the things I liked were stupid, and my opinions were invalid because of reasons I didn't understand because I was a dumb kid. So I presumed that when you got to be a certain age, that's what happened. I didn't want to be that, at all, and I was sincerely afraid of the day it would happen. But as I got older, I discovered that all that stuff I hated about adults doesn't automatically happen. Those adults I just mentioned all made a choice to be an asshole. I just didn't know it. I was in my early 20s when I did a movie with a cinematographer who was, I think, 45 at the time. He was the coolest, kindest, most artistic dude I'd ever known. He mentored me and we had epic fun making great art together. I remember telling him, "I'm not afraid of being in my 40s like I used to be. I didn't know you could still be cool." It's sad, that I grew up in such a toxic environment, and didn't know any of these things. So, 9 days before I turn 50, here are a couple things I have figured out: You know who sucks when they hit 49 and 50? People who sucked when they were 20 and never grew up. You know who is an asshole at 49 and 50? Yep. Someone who was an asshole as a kid and never experienced consequences for being an asshole. Hitting middle age has been awesome for me. Other than the aging of my body and its reluctance / refusal to do what I want it to do, I love everything about it. I wish I hadn't spent so much of my life being afraid that, when I hit 50, it was all over. Because honestly it's kind of just starting. The coolest stuff in my life to date has all happened in the last ten years, and I'm so grateful that it coincided with me figuring out a lot of shit so I could enjoy it.

The best part of getting older, by several thousand light years, is the part where we figure out how to stop putting up with other people's bullshit, and we contract our social circle until it's only populated with a VERY few people who deserve us. And I am incredibly grateful for these occasional opportunities to be a 49 year-old dad who can say all the things that would have been reassuring for 19 year-old me to hear (he wouldn't have understood, but 29 year-old me would have remembered, and he would have understood. I think.) I sincerely hope someone hears it and finds it helpful. Anyway, you're gonna be fine. Just remember that being cool, kind, honest, honorable, reliable, listening and showing up … they are all choices. If you want to be cool when you're 49, make the choice and set the example for someone to follow you. Treat kids the way you wanted to be treated when you were young. Listen to them when they offer you the privilege, because that means they trust you, and you have credibility with them. Be a mentor. Be supportive. Show up. Make a choice to be the person you need in the world, and never stop being that person. Start today, and when you're nearing 50 like I am, hopefully you'll remember who you needed right now, so you can be that person to someone else in the future. You're already asking the right questions and taking the first steps. I believe in you. You've got this.

Okay, if you've come this far, perhaps you'll follow me a little bit more, and read a thing I wrote about talking to students just a tiny bit older than you, which contains my core values.

Be honest. I’m a very old man, relative to y’all, and I’ve learned that the only currency that really matters in this world is the truth.

Be honorable. This dovetails with number one. You attract to yourself what you put into the world. Dishonorable people will take everything from you and leave you with nothing. Do your best to be a person they aren’t attracted to.

Work hard. I don’t mean, like, at your crappy minimum wage job you hate. I mean do the hard work that makes relationships work, that gets you ahead in your education, that gets you closer to your goals. Everything worth doing is hard. Everything worth doing requires hard work. Sooner or later, you’re going to run into something in your life that’s really hard, and you’ll want to give up, but it’s something you care so much about, you’ll do whatever you can to achieve it. It’s going to be hard, but it’s going to be less hard for someone who has practiced doing the hard things all along, than it is for someone who doesn’t know how to do the hard work because they’ve always chosen the easy path.

Always do your best. Even if you don’t get the result you wanted, doing your best — which will vary from day to day, moment to moment — is all you can ever do. We tell athletes to leave it all on the field. Whatever your version of that is, do it.

This is the most important one. This is the one I hope you’ll all hear and embrace. This is the one I hope you’ll share with your peers: Always be kind.”

When I read number 5, I looked up at them. I was so happy to see a classroom filled with teenagers who were all listening intently, even the ones I thought had tuned me out. “Here’s the thing about being Kind, versus being Nice,” I said. “I have interacted with lots of nice people who are incredibly unkind. Why is that? How do you choose to be nice but not kind?”

I pointed to my head. “This is where nice comes from,” I said. Then, I put my hand over my heart. “This is where kind comes from.” I put my hands out, like, “get it?”

There was this collective gasp of realization that I did not expect, at all. One kid said “Oh damn!” I saw a few kids look at each other like the trick had just been explained to them. They heard me. They really, really heard me. And it was amazing.

Okay, that's all. If you're still here, thank you for giving me so much of your time and attention. I hope you'll come back in a few years, and let me know how you're doing.

[szarina]

❝ SOME EFFORTS. ❞

✞ FEATURING. BULLY! GOJO SATORU AND GETO SUGURU

▶SERIES MASTERLIST

CONTENT WARNINGS. mentions of past abuse.

NOTES. got sidetracked by requests and i didn't really put up with this chap. apologies. i swear i only update when someone asks if i'm still continuing this fic.

SYNOPSIS. the awaited date and some memories ruins it for you.

the bistro was filled with numerous chatters. coming from patrons and customers alike. conversations over good food and the small laughter coming from them. surrounded by the warm glow of the lights like sun rays but more subdued. hitting the wooden interior with its soft light. creating a more laid-back atmosphere where everyone can wine and dine.

you were still on guard. geto sees how you scanned the room more than twice. avoiding eye contact at him and twiddling your fingers in the smallest of manner. he knows you were still wary of him. a bully or a former bully. it sets a bitter taste to his tongue. the knowledge of being one of your tormentors and realizing it later in life how he deeply regretted for hurting you.

he's not his former self anymore. he tells to himself. this date where you reluctantly accepted after many times of convincing you. saying that he'll make up all the years of the misery he caused. proving to you that he's no longer that person who causes you tears and pain but is it when he sees you. sitting across from each other with your gaze who couldn't even look at him and your withdrawn hands not making it nearer to where his rests.

“look at me.” there's tinge of authority in his voice but gentle when he spoke to you. it was like coaxing you to go outside of your box. “can't we unless talk?” rich coming from him who can make you say the filthiest of words while he used to torment you.

“i guess.” you briefly muttered. gathering every nerve to your body to look at him and you die a little bit inside how similar his eyes to his. a complete copy of him but you shake the thoughts. it was just you and him. “thank you for taking me out here.” your eyes briefly landing at the small frame pinned at the door.

a bit distracted and intimidated. gripping your cup filled with tea to prevent from squirming to much. it's not like everyday your former bully would invite least asks you for date. you were reluctant of course but geto is persistent to get what he wants and it earned you.

he picks good. the place didn't scream high-end or some posh place that their menus didn't have a price and the bill ending up as a month's worth of salary.

a ghost of a smile etched in his face at your response. there it is. what he has been waiting for. geto can't help but to admire you. the same round face that used to look at him. there's the softness in it and something new. perhaps determination? he can guess but nonetheless it isn't the time to guess what you're made of now. you've changed just like he is.

before any of you can continue, the waiter arrived with the food you both ordered. placing the plates in front of you and bids you both to have a nice meal.

you began to eat. taking a spoonful of the food and chewing softly. surprised that you managed to work an appetite despite how guarded you feel around him. “you and gojo fucked me up, literally and metaphorically.” you paused in between bites before continuing. “but you two never made me feel bad about eating. i'm kind of glad for that.”

shrugging as you placed your utensils down. taking sip of your beverage. your relationship with food was kind of rocky around in the edges. you never ate in public. afraid of the stares and judgement that strangers give to you when eating and never in front of someone. let alone as cruel as gojo and geto. surprisingly they never made you feel bad about it and encouraged you to eat with them when they're particularly in a good mood. often going as far hand feeding you.

you didn't beat around the bush and geto applauded you for that. it often got you in trouble when you talked back and defy them when you won't do a particular thing they want you to. they were such an asshole to you. “you look happy when you eat. simple gestures like that is hard to come by.”

pouring the creamer in his cup of coffee and adding two sugar cubes. geto stirs it with a spoon. he finds you looking at it. his large hand dwarfing the cup and it was like a teacup rather than a coffee cup.

“is it?” pausing and trying to sink in what he said. somehow your lips curved into a smile. it was rather a pained one. “and you, gojo would take pleasure in hurting me afterwards.” now, you killed the mood. the food gone bland in your mouth. feeling like your eating nails. the memories came flooding and it just made you ache in places. a phantom pain.

putting down your utensils down. your appetite's lost. everything's heavy now just like it was in the first time.

geto freezes at your words. it was like a punch in his gut. you were still stuck at that time but you never made it seem like it affected you and you were doing it just to make thing seems right. for his own comfort.

a pang of guilt hits in his chest. seeing you hung your head low and blinking back the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. he hears you mutter an apology.

he stands up. grabbing the back of his chair and placing it besides you. “hey, it's fine. it was never your fault.” he says, holding your cheek in his hand and forcing you to look at him. “it's been years, sugu. why does it still hurt?” you asked him. peering through your blurred vision of tears pooling at the corner of your eyes. you could have pushed him. recoiled at his touch and when you leaned in. giving up to his touch — you asked yourself why? and you understand it. why some people come back even though they were hurt by the same person and you weren't any different from them cause the best comfort will always come to the one who had hurt you the most.

a stray tear rolls down your cheek. suguru was quick to wipe it with his thumb gentle. cradling your face in his one hand. he looks at you and there wasn't any emotion shown in his face except for the conflicting emotions inside him. pain? guilt? and new emotions he never felt mixes with it and the more he stays with you, the more he feels all of it.

geto wasn't anything remorseful for what he had done. he and gojo had their fun playing around with you and what happened after that night — you disappearing without a trace and shoko's warnings that they shouldn't interfere with your life anymore despite the circumstances that you were working for both of them.

he did fucked you up and reduced you to this mess. the younger him would relish over it but seeing your tear-stained face. he felt worst. everything since you came back is forced. always driving you to a corner and if he really wants to build his relationship with you again. he have to change and he's willing to make it.

the weather's warm. with the slight breeze of wind sweeping throughout the park. the scent of the sakura blossoms wafts in the open air. after that little breakdown of yours earlier. geto decided that you need a breath of fresh air and the park is where he took you.

both of you remained silent. you in the most part. embarrassed at the sudden burst of emotions and thinking that you ruined the supposed date. “i'm sorry.” you softly muttered. glancing at the man besides you.

strands of his hair danced along the rhythm of the wind. he only hums. slowly inching his hands towards you. holding your hands in his. “don't apologize.” reveling in the softness of your hands in his and suguru's mind drifts for a minute. marveling at the sight of your hand in his. if things were just normal and he pursued you in a much kinder approach — is this how you two will be? except for the part where he's the reason why you suffered at his hands.

“i shouldn't have said that.” meeting his gaze and you suddenly felt bothered. “you were making it up to me and i ruined it.” blinking and biting your lower lip in guilt. you should have never brought it up.

geto sighs. he swipes his thumb in your knuckles. the gesture sweet and intimate with gentleness in their touch. “you didn't ruin it. i should thank you for accepting that date. it was pleasant to talk to you about things.....” his words trailed off. referring to what happened three years ago.

you only nod.

“can we start again?” your former bully eyes widened at your suggestion. “no talks of the past and all? just us two adults as friends?” and you have that effect on him. geto isn't easily swayed. it was the opposite he's the one that should be doing this and here you are.

there is no need to know what was his answer. it was a yes. without hesitation.

it was hard to tear his gaze off away from you. despite the earlier dilemma of your sudden outburst everything was going fine after that. you were just eating but why do you look so alluring. your cheeks puffing up in a manner while you ate.

“is something the matter, sugu?” pausing to glance at him and he reached to wipe the cream in the corner of your lip before licking it off with his tongue. your face burns in embarrassment at what he had done before looking away. clutching the hem of your sweater and ignoring the sudden rise of your heartbeat. face warming at the gesture.

geto chuckles at your reaction. his eyes narrowing and his pupils dilating. it is known that there is still the attraction lingering in your body after all the years you're away from them. too used to their touch that your own responds without the will coming from you.

it's going to be sweeter this time pursuing you.

gojo was running impatient.

he has been waiting all day. wondering what happened to the date suguru had scored with you and he did get the full detail of it. geto smirks triumphantly in front of him and gojo felt an annoyance towards him.

“she won't even glance at me, suguru.” he sighs exasperated. running his hand in his hair out of frustration.

“she knows you're in a committed relationship. you're engaged and to sayuri. don't compare (y/n) to your ex-flings and sayuri. she won't do anything that would jeopardize a relationship because of her.” geto explains. he knows all of it. girls didn't care about the others when they really liked someone and when he got the gist of you working under satoru. he quite abandoned the thought of other women. fully commiting to you. trying to get back to your life and make you his.

gojo scoffs. “what's your plan, suguru?” his blue eyes glinting behind his glasses. there's been change of plans. he's not going to woo you anymore. he's going to pursue you.

“nothing really.” he lied. “i know (y/n)'s going to give in to me. anytime if i played my cards right. you should know we're not the only men in her life. we don't know what really happened to her life the last three years.” he didn't lie on that part. geto knows someone in your life is trying to also pursue you. one that you owed deeply.

his friend remained silent. taking a long sigh before going back to his desk. he can hear the cogs running in his brain right now. he's out of it and he just can focus to you and only you. he didn't need to drag his ass to gojo even it was planned from the start that they would have you.

guess he's not sharing you to him.

TAGLIST. @missakward123 @lupitalove @i00bear @socialanxietyvictim @tourmalxine @labelt-san @ghostlyworld @kashxyou @chiiiiiiiiiiifuuuuuuuu @cute-sucker @skii-high @boyimjustaloserforyourlove @jossayuuu @bubblesandsand1-0 @ply4vnce @witchymermaid12 @luna-v-roiya @mariyumemi @sinfullygay @higurumapet @kvk6433gkcigv @s-j320 @bts-skz @imcreepininyourheartbabe @hazzelle-kento @cashcadaver @n1vi @kiruupon @vebbiewuzhere @its-princessmara @ssetsuka @unicornqueen05 @idkwhattfimdoinghere2 @sunnytyun @tomriddles-wh0re @ya-mamaaaaa @wateriswhatiam @red-writes @saltyladyflower @greyclouq @bahurani @lovayle @okayiamkassandra @sealikesushi @sanzuandmikey @spicana @luvsymai @uniquenicefangirl @ushijimaschubbs @lansy-4 @aesonsgirl @eggieshiteru @jellibean2018 @uchihabucketlist @sunaemoby @cupidscourt @divinedolliebun @rottmntrulesall @mmeharuno @sleighter @haesify @desperadaparasapagmamhal @ichikanu @daytej@0honeylemonade @definetlythinkimanalien @thulhu @mastermasterlist1p1

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine calling Sanji “Love Cook”…

Walking onto the deck you found Luffy laying on the wooden planks. Usopp was sitting beside him, Nami had her eyes through a set of binoculars with Zoro close by, head against the railing as he rest his eyes.

“What have I missed?” You asked.

Usopp looked at you and sighed. “Sanji said dinner would take longer than usual today.”

Zoro huffed. “Damn waiter probably burned the first batch.”

Usopp doubted the comment. Luffy jumped up and grabbed your shoulders as a realisation dawned. “Sanji doesn’t say no to you.”

And so, you were on the mission to uncover the great secret. You heard noises from behind the kitchen door and knocked while pushing the wooden panel open.

“You know, Luffy says that you’re being awfully tight-lipped about tonight’s dinner.” You walked in and saw pots and pans strewn across every surface possible. At the heart of the mess was the blonde-haired chef with a bowl and whisk in hand, mixing a blue-coloured cream.

“Wow. It’s like Mihawk tore his way through this place.” Your comment had Sanji turn, his concentrated frown flipping almost immediately.

He chuckled and approached the counter as you did the same on the other side. “Mihawk could only dream.”

He slowed the whisking and lowered the bowl. Grabbing a small spoon, Sanji scooped a small amount into his mouth and hummed in delight.

“Any chance I could get a taste?” You asked, voice rising in pitch ever so slightly while you took a seat.

Putting the spoon and bowl aside, Sanji wiped his hands of the excess flour with a white cloth. “Not today, I’m afraid.” While he didn’t normally decline your requests, today was a necessary evil so he offered a bit of insight as a peace offering.

“It’s a celebratory meal. Something special for entering the Grand Line.” He explained, pride in his voice as he threw the towel over his shoulders. “So, today's menu is a secret that I won’t be sharing with anyone.”

“Not even me, Love Cook?”

Sanji’s eyes closed as he gave bashful smile at the nickname. You were pressing his buttons and it was taking all his willpower to resist. He hummed knowingly and then looked at you.

“You know I can see what you’re trying to do, right?”

You leaned forward, eyes staring into his blue ones before briefly - and not discretely - dipping to his lips. “Is it working?”

Sanji also leaned across the counter until his nose bumped lightly against yours.

“How about I make you a deal? Let me keep this one secret for a little longer and I’ll make it up to you. Cakes, kisses - whatever you want.”

You smiled back at him. “And what if both those options sound good?”

Sanji inched a little closer and pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Whatever you want.”

~ More imagines here ~