#and with the characters who stand by them

[inseobts]

You around kids

fem!reader

characters: zoro, sanji, law, shanks and ace

tags: fluff, light comedy, established relationship, comfort, emotional bonding, humor

a/n: sorry it's all cramped but I reached tumblr's limits of blocks per post, so if you need a easier way to read this, click on the ao3 link!!

words count: around 2.2k - 3.4k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Zoro:

The sun is warm but not too hot. A soft breeze plays with your hair as you walk beside Zoro through the busy town streets. The island is new, full of life and color, and the crew has scattered to do their own things. Nami went shopping, Sanji chased after ingredients... or maybe girls, and Luffy? Who knows.

You, on the other hand, just wanted a calm day. A nice walk. No drama. Zoro didn’t have any plans, so he chose to stay with you.

“Didn’t feel like wandering off,” he said with a shrug “Plus, you always get lost.”

“I do not!” you argue with a little laugh.

“You got lost on the ship” he says with a smirk.

You roll your eyes, bumping his arm lightly with your shoulder “That happened once. And you’re the one to talk???”

Zoro just grunts, amused, and keeps walking beside you. His hands are in his pockets, his swords resting at his side like always. He walks with that usual lazy confidence, but you can tell he’s relaxed.

Then, you hear a small cry. Like a kid. You stop walking “Did you hear that?”

Zoro lifts his head “Yeah.”

You both follow the sound, turning down a quieter street. And there, near the side of a fruit stand, is a small boy. He can’t be older than five. His face is red from crying, his small hands wiping at his eyes. He looks scared.

“Hey, sweetie,” you say gently, kneeling in front of him “What’s wrong?”

The boy looks up at you with big teary eyes “M-Mommy’s gone…”

“Oh no,” you whisper “You got separated?”

He nods fast, then suddenly throws his arms around you. You nearly fall back from the sudden hug but Zoro puts a hand on the back of your head, gently, just to keep you balanced.

Zoro’s eyes widen. You glance up at him, then back down at the boy. He’s shaking.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay...” you say, rubbing his back “We’ll help you find her. I promise.”

The boy doesn’t let go. He clings tighter, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear too.

Zoro scratches the back of his neck “You sure about this? We could find a guard or something.”

You give him a look “Zoro, he’s terrified. Would you want a stranger dragging you around if you were five?”

He sighs “Fine. So we’re babysitters now.”

You smile a little “Just until we find his mom.”

Zoro folds his arms, watching the boy with a face that’s trying very hard not to be soft “What’s his name?”

You turn to the boy “Sweetie, what’s your name?”

He sniffs “Kenji.”

“Okay, Kenji,” you say with a warm smile “I’m Y/N and this is Zoro. He’s kind of grumpy, but he’s nice.”

Zoro makes a sound like a scoff, but he doesn’t argue.

Kenji peeks up at Zoro “You have swords…”

Zoro raises a brow “Yeah. Don’t worry. I only use them on bad guys.”

Kenji nods seriously, then looks back at you “You’re really pretty…”

Your face heats up a little. Zoro frowns “Kid, don’t start.”

You laugh, standing up slowly as Kenji keeps his little hand in yours “Alright, let’s find your mom, okay?”

Kenji nods, still holding onto you like you’re his lifeline.

Zoro walks on your other side, still acting cool but every now and then, you catch him glancing down at the kid. And maybe, just maybe, you see a small smile on his face. Just a little one.

You’ve been walking around the town for a while now, asking people if they’ve seen Kenji’s mom. A few shopkeepers shake their heads.

Some say, “Sorry, haven’t seen any woman looking for a kid.”

You try the market square next. No luck there either.

Kenji’s small hand is still in yours, holding tight like he’s afraid to let go. His other hand rubs at his eye now and then, but he’s not crying anymore. Still, he stays close. You’re like his safe space now.

You glance down at him “Kenji, do you remember where you last saw your mom? Were you near a shop?”

He shakes his head slowly “I was looking at fish. Then I turned and she was gone.”

“Fish,” Zoro repeats “That narrows it down to…everywhere.”

You sigh “We’ll keep looking.”

Kenji tugs on your hand “Are you tired? I can walk by myself.”

Your heart melts “I’m okay, Kenji. But thank you.”

Then suddenly he reaches out and grabs Zoro’s hand too and you both freeze. Zoro stares at the small hand holding his, like it’s some kind of bomb.

Kenji doesn’t notice. He just keeps walking like it’s the most normal thing in the world, one hand in yours, one hand in Zoro’s. As if he’s done it a hundred times.

You glance at Zoro, and your face gets warm. Really warm. This…looks kind of cute. No… more than cute. It looks like… a little family.

Zoro’s eye twitches. He knows what it looks like too.

A woman passing by gives you a soft smile “Oh, what a sweet family.”

You nearly choke “Oh! We’re not—uh—we’re just helping—”

Zoro mutters under his breath, “For the love of… please don’t let anyone from the crew see this.”

You whisper back, “Why? Afraid they’ll think you’ve gone soft?”

He scowls “They will. And they’ll never shut up about it.”

But he doesn’t pull his hand away from Kenji’s. Not even when the kid swings his hands a little. You try not to smile too much, but your cheeks still feel hot.

“Y’know,” you say after a moment, “you don’t look that grumpy right now.”

Zoro gives you a side-eye “Say that again and I’ll let you get lost on purpose.”

You grin “Worth it.”

Kenji suddenly asks, “Are you and the sword guy married?”

You and Zoro speak at the same time.

You: “W-what? No!”

Zoro: “Hell no!”

You look at Zoro kinda offended by his tone.

Kenji tilts his head “But you look like it…”

Zoro lets out a long sigh “Kid, you really trying to make my day harder?”

You can’t stop laughing now. Even Zoro, after a beat, smiles just a little. Just enough to make your heart do a little flip.

The sun’s still out, the breeze still nice and you still haven’t found Kenji’s mom, but…you’re doing okay. And as long as the kid keeps walking between you and Zoro, hands held tight, maybe it’s not such a bad way to spend the day.

Kenji’s hand is still snug in yours, and Zoro hasn’t pulled away from the other side either, though his eye twitches every few minutes like he’s trying to pretend it’s not happening.

You’re still wandering through the streets, asking around and scanning every corner for a woman calling out for her son. No luck. Then suddenly, Kenji tugs at your hand and mumbles, “I’m hungry…”

You pause “Oh… right. You haven’t eaten anything.”

Zoro groans immediately “We don’t have time to stop and eat. We’re looking for your mom, remember?”

Kenji’s bottom lip quivers “But… my tummy hurts…”

He rubs his stomach with both hands now, giving you the most tragic look you’ve ever seen. You’re done. Defeated.

“Zoro,” you whisper, “he’s so cute. Let him eat.”

Zoro crosses his arms “He’ll survive. Kids bounce back.”

Kenji grabs your arm again “Please… just a snack?”

Your heart melts into a puddle “Zoroooo…”

Zoro looks at you and you’re doing it too… That look. Eyes wide, soft voice, the tiniest pout. Now both you and Kenji are staring at him like abandoned puppies in the rain.

He curses under his breath “You guys are teaming up on me.”

You say nothing, you just keep pouting. He rubs his face like this is physical pain “Fine. Fine. Twenty minutes.”

Kenji jumps up and cheers “Yay!”

You smile up at Zoro, wrapping your hand around his arm “Thanks, babe. You’re the best.”

He groans again, but you catch the way his ears turn a little red. You head toward a food stall nearby, and as soon as you do, you hear a loud voice call out “Oi! Zoro! Y/N!”

You both turn and there they are.

Luffy and Sanji, carrying way too many bags and snacks.

Sanji’s eyes go wide when he sees the kid. He drops his bags “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!”

Kenji looks up at you, his mouth full of fried dough “Who’s the loud guy?”

Sanji points dramatically at Zoro “How could you?! You stole her away and now—now you even have a child?!”

Zoro blinks “What are you talking about? Do you know how kids are made?”

Luffy laughs “He looks just like your kid. You’re all holding hands and stuff. It’s so cute! You should make a real one!”

Sanji falls to the ground instantly “I’m dying. I’m literally dead. This is hell.”

You’re laughing too hard to speak.

Kenji, still chewing, leans over to Zoro “Are those your friends? They’re weird.”

Zoro sighs “You have no idea.”

Luffy crouches next to Kenji, nose almost touching his “Heyyy, what’s your name?”

“Kenji!”

“Cool name! You wanna be a pirate?”

Zoro grabs Luffy by the back of his vest and yanks him away “No recruiting children.”

Sanji stands back up, wiping his nose “Mon dieu… Y/N, if you ever decide you want real romance, you know where to find me.”

You smile sweetly “You’d have to fight Zoro for me first.”

Sanji turns pale, not because he’s scared but because you think of Zoro right away “…I’m good.”

Kenji tugs your sleeve again “Are they always like this?”

“Pretty much” you say with a giggle. Zoro mutters, “You get used to it.”

Even as the chaos unfolds, Zoro moves just a little closer to you. His hand brushes against yours again and Kenji, still holding your other hand, starts humming happily between bites.

After the chaos (and mild heartbreak) that was Luffy and Sanji, you wave them off with a tired smile. Sanji is still crying in the background. Luffy’s trying to steal a meat bun from someone’s cart.

“Bye, Kenji!” Luffy shouts cheerfully “Don’t forget to train so you can join my crew!”

“I won’t!” Kenji waves both hands like you’re sending off a ship.

You tug his sleeve gently “Okay, come on. Let’s keep going.”

Zoro mutters under his breath as you walk again, heading farther into the town “Out of everyone… they had to be the ones we run into.”

You smirk “Could’ve been worse.”

“No. That was the worst.”

“Even worse than running into ALL of them together?”

He gives you a sharp side-eye “Don’t push your luck.”

You giggle, swinging Kenji’s hand a little as you walk. He’s full now, calmer, but still sticking to you like glue. Zoro’s hands are back in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. He looks like he wants to complain, but he’s still here. That says enough.

Then, out of nowhere, Kenji tugs at your hand and looks up at you seriously “Miss Y/N? Can I call you Mama?”

You freeze. Everything around you stops. The breeze. The street noise. Even Zoro seems to pause mid-step. You blink at him “W-What?”

Kenji looks a little nervous now, like he’s not sure if he’s done something wrong “I know you’re not really… but you’re really nice, and you make me feel safe like my mama does. I miss her…”

Your throat closes. You don’t even know what to say. Tears prick at your eyes so fast you can’t stop them. One slides down your cheek before you can hide it.

You crouch down, hugging him gently, trying not to cry too hard “Kenji… I’m sure your mom misses you too. We’re gonna find her, okay? I promise.”

He nods, leaning into your hug.

Zoro is quiet behind you. For once, not a single sarcastic comment. When you glance up at him, you see that flicker in his eyes. Something soft. Something… careful. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. And somehow, that silence means more than words.

You’re walking again, slowly now. Kenji hums as he walks between you and Zoro, swinging your hands. He’s more cheerful after eating, even skipping a little. It’s almost hard to believe this is the same scared little boy from earlier.

Then you hear a woman’s voice, panicked and breathless “Kenji?! Kenji!!”

All three of you turn around, a woman is running toward you, her eyes wide with worry. Her hair’s a bit messy.

Kenji gasps “Mama!!”

He lets go of both your hands and runs to her. You and Zoro stop walking, watching as he throws himself into her arms. She catches him and falls to her knees, hugging him tightly.

“Oh, thank god,” she whispers, burying her face in his shoulder “I’ve been looking everywhere, Kenji, I was so scared…”

“I’m okay, Mama!” he says brightly “I wasn’t alone!”

You and Zoro stand quietly a few steps away, watching them hold each other. Zoro crosses his arms and says nothing. But his expression is… softer now. Thoughtful.

Then, Kenji turns and grabs his mom’s hand.

“Come on! Come meet them!” he says, tugging her toward you.

She lets herself be pulled along and gives you a teary smile “You… You helped him?”

You nod “Yeah. He was alone and crying. We couldn’t just leave him.”

She presses a hand to her chest, still catching her breath “Thank you. Truly. I don’t know what I would’ve done—”

She starts reaching into a small pouch “Please, I have a little money—let me give you something.”

You shake your head quickly “Oh no, really. That’s okay. We had… a good day, actually. He’s a sweet kid.”

Kenji beams proudly beside her. Zoro’s still silent, standing with that usual lazy posture.

The woman glances at him, hesitating “Are you sure? Maybe he wants—”

Before she finishes, Zoro shrugs “Y/N did all of it by herself.”

You glance over at him. That’s not true, you both helped. But he says it like he wants to make clear that the kindness was yours. You give him a small smile.

The woman bows slightly “Thank you both again.”

You nod, just about to say goodbye when Kenji suddenly throws his arms around your waist again.

You blink “Kenji…?”

He’s crying again. Quiet, but real tears, as he mumbles “Do you… have to go?”

Your throat tightens “Hey, don’t cry… You’re with your mom now. You’re safe.”

“I know,” he says, sniffling “But I don’t want you to go. I love you… you’re my best friend.”

Tears fill your eyes instantly. You hug him back, squeezing gently, as you whisper “I love you too, Kenji, you’re really brave, you know?”

He looks up at his mom “Can she stay with us?”

Her eyes soften “Sweetheart… she has her own life and friends. But maybe one day you’ll meet again.”

He wipes his face with his sleeve, still clinging to you. Zoro turns away slightly, trying to act like he’s not watching, but his ears are red and in his chest, something warm builds, quiet and slow.

You’re so gentle. So natural with children. And for the first time… He lets the thought sit. Maybe a future like that, with you, soft like this… wouldn’t be so bad.

Eventually, you say goodbye. Kenji waves and waves until he’s out of sight. You and Zoro walk in silence for a few minutes. Then… you feel something. Zoro reaches over and takes your hand.

You blink, surprised “Zoro?”

He doesn’t look at you, eyes straight ahead, face a little pink “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Just… thought you might need it.”

You smile, squeezing his hand gently. A few more steps go by before he adds, quietly “You’d be good at it.”

“At what?” you ask.

He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly “…Being a mom.”

Your heart skips as he glances at you out of the corner of his eye “Not saying right now. Just… someday. If you wanted that.”

You stop for a second, staring at him. He’s not blushing anymore. He’s serious.

You nod, eyes soft “With you… yeah. I think I’d want that someday.”

Zoro looks away quickly, but you see the tiniest smile on his face.

You let go of his hand and he turns to look at you surprised. But then you jump and put your arms around his neck as he grabs you by your waist to steady you.

You kiss him quickly but softly while saying “I love you so much Zoro, thank you.”

He’s still surprised but asks “What are you thanking me for?”

“To think of me when you think about your future.”

He blushes and starts to look away but you catches him saying “Of course I would.”

You smile as you let go of him and then take his hand again as you swing it and walk as you’re the happiest girl in the world, with your biggest smile one and humming a little cute song.

Zoro watches you all the time with the softest smile he ever had.

── .✦ Sanji:

The sun sets behind the island’s hills, painting the sky in soft orange and purple. You can already hear music and laughter in the air. The village is buzzing with excitement.

“We’re just in time for the Moonlight Festival” Nami tells everyone, smiling as a few locals greet her.

“They want us to join?” Luffy asks, his eyes already searching for food.

“Yes,” Robin says “They’ve prepared clothes for us. It’s part of their tradition.”

You glance around. The people here are wearing bright outfits, flowing skirts, golden sashes, beads, and flowers in their hair. It looks magical.

One of the village girls walks up to you, holding a folded dress.

“For you,” she says with a kind smile “You’ll look beautiful in it.”

Sanji’s eyes narrow, already hovering at your side “She always does” he says softly, brushing a hand across your lower back.

You smile and take the dress inside a small tent to change.

When you step out, the crew is waiting. Zoro looks away with a bored expression. Usopp whistles.

But Sanji… he freezes. His face turns red in two seconds. Then an elegant nosebleed.

“Oh my god, Sanji!” you rush to him as he stumbles back, heart-shaped eyes glowing like lanterns.

“You… You can’t just walk out looking like that, mon amour,” he gasps “I was not prepared. That dress—you… your everything—!”

You laugh “You’re so dramatic.”

“I am in love,” he moans, holding a hand over his nose “And now I’m dying.”

“Save it for later, lovebirds,” Nami rolls her eyes “Let’s go! The festival’s starting!”

The streets are glowing with lanterns. Drums beat in the background. Kids are running around with flower crowns. You hold Sanji’s hand tight as you pull him through the crowd.

“Wait, wait—look!” you gasp, pointing to a stall “Caramel apples!”

Sanji chuckles “Mon amour, you know I can make you better ones. Twice as sweet. Three times as shiny.”

“Yeah, but these are festival apples,” you grin, bouncing on your heels “It’s different!”

He groans playfully but fishes some coins from his pocket “Fine. Who am I to stop you from being adorable?”

You grab the apple and take a big bite “Mmm! Okay. Yours are still better.”

He smirks “Told you.”

You two stroll past more stalls. Roasted nuts, cotton candy, fruit juice in bamboo cups… you try everything. Sanji keeps spoiling you without complaint, even if he keeps saying, “You know I could cook all of this for you, mon trésor.”

You wipe a bit of syrup off his cheek with your thumb “Yeah, but this is more fun.”

You turn a corner and freeze “Sanji!” you gasp.

“Hm?”

“There!” You point to a game stall. Behind it is a giant plushie… a round, smiling bear with soft ears and a flower crown.

Sanji squints “You want that thing?”

“Yes! It’s so cute!”

But before you can step forward, a group of small kids run up.

“We saw it first!” one of them shouts.

“No way! I’m gonna win it!” another boy says, grabbing a ball from the counter.

You look at Sanji. He cracks his knuckles and smiles “A competition, huh?”

“Winner takes the bear!” the tallest kid says.

Sanji kneels to their level, grinning “Alright, little ones. You’re on.”

Sanji throws the first ball... Miss.

“Damn it—”

The ball bounces off the edge of the target, knocking over nothing but his pride.

“Too slow, old man!” the little boy cackles and throws his own. Miss.

Sanji raises an eyebrow “Oh-ho? You think you’re better?”

“I am better!” the kid huffs, grabbing another ball. Miss again.

Sanji leans in “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Your aim is trash.”

“So is yours.”

They go back and forth for the next minute. Ball after ball. Miss after miss. Neither hits a single target. Sanji’s hair is messier now, and the kid’s cheeks are puffed in frustration.

You cross your arms and bite your lip to stop laughing. Finally, Sanji steps back, hands on his hips.

“This game is clearly rigged.”

The kid points at him “You’re just mad because you lost.”

“You lost too!” Sanji snaps back, eyes wide.

“Only ‘cause you distracted me with your loud yelling!”

They both look exhausted and full of mutual respect…and mutual failure.

You walk up between them and say, “Okay. My turn.”

Sanji blinks “Mon amour, are you sure? It’s harder than it looks—”

“I wanna try.” you say, handing him the caramel apple you’re still holding.

You pick up the ball. It’s heavier than you thought, but manageable. You narrow your eyes, pull back your arm and… You knock over all three cans. Clean.

Sanji’s jaw drops. The little boy gasps so loudly, you think he might pass out.

The game keeper just laughs and hands you the giant plushie “Well done, miss!”

You grin and hug the bear tight “I did it!”

Sanji laughs, not caring at all about being shown up “You’re amazing!” he says proudly “Absolutely perfect.”

He kisses your cheek with zero shame “My talented goddess.”

But the kid… the kid is just staring at you now. Like something huge just clicked in his little brain.

“…What?” you ask, smiling at him “You can still try again, maybe there’s another plush—”

“I love you.”

You blink “Huh?”

“I don’t know why,” he says, completely serious “But I do.”

You stand there with your plushie, speechless. Sanji snorts so hard he has to turn around to hide his laugh.

“Is it the bear?” you ask gently.

The boy shakes his head “It’s your face. And your power.”

Sanji is wheezing now “That’s a strong statement, mon petit rival.”

“I said what I said,” the kid replies firmly, hands in his pockets “If you break up with him, I’ll wait for you.”

You pat his head “Thanks, but… I don’t think that’ll happen.”

He sighs “Fine. But just know… you’re my first love now.”

Sanji finally turns around, wiping tears from his eyes “I’ve been defeated. By a child.”

You both laugh, holding hands again. You keep walking through the festival lights, one giant plush bear in your arms, and the chef at your side.

The night deepens, and the music slows down.

Soft lanterns float above the square, swaying gently in the warm breeze. They’re glowing in different colors as orange, pink, soft blue, like slow-moving stars. Couples begin dancing in the middle of the cobblestone plaza.

Sanji gently tugs your hand “Dance with me, mon amour?”

You grin and nod “Only if you don’t step on my feet.”

“I would rather die.”

He places one hand on your waist, the other holding yours with a practiced ease. His touch is warm and careful, like he’s afraid to break you. You sway together under the lanterns, the sounds of violins and laughter floating around you.

“You look beautiful in this light.” he says quietly.

You look up at him, smiling “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

You lean into him, resting your head against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat. This moment is soft. Sweet. Just the two of you… until…

“HEY, Y/N!”

Your head jerks up. You turn. A small voice echoes through the crowd.

Sanji’s brows twitch “No.”

Walking through the legs of villagers, holding something behind his back, is that kid.

Your jaw drops “How do you know my name?”

He stops right in front of you, puffing his chest like a tiny warrior “The idiot said it like five times while we were throwing balls. ‘You’ve got this, Y/N! Knock ‘em down, Y/N!’”

You blink “Oh… yeah. That sounds like him.”

Sanji coughs “You remembered that?”

The kid pulls out what he was hiding behind his back, a delicate, glowing flower. Its petals shimmer like they’ve been dusted with stardust.

“This is for you,” the boy says, holding it out with both hands like an offering “You deserve something this pretty.”

Your heart does a little owh at the sweetness “Aww… thank you.”

You take it gently, not wanting to crush it.

Sanji, meanwhile, stares at the flower. Then at the kid. Then at you.

He chuckles lightly “How… thoughtful.”

You glance at him “You okay?”

“Oh, me? Perfectly fine,” he says with a smile that’s way too tight “Just enjoying the sight of my girlfriend being courted by an eight-year-old.”

The kid looks up at him “Nine.”

“Ah, of course. My mistake,” Sanji says, voice calm but eyes twitching “A mature gentleman.”

“Way cooler than you.” the boy mumbles.

Sanji crouches down slightly, still smiling “You want a kitchen knife to go with that flower, mon petit rival?”

You step between them, laughing “Okay, okay, enough. This is getting weird.”

The kid sighs and shrugs “I’ll just wait till you’re single. No rush.”

“There will be no waiting.” Sanji grits through his teeth.

“Time is on my side, old man.”

“SHE’S MY AGE TOO!” Sanji yells irritated.

You nearly drop the flower from laughing so hard. You pat the boy on the head again “You’re really sweet, but I’m staying with the idiot for now.”

“Forever,” Sanji corrects “She’s staying with me forever.”

“Yeah, yeah. For now…” the boy says, walking away into the lantern lights.

You turn to Sanji, still giggling “You were jealous.”

He raises a hand, dramatic as ever “I can’t believe he kept insulting me. I was not jealous. I was threatened.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He sighs “Okay. I was… mildly unsettled.”

You lean up and kiss his cheek “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

He smirks again “And you’re always cute. But please… no more nine-year-old rivals.”

The music quiets. The stalls are closing. Lanterns start floating into the sky, some by string, some released into the wind with wishes written on paper. The villagers begin gathering near the beach and hilltops.

You stretch your arms with a happy sigh, the big plushie still tucked under one arm “It’s almost time for fireworks, right?”

Sanji nods and gently takes your hand “Follow me, mon love. I found us a better spot. Private. High up. Just us.”

“Romantic?”

He grins “Always.”

He leads you up a narrow path behind the main square, through a line of trees. A few lanterns hang along the way, giving the path a warm glow. Eventually, you reach a small wooden platform, almost like an old lookout. There’s a railing, a perfect view of the sky, and just enough space for the two of you to stand side by side.

You lean against the railing, wide-eyed “This is perfect…”

Sanji steps behind you, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder “I know. Just like you.”

You snort “Cheesy.”

He kisses your temple “True.”

Just as the wind picks up slightly and you snuggle closer into his arms…“Hey!”

You both turn your heads.

It’s the kid. Again.

Sanji groans, stepping forward “Are you following us now?”

The boy crosses his arms “I think destiny wants me and Y/N together.”

Sanji points at him “She’s literally standing here with me, holding the bear I helped her win—”

“I pushed you to give up and her winning it, so technically I helped too.”

“You called me ‘trash’ and insulted me!”

“And yet… here we are.” He spreads his arms as if the universe just proved his point.

You lean on the railing, grinning like an idiot while they go at it again “I feel like I should get popcorn for this.”

The kid puffs up his chest “You’ll thank me when we’re married one day.”

“I am going to faint.” Sanji rubs his face.

You laugh softly, eyes crinkling with joy. The two of them are so dramatic in their own ways… Sanji with his poetic French curses, and the kid with his over-the-top confidence.

But then the sky explodes into light.

You gasp and rush toward the railing, hands gripping the wood. Fireworks bloom above the hills, one after another, bursts of gold, red, green, and silver painting the night. Some twinkle, some crackle, some swirl in spiral shapes like dancing stars.

“Whoa…” you whisper, completely forgetting the chaos behind you.

Then, beside you, another small gasp. You glance down. It’s the kid.

His eyes are wide. His mouth slightly open in wonder “They’re… huge.”

“Is this your first time seeing fireworks?” you ask.

He nods slowly “Yeah. They’re… kinda magical.”

You smile, your face glowing with the same light reflecting in the sky “Right?”

Behind you, Sanji watches the two of you from a few steps back.

You’re both standing at the railing, heads tilted up, eyes full of wonder, soft smiles on your faces. The flower the kid gave you is tucked in your hair. The bear still in your arms. And somehow, in that one moment, you and the kid… look similar.

Same joy. Same spark. Same heart.

Sanji feels something shift in his chest. Not jealousy. Not annoyance. Something deeper. Warmer.

He pictures this moment again, but years in the future. You, at the railing, holding a small hand. Your child’s hand.

Their eyes lighting up like yours. That same smile. That same awe. And he’s there too, arms around both of you. His future, clear as the fireworks above.

You turn around and catch his gaze “Sanji?”

He blinks and smiles softly “Sorry. Just… thinking about how lucky I am.”

You raise an eyebrow “Because we won the bear?”

“No,” he says, stepping forward to join you at the railing “Because I get to watch you fall in love with everything.”

You rest your head on his shoulder again, your free hand finding his.

“With me?” The kid says.

“NO! DROP IT!” Sanji yells at him but then they both smile and keep watching the fireworks as they keep blooming. And Sanji is already planning forever.

The last firework bursts in a shower of silver and gold, lingering like a sparkler in the night sky. Then silence.

Soft cheers rise from the village below. The glow fades, lanterns flickering low. The magic of the moment hangs in the air for just a little longer, like it doesn’t want to end.

You sigh, still holding Sanji’s hand “That was perfect…”

Next to you, the kid is still staring at the sky. But the fireworks are gone now, long finished. Yet he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His eyes are wide, his mouth just barely open. He looks like he’s still inside that wonder.

You smile at him “Hey… by the way… What’s your name?”

He blinks, like he’s waking up from a dream “Oh. It’s Tama.”

“Nice to meet you, Tama.” You kneel down a bit so you’re closer to his height “What do you wanna be when you grow up?”

Without hesitation “A pirate.”

You laugh softly “Really?”

He nods, proud “A brave one. With a big ship. I’ll visit all the islands with weird animals and floating rocks and treasure.”

Sanji smirks beside you, hands in his pockets “Then I guess we’ll keep being rivals even out at sea, huh?”

Tama gives him a sharp side-eye “I’ll have to steal y/n from you and out-pirate you.”

Sanji grins “Try me, mon petit.”

You giggle and ruffle Tama’s hair gently “Well, I hope we meet again when you’re out there chasing dreams.”

Tama glances up at you “What about you? What do you want to be?”

You pause. It’s not something you really think about. You look over at Sanji… messy blond hair, gentle smile, the way he’s still looking at you like the stars are in your eyes instead of the sky.

You shrug “I don’t care what I become. I just want to be with Sanji forever.”

Sanji freezes for a moment.

Then, he lets out a quiet breath, like someone just handed him the whole world.

His voice is soft “You’ll never have to wish for that, mon amour. I’m not going anywhere.”

Tama watches you both. He’s quiet. No more smug grins or snappy lines.

Then, slowly, he nods. He tucks his hands into his pockets and gives you a small smile, real and warm “Then it’s good the idiot is so persistent.”

Sanji raises an eyebrow “Hey—”

Tama doesn’t look at him. He’s looking at you “You’re really happy. I can tell.” His voice is calm now, like something inside him understands something bigger “So… I’m okay with it.”

Your heart softens “Thank you, Tama.”

Then, without fully thinking, you smile even wider and say, “Sanji, I hope our future baby is going to be like him.”

Tama blinks, clearly unsure what to say to that. Maybe even a little embarrassed. But he nods slowly, lips pressing together in a shy smile.

Sanji stops breathing.

He stares at you, completely still, as if the fireworks just restarted behind his eyes. That sentence… so casual, so soft… hit harder than anything tonight. Our future baby...

You’re thinking about it. About a future. About family. And not just that. You’re thinking about it with him. His heart squeezes in his chest.

You’re here, in his arms. You’re in love. And you’re imagining a child with his smile and your eyes, running around somewhere under the same stars.

You turn and see the look in Sanji’s eyes.

He’s smiling, but there’s something deeper behind it. Something full. Something that says, I heard that.

You just smile back, knowing he doesn’t need to say a word.

Tama shrugs and turns around “Don’t get too comfy though. I’ll be cooler than him someday.”

Sanji puts an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close “We’ll be cheering for you… maybe.”

Tama waves over his shoulder, heading back toward the village, lantern light flickering around him.

You and Sanji stay a little longer at the lookout, arms wrapped around each other, the flower still in your hair, and the last warmth of the fireworks still in your hearts.

The festival is over. But something even better stayed behind with you…

Love. Peace. And the promise of forever.

── .✦ Law:

The sea is calm. The deck is quiet. You wipe your hands with a towel and step out of the infirmary for some air. A peaceful day. For once.

“GUYS! GUYS!! I’m back!!”

Bepo’s voice booms from the ramp. You glance over, blinking. Law appears from the hallway behind you, arms crossed and already frowning. Penguin and Shachi pop their heads out of the engine room.

“Why are you yelling?” Law asks, sharp.

“I got everything!” Bepo shouts, jogging up “But also—uh—”

He’s carrying something. No. Someone. It’s a kid.

A little girl, maybe five years old, wrapped in one of Bepo’s spare coats. Her hair’s messy, face pale. No shoes. She looks completely terrified.

Shachi stares “That’s a child.”

“Bepo,” Law growls “You didn’t…”

“I had to!” Bepo pleads “She was hiding behind crates in the market. All alone. People walked right past her. Like she wasn’t even there!”

“So you picked her up and brought her here?!” Law’s tone spikes.

“I couldn’t leave her! I asked around, but no one knew her. No one cared! She wouldn’t talk to anyone but me!”

The girl looks around fast… strangers, loud voices, sharp tones. She panics.

Her eyes lock on you, maybe because you’re the only woman here at the moment, maybe because you’re not yelling, and suddenly she jumps out of Bepo’s arms.

“Wait—!” Bepo yells.

Too late. She runs straight to you and throws her arms around your waist, hugging you like her life depends on it.

You freeze.

“Woah—hey, hey,” you say softly, instinct kicking in. You crouch down, hands gentle on her arms “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She buries her face in your chest and doesn’t say a word. Everyone is staring.

“Y/N,” Law says, voice low “Do you know her?”

You shake your head “Never seen her before.”

“Then why is she hugging you like that?” Penguin asks, confused.

You rub her back carefully “She’s scared. She saw someone safe. That’s all.”

Law narrows his eyes, crouching beside you.

“Kid,” he says quietly, “what’s your name?”

“…Mimi.” she whispers.

“How old are you, Mimi?”

She holds up five fingers without looking up.

“Do you know where your parents are?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you remember anything?”

She shrugs.

Law stands up “Fantastic.”

“I don’t get it,” Shachi says “Why would she run to Y/N? Just randomly?”

“She doesn’t know me,” you say, still holding Mimi gently “She was just scared.”

“She’s still shaking,” Bepo murmurs “I think she really was in danger.”

Law opens his mouth to reply, but footsteps thunder up from below deck.

“Ikkaku!” Penguin says as she appears, out of breath.

“Captain!” she gasps, holding up a tablet “Emergency Marine alert. I just picked it up from the city’s comms.”

“What kind of alert?” Law asks, tone serious.

She flips the screen around “They’re searching for a missing child. Classified level. No name. No photo. Just this—”

She swipes again. A blurry snail-cam image. It’s Mimi. Wearing that same coat.

“…Shit.” Law mutters.

Everyone stares at the screen.

“Why are the Marines looking for a five-year-old?” Shachi asks, stunned.

“Classified level? That’s not normal” Penguin adds.

Ikkaku reads off the report “Orders are to retrieve the child alive. No reason listed. But every local base is on alert. They think pirates might have taken her.”

Mimi stiffens. She presses closer to you.

“…Bad men,” she whispers “Mama said they’d come…”

“Mimi,” you say softly, “do you know who the bad men are?”

She shakes her head quickly “The marines… that I had to run. Mama said… find someone kind. Someone who felt safe.”

She looks up at you then. Big, frightened eyes.

You smile gently “You found me, don’t worry.”

Law steps beside you, staring down at the kid. His hand brushes yours.

“Y/N,” he says quietly, “She can’t stay on deck.”

You nod.

“She stays below, for now” Law says, turning to the crew “And no one talks about her. Not a word. We figure this out before the Marines come knocking.”

Bepo lets out a breath “Thank you, Captain.”

Law glances back at you and Mimi “Don’t thank me yet. This is trouble.”

“She’s just a kid,” you murmur, carrying her gently as you stand “We’ll protect her.”

Law’s voice softens “Yeah. We will.”

The door closes behind you both with a quiet click. The hallway outside Law’s quarters is silent now. You and Law stand inside the dimly lit room, away from the crew, away from Mimi.

He leans against the desk, arms folded, hat on the surface next to him. His jaw is tight. You’re pacing.

“She’s five, Law,” you say “Five. And terrified. You saw her face.”

“I know what I saw,” he replies, coldly calm “But she’s not just any kid, Y/N. She’s being hunted by the Marines. That’s not normal.”

“She didn’t ask to be hunted,” you shoot back “She didn’t choose any of this!”

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice rises slightly.

You stop pacing “Then why are you looking at her like she’s a problem?”

He straightens “Because right now? She is. She’s a risk. For all of us.”

You flinch.

“Oh, great,” you say, sarcasm slipping in “Glad to know your heart’s still functioning.”

His eyes narrow “Don’t twist my words.”

“I’m not twisting anything! You’re acting like she’s a ticking time bomb!”

“I’m being realistic!” he snaps “You always do this—take in strays without thinking!”

You freeze. The words echo. You always do this.

Your chest tightens “Then is that what I am to you?” you whisper “Some stray you took in?”

Law’s expression shifts instantly “What? No—”

You shake your head, stepping back, voice low and bitter “Forget it. I’m done.”

He moves toward you “Y/N, wait—”

“No,” you say, turning for the door “You wanted to be realistic? Fine. Be alone with your logic. I’m going to be with the actual human being we rescued.”

You slam the door on your way out.

You sit cross-legged on the floor of the small guest room, paper and colored pencils spread out between you and Mimi. She holds a red pencil in her small hand, tongue poking out a little as she focuses hard on drawing something.

You force yourself to smile “That’s a very good cat, Mimi.”

“It’s you” she says, showing you proudly.

You laugh gently “Oh! I’m the cat?”

She nods “You were soft when I hugged you.”

You pause “That’s… really sweet, actually.”

She looks up at you “Are you mad?”

Your smile fades “Why would you think that?”

“You left fast. Like Mama did… when she was mad.”

Ouch.

You set your pencil down and reach out, tucking her hair behind her ear “I’m not mad at you, I promise.”

“Then who?”

You sigh “Just… someone I love. We said some things we didn’t mean.”

She nods like she gets it “Mama and Papa did that too. Then they’d be quiet for a while. But after, they hugged a lot.”

You smile faintly “Maybe we’ll get there.”

Mimi turns back to her paper “Do you think my Mama’s okay?”

Your heart aches “I hope so, Mimi. I really do.”

You pick up a blue pencil and draw beside her in silence for a while. The sound of coloring fills the small room. For a little while, it’s peaceful again.

Even if your chest still burns with anger and something else you don’t want to admit yet. Not hurt. Just… disappointed.

The hallway outside the guest room is quiet now.

Right now, it’s just you and Mimi, surrounded by colored pencils and messy drawings. She laughs when your stick figure ends up with five arms. You giggle along, your mood slowly softening.

“Look!” she says proudly, holding up her latest masterpiece. It’s her, you, and what might be Bepo if you squint. You’ve all got huge smiles and stars around your heads.

“That’s amazing,” you say, genuinely impressed “Did you make me taller than Bepo?”

She nods “Because you’re strong.”

Your heart actually hurts a little at that “You’re the strong one, Mimi.”

She looks up at you, eyes wide and happy. It’s the first time she’s looked this light since she came aboard. Something warm blooms in your chest. You don’t say it aloud, but this feels… right.

She deserves moments like this. You both do.

There’s a soft knock at the doorframe. You turn and Law stands there. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just… watches.

You see his eyes flick to Mimi, then back to you. The scene freezes him. Like he’s seeing something he wasn’t ready for. Like he’s seeing you with a child in your lap, laughing, gentle, bright. Like family.

You look away first. Mimi doesn’t notice. She’s too busy coloring in the sky purple.

Law jerks his head toward the hallway, silently asking for a word. You hesitate.

Then slowly stand up, brushing your hands off “I’ll be right back, okay?” you whisper to Mimi.

“Okay.” she says without looking up.

You follow Law out into the hall. The door closes behind you, soft and careful. He runs a hand through his hair. He looks… tired. And guilty.

“I deserved everything you said earlier” he starts.

You don’t speak yet.

“I was angry. Not at you. At the situation. At how helpless it made me feel. It reminds me a lot of when… nevermind.”

Still, you wait.

“I wanted to do something. So I called in favors. Checked restricted comms. Dug deep.”

You lift your eyes to meet his “And?”

“I found out who her mother was,” he says “They were living on the outskirts of a Marine-controlled zone. Poor. Invisible. Perfect targets.”

Your throat tightens.

“She died,” Law continues “A week ago. Protecting Mimi. Marines were already closing in. Her mother fought back alone. Got her daughter away. Then…”

He trails off.

You stare “…Mimi saw that happen?”

He nods “But I think she doesn’t remember it. Or won’t. Trauma like that… it can block memories completely. Especially in kids.”

Your back presses to the wall “She… thinks her mom is still out there.”

“I know,” he says quietly “I was hoping she was. I wanted to go find her. Bring her here. Give Mimi the ending she deserved.”

You press your hands to your face “God…”

Law steps closer “I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure.”

You lower your hands slowly, voice shaking “You thought I’d fall apart?”

“No,” he says “I thought I would.”

That makes you look at him.

“I saw you with her just now,” he says “And I thought… maybe we could give her something close to a family. Not perfect. Not planned. But something.”

Silence hangs heavy for a second.

“I’m sorry,” he says again “For the fight. For what I said.”

You nod slowly “I was mad. But I never stopped trusting you.”

He reaches for your hand. You let him take it.

“She’s all alone now” you whisper.

“Not if we stay” he says.

You squeeze his fingers “I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s been three months since Mimi came aboard. She doesn’t cry at night anymore. She doesn’t flinch when someone raises their voice.

She laughs. Loudly. She steals snacks with Penguin, watches Shachi build models, draws on Bepo’s fur while he naps, and sometimes, when she’s really sleepy, she crawls into your bed without saying a word and snuggles between you and Law.

You and Law never talk about it, and neither does the crew, but everyone sees the way Mimi holds your hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world. The way Law makes sure she eats, takes her medicine, wears a coat when it’s cold, even when he grumbles about it. The way her drawings now always have three people in them.

You, her, and Law.

She knows the truth now. She remembers it all… her mother, the chase, the moment she lost her, the fear. It came back slowly, in pieces, but she never fell apart.

She held on. To you. To him. And now it’s time.

You found a safe place for her, a quiet island far from Marine eyes. A good family who knew her mother once, who wants to care for Mimi like their own. A home with books, and warm food, and other children. It’s the best chance she’ll ever get.

She knows it. She understands.

But even understanding doesn’t make it easy.

On the third-to-last day, you find Mimi sitting with Bepo in the garden space at the top of the sub. She’s holding her sketchbook.

“Hey,” you say gently, sitting down beside her “Can I see what you’re drawing?”

She turns the book around. It’s you and Law again… only this time, she’s drawn herself in the middle, holding both your hands. Above you is a sun with a smiling face.

Your chest aches.

“I like when we’re together.” she says, matter-of-fact.

“I do too.”

She leans against your arm “You’re not mad, right? That I said yes to going?”

You pause “Never. Mimi, we want you to be safe. That’s what matters most.”

She goes quiet for a second “But I’ll still miss you. A lot.”

You stroke her hair softly “I’ll miss you too. Every day.”

She looks up “Do you think Captain Law will miss me?”

You smile “I know he will.”

That night, Law finds you alone in the infirmary, pretending to organize the medical supplies. He leans against the doorway, arms crossed.

“You’re avoiding me” he says.

“No I’m not” you lie instantly.

“Y/N.”

You sigh and sit down on the cot “I just… don’t know how to say goodbye.”

He walks in, quiet, and sits beside you “You don’t have to.”

You glance at him.

“We’ll find a way to see her again,” he says “Even if it’s just from a distance. I promise.”

Your eyes sting “She’s the best thing that ever happened to this ship.”

He nods “She’s one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

You look at him, surprised.

“I didn’t think I could… do this,” he says “Feel like this. But she made me believe in something again. She made me remember if Corazon and even understand him more now.”

You reach out and take his hand “She made us a family, didn’t she?”

Law squeezes your hand gently.

“And we’ll let her go,” he says “Because that’s what family does. We protect them. Even when it hurts.”

The crew stands in a quiet line on the deck.

Bepo is the first to kneel down, huge paws gentle as he hugs Mimi tightly.

“Don’t forget me” he says, voice shaking.

“I could never.” she whispers, burying her face in his fur.

Penguin gives her a pack of candy and awkwardly pats her head “Eat this when you miss us, okay?”

Shachi kneels next “We’ll miss you, shrimp. Stay awesome.”

Ikkaku lifts Mimi’s little hand and presses a friendship bracelet into her palm “For luck” she says, smiling even though her eyes are red.

Everyone says their goodbyes. Everyone hugs her.

You stand back, next to Law, holding your breath. Watching. Trying to stay calm. But your chest feels tight. Your hands shake and Law, quiet and steady beside you, notices. He doesn’t say anything. He just reaches out and takes your hand in his. Warm, grounding. Solid.

You glance down, surprised. He never does this in front of the crew. Your fingers curl around his slowly. It helps. You’re grateful.

Mimi turns at last and walks up to you both. Her steps are slower now. Her smile is gone. And when she reaches you, she breaks.

Her small arms wrap around your waist so hard it knocks the air out of you “I don’t wanna go.” she sobs.

You drop to your knees and hold her, tears falling fast “I know, baby. I know.”

“I wanna stay with you. And Law. And Bepo and everyone. I don’t want a new house.”

“I know. But this is the safest place. It’s what your mama wanted. And we’ll still love you. Always.”

She shakes her head, crying harder. You don’t want to let go. You really, really don’t. And Law… he just stands there, quiet, one hand resting gently on your back as you cry into Mimi’s hair.

He doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s there. Holding you up in the way he always does.

When you finally pull away, your eyes meet his and he gives you the smallest nod. You nod back.

It’s time. Mimi turns to him slowly.

She throws her arms around his legs without a word. Law stiffens.

Then, very awkwardly, he kneels and hugs her back. His movements are a little stiff, unsure, but he doesn’t let go too quickly.

“I’m gonna miss you, Captain Law” she mumbles.

“…I’ll miss you too.” he says, voice low.

You blink. You’ve never heard him say that out loud.

When she lets go, her eyes are red and puffy, but she wipes them on her sleeve like a little soldier. Then she walks with the woman who came to get her, toward the small transport boat.

But just before she steps down the ramp, she stops, turns around, wipes her face and yells, loud as ever “HEY!”

Everyone jumps.

“If you ever give me a little brother or sister,” she says proudly, “I better get to meet them! I’ll be the best big sister in the world!”

Dead silence. Your jaw drops. Law’s eyes widen just slightly.

The crew turns to look at you both and absolutely loses it.

Penguin snorts. Shachi wheezes. Ikkaku starts clapping. Even Bepo chuckles behind a paw.

You and Law look in opposite directions at the same time, completely red-faced, avoiding each other’s eyes like it’s life or death.

“I… what…” you stammer.

“I didn’t…” Law mutters.

Mimi waves from the ramp, beaming “BYEEEE!”

And with that… she’s gone. Leaving behind stunned silence, a warm sea breeze and a very awkward question neither of you has ever asked before.

The door to Law’s studio closes behind you with a soft click. The sound of laughter still echoes faintly down the hall as the crew keeps joking about Mimi’s parting gift.

You and Law don’t say a word.

You wave a hand dismissively toward the corridor like go away, and Law rubs his forehead in quiet frustration as you both walk deeper into the room.

You drop onto the old sofa with a dramatic sigh. Your legs flop over the side “That kid really knows how to drop a bomb” you mumble into a pillow.

Law says nothing. He just walks toward his desk and sits down heavily, glancing at a stack of papers that definitely aren’t important right now.

“…So…” he says.

You raise an eyebrow, still hiding in the couch.

He clears his throat “Have you ever… uh. Thought about… you know.”

You peek at him “About what.”

He doesn’t look at you “A kid. Of your own.”

You squint “Why are you talking like that? You sound like Bepo when he ate spoiled mochi.”

He shoots you a look and you laugh, then immediately groan and hide your face in your hands.

“Oh god, I can’t believe we’re actually talking about this.”

“You didn’t answer” he says.

You peek through your fingers at him “Did you think about it before?”

He shrugs one shoulder “No. Not seriously.”

He stands up and walks over. He kneels in front of you and gently pulls your hands away from your face, exposing your cheeks and all the heat blooming in them.

His voice is soft “But now… I don’t hate the idea.”

Your heart skips. Your mouth opens and for once, no teasing comes out. Just a quiet little truth.

“…Same,” you say “If it’s with you.”

His ears go red. He clears his throat again, standing up abruptly like you just slapped him with a compliment.

“Don’t say stuff like that so easily” he mutters.

You laugh, covering your own red cheeks again “You started it!”

He turns back to his desk, muttering something under his breath.

You’re not sure what he’s thinking. But his shoulders relax a little while his hand lingers on the edge of his chair, like maybe he’s imagining what another little voice in this room might sound like someday.

── .✦ Shanks:

The sun is warm on your shoulders. The smell of grilled fish, sea salt, and cheap beer fills the open-air restaurant. You’re sitting beside Shanks, your legs draped over his lap, one arm around his broad shoulders. He’s laughing loud, one hand resting on your thigh, a bottle in the other.

The Red-Haired Pirates are noisy,talking with full mouths, yelling jokes across the table, getting into friendly fights over who gets the last crab claw.

You’re smiling, head leaning against Shanks’ shoulder, completely relaxed. Then you notice a woman, maybe in her twenties, carrying a small kid, probably two or three years old, on her hip. She’s standing near the entrance, eyes scanning the place fast, like she’s searching for someone. Her brows are drawn tight, lips pressed together.

“Shanks…” you murmur, nudging him with your elbow.

He follows your gaze.

She spots you. Her eyes go wide with something like hope. She walks fast toward your table, clutching the child tighter, muttering “excuse me” as she passes the crew. The little one, a girl, blinks up at everyone with big sleepy eyes. She stops right in front of you.

“Hi,” she says, out of breath “I—Sorry to bother you. I know who you are. You’re Shanks’ crew, right?”

You blink “Uh, yeah. That’s us.”

The woman shifts her weight, bouncing the kid gently “I know this is weird. Really weird. But I—I need help.”

Shanks straightens a little beside you. His arm slides behind your back but he stays quiet, letting you speak first.

“What kind of help?” you ask slowly, looking from the kid to her.

“My babysitter canceled last minute. I’m already late for work—I’ll lose my job if I don’t show up. It’s only for a few hours. Please,” she pleads “I don’t know anyone on this island, and you… well, I’ve seen you in the papers. You’re not bad people.”

You open your mouth to answer, then close it.

The little girl is chewing on her own shirt, blinking at you with big brown eyes. Her cheeks are flushed. Her hair’s tied up in a tiny puff.

You glance at Shanks. He’s watching you with that gentle smile of his. His eyes are soft. He doesn’t say anything, he just squeezes your hip lightly, like he’s telling you, Your choice.

“I don’t know anything about kids.” you say, voice low, nervous.

“You’ll be fine,” the woman says quickly “She’s easy. Doesn’t cry much. Her name’s Emi.”

The little girl makes a tiny sound, like she’s trying to say something but decides against it.

You look at Shanks again. He smiles wider.

“I’ll help you,” you say finally, sighing “Only for a few hours.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.” the woman breathes. She kisses the kid’s forehead and whispers something into her ear. Then she hands her over to you.

The moment Emi’s in your arms, she goes still. Warm and small. A little heavy. She smells like soap and bananas.

The woman gives you her name, a quick “I’ll be back before sunset.” and then she’s gone.

You sit there frozen. Shanks looks down at Emi in your lap. Then back up at you.

“You look terrified.” he says, chuckling.

“I am terrified.” you whisper.

“Want me to hold her?”

You shake your head slowly “No… I think I got this.”

Then Emi sneezes on your chest.

“Okay,” you groan “Maybe not.”

Shanks is already laughing.

At first, Emi just… sits there. On your lap. Quiet, blinking, nose still a little runny. She doesn’t cry. Doesn’t move much either. Just holds a tiny stuffed rabbit in one hand and sucks her thumb with the other.

You’re stiff as a mast. Shanks drapes his arm around your shoulders, whispering in your ear, “You’re holding her like she’s a bomb.”

“I’ve held swords with more confidence...” you mutter back.

He laughs, soft and deep, and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear “Try putting her on the bench next to you. Let her get used to everyone.”

You do. Emi shifts to sit beside you, rabbit clutched to her chest. She peeks around the table. The crew watches her like she’s a sea monster that just learned to smile.

“Hi, Emi!” Lucky Roux waves with a toothy grin “Wanna try some pineapple?”

She buries her face in your side.

Yasopp chuckles “You sure she’s not scared of you, Y/N?”

“She should be.” you say dryly.

But over time, it changes. Slowly. Emi starts pointing at things on the table. A shrimp. A spoon. A shiny gold coin someone dropped. You tell her the names. You offer her a piece of soft bread, and she takes it with two hands like it’s a treasure.

An hour later, you’re wiping jam off her chin with a napkin and helping her clap to Benn’s bad humming of a lullaby tune. She giggles when you make a fish face at her. You giggle back. And Shanks is quiet. He watches.

Not in a smug or teasing way. He’s not smirking. He’s not laughing with the others when Yasopp says, “Look at this! Y/N’s got the mom vibe going strong!”

He just… looks.

You glance at him and find his jaw a little tight. His drink untouched. His gaze heavy on you and the child. Like he’s thinking hard about something he doesn’t want to say out loud.

“Captain?” you ask softly.

He blinks, like he’s been pulled out of somewhere far away “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

He nods. Too fast.

Roux leans over with a grin “Hey, Shanks. You gonna put a ring on it if she starts popping out mini Shank’s?”

Everyone laughs.

You feel your face heat up, heart thudding a little “Oh my God—can you all shut up?”

“I want to marry her.” Shanks says suddenly.

Silence. Everyone stares.

You slowly turn to him “What?”

He meets your eyes. His voice is even, but his expression is… different. Calm on the surface, but his eyes are darker than usual “If she wanted that too. Yeah.”

You feel Emi rest her head on your arm, yawning, rabbit smushed between her face and your side.

You’re not sure what to say. The crew fumbles between teasing and trying not to look too shocked.

Shanks finally looks away, picking up his drink again.

Benn watches him for a long second. Then quietly says, “Alright, alright. Let’s not scare the kid, huh?”

And just like that, the noise starts up again. Jokes. Laughter. Loud plates. Big bites.

But Shanks doesn’t joke anymore, and you don’t miss the way he keeps looking at you like there’s something he’s not saying. Something that makes your heart beat a little faster.

Then everything fall falls apart when Emi gets bored.

One minute she’s snuggled against you, soft and sleepy, her rabbit tucked under her chin. The next she’s on her feet, running full speed down the middle of the open-air tavern, arms flapping like wings.

“EMI!” you shout, scrambling to follow her.

Your drink spills. A spoon clatters to the ground. Shanks laughs under his breath and gets up with you, already moving.

She darts under a table where two drunk fishermen are playing cards, crawls past their feet like some kind of tiny demon, and pops up between a tray of grilled squid and a candle.

“I got her!” Yasopp calls out, lunging, but Emi ducks and keeps running, laughing wildly now, barefoot and fast.

“She’s gone feral!” Lucky Roux howls.

“Shanks!” you bark, spinning around helplessly “Stop laughing and HELP!”

He grins, but there’s warmth in his eyes as he moves quickly, circling the tables “Aye aye, sweetheart.”

You try one side, he takes the other.

“Emi,” he says, crouching low, voice gentle, like he’s speaking to a scared animal “Hey, baby girl. Wanna play a game? It’s called Freeze. Can you freeze?”

She stops. Looks at him. Wobbles on her feet.

You sneak up behind.

“Gotcha!” you grab her mid-spin, lifting her up like a sack of potatoes.

She laughs and squeals, legs kicking.

“She’s a slippery one.” you mutter, holding her close, out of breath.

“I like her spirit,” Shanks says, grinning as he brushes a strand of hair from your face “She reminds me of you.”

You squint at him “You’re not funny.”

The crew starts clapping. Yasopp whistles. Roux raises his mug “Now that’s a team, huh? Look at them. Mom and Dad of the year.”

“Oh, please—” you start, but Shanks just reaches for Emi’s little hand and gives it a squeeze.

“Teamwork, right?” he says softly to her.

She nods. Then sneezes again. Right into his chest.

You burst out laughing this time and say “That’s karma.”

He wipes it off with a napkin like it’s nothing.

You sit back down together, Emi now curled in your lap again, finally tired. Shanks stays close. Not just beside you but with you. Helping. Watching. Smiling softly when Emi dozes off. But he’s still quiet. More quiet than usual.

Your eyes keep drifting to him. The way he’s looking at the girl. The little frown he doesn’t even know he has. The way his hand rests on her back like he’s done it a hundred times before.

He used to be like this with Uta. And Luffy, too. Soft. Present. Gentle.

You haven’t seen that part of him in a long time. You missed it.

“You okay?” you ask under your breath, while the crew starts arguing over dessert.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then finally, “Yeah.”

You stare at him a little longer “Are you lying to me?”

He smiles, but it’s not the usual cocky grin. It’s smaller. Tired.

“I’m not sure what I’m feeling,” he admits “Just… thinking, I guess.”

You squeeze his hand “About what?”

He shrugs, looking down at Emi “About a lot of things.”

And now you are quiet, because something in your chest shifts. Soft. Strange. Familiar.

Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, like you’ve already given him something he thought he’d never have again. Or maybe it’s the way it suddenly feels… real.

You. Him. And this small, chaotic moment that makes everything else disappear.

The sun starts to dip, painting the sky in gold and peach.

You’re still at the tavern, Emi snoring softly on your shoulder, her little fingers tangled in your hair. Shanks sits beside you, quiet. His arm rests behind you, not touching, just there.

And then she returns. The woman bursts through the crowd, her apron flying, face flushed with panic. The moment she sees you, she stops, hands over her heart like she might collapse.

“Oh my god—thank you. Thank you so much,” she breathes, almost crying as she rushes to you “I’m so sorry I took so long. I owe you my life.”

You wave a hand gently “It’s okay. Really. She was good. A little fast—like, sprint-across-the-rooftops fast—but… I had fun.”

Emi stirs and opens her eyes.

“Hi, baby.” the mother coos, arms outstretched. The little girl shifts toward her sleepily, and you pass her over with care. For a second, Emi resists, her hand still reaching for your shirt.

Your heart squeezes a little.

“Thank you again,” the woman says, eyes filled with real gratitude “If you’re ever on this island again, please come find us. I mean it.”

You smile, brushing some crumbs off your lap “Of course. Be safe.”

You watch them go, mother holding daughter close, disappearing into the market crowd. And then it’s just… quiet. Too quiet.

The crew starts packing up, joking softly, but there’s a change in the air. A stillness you don’t like. You look at Shanks.

He’s already looking at you.

Not grinning. Not teasing.

Just watching you with that faraway softness in his eyes, like you’re a slow dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. Like maybe, for a second, he saw something more than just this moment.

You reach for his hand and lace your fingers through his.

He squeezes back but doesn’t say anything.

The walk to the ship is slow. The crew’s laughing again, arguing about who drank the most, but it’s like the volume’s been turned down. You and Shanks trail behind.

Still no words. Not one.

That night, the sea’s calm. The stars are out. You’re both in your cabin, door closed, boots off.

You lie on your shared bed, watching him stand at the window, shirt half unbuttoned, red hair catching the moonlight, and you’ve had enough. You sit up.

“Alright, Red,” you say, crossing your arms “What’s going on in that dumb, beautiful head of yours?”

He looks over his shoulder, startled “What?”

“You’ve been quiet ever since Emi left. You’ve said maybe ten words total. And I know you. That means you’re thinking. Hard.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck “Maybe I’m just tired.”

“Nope.” You crawl across the bed toward him, poke his side “Try again.”

He sighs “It’s… complicated.”

“So is your face, and I still look at it every day. Try me.”

That gets a small laugh out of him.

You press your forehead to his back “You don’t have to hold things in with me, Shanks. Not the serious stuff. Not the scary stuff. Especially not the stuff that makes your eyes look like that.”

He turns slowly, leaning against the window. You slide your arms around his waist and rest your head on his chest. He wraps his arms around you too, finally. Breathing in.

“Seeing you with her,” he says softly “With Emi.”

You wait.

“I kept thinking about Uta. About Luffy. About how fast it all went. How I blinked and they weren’t mine to hold anymore.”

You don’t speak. Just hold him tighter.

“And then… I saw you. Just being there. Caring for this tiny stranger like it was nothing. Laughing with her. Holding her. And something in me just… ached.”

You tilt your head up “Ached how?”

He looks down at you, eyes serious now “Like I wanted that with you. And I didn’t even know how much until I saw it.”

The words settle deep inside you.

“You’d be a good father.” you whisper.

“You’d be the best mother.” he says back instantly.

Silence again, but this time it’s full. Of possibilities. Of truths unsaid until now.

“I didn’t say anything,” Shanks adds, brushing a hand through your hair, “because I don’t want you to think I expect that from you. Or that I’m pushing it. I just… couldn’t stop seeing it.”

You lean in and kiss him slow. No rush. No pressure. Just soft and sure.

When you pull away, your voice is warm and quiet “Then keep seeing it. I don’t mind.”

You kiss him. Long, soft, deep.

The kind of kiss that says more than either of you can find the words for. His hands settle on your waist, grounding you, holding you like you might drift away if he lets go. And when you finally break apart, you stay close. Forehead to forehead. Breathing the same air.

Now it’s your turn. You exhale shakily “I always saw you with Uta. And Luffy. The way you held them, talked to them, made them laugh… the way they looked at you.”

Shanks closes his eyes, lips pressed together.

“I used to watch from the deck,” you continue softly, “and I’d think… that. I want that with him. Our own little chaos. Our own quiet moments. Our own family.”

His grip on you tightens just a little. His thumb strokes your hip, slowly.

“I never said anything,” you admit, voice quieter now “Because I thought… maybe you already had your turn. Maybe being a dad again wasn’t something you wanted. Like, maybe Uta and even Luffy were your ‘once in a lifetime’. And I didn’t want to be selfish.”

Shanks pulls back just enough to look at you fully, eyes wide, voice rough “Selfish? Y/N… You have no idea how wrong you are.”

You blink.

He cups your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek “If anything, I was scared you didn’t want that. I never wanted to put that weight on you. My name. My crew. My life.”

You both laugh a little, soft and breathless. And then he says it “I’d love to see a little you run around the ship.”

Your heart does a full spin in your chest. You both collapse back onto the bed, side by side, hands tangled together, staring at the ceiling like it holds the future in its stars.

“I think she’d be loud.” you say, smiling to yourself.

“She?” Shanks grins “You’re already picking sides?”

“I just know. She’d talk back to Benn by the time she could crawl.”

“She’d steal Yasopp’s sake and blame it on Lucky Roux.”

“She’d steal your cape and wear it like a dress.”

“She’d make the whole crew bow to her by age four.”

You laugh. He laughs too. Your fingers tighten around his.

“She’d be soft like you,” he adds suddenly, voice lower now “Kind. But dangerous.”

You glance over at him “She’d be brave like you. Wild, loyal, always smiling.”

He sighs, almost dreamily “I can already hear her little feet running on the deck.”

“And your big voice yelling ‘don’t climb the cannon!’”

You both break into giggles and then silence again, but this time, it’s wrapped in warmth, in hope.

Shanks turns his head to look at you. You’re already looking at him.

“I mean…” he says slowly, raising one eyebrow, “we could start working on that little Y/N… like… right now.”

You gasp “Shanks!”

He smirks wickedly “What? I’m just saying. We’re both here. The ship’s quiet. The moon looks nice. You’re cute. I’m cute. It’s called destiny.”

You snort “You’re impossible—ah!”

He attacks, fingers darting to your sides, tickling, making you laugh and squirm under him.

“Shanks! Stop!”

“Never!” he grins, pinning you lightly with his weight “You’re stuck now. You told me your secrets. I told you mine. That makes us legally married in pirate law.”

You laugh until your cheeks hurt. You wiggle, but he’s strong, gentle, always careful. And then you stop moving. So does he.

Your eyes meet again. Closer now. Breath mingling.

That softness returns. Like a wave pulling you under, not scary. Just deep. Full of something quiet and forever.

You reach up and brush his hair behind his ear.

He leans into your touch.

“Hey,” you whisper “I love you.”

“I know,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your palm “And I love you more than I thought I even could.”

His mouth finds yours again, slower this time. No rush.

The kind of kiss that makes the world outside the cabin disappear and maybe, tonight is the beginning of something new.

── .✦ Ace:

The sun is warm, the breeze is salty, and Ace is doing what he always does when he’s not fighting or eating: walking too close to you with that lazy grin on his face.

“You sure you don’t wanna race?” he asks “You lose, you buy lunch.”

You raise an eyebrow “You’ll cheat with your fire.”

“Not true.” He places a hand on his chest, all dramatic “I only cheat if I’m losing.”

You snort “So always.”

He gasps “Betrayal.”

The two of you walk down the main road of a small island town. It’s quiet, peaceful, one of those places that doesn’t care much for bounties or pirate crews. People nod, wave, smile. Ace stretches, yawns, and puts his arm lazily around your shoulder.

“Maybe we should stay here a few days,” he says “Nice change from all the running.”

Before you can answer, a small voice says “Is that Fire Fist Ace?!”

You both turn. Two kids stand by a fruit stall, one boy, maybe six, and an older girl, probably nine. The boy’s eyes are wide. The girl looks like she’s not impressed yet.

Ace grins “Yeah, that’s me.”

The boy lights up “No way! My dad told me you can burn down a whole ship in one punch!”

Ace shrugs, clearly proud “Depends on the ship.”

The girl, however, is staring at you.

Her eyes narrow “You’re her, aren’t you?”

You blink “…Her?”

She steps closer, pointing at your waist “You’re the swordwoman who beat that Navy officer in Loguetown. The one who fights with two blades and never loses.”

You look down at her, surprised. She’s serious. Ace whistles.

“Wow,” he says “I didn’t know I was walking around with a legend.”

You nudge him “Shut up.”

The girl keeps going “They say you cut a cannonball in half.”

You sigh “It was already cracked.”

Still, her eyes sparkle. The boy joins in, bouncing excitedly.

“She’s so cool! Are you really pirates?!”

“Guilty,” Ace says, holding up his hands “But friendly pirates.”

“You don’t look friendly...” the girl says.

Ace grins “Good. That’s the point.”

Then the boy tugs at your sleeve “Can I see your sword?”

You crouch to his level “They’re sharp. Not safe for kids.”

He frowns “I won’t touch it. Promise!”

You glance at Ace, who’s watching you closely, smiling like he’s waiting for something. You sigh and slowly pull one of your swords just a little from the sheath, just enough to show the edge. Both kids gasp like it’s treasure.

“Can you teach us how to fight?” the girl asks suddenly.

You blink “You’re nine.”

“So? You were probably younger when you started.”

Ace chuckles “She was.”

You give him a side-eye “Stop helping.”

The little girl folds her arms “You could just show us something. Like a move. Just one.”

You sigh again but you’re smiling now “You’re very stubborn.”

She shrugs “You have to be, if you wanna be strong.”

Ace leans against a wooden post, arms crossed, amused “Sounds familiar.”

You glance at him “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I mean… yeah.” He grins “It’s the first time someone’s asking you for autographs instead of me. I’m letting it sink in.”

The boy tugs your coat again “Please? One move?”

You finally stand, looking at the open space near the dock “Fine. But just one. Then you leave us alone and go home, got it?”

The kids cheer and run to the clearing.

Ace follows, whistling “You’re gonna start a sword school at this rate.”

You roll your shoulders, then pull your blade halfway out, just enough to flash the steel. You drop into a stance, slow and firm. The kids go quiet. Then, with a sharp breath, you move. One swift, elegant slash through the air, so fast the wind shifts. The tip of your sword stops just above the ground, and your coat flutters around you.

The boy’s mouth hangs open. The girl’s eyes are huge.

Ace whistles “Show-off.”

You sheathe the sword in one clean motion.

The girl points “That was awesome! Can you do it again?”

“No,” you say, but you’re laughing now.

The boy runs over and hugs your leg suddenly “You’re my favorite pirate now!”

You blink, surprised. You pat his head awkwardly “Uh. Thanks?”

Ace watches you, your hand gently resting on the boy’s head, your stance still grounded, strong but soft. You’re not trying to impress anyone. You just exist like this. Capable. Calm. Kind. Something shifts in his chest.

You look up at him “What?”

He shrugs “Nothing. Just… didn’t know you were this good with kids.”

“I’m not,” you say “They’re just clingy.”

The girl now grabs your wrist “Can I hold your sword?”

“No.”

“Can I touch it?”

“No.”

“Can you teach me how to fight like that?”

“No—”

Ace walks over, laughing “C’mon, sweetheart. Be nice.”

You glare at him “You help, then.”

He lifts his hands “Nope. I’m just the fire guy. You’re the star today.”

The boy turns to Ace “Do you two live together?”

You and Ace exchange a look.

He grins “Something like that.”

The girl squints “Are you married?”

You cough “No.”

“Are you gonna be?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Ace just laughs and says, “Wanna help me convince her?”

“YES!” the kids shout in unison.

You groan and walk away “I regret everything.”

Ace follows, hands in his pockets, that lazy smile still on his face, but his eyes stay soft. He watches you gently shoo the kids away, then thank the fruit vendor with a quiet bow. And in that moment, he knows. Clear as day.

“She’s not just strong. She’s not just mine. She’d be the best damn mom the world’s ever seen.”

He doesn’t say it out loud. Not yet. But he’s thinking it. Hard.

You and Ace are sitting under a tree near the edge of the village, sharing a bag of sliced fruit.

“You think they’re gone?” you ask, biting into a juicy piece.

Ace shrugs “Maybe. Or maybe they’re forming a fan club.”

You nudge his leg with your boot “I don’t need a fan club.”

He gives you a lazy grin “No, but you deserve one.”

You roll your eyes, but your ears go a little pink.

Then, a small voice calls from down the road “WE’RE BACK!!”

You groan “No.”

Ace grins “Yes.”

The two kids come running, the boy nearly trips over his own feet and stop in front of you, proudly holding up folded paper sheets.

“Look!!” the girl says, unfolding one “We drew you!”

You blink “…You what?”

They hand you the papers. The drawings are messy, full of wild colors, but so full of heart. One is of you holding two swords, a big smile on your face. Another shows you and Ace together, tiny figures with stars around you. A third shows you with a little kid, sword in hand, standing tall.

You pause at that one. Ace leans over your shoulder to peek. His voice is softer now “Is that supposed to be your kid?”

The girl nods proudly “Yup! We made a story about you! You’re a pirate mom who protects her ship and teaches her kid how to be strong.”

You stare at the page, silent. The boy holds out a few crayons “You can draw too, if you want!”

Before you can say no, he’s already sitting down, opening another paper. The girl joins him. They look up at you, smiling.

“C’mon,” she says “We wanna make a whole crew!”

You glance at Ace. He shrugs, trying to act casual “Up to you.”

You sigh and sit down cross-legged in the grass “Alright. But I’m drawing the captain.”

“That’s YOU!” the boy says.

You raise an eyebrow “I meant me.”

They laugh.

You start sketching. Nothing fancy just simple shapes. You draw yourself with a pirate hat, a tiny sword tucked in your belt. The kids start adding characters around you: themselves, animals, someone with a frying pan who’s probably Ace.

You’re focused, smiling to yourself as you add waves and stars and a sun.

Ace just watches you from where he stands, hands in his pockets, face unreadable. There’s a heat in his chest now that has nothing to do with his powers. It burns deeper. It’s watching your hand gently guide the boy’s when he can’t get the lines straight. It’s hearing you ask, “Want me to draw your pirate flag too?” in that soft, patient voice.

It’s the way you look down at the page like you’re already imagining a future.

“This shouldn’t make me want her more,” he thinks, frustrated “But it does. She’s drawing little pirate stories with them on the grass. She’d be the kind of mom who makes the world feel safe.”

He swallows hard and looks away for a second, like it’ll calm him down... It doesn’t.

You finish your little drawing with a final scribble of wind in the sails.

“There,” you say, holding it up “Captain, crew, and treasure.”

The boy claps “It’s perfect!”

The girl leans over to look “Yours is way cooler than mine.”

“Nah,” you say, nudging her arm “You’ve got better colors.”

They beam like you just handed them gold.

Ace is still standing nearby, arms crossed, pretending to be relaxed, but his jaw is tight.

You glance up at him “You okay?”

“Me? Yeah.” His voice comes out rougher than he means it to. He clears his throat “Just… warm.”

The boy tugs at your sleeve again.

“Hey,” he says, eyes wide with curiosity “Do you have kids?”

You blink. Ace freezes.

The girl adds quickly, “You’d be a really cool mom.”

There’s a beat of silence. Just the wind and the scratching of a crayon. You sit back slowly and shake your head “No. I don’t.”

The boy frowns “Why not?”

You laugh softly “Because I’m still busy being a pirate.”

“But you could be both,” the girl says, very seriously “Like in the drawing.”

You smile at that “Maybe someday.”

Your voice is calm. Light. Like you’re just answering any question. But Ace… Ace is not calm. He watches your face as you say those words “Maybe someday” and his heart lurches. Because now it’s real. Not just a fantasy in his head. Not just a warm thought. You’ve imagined it too now.

He doesn’t say anything. He just walks over slowly and sits down behind you, arms resting over your shoulders as you lean back against his chest.

“You’d be amazing at it.” he murmurs, low so the kids can’t hear.

You glance up “At what?”

He looks down at you, eyes soft and a little wild at the edges, like something’s breaking open inside him “At being a mom. I mean it.”

You pause. Then, quietly, you ask, “You think about that?”

He nods “More than I expected to. More than I ever thought I would.”

The kids are still doodling, totally unaware. You say nothing, but your hand reaches up and rests gently over his. That’s all he needs.

The kids eventually stand up, arms full of drawings and unfinished paper pirate maps.

“We’re gonna go show these to our grandpa!” the girl says.

The boy nods “Thanks for drawing with us!”

You wave, still sitting in the grass “Stay out of trouble.”

The boy grins “Bye, pirate mom!”

You blink “I’m not—”

But they’re already gone.

Ace snorts behind you “Pirate mom, huh?”

You roll your eyes and lean back into him again “Don’t start.”

He rests his chin on your shoulder “Too late. You’ve got the role down already. You give good advice, threaten people just enough, and draw cool flags. What more could a kid want?”

You hum “A dad who doesn’t set the house on fire?”

He grins “I’d try to keep it contained.”

You laugh, light and warm “You’d accidentally roast our laundry.”

“Okay, yeah, but I’d teach them how to blow stuff up responsibly.”

You fake-think “Hmm. Dangerous. But useful.”

He smiles, but then falls quiet. You feel the shift instantly. His arms wrap tighter around your middle.

“You were really sweet with them.” he says softly.

You shrug “They were cute.”

“You were cuter.”

You snort “Gross.”

“No, seriously,” he murmurs “I was watching you and thinking… like, really thinking—”

He breaks off, then tries again “That I wanna see you like that again. With… our own.”

You smirk “You mean with a mini version of me bossing you around?”

He groans “Oh god. A tiny you would be terrifying.”

“Admit it. You’d love it.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

“I would,” he says, suddenly serious “I really would.”

You look up at him. He’s already looking down at you, eyes soft, mouth slightly parted, like he’s realizing it all over again.

You tilt your head, grinning “You’re so obvious, Ace.”

“Am not.”

“You were practically glowing while I helped that kid draw a sword.”

“I was not glowing!”

“You sighed like five times.”

“I didn’t—”

“You had your sappy ‘I’m in love’ face on.”

“I always have my sappy in love face on.”

You laugh, twisting in his arms to face him fully “True.”

He leans in, forehead pressed to yours.

“I’m serious though,” he murmurs “Someday. I’d want that. With you.”

Your voice softens “Yeah. Me too.”

You kiss him slow, sure, and just a little teasing, then pull back with a grin “But if the kid turns out chaotic like you, I’m blaming your genes.”

He laughs against your mouth “Deal. But if they’re scary with a sword by age seven, that’s all you.”

You smirk “We’ll make a terrifying little pirate together.”

“Perfect.” he says, smiling like he already sees it.

[mooningningg]

notes, this was so fun to make especially adding more characters ty anon!

★ Roommate!Sukuna hosts a party in the house.

“This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had,” you said flatly, eyeing the crowd gathering in your once-peaceful living room.

Sukuna cracked open a beer and leaned against the kitchen counter like a menace with arms. “Shut up. My house. My rules.”

“Our house,” you corrected.

“My name’s on the lease.”

You opened your mouth — and then Gojo physically kicked open the front door.

“THE PARTY GOD HAS ARRIVED!”

You groaned. “I’m locking myself in my room.”

“No, you’re not.” Sukuna grabbed the back of your hoodie before you could escape. “You’re gonna stand here and make sure no one breaks shit. Especially not that one—”

“Choso?” you guessed.

“No. That thing behind him.”

You looked over and saw Yuuji sprinting through the hallway with a Nerf gun, followed by Megumi, who had the calm murderous energy of a cat ready to swipe at a toddler.

Toji appeared behind them holding a case of beer. “Your kids are feral.”

Sukuna threw up a middle finger. “They’re not my fucking kids.”

“They’re kinda your responsibility,” Geto said smoothly from the couch. “Since you’re the one who invited all of us and insisted on not hiring a DJ.”

“I am the DJ,” Sukuna said, walking to the speaker and violently pressing buttons until something bass-heavy and borderline unlistenable filled the room.

“Christ,” Nanami muttered from a corner. “This is not music. This is a hate crime.”

You leaned on the fridge and whispered, “I told him to make a playlist.”

“He made one,” Nanami said. “It’s all angry gym edits and songs titled ‘murder breakfast.’”

Meanwhile, Choso had discovered your cabinet of snacks and was handing out bags of chips like a stoned camp counselor. “You want spicy or sweet?” he asked you sweetly. “I sorted them by vibe.”

Sukuna walked by, narrowed his eyes, and muttered, “Stop touching my shit.”

“It’s her shit,” Choso replied without fear.

“Yeah, Sukuna,” you echoed smugly. “My kitchen.”

He turned to you with a scowl. “Don’t push me, brat.”

Just then, Nobara stomped into the kitchen holding an empty Solo cup.

“Why is there no alcohol left?” she demanded.

“Because Gojo made a jungle juice bucket in the fucking bathtub,” Toji said, cracking open a beer.

“...He what?”

“It’s got blue Gatorade, Everclear, Sprite, and six Warheads.”

Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to kill him.”

Gojo popped his head in like a cartoon ghost. “No murder before midnight! That’s the rule!”

“You’re the reason I have rules, you white-haired freak.”

Geto sauntered by with your Bluetooth speaker in hand. “Can I use this for my playlist? I promise it’s all R&B.”

“You touch it and I’ll cut your fingers off,” Sukuna replied calmly, sipping his beer.

“Jesus,” you said. “Why did you even invite them?”

“Because I was drunk,” Sukuna growled, glancing around the chaotic room. “And it was funny at the time.”

Someone suddenly crashed into a chair.

“I’M OKAY,” Yuuji shouted from the floor.

“I’M GONNA KILL HIM,” Sukuna shouted louder.

“You can’t kill him,” Megumi muttered from beside you, arms crossed. “He’s literally built like a golden retriever. You’d feel bad.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Bet.”

You grinned at the sight: your angry, cursed-energy-free roommate about three seconds away from strangling half the room while you just… stood there sipping punch out of a vase.

Then, as if summoned by chaos, Gojo slung an arm around your shoulders.

“So. On a scale of 1 to ‘my next therapy session,’ how’s living with Sukuna?”

You glanced at the walking red flag beside you — now trying to chase Yuuji with a spatula for sitting on his dumbbells.

“Somewhere between insanity and a sitcom,” you replied.

Sukuna stopped mid-step. “Why the fuck are you smiling?”

“Because this is the best decision you never made.”

His eye twitched. “I’m never doing this again.”

“Sure,” Geto called from the couch. “You say that now — until she asks you to host her birthday and you agree like a whipped little bitch.”

Sukuna whirled around. “Say that again, Suguru. I dare you.”

Geto smirked. “You heard me. Whipped. Soft. Domesticated.”

Sukuna lunged. Gojo dove into the hallway with a bottle of tequila. Megumi muttered something about going feral. Nobara lit a candle just because.

You stood in the middle of it all, grinning to yourself.

Yep.

Best party ever.

Taglist, @humeysaga @williamafton26 @aranisbaee @probablynotleahhhh @probablynotleahhhh. @beaniesayshi @levifiance @rinofcike @fushiguroooozzz @gojoscumslut @bellsoftheball @kunascutie.

[starpeachjelly]

Kindred Spirits ₊˚⊹⋆

prologue part 2

prologue part 1

summary: Your worries about changing the story have started to fade. You've only interacted with her and Caleb so far. As long as you don't bump into anyone else you believe that everything will be alright.

warnings: accidental injury. stab wound. brief mention of blood.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: thank you to everyone who read, liked, reblogged, and commented on part one! i'm so glad you're enjoying this story. the prologue will be split into three parts that focus on reader's childhood with some characters. the official chapters will take place when reader is an adult! but for now enjoy! constructive criticism is always appreciated too since im trying to work on my writing!!

When your family tells you that you're all headed to Josephine's for dinner you don't really think much of it. After all, your family has been invited over countless of times before due to your shared closeness with her. It should be just another regular shared super. But when you walk up to the house, your feet instinctively starting to drag on the pavement, an uneasy feeling washes over you. Nothing seems amiss as you're welcomed inside. The only noticeable difference is the couple who are sitting on the couch. There's a sense of familiarity in their features that you can't quite place your finger on. Josephine introduces them as friends of hers. And you can't help but wonder if they're from EVER. You barely have the time to get introduced to them before you're probed by your parents to go play with the others with an eagerness that reveals how impatient they are to start drinking.

Three pairs of eyes land on you the moment you step foot into her room. There, sitting on the floor is who you immediately recognize as a young Zayne. You suddenly understand why you felt so anxious when coming over, as well as where the familiarity of the couple (who you now know to be his parents) comes from. If you weren't so shocked you'd mentally slap yourself for not being more careful in keeping your distance. You knew Zayne would make her acquaintance at around this time in her life. You're a bit startled when she grabs your hand and sits you down between her and Zayne. His gaze is filled with such seriousness that you wonder if he knows that you don't belong in this moment. Instead, he greets you with a formality that catches you off guard. Even as a child he's stoic and pragmatic. It's impossible to stop an endeared smile from tugging at your lips. You tell him your own name. He only nods, not talking much after that as you all play whatever game she wishes.

Zayne remains silent throughout dinner. You're sitting next to him again, just as quiet as he is. Everyone else at the table is talking enough for the both of you. Your mom and Zayne's mom are chatting about what they do for work. Josephine is discussing with Zayne's dad about something you don't quite understand. And your own father is talking to Caleb and her about his adventures as a pilot, both of them listening intently with wide eyes.

In the corner of your vision you notice the carrots that remain on Zayne's plate. The orange sticks standing out on his otherwise empty dish.

"Can I have your carrots?" you ask, breaking the silence between you both, wanting to save him from being scolded for being a picky eater.

Hazel green eyes widen ever so slightly, a barely noticeable hint of surprise written on his face. He nods and turns his plate to give you easier access to the vegetables.

Silence quickly settles back between the two of you, but you catch him looking in your direction a few times throughout the rest of dinner.

Eventually the night comes to an end, and you pat yourself on the back for handling this unexpected surprise pretty well. For once you don't even feel anxious about impacting the story. A single chance encounter with twelve year old Zayne surely won't change anything.

Unfortunately for you, nothing is ever that simple. Zayne officially becomes part of your group a few days later. He doesn't talk much, and you don't either, wanting to let the three of them enjoy themselves together. However, whenever she notices you being quiet for too long she seems to go out of her way to make sure you're involved in conversation. She even goes as far as to brag about how smart you are to Zayne, telling him that you two should talk about "smart stuff" together. Which leaves you laughing awkwardly because you know that even with your past memories you're not nearly as smart as he is. But to your surprise he starts talking to you a little more often after that. You assume it's because he doesn't want to disappoint her. No one wants to be on the receiving end of her puppy eyes, they're lethal.

Time passes, the last couple months of school come to a finish. Summer break comes and goes. Your days are filled with you four hanging out nearly every day. Unfortunately your fun comes to a halt when the last week of summer rolls around. You know that things are going to change. Based on the events of the story, Zayne will soon lose control of his evol and hurt her. So you start to mentally prepare yourself for what's about to happen. In your mind you know they'll both be okay, but your heart aches knowing that they'll both end up hurt, and that you can't stop it. But that key moment doesn't happen. At least not in the way it's supposed to play out.

She's not even in the room when it happens, having gone to the kitchen to get more snacks. It's just you and Zayne, and a sudden chill that starts to creep across the room. You watch as his usual calm demeanour slowly shifts into one of panic as frost begins to spread across his hands and arms. Everything happens so quickly that you barely have time to process it. One moment you're watching with wide eyes as frost turns to crystals that are now inching up all the way to his neck, the next shards of ice burst and fly across the room. You try to shield yourself, but one manages to pierce into your abdomen. Maybe it's the shock, or the cold, but you don't really feel anything except for a numb tingle. Your eyes are glued to your wound, watching as red starts to dye the bluish ice. The sight should panic you, but for some strange reason you know you'll be okay. When you look back up, Zayne is staring at you in shock. His eyes filled with guilt and fear. You immediately reassure him.

"It's okay," you tell him with a calmness to your voice that surprises even you.

Josephine enters the room. She's quick to call the paramedics. A pair of footsteps can be heard coming back from the kitchen. You immediately ask Josephine to keep her away, not wanting her to witness what's happening.

Zayne is still looking at you with that same heart wrenching expression.

"It's okay," you assure him once again, "It was an accident."

You don't look away from each other. Even when the paramedics arrive. Even when they wheel you to the ambulance. Your eyes are on him until the very last moment.

Zayne is gone by the time you get out of the hospital. You've tried so hard not to impact the original story as best you can, only to end up taking her place in a key moment in their story. Unfortunately there's nothing you can do now since he left without so much as single word. You're left hoping that this hasn't changed too much of their future.

Luckily she remains unaware of what happened, having been told you were simply not feeling well. (Which technically isn't a lie since being stabbed doesn't feel good.) However, despite being oblivious to the incident, every time you two are together you notice that she looks at you with something akin to worry. Thankfully her concerned gazes stop after a few weeks, so do the mentions of Zayne.

Things go back to normal, as if the event never happened. All you're left with is a faint scar from where the icicle had stabbed you. You don't mind it. It's small, and always hidden under your shirt. But you can't help but trace over it whenever you get undressed. A chill runs down your spine every time you see it. A reminder that you're now written into a story that you shouldn't be a part of.

tag list: @moonchildjae00 @elegantdeerlady @hon3yydew @chocochip-gaia @solmanel1 @wooasecret @peachystea @seung185 @mcdepressed290 @whimsiecat @shadowypeachsweets @animegamerfox

a/n: thank you all sm for your comments they mean the world to me!! 🥺💕

[blueskittlesart]

I see you refer to Kris and Noelle as besties a lot. I haven't played the weird routes yet and I certainly don't know the normal route dialogue like the back of my hand, but I thought that Noelle and Kris were estranged family friends, not super close anymore, before the events of chapter 1. That view is specifically because of Noelle's private blog post about Kris from Spamton Sweepstakes (https://deltarune.com/kris_dreemurr_kris/). Noelle wrote, "Even then, with my eyes open, there were times when I wasn't even sure if we were friends." What do you think about this blog post?

well ok first of all when I called kris and noelle 'best friends' in my noelle post which im assuming is what this is about it was after about 3 paragraphs about how significantly they had drifted apart after dess's disappearance. I'd certainly not call them besties as things currently stand, but i think that BEFORE dess's disappearance and the player's takeover of kris they were at minimum the most consistent friend in each other's lives. the real point of that post was that i think they were probably significantly closer than noelle leads the player to believe based on her dialog alone, and that she is an unreliable narrator when it comes to she and kris's relationship. If I listed out every piece of evidence I can think of off the top of my head that she and kris were close this post would get insanely long, but literally just walking around her room in chapter 4 will paint you a pretty clear picture. she had a cactus named after them. and when she mentions that berdly renamed it kris gets pissed off about it in the flavor text afterwards.

as for that blog post, I kind of think taking that one line out of context does a disservice to the picture that is actually being painted here, because honestly I'd argue that the full text supports my point even more. full text of the post for context:

It's funny... there was a time when they were coming over almost every day. We'd play, and we'd play... then after a while, they would suddenly get very still, like they were remembering something. They'd go into the dining room to "get a snack," then after a few moments, I'd hear the piano. The first few times, I went into watch them play, but when they realized I was looking, they'd always shut the piano and come back. So over time, I just started staying on the couch in the living room. I'd lie there, listening to them play, sometimes for hours, sometimes even until I fell asleep. Even then, what were they thinking about me? Maybe they weren't thinking about me at all. They didn't have a piano at their house, so they probably just came over to use mine. Even then, with my eyes open, there were times when I wasn't even sure if we were friends. But when I closed my eyes, it felt like a concert just for me.

Yes, there's a level of removal going on here. Noelle doesn't quite understand kris's motivations and is struggling to contextualize their actions because of this. But I think it's important to remember that this blog post is recounting the memories of a young child, and written from the perspective of a teenager, so it would probably be a miracle if nothing got lost in translation. This is Noelle reflecting on a relationship which has very clearly changed drastically in recent years, and if there's one thing we know about noelle it's that she's avoidant as shit. It's nowhere near above her to recontextualize memories in her own head in order to make her previous relationship to kris feel less personal, so she won't have to feel as sad about losing a close friend. We literally watch her do this in real time in snowgrave--painting over and/or blocking out memories that scare and upset her in order to avoid reckoning with those feelings. I think she likely finds this easier to do with kris because kris seems to have been pretty introverted and kind of. weird in the ways they expressed affection towards her as a child (particularly the pranks she so often mentions) which makes it easier for her to spin their relationship as something obligational rather than true closeness. But because Kris was such a big part of her life for so long, her altered memories are still imperfect. In the same post where she says kris probably wasn't thinking about her at all she also mentions that kris was at her house every day and that she felt an intense personal connection to their music. And for what it's worth, there are at least two other pianos in town that kris easily could have used if all they wanted was to practice--one in the church's choir room and one in the hospital. They weren't at the holiday house purely to use that piano. more likely than not they really were playing for her.

[starrbishops]

⟡Filthy Mouth⟡

(Bob Reynolds x Reader)

Summary: Bob finally lets you give him a blowjob. - prequel to Sidelines based on a request from @princess312

Word Count: 1.4k

Notes: Oral sex, blowjob, established relationship, Post-Thunderbolts*, porn without plot, so much swearing, Bob Reynolds curses like a sailor,

a/n: Uhhhh yeah this is just pornography. Straight up written word porn. With some Bob character study mixed in on his background and behaviors in a relationship. But mostly porn. Enjoy!

Bob wasn’t used to being powerful.

It was strange, having his new abilities. He felt stronger, healthier, but he still felt like himself. Robert Reynolds, the vagrant drug addict dropout. He did his best to keep his powers at the forefront of his mind after remembering what he’d done to New York. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, especially not his new friends. And especially not you.

Bob tried to take things slow with you, always leaving you chances to back out. He knew he wasn’t an easy person to be with, and he honestly didn’t fully understand what you saw in him. But you stayed everytime. No matter how much he pointed out his faults, his flaws, you’d just smile and tell him you liked him anyways, as is.

It’s part of why he likes you so much. More than anyone he’s ever known.

Still, he tries to not come on too strong. He always makes sure to put you first. All the bare minimum boyfriend tasks; walk closer to the street, hold doors open for you, remind you everyday how incredible you are. In bed, it translates to making sure you cum at least once, preferably twice or more, before he does. Which is why it takes so long for him to let you blow him.

When it comes to sex, Bob is first and foremost concerned with not hurting you. He still gets nightmares of when you beat up you and the rest of the team as Sentry. You all laugh it off as a funny memory, tell him you forgive him, but it nags at him. He could hurt you so easily, and he would sooner die than do that on purpose. Anyways, he much prefers the way you look when he eats you out, eyes rolling back in your head, hands gripping his hair while he raves at you. He prioritizes your pleasure over anything else. The fact that you even let him have sex with you is the win from his perspective. Apparently, you don’t see it that way.

You’re seated in his lap, the two of you making out in his bedroom while the rest of the team is away on a mission. You palm at the grown bulge in his pants, breaking the kiss. “Can I please blow you?” you ask, with just a hint of a pout on your face. “I’m good at it, so I’ve been told.”

Bob is about to reply before you cut him off. “And if you say you just want me to have a good time, I will have a good time. I like taking care of you Bob. I just want you to let me.” 

He shuts his mouth, looking up at you. It feels like a fever dream, a beautiful girl in his lap who desperately wants to suck his dick. It’s not like he hasn’t imagined it before. There’ve been plenty of long missions where he’s had to deal with his erections himself, and thought of you while doing so. Imagine it was your hand rather than his, how it would feel to have your lips wrap around his length, taking all of him into your mouth and down your throat. Just thinking about it now makes it even harder.

So instead of his usual deflection, he nods. “You sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

You just grin, already tugging at his waistband. “Bob, we’ve had sex before. I know your dick is big. Congratulations, I will survive.”

He chuckles as he assists you in removing his pants, lifting his hips so you can pull them off along with his boxers before tossing them across the room. You settle yourself between his legs, licking your lips as you take in the image before you. 

Bob’s cock stands at attention, red and desperate for touch, precum leaking from the tip. You glance up, waiting for consent before you make a move. Bob nods, awkwardly settling his hands by his sides, not wanting to touch you too intensely at first.

Bob Reynolds is no blushing virgin. He’s had sex, and had blowjobs before. He’s trying not to be too loud. He really, really does. Still, the moment your tongue swipes over his tip, he’s already groaning. “Fuck, baby.” he gasps, one hand flying to your head while the other grips the sheets beneath him in an attempt to ground himself. “So good, fuck.”

You take the base of his cock in our hand, getting a firm hold before you lick up the underside of him, taking your time to coat him with your spit. He does his best not to hold too tightly onto your hair for fear of pulling too hard. He keeps his eyes on you, memorizing the sight of your tongue sliding along his length, the feeling of you against his most sensitive parts.

“Tell me how it feels, baby.” you mutter, looking up at him with lust darkened eyes. “Don’t hold it in.”

Bob’s always been the talkative type. Before you, he tried to tone it down, considering most of his sexual experience was just flings. When you said you liked when he made noise, he took it to heart, letting his inner monologue escape his lips as you ravished him. 

He nods, another moan escaping him as you take him in your mouth, at the heavenly feeling of your lips around his cock. 

Try as you might, you can’t take his whole length in your mouth. You compensate with your hand on what you can’t fit, stroking him as you begin to bob your head on him, Bob groaning at the sensation.

“Holy shit, babe, oh my god.” he rambles as you take him in and out of your mouth, his knuckles beginning to turn white with how hard he grips the sheets. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this, mouth full of cock. Should’ve let you do this sooner, fuck-”

He interrupts himself with another moan as you manage to take him ever deeper into your throat, his tip just touching the back of your throat. You continue at your pace, laser focused on his every move and sound, noting what gets the most reaction. You do it again, take him just that much deeper, and Bob almost cums on the spot.

“Oh my god, you’re so good. Holy fuck, you’re perfect, your mouth is fucking incredible.” He can feel your own moan vibrate around him, and he groans at the feeling in turn. He’s becoming convinced you’re trying to suck his soul out through his cock. He’d let you, if it feels this good. He’d let you do anything you want to him.

He’s still talking aloud, he realizes as you make a sound that at first verges on a laugh, shifting quickly to a moan as he accidentally jerks his hips up just a bit. “Shit, I’m sorry, a-are you good? Okay?”

You nod, wiping your mouth quickly and smiling innocently as you lower your mouth back onto him, one hand moving to cup his balls beneath his cock. Yet another string of curses escapes him at the feeling, the combined sensation of your mouth and hands becoming all too much. He can feel himself hurtling off the edge, towards absolute ecstasy.

“Oh, god, baby I’m gonna cum, where should I- can I cum in your mouth? Please? Wanna fill you, let you taste me.”

You moan around him, and Bob takes that as the affirmative. You continue, eyes closed as you concentrate on maximizing his pleasure.

“Fuck, baby, ‘m gonna cum, fuck, fuck!” he practically yells out your name as he finally cums, you taking as much of him as possible as he does, hot spurts of cum sliding down your throat. You take it like a champ, holding your position, still stroking the base of him and massaging his balls beneath that.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Bob groans as he tries to collect himself, eyes coming back into focus to see you sit up, swallowing before licking what’s left of his cum off the tip of his softened dick. “You’re amazing.”

“You have a filthy mouth.” you chuckle, crawling up his body. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse that much.”

“The things you do to me.” he smiles, leaning in to kiss you. He can taste the salty flavor of himself on your lips. “We should do that again sometime.”

You brush some fallen hair out of his face, grinning with satisfaction. “Told you I was good.”

“I never doubted you.” he assures you, pulling you into his arms as he flips you onto your back. “But now it’s my turn.”

a/n: i'm gonna be fr blowjobs are not my specialty but i did my bset here and honestly it was good practice. Insane thing to say about writing about blowjobs but damn here we are. uhhhh bob fans enjoy!

[scarletwinterxx]

for tonight and forever - choi seungcheol imagine

honestly i started writing this after watching a clip of cheol being sporty and my mind went yep i need it. i want this. so here we are😅 was listening to handlebars on repeat while writing this, I dont know but it kinda got that feels for it.

Also, if anyone's wondering like how i name/pick the other characters for my fics. Usually I just search who's the same age as them or a familiar name to me. Okayyy so thats all, enjoy!

you can follow me on x i usually rant there, niniramyeonie 😊🌻

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You don’t plan to pick a fight with Choi Seungcheol every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. He just seems to bring out the absolute worst in you. Or the best. Depends on who’s watching.

“Did you write another hit piece about the soccer team?” Seungcheol demands, jogging up beside you as you make your way across campus, his duffle bag slung over one shoulder like he’s in some kinda Nike ad.

You don’t even look up from your iced americano. “I wouldn’t call it a hit piece. I’d call it... journalism. Ever heard of it?”

He scoffs. “Right, because calling us ‘a glorified pack of sweaty golden retrievers’ is definitely objective reporting.”

“That’s not what I wrote,” you correct him calmly. “I called you a sweaty golden retriever. Singular.”

He stops walking. “Oh my god. I was the retriever?”

You glance over your shoulder and grin. “Obviously.”

It’s always like this. Snarky comments, stolen pens during class, endless bickering about your article deadlines versus his training schedules. 

It’s become so routine that your friends don’t even bat an eye anymore when they see you two “arguing” in the cafeteria. Or library. Or literally anywhere with oxygen.

But last week, when some overconfident guy from the economics department tried to get handsy with you at the freshmen welcome party, it was Seungcheol who appeared out of nowhere, expression dark, stepping in with all the intensity of a final championship match.

“She said no,” he growled, standing in front of you like a damn shield.

You didn’t even have to say anything. just blinked at the guy slinking away while Seungcheol turned around and gently handed you your phone, which had dropped during the whole mess.

And then, as if nothing had happened: “You owe me chicken for that, by the way.”

Now, a week later, he’s still hovering. Annoyingly. Warmly. Protectively.

You pretend you don’t notice the way he always walks you home after late-night publication meetings. You pretend not to care that he saves the extra strawberry milk from team snacks for you. You pretend a lot.

You make your way across the quad, weaving through a sea of students and the occasional electric scooter, when someone bumps your shoulder and you look up to see Exy walking beside you, sipping on her banana milk like she’s been waiting for this moment all day.

"Okay," she says, dragging the word out suspiciously, "are you sure nothing's going on between you and Seungcheol?"

You nearly choke on your breath.

“What—no. Ew. Why would you—absolutely not.”

Exy raises an eyebrow. “Right. So him showing up to your department’s booth last week with snacks ‘for the team’ but only handing you your favorite is coincidence?”

“He was probably just—being annoying,” you mutter, tugging at the strap of your backpack as your ears warm. “He does that.”

“Uh huh. And I suppose he was just ‘annoying’ when he waited outside in the rain for you after your night class because he ‘happened to be nearby’?”

“He did happen to be nearby!” you protest, eyes wide. “The gym is like two buildings away—he probably just finished practice—why are you smiling like that?”

Exy leans in, smug. “Because I’ve never seen you this defensive unless someone messes up the Oxford comma.”

You stop walking to glare at her. “You’re delusional.”

“And you,” she says, poking your arm, “are clearly in denial.”

You start walking again, faster this time. “He’s a varsity jock with too much hair gel and a hero complex. We’re oil and vinegar. Cats and cucumbers.”

Exy laughs. “Says the girl who let him carry her publication banner to the main hall ‘because his arms are already huge anyway.’”

You spin around, horrified. “You were eavesdropping?!”

“Please,” she snorts, “you were practically shouting.”

You groan and cover your face with your hands. “There’s nothing going on.”

“Whatever you say,” she sings, skipping ahead as your classroom building comes into view.

You glance up at the sky, as if the universe might send a sign to back you up. All it sends is a familiar voice yelling from behind you.

“Yah, you forgot your charger again!”

You turn around. Seungcheol jogs up, holding out the charger you left in the library. Again.

You blink. “How did you—?”

“Someone posted in the group chat asking if anyone lefit. Figured it was yours. You always have it wrapped around your planner like a weirdo.”

Exy coughs something suspiciously like domestic behind you. You shoot her a murderous look.

Seungcheol, oblivious or pretending to be, grins and tousles your hair like you’re a child. “Don’t fry your laptop this time.”

You swat his hand away. “Stop doing that!”

He smirks. “You love it.”

You glance sideways at Exy. She doesn’t say a word but her eyes say everything.

You hate everyone. Except maybe… not really.

=

The next morning Seungcheol slides into his usual seat near the back of the lecture hall, pulling his hoodie over his head as if it’ll make him invisible. He spots Exy a row down, already seated, legs crossed, notebook open, pen twirling between her fingers like a threat.

He stiffens.

If he’s being truly honest, Exy kind of scares the crap out of him. She’s all sharp eyes and sharper comebacks, like she was born knowing where to hit where it’ll bruise. No nonsense, no hesitation. Still, he respects the hell out of her.

You’re friends with her, after all. And if he can’t be there every second someone looks at you the wrong way, it’s good to know Exy would probably throw a chair at their head without blinking.

The professor hasn’t shown up yet, and the room is loud with casual chatter, laptops opening, chairs scraping. He’s halfway through unlocking his iPad when Exy turns around in her seat, pins him with a look.

“Okay. So what’s the deal with you and her?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Are you guys a thing, or are you just really committed to the whole ‘enemies but not really’ bit?”

Seungcheol scoffs. “We're not—there’s nothing going on.”

Exy raises one brow.

“I’m serious,” he adds quickly. “We just… bicker. It’s a thing.”

“A thing,” she echoes. “Like a romantic comedy trope kind of thing?”

He rolls his eyes. “No.” Then, quieter, “Maybe. No. Definitely not.”

She narrows her eyes. “You literally showed up to her department meeting with hotteok last week.”

“I was in the area.”

“Uh huh. And the three extra packets of brown sugar filling were also just… coincidentally for her?”

“She likes them,” he mutters.

Exy smiles, but it’s more amused than friendly. “You’re really bad at this whole ‘denial’ thing, you know that?”

He frowns, but it lacks real bite. “Look, even if—hypothetically—there was something, it’s not like she’d be into me.”

“She calls you a golden retriever.”

“Exactly.”

“She also let you walk her home three nights last week. You think she lets just anyone do that?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

Exy leans back in her chair, satisfied. “I’m just saying. If you’re not gonna do anything about it, don’t come crying to me when someone else does.”

The professor walks in before Seungcheol can reply, but her words sit heavy in his chest.

Because the truth is, yeah, maybe he is a little gone for you. Maybe a lot. But he’s not exactly sure what to do with all of it. So instead, he flips open his notebook and pretends he doesn’t keep glancing at the empty seat you usually take in the front row.

His day ends with another practice. He kicks off his cleats by the bench, the grass still clinging to his socks and sweat drying cold on his back. Practice ran longer than usual, Coach yelling something about footwork and finals being no excuse to slack off. 

But even with his body aching and the floodlights dimming one by one behind him, it’s not the drills or the scores that keep repeating in his head.

It’s Exy’s voice.

“If you’re not gonna do anything about it, don’t come crying to me when someone else does.”

He scoffs under his breath, ruffling a towel through his hair like he can shake the thought loose. He’s fine. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.

He’s just heading toward the front gate when he spots you.

You’re walking just a few steps ahead, cradling your laptop bag against your side like always. Head tilted, hair catching the orange glow of the street lamps, laughing.

His heart stutters for a second, because—God. He knows that laugh. Knows the way your shoulders shake when it’s something really funny. Knows that dimple you hate but can’t ever hide.

But it’s not the laugh that gets him. It’s who’s next to you.

Minhyun. Tall, clean-cut, business-major-Minhyun. The guy who spoke at orientation with the kind of voice professors wish they had. Charming, polite, good grades, good future.

Good with you.

Seungcheol stops walking without even realizing it. Just stands there half-hidden behind the practice fence.

You’re smiling at Minhyun. Like, really smiling. he hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t prepared for the twist in his chest seeing you like that with someone else.

Minhyun says something and you lightly nudge his arm, head thrown back, carefree.

Seungcheol swallows hard. He doesn't move. Doesn’t call out. Doesn’t let himself get closer. He just watches as you and Minhyun walk down the street, steps in sync, laughter echoing behind you.

And when he finally turns away, it’s with a bitter taste on his tongue and Exy’s voice louder than ever in his head.

The next day. The moment Seungcheol walks into the lecture hall, he doesn’t bother with his usual routine of slouching into his chair and pretending to scroll through notes.

Instead, he spots Exy, takes the seat next to her, and turns to her with the kind of urgency usually reserved for last-minute exam cramming.

“What’s going on with her and Minhyun?”

Exy doesn’t even look up from her notes. “Hello to you too, Seungcheol.”

“Yeah, hi, morning, what’s up with her and Minhyun?”

Exy finally looks up, pen still in hand, unimpressed. “Why?”

“No reason,” he says way too fast. “I’m just…curious.”

“Curious,” she repeats, in a tone that suggests she’s heard better lies from toddlers.

“Yeah. I mean—he walked her home last night, I saw it. They were laughing and all. It looked like they were, you know... close.”

“You were watching them?”

“I happened to be nearby,” he mutters. “They were loud.”

Exy hums like she’s already solved the entire situation and is now just watching him fumble. “You don’t have to worry, you know.”

“I’m not worried,” he says, almost offended. “I’m just making sure she’s not—like, getting her hopes up with the wrong guy. Minhyun’s… smooth.”

“You mean polite?”

Seungcheol frowns. “No, I mean, like, too polite. No one’s that nice without a reason.”

Exy snorts. “Well, lucky for you, there’s nothing going on.”

“What?”

“She’s not into him. She said he reminds her of a quiz app. Looks nice, says the right things, but kind of boring once you tap through the first few questions.”

Seungcheol stares at her. “That’s… oddly specific.”

“Her words, not mine.”

Exy eyes him. “Still just curious?”

“Completely,” he lies.

She leans back in her chair, smirking. “Uh huh.”

And Seungcheol tells himself he’s not smiling. Not really. Exy watches him for a beat, then leans in with the casual menace of someone about to enjoy herself way too much.

“Although,” she says slowly, drawing the word out like it’s bait, “if there’s someone you should be worried about…”

Seungcheol stiffens. “What?”

She rests her chin on her hand, all innocent curiosity. “Seo Youngho.”

He stares. “Who?”

“Youngho. From the music department. Plays guitar, super chill, kind of a walking Tumblr post. Ringing any bells?”

Seungcheol blinks. “The guy with the weird beanie? That’s who I should be worried about?”

Exy grins. “She helped him with one of his interviews last week. Apparently, they’ve been messaging back and forth for edits.”

“Messaging?”

She shrugs. “You know how it starts. A casual thank you turns into a compliment. A compliment turns into, ‘Hey, wanna grab coffee and talk about your creative process?’ Next thing you know, he’s writing her a song with metaphors that don’t make sense but sound romantic.”

Seungcheol’s mouth opens, then closes.

“That’s not even—he wears socks with pineapples on them,” he mutters.

Exy raises an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a crime.”

“I’m just saying,” he grumbles, arms crossed, “she doesn’t even like acoustic guys. She said so. Once.”

“Oh?” she asks sweetly. “So you remember what kind of guys she likes?”

“I remember everything she says,” he snaps before he can stop himself.

Exy’s face does not help.

“…Just as friends,” he tacks on, immediately regretting every choice that led him to this moment.

She pats his shoulder like he’s a very dumb, very loyal golden retriever. “Sure, Cheol. Totally just friendly concern.”

He slumps in his chair and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like pineapple socks my ass.

Exy is still grinning when the professor starts the lecture.

Seungcheol spots you near the fountain, earbuds in, head buried in your phone, your steps a little bouncy like you’re walking to the beat of something catchy. Totally oblivious. Totally… you.

He doesn’t think before calling out, “Hey!”

You look up, surprised, but smile when you see him.

“Hey,” you echo, tugging one earbud out. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the gym or something? Yelling at cones?”

“Rest day,” he says, catching up to walk beside you. “Coach said we looked like overcooked ramen last practice.”

You laugh. “That’s gross.”

“He’s not wrong.”

There’s a small beat of silence, not awkward, just familiar. Then he casually drops it in. Smooth. Natural.

“So… you and Youngho?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“You’ve been texting? I heard you helped him with something?”

You squint like he just asked you to solve a math problem. “Youngho? I haven’t talked to him since like, the first week of classes? Why?”

Seungcheol falters for half a step. “Oh. I just—heard you were helping him with an interview or something?”

You tilt your head. “That was last semester. Wait, do you need his number or something?”

“What? No!” he says, way too fast, then clears his throat. “I just… Exy said you were talking. Thought it was a thing.”

You stare at him for a second before realization dawns. You smirk.

“Ohhh,” you say slowly, voice lilting. “She got you, didn’t she?”

He narrows his eyes. “What?”

“She totally messed with you.”

“I wasn’t—she didn’t—”

“You thought I was flirting with Youngho?”

“I didn’t,” he lies, every word defensive. “I was just… curious.”

You laugh, and it’s worse than any insult, because it’s light and teasing and just so smug.

“You’re so easy to mess with,” you say, shaking your head.

He glares at the pavement like it personally betrayed him.

You nudge him with your elbow, still grinning. “For the record, I don’t go for guys who write songs with moon metaphors and own six different scarves.”

Seungcheol tries not to smile. Fails. “So what do you go for?”

You look at him sideways, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

And you keep walking, earbuds back in, leaving him there on the path with his heart doing things it absolutely should not be doing.

=

Another day, another café.

You’re both hunched over your laptops, the small table between you a chaotic blend of charger cables, two half-finished drinks, your highlighters, his untouched notebook, and the occasional shared snack. 

He’s scrolling through something on his iPad that might be soccer strategies or might be memes you stopped asking. You’re typing furiously, earbuds in but not actually playing anything, more for mental defense than music.

the bell above the café door jingles. You glance up and spot Minhyun just stepping in, scarf around his neck, a familiar tote bag slung over his shoulder. He hasn’t seen you yet.

“Oh, that’s Minhyun,” you say casually, pulling your earbuds out.

Seungcheol doesn’t look up, just hums like it doesn’t mean anything. Which is a lie, because you see the way he pauses in the middle of scrolling, hand hovering just a second too long.

You wave, catching Minhyun’s attention.

“Minhyun! We’re over here!”

Seungcheol finally looks up, but he keeps his face impressively neutral, like he doesn’t care even a little. Which you don’t buy for a second.

Minhyun smiles as he approaches. “Hey, small world. I didn’t know you came here.”

“I practically live here,” you say. “You want to join us?”

Seungcheol opens his mouth—probably to protest, you can feel it coming off him in waves—but Minhyun’s already pulling out the third chair.

“Sure, if it’s okay.” He glances at Seungcheol politely. “Hey, man.”

“Hey,” Seungcheol replies with a nod that sounds like it costs him everything.

Minhyun settles in beside you, pulling out a book and a sleek little tablet. “What are you working on?”

“Publication layouts,” you say, already pulling one tab over to show him. “We’re redesigning the culture section.”

He leans in to take a look, and Seungcheol can hear the way your tone softens when you talk to Minhyun. friendly, focused, but soft. Not that it means anything. Probably.

He takes a slow sip of his lukewarm coffee, eyes flicking from you to Minhyun and back again.

He’s not jealous. He’s not. He’s just suddenly very aware of how close Minhyun’s chair is to yours. How you’re leaning in. How you laugh once, quietly, and nudge his arm with your pen.

Totally normal. Totally fine.

He pretends to look back at his iPad but spends more time glaring at his reflection in the dark screen.

You glance at him then, like you just remembered he’s there.

“You okay?” you ask, brows slightly knit.

He smiles, a little too tightly. “Perfect.”

You stare for a beat longer something flickering behind your eyes like you’re catching o n but Minhyun says something else and your attention shifts again.

Seungcheol exhales through his nose and taps his screen to life.

Perfect, his ass.

Minhyun stays for about an hour maybe less, but to Seungcheol, it feels like a whole semester’s worth of third-wheeling compressed into sixty suffocating minutes.

He doesn’t say much. Just watches. Watches how your voice dips into that soft, almost melodic tone when you explain things to Minhyun. Watches how you tilt your head, eyes crinkling just a little more when you laugh at one of his lame puns. 

Mostly, he watches how different you sound when you're talking to Minhyun.

It’s not that you’re fake. No, it’s worse. You’re genuine. Sweet. Thoughtful. Almost… gentle.

Nothing like the way you talk to him.

With him, it’s sarcasm, banter, eye-rolls and elbow jabs. It’s you calling him “musclehead” with your chin in your hand and the tiniest grin on your lips. It’s insults that somehow feel like compliments and arguments that stretch out longer than necessary just because neither of you wants to stop.

With Minhyun, it’s all warm tones and quiet understanding.

Seungcheol’s practically chewing through his own tongue by the time Minhyun checks his phone, apologizes with that polite smile, and stands to leave.

“I’ve got a meeting,” Minhyun says, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, sure,” you say, smiling.

Minhyun nods at Seungcheol, who manages a grunt and what might be a nod or might be a twitch.

Then it’s just you and him again.

You sip your drink like nothing’s changed, like the air isn’t thick with tension across the table. He’s silent. Half sulking. Half glaring at the innocent sugar packet in front of him like it personally offended him.

You glance up. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Right.” You go back to typing, but you can feel his mood hanging in the air like storm clouds. “You sure?”

He finally looks up, brow furrowed. “Just wondering.”

“About?”

He shrugs, but it’s tight. Forced. “It’s impressive.”

“What is?”

“The way your entire voice changes when Minhyun shows up,” he mutters, eyes pointedly on his iPad. “It’s like I’m watching a romcom where the lead suddenly discovers she has range.”

You blink. “Are you seriously—?”

“Not that it’s any of my business,” he adds quickly, still not looking at you. “You can sound however you want. I just didn’t know you had that tone in your arsenal.”

You stare at him, amused and mildly annoyed. “You mean a normal tone? You want me to start cooing at you too?”

He glares. “No. Gross.”

“Then what, exactly, is your problem?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Crosses his arms. “…Nothing,” he mutters again.

You lean back, arms crossed to mirror him. “Wow. Someone’s sulky.”

“I’m not sulky,” he grumbles, sulkily.

You watch him for a moment, a smile creeping at the corners of your lips. “You’re totally jealous.”

He scoffs, eyes wide. “I am not—”

You raise an eyebrow.

“—jealous,” he finishes weakly, shoulders sinking.

You hum, satisfied. “Sure, Cheol.”

And you go back to typing, smirk hidden behind your cup, while he sits there, stewing in the mess he doesn't want to admit he's already in.

=

It’s game day. The campus field is packed. students gathered on the bleachers, the buzz of excitement in the air, banners fluttering in the breeze.

You're by the sidelines, bundled up in your oversized varsity jacket, press tag clipped to the hem, camera hanging from your neck. You've already snapped a few wide shots for the publication but you're really here for one thing. Or well… one person.

You spot Seungcheol jogging over, all athletic swagger and sweat-damp hair, pulling off his warm-up jacket with the kind of ease that makes the girls in the stands sigh a little too loudly. 

He’s scanning the sideline like he always does—and his eyes land on you immediately.

“Don’t get in the way,” he says, coming to a stop in front of you, chest rising and falling just a little faster than normal. “And don’t drop that camera again. Last time was—”

“Cheollie,” you coo, cutting him off in that voice, syrupy and infuriating. “You look so strong today. Are you gonna score a goal just for me?”

He freezes.

Right there on the turf, hands on his hips, mouth parting like the words got caught somewhere between his lungs and his brain.

“…Why,” he mutters, “why are you like this.”

You don’t answer. Just smile sweetly and lift your camera to get a shot of his stunned expression.

That’s when Yuta jogs by, slowing just long enough to glance between the two of you, brows furrowing.

“You good, bro?” he asks Seungcheol, wary.

Seungcheol doesn’t look at him. “No.”

Yuta looks at you. You give him a cheerful wave.

Yuta looks back at Seungcheol. “Okay, cool. Not my problem.” And he jogs off without waiting for a response. You stifle a laugh.

Seungcheol glares at you like he’s trying to burn a hole through your smile. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

You lift your camera. “Say cheese, baby boy.”

He groans, dragging his hand down his face. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” you chirp, snapping the shutter.

And as he jogs back onto the field, you catch it. that tiny twitch of his lips that betrays the fact that maybe, just maybe, he really doesn’t.

They win, of course.

Final whistle blows, and the field erupts. The crowd’s on its feet, cheers echoing across the bleachers as Seungcheol gets swarmed by his teammates, arms thrown over shoulders, shouts of victory mixing with the sound of cleats thudding against the grass.

You’ve already got the shot—the moment he scored, that raw burst of power and focus in his eyes. Pure, stupid perfection. You’re checking the image in your viewfinder when you hear your name being called.

Loud. Familiar.

You look up just in time to see him jogging toward you, grin wide, sweat-slicked hair falling into his eyes, jersey clinging to him like a second skin.

“Don’t even start,” he says, breathless, still high on adrenaline.

You don’t miss a beat. “My strong baby boy scored a goal just for me, huh?”

He freezes again, hands on his hips, jaw clenching like he’s trying so hard not to rise to the bait but his eyes are already dancing with fire.

And then—he lifts a hand.

“One…”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Two—”

It takes you half a second too long.

Your eyes widen. “Wait—”

You barely turn when he lunges.

You shriek, half laughing, half panicking, and bolt, camera bouncing against your chest as you take off down the sideline like your life depends on it—which, in this case, it kind of does.

Behind you, you hear him shouting your name between bouts of laughter.

“I swear—when I catch you—!”

You don’t dare look back. “You’ll what? Hug me? Thank me for the moral support?”

“Moral support?! You called me baby boy in front of my entire team!”

“You loved it!”

“YOU’RE DEAD!”

And that’s how you end up sprinting across campus, laughing your lungs out, camera swaying, heart hammering—not just from the chase, but from the way his voice sounded when he said your name.

You barely close the door behind you when Exy’s voice rings out from the kitchen.

“So,” she says, in that sing-song tone that always means she knows something, “how does it feel to be publicly chased down the sideline by Choi Seungcheol in front of, oh I don’t know, half the campus?”

You groan, dropping your camera bag to the floor with a dramatic thud. “Exy. No.”

“Oh, yes.” She leans against the counter, mug in hand, eyebrows up. “Do you know how fast my phone blew up? My friend from engineering said it looked like a scene out of a teen drama. One minute he’s scoring the winning goal, next minute he’s full-on sprinting after you like he’s ready to propose or commit murder.”

“He wasn’t—” you start, but she’s already smirking.

“You called him baby boy.”

“That was his fault!” you point accusingly, peeling off your jacket. “He was being all sulky and—whatever—I was just messing with him.”

“Oh, and then he chased you. Full speed. Zero hesitation. Definitely just bro things, right?”

You make a strangled noise and cover your face with both hands. “Exy, please. I’m going to melt into the floor.”

She sips from her mug. “So when are you two making it official?”

You drop your hands and glare at her. “There’s nothing going on.”

She snorts. “Sure. And I only like himbos with abs and no brain cells—oh wait, that’s true.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re so annoying.”

“I am,” she agrees cheerfully. “But I’m also right.”

You dodge past her into your room, slamming the door shut with a dramatic groan, but even through the wood, you hear her yell:

“CALL HIM BABY BOY FOR ME NEXT TIME!”

=

You’re curled up in one of the worn-out lounge chairs, legs tucked under you, laptop balanced on your knees as you edit photos from yesterday’s game. The student lounge is half-empty, low buzz of conversation around you, the occasional clink of coffee cups from the vending machine nearby.

You hear footsteps and don’t bother looking up until a shadow falls over your screen.

Seungcheol’s standing there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “You’re not gonna call me that again, are you?” he says, eyes narrowing slightly like he’s bracing for impact.

You don’t even blink.

“No more baby talk for you,” you reply flatly, scrolling through the thumbnails. “I’ve decided to retire that version of myself.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup.” You shoot him a quick glance. “Clearly you couldn’t handle it. Almost tackled me on school property.”

He slides into the chair beside you, sprawling with way too much comfort, his leg knocking gently against yours. “You ran. Like a criminal.”

“Because you counted down like a threat!”

“I was threatening you.”

You shrug. “Wasn’t very effective.”

He scoffs. “You screamed and ran. That’s literally textbook effectiveness.”

You glance at him, then back at your screen, lips twitching. “Still. No more soft talk. You’ve been cut off.”

He leans in, just enough that you can feel the warmth of his shoulder. “That sounds like a challenge.”

You raise a brow, not looking at him. “It’s a warning.”

He hums, and you can feel the smirk without even seeing it.

“Good,” he mutters. “Didn’t like you calling me that anyway.”

You side-eye him, slowly. “Then why’d your ears turn red?”

His jaw tightens. “They didn’t.”

“Okay, baby boy.”

“Yah—!”

You’re already laughing again as he flails for your laptop in mock betrayal, and the girl across the lounge glances over at the two of you, then whispers something to her friend.

Yeah. The rumors are probably already flying and somehow, that doesn’t bother you one bit.

“You get sulky when I talk soft with other guys,” you say, biting your grin, “but then when I do it to you, you hate it.”

He stares at you, deadpan. “That’s ‘cause you do it with spite when it’s me.”

You gasp, dramatically clutching your chest. “Spite? Cheol, I poured honey into my voice for you.”

“It was poisoned honey.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

He scoffs, leaning back like the weight of your crimes is too much to bear. “You didn’t say it to be nice. You said it to get in my head.”

“…And it worked,” you mutter under your breath.

“I heard that.”

You shoot him an innocent smile, and he groans, dragging his hands down his face before tossing his head back against the chair. “I’m never living this down.”

You tilt your head. “If it makes you feel better, I won’t call you baby boy anymore.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Thank God.”

You grin wider. “I’ll think of something worse.”

He whips his head toward you, eyes wide. “Don’t you dare—”

But you're already back to editing, humming like the angel of mischief you are, while beside you, Choi Seungcheol quietly braces himself for whatever fresh torment you’re cooking up next.

=

The music’s too loud, the lights are too dim, and the smell of cheap beer mixed with overpriced cologne is already giving you a headache.

You glance around the packed rooftop bar, surrounded by a sea of familiar-enough faces classmates, clubmates, the occasional TA trying to look younger than they are. 

You sigh into your cup, swirling whatever vaguely citrusy drink you’ve been nursing for the past twenty minutes. All you know is that it’s 10PM, your feet already hurt from standing too long in boots that looked better than they feel, and you’re three whole messages deep into debating if it’s too early to fake an emergency and leave.

You’re tucked off to the side of the open terrace, leaning on the railing, the city lights flickering in the distance. Your phone’s out, thumb hovering over your texts when—

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You don’t need to turn around to know who it is. That voice, equal parts smug and teasing, is practically branded into your brain at this point.

“You sound surprised,” you say, glancing up with a dry look as Seungcheol steps into view. He’s ditched his usual hoodie for a black button-up, sleeves rolled, hair swept just slightly back like someone definitely dragged him into looking decent for this.

He shrugs. “I am. I figured you’d be hiding in your room with tea and a face mask.”

“How do you know I do face masks on Fridays?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Exy talks. I listen.”

“You spy.”

You roll your eyes and go back to your drink, but you don’t move away when he leans next to you against the railing. Neither of you says anything for a moment.

The party rages on behind you But here, in this sliver of quiet under the glow of the terrace lights, it almost feels like you’ve stepped out of it.

“Seriously though,” Seungcheol says, voice a bit softer now, “what are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d try being normal for once.”

He chuckles. “And how’s that working out for you?”

You shoot him a look. “Horribly. I want to leave.”

He grins, bumping your shoulder gently. “Give it twenty more minutes. If it still sucks, I’ll make up a fake emergency for both of us.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’d do that?”

“What are friends for, baby girl?”

Your jaw drops.

“No. Absolutely not. You do not get to turn this around on me—”

But he’s already walking away, that stupid smug grin plastered across his face as you fume behind him, drink in hand, fully forgetting how much you wanted to leave just a minute ago.

Seungcheol’s gone for two minutes. Three, tops.

He’d left you leaning against the terrace wall, muttering something about grabbing real drinks this time—“not whatever watered-down lemonade that was”—and you’d waved him off, rolling your eyes but letting him go.

He doesn’t expect anything to happen in those few minutes. It’s a mixer, not a crime scene.

You’re still where he left you. Only now, there’s some guy standing way too close. One hand braced against the wall next to your head like a goddamn cliché, the other mid-gesture like he’s trying to impress you with whatever he’s slurring through his tequila breath.

But what sets Seungcheol off isn’t just the guy—it’s you.

Your arms are crossed tight, jaw clenched, your glare sharp enough to cut. It’s the look you give right before a verbal takedown. Or a physical one. And Seungcheol knows that look. He knows the way your shoulders tense when you're holding back.

He's by your side in an instant, slipping between you and the guy like it’s muscle memory.

“Hey,” he says, voice calm, low but there’s a warning threaded through it like steel. “You got a problem?”

The guy blinks, thrown off. “Huh?”

“She’s not interested.” Seungcheol doesn’t look away, doesn’t raise his voice but something about the way he stands, the way his eyes have gone cold and unreadable, makes it feel louder than a shout.

“Woah, man, chill,” the guy says, backing up a half-step. “Didn’t realize she was taken.”

You don’t say anything, but your eyes flick sideways to Seungcheol, and for once, there’s no smart remark waiting on your tongue. The guy mutters something under his breath and stumbles off, finally disappearing into the crowd.

Seungcheol turns to you then, brows drawn in concern. “You okay?”

You nod, a little slower than usual. “I was about to knee him in the groin.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

“Thanks.”

He exhales, finally relaxing, and hands you your drink. “Next time just deck him. I’ll vouch for you.”

You snort. “Thought you said you didn’t want to get kicked out of school for assault.”

“I said me. You can get away with anything.”

“Even calling you baby boy in public?”

He groans. “Don’t push your luck.”

You spot her before she spots you which is exactly three seconds of peace before her eyes lock in and her grin goes full shark mode. Exy, armed with a drink in one hand and chaos in the other, pushes her way through the crowd like a woman on a mission. 

“Let’s dance,” she announces the second she’s close enough, already reaching for your wrist.

You jerk back instinctively, eyes wide. “No.”

“Oh, yes,” she counters, looping her fingers through yours. “You’ve been standing like a moody wallflower all night. Come on, I’ve got the perfect song.”

You shoot a panicked look at Seungcheol, who’s beside you sipping from his drink with all the calm in the world. Your eyes practically scream: Help me.

He doesn’t even blink. One second you’re getting tugged forward, and the next you’re yanked right back, a firm arm locking around your waist like a seatbelt.

You barely register the movement before your back hits Seungcheol’s chest, his drink still in one hand, his other arm cinched around you like he does this all the time.

“Sorry,” he says, voice casual, cheek resting near yours as he stares Exy down. “She’s busy.”

You blink, stunned, heat crawling up your neck as the crowd seems to muffle around you.

Exy raises both brows, lips twitching. “Busy?”

“She’s got a prior commitment,” Seungcheol says smoothly, sipping his drink. “With me.”

Exy smirks, shaking her head slowly. “Wow. Okay. Fine. I’ll find someone else to humiliate on the dance floor.”

“You do that,” Seungcheol says, not letting go.

She gives you one last teasing glance before disappearing into the crowd. And still he doesn’t let go.

“Nice save,” you say quietly.

“Anytime,” he murmurs, chin brushing the side of your head. “My reflexes are scary good.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore how loud your heart’s gotten. You stay there, tucked against him, the bass of the music rumbling through your bones but somehow, with Seungcheol’s arm still around you, the chaos of the party feels… muted.

Comfortable, even.

“Are you gonna let go?” you ask, only half teasing.

He shrugs behind you, arm unmoving. “You looked like you were in danger. Can’t be too careful.”

You tilt your head slightly, cheek brushing his collarbone. “Of Exy? She’s five-two and dances like she’s summoning demons.”

“That’s exactly why I stepped in.”

You laugh quietly, your fingers curling slightly around the hem of his sleeve. Neither of you moves to create space. Not even a little.

After a beat, he says, voice lower now, more honest, “You sure you’re okay here?”

You glance up at him, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“Just…” he pauses, eyes scanning your face. “You looked like you wanted to bolt earlier. Thought maybe the crowd was too much.”

You blink. It’s not the question itself. It’s the way he says it—like he noticed. Like he always does.

Your voice is soft when you answer. “Yeah. It was a lot. But... this helps.”

He watches you for a moment longer, then nods once, like that’s all he needed to hear.

“Okay. Then I won’t move,” he says simply.

And he doesn’t. You stay like that standing there in the middle of a rooftop party you never wanted to be at. with Seungcheol wrapped around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like there’s nowhere else you’re supposed to be.

And maybe, just maybe, he’s thinking the same thing.

=

It’s late afternoon,  you're in the library seated across from Minhyun, half your things spread out. Supposedly working. Mostly talking.

“Well, someone has high standards,” Minhyun says, leaning back in his chair with a smirk, arms crossed like he’s cracked some great mystery.

You raise a brow. “I’m sorry?”

He shrugs, clearly enjoying this. “Just saying. You always complain about guys being boring, or messy, or not knowing what a double space after a period is.”

“Okay, that last one is basic formatting decency,” you argue, sitting up straighter. “I shouldn’t have to date someone who thinks microsoft word automatically fixes their laziness.”

He snorts. “See what I mean? High standards.”

You wave a hand. “It’s called not settling. I have taste.”

“Oh, you definitely have taste,” he agrees, mock-thoughtful. “Just not anyone specific in mind?”

“Nope,” you say quickly. Too quickly. You’re back to flipping through your notebook like it suddenly got interesting.

He narrows his eyes, amused. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

You glance up, expression innocent. “What?”

“You’ve got that look,” he says, pointing at you like he’s found a clue on a crime show. “The guilty one. You’re hiding someone.”

“There is no one,” you insist, biting back a laugh. “I would know. I live in my own head, unfortunately.”

Minhyun leans forward, elbows on the table now. “So you’re telling me not a single guy has caught your attention lately? Not even, I don’t know, a certain varsity soccer player with the world’s most punchable smirk?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you definitely do.”

You’re halfway through forming your next liesomething about how you barely talk to Seungcheol anyway when Minhyun just grins and goes back to his notes like he hasn’t just lobbed a truth bomb across the table.

And despite your best effort, your brain is now helpfully supplying you with a memory: Seungcheol’s arm around your waist, the solid press of his chest behind you.

You clear your throat, suddenly hyper-aware of the heat in your cheeks.Minhyun doesn’t say anything more but the look on his face says everything.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

You freeze, mid-sip of your drink, caught red-handed by absolutely nothing.

“I’m not thinking about anything,” you say way too defensively, setting your cup down a little harder than necessary. “I’m thinking about this—this paragraph on media ethics. Because that’s what we’re here for. Academics.”

You kick him under the table. Lightly. Mostly.

He grins, rubbing at his shin. “Ow. Abuse. I’m telling Exy.”

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, burying your face in your notebook.

“And you’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. It’s cute.”

You groan. “Minhyun, I swear—”

“I’m just saying,” he cuts in, leaning forward again, his voice more teasing now, “I don’t think it’s nothing.”

You don’t answer right away. You’re too busy pretending to reread the same line over and over. But inside, your brain is spinning. Because maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s not nothing.

But saying it out loud? That feels like something big. Something you’re not ready to hand over just yet.

So instead, you glance up and deadpan, “I hope you spill your coffee on your notes.”

Minhyun laughs again, loud enough to get a side-eye from the librarian but he doesn’t push.

What you didn’t know is that a few rows down in the same library, someone else caught the whole scene.

Kim Mingyu, long-limbed and tragically loud even when he’s trying to be quiet, had been on a solo mission to actually study for once in his life. He’d just settled into a corner with his econ notes and a banana milk when his gaze drifted, purely by accident, toward one of the study tables across the floor.

And there you were. With Minhyun. Laughing. Smiling.

Leaning in just close enough that if someone didn’t know you, they’d absolutely mistake that for flirting. Honestly, even if they did know you, they might still mistake it. Because there’s something about the way you kicked him under the table, the way Minhyun grinned like he won something, the way you laughed afterward that.

Mingyu blinked. Watched for another beat. Then slowly pulled out his phone.

Mingyu: yo. ur girl’s flirting with someone at the library rn lol Seungcheol: who Mingyu: The girl? Seungcheol: The guy, you idiot Mingyu:Oh Mingyu: Minhyun. They look cute, close too. Seungcheol: k

Mingyu stared at the typing bubble for a moment. It blinked in. Blinked out and that was it.

Meanwhile, on the other side of campus, Seungcheol stared down at his phone, jaw ticking just slightly. He told himself it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t his business. That you weren’t his.

But that didn’t stop the quiet, unwelcome twist in his chest. Didn’t stop him from wondering just how close “close” meant.

He gives it a few seconds maybe ten. Just enough time for the screen to go dark, for his reflection to stare back at him in the glossy black glass. His jaw’s tight, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Mingyu’s message sits there like it’s daring him to react.

He tries to ignore it but fails. before he knows it, he's swiping up, hitting your name in his contacts, thumb moving like muscle memory.

“What?” your voice comes through, casual and distracted, like you didn’t just launch yourself into the back of his mind and set up camp there. “I’m in the library.”

“I know,” he says, and it comes out sharper than he means. He clears his throat, tries again. “I just… what are you doing?”

There’s a beat. Then a quiet, “Homework?”

“With Minhyun?”

“...Do you have a problem with that?”

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “No. I mean—no. Just asking.”

“You sound weird,” you say, more amused than anything. “Wait—did something happen?”

He wants to say no, because this is ridiculous. He has no right to be calling. No claim. No excuse.

But instead, what comes out is, “Were you flirting with him?”

Dead silence. Then a laugh “What?”

“I’m just asking,” he snaps, defensive now. “Mingyu saw you two. Said you looked... close.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, half-laughing. “Did you really just call me because of something Mingyu said?”

“I didn’t call because of him,” he says quickly. “I called because—”

He cuts himself off. Because what? Because he didn’t like the idea of someone else making you laugh like that? Because the thought of Minhyun sitting across from you, pulling that easy smile out of you, made something coil tight in his stomach?

You’re still waiting on the other end.

“Because I wanted to hear your voice,” he finishes, quieter now. Honest.

You go silent. He hears the distant rustle of papers, a soft sigh.

Then, you say, “You’re ridiculous.”

He almost smiles. “Yeah.”

“And needy.”

“Only a little.”

“I’m hanging up now,” you say, but you don’t.

He leans back in his chair, eyes fixed on nothing. “Okay.”

Your phone buzzes again barely five seconds later. You glance at Minhyun, who raises an eyebrow, clearly seeing the caller ID flash across your screen. You mouth one sec and pick up, standing up from your seat

“You better not be talking to him with that baby voice shit you do.”

You laugh a full, startled laugh that earns you a glare from a nearby student and a very entertained look from Minhyun.

“Oh my god,” you say, still grinning. “Are you actually spiraling right now?”

“I'm not spiraling,” Seungcheol grumbles, voice low and half-muttered. “I’m just saying. You do that thing—your tone gets all soft and sugarcoated and—ugh. I don’t want to hear that being used on anyone but me.”

“First of all, you hated it when I used that voice on you.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because when you do it with me, it’s annoying. When you do it with other guys, it’s... threatening.”

You snort. “Threatening?”

“To my sanity, yeah.”

You shake your head, amused and maybe a little flattered in the most chaotic way. “So what, you want me to reserve the baby voice exclusively for you now?”

He’s quiet for a beat too long. Then—

“...Maybe.”

You nearly drop your phone from how fast your hand flies up to your face.

“You are unreal, Choi Seungcheol.”

“I just know what’s mine,” he says, all confidence now, like he didn’t just blurt that out by accident. Your smile softens, just a touch.

“I’m still in the library,” you murmur.

“So?” he replies. “Not like I can kiss you through the phone.”

You pause. That was... not a joke. Not fully. And your heart? Oh, it flips.

You swallow. “Then maybe stop calling unless you're ready to make that kind of statement.”

There’s a long, loaded silence.

Then, low and smug, he says, “Good. So you were thinking about kissing me.”

You hang up and across campus, Seungcheol laughs to himself like he’s just won the lottery.

Practice is the last thing on his mind. The sky is bleeding orange over the field, the kind of late afternoon glow that usually helps him lock in, focus up. 

But Seungcheol’s head is somewhere else half on your voice in his ear earlier, half on the way you hung up on him like you were flustered out of your mind, and maybe a little on how good that felt.

He’s tying his cleats on the sidelines when Mingyu drops onto the bench beside him, kicking his legs out like a golden retriever who just learned how to stretch.

“You know what’s funny?” Mingyu says, not even pretending to ease into it.

“No,” Seungcheol replies flatly, not looking up. “But I have a feeling you’re gonna tell me anyway.”

“I texted ‘your girl’s flirting at the library’ and you didn’t even ask who I was talking about,” Mingyu says, all grin. “Just went straight into panic mode.”

Seungcheol freezes for half a second before continuing to tighten the laces. “I wasn’t panicking.”

“Oh no, not at all,” Mingyu drawls. “You were calmly accusing her of using her baby voice on other men within seconds.”

“I was just—checking.”

“Sure,” Mingyu says. “Checking. Out of concern for her academic productivity.”

Seungcheol glares at him. “Do you need to be like this?”

Mingyu slaps a hand over his chest dramatically. “I’m just being a supportive friend.”

“Supportive friends don’t act like tabloid reporters.”

“Supportive friends call it like they see it, and what I see is a man deep in denial about being down horrifically bad.”

Seungcheol grabs a water bottle and takes a long sip just so he doesn’t say something that proves Mingyu exactly right.

Mingyu leans in, eyes twinkling. “You like her.”

“She’s annoying.”

“You like her.”

“She talks to me like I’m a five-year-old.”

“You’d let her step on you if she asked.”

Seungcheol gives him a deadpan look. “You good?”

Mingyu shrugs. “You’re not denying it.”

Seungcheol exhales, tipping his head back, letting the fading sun hit his face. Mingyu, satisfied with the tension in the air but not quite done poking the fire, stretches his arms overhead, lets out a content sigh, and adds, far too casually:

“But, like... they do kinda look cute together, don’t they? Minhyun and her.”

Seungcheol’s head snaps up so fast Mingyu almost flinches.

“What did you just say?”

Mingyu fights back a grin, trying to keep his tone innocent. “I mean, he’s got that polite, nice guy thing going on. She’s sharp, a little mean—classic opposites attract. Balance, y’know?”

Seungcheol’s jaw ticks.

“They don’t balance,” he says, too quickly. “Minhyun’s too bland for her.”

Mingyu raises a brow, delight practically radiating off him. “Bland?”

“Yeah. She’d eat him alive. He’d fold at the first sign of an argument.”

“And you wouldn’t?”

“I fight back,” Seungcheol snaps, and then immediately realizes how that sounds.

Mingyu full-on cackles.

“There it is! There’s the alpha wolf! Jesus, dude, chill before you end up headbutting someone.”

Seungcheol scowls and tosses the ball at Mingyu’s gut lightly, but with just enough force to make it a statement.

Mingyu catches it with a grunt, still laughing. “So defensive. You sure she’s not your girl?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer this time. Just turns toward the field, jaw set, hands on his hips, trying and failing not to think about how close you and Minhyun had been sitting.

=

The following day you barely make it five seconds into sitting across from him at the student lounge before you're hit with the weight of his mood.

Seungcheol’s already there when you arrive hood up, arms crossed, textbook open but clearly untouched. His eyes flick up when you slide into the seat across from him, but he doesn’t say anything. 

You squint at him. “Okay. What’s this vibe?”

“What vibe.”

“The one where you’re one exhale away from challenging someone to a duel.”

“Dramatic.”

You tilt your head, resting your chin on your palm. “Did Mingyu say something again? Did he beat you at something? Or is it because of—” you pause, catching the flicker of something in his eyes, “—Minhyun?”

Nothing but that nothing is so loud, it may as well be a full confession.

You grin. “Oh my god. You’re sulking again.”

“I’m not sulking,” he mutters, refusing to meet your eyes

“You have sulking energy. Your entire aura is sulk.”

He slams the book shut “Why him?”

“What?”

Seungcheol looks at you then, eyebrows slightly furrowed, like he’s genuinely annoyed but underneath, there's something else. A little unspoken frustration. Maybe even jealousy, thinly veiled.

“Minhyun,” he says. “Why do you laugh like that when you’re with him?”

You stare at him, lips parting, unsure if you’re hearing him right.

“Are you seriously asking me why I laugh at jokes?”

“I’m asking why you laugh differently.”

You lean back in your seat, slowly crossing your arms, lips tugging into a smug smile. “Choi Seungcheol... are you jealous?”

He narrows his eyes. “No.”

“You’re so jealous.”

“I’m just observant,” he grumbles.

You lean in, resting your elbows on the table. “You know, if you wanted me to laugh like that with you, maybe try not scowling at me the minute I sit down.”

He snorts, finally just barely  “Then stop using your baby voice on other guys.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, laughing. “You’re never letting that go, huh?”

He leans back, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not until you start using it where it counts.”

And just like that, the mood shifts. The sulk might still be there but so is the smirk. 

Then he says it. Just like that, out of nowhere. No warning. No buildup.

“And don’t think I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

No break. No pause. Not even a breath.

“You thinking about kissing me.”

Your brain screeches to a halt. “What—”

“I heard you,” he says, leaning in, smug etched all over his stupidly handsome face. “You said it yourself. ‘Then maybe stop calling unless you’re ready to make that kind of statement.’ Which means you were thinking it. Which means—”

“That is not what I said,” you argue, pointing at him like that’ll physically push the words back into his mouth. “You twisted it. You butchered it.”

“Oh? So you weren’t thinking about it?”

“I was—hypothetically speaking. There’s a difference.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. “So you admit you thought about it.”

You gape at him. “That’s not—no! I was talking about you! You were the one flirting over the phone—”

“I was flirting?”

“‘I wanted to hear your voice,’” you mimic, dropping your voice into a painfully off-key version of his deeper tone. “That’s you! That’s textbook flirt!”

He shrugs, completely unfazed. “Did it work?”

You glare. “I hung up on you.”

He grins. “Exactly. You panicked.”

You stare at him for a full three seconds. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, like he’s delivering some grand conclusion, “you’re still here.”

You want to throw your pen at him. But more than that, you want to wipe that smug look off his face.

Unfortunately, kissing him would do exactly that. Which is why you don’t. Not yet.

You just mutter, “Don’t flatter yourself, Choi,” and flip open your notebook, pretending to focus.

But from the way you can feel his eyes on you, you know this isn’t over. Not even close. He doesn't let up. In fact, he leans in.

Elbows on the table, eyes locked on yours with that sly smile that should be illegal on campus grounds. Close enough that you can smell the faint traces of his cologne, like pine and trouble.

“And yet,” he murmurs, smug and slow, “you’re blushing, babygirl.”

You freeze. Eyes wide. Brain empty. Heart somewhere doing backflips against your ribs.

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me—”

His smile deepens, utterly pleased with himself. “Hit a nerve, did I?”

“I am not blushing—”

“You are.” He points lazily, like he’s stating the weather. “Right there. Your cheeks. Like strawberries.”

You slap both palms against your face. “Stop looking at me—” He laughs, leaning back like he just won a championship match.

You glare at him through your fingers. “You think this is funny?”

“Hilarious.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re adorable.”

“I hate you.”

“Sure, babygirl.”

You grab your pen like a weapon. He raises his hands in surrender, still grinning like the devil in a varsity hoodie. But Seungcheol? He’s already forgotten the rest of the world exists. Because all he sees is you. Flustered, indignant, glowing red and still sitting right there across from him.

And he’s never felt more victorious in his life.

=

It’s been a few days, but nothing’s changed.

If anything, he’s gotten worse.

Now Seungcheol’s teasing comes armed less banter, more ambush. One second, he’s making fun of how you chew your pen when you’re focused, the next he’s casually dropping something like, “Careful, keep doing that and I’m gonna think you’re trying to distract me, sweetheart.”

Which, of course, earns him a full-on attack with your highlighter. Or your notebook. Or, once, your water bottle though to be fair, that was more of a warning toss.

He just dodges, laughs, and runs off like the menace he is, usually calling a smug “You’re obsessed with me!” over his shoulder while you try not to chase him down and tackle him in the middle of campus.

It’s a game now, and he plays to win.

Which brings you to now. another game day, your camera bag slung over your shoulder as you take your usual spot on the sidelines. The stadium is buzzing, the sky starting to dip into dusk, and you’re setting up your lens when something drops over your head.

You flinch, camera instinctively cradled to your chest, and yank the thing off only to find yep. A varsity jacket.

Not just any jacket. His jacket.

You turn around instantly, already knowing who it is.

Seungcheol stands a few feet away, casually stretching like he didn’t just try to blindfold you. He’s grinning, loose and cocky, in that way that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Sun’s setting,” he says innocently. “Didn’t want you to catch a chill.”

You hold up the jacket like it’s evidence at a crime scene. “This almost took me out, Choi.”

He shrugs. “Worth it. You look cute in it.”

Then you narrow your eyes, lips twitching. “You just wanted me to wear your jacket”

Seungcheol raises a brow. “Wouldn’t complain.”

“You are—so—insufferable.”

He starts backing away toward his team, still grinning. “Still wearing it though.”

You glance down at the jacket in your arms. And yeah, you do pull it on but only because it’s cold and definitely not because it smells like pine and trouble and home.

The game starts, the first half going like the usual but then it happens. It happens fast, too fast to process. One second, the ball’s moving upfield in a blur, and the next, a player slams into Seungcheol. Hard.

You hear the collective oof ripple through the crowd as his body hits the turf, legs folding awkwardly beneath him before he rolls over, clutching his side.

Your heart lurches to your throat.

The ref’s whistle blows sharp and loud, halting the game. A few players drop to a knee. Others stand, tense and quiet. You grip your camera like a lifeline, frozen on the sideline as medics rush the field.

You lift the lens with trembling fingers, trying to keep it steady as they kneel beside him, talking quickly, checking something near his ribs. 

They help him to his feet slowly, his arm slung around one of the staff, weight uneven. He’s limping, favoring his side, jaw clenched. But even from here, even under the stadium lights, you can see him trying to brush it off, like he’s fine.

He’s not fine.

They help him off the field, and the game resumes minutes later but without him. You keep scanning the benches. The sidelines. The crowd.

He’s gone.

And you can’t move. You want to, but your job—your literal responsibility—keeps you stuck at the sideline. Camera still in hand. Fingers still numb.

Every few minutes, you steal glances again, just to be sure you didn’t miss him coming back. But his spot on the bench stays empty and your chest feels a little like it’s folding in on itself.

Meanwhile Seungcheol is in the locker room, the small medic room too quiet. 

He’s pissed. Not the kind of pissed where he’s throwing things or yelling. no, this is the quiet kind. The boiling-under-the-surface, jaw-locked, muscles-tense kind. 

The kind where he has too much adrenaline and nowhere to put it.

The medic room is too white. Too still. And he hates how sterile everything feels, how he’s being told to rest when all he wants to do is get back out there and finish the damn game.

He leans back against the padded table, an ice pack strapped to his ribs, shirt halfway off. His phone’s on the bench across the room, untouched. He hasn’t looked at it once.

The door creaks open and Yuta steps in, still in his cleats, jersey grass-stained, hair damp from sweat.

Seungcheol sits up straighter. “What’s the score?”

“We won,” Yuta says, casually. “2-1.”

Cheol exhales, but there’s no relief in it. Just more frustration. “Should’ve been out there.”

“Yeah, well,” Yuta shrugs, peeling off his gloves. “Not much you could do with half your ribs probably cracked.”

“Not cracked.”

“Probably,” Yuta repeats.

Seungcheol glares at the floor.

There’s a pause before Yuta jerks a thumb toward the hallway. “By the way. Your girl’s outside.”

Cheol’s head snaps up. “What?”

“Yeah. Pacing like she’s about to wear out the floorboards,” Yuta smirks. “Muttering something about rules and how you’re stupid and reckless and honestly, she sounds more pissed than you.”

Seungcheol’s already sliding off the table.

“You’re not cleared to leave, bro,” Yuta calls after him.

“Then tell the medic I’m stretching my legs.”

Yuta raises both brows. “Stretching your legs or going to get yelled at?”

Cheol throws his shirt over his shoulder, heading for the door. “Probably both.”

The second he steps out, he sees you. Right there across the hallway, arms crossed, pacing a tight little loop like you’ve got fire under your feet. 

You don’t even notice him at first too busy muttering to yourself like you’re rehearsing a speech that ends in murder. Then you hear the door shut.

You whip around.

“Choi Seungcheol—”

Oh, yeah. He’s definitely about to get yelled at.

“You absolute idiot,” you start, marching up to him. “What part of take care of yourself did you not understand? You got wrecked, Cheol—rammed, like you were nothing but a traffic cone—”

“I’m fine,” he says, calm but slightly amused. “See? Walking. Breathing. All parts attached.”

“Don’t you dare try to joke your way out of this—”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You narrow your eyes. “Then why the hell did you try to get up like you were fine? You were obviously in pain—”

“I was fine.”

“You couldn’t even walk straight.”

“Okay,” he admits, “mostly fine.”

You throw your hands in the air. “Unbelievable.”

He just watches you, eyes softening, lips quirking at the corners. “You were worried.”

“Of course I was worried. You're—” You stop. Catch yourself. Almost let the words slip.

He steps closer.

“Say it.”

You glance away. “No.”

“Say it.”

“No, because you’ll get that smug look like you’re about to win something—”

“I already feel like I did.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart’s thudding too loud to ignore. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And yet,” he says, his voice dropping just a little, “you’re still here. Still yelling. Still wearing my jacket.”

You look back up, intending to retort—but he’s already looking at you like that.

Like that. Warm. Steady. Quietly proud. And maybe a little in love.

You glare at him “You’re impossibl and you’re stubborn.”

He replies back, smiling as if he isn’t nursing a few bruised ribs“You look good when you’re mad.”

“I’m gonna throw your cleats at you.”

“Sure, babygirl.”

You lunge. He laughs then winces.

You freeze instantly. “Wait—are you okay?”

“Still sore,” he admits. “But worth it.”

Your voice is quieter when you say it this time, like the wind got knocked out of your chest but you still needed to say it anyway.

“You scared me.”

Seungcheol’s smile falters just a little.

“I know.”

You shake your head, staring at him, hard. “No. I mean it, Cheol. I—I couldn’t even see where you went after they helped you off the field. You weren’t on the bench. No update. No text. Nothing. I just had to stand there, holding a damn camera, wondering if you—”

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice gentler now. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You never do,” you cut in. “But you keep getting in these stupid plays like you have to carry the whole team on your back or something. You don’t always have to be the one who takes the hit, Cheol. You're not invincible.”

He watches you for a long beat. Then takes one step closer. Then another.

“You done?”

You blink. “No.”

He’s close now. Arms open, head tilted down to look at you fully like he always does. “Good. Get it all out.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re literally smiling—”

“Yeah,” he says, grinning openly now. “Because you’re here. And yelling. Which means you care.”

You glare “Of course I care. You big dumb idiot—”

“Babygirl ”

“Don’t babygirl me right now—”

“I’m gonna.” He grins wider. “Because I like the way it makes you flustered.”

“Seungcheol—”

“I promise,” he says suddenly, cutting through your spiral. His tone drops. Softens. Steadies. “No more of that. I’ll be more careful. I won’t disappear on you. I’m okay. I’m really okay.”

You narrow your eyes, watching him like you’re still deciding if you can believe him. “I swear, if you ever scare me like that again, I will end you.”

He holds up a pinky. “Scout’s honor.”

“How many times do I have to remind you, you were never a scout.”

He smiles that boyish handsome smile, showing the dimples on his cheeks

“Still counts.”

You’re about to shoot bac another sarcastic comment, another dramatic eye roll but he doesn’t wait. He just opens his arms and tugs you in like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he’s done it a thousand times before.

Your face presses against his chest, and you can feel the rise and fall of his breathing. Slower now. Calmer. Warm.

“I need a hug,” he says softly, chin resting against your hair. “So shut up for like five seconds.”

You sigh, but you don’t move. Don’t push him away. Your arms loop around his waist, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his jersey. He’s warm. Solid. Here.

“I still hate you,” you mumble.

He chuckles. “You’re obsessed with me.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m your idiot.”

You swat at his ribs.

He flinches and tightens his arms around you. “Hey! Injury!”

“You’re lucky I don’t aim lower”

He hums, a low sound in his chest. “Still not letting go.”

“Don’t,” you whisper.

He doesn’t.

=

He’s halfway through zoning out when it happens.

Sitting near the back of the lecture hall, earbuds in, one arm slung over the back of the empty chair beside him, pretending to review his notes but really just rereading the same sentence for the fifth time. 

His brain’s still somewhere else. Specifically that night a few nights ago when he got pulled out of the game. If he’s being honest, it was worth it. He might not have been there for the winning goal but it felt like he was the MVP that night.

Then the chair next to him creaks. He doesn’t need to look to know who it is.

Exy’s presence is impossible to miss. She’s got that smirk today, too, the one that makes him instinctively brace for something. She doesn’t say hi.

Just, “So.”

Seungcheol glances at her warily. “So…?”

She tilts her head, pretending to think. “What are we calling it now? Friends who hug like their lives depend on it? Friends who give each other heart attacks on the field?”

He sighs, already exhausted. “You really don’t have anything better to do?”

“Nope,” she says cheerfully. “Just here to make sure you’re emotionally stable before you inevitably do something stupid.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“Yet.” Exy leans back, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded. “But you will, because you’re both stubborn idiots who think prolonged eye contact and light bullying is a form of communication.”

“You’re very dramatic for someone who wasn’t even there.”

“Didn’t need to, I have eyes everywhere” she says

“What do you want, Exy?”

She shrugs “Just making sure you know what you’re doing.”

“I do.”

“Do you?”

Exy leans in, not unkind, but unrelenting. “Look. You like her. Obviously. And she likes you back. Also obvious. But if you’re gonna keep doing this—whatever this is—just make sure you’re not playing tug-of-war with her heart. She’s a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.”

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t have to. She sees it anyway, in the way his shoulders tense, the way his hands curl into fists on his thighs. The quiet kind of protective that never quite fades, even when he’s sitting still.

Exy softens, just a little. “She really does care, you know.”

He nods. “I know.”

Exy watches him a moment longer, like she’s trying to decide if she should keep going or let him sit with his own thoughts.

Spoiler: she keeps going.

“You know what she likes, right?” she says, drumming her fingers against the desk. “The reason she messes with you so much? It’s because you never say what you mean unless it’s wrapped in sarcasm or some post-goal adrenaline.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “And you’re suddenly her spokesperson?”

“Please,” Exy says, rolling her eyes. “I’ve known her longer than you. She’s my roommate, my soul sister, sometimes the voice of reason. You get what I mean”

He shoots her a glare. She ignores it.

“She likes straightforward guys,” she continues, voice a little more serious now. “Not the ones who get jealous in the corner and stew in silence, not the ones who pretend like they don’t care. She wants someone who shows it. Not in a weird ‘mine mine mine’ way, but like… make it clear.”

Seungcheol leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand across his mouth. “I don’t want to come off—”

“Possessive?” Exy finishes. “Yeah, you already are but neither of you acknowledges it. But you know what she likes more? Feeling chosen. Loudly. Publicly. Like, no room for guessing.”

He’s quiet again. Processing. Thinking.

She nudges his leg under the table. “You don’t have to post her on Instagram with a cheesy ass caption. But you do have to stop pretending like you’re just ‘hanging out’ when the whole campus already knows you’d deck someone for even looking at her sideways.”

He lets out a breath, more exhale than sigh. “…You think she really likes me back?”

Exy looks at him like he’s said the dumbest thing she’s ever heard. Which, in fairness, he might’ve.

“Seungcheol. She ran to the locker room after you got benched. She paced like a worried girlfriend. She lets you hug her in front of people. She calls you baby boy.”

His ears go red instantly. “That was—she was teasing—”

“She blushed,” Exy says, shaking her head. “That’s like her version of a declaration.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then another. Then, “So what do I do?”

Exy shrugs, getting up as the professor finally walks in. “You stop being a coward. And you start making it obvious or atleast more obvious than you already are”

She pauses, smirking down at him. “Starting now would be ideal.”

Later after his last class, he waits for. Like he always does, you never asked why you’re just used to it now. 

You’re already mid-rant about your journalism group,voice going a mile a minute. Something about missed deadlines, broken printers, and the absolute disaster that is your publication’s group chat.

He’s barely said a word, just walking beside you with that small smile tugging at his lips, watching the way your face scrunches when you get fired up, the way you skip a step when you’re being dramatic on purpose. 

The sun catches your hair, and he wonders again how he got so gone. Maybe it slipped between the banters, the teasing, the walks after class. Just like this one. 

He can’t even recall what campus life was, or his life, was before you. You’ve become that one constant in his everyday routine. From countless morning coffee runs, to late lunch hall trips to late night convenient store runs. He doesn’t know just when he became your first call, but he doesn’t mind. You’re his first person he’d call too, if he’s having a great day or a bad day or he just needed a break from all the madness.

 You don’t even notice when he slows down, steps dragging just a bit more than usual.

Too busy talking, you reach back with one hand and grab his, tugging without even looking at him. Intertwining your fingers with his like you’ve done it before. 

“Anyway, I told him, if you turn in your draft the day after deadline again, I’m going to start publicly shaming you—”

But he doesn’t budge.

You stop mid-step, turning. “What—?”

He’s looking at your joined hands. Not in shock or hesitation. Just… lingering.

You follow his gaze and blink down, like just realizing you were holding his hand. Then back up at him, one brow raised. “What?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you, your hands and then at your face like he’s trying to memorize something.

“What,” you say again, a little more cautious this time.

“You always do that?” he asks, voice low, just a little amused. “Grab my hand like it’s nothing?”

“You were walking like a grandpa. I didn’t want to miss the bus.”

He laughs softly. “Right.”

You tilt your head. “What’s going on with you?”

He shrugs, but doesn’t let go of your hand. In fact he holds it firmer “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous,” you tease.

But he’s not smiling now. Not fully. He takes a step closer, just enough to make your hand drop between you. 

His voice is quieter when he says, “You really don’t know what you do to me, do you?”

Your heart skips. “What are you talking about?”

His eyes meet yours, all steady, no teasing this time. “You hold my hand like it’s nothing. You call me baby boy in front of my teammates. You yell at me when I get hurt”

You open your mouth to say something anything but he cuts in, voice soft but serious.

“I’m making it clear now. I like you. Not just for the banter. Not just when it’s easy.”

He squeezes your hand, not hard. Just enough.

“I want to make it obvious.”

Your heart is thudding in your chest now, and for the first time in a while, you’re the one struggling for words. But your hand tightens back around his, and your mouth twitches like you’re fighting a smile.

“You’ve always been obvious, you growl at other guys if they so much so look my way” you joke

He scowls at you, “Here I was being genuine and sweet”

You smile small at first, a little shy, but then it breaks wider, soft and warm and so you.

But since you’re you and he’s him, you reply back

“I guess I just never said anything because you didn’t either. But we both knew, we both know what this really is. Good to know you finally got your big boy pants on and say it loud and proud”

He lets outs chuckle, looking down at you. He tucks in the few strands of hair blown by the late afternoon wind, his other hand still holding yours.

And like it’s the most natural thing in the world, you just pick up where you left off. “Anyway, as I was saying—this guy? He sends in drafts written like a text message. Like, full-on ‘LOL’ and emoji placeholders. I wish I was joking, Cheol.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, not because of the story but because of you. The way you bounce back so easily, how nothing ever feels awkward with you for long. One minute you’re standing still while he’s basically confessing on a quiet campus path, and the next you’re dragging him toward the bus stop with your fingers still looped with his.

He glances down at your hands. Intertwined. And you’re not letting go.

You’re still talking, still dramatically reciting the tragedies of group projects and typos that somehow made it to print, but your thumb brushes against his like it’s always been meant to be there. And he’s just… listening.

Not saying much. Not needing to.

Because this? This moment your voice in his ear, your hand in his, your familiar little eye-roll when you notice him smiling too long is everything.

And there's nowhere else he’d rather be. This right here has been the ultimate goal all along.

=

A FEW MONTHS LATER.

The first thing he hears when he opens his eyes?

Your voice. Of course.

Not soft, not dreamy, not the gentle cooing kind of morning wake-up call some people probably expect from their girlfriends. 

No. yours is sharp, brisk, and deeply exasperated.

“Choi Seungcheol, I swear, if you forget your cap, I’m not turning around this time. We’re not missing line-up just because you take three business days to get ready—”

He groans, arm flopping across his eyes as he cracks a smile. “Good morning to you too, jagi”

“You’re impossible in the mornings,” you mutter, rifling through a bag near the foot of the bed. “I don’t know why I agreed to be the responsible one in this relationship.”

He peeks at you through his lashes, hair still a mess from the night before, lips pressed in that familiar line that says you’re trying not to smile even as you’re scolding him. 

Still you. Unmistakably, unapologetically you.

And for some reason, he feels full just watching you.

Because today’s the day. Graduation. The end of all-nighters and library corners and half-serious bickering in cafes. The end of walking across campus as “friends” with a mile of tension between you and the start of something else.

“Are you even listening to me?” you ask, exasperated, already halfway to the mirror to fix your hair. “The trip, Seungcheol. We leave next week. And you have that early training thing right after we get back, so if we don’t get everything packed—”

He pushes himself up slowly, stretching, watching you spin through your checklist with military precision.

“—and your mom said she wanted photos after the ceremony, so don’t disappear with the team, okay? And please don’t forget to eat before we leave, I’m not dealing with you fainting in full gown and—”

You’re cut off with a kiss. Firm, quick, not giving you a chance to back away or dodge it like you do sometimes just to be difficult.

You blink at him. “What was that for?”

He grins, thumb brushing your chin. “You’re cute when you’re bossy.”

You swat at him, cheeks flushed. “Shut up.”

He tugs you back gently, arms looping around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder from behind. “You know, when we first met, I thought I’d lose my mind if I had to listen to you nag me every day.”

You snort. “Charming.”

“But now?” He kisses your temple, voice soft. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You roll your eyes, but your hands come up to rest over his anyway.

“Better not,” you murmur, the edge in your tone barely there. “You’re stuck with me now.”

He smiles against your skin, eyes slipping shut for one more second.

You. Still you. Still loud. Still quick to argue. Still calling him out when he needs it but now he can shut you up with a kiss. Now, you’re his. Officially. Publicly.

Somehow he managed to distract you enough to pull you back in bed but you’re still talking.

Even now, knees planted on either side of his hips, straddling him in the middle of your shared chaos of a room. gown half-steamed and a to-do list longer than your patience. You’re going off about last-minute logistics.

“You didn’t charge your camera last night, did you? You said you would, and if it dies while my parents are taking photos, I swear to God, Seungcheol—”

He’s not even trying to keep up anymore. Not with your words, at least.

Just… watching you. The way your brows furrow when you’re pretending to be mad. The way you keep adjusting your hair like it’s not already perfect. The way you’re sitting on top of him like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

And your voice filling every inch of his morning like it always does.

He thinks, Yeah. This is it. This is what he wants every morning to be like. Even if you’re nagging him. Especially if you’re nagging him.

You lean forward a little, pressing your hand to his chest like you’re trying to make a point. “Seriously, if we’re late, Exy is going to murder us both. Don’t give me that look—”

“Babe,” he says, laughing softly.

“No, you always do this—you smile and nod and then forget everything I said—”

“Babe,” he says again, pulling you down gently, your face just inches from his now. “I love you.”

You blink. Mouth still parted mid-rant. Eyes just a little wider. And that second of silence? It might be his favorite part of the whole morning.

He grins. “Like, really, really whipped for you.”

Your expression twists somewhere between smug and flustered. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.”

“Hopeless.”

“Absolutely.”

You huff and try to sit back, but he doesn’t let you, arms locking around your waist.

“I’m serious,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “Call me whipped. Call me down bad. I don’t care.”

He presses a kiss just below your jaw, and your fingers twitch slightly where they rest against his shoulders.

“I’ll take all of it,” he adds. “If it means waking up to you. Every single day. Nagging and all.”

You try to look unimpressed, but your lips betray you with the softest curve of a smile.

“You’re such a sap.”

“You love it.”

And you do. Maybe a little more than you’d ever admit out loud.

So you lean down, brushing your nose against his, and mutter against his lips, “Only if you remember the damn cap this time.”

You kiss him, once. Twice. “And I love you, too”

He laughs again head thrown back like you’ve just handed him the world.

There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The door swings open, the morning sun spilling across the hallway as you bolt out in full momentum. heels clicking against the tile, hair slightly tousled from your last-minute panic fix, your phone clenched in one hand and a rolled-up copy of the graduation itinerary in the other.

“—and I told you,Cheol, if we don’t get to the hall before they start locking seat assignments, I am not begging some underpaid volunteer to let us in. And no, don’t give me that look, you were the one who decided to iron your shirt twenty minutes before we had to leave—”

He follows behind you, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. His cap is still crooked, tassel flipping wildly in the breeze, and he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. 

Not when you’re out here looking like that radiant and already halfway to combusting because of a scuffed shoe or a forgotten pin or God knows what else.

You keep going, barely glancing back. “—and I can’t believe you tried to bribe Exy with iced coffee so she wouldn’t tell me you forgot to RSVP to the post-grad dinner. You know she’s lactose intolerant—”

“Babe.”

“—and then there’s still the trip itinerary we haven’t finished, your mom’s gift still needs wrapping, and I told you at least four times to print out your boarding pass just in case—”

“Baby,” he says again, stepping closer now, his hand brushing your wrist.

You spin toward him, full of momentum and indignation, your mouth already open to launch into another paragraph of minor disasters and contingency plans.

But he just cups your face in both hands, warm and sure, and pulls you in.

Kisses you. Firm and fast. You freeze, lips caught mid-word. Your eyes flutter open in surprise, brows drawing together.

He pulls back a half second later, grinning. “Hi.”

You blink, processing.

And then, just like that, “Anyway, as I was saying—if we don’t get to the photo op on time, your sister will murder us both, and you still haven’t replied to the family group chat—”

He kisses you again.

You make a muffled noise into his mouth, both hands lifting in frustration that he can never let you finish a proper thought.

He pulls back again, looking far too pleased with himself. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

You glare. “I swear—”

Another kiss. This one longer.

This time, when he pulls back, you're breathless. But still stubborn.

“I hate you.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m smiling because I’m two seconds from kicking your ass in front of your entire graduating class.”

He grins, nose brushing yours. “Still worth it.”

You push lightly at his chest, trying to turn away. “We’re going to be late—”

He kisses you again before you can take a step. And again. And again.

It becomes a pattern. every time you open your mouth to talk, he just silences you with a kiss. They’re quick at first, just small interruptions. But the more you fight him, the longer they stretch. The slower they get. Until you’re not even trying to speak anymore—just giggling helplessly against his mouth as he pecks you one more time, then another, and then another.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumble into his shoulder, finally giving up, forehead resting there while he loops an arm around your waist.

“You love it.”

“Debatable.”

“You love me.”

You groan dramatically. “God, don’t remind me.”

He laughs, light and easy, kissing the top of your head as you both start walking again, fingers intertwined, the rush of the morning finally slowing down.

And somewhere between the bickering and the kisses, the nagging and the laughter, it settles in:

You’re still you. He’s still him.

But now… it’s official.

Caps and gowns, travel plans and futures ahead. Whatever comes next—training camps or late deadlines or burnt breakfasts—he’ll have you. And you’ll have him.

Even if he’s five minutes late. Even if you never stop nagging.

Even if the only way to shut you up is kissing you breathless at the door every single morning.

[kxsagi]

I always pronounce your name as Kissagi because you love Isagi so (Kiss Isagi) 😭

Also every time I see you post about Sae, I have to take a breath to not go feral cause he’s my favorite and it’s bad for my heart 😞

And to all the people thirsting about Sae, I love you all, I relate so hard like you have no clue– He takes up like 30% of my brain at all times (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝) I’ve made 3 playlists (about to be 4) for him and drawn him multiple times, guys help me–

~ 💜 anon

“𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞”

a/n: OMG I PRONOUNCE MY USER AS KISSAGI TOOOO like kiss isagi yessssss mwah mwah 💋💋💋

please don't be shy and share the playlists and drawings 😩 (only if you're comfortable!!)

also, for your kind message, take this sae drabble i had in my drafts ❤️

the rain isn’t heavy, but it’s persistent, enough to soak the hem of your jeans and leave misty streaks on your cheeks. the train station is quieter than usual, the fluorescent lights above humming with an indifferent buzz. you’re standing there like a character in a drama you never asked to star in, arms crossed over your chest, waiting for the person who always makes you wait in ways that aren't just about time. 

sae itoshi shows up five minutes late, umbrella tilted lazily over his shoulder, hair slightly tousled by the wind. he doesn’t apologize. of course he doesn’t. he just glances at you, lips pressed into that unreadable line, like your presence here is both expected and inexplicable. 

“you’re wet,” he says flatly. 

“great observation,” you reply, deadpan. “next you’ll tell me the sky is blue.” 

he doesn’t respond, just lifts the umbrella higher so it covers the two of you. his arm brushes against yours, barely, but you feel it like a spark anyway. 

you hate how calm he looks. you hate how he does this – appears in your life again like he never really left. one text. that’s all it took. “you still take the 7:15?” and you said yes. gosh, of course you said yes. 

“so… what is this?” you ask, voice low. “you miss my sarcasm or something?” 

his eyes move to yours then, slow and deliberate. sae’s always been like this – silent, heavy with meaning, like he communicates in pauses more than words. and you’ve known him long enough to read between them, even if it hurts. 

“i saw that photo,” he says finally. “the one with you and that guy.” 

you blink. “what?” 

“the one where he’s got his arm around you. you were smiling.” he says it without inflection, but there’s a sharpness to it, like he’s testing you. or himself. 

you cross your arms tighter. “so? people smile in photos.” 

sae looks away, jaw tight. “you looked happy.” 

“and that bothers you?” you ask, stepping half an inch closer. “why? because i moved on?” 

he doesn’t answer. just stands there, rain dripping off the edge of the umbrella like it’s marking time. you want to hit him and hug him at the same time. classic sae effect. 

finally, he says quietly, “i didn’t think i’d care. but i did.” 

that makes your heart thump in a way that makes you furious. you hated how he left things. always cool. always distant. always expecting you to read the fine print of his silences. 

“you could’ve said that months ago.” 

“i know.” 

“so why now?” 

he shrugs, but it’s not casual. nothing about him is, when it comes to you. “i thought if i gave you space, you’d forget me. or i’d forget you.” 

“did it work?” 

his eyes flick to yours again, sea-green and solemn. “no.” 

you should be angry. you should tell him it’s too late. that you’ve built a life without him. that you learned how to stop checking your phone every five minutes. but somehow, all you do is sigh. 

“i don’t know what you want from me, sae.” 

he’s quiet for a moment. the kind of quiet that aches. 

then he says, voice barely above a whisper, “i don’t want anything. i just… wanted to see you. make sure you’re still real.” 

your chest tightens. 

the train screeches in the distance, and the moment feels like it’s suspended between then and now, like you could choose to walk away and it would hurt, but it wouldn’t kill you. you’re not sure you could say the same for him. 

you glance up at him, still standing close, still sharing his umbrella with you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“you don’t have to say anything,” he adds. “i know i messed it up.” 

your voice is softer now. “you did.” 

he nods. doesn’t try to defend himself. doesn’t move away either. 

but as the train pulls in and the wind gusts again, you feel his fingers graze yours under the umbrella – tentative, like he’s asking for a second chance without the pride or the words. 

and for some reason, you don’t pull away. 

not yet. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[pagesfromthevoid]

Bed Chem for Bob Floyd 👀👀👀 bc once you said that was his song, I can't get it out of my mind

She leans against the bar of the Hard Deck, sipping her beer as she scans the crowd of aviators. Her dress –which she chose because it's just sheer enough to make eyes turn –is riding up a little as she shifts in her barstool.

Her eyes meet wide blue eyes, but they immediately drop as he looks back at his friends. They're loud and rowdy, and he shouldn't fit in as well as he does amongst them all. His cheeks are flushed, and she grins to herself as she turns back to the bartender.

"Who's that cute guy with the blue eyes and glasses back there?" She asks, and the owner glances over her shoulder and grins herself.

"Lieutenant Bob Floyd," she says, sliding her a soda. A brow raises in question but the bartender just shrugs with a smirk. "He doesn't really drink –looks like he needs a refill though."

A grin of her own spreads over her face and she thanks the bartender, sliding off the stool. Then she's moving across the bar, ignoring the looks and pilots trying to get her attention. No, she's only looking at that blue-eyed pretty boy, and really truly she's manifesting that it's always the soft, nerdy ones.

Leaning over the banister behind where he's sitting, she taps him on the shoulder.

"Hiya," she says, holding out the drink to him.

His eyes widen, but he takes the drink slowly. Their fingers brush, and his flushed cheeks only get redder. "Oh, uh –thank you, ma'am."

She introduces herself, grinning at him as he sets the drink down. Then he's turning to give her his full attention. "I couldn't help noticing how handsome you are," she says, leaning in a bit closer to him.

“Oh —really?”

She nods, “Yeah —are you free next week? Or even tomorrow?”

His team is staring, eyes wide as Bob nods and takes her phone from her hands. Her brow raises at the move —a little bold for someone who’s been blushing the entire time she’s been standing there. But he holds it up for her to unlock, then he’s typing in his number.

“How’s tomorrow sound?” He says, shooting himself a text before handing her phone back.

“Sounds like a date, Lieutenant Floyd.”

She pulls away, making her way back to the bar with a triumphant smirk on her face. Then her phone buzzes, and she glances at it.

Could go now. I’d like to see what’s really under that dress.

When she catches his eye across the bar again, she knows she’s not making it to tomorrow. The way he’s looking at her —she’s obsessed.

———

Send me a character + a title for a drabble!

[zulashi-the-writer]

Hii💗 just came from your polyrujinu fic and absolutely devoured it, I saw that your request are open so I was thinking if you could write another polyrujinu fic but with a reader who has a secret identity 🤭

Like since both of them kept secrets from reader then why don't reader kept secrets from them😏

Honestly, I was thinking of reader being apart of alien stage, possibly a character like luka from alien stage?

And how would they react when they saw reader on stage😳 (I CAN SMELL THE DRAMA) and to not complicate things perhaps when reader is on stage she altered her appearance to be mostly unrecognizable 😚

If this request is overwhelming, you can just ignore this💖 (also would love more of poly rujinu crumbs even if it's not base on this request 🤭)

I'm really sorry I haven't watched Alien Stage🥲 so I hope you don't mind I'm making them apart of a band, which is K/DA

Biggest Fans

Poly Rujinu x Popstar Reader

Summary: when your secret comes out in the most terrible way and your walls come crashing down with the two most people in your life

1st/2nd person pov

"Ain't nobody bringing us down, down, down, down"- POP/STARS I sang into the mic, my mask making my hot breath fan into my face I held my pose as the crowd cheered, I stared out looking at all the band lights smiling underneath the fabric it feels amazing standing here, I relaxed from my pose along with my band mates taking a bow before running off stage peeling my mask off releasing a long awaited breath.

"Huntrix is here" one of our crew squealed making my body tense, my hands quickly rushed to put of the mask making a few mistakes as I watched them approach, Rumi smiled making my heart flutter "you guys were amazing" Zoey squealed rushing to hug all of us, the sudden pressure of her hug making me breathless, we all breathed out a 'thank you' leading them back to our changing room, we did a collab when we were just starting out so it's been a few times were we just hang out but my mask always stays on which they thankfully never question.

We plopped down on the couch with a huff Rumi sitting across from me on her phone most likely texting Jinu about dinner later, my heart jumped hearing my phone buzzed alerting me of a text, I watched her eyes flicker over with curiosity, I pulled it out, the screen switched on displaying her notification with a few hearts next to her name "hey guys I'll be back family calling" I laughed nervously standing up from my spot, walking into the connecting bathroom and shutting the door.

'Hey can I come over after this hangout???' my heart raced as my finger tips hung over the keyboard, I hate having to lie 'I'll be home late I have some new clients coming in for measurements, I have some snacks in the cupboard if your hungry' I typed out only to delete it 'I'm going to be here late tonight how about tomorrow?' I released a shaky breath as I pressed send, my eyes watched the double ticks turn blue, my breath catching as I saw the bubbles pop up and then disappear "everything ok in there" my body jumped and stumbled to catch my phone as it fell from my hands "y-yeah just a minute' I called out straightening up as I caught my phone, I checked one more time but no messages before slipping it back in my pocket.

It wasn't the first time I asked to move plans but they've done it to so she can't be that upset about it, I rolled my shoulders back relaxing them before leaving the bathroom, everyone was already standing by the door "so early" I asked confused Rumi only glanced at me before returning to her bandmate "yeah we got to bounce" Mira murmured her lips curled in a slight smile, we bid our goodbyes before they left.

"You know one of these days you are going to have to tell them" Madison spoke laying a gentle hand on my shoulder as I pulled off the mask, letting it hang loose on my fingers "I know your scared but they love you and I doubt they'd break up with you for being a superstar" she smiled before heading to her makeup chair, I stared at the ground in a daze 'how would it be if I told them' my mind went straight into a negative spiral it always does when it comes to them, I don't want to lose them, I just can't and them knowing I was lying would hurt them.

"Maybe" I murmured drowning out the conversation that continued sitting out the couch staring at my black screen no response or call just silent, it was nerve wrecking my phone dinged with a notification but it wasn't hers I tapped on it and it took me to a Insta live, jinu dancing with the band preforming on of their new songs, my heart fluttered he was just amazing "I'm gonna head out" I said standing up from my spot, I took off my mask and slid it into my pocket along with my phone.

I grabbed the rest of my things and waved everyone goodbye "remember I want the finished melody by tonight" our manager called out but I just waved him off and rushed into our drivers car that was waiting for me, we talked a little as my eyes traveled across the passing buildings watching the billboards switch between us, Huntrix and Saja Boys for the upcoming idol awards I sighed out of frustration throwing my head back against the head rest, this was so frustrating, why can't this be easy.

The car pulled up a hill nearing my small house slowly coming to a holt infront of its quaint garden, the beautiful wild flowers lit up by the small garden lights "goodnight" I smiled at the driver, stepping out of the car my body shivered at the cold night air, I just needed to shower I groaned in delight imagining the hot water racing down my body, I rushed into the house kicking my shoes off greeting the animals as I placed down my things heading straight for my room tearing off my clothes as I went, walking through my bedroom towards the bathroom I switched in the light before stepping into it, I was hit by the cold radiating off of the tiles.

My body quivered as I stepped into the shower turning on the water, a cold squeal leaving my throat as the cold water ran down my body before it started getting warmer, my body relaxed as the water heated up letting my hands ease my stiff muscles, once my body was relaxed I began to wash, combing my shampoo through my hair with my fingers letting the soap suds flow over my body I raised my head closing my eyes lifting my hand to rub my face, I i moved my hands to the tap starting to close it savoring the feeling of warmth till there was nothing left.

I grabbed my towel wrapping it around my body, flicking my hair forward wrapping it up too to dry, I walked into my room jumping onto my plush king sized bed grabbing my laptop bringing it infront of me "the finished melody here I come" I murmured stretching out my arms grabbing my headphones placing them over my ears, turned on my laptop scrolling to my music files watching the melody appear on my screen, pressing play the music was low in the background as I started feeling the beat "Is it really a surprise if I'm playing with your mind? And I treat you like a prize then I throw you to the side? Am I really that bad if I love to make you mad? And get happy when you're sad? Only care about a bag" my voice dwindled as I sung the new lyrics typing them as I go.

"In control That's how I like it and I'm never letting go, na-ah-ah Never had a soul (soul) So you ain't taking nothing from me when you go, na-ah-ah I'll stay so deep inside your brain And take you somewhere far away" - Villains the music continued as the lyrics flowed out my life my eyes closed tight getting into the mood, my eyes scrunched closed as the lights flicked on, the lyrics caught in my throat, I opened my eyes looking towards the door to see Jinu and Rumi there their expressions almost unreadable, I rushed from my spot flicking my headphones from my head cringing as the song started playing on full volume "I-I" I didn't know what to say and quickly turned off the song shutting the laptops lid, I looked towards Rumi seeing her hold herself the look of hurt taking over her face "Rumi i-" I paused watching her throw my mask onto the floor infront of me.

"that yours" she questioned her voice low her eyes not meeting mine, I bent down grabbing it and mumbling a quick 'yeah' "why did you not tell us" she muttered moving uncomfortably on her feet I hated seeing her like this 'rumi' I said stepping forward but she stepped away from me making me holt in my movements I opened my mouth, my words coming out shaking "I don't know why I didn't tell you, I just didn't know how to bring it up now it seemed to late to tell you" jinu just looked between us not knowing what to say.

"you could've told me when we first collabed together or the second or how about the fifth" her voice slowly getting louder with each word leaving her lips "I'm sorry Rumi I really didn't know how to tell you" I said making her sigh and look down towards the ground "is that why you always cancel on us" jinu said his voice cracked like holding back emotions, I sighed heavily running my hands over my face "this isn't how it's supposed to happen" I breathed in frustration.

"let me guess you didn't want us to know" jinu muttered my mouth gaped "jinu you know that's not true" I said but he just shook his head moving out of the door "I think it best we leave so you can focus on your secret life" Rumi murmured following after him, I called out but no response just the sound of the closing door, I stumbled back sitting on the bed my hands gripping the edge of it, my phone dinging with messages, my chest heaving with every breath as I went over the conversation in my head imagining the different why it could've gone.

My body was stiff as I moved my hand to grab my phone, my eyes widening as I read their messages:

Rumi: I just need time to think I'll message you when I'm ready

Jinu: me too

My eyes fluttered as I sent a thumbs up exiting the chat seeing my manager send a message on our group:

Manager: The driver will pick you guys up at eight the plane leave at nine

Madison: los Angeles here we come🥳

Lexie: can't wait🎉

I switched my phone off as the messages kept coming, placing it down on the bed I fell back against the mattress turning away from the device, I don't know how long I laid there just staring off at the wall ignoring the world around me, my eyes finally moved once I heard a meow coming from the door it was my cat toasty sitting his big eyes staring at me "feeding time already" I murmured to him groaning as I slowly got up half my body asleep, I slowly made my way to the kitchen filling up their bowls petting them as they walked past me "I'm gonna miss you guys" I said smiling at them before walking back to my room to pack before bed.

I sat on my suitcase finally closing it 'done' I breathed a sigh of relief pushing it next to the other one, I grabbed my carry on from my bed placing it on my suitcase, I moved to sit on my bed looking at my phone, no notifications from them, I bit my lip contemplating if I should tell them "they did say I mustn't message them, but they do now so it's best that I do" I rolled my eyes at myself "what am I doing" I muttered throwing myself back onto the bed "why do relationships have to be so hard" I looked around my room seeing my lyric book laying on my bedside table, I sat up onto my elbows staring at it.

I moved to grab it, slowly paging through all the songs I've written about them, I've never showed anyone this because it's the most vulnerable I've been, my hands traced the page of the last song reading some lines over and over maybe it's time someone does read it, I ripped a blank page from the back grabbing a pencil and writing a letter to them, telling them I'm on tour, as I was almost done my eyes started to droop shut from exhaustion 'just a little nap' I thought shutting my eyes.

I wake up with the sun in my face, my phone buzzing with calls "shit" I muttered stammering to my feet rushing to get ready, the clothes I threw on look peculiar and wrinkled, brushing my hair till it looks somewhat decent and rushed with my bags to the kitchen to feed the pets "I'll see you guys soon, behave for mrs Morris" I called out rushing out the door waving to mrs Morris as she called out to me from her house, I shoved all my stuff into the boot before joining the girls in the car "dam when did you wake up" Madison laughed "3 minutes ago" I giggled making the others laugh too, my heart pinged with sadness as I remembered last night's events 'can't think about that right now' "we got a show tonight".

The stadium was packed with fans screaming widely as you performed the new song, but only the band and crew can see that you were distracted by something, the dance moves were a bit off and the timings a second too late it was frustrating you, how you couldn't get them off your mind but then you saw it a different fan light your favourite colour and the person holding it was jinu who was smiling and singing along to the lyrics "please give a warm welcome to our surprise guests Huntrix" Madison yelled making the crowd scream louder, I watched Rumi burst onto stage coming right next to me "I'm sorry" she murmured but I didn't care and embraced her "don't do that to me ever again" I whispered "I promise" she smiled as we slowly let go of each other, we performed our collabs while jinu cheered in the crowd I finally was all in with them by my side.

"I love you guys"

[himasgod]

M-Mayhaps platonic Malleus with reader who is his adoptive sibling but the Senate and majority of the people refuse to accept them as a sibling of their heir as they are half-fae and not a Draconia (Maleficia is fine with them but she holds very little power over the Senate)

MALLEUS AND READER

Where the Senate does not accept you as his sibling

The castle always smelled like briar smoke. You used to love that smell — it meant home, even when nothing else did. But lately, it just reminded you how unwanted you were here.

"You're scowling again," Malleus said beside you as you walked through the hall.

"Am I?" you muttered, hands in the sleeves of your robe. "Must be the lighting."

Your footsteps filled the corridor. The portraits of your adoptive ancestors — tall, haughty Draconias— glared down at you like they knew you didn’t belong.

The news from this morning still clung to your ribs: another vote in the Senate had failed to recognize you as a full member of the royal household.

"Third rejection this season," you said casually, trying not to care. "I’m breaking records."

"Their pride will cost them more than a few stained ledgers if they continue."

You glanced at him. Malleus looked calm, but his eyes were that stillness he always got when he was furious.

For your sake. That still made your chest ache.

"They say I’ll never be a Draconia, no matter how many generations pass. They call me the ‘thornblood orphan’ behind my back."

Malleus stopped walking. You almost kept going before realizing.

"You were not chosen my sibling because of your blood. You were chosen because you were family the moment you looked at me and asked if my horns were heavy, when you were almost a toddler."

"...You remember that?"

He allowed himself a ghost of a smile.

“I had never laughed so much before that night.”

Maleficia was waiting in her usual spot, teacup balanced on one finger.

"You’re late," she said mildly, not looking up.

You bowed your head and flopped gracelessly onto the cushion beside her.

"Politics is a disease."

"Mmm. Caught it young, did you?"

You groaned into the pillow. Maleficia finally turned, her features sharp and amused.

“You’re stronger than them. That’s why they hate you. You've established a bond of trust with Malleus that neither of them has been able to achieve in decades and decades of years.”

"They hate me because I don’t fit into their little picture of a perfect monarchy."

"That too. But mostly because you remind them their rules can be bent. Bent rules threaten old men with no power except tradition."

You peeked up at her.

“Why do you always sound like you’re quoting an evil play?”

“I am an evil play,” she replied, lifting her teacup with flair. “But I’m your play, and I’d turn every last one of those doddering cowards into bats if I had more authority. I could have it, but… I'm getting older. I prefer to drink tea and watch them argue in the Senate with a smile.”

"...Thank you?"

"You’re welcome, little thorn."

The chamber echoed with voices.

“Half-fae or not,” one senator was saying, “the child has no blood claim to the throne and cannot be granted the privileges of the House Draconia.”

Malleus rose from his chair slowly. The room fell into silence.

"You dare refer to my sibling as 'the child' in my presence?"

The senator blanched.

"I recognize blood, but I also recognize loyalty. Character. Strength. And if the Senate does not, perhaps they should look in a mirror and ask if it still deserves to stand.”

The senator sputtered.

“You would threaten the Senate?”

“No,” Malleus said, smiling ever so slightly. “I would only remind it that I am not a child anymore. And neither is my sibling.”

That night, you sat alone in the overgrown garden. You watched the fireflies float, thinking how they never questioned belonging.

Malleus appeared wordlessly and sat beside you.

“…You’re not supposed to talk to the gallery guests,” you said, trying for humor. “It’s probably illegal.”

“Would it make a difference, if I told you that I consider you closer to methan half the fools arguing over titles?”

“They’ll never stop coming for me.”

“Then let them come. You are not alone.”

You leaned against his shoulder. Malleus let you.

At the next state event, you walked at Malleus’s side. Not behind him. Not two steps back as usual.

The nobles stared, bristling in quiet outrage.

Malleus offered you his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Let them see," he said.

"They're already whispering," you replied, adjusting your head high.

"Then let them choke on it."

You smirked.

The thornblood orphan walked like royalty that night. Because you were.

And eventually, they would have no choice but to see it.

[lizpottersworld]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . ITS RAINING MEN ! one. MEET CUTE (poly!marauders x fem!reader) part one.

summary: moving into a new flat in london as an aspiring romance novelist, you definitely did not expect to have the three most hottest neighbours. but who were you to complain? looking for inspiration for your first book, you stumble upon the most perfect mmc’s.. hallelujah!

a/n: this is most very likely going to be a multiple part fic because of all these ideas and potential this dynamic has.. it’s going to be slow.. but definitely worth it.

At 23, borderline adult, it was definitely time to move away from my family home and to start my own new life somewhere different.

It truly had been a long time coming.

Moving from the usual causality of new england farm life to the loud capital city of London was a drastic change that I was embracing to take.

Sure it came with sacrifices; the no longer safety net of my parents, the new accustomed living and not to mention the lonesomeness.

It was definitely a drastic change.

But it was essential in filling up the drawing board of inspiration for my self proclaim to being an author. It had to be something I got right, being my first redemption into the publication industry.

And simply, Maine wasn’t that captivating when it came to writing the perfect gentlemen character of men in my own universe.

They weren’t cutting it, the men I dated whilst living at home were enough to send anyone over the edge if they weren’t used to it like I had.

The film’s I watched always made the British men seem so much more respectful and wishful, even if it was only a select few.

I only needed to observe to paint their characteristics.

Standing in front of my new flat building, I observed the new city landscape. It was loud, busily and the rain painted a new picture.

Looking at the time on my watch, 12:31pm, I bite my lip anxiously as I waited for the landlord to drop the keys off.

The moving truck I had hired was parked up the road outside the building, all the furniture I could find from family who were willing to give it away packed away safely.

“Are you, Y/n?” A man approached, scruffy looking with a cigarette in his mouth. I had to bite back a grimace at the aroma of him.

“Thats me,” I nodded, seeing a key chain his jeans I assumed this was Mark, my new landlord.

“Welcome to London, darlin’,” He grinned, flashing an appointed smile of greeting. Mark handed over the key, blowing out his puff of air in my face.

I coughed, “Thanks-“ fanning the air of the residual, the man didn’t even wait for me to finish my sentence until he was stalking off towards his beat up truck.

Charming.

Looking up at the building, I used the key to open the door and propped it upon with a brick temporarily.

“You can unload now, Its flat 13.” I nodded to the moving men. They laughed.

“Sweetheart, we’re only here to deliver thats additional services.”

I frowned, “How much is the additional?”

“£500.”

My mouth gaped, I didn’t have that kind of money to spare. I needed it for living.

The guy sighed, “We can bring the couch and bed up for £20.”

“Really? That would be really great.” I grinned, handing over the twenty note.

“Just because you’re gorgeous,” Another guy added, winking. Gross.

It took them a total of 15 minutes and some various disgusting passes later till they were packing up and my boxes were at the bottom of the stairs.

I had no idea how I was going to get these up 2 floors. Luckily, I had sacrificed many clothes at home and was only left with 3 boxes. Anymore would have been a mood killer.

Hands on hip, and hair tied up in my claw clip I stared at the stupid boxes and the flights of stairs.

“You alright, love?” Someone interrupted, I jumped in surprise turning around to see a gorgeous man.

Tanned, tall with a blessed muscle of athletic build. A mop of curly brown hair, glasses covering his green eyes. Fucking hell.

“Oh! Sorry, I just moved in, trying to figure out how to move these boxes.” You sheepishly smile, cheeks tinging in pink embarrassment.

The guy smiled friendly, sweating with a bottle of water in his hand as he seemingly had just got back from some sort of workout. “Ah, well welcome to the flat block, I can help you move the boxes if you need.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to.” I shake my head, gesturing to his attire, “Looks like you’ve already had a workout.”

He grins, “I’d be more than happy to help, extra workout.”

“Thanks.” I smiled, “I’m Y/N by the way.”

“James.” He smiled, leaning down to grab the first box, “What number are you?”

“13.”

“Well hello neighbour, I live in 12 with my mates.” If James’ was a based judgement on the rest of his friends, then they’re definitely going to be as attractive as him.

“Thats nice, have you lived here long?” I asked, making friendly banter as I pick up the smaller box and follow him up the stairs.

“For about three years, straight out of university, we all moved to London for a fresh start.” James replied.

“Same as me. Moved away from my hometown in Maine, looking for something new here.”

“Maine, you really are looking for something new.” He laughed as we approached my door.

I put the box on the floor, unlocking the door with my key, “It’ll be a challenge, but it’s exciting.”

He carried the box in to the open plan floor, “Well, if you ever need a tourist or anything, I’m the door opposite.” He smiled.

I flushed at the idea of seeing him again, clearing my throat, “Thank you for your help James, you’re a saviour seriously.”

“It’s no problem, Love.” He waved it off smiling, “Let me grab the other box and i’ll be back.”

I nodded in appreciation, looking around to take in the place that I would live for a few years.

It wasn’t anything grand, it was a decent sized one bedroom with a kitchen and bathroom. For the price, It was what expected. Sure, It was dusty and there was definitely some decoration issues on the chipped walls and battered windows but it would do.

Anything was a great opportunity.

Plus the fantastic roommate as a view is definitely a positive plus.

James walks back in with ease carrying the heaviest box, “Is that everything, love?”

I nod, smiling, “Yeah, thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He nods, lingering in the door as I try not to ogle his muscles restraining against his compression shirt, “See you around.” He winks and waves stepping into his own front door.

With a shaky sigh I shut my own front door, back against the green door looking at the boxes on the floor.

To a new life.

a/n: thank you for reading part one!

[inseobts]

Hello! I'd like to please request a little scenario for multiple characters if possible; I'm especially interested in your take on this with Law, Sanji and Ace given their backstory. If you're open to writing for the ladies as well then adding Robin into the mix would be appreciated! My idea is simple; an S/O with a child, and the aftermath of discovering that fact. I don't mind if it's an established relationship and there just wasn't an opportunity to meet the kid before or something else, I just like the idea of these characters dealing with the concept of surprise family/parenthood, the angst that may arise from dealing with the role of a stepparent if they want a relationship (and its happy ending if possible!) Good luck with all the requests, I hope you have fun with them!

Found Family (Reader with a Kid)

gn!reader

characters: law, sanji, ace, nico robin

tags: under each character + secret child

a/n: I started it with a fem!reader in mind and changed it to gender neutral only later since the post didn't mention the gender, so please if I missed some changes please tell me

words count: around 0.8k - 1.7k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Law:

Tags: Established Relationship, Surprise Family, Angst to Comfort, Fluff

The wind blows soft through the port town. Law steps off the ship, coat flapping behind him, hands in his pockets. He’s quieter than usual, eyes scanning the street ahead. He’s not here on a mission. He’s here for you.

You sent a letter three weeks ago.

Just one line: “I need to talk. Come if you can.”

Law doesn’t like surprises. But he comes.

He finds you standing outside a small house with peeling paint and flower pots on the windowsill. You smile when you see him, but it’s tight, like you’re scared.

He frowns “You alright?”

You nod “Yeah… I just—can we go inside? I don’t want to do this out here.”

Law follows you in. It’s warm. Smells like soup and soap. A small jacket hangs on a hook by the door. Not yours. Too small.

His sharp eyes catch it, but he doesn’t say anything yet.

You lead him to the living room and sit. He stands. Watches you.

You look down “There’s something I never told you.”

Law’s voice is low “I figured.”

You breathe in deep “I… have a kid.”

Silence.

You look up. His face is unreadable. Like ice. You hate that expression, it means he’s trying to think without feeling. To stay calm.

He speaks finally “How old?”

You blink “She’s five.”

He does the math. That means before him.

“She yours?” he asks, even though he already knows.

You nod “Yes. Mine. The... other parent's gone. Completely.”

He nods slowly. His voice is cold, but not cruel “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was scared.” You twist your hands “We met during a war. We never talked about kids, or… futures. Then we got together, and things felt good. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“You thought this would ruin it?”

“I thought you might walk away.”

He looks away “You didn’t trust me.”

“That’s not fair,” you say, standing now too “I’ve been through things. I didn’t know how you’d react. You’re not… You don’t talk about family. You barely talk about your past.”

His jaw tenses. You hit a nerve.

You try softer “I wanted to wait for the right moment. But there never was one. Until now.”

Silence again.

Then small footsteps.

You freeze.

Law turns just as a tiny figure walks into the room, clutching a stuffed rabbit.

“Who’s this?”

Her eyes are big, curious. Law stares.

You kneel “Sweetheart, this is Law. He’s… He’s my friend.”

Law doesn’t speak. He just looks. She hides behind your leg.

You don’t blame her.

“She’s shy,” you say “But she’s smart. She reads pirates like storybooks.”

Law kneels too, finally, lowering himself to her level. His voice softens.

“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” he says “I’m just… surprised.”

Your daughter peeks out “You talk funny.”

Law blinks.

You laugh nervously “He’s from the North Blue.”

“Oh.” She tilts her head “Do you have a boat?”

Law nods “A submarine.”

Her eyes widen “Cool…”

She steps forward. He doesn’t move.

Then she offers her rabbit “You wanna hold Mr. Bun?”

You almost cry.

Law takes it. Careful. Gentle. Like it’s glass.

He looks at you over her head. Still unsure. Still quiet.

But he’s here, and he’s not walking away.

The rabbit sits on the table between you.

Law hasn’t said much since dinner. He eats quietly, politely. Your daughter sits beside him, munching rice balls like they’re treasure. She’s talking to him. A lot.

“Do submarines have beds?”

“Yes.”

“Do you sleep in them?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you dream of fish?”

“…No.”

You nearly laugh into your cup. Law sends you a look. It says help me. You shrug. You’re doing fine.

When she finishes eating, you ask her to brush her teeth. She runs off with Mr. Bun in her arms. The house falls quiet again.

Law leans back in his chair.

“You didn’t even flinch,” you say “When she offered you the rabbit.”

He shrugs “She trusted me. I didn’t want to break that.”

You nod, chewing on your lip “That means a lot, Law.”

He looks at you. Eyes sharp but not cold “I’m not angry.”

“Really?”

“I’m hurt.” His voice is honest now “You didn’t tell me. I could’ve helped. Been there. Or at least known what I was walking into.”

“I know,” you whisper “I was scared. I didn’t want to push you away.”

“I’m not made of glass, Y/N. I’ve lost family. I’ve lost everything. But I never said I didn’t want to build something new.”

You look down at your hands “She’s my whole world.”

“I can see that.”

“And now that you’ve met her… what do you want?”

He pauses.

That pause stretches long and sharp between you.

Then, softly “I don’t know.”

You nod. You expected that. You’re not mad. Just scared again.

Law stands and walks to the window “She’s a good kid. Brave. You raised her well.”

You smile a little “She’s got my temper.”

“I noticed.”

You walk over to him. You both stare outside. The moon is bright tonight.

“I’m not asking you to be her father,” you say “You don’t have to… take that role if you don’t want it.”

He turns “What if I want to?”

Your breath catches.

“I don’t know how to be that,” he continues “A father. A parent. I’m… I’m a surgeon. A pirate. I know how to fight, how to cut, how to survive. Not how to raise a child.”

You place your hand over his “She doesn’t need perfect. Just present. Just kind. Even I didn’t know how to be a good parent.”

He watches you. Something cracks in his expression.

“I want you.” he says.

“I want you too.”

“But I can’t lie to you… I’m afraid. I don’t want to mess this up.”

You squeeze his hand “We’ll learn together. She’s not looking for perfect either. She just wants someone who doesn’t leave.”

That hits hard.

He nods and then tiny footsteps again.

Your daughter peeks from the hallway “Hey... can he read me a story?”

Law blinks “Me?”

She nods “You have a cool voice.”

You laugh softly “What do you say?”

He hesitates. Then walks over.

“Alright, let’s try.” he says “But only one.”

She beams.

You stand in the hallway, listening through the door. His voice is low, slow, careful. Reading a picture book about sea creatures. She’s tucked in, eyes half-closed. The rabbit is between them on the bed.

Law finishes the page. She murmurs, “You’re not scary like someone said.”

You gasp quietly. Betrayal.

Law chuckles “Someone said that?”

“Mhm. They said you’re all sharp eyes and brooding. But you’re kinda soft.”

Law mutters, “I am never going to live that down.”

You grin and walk back to the living room.

He stays. Finishes the story. Even tucks her in.

When he comes out, he looks… changed.

“You did good.” you say.

“I didn’t even sweat.”

“Liar.”

He sighs, then smirks “Okay, maybe a little.”

You take his hand again “So…”

“So.” he echoes.

“You staying the night?”

He raises a brow “You asking?”

You smile “I have tea. And a couch. Or a bed, if you behave.”

He smirks “I’ll try my best.”

── .✦ Sanji:

Tags: Flirting Sanji, Soft Sanji, Humor, Fluff, Unexpected Bonding, Found Family

Sanji flirts with you every time he sees you.

At the market “Ah, Y/N! Did the sun rise just to see your face today?”

At the docks “Want me to carry those for you, my love? Your hands are far too lovely for heavy lifting!”

Even after the battle in your city, where the Strawhats helped “You’re even more beautiful covered in blood. Should I be worried about how much I love that?”

You never fall for it. You roll your eyes. You walk away. You don’t even blush.

It drives him insane.

“You’re difficult to get,” he says one afternoon, following you through town “but I like that.”

“I don’t fall,” you say flatly “Especially not for men with hearts in their eyes.”

“Ahhh, but my heart is sincere!”

You stop and face him “Sanji. You don’t even know me.”

“I want to.”

You pause. He’s annoying, yes. But not bad. He’s never pushed you too far. Never said anything mean. Just flirty. Charming. Too charming.

You sigh “Fine. You want to know me?”

He lights up “Yes! Of course!”

“Then come with me.”

You lead him through town, away from the market, away from the noise. Into a quiet part of the island. A garden path. A small house tucked in the trees.

He’s still smiling “So this is where the beautiful Y/N hides. A date, then?”

You don’t answer. You open the door. Inside, it’s neat. Warm. Lived-in. There are toys in the corner. A tiny pair of shoes by the door.

Sanji frowns “Is this… your house?”

“Wait here.” you say.

You go into the back room. A few seconds later, you return, holding a small child. Sleepy-eyed. Holding a stuffed whale. While another lady leaves the house as if her job there is finished.

You look Sanji in the eye.

“This is my daughter.”

Sanji freezes.

Dead silent.

You wait.

You expect a nervous laugh. A fast goodbye. A dramatic “I’m not ready for this!” speech.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead…

“Her hair’s like yours,” he says softly “She’s beautiful.”

Your daughter rubs her eyes, looks at him “Who’s that?”

You answer “Just... a friend.”

Sanji kneels slowly “Hi, sweetheart. I’m Sanji. Can I say hello?”

She shrugs. He waves. She waves back with the whale.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Whale.” Sanji says seriously.

You blink.

She giggles.

You didn’t expect this.

You make tea. Sanji helps. He insists, actually.

“She can’t have sugar this late.” you say.

“Then honey,” he says “Gentle on the stomach.”

You watch as he puts her cup in front of her like a butler. Bows. She bows back. You nearly choke on your tea.

“Do you cook?” she asks.

“Oh yes,” he says “Better than anyone.”

She claps “Make us dinner!”

Sanji glances at you. You nod. Why not?

He makes a simple meal. It smells amazing. Your daughter eats two full plates.

After, she sits in his lap and shows him a book of sea animals. He listens. Really listens.

You don’t understand what’s happening.

You were trying to scare him away.

Instead, he’s… perfect.

When she falls asleep, he carries her to her bed. Quiet. Gentle.

He tucks her in, fixes her whale beside her, and kisses her forehead.

You follow him back to the living room in silence.

“Well...” you say, still confused “That wasn’t what I expected.”

He smiles but smaller this time. Softer.

“I flirt because it’s fun,” he says “But I stayed because I wanted to see you.”

You stare at him “You weren’t scared?”

“I was shocked,” he admits “But not scared. You’re a single parent. That’s strong. She’s lucky to have you.”

You look away “I thought it would make you leave.”

“I’m not that easy to get rid of.”

You smile at that and look at him again. This time longer.

Sanji isn’t just charm. He’s heart. He’s warmth.

And… maybe you were wrong about him.

Your daughter’s asleep.

Sanji’s sitting on the couch, arms stretched over the backrest like he belongs there. His jacket is off, sleeves rolled up, and a soft smile on his lips.

He looks so… calm. Like this is normal. Like he wants this.

You sit across from him, legs tucked under you. You sip your tea. Your hands are shaking just a little, but you hide it well.

“Thanks for dinner,” you say “She loved it.”

“She’s adorable,” he says, smiling “And polite. You’ve done an amazing job.”

You stare into your cup “I didn’t do it alone. But… it’s been a long time since I shared her with someone.”

Sanji watches you quietly. No teasing now. Just listening.

You swallow. Here goes nothing.

“So,” you say “I’ve decided something.”

He leans forward “Oh?”

You lift your eyes to meet his “I’m saying yes.”

His brows lift “Yes to what?”

You smile “A date.”

He freezes “Wait. A—really?”

You nod.

“I mean, I’ve been asking for weeks, but I thought you hated me.”

“I didn’t hate you,” you say “I just didn’t believe you.”

“And now?”

“Now I do.”

He stares at you for a second. Then a slow, beautiful grin spreads across his face. Like he’s won a war. Like the clouds finally moved for the sun.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days.

“You—you have no idea what this means to me, Y/N.”

You chuckle “I might have some idea.”

“Do you want flowers? Candles? Music? Should I wear a suit? I’ll cook, of course—”

You laugh softly “Just come as you are.”

He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly flustered “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

You sip your tea again. Calm on the outside.

But inside? Your heart is thundering. So loud it feels like it echoes in your chest. And he doesn't even know your heart is actually beating faster than his own.

You’ve had to be strong for so long. For your child. For yourself. Love always felt like a luxury you couldn’t afford.

But Sanji… he’s something else.

Not because he’s charming.

But because when it really mattered, he stayed.

And now, you let yourself fall a little deeper.

You stand. Walk over. And press a soft kiss to his cheek.

He goes still.

You pull back and say quietly, “Can't wait for the date.”

His eyes widen, then fill with something warm surprised, happy, maybe even a little nervous.

“You… really?” he asks, softer than you’ve ever heard him.

You nod “Don’t make me regret it.”

His laugh is breathless “Never.”

You smile, heart pounding, but you don’t let it show. He doesn’t need to know yet how much this means.

A few nights later for your first date Sanji goes all out, but not in a flashy way. It’s thoughtful. Intimate.

He sets up dinner on the ship’s deck. Small candles, soft music from a den den mushi radio, and a view of the sea under stars. He cooks something warm and comforting, not fancy, just full of love.

You talk for hours. About silly things, quiet things, your pasts and dreams. It’s easy. He listens more than he speaks, and when he does talk, it’s gentle.

No cheesy lines. Just Sanji. Real and warm.

After dessert, he walks you home in silence. Not awkward, just peaceful. The kind of quiet where you don’t need to fill space.

At your door, he looks at you with hopeful eyes but doesn’t move in. He’s waiting for your choice.

So you step closer.

You kiss him.

Soft. Sure. Just once. But it’s full of everything you’ve been holding back.

When you pull away, he blinks like he’s just been hit by a wave.

You smirk “You were taking too long.”

He laughs, dizzy and full of stars.

And for the first time in a long while, so do you.

── .✦ Ace:

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Angst, Humor, Emotional Reveal, Mutual Feelings Hidden, Teasing to Serious, Marine Conflict

The sun burns above you. You’re lying on the deck of your ship, one leg over the other, a half-empty bottle between your fingers. Ace is beside you shirtless, grinning, sweat on his brow, flame flickering off his fingers like it’s breathing with him.

“You always steal my rum.” you say, kicking him lightly.

“You always keep it warm,” he shoots back “I’m doing you a favor.”

You roll your eyes “Your idea of favors sucks.”

He leans closer, his voice lazy and smug “You didn’t say that last night.”

You groan “Get a new line, fire boy.”

He grins wider. You punch his arm. He fake-winces, like it hurt. It didn’t.

That’s the two of you: teasing, biting, half-fighting, half-kissing. No promises. No labels. Just good fun and bad timing.

Pirate life is rough. You take what joy you can.

“Hey,” you say after a long silence, watching the sky “Wanna hear a secret?”

Ace smirks, eyes still closed “If it’s about that thing you did in the galley with the honey—”

“No, dumbass. A real secret.”

That makes him open his eyes. He turns to look at you “Alright. Hit me.”

You sit up. Serious now. The bottle rests on your knee.

“I have a son.”

Ace snorts “You what?”

You nod, eyes still on the horizon “Yeah. He’s five. His name’s Ren.”

He blinks. You go on before he can interrupt.

“I had him before all this, before the piracy, before you. I got caught in something messy with the Marines. To keep him safe, I left him with my parents. Changed my name. Ran.”

Ace stares.

You keep talking “I go see him when I can. Disguised. Just for a day or two. He thinks I’m some traveling doctor or something. He doesn’t know who I really am.”

You pause. Swallow.

“It’s hell, leaving every time. But I’d rather he grow up safe than have him hunted.”

Ace starts laughing.

You blink “What the hell?”

He’s full-on laughing “Holy shit, you got me! I thought you were serious. What is this, some new kink? Roleplay? Mommy pirate stuff?”

You just look at him.

Dead quiet.

No grin. No tease.

Ace’s smile dies instantly. The flame on his fingers goes out.

“…Wait,” he says “You’re not joking?”

You don’t say anything.

His expression changes fast… shocked, confused, then something close to guilt “You really…?”

You nod once “I’m not playing around.”

He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly tense “Shit.”

“Yeah,” you say, dry “That’s usually the first response.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again “Why are you telling me this now?”

You shrug “I don’t know. Maybe because you’re the closest thing I’ve had to a real connection in years. Or maybe I just got tired of lying all the time.”

He stares at you.

You look away “I didn’t expect you to laugh. That sucked.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.”

“No,” he says quickly “I’m serious. That was a shitty reaction. I just… I didn’t think you were the kind of person to hide something that big.”

You exhale “Turns out, I’m full of surprises.”

The silence between you is heavy now. Not like before.

Then Ace says quietly, “What’s he like?”

You blink “Huh?”

“Your kid. Ren. What’s he like?”

You smile a little “Stubborn. Smart. Messy. Loves drawing fishes. Hates carrots. Thinks I have the coolest boots in the world.”

Ace nods, quiet. He looks down, then up at you again.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs “I’m sorry for laughing. And I’m… kinda honored you told me.”

You raise a brow “Didn’t peg you for the emotional type.”

He shrugs, eyes soft “Didn’t peg you for someone with a child.”

Touché.

Ace doesn’t talk much for the next few days.

No flirting. No teasing. Just quiet looks when he thinks you’re not watching.

You try to act normal with some old jokes, same smug grin as always, but you feel it too. Everything changed with that one secret. The space between you now holds more than just fun.

It holds truth. Real, heavy, warm truth.

You’re standing at the helm when he walks up beside you.

“I want to come.” he says.

You glance at him “Come where?”

“When you go see your son.”

Your hands tighten on the wheel “Ace—”

“I’ll stay out of sight. I swear. I just… want to see him. I want to understand what you gave up. What you’re protecting.”

You study him for a moment. His eyes don’t waver. There’s no joke. No smirk.

Just Ace. Real. Honest.

You nod.

Months later — The island is quiet. A small village with stone houses, chickens in the streets, a little bakery that still smells like your childhood.

You pull your hood low. Ace wears a cap, sunglasses... he looks ridiculous, but no one’s looking at him. Just another traveler.

Your parents’ house is at the end of the road. Garden full of wildflowers. Paint peeling on the fence.

Your son is playing outside.

He doesn’t see you at first. He’s chasing butterflies. Laughing. Barefoot.

Ace stops walking.

“That’s him?” he asks, voice rough.

You nod “Ren.”

Ace just stares. His hands slowly curl into fists.

You call out softly, “Ren?”

The boy turns. His face lights up.

He runs to you screaming. You drop to your knees and catch him in your arms. He’s warm. Real. Solid.

Ace looks away.

Inside, your parents keep things short. They know who Ace is. You warned them. They’re not happy, but they trust you.

You all sit outside. Ren sits on Ace’s lap by accident. You try to grab him, but Ace just holds him steady.

“It’s okay,” he says “He’s light.”

Ren shows him a toy ship made of sticks “I made this!”

Ace chuckles “Really? That’s better than some ships I’ve sailed on.”

You stare.

Ren grins proudly “My parent used to tell me stories. About pirates and fire powers. Did you know there’s a pirate who can set his fists on fire?”

Ace raises a brow “Sounds dangerous.”

Ren gasps “But so cool!”

You laugh softly. Ace sends you a small look. It’s gentle. A little sad.

Later, when Ren naps, you and Ace sit on the back porch.

“He’s amazing.” Ace says.

“I know.”

“You’re amazing,” he adds “You left this. For his safety.”

You stare at the grass “I think about quitting all the time. Just staying here. Being at his side full time. But… the world’s not kind. And if they find me—”

“I get it,” he cuts in “You’re doing what you have to.”

You glance at him “I didn’t expect you to care so much.”

He shrugs “Neither did I.”

Then he adds, “But now I can’t stop.”

Your heart stumbles.

“He’s got your eyes.” Ace says softly.

“Don’t get attached.” you warn “This life… it’s dangerous.”

“So is mine,” he says “But that didn’t stop you from letting me in.”

You look at him. Really look.

“I didn’t plan for this...” you whisper.

“Neither did I.”

But here you both are.

And suddenly, fun doesn’t feel like the right word anymore.

The sound of quiet laughter wakes you.

You blink against the morning light, still groggy, still warm under the blanket. It takes a second to remember where you are... your parents’ house, back in your old bed.

And then you hear it again.

Ren’s voice.

And Ace’s.

You sit up, heart skipping.

You slip out of bed, still barefoot, and pad toward the living room. And there they are.

Ren sits cross-legged on the floor, his little wooden ship in one hand, while Ace sits across from him, mimicking an enemy pirate voice.

“Noooo! You got me again, Captain Ren! My ship is sinking!”

Ren giggles and throws a pillow at him “That’s what you get, bad guy!”

Ace dramatically falls back, hands in the air “Ughhh… defeated by the mightiest pirate on the seas…”

Your heart squeezes.

Ace looks so natural. Hair messy. Eyes full of warmth. Like he belongs here.

But then your parents come in.

They freeze when they see the scene.

Ace doesn’t notice at first, he’s laughing with Ren, his smile unguarded.

“Ren.” your mother says, sharply.

Your son turns.

“Come away from him,” your father says quickly, stepping forward “Now.”

Ace blinks, confused “I—”

“Ren,” your mother repeats “Come here.”

Ren looks at you, unsure.

You step in “What’s going on?”

Your father’s jaw tightens “We don’t want him near the child.”

You stare “Excuse me?”

“He’s a pirate,” your mother hisses “A famous one. Fire Fist. He’s dangerous.”

“He’s also sitting on the floor playing ships...” you snap.

Your parents say nothing.

“You trusted me enough to come here with him,” you continue, voice rising “Now you’re trying to pull Ren away like he’s some kind of monster?”

“We’re protecting our grandson.” your father says coldly.

“From what? A man who’s been nothing but kind to him?”

“You don’t know what kind of life he brings.”

“I do,” you shout “I live it too. If you forgot. And yes, it’s dangerous. Yes, it’s hard. But Ace has done nothing but respect my family, protect me, and treat Ren with more care than anyone ever has!”

They go silent.

You’re shaking now, fists clenched.

“And for your information, I love him.”

The words fall like a hammer in the room.

Ren blinks.

Your parents’ eyes widen.

Ace just stares at you.

You don’t move.

You didn’t mean to say it... not like this, not loud, not angry... but it’s out.

And real.

You look at Ace, heart thundering “I love you.”

A beat.

Then Ace stands slowly, eyes locked on yours. He walks to you, quiet. The room holds its breath.

He stops in front of you.

“I wasn’t sure if I should say it first,” he says, voice low “Didn’t want to scare you off. But you beat me to it.”

You blink.

“I love you too.” he says.

He reaches out, gentle, and takes your hand.

Your parents stay silent. Ren looks between the two of you, then claps once like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Can I have pancakes now?” he asks.

You and Ace laugh at the same time, breathless.

And just like that, the tension cracks.

── .✦ Nico Robin:

Tags: Established Relationship, Soft Confession, Emotional Intimacy, Bittersweet Past

It’s late.

Most of the crew has gone to bed, except you and Robin. You're both in the library room. She’s reading. You’re not. You're just holding the edge of a piece of paper... frayed, uneven, and pulsing with life.

A vivre card.

You don’t have to look at it to know it’s still there. Still pointing somewhere far away, where you can’t be.

Robin closes her book softly “Is that what’s been on your mind all day?”

You glance over.

Of course she noticed.

You nod “Yeah.”

She tilts her head slightly “Can I ask who it’s for?”

You hesitate.

You’ve never told her. Not because you didn’t trust her, but because it always felt like a story that belonged to a different version of you. The you from before the sea. Before the Straw Hats. Before her.

But she’s already part of everything now.

So you answer.

“My son.”

Robin says nothing but her gaze sharpens. Attentive. Careful.

“He’s with his other parent now,” you continue, voice quiet “I raised him alone before I joined the crew. He’s the one who said it was okay. Actually, we were always together, in another small crew. Then he wanted a different kind of life. One with… peace. So we contacted his other parent.”

Robin nods, slow “He sounds mature.”

“He was always like that. Smarter than me, I think.”

There’s a short silence.

You look at the vivre card “I haven’t seen him since I joined. We talk through letters, sometimes den den mushi. But I don’t know when I’ll be able to see him again.”

Robin’s eyes soften “Do the others know?”

You shake your head “No. Just you.”

She reaches out. Her fingers brush yours, just enough to touch the vivre card “Thank you for trusting me.”

You smile, small but real “I didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t want you to see me differently.”

Robin hums “I already see you. Clearly.”

You blink.

She looks at you steady and kind “You carry something heavy. And still laugh with the crew. Still help cook. Still stand beside me in battle. That’s not weakness.”

Your chest aches in the best way.

She pauses, then adds, “If one day… you want to try and see him again, I’d go with you.”

Your voice catches “Really?”

She nods “Of course. I’d like to meet him. He sounds like someone I’d admire.”

You look down at the vivre card.

Still warm. Still burning.

Maybe not as far away as it feels.

It’s just past dinner.

You’re with Robin as she asked you to stay close. A soft excuse about helping her with some documents. You're both sitting on the floor, back against the wall, a soft lamp between you.

You have the vivre card on the table. You don't always keep it out, but tonight you felt the need to hold it.

You glance at the Den Den Mushi nearby.

You hesitate.

Then pick it up and dial a number you’ve had memorized since your hands first held his.

The snail blinks sleepily… then perks up.

“Hello?”

Your chest tightens at the voice.

You smile “Hey, kiddo.”

A pause, then, “IT’S YOU!!”

You laugh, caught off guard by the pure excitement.

“Oh my god—FINALLY! You didn’t forget me, right? You didn’t sail into a storm and disappear forever, right?”

Robin lifts an amused brow, watching you with quiet interest.

“I didn’t forget you,” you say softly “You know that.”

“Just making sure. I’ve been drawing so many sea monsters lately you would not believe. I made a kraken with three hats.”

You laugh again, voice cracking slightly “Three hats? He must be important.”

“Very.” He pauses, then adds, “...I missed you.”

You shut your eyes “I missed you too.”

Robin looks away respectfully, but stays close.

Then, from the snail: “Hey, wait—who’s near you? Are you with someone?”

You glance at Robin, who blinks, caught.

“She’s... a friend.” you say carefully.

Robin speaks, her voice soft “I hope I’m more than just a friend.”

The Den Den Mushi mimics a shocked face.

“...OH MY GOD. IS THIS YOUR GIRLFRIEND??”

You bury your face in your hand.

Robin chuckles lightly, graceful even when embarrassed “Hello. I’m Robin. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

There’s a long pause.

“...You sound really cool.”

Robin smiles “Thank you. So do you.”

“Wait—how much do you know about them? Like... do you know about the time they tried to cook without instructions and set the wall on fire?”

You groan “Don’t tell her that.”

“It was a microwave! The noodles caught on fire!”

Robin’s shoulders shake with laughter.

You shoot her a glare that holds no heat “I regret this entire call.”

“No you don’t.”

And he’s right. You don’t.

Not even a little.

Later, when the call ends, you sit in silence.

Robin’s hand reaches for yours “He’s amazing.”

You nod, voice soft “Yeah. He really is.”

She squeezes your hand gently “He has your spark. And your chaos.”

You smile through the ache in your chest “He’s better than I’ll ever be.”

Robin rests her head against your shoulder.

“You’ll see him again. When the time is right. And I'll be with you... if you want me.”

"Of course I do."

And somehow, with her beside you, that feels like a promise you can believe in.

[loricciardo]

YOU'RE SO VAIN, a Max Verstappen story.

pairing. Max Verstappen x original female character.

taglist. want to join my taglist for this story? comment or shoot me an ask.

synopsis. Natalie Schumacher is fast, fearless, and absolutely sick of being told she’s lucky. Being the daughter of a legend, she’s been branded “Formula 1 royalty” since she first entered this world as a small newborn.

Enter: Max Emilian Verstappen. Two-time world champion. A God on the track and a mess of contradictions off it--infuriating, electrifying, and raw in a way she just can't shake. At once, his rootlessness upends her routine. And, unfortunately, he is very loud about the fact that he thinks she doesn’t belong.

Max can’t stand Natalie. Not because she’s slow.. she isn’t. And it’s not because she’s soft. If anything, she races like a live wire. No, Max Verstappen hates Natalie Schumacher because she walks around with everything he never had: friends who love her before the podiums, a brother who’d throw punches in her defense, a family whose shadow feels like a blanket of protection, not pressure. She’s surrounded by warmth. But Max? He grew up in an icy cold tundra.

What do you do with feelings you didn’t plan for? What happens when the person you were raised to beat is the one who finally sees you for who you are?

status. on-going, i will try to update every tuesday, however i am writing this as i post, so updates may be slow as i want to properly depict the story i have in my head.

tags. female original character, misogyny and toxic masculinity (F1-typical), a lot of cussing, depictions of mental health issues (post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, bipolar, anxiety), depictions of childhood trauma, slow burn, NSFW themes (eventual smut? who knows..), references to past abuse and assault (physical, mental, sexual in reference to children and adults), abusive relationship in a romantic setting, mentions of michael schumacher’s accident, Max and Natalie are dicks!

Chapters will be marked accordingly. Please read before proceeding and exercise appropriate reader discretion.

DISCLAIMER. This is a work of fanfiction. I obviously do not own FORMULA 1 or any other forms of intellectual property. I do, however, own the original characters of this novel (Natalie Schumacher), as well as the plot lines and the writing itself. Some aspects are semi-based on true events following the 2023 season, but this is overwhelmingly a work of pure fanfiction and is far detached from reality. Additionally, there will be comments made for the sake of this fanfiction that I don’t believe the drivers would ever make. Do not let this story reflect your image on them. Please do not copy, redistribute, plagiarize, or translate this work under any circumstances.

• • • PLEASE DON'T BE A SILENT READER! I love seeing feedback and reactions. It really motivates me as a writer! I hope you enjoy 'You're So Vain.' Thank you for taking the time to read.

: ̗̀➛ 01. so this is how it starts?

: ̗̀➛ 02. too sweet.

[howitcouldgoes]

for all my ragatha haters out there

I am not one of them

I love Ragatha - in fact I'm a firm believer if you hate Ragatha.. you kind of have to hate Jax too. I can understand where potential confusion might come from since despite this episode focusing more on Ragatha's past compared to Jax's we do get to hear most of it through Jax's perspective. Which leads me to believe personally ep. 6 will be the opposite. Jax's backstory and how Ragatha will react to that information.

But still, Ragatha is one of the most human characters out of the whole cast(tied with Gangle) to me personally. She feels the need to be happy and positive NOT BECAUSE she's trying to manipulate anyone - but because she doesn't want anyone to focus on the negative and abstract. That's her method of keeping herself and everyone else sane. Almost blind encouragement and a positive attitude things will turn out okay - because what else is there?

She seems the closest to Kinger whose whole mentality is "The worst thing you could do in this world is make someone feels unloved or unwanted." and to hold onto memories and connections because they're all we have.

And then you have her mother - who is her only memory. She grew up with someone who made her feel like shit, unloved and unwanted - Ragatha confesses this when she literally says "And my mother... I doubt she misses me."

No Ragatha is not perfect, but she was forced to be in her childhood and early adult life.

I genuinely don't believe she's trying to manipulate anyone - and especially not intentionally.

Ragatha's positive attitude towards Pomni and her friendliness is because she sees herself in the jester - in Ep. 2 Ragatha confides in Kinger about this on the candy truck, seeing how horrible of a day Pomni had when she first got here and compared it to her negative reaction when she first arrived too. She's not trying to steal her from Jax or force her to be happy all the time - the only reason she retaliates with something like that is because she believes Jax is trying to turn Pomni bad - and the last thing she or anyone needs is a second Jax.

So her jealously in Ep. 5 when Jax is growing close to her - IN THE MATTER OF A FEW MINUTES BTW - when Ragatha has tried for four episodes now to befriend her is killing her.

Hence why she's so relatable. Ragatha's inability to get angry without consequences(most likely from her mother), raised to be happy and perfect, humbling herself quickly by calling herself just a farm girl - is why people now think she's tricking everyone - but that's just it. She is just a girl, and by the sound of her and how Ep. 5 ended - she grew up with absolutely no friends.

It brings us back to that question we all had at some point in our lives: "Why does no one like me?" "Why does no one want to be friends with me?" "Is it me?" "Am I the problem?"

Ragatha watches Pomni, the girl she wanted to befriend so badly not out of pity or a selfish desire but because she thought Pomni was lonely just like her - walk away with Jax. And then watches Zooble and Gangle walk off with Kinger mindlessly following because he doesn't care and we see her standing all alone.

And there she debates: Does she want to keep pestering Jax and Pomni? Like a bother? Like she finds him annoying but here she is anyway chasing after him..

or does she follow the trio that didn't even realize she got left behind?

I love this little Raggedy Anne look-alike because I see so much of myself in her. She just wants to be good and yet that overly positive attitude and friendliest over the years is growing tired and annoying and the only person willing to tell her that isn't even Jax. Not directly anyway. With no one to tell her what to do - how to improve - what can be done differently - Ragatha can only keep asking herself those same questions and keep trying with the same approach.

Jax may be my favorite character - but I just don't agree with his view on Ragatha. I think she's a delight.

But if you deadass just hate Ragatha because she's annoying to you, or boring, then okay idc disregard the above-

btw i know ive been spamming so much tadc this might be my last post temporarily but i wanna make a few things clear for ppl who shockingly hate my girl

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Moondir - 03

Pairing | moondir!OT7 x human!Reader

Word Count | 6,3K

Warnings | +18, coercion, power dynamics, blood, torture, noncon touching, talks about future sex, hatred, one of the characters suffers from selective post-traumatic mutism, Yoongi and MC clearly have unresolved issues 💀, Jimin is a 100% asshole, discomfort and discussions about smell, Namjoon enjoys humiliating MC, Taehyung is in heat (not kidding) this is not for minors.

This fanfiction is dark and yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | The Moondir, born of the Moon Goddess' love for a wolf, were persecuted and enslaved by humans for merely existing. Moondirian women have been captured and killed in the most heinous ways, men have instead been forced to do dangerous work in place of the humans themselves, and after more than a century, this has virtually brought their race to the brink of extinction. A group of Moondirian rebels have succeeded in their quest to regain their freedom, and not without the use of the crudest violence. Their females are now gone, and it will be human women who will help them repopulate the world.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! ❤️

I apologize for the delay, it's been a really terrible few days and a member of my family has been very sick, anxiety and stress didn't allow me to finish the chapter sooner 🥺😭 Now things are going well and I've found some peace of mind, I really hope you enjoy the chapter and I apologize if you find any mistakes! ❤️ Let me know what you think! I love reading your comments! Thank you so much for your patience and support, I love you 🥰

Taglist is open: @katherine-kookie - @btsuga-d - @pantara - @angelicsmilesworld - @lennieharper - @takemeaway5402 - @jiminismine4ever - @m00njinnie - @ke1k029 - @velvet-stardust2002 - @darkuni63 - @douknowbts - @aiiselle90210 - @fewercascade - @mageprincess7 - @get-that-brain-working - @whipwhoops - @dragons-flare - @seokjins-luigi - @pjmsneverland - @jimincrystal - @ajkwww - @ungodlyjoon - @hecateslittlewitchling - @namjoonsbuspass - @xicanacorpse - @btssimplove - @antisocial-mochi267 - @reallygenerouskoala - @dabishou - @themwordsblog - @deluluisme - @justanarchiveforfics - @blackberrywonie - @the-holy-hobi - @justlikecrazy - @herareila - @furioustrashlover - @mar-lo-pap - @dachshunddame - @pantaral81 - @withmuchluv-tannie - @calmyourtitts7 - @plushjeno - @rafesbunniebby - @rms-expensive-girl - @polnaraffsrack - @rg2108 - @paramedicnerd004 - @jungshaking - @ane102 - @moonstarw - @teardoong - @butterymin

Main List - 01 - 02 - 03

“Hoseok told me something interesting, little flower,” Taehyung whispers in your ear, his voice low and rough. The wolf scents of cinnamon and burnt wood, an aroma that confuses you, knocking you out between your broken breaths. “Seokjin seems to have been far too kind to you during your examination” he adds in an insinuating tone, clutching you with one arm as he moves slowly, possessively, between your thighs with his free hand, “What does that mean?”

“Stay away from me, please,” you sob, chasing that hand away; you've already been kissed in a vile way, you can't stand even such a thing.

Hoseok nonchalantly sits in an armchair, following the scene with eyes glittering with interest. Taehyung touches your cheek with his tongue, it's slow and warm, picking up a tear you didn't even know you shed. You stiffen, your lips stretched into a hard line.

“You're so good, I'm almost sorry I scared you so much,” he smiles with a wry tinge in his amber eyes. His lips brush the angle of yours, leaving you with a kiss that tastes more like dirty promises than an apology.

You narrow your eyes, trying to ignore his towering figure holding you captive against him. “You're definitely better than that,” you hiss through clenched teeth. "I'm not going to rebel... I know the only alternative would be to die. But please ... not like this."

It is a gamble to try to reason with him, Taehyung is a beast at its peak, and now that you can think more clearly, you realize that the wolf's body is also shaking, but less noticeably than yours.

He is excited, perhaps from the hunt from which he has just returned. Perhaps because he has not yet had a chance to get rid of the adrenaline burning under his skin. And now... he's trying to dump it on you.

“Why do you persist so much, little flower?” whispers Hoseok in a caressing voice, tilting his head as if genuinely curious. “It's going to happen anyway... why fight anymore?”

Why?

Because you are not ready. Because you are human. Because you have dignity. Because you don't want to break completely.

“Come closer, girl,” he orders, patting his thigh, leaving you speechless.

As if he received the order from his superior, Taehyung lets you go. And maybe it really is an order. Of hierarchy.

“Don't make me say it again,” he warns you, and instinctively you take steps in his direction, "Like this. Good."

You drop onto his legs; he grips your waist with a possessive arm, his touch firm yet charged with a warmth that makes you lose your breath.

“Now, tell me why we shouldn't touch you like this-” his long, light fingers caress your waist in small circles, slowly rising to the round lines of your breasts. You want to scream, but his touch confuses you, destabilizes you.

And you don't know how to respond.

“You...” Hoseok's thumb grazes your lower lip, the words stuck in your throat.

"Tell me. Taehyung and I are listening," at his words you turn to the other wolf, he clutches the back of the sofa tightly, his jaw is contracted and his pupils dilated. What the hell...?

Broken, high-pitched, howl-like moans and stench of dry, ferrous blood.

Seokjin wipes his hands before putting on gloves. The room is almost completely dark, to unnerv the prisoner, but he can comfortably see the workings of his teammates.

Namjoon is finishing wiping on his own jacket the long sharp blade he used to chop off one by one the fingers of the man, who is trembling in shock from his torture. He is bound hand and foot to a chair, his dark, wispy eyes darting from one side of the room to the other, trying to figure out who will be next to make him discover new ways to learn about hell alive.

Namjoon's eyes, blue as a night sky, seem dull and apathetic, but only an hour earlier they looked dreamy as he carved his own initials into the man's forehead, letting a cascade of blood blind him.

“So you're not helping us, Jackie,” complained another - Yoongi - lowering himself to the prisoner's height, "Why are you willing to suffer like this? Hand over the rest of your comrades and I promise to give you a quick death, I might even secure a proper burial for you," he tries to persuade him in a mock sorry tone, but the man categorically shakes his head, before spitting a stream of saliva and blood onto the ground, not far from Yoongi's shiny boots.

The wolf's eyes twinkle with amusement as he observes the result of the gesture, "Hmm. A few days ago another person also spit on me... but she was prettier than you,” he chuckles, then without changing his expression, Yoongi sinks a fist into the man's stomach, who doubles over panting, saliva dripping from his lips, “There, that's how you should salivate."

Seokjin wrinkles his nose slightly, finding that human's swollen face disgusting; he wouldn't even want to touch him to tell the truth.

“He won't talk, Yoongi,” announces a more fluty voice, "At least not for today, let Seokjin nurse him a bit and leave him with his final thoughts. I'm sure Jackie is just as tired as we are."

Jimin keeps his hands in his pockets, in a completely relaxed pose, but his stiff shoulders say more than that. He's just trying to maintain control; he doesn't want to kill another vile human being before he's even obtained valuable information. He has already killed far too many — and he did it mercifully

“I have... begged... the h-high officials to kill you... all,” spits the man with difficulty, “You a-are unclean beasts,” he hisses with blood between his now broken teeth, “From. me. you. will. know. nothing,” he concludes with hatred.

Yoongi watches the man with a distant, bored look, “So... we have nothing more to say to each other, I guess.”

“Yoongi, wait-” interjects Seokjin, irritated. It would be insane to kill the man after hours spent questioning him. Just the idea of having wasted that time sends him out of his mind, but he doesn't have time to say anything else.

A figure moves in the shadows, silent as the night, yet clearly visible.

Then a bubbling sound breaks the air.

The prisoner's throat opens in a sharp, clean cut, as if it were butter.

Jungkook's lilac eyes shine in the half-light. He does not speak. Anger pulses in his tendons, in his hand clenched around the still bloodstained dagger. The prisoner stares at him in shock, but his hands are tied and he cannot see his own end.

Some splashes have stained Yoongi's jacket. He does nothing to clean himself.

"Too late, Jin. Jungkook got tired, too."

“Why do you always have to get in the way, 'Kook?” asks Namjoon with an arched eyebrow. The younger boy replies with a shrug.

“Forget it, he wasn't going to talk anyway” Yoongi stands up, putting his leather gloves back on, Seokjin can swear he sees one of the guards posted at the entrance lift his eyes to the sky, before returning to stare blankly, waiting for more orders.

With a grin he shakes his head, Yoongi is far too permissive with Jungkook and this causes jealousies among the ranks.

“Let's go back to our base,” then Jimin turns to those guards, “Get rid of the body, you can do what you want with it... although I advise against eating it, it may have been poisoned before we found it.”

“If so, then he did a bad job with the doses, considering he's been alive far too long as well,” snorts Namjoon, loading a shotgun on his back that he never part with.

Seokjin begins to retrieve his medical equipment, irritated with his teammates.

"Medicines, bandages... for what? Nothing ever changes," he snorts. "You already know they won't talk anyway. And you already know you will kill them. It's just a waste of time. And of patience. We could almost make it a standard protocol," he concludes sarcastically, making Namjoon chuckle.

“I thought you were happy to practice what you've learned over the years,” he taunts him, causing him to irritate.

"I just wish you could keep your nerve for once, being led by hatred will not help us find all these rats hiding. And Jungkook, I'm talking to you too," he blurts out to the younger man, who rolls his eyes without making a sound, which sends a painful twinge to his chest.

Jungkook is the result of what each of them has experienced in a hundred years.

“Enough discussion, we have more to think about now,” sneers Namjoon, “Or have you all forgotten?”

Yoongi, who up to that moment had been smiling wryly, suddenly loses all expression. A stony silence falls over those present.

Seokjin takes a good look at them, biting his lower lip, “Shit.”

They are unpresentable.

They look like they've just stepped out of a horror movie, amid splashes of blood on their faces and uniforms soaked with sweat and dirt. The chase was particularly bloody; Jackie was simply the last name on an endless list. That's why Seokjin feels so irritated and tired.

“We should clean up and change uniforms, I'm going to-”

“No bullshit,” Yoongi interrupts him, cutting him off. “We'll clean up at home, I have nothing to hide.” He nods to the guards: it's time to move toward the vans.

“I'm tired, I don't feel like making myself look good for a cheap whore,” Jimin blurts out, pulling back a strand of tousled hair before leaving the torture room first, in the building that used to belong to the mayor.

They take different vans, Jimin catches up with Namjoon and Jungkook, who pretend to look out the windows, but their ears are strained, on the other hand, Seokjin is fuming with anger.

He reaches Yoongi in the back seat of the other military van and crosses his legs, crossing his arms like a parent disapproving of a child's choices, "Jimin has to move on. And so do you."

"Are you my psychologist? I'm done with that shit, and Jimin is just fine. You've seen how he works, right? At least those human bastards didn’t turn him into a wimp with all those drugs they were pumping into him," he growls at him.

"I understand you, Yoongi. I know what you've been through, because I've been there myself, but that girl is our only chance for a better future."

“Why her?” he growls, “Why did you choose her?”

Seokjin looks at him in amazement, "Do you think I did that? Yoongi, I have no decision-making power, it's blood that determines matches. Your blood chose her,” he retorts curtly, “You always told me about her father and brother, but never about her... so why do you dislike her so much? She doesn't seem like a bad person."

Yoongi begins to chuckle in response, adjusting his jacket on his chest, “Have you fallen into the trap yet, man?” he teases him, “Don't give her too much rope, that's a poisonous viper.”

“Stop it!” you explode, trying to regain control, "I'm not going to do anything until the doctor gets here! Dr. Oliver said everything will have to be checked before you can do whatever you like."

You finally find an opening to free yourself: you get up from Hoseok almost tripping over your own feet.

Meanwhile, Taehyung has slowly slipped off his jacket, revealing his dirt-stained uniform and... more. Something you refuse to give a name to.

He drops onto the sofa like a dead weight, closing his eyes with a contracted expression.

“Damn... this stuff is stronger than I thought,” he groans against his bent arm, his voice muffled, labored.

Hoseok clenches his jaw, “Then I suggest you go to sleep, joking is one thing, losing control is something else entirely,” he rebukes him, leaving you confused.

Had it all been a game to them so far?

Pieces of shit.

But you don't dare say those words out loud.

The atmosphere is strange, you still have in mind the intense look Taehyung gave you a few moments earlier, it seemed quite animalistic.

“She has no idea what’s going on, does she?” he murmurs, looking sicker.

“Of course not, you've seen for yourself how incapable she is of satisfying a man, she's not that kind,” Hoseok replies in an insinuating tone.

Taehyung lets his gaze slide over you, slow and intrusive.

“She's almost cute, though,” he smiles and your heart does a strange thing, like a somersault that embarrasses you and makes you blush.

“Say that when you find her whimpering on the bed” Hoseok rolls his eyes, at which you flare up.

“You certainly seem to know me,” you reply, almost blowing. Your wry reply draws Taehyung's attention.

“Now who made her angry?”

“I'm not angry” you nip Hoseok's rebuke in the bud, staring him straight in the eye without fear, "I won't cry, I know I'm lucky. Because I can still breathe and talk, don't treat me like a spoiled child, I'm not!"

"You say you're not, but you don't seem to have changed much. You really are a spoiled child."

At the exact instant those words cut through the air, time freezes. Even Hoseok and Taehyung appear surprised.

Suddenly the living room seems to shrink around you. No. It is not possible, he cannot be here.

“I can smell her fear, Celestial Goddess, Yoongi--what did you do to her to make her like this,” laughs another voice, deeper.

It is with fear blocking your throat that you turn your gaze in his direction.

Yoongi is staring at you with a glassy gaze, he might start cutting you down little by little, and he won't lose that composed, relaxed air of his, despite his creased and dirty clothes, perhaps even more than Taehyung's clothes.

Yoongi also returned from a hunt, but his seems to have ended in a more satisfying way. Still, he is not necessarily finished.

Behind him a group of men seem to be just waiting for his order so they can play with you; you recognize two of them. Jimin and Seokjin.

You are not amazed at the man with amber eyes filled with contempt, you realize he is actively working alongside his captain, but Seokjin?

Is he the doctor who is in charge of keeping the prisoners alive so he can calmly interrogate them? Will he also participate in their repopulation project, using you?

He immediately turns his blue eyes away from yours when he notices the wounded light you direct at him.

You don't even know why you are so disappointed in him, you two talked only once and he touched you against your will, but you thought maybe he was different. A little better than his fellow members of... what? Pack?

Next to him you also study the other two wolves, you have never seen them in your life, they are simply terrifyingly beautiful.

The guy with the dark blue eyes is the size of a closet. His black hair - still damp - falls back, uncovering his forehead, and that leaves you with a chance to clearly read the hungry look he is giving you. He scrutinizes you from head to toe and his full lips are bent in a ravenous, smug smile. He looks at you as if you were the hottest thing to ever appear in a room -- but with the same respect that you reserve for a fancy whore. And no, it's not pleasant.

The other has a wilder, almost unkempt look. His brown hair falls over his eyes, a barely concealed lilac glow catches you off guard. Are those really lilac eyes? You stare at him dumbly, and it seems to agitate him in a negative way; he bares his teeth and growls at you, a sound that gets under your skin and causes you to take an instinctive step back. Once again it is Hoseok who holds you still, communicating with his gaze to stay where you are. Then you remember Seokjin's warning: Don't run.

“You have a strange memory of me, captain,” you force yourself to respond somehow, hating the quiver in your voice.

Yoongi's grin deepens, interested.

"Is that what you call me now? You flatter me, Y/N” he tosses his coat to the floor, revealing blood soiling the sleeves of his uniform, and his gloves go the same way, "You used to just call me ‘boy’ " he follows Hoseok's example and pours liquor into a crystal glass, Jimin and Namjoon do the same, and soon the living room is filled with deep voices and the pungent smell of cigars.

Seokjin stows his jacket on a coat rack, turning his nose up at the villanous attitude of his companions, then nods at you, silently asking you to sit in the unoccupied chair. That simple gesture brings you back down to earth, but the tension gripping your throat does not ease.

You move with concern, noticing the two strangers approaching Taehyung, who seems to have taken on a rather bright pink complexion. He seems to be fighting something.

“Maybe you really should go to bed,” offers Hoseok once again, “You look like you're about to give in,” more like a disguised order than advice.

You see Taehyung shake his head firmly, “I want to be there when you decide what to do” his voice is hoarse, fiery. “She is also mine, remember?”

You almost shudder as you moan, but as you sit down on the padded material, Seokjin kneels at your side, taking your wrist between his long fingers. He wants to measure your pulse probably, afraid you will faint at any moment?

"She is no one's. She is only a means to the cause,” Jimin blurts out, his voice as sharp as a blade, “When she finishes what she was chosen for, we won't need her anymore."

His eyes nail you, rabid, as if every word were a verdict already written.

“I wouldn't mind keeping her,” the dark blue-eyed wolf speaks for the first time, revealing an extraordinary deep tone of voice, “It would be a waste to limit yourself to two or three children.”

Jimin looks like he could strike him down in an instant. "Are you really the one saying that? You, who should understand me better than anyone, Namjoon?"

Namjoon. That's what his name is. Now you have a face, a name, and one more enemy.

“Don't get me wrong, Jimin...” he retorts, his tone more serious but far from regretful, "I haven't forgotten who we are. Nor what they have done to us and what we have irretrievably lost. I'm just saying that to throw it away too soon... that would be a waste. They kept us in chains for a whole century. The least would be to return the favor... to the last drop of their lives."

Your stomach contracts.

Your heart sinks into the abyss.

You are at the mercy of seven men who, looking at you, see only the years of imprisonment they have spent.

The only one who has not yet exposed himself with a disgusting and cruel speech is the lilac-eyed wolf; he stands apathetically by Yoongi's side. He doesn't smoke, he doesn't drink, he doesn't talk. He has also lost the spark of anger that you had aroused in him a few moments ago; he looks every bit like a soulless rag doll.

“Would you be so kind as to report all this directly to me?” Seokjin jerks his head up toward you, surprised and startled by your courage.

“How?” asks Hoseok, stinging.

"You heard me. I think I have the right to be considered at least a little by you. It's my body, my womb," something in your words makes Namjoon chuckle in response.

"Haven't you figured that out yet? You no longer have any rights, we are in charge now."

You cast a glance at Seokjin, who reciprocates with an impassive face. He doesn't say it, but he clearly agrees with Namjoon. In this new world, even those who show you some kindness will always think of you as less than nothing. You found this out with Dr. Oliver and now with Seokjin as well.

“So don't go around it anymore, what will happen from now on?” you ask without second thoughts. If you have to comply with their every request in order to survive, so be it.

“Don't you want to fight?” the annoyed tone of Yoongi surprises you a little, does he want you to fight?

Of course. To punish you.

“Would it do any good?” you retort with a sad smile. The captain, in response, casually goes back to drinking, deciding that ignoring you is probably best for everyone. He dismisses you with a look as if you were an annoying detail.

It's going to be a long night.

“You're in your most fertile period, your scent is very strong and affects us, Taehyung is the clearest proof,” Seokjin interrupts the staring contest you and the cold captain put on. An animalistic grunt makes you wince.

"I'm fine. It's bearable," Taehyung swallows,

“Don't bullshit, the room pretty much just smells like her.”

That sentence does not please you at all, "Do you have to be so explicit? It's disgusting," you retort, feeling ashamed just imagining what kind of smell you give off, to be so strong to their noses.

Jimin clicks his teeth in your direction, “It's our nature, show respect.”

"I say we start with the ‘meeting’ so everyone can go to bed and rest. We are all tired here," Hoseok announces, sensing the tension in the air and wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant and far from pleasant smell inside the room. It is animalistic and asphyxiating, acrid like sweat, something forcibly restrained, unlike your own which is simply sublime and is driving him crazy.

You smell of a moonlit night, of breeze brushing the wildflowers and carrying their sweet scent, you smell of freedom and this is undeniable, even to Jimin himself who is forcibly restraining himself from jumping on you.

Hoseok's green eyes shift to Yoongi, his captain appears icy and impassive, but he too is pawing beneath the surface. They haven't been with a woman for a long time, and certainly not by their own choice. To them you're a fucking feast.

Seokjin leaves your side to take a seat next to Taehyung, seeming to want to make sure the other doesn't suddenly go crazy, the empty feeling you feel is uncomfortable, making you uneasy. You feel somehow abandoned.

"Tonight you will just rest, but starting tomorrow our procreation program will begin. To make sure you get pregnant as soon as possible, you will sleep every night with at least one of us. Every morning I will check your health status and your vitals, it will only take me a moment to figure out whether or not you have become pregnant," he explains with his gaze over your shoulder, he is simply pretending to look at you. Something prevents him from meeting your eyes, perhaps something called “pity.”

“So we have to decide our turns, hyung,” nods Namjoon with crossed arms, receiving a nod of assent from the other.

“That's right, but we have to do it according to her needs for the time being,” Seokjin points to you, causing Yoongi to arch an eyebrow.

“What's that supposed to mean?” he asks almost annoyed, “It's our needs that you should put first.”

“And that would be so, in a normal situation,” the doctor takes him back in a harsh voice, “But the human is a virgin and I'm not going to force her to have her first sexual intercourse with someone who terrifies the hell out of her, that would be cruel and counterproductive.”

Embarrassment stains you red from head to toe, you didn't expect Seokjin to shout to the four winds what he found out during the first exam, but this seems to ignite the newcomers with interest.

“What a surprise,” Yoongi sneers wryly, “I thought you finally succumbed to the baker's advances.”

His words wound you. They are a blade that lacerates your heart with impressive ease. That comment comes out of his lips too harsh, too accusatory, and you want to cry, because he knows what really happened and should never have thought of such a thing.

“You yourself know that I have too much pride to give in to the wishes of a man like Evan, but you've probably forgotten,” you reply bitterly, hinting to others that you and Yoongi in the past had more than a master-servant relationship. And you did. There was much more respect between you two than he wants to admit now.

The captain grits his teeth menacingly.

“Be careful how you talk, you insolent little one,” he hisses with a calmness that reeks of malice, “It wouldn't take you long to end up on your knees, polishing my boots with your tongue while one of my brothers takes what he wants from that insulting body of yours.”

“You don't scare me Min Yoongi,” you smile joylessly, “I've seen my family die, nothing impresses me anymore.”

You are clearly lying, but he does not need to know that. It is rather pleasant to see that always mocking face turn granite.

“So that's it, I don't scare you,” he nods apologetically, “Then you won't mind bending over whenever I need to get my dick a little wet,” you stiffen, humiliated and shocked by the ease with which he utters those words, and it is Seokjin who puts a stop to it.

“We're not here to have as much fun as we like, captain,” he announces coldly, “The human will be treated well for easier and faster conception.”

Namjoon snorts in response, “Yeah, yeah... you and your bullshit about a peaceful and healthy environment that will benefit her fertility and other such bullshit.”

“It’s a headache,” moans Taehyung, panting slightly, running a hand through his hair, awkwardly mussing it. Drops of sweat bead his forehead, making him ominously attractive. Like a wolf panting hungrily before his next meal. Averting his eyes before he can meet yours, you wrap your arms around your body and curl up in the chair.

“Each of us will have to spend at least one day a week with her, based also on our schedules clearly,” the doctor continues, “And also based on character aspects to be kept under control,” you see the wolf cast a brief glance at the lilac-eyed boy, who merely grunts, leaving you quite confused. He doesn't seem the least bit interested in you. You hope this is a sign; perhaps you will avoid spending time with that particular wolf, saving you at least some of the misery of sharing your body with strangers.

Finally, Seokjin addresses you directly, "I know how upsetting it all still may seem to you, but you have no other options. I advise you to choose who will be first.”

“It will be an honor,” you reply with a hint of venom and irony in your voice, and you are not surprised to see Jimin instantly stiffen.

"If the idea disgusts you so much, why don't you get yourself disemboweled? Let's get it over with here and now," he growls, not even trying to restrain himself.

For some reason, his outburst pulls a crooked smile from you.

“Or maybe you're the one who's disgusted by me,” you retort calmly, staring at him.

And that's when an idea flashes through your mind. A crazy, twisted and probably self-destructive decision.

You had thought about choosing Seokjin: he was the kindest, the most cautious. But for that very reason... he would be precise, meticulous. He would complete his task and you would probably remember him forever.

No. Better someone who hates you.

A wolf who won't even be able to touch you without vomiting his soul. If he feels disgust enough to back off, he'll be perfect. And even if he manages to go through with it in the end, it will still be such a harrowing experience to forget.

He will be your nightmare, but you will be his.

Sure, you want to survive, but enjoy the touch of a Moondirian?

No. That would be so humiliating that you would wish for death. They may get your body, but not your mind, much less your heart.

“Y/N?” the voice of Seokjin interrupts your silence, you can catch a veil of concern in his tone.

“I’ve decided,” you say, letting your gaze rest on Jimin’s amber eyes. “You’ll be the first.”

Your decision seems to shock everyone present, Taehyung's eyes are so wide that he finally bursts into laughter  — a sound closer to a howl — while Seokjin shakes his head slightly, as if to disapprove of what you have just said.

But it is Yoongi's somber expression that makes you tremble slightly; the captain leaves his seat silently, passes his glass to the lilac-eyed boy, and leaves the room without a word, while Jimin almost seems to be foaming with anger.

“Bitch” is all he manages to snarl, before he strides past you with heavy footsteps, leaving a trail of light scent behind him, orange blossom and amber.

“Are you sure?” the voice of Hoseok sounds hoarse, as if moved by a subtle anger that he refuses to show.

“It's a duty, not a pleasure,” you reply harshly, not at all regretting that you just scored your first time.

“The fact that he hates you won't stop Jimin, he'll take what he has to take and he'll do it regardless,” Namjoon warns you with a strange seriousness. After all, he was the one who called you an object in the first place, “He is going through a delicate moment and his wolf isn't well.”

His wolf?

“I'll survive,” you smile without happiness, “That's all that matters to me.”

The room to which Seokjin took you immediately afterwards is dark and cold. It lacks an abat-jour and even a candle to be able to light the bare room, but you certainly cannot complain after the corpses you saw scattered throughout the houses in the neighborhood where you lived. Humans had used fairy magic to keep some of their settlements hidden, but all it took was for one person to know the location on the map to render all efforts in vain. You don't even know why Yoongi didn't raze everything right away; perhaps he had simply taken his time to make you and your family tremble with fear.

Yoongi.

That look before he left the living room still gives you chills when you think back on it. You didn't really mean to incur his wrath, but you felt like a cockroach in front of him and reacted by provoking him as a defense and using Jimin as a resource, probably one of the fiercest wolves in the house.

One who would not think twice about opening your throat from side to side.

You've ruined yourself with your own hands, even Seokjin and Hoseok seemed irritated by your stupid decision, but there's no turning back now.

You tighten the blankets on yourself, moaning a little at the cold, your eyes now accustomed to the absence of light scanning the room shrouded in silence, unable to rest. A grip of anxiety squeezes your chest, stirring your poor, already battered heart, a bad feeling rages against your body, trying to rebel against the new plan that is now your life.

You could escape now.

The window isn’t sealed, and with all the blankets and sheets in the room, you could make a rope long enough to climb down.

You grit your teeth, shaking your head. Even if you made it over that first hurdle, it wouldn't take long for the wolves of Moondir to track you down and - in all probability - punish you. You let go a deep breath filled with frustration.

“What are you thinking so hard about, baby doll?”

Before you can scream, a hand presses against your lips contracted in surprise, as a wave of cinnamon and burnt wood hits you, leaving you breathless. A hot body in the prime of its masculinity trembles on you, the man sighs against your ear, and you finally recognize him. Taehyung.

His heated skin dampens the sweater you found inside the closet and decided to use for sleeping, but he has lost the sour smell of sweat and blood. Suddenly you no longer feel cold with your back resting against his bare chest, but agitation makes your temples throb.

“Promise not to scream, and I'll leave you free to talk,” he whispers, brushing the line of your neck with the tip of his nose. You squint, a slight moisture wetting your eyelashes as you nod.

When the weight of his hand lifts you exhale, flustered.

“You can't be here,” you warn him, aiming your wide-open eyes at the closed door. When and how did he enter? Seokjin locked that door to keep you from leaving... and maybe even to keep them from entering.

“I can't stay away from you,” he moans against your neck, his arms tightened around your legs, holding you tighter to his incandescent body. It makes you feel tiny, helpless, “It's all fucking fire, and your scent only makes it worse,” he confesses with his lips now pressed against your shoulder, a strange sensation pooling in the center of your chest.

“Have you tried... a cool shower?” you stammer, panic-stricken.

Shit. What the fuck are you thinking of telling him!

His low, rough laugh immobilizes you.

“I've done three, baby doll,” he forces you to turn away, holding your chin between forefinger and thumb. “But it only gets better when I can touch you,” he hisses, his half-closed amber eyes shining brightly in the dark with an almost frightening intensity.

“You have a fever,” you murmur as you slowly lift a hand, your fingers brushing his sweat-soaked forehead. His hair drips to his temples, and even without a crisp light, you know his face is flushed. But this is no ordinary fever: he is delirious.

“I've had it ever since the wolf smelled you in the house,” he laughs softly, brushing your neck with his nose, almost obsessed with that spot.

“The... wolf?” you ask, trying to keep your wits about you as he comes dangerously close. You need to distract him, and talking seems the only way.

“Mh-mh,” he murmurs, hugging you tightly, sinking his face between your breasts. He vibrates as if purring, making you blush to your ears. “He likes you, baby doll -- and I like you, too.”

You swallow, gritting your teeth.

"You should have Seokjin examine you. He would know how to help you," you suggest, trying to shake him gently, without provoking him. But your suggestion makes him stiffen.

“I don't want to,” he hisses hoarsely, lifting his gaze to you again, “I don't want those fucking suppressors,” and something tells you he wants you.

You squint, you have to play your cards right if you want to survive. Getting fucked by a wolf in heat and probably out of control doesn't seem to be a good thing, but he certainly won't leave without getting something first.

“You're in heat, am I right?” you ask him bluntly, causing him to grunt in assent, “Humans like me don't go into heat, I don't even know how it works for you” you explain calmly, “So I can't really help you that way.”

"Especially since you chose to give yourself to Jimin, am I right?” he snaps venomously into your ear, “I hope you know what you’re doing” his fingers slide down your back as if trying to find a spot to let go, but they stop halfway, hesitating. The way he's trying to hold back is really admirable.

“I'd still like to help you,” you reply, deciding to ignore his last insinuations, “Just tell me how.”

“You don't understand... it's a need to bite and brand while-”

A quiver shakes his heated body as a stifled yelp escapes his lips, now pressed against your chest in a desperate attempt at self-control. His body heat is pleasant and wrong; you should not rejoice in it.

“Give me your wrist,” he growls, his voice low and strained like a rope about to snap, “And don't move for any reason, if you do I won't be limited to just that anymore,” the warning in his tone petrifies you, but you do as he says.

He presses his thumb against the thin skin of your wrist, listens as if hypnotized to every reverberation of your frantic pulse, and leaves a kiss on it. It is slow and hot, and against your will a pleasant tingle builds up in your lower abdomen, you try to chase that feeling away, but the sensation of his teeth sinking into your skin just enough to leave a mark makes you moan slightly, undecided whether to find it pleasurable or annoying.

Taehyung moves against your body, licking away a few drops of your blood. He concentrates with the tip of his tongue on the tiny little holes his fangs have left, before reaching out toward you with a new hunger etched into his savage features. The charcoal that circles his eyes darkens his already dangerous gaze, leaving you breathless.

“I can't wait to catch you, baby doll,” he sighs on your lips, the fever does not seem to have gone away but there is a new awareness that seems to have calmed his wolf, “You have been very good to me, I promise I will be generous,” he whispers, kissing the angle of your mouth softly, before retreating.

“Good night,” he wishes you, leaving you shocked.

What the hell just happened? Now that the cold has returned to the room, you finally realize that you have been at the mercy of a wolf for indefinite moments.

[mahowaga]

WHERE THE PLUM BLOSSOMS FALL | N.K. — ACT IV

SUMMARY: you were born beneath a crown, nanami was raised beside a blade—two lives shaped in silence, crossing in the hush between breath and bloom.

PAIRING: general!nanami kento x princess!reader CONTAINS: slow burn, forbidden romance, angst, hurt/comfort, yearning, historical au, imperial court shenanigans, period, monarchy dynamics, political intrigue, court politics, non-sexual intimacy, mutual respect, power dynamics, repressed emotions, courtship in silence, loyalty and betrayal WC: 9.7k WARNINGS: implied violence, depictions of grief and loss, character death, emotional manipulation, dubious morality, sexism

series masterlist | previous | next

🌸 ACT IV – THE ARMOR UNDONE

IN BETWEEN WINGS – NEITHER HERE NOR THERE

The week begins with a silence that rings louder than any war drum.

But it is not a silence of reverence. It is the silence of suppression. Of things forced underground.

The palace does not hum with life anymore. It thrums with watchfulness. There is no ceremony, no celebration. Only the slow, suffocating shift of power solidifying itself like frost on a windowpane. The guards double their rotations, moving not like protectors but sentries watching a prisoner. Courtiers slip down side passages like ghosts. The ministers form smaller circles, tighter knots, their conversations cutting off the moment someone passes.

Eyes track every step you take. As if the mere act of watching you closely might contain you.

Nanami walks behind you through it all. Three paces behind. Always silent, always still.

But his silence is not obedience anymore. It is agony.

He can feel the weight of it in his chest, pressing hard against every breath. It lives in the quiet flex of his hand when you are touched by strangers. It lives in the way his jaw tightens every time you bow your head to a man not fit to shine your shoes.

The new Emperor governs not from wisdom, but from terror. He is not a king. He is a boy clutching a crown with bloodless fingers, terrified of dropping it. Terrified of shadows, of whispers, of you.

He is just like his father.

Your light is the one he cannot bear.

The Silent Flame, they called you. The people’s princess.

But now your flame has been veiled behind silk curtains and guarded doors. Since the coronation, you have not been seen by the capital. The court whispers of illness, of grief, but Nanami knows better.

You are not unwell. You are being silenced.

And still, the people ask. The traders in the market, the women by the temple gates, the soldiers at the training yard. Children murmur your name like a lullaby passed between dreams.

And every whispered question makes the new Emperor’s grip tighten.

The northern envoys arrive on the fourth day.

Their procession is loud and cruel–furs stained with old blood, carts weighed with silver and weapons, their laughter too big for the narrow courtyards. The brute they offer is not among them yet, but his shadow already stretches across the palace walls. They speak of him with pride. He is a man of conquest. A man who knows how to take what is his.

They speak of you as if you are one of the gifts in their cart.

Nanami hears it all. Sees everything.

He watches as the seamstresses arrive. Strange women with sharp fingers and stiff smiles, dragging bolts of crimson and ivory silk like a bridal shroud. Dresses are laid out like offerings on polished floors. Gold threads catch in the candlelight like veins in a corpse.

He watches you stand while they measure you. Your spine never bends.

You do not speak. Don’t look down. Don’t flinch when they pull the collar too tight or whisper too loudly.

But your silence is not power anymore. It is the silence of stone placed in a shrine. Worshipped. Revered. Never asked.

He watches himself do nothing. Because he cannot act. Not yet.

You walk with him through the Hall of Imperial Petitions, where foreign dignitaries have laid their treasures for you like traps. Gold earrings meant to gild your ears. Perfumed oils meant to mark your body. A sword meant to lie beside your wedding bed.

And still, you do not speak.

He stands guard while you walk through the wreckage of your future. And it destroys him.

Outside your chambers, new guards stand every night. Always unfamiliar. Always young. Trained in loyalty to the throne, not to the Empire. Not to you. They watch you as if you might flee at any moment. They watch Nanami like a man already suspected of treason.

You do not speak to him. Not more than is necessary. A nod. A word. A glance when protocol demands it.

But you see him. And that is worse, because he sees the unspoken question in your eyes everytime you pass each other:

Where were you when they took my voice?

You are not allowed to walk alone. Not even to the gardens. The trees you once loved. The koi you once stood beside. Gone from your reach. You eat in silence. You walk in silence. You prepare to be sold in silence.

Nanami follows you. But not as a shadow. As a ghost.

He is a man haunting the ruins of his own choices.

Every time you lift your arm and silk brushes against your wrist, he imagines the gold bangles you will be forced to wear on your wedding night. Every time you look away during a fitting, he sees you with a man who will touch you without reverence, speak to you without respect, crush you beneath his weight and call it duty.

The knowledge burns.

Not because you belong to Nanami. But because you should never have belonged to anyone.

You are not a tool. Not a treaty. You are the last truth left in a court made of rot.

And he–he is the last blade that remembers what it means to serve the Empire.

Not the throne. Not the bloodline. But the Empire.

And you are his Empire.

In the hours when the palace sleeps and the incense fades, he watches your shadow against the rice-paper screen.

You lift your hand to the doorframe when no one else sees. Stand there for a moment longer than needed. Eyes closed. Breathing not with despair, but with calculation.

You are preparing. He knows that look. He wore it once, at thirteen, when he picked up a sword he wasn’t meant to carry.

And he fears what you will choose. Because every day, he loses a piece of the armor he built. The kind not forged in steel, but in silence. Obedience. Oaths.

Soon, it will fall. And when it does–

He does not know if he will still be a soldier. Or something else entirely.

NORTHERN WING – 天命の殿 (THE HALL OF HEAVEN’S MANDATE)

The summons came just past dusk. No pageantry accompanied it, no procession of banners or guards. Only a whisper passed from a steward with downcast eyes, the words nearly swallowed by the quiet that had become the palace’s new state of being:

His Majesty wishes to speak with the Princess.

And yet, Nanami was called too. To stand watch. To remain silent. To observe.

He knew what that meant. A soldier does not need it spelled out. Not in writing. Not even in words. It was an instruction wrapped in civility: remain still. Do nothing.

They trusted him enough to stand there. They no longer trusted him enough to leave.

Now, the Hall of Heaven’s Mandate looms around him like the hollowed ribcage of a fallen beast. Torchlight trembles along the walls, casting shadows from the dragon’s golden body etched across the ceiling. The throne sits at the far end, bathed in pale gold, its lion-carved arms clutching the dais with the permanence of old power.

You walk three paces ahead of him.

You are silent, as always–but not in submission. No. There is no obedience in the way you move. No meekness in the quiet fall of your footsteps. There is only deliberation. Precision. Your presence doesn’t enter a room–it arrives, like a breath held too long finally exhaled.

Your robe is pale as pearl. No embroidery, no ornamentation. Only white silk bound tightly at your waist and a single silver pin anchoring your hair high against the crown of your head. There is no jewelry on your wrists, no paint on your lips. But you are undoubtedly luminous.

He cannot look at you without feeling like he’s staring at something sacred and profane all at once.

A poem written in steel. A prayer spoken beneath a hanging blade.

You do not look at him. You haven’t in days.

The Emperor does not rise as you enter. He sits as if carved into the throne, as if the wood has grown around him, as if the crown on his brow is the only thing holding his spine upright. Lighter than the one his father wore, thinner across the brow, but heavier somehow. He wears it like a man who cannot tell whether it crowns him or binds him.

He watches you the way one watches something behind a glass–appraising. Detached. Afraid.

You step forward and kneel at the base of the dais. Nanami mirrors you.

“I see you still know how to kneel,” the Emperor says, his voice soft, almost amused.

Nanami’s shoulders tense. The heat in the room does not rise, but it feels hotter. Thinner. He exhales slowly, eyes locked on the distance between the Emperor’s hand and the hem of his robe. On the distance between you and danger.

You raise to your feet with fluid grace. “I kneel out of respect, not obedience.”

“Is there a difference?” the Emperor replies, shifting his weight slightly, descending the first step.

“One is earned. The other is demanded.”

It is like watching two predators circle. Quiet. Beautiful. Utterly lethal.

The Emperor comes down another step. His gait is slow, measured. Every motion feels rehearsed. Performed.

“I gave you two weeks,” he says, each word wrapped in silk but honed like steel. “Two weeks to prepare. Two weeks to remember that your value lies not in your name, but in what it can purchase.”

“I am prepared,” you reply. Your voice is calm, so unwavering, it feels unnatural.

“To obey?”

“To endure.”

The Emperor’s lips twitch, but it is not a smile.

He circles you slowly now, the edge of his robe brushing the polished marble. The torchlight catches the angles of his face, casting half of it in gold and the other in shadow.

“You think the people love you,” he sneers. “You think they chant your name because they see you as their salvation. But love is fickle, sister. It fades. It turns. And when it does, what will you have left?”

He stops behind you.

Nanami feels his breath lodge in his throat. She has herself, he thinks. And that is more than you ever had.

The Emperor steps closer. “You forget who raised you. You forget who protected you when Father doubted your use. You think this affection from the streets makes you powerful. It makes you deluded.”

“I forget nothing,” you say. “I simply remember more than you do.”

“And soon, thank the heavens, you will be gone.” The Emperor’s voice is sharper now, curling with obvious disdain. “Married off to the north. Out of my sight. No longer a thorn in my side. I will not miss your silence, sister. Or your defiance.”

You do not flinch. You lift your chin.

“Then perhaps Mother was lucky to die before she saw what you’ve become.”

The silence that follows is instantaneous and vicious. It is not an absence of sound–it is a knife pressed to the throat of stillness, waiting to be drawn.

Nanami’s heart clenches. His breath stops short in his lungs.

He sees the Emperor’s shoulders go rigid. The subtle shift of weight in his heel. The small pivot of rage through his spine. The gathering storm behind his eyes.

Then it happens.

The Emperor’s hand arcs through the air and strikes you.

The blow lands hard across your cheek, the sound sharp and echoing off the columns like a slap to the soul. Your head turns with the force of it, and a crimson line blooms along the corner of your mouth–bright against the canvas of your skin.

Nanami moves. Steel clears the sheath halfway before thought even reaches his mind. His body acts before conscience does. Before reason. Before restraint.

The sword gleams like lightning under torchlight. Not raised yet–just revealed. But that is enough.

You lift your hand. You don’t look at him. Your gaze stays fixed ahead, your eyes burning. But your hand is steady.

Stop.

The gesture is simple. Clean. Authority incarnate. And Nanami–against every instinct, every raging need to end the man who dared–halts.

Not for the throne. Not for the law. For you.

The Emperor’s voice coils like smoke, his eyes burning into Nanami’s. “That,” he hisses, “is treason.”

Nanami remains still. Sword unsheathed. The weight of steel in his hand impossibly light–and impossibly heavy.

“Have you forgotten your station, General? Have you forgotten whom you serve?”

Nanami does not speak. He cannot. His throat is full of cotton. But his eyes remain fixed–not on the Emperor, but on you.

You do not wipe the blood. You do not flinch. You do not submit. And something in him–something he had spent his entire life forging in silence–finally snaps.

You have been hurt by power before. But never like this. Not in front of him. Not when he could have stopped it.

His blade trembles once in his grip. Not from fear or hesitation. From restraint.

And in that moment, Nanami understands the truth that has been slowly shaping itself inside him, one heartbeat at a time:

This is not service. This is not loyalty. This is not justice.

This is cruelty masquerading as order.

And he will not serve it. He serves the Empire, and that is you. Not because he covets you. Not because he claims you. But because you are the only thing left in this place worth bleeding for.

He does not sheathe the blade, but he lowers it. For now.

The air in the Hall of Heaven’s Mandate does not settle after the strike. It curdles. It coils around the columns, draping itself between the torches like smoke that cannot find a fire.

You stand unmoving. The red at your lip has begun to dry, but it does not fade. It darkens. Like a seal. A brand. Like a mark pressed into wax. A reminder of what has been taken–and what remains.

The Emperor ascends the dais again, step by slow step, as if rising back to his throne gives him gravity. Authority. Divine right.

Nanami does not move. His blade is still drawn. Not because he is frozen, but because something inside him is still burning, still deciding what kind of man he is.

Your hand lowers to your side. Your spine remains straight, your chin lifted. There is no fragility in your posture. Only fury carefully compressed into formality.

The Emperor’s voice drops. “Enough of this pretense.”

He doesn��t even look at you when he speaks–he looks at Nanami.

“You are still breathing, General, because I have use for you.”

Nanami does not blink.

“But let me be clear.” The Emperor stands near his throne, his hands clasped behind his back. “One more disobedient act–one more step out of line, one more flicker of steel drawn against me, your Emperor–and I will have you executed.”

The threat doesn’t shout. It slides through the air like a knife thrown in the dark.

“This time, I will make it public,” he continues. “Your loyalty torn from your body piece by piece. The people will see that even the strongest weapon can be broken.”

Nanami’s hand is steady on the hilt. But in his chest, his heart is not.

He stares at the Emperor not as a servant, nor a shadow. He stares as a man who has now seen the thing he serves in all its glory–and loathes it.

The Emperor turns back to you, voice lighter now, mocking. “You will be wed within the week. The envoys have already confirmed. Your husband arrives soon. I suggest you prepare yourself.”

You say nothing. You don’t look at Nanami. He doesn’t expect you to. But he looks at you, and what he sees there twists something in him to the point of breaking.

You have not cried. You will not cry. But you are wounded. And you are bracing again–just as you did when the marriage was announced. Just as you did when your father died. Just as you have done every time the Empire tried to use you like a pawn.

The Emperor waves his hand as if the matter is trivial.

“She will be escorted back to her chambers,” he says to no one in particular. “My men will join you, General. I trust you will make sure she does not run.”

The snarl is audible in his voice, though his face remains handsome, smooth.

“She is very clever. But cleverness is not strength.”

No one speaks. Not you. Not Nanami. And still, the Emperor goes on.

“I have let you grow too visible,” he says to you. “Too favored. You speak too well. Stand too tall. The people whisper your name as if you were some kind of answer.”

His eyes narrow. “You are not an answer. You are an inconvenience. A girl born where a son should have been. And soon, you will be gone. At least then you will be useful.”

The words ring like the toll of a distant bell.

You incline your head, your voice even. “Then may your throne comfort you in my absence.”

Your words land like snowfall–soft but cold. Final.

Nanami steps forward before the other guards do. You do not meet his eyes. Not yet. But your silence toward him is a wound deeper than any blade could give.

He follows you as you walk out of the hall, the Emperor’s gaze heavy on his back. His fingers brush the hilt of his sheathed sword one more time before he leaves.

It is not a threat. It is a promise.

The quiet that stretches in the corridor as you walk is unbearable. Nanami cannot breathe without hearing the echo of your name in his thoughts. He is at war with everything inside himself. He has been for a while.

He has been taught that to serve the throne is to serve the Empire. But the throne is corrupt. The throne has vowed to cage you. And in this palace of gold and blood, of ichor–he has found the only thing still worth protecting.

Not out of duty or command, but because you have become his compass. His clarity.

And tomorrow, they will try to take you from him.

He does not know how yet. But he will not let them.

EASTERN WING – THE PRINCESS’ QUARTERS

The corridor feels narrower than it should.

Not physically–its arches still soar overhead, the intricate latticework still glimmer in the dim lantern light–but the space between Nanami and you is too charged, too full. The silence between you is anything but empty.

It is brimming.

Brimming with all the things neither of you can say aloud. With the weight of betrayal, and the crack of bone, and the blood you did not wipe from your mouth.

You walk in tandem with him, but not together. You are a pace ahead of him, your hands clasped before you, sleeves hiding the tension in your fingers. Your shoulders do not slump, but they are too tight, too straight–as if the sheer act of holding yourself upright is now a war against gravity.

Nanami’s breath comes shallow. He knows the other guards follow at a distance. Knows they watch you. Listen. Wait for something to use. Something scandalous to report.

So when he speaks, it is soft. Like wind through stone.

“Princess–”

“Don’t.”

The word is a blade, and it cuts cleanly.

You don’t look at him. You keep walking, your steps too soft, too composed. The sound of your silk slippers on the polished floor is the only thing marking time.

But when you pass through the shadow of a carved arch, you slow. Just enough. Then stop.

He halts behind you.

You turn, and your face–god, your face–is unreadable. That same expression you wore when you stood before the throne. The one you wear when you’re bleeding but refuse to be seen.

“Do you want to die, General?”

Your voice is low. Razor-thin. Barely more than a breath.

Nanami flinches, taken aback. “I–”

You step closer. One pace. Another. The guards hang too far behind to hear you now. The corridor narrows down to you and only you.

“You drew steel in front of the Emperor,” you murmur, eyes locked on his. “In front of half the court. In front of the men who have waited for a reason to kill you.”

“I could not watch him strike you.”

“And what then?” Your voice sharpens, still low, but fierce. “You expected to fall in glory? To be cut down for honor? Do you think that would’ve made it better? Do you think I would have stood there, watching your blood coat that floor, and felt vindicated?”

“I didn’t think,” he says quietly.

“No,” you say. “You didn’t.”

Your hands curl slightly at your sides. Your nails bite into your palms. Still, you hold your voice steady.

“I don’t know why you did it. I don’t know if it was guilt or pride or something else,” you say. “But don’t pretend it was for me. Because you weren’t at my side when it mattered.”

Your words are meant to slice into him, and this time they cut deep.

“I stood behind you–”

“Exactly,” you snap. “Behind. Watching. Always watching. Never stepping forward. Until today. When it was too late.”

Nanami’s mouth opens. But there is nothing he can say that won’t break something more.

You exhale, slower now. Your gaze drops–not to retreat, but to gather yourself. To hold together whatever is threatening to fray.

“Do you think dying for me proves something?” you ask. “It proves nothing. It’s easy. It’s clean. It means you don’t have to live with what you’ve done.”

He doesn’t know how to respond. His hands are trembling, but he refuses to let them show.

“I didn’t want to see him strike you like that.”

“And I didn’t want to see you draw your sword like a fool,” you say, voice cracking–just once. “Because if he had given the order, you would have been gone. Gone. And for what?”

You shake your head, stepping back now, breath shaky.

“You are not allowed to break now,” you say, stern. “You do not get to fall on your sword to make yourself clean.”

Nanami lowers his head. “I would have stopped him. I will next time.”

“You won’t,” you reply. “Because next time, you’ll be dead. And then I’ll have to watch them drag your body away and call it justice while they sell me to the north.”

He meets your eyes again, and you look at him like you’ve already seen it. Like it’s prophecy. Like you’ve lived through it a thousand times in your mind. Like his death is a future you’re trying to outrun.

You are near the eastern wing.

You slow again. The light from beyond your door spills across the floor like water, casting your shadow long and thin behind you. You turn to him once more.

Something in your gaze flickers. Just briefly.

“I don’t want to care,” you whisper. “But god help me, I do, even if you don’t deserve it.”

His heart twists. You don’t wait for him to speak.

“Return to your post.”

Dismissal. Sharp. Formal. A blow he cannot deflect.

He bows. Not out of duty. Out of grief.

You disappear behind the lacquered doors, and they close without a sound. Nanami is left outside in the hallway, a sword unsheathed in every way that matters.

EASTERN WING – 清月楼 (THE TOWER OF THE CLEAR MOON)

The hallway empties. The world narrows. The Emperor’s loyalist guards take their places at your door, casting Nanami looks of disgust. He does not pay them any mind.

Nanami remains standing outside your door long after the light behind it dims.

He does not return to his quarters. He does not return to the barracks. He moves only when a steward passes, bowing low, and murmurs something about the Emperor’s next directive.

Nanami does not hear him.

His feet carry him somewhere else. Somewhere private. Somewhere away from the ever-listening ears of the palace.

He finds himself in the inner cloister–one of the old watch towers, long disused, quiet except for the wind that threads through the latticed screens. The sky outside is black and heavy, thick with stars that do not blink.

Only then does he breathe. And when he breathes, it hurts.

Because he is filled to the breaking point. With silence. With guilt. With love.

He sinks onto the stone bench beneath the carved window and presses both gloved hands against his knees, trying to contain it. But it spills through him like smoke. Hot and slow.

He thinks of you.

The way you always stand with your hands folded, but never still. How your fingers press faintly against your sleeve hem, like you’re keeping yourself from holding a blade. The way you paused before you speak–as if weighing your words against the cost of saying them.

He remembers the way you smiled–once, barely–and how it felt like watching a flower bloom in frost.

You have never asked him for kindness. You have never demanded loyalty. You have never tried to make him anything more than what he was assigned to be.

And still, you became everything.

The cause he never meant to follow. The crown he would kneel for. The only thing in the Empire worth bleeding for.

He cannot let them sell you. He cannot watch you be led down an aisle to a man who sees you only as a conquest–something to claim, to display, to use.

You are not a treaty. You are not a coin to be traded. You are not something he can stand by and lose.

Not anymore.

If you will not let him die for you–

Then he will make someone else bleed.

His jaw tightens. His hands flex at his knees. Slow. Deliberate. The gloves creak under the strain.

He thinks of the Emperor’s hand across your face. The blood on your lip. The sound of it.

He sees your eyes, too steady, too calm. Your hand, when you told him to stop.

He did stop. But he won’t again.

Not when you are marched to your cage. Not when they chain you with gold and call it fate.

He will not stand in the hall while you are dressed for ruin. He will not hold his silence while they lock you away in another man’s kingdom. He will not live behind orders and pretend that his armor is enough to keep you safe.

Because it isn’t. You aren’t safe. Not anymore.

The next time someone raises a hand to you–

He will not hesitate. He will not draw halfway. He will finish it.

And if the crown must fall for it to happen, then so be it.

His loyalty has not changed. He still serves the Empire. But the Empire lives in you now. And you are worth every sin he is about to commit.

EASTERN WING – THE PRINCESS’ QUARTERS

The palace does not yet know what has happened.

But the silence has already begun to shift.

Nanami moves through the eastern halls like a shadow torn from its source. Not the obedient silhouette he once was–but something entirely different now. Something much darker. More dangerous. The guards who remain in the distance do not approach him. Perhaps they sense the shift. Perhaps they know.

Perhaps the blood speaks louder than armor.

His hands are shaking. Not from fear.

The trembling comes from within–from the place where everything once anchored him. Duty. Order. Discipline. All broken now, shattered at the foot of a throne that deserved nothing of his loyalty.

He doesn’t remember drawing his sword. Only the weight of it leaving its sheath. The finality of steel meeting flesh. The cries that followed–some sharp, others stunned. The sound of his heartbeat rushing louder than any bell. And then the silence.

That ringing, cavernous silence.

It still echoes now, beneath his ribs.

The eastern wing stretches before him, dimly lit, half-wrapped in shadows. A hush hangs thick across the corridor, clinging to the lacquered columns, to the flicking golden sconces that gutter and spit but do not go out. The breath of a place on the edge of knowing.

You are near.

Your chambers stand at the very end. The carved ashwood doors, the inlaid blossoms, the slight gleam of pearl catching the firelight.

Two men wait here. The Emperor’s men.

They catch sight of him and draw their weapons.

A beat.

They do not wait anymore.

One lies crumpled near the far pillar. The other slumped against the inner wall. Neither had time to cry out. Neither deserved the privilege.

Nanami steps over the blood they left behind, not quickly, not quietly–but with all the weight of what he has become. His boots leave prints across the stone. His armor glints red.

He does not hesitate now. He lifts his hand and knocks once.

Not soft. Not tentative. A single, deliberate strike. A herald of the storm already passed.

He waits. One minute, then another.

There is movement on the other side. Not hurried, but purposeful. You do not hide your steps.

The door opens.

You appear in the threshold like the ghost of a god, your silhouette backlit by the lantern’s golden glow. Your robe is plain, your hair undone save for a silver pin holding one coil in place. The braid down your back sways slightly as you still.

You look at him.

And the breath leaves your lungs–he sees it. Sees the way it hitches, just slightly. The way your gaze flicks from his eyes to his chest to the blood on his gloves. Then back again.

Your expression does not crumble. You are too strong for that. But it shifts. Faint.

You do not ask what happened. Because you know.

Nanami bows his head–not fully. Just enough.

“I had no orders to give me purpose,” he says, voice rough. “Only a vow I never made aloud.”

You do not move. Not away. Not forward.

But you don’t close the door.

The lantern light touches one side of your face, carving gold along the ridge of your cheek, along the hollow of your throat. Your lips part, then press together again. Whatever words you might have summoned vanish before they reach the air.

Nanami stands there, every inch of him soaked in consequence, and waits. Not because he expects forgiveness. Not because he believes he’s earned a place inside.

But because he has nowhere else left to go.

His empire lies dead at his feet. And you are the only sovereign left in his world.

You do not move for a long moment. You just stand there in the doorway, the light brushing against your skin like gold leaf, your shadow falling long behind you.

Then your eyes flicker. Past him. To the left. To the right.

To the two bodies at your threshold.

There is no cry. Your breath does not quicken. But Nanami sees the way your shoulders rise–sharp, held–and stay there.

Your voice is even. Low.

“Come inside.”

He obeys.

You step aside. He crosses the threshold, and you close the door behind him. The latch slides home with a soft metallic click, and the sound feels louder than thunder.

Your chambers are dim, the lanterns turned low. Shadows curl in the corners. The scent of sandalwood has steeped into the silk hangings, the floor mats, the sleeves of your robe. He catches it even through the blood.

You turn to face him fully.

“You killed them.”

Your voice is not uncertain. Not a question. It’s a confirmation of what you already know.

He nods. “They were not yours. They watched you like a prisoner. Like something to be monitored, not protected. I knew from the start.”

You watch him. He notes the minute shift in your expression–not shock, not fear, but understanding laced with something else.

Disapproval. Not of what he did. But that he did it for you.

He speaks before you can ask.

“It wasn’t just you.”

You blink, lips parting.

“It wasn't only for you that I did it.”

He sees the tension ripple through you, the breath you hold.

“I watched the Emperor become a man who ruled from fear. And I watched your brother–my Emperor–become worse. Not even cruel, but careless. Arrogant. Hollow. He inherited everything and understood nothing. And I knew, if he ruled a decade longer, there would be nothing left worth serving.”

His voice breaks, just slightly. He doesn’t care.

“He was already building a cage. For the people. For the court. For you. I saw it. The Empire was never going to survive under him. Only rot.”

You don’t look away, but something falters in your eyes. He sees it–clear as glass.

Grief.

“You mourn him.”

“I mourn the boy he was,” you correct softly. “The one who held my hand as a child. The one who protected me from shadows in the corridors. I don’t mourn the man he became. But I hate that I can’t separate the two.”

Your voice turns brittle. “You took him from me, Kento. And he had already been gone for years.”

Nanami lowers his eyes. For a long time, he says nothing, though the blood roars in his ears and he can’t seem to see anything past your face.

Then, he asks, “Do you blame me?”

You close your eyes. “I don’t know.”

He swallows.

“They made you a prisoner,” he says. “They wrapped you in silk and called it dignity. They sent men to your door like dogs to bark at your every step. And I–”

His voice cracks open, as does his chest.

“I stood by. I told myself it was for your safety. That silence was the same as protection.”

He steps forward. “I watched the guards they placed at your door. Their eyes. Their mouths. They looked at you like you were already sold.”

He closes the distance. “And I hated that I let them.”

Your breath stirs. Not with fear. Something else.

“Kento…”

“I lost everything when I swore myself to the Empire. And still, I served. Because I thought it meant something. Because I believed it would protect the good.”

“And now?”

He meets your gaze head on.

“Now I know what I serve.”

A long silence.

“You killed him, didn’t you?” you ask quietly. “Because of what he was becoming.”

“Yes.”

“And because of me.”

“Yes.”

You look away. Your posture shifts–not relaxing, but softening in the smallest way. Your voice, when it returns, is quieter than before.

“I still hate that it was you.”

“I hate that I waited this long.”

The room is too muted. Too fragile.

When you speak again, it’s barely audible, a whisper.

“You are dangerous when you feel.”

“And I have never felt more in my life.”

You don’t step closer. You don’t retreat either. You stare at him, brows furrowed every so slightly, lips pursed tightly. Your posture is still guarded, but not completely closed off.

And then, softly:

“Take off your armor.”

He freezes.

“Before it rusts into your bones,” you add, wringing your hands. “And before you forget what it feels like to stand in your own skin.”

He obeys. Not like a soldier. But like a man.

For you.

You watch him. Not as a princess watches a soldier, but as a woman watches a man she has not decided how to forgive.

Nanami stands in the center of your chambers, half-shadowed, half-lit by the gold glow of the lanterns. His armor is marred, dented and misaligned, the steel breastplate smeared in streaks of dried blood that he has not yet noticed. The right clasp is broken, the edge of one pauldron missing a notch where steel met steel in a clash no one witnessed but him.

He has not cleaned himself. Has not even sat. He is breathing too quietly. His silence is not composed–it is held. Like a door barred against collapse.

His hands move.

He reaches for the first clasp at his shoulder, trying to undo it himself. The motion pulls across his ribs, across the wound still hidden beneath layers of steel and cloth–and he winces.

It’s small. Controlled. But you see it.

You cross to him not with hesitation, but with weight. Your footsteps are soft, though not cautious. Measured. Your robe drifts around your ankles as you stop before him, and for a moment, neither of you move.

Then, with a movement so gentle it could be mistaken for ritual, you lift your hand.

He does not flinch.

Your fingers touch the ruined clasp at his collarbone. The metal is stubborn, catching beneath your touch, but you coax it free. The pauldron slips from his shoulder and falls to the mat with a muted thud.

Your fingertips brush his skin. Barely. But it is deliberate.

It is the first time you’ve touched without circumstance or violence or accident. And it freezes him in place.

He closes his eyes for one breath. And speaks.

“I never thought it would come to this.”

You say nothing. So he continues.

“I’ve obeyed for years. Not because I believed in them, but because I didn’t know there was another way. Because I thought being useful was enough. With you, I thought that keeping you close was enough. That protection was the same thing as freedom.”

Your hands still. One rests on the next buckle, the one over his chest.

“I was wrong,” he says. His voice is rough. “I was wrong to follow. To wait. To think I could serve both the Empire and its prisoner.”

You look up at him. Your eyes lock. He has never seen you so close and so unreadable. The curve of your mouth does not soften. But your hand moves.

The next piece of armor unhooks. It falls.

He breathes deeper, but the weight of his chestplate gone does not make him lighter. It only bares more.

Your gaze drifts downward. Not with lust. Not with judgement. But with understanding.

You see the blood-stained fabric clinging to his ribs.

“I didn’t think he’d fight,” Nanami says quietly, knowing you will ask him how this happened. “But he did.”

“You’re hurt.”

“It is nothing.”

“No wound drawn from hate is nothing.”

You bend slightly, pulling the hem of his undershirt up to see it. The cut is clean, shallow, but angry. Red threads the skin just beneath his ribs.

You don’t speak. You don’t need to.

Your fingers trace the line of bruised skin just beside the wound, gentle and quiet. He watches the motion as if it belongs to someone else. He’s bled for kings. He’s limped beneath banners. He’s never been seen like this.

“You’ve never spoken like this before,” you say finally.

“I was never allowed to.”

“And now?”

His voice drops. “I don’t care what I’m allowed.”

You look up again. There is something unsaid behind your eyes–something much softer than what you usually allow.

“What do you want to say?”

“I would give everything I’ve ever learned to walk beside you without a title between us.”

The words fall between you like arrows raining from the sky.

Your hand still rests at his side. You can feel the tremor beneath his skin, the way he barely breathes. It is not pain. Not fear.

It is restraint.

You lift yourself to your feet slowly. You are close now. Too close for decorum. Not close enough for forgiveness. But closer than you’ve ever been with him.

You touch the clasp at his throat–the last piece.

Your fingers undo it. The collar falls.

He stands before you without armor, without mask. Only the black cloth of his underlayer remains, clinging to him in the dim lantern glow.

And still you haven’t stepped away. Still, you haven’t spoken the word he wants, the word he doesn’t dare ask for.

But you ask something else.

“Will you stay standing,” you say, “if I don’t push you away?”

“I don’t know,” he answers.

“Good.”

Because you don’t want something unmovable. You want something real.

He has never felt more real than this.

Nanami sits at the low table now, stripped of armor, stripped of pretense, stripped of everything but the black undershirt clinging to his skin and the blood crusting against his ribs. The wound is not deep, but it speaks of struggle. Of resistance. Of finality.

You kneel beside him.

You’ve brought water in a porcelain bowl, a cloth soaked through. There were no attendants summoned, no servants dared intrude. No one came when steel rang in the corridor, and no one will come now.

You work in silence, bent over him, the golden light of your chambers gliding the edges of your face, your lashes casting long shadows down your cheeks. Your hand presses the cloth to his side, firm but careful. The blood seeps into it, and then into your sleeve, painting the pale gray silk with slow, widening stains.

Nanami stares at it.

Your robe is expensive. Immaculate. Now it is ruined. Marked by his choices. Marked by his blood.

“I can do it myself,” he says, voice low, roughened by exhaustion and guilt.

“You didn’t,” you reply. “So I will.”

Your voice holds no softness. But it isn’t cold. Just quiet. Measured.

Your fingers are steady. You dab the cut with the care of someone who has had to learn gentleness in a world that punishes it. Your eyes remain downcast, but your mouth is tight. Drawn with something you will not name.

He watches you in silence. Every breath. Every deliberate motion. The way your hands move as if they’ve done this before–not for him, never for him–but perhaps for yourself. For wounds no one ever saw.

You change the cloth once, ringing out blood-dark water into the bowl. It swirls, crimson staining the surface like ink across parchment.

When you speak again, your voice is sharper, but no louder.

“I hated you.”

The words cleave clean through him.

“I hated that I trusted you. That I let you near. That I thought you–” You break off. Dab the wound again. Sigh.

“I told myself you were nothing but a weapon. But even weapons don’t choose where they aim. You did.”

He exhales through his nose. Not defense. Not shame.

“I did.”

“You were placed at my side to restrain me. To silence me. And still, I trusted you.”

You lift your gaze, and it is like frost in full bloom. “You stood there while they planned to marry me off like cattle. While they buried my voice under titles and veils.”

He doesn’t flinch. He deserves every word. Every edge.

“I told myself that perhaps you couldn’t choose. But I see now–you could’ve. And you didn’t.”

You press the cloth harder. He winces, but says nothing.

“And then–when you finally did choose–you chose violence. Chaos. Murder.”

Your voice does not rise. It doesn’t need to.

“You did it for me,” you say. “That is the cruelty of it. You killed a man for me. Not because I asked you to. But because you couldn’t bear to lose the illusion that you were doing something good.”

The cloth in your hands stills.

“But this,” you murmur, “this mess, this blood on my floor, these stains on my sleeve–it was never your burden to make right.”

Nanami’s breath is slow. Controlled. But it is cracking at the edges.

“I know,” he says, finally. “I know that I failed you before I ever protected you. But I couldn’t let him touch you again. I couldn’t let you be sold. I couldn’t stand in silence while they turned you into something ornamental.”

“You should’ve spoken sooner.”

“I didn’t know how.”

“Then learn,” you snap.

A pause. Then softer:

“Learn, Kento.”

The way you say his name–his given name–is both an indictment and a mercy. You haven’t called him that since before you learned the truth.

He nods slowly. His voice is thick. “I’m trying.”

You lean forward to dip the cloth again. Your sleeve brushes his arm, damp and stained.

“You bleed easily,” you say, almost idly. But there’s weight in the words.

His mouth curves–barely. “Only for you.”

You do not smile, but your breath catches.

The both of you sit still like that for a long moment–you bent over him, blood and water between, your fingers pressed to his side.

You break the silence, quiet.

“You want me to forgive you.”

“I don’t expect it.”

“You want me to want you.”

“I do.”

You meet his eyes. Something he can’t read flickers behind yours.

“And if I never forgive you?”

“I’ll still be yours.”

You exhale slowly, like a weight has shifted but not yet lifted. “You’re dangerous when you speak.”

“I’m worse when I don’t.”

You tilt your head. “You always speak in absolutes now. Was it the blood that made you bold?”

“No,” he says. “It was losing you.”

Your hand tightens on the cloth. Your jaw flexes.

He wants to reach for you. God, he wants to. To touch your face. To kneel before you and tell you the truth he’s only just allowed himself to feel.

But he doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he waits. Because you are not a reward for his pain. You are not his redemption. You are his axis. His vow. The only truth he has ever chosen freely.

And if you do not send him away–if you stay–then perhaps this time, he will have something to offer that is not ruin.

The water in the bowl has gone dark now–opaque and rust-colored, stilling with the weight of blood and silence. You set the cloth aside at last, your fingers steady even as crimson blooms down your sleeve and across your wrist. Your touch lingers only a moment longer at his side, wrapping the linen tightly, a final, precise knot.

You do not look up immediately, but when you do, it is with eyes that see right through him.

Nanami shifts slightly, his back straightening, muscles pulling taut beneath the black fabric. He should speak. Should thank you. Should beg for forgiveness again. But when he opens his mouth, what escapes is something else entirely.

“How are you so calm?” he asks. “There are bodies in the hall. Your brother is dead.”

You still, and for a heartbeat, you say nothing. Your gaze lowers.

“Because I mourned him long before tonight.”

The words are not cruel, but they cut.

Nanami watches you carefully, the lamplight playing across your cheekbones, the quiet grief tucked behind your lashes. You stand then, slowly, rising in a fluid motion that makes you seem carved from something older than flesh. You wipe your hand with a clean cloth–blood still smudged on your robe, soaked into your skin.

“He was my brother, yes,” you say, voice low. “But he was not kind. Not anymore.”

Nanami says nothing. He listens.

“I remember the boy who used to chase fireflies,” you continue. “The boy who made up songs to mock the tutors. I remember the prince who kissed our mother’s hand each night like she were made of stars.”

Your gaze lifts, sharp again.

“That boy died a long time ago. What stood in his place was something else, and while I hate that I cannot tell them apart, I know he would have destroyed everything, as you said.”

You step closer.

“And yet” you murmur, eyes narrowing, “you still ask me how I can be calm.”

Nanami meets your stare, breath catching. “You’ve always been calm. Even when they called you cold.”

You tilt your head. “And what do you call me, General?”

His voice is quiet. “Unbroken.”

A shadow crosses your face. It is not a smile. It is too old for that. Something bone-deep. Something worn down to the sinew.

“You want me to grieve for him,” you say. “But I’m not sure which death you mean–his tonight, or the one I’ve carried since I was thirteen.”

Nanami stands now, slowly, gingerly. The linen at his side tugs. He does not wince. His gaze remains fixed on you.

“You scare me,” he admits.

You arch a brow. “Because I don’t weep?”

“No,” he says. “Because you know how to carry your own wounds, and still choose to bind mine.”

You look away, a breath escaping you. A soft scoff. But it isn’t full of venom. Only tiredness.

“I’m not some mythic thing, General. I’m not steel or fire or prophecy. I’m just a woman who has run out of time.”

He steps forward. “So have I.”

You don’t retreat. But your arms cross. “I should still hate you.”

“I know.”

“You betrayed me.”

“I know.”

“You let them use me like a pawn. Let them parade me. Silence me.”

“Yes.”

“And yet here you are. Bleeding on my floor like some tragic poem.”

“I never meant for you to bleed, too.”

You breathe, sharp. “You didn’t think I would?”

“No,” he says. “I just thought I could bear it alone.”

You study him. Then you laugh. It’s dry. Quiet. Bitter. Not cruel. Not quite.

“You’re a fool,” you whisper.

“Yes.”

You are inches apart from each other now. The scent of blood still clings to his shirt, and the smoke of extinguished lanterns curls faintly through the air between you both.

Your arms drop to your sides. Your hand is still stained. Still trembling.

“You would’ve died for me.”

He nods.

“And yet you live.”

“Because you stopped me.”

A breath passes. The world feels suspended. Then, you reach out–fingers grazing his jaw. Not a caress. A test. And he does not flinch.

“I don’t want your death,” you say.

He leans forward, just enough that your foreheads almost touch.

“Then take what’s left,” he murmurs. “It was always yours.”

You exhale, lashes fluttering. The silence between the both of you grows heavy, thick. Like the moment before a storm.

“I’m not done being angry with you,” you whisper.

“I’m not asking you to be done.”

“I should send you away.”

“You should.”

“I should tell you this means nothing.”

“Then lie to me.”

You close your eyes. He doesn’t move.

You stand there, heart hammering beneath ruined silk, his blood staining your sleeves. Your hands trembling where they hover–between fury and forgiveness. And he waits. He has always waited. But this time–he will not wait alone.

Your hand hovers at his jaw–no longer testing, no longer trembling. It rests there now, gently, like the first brush of spring against frostbitten earth. Nanami hold still beneath it, not daring to breathe.

The blood is drying on his skin. The linen at his side itches. But none of it matters. None of it exists in this moment except for you.

“You’re a fool,” you murmur again, quieter this time. Less a scold, more a wound you touch with your tongue. “A stubborn, bleeding, loyal fool.”

He doesn’t smile. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. His throat is too tight. His heart too loud.

“I know,” he whispers, voice almost hoarse.

And then–you close the distance.

Your lips brush his.

It is not a kiss, not at first. It is a breath shared. A question asked without words. A trembling of opposites trying to find the same rhythm.

Your mouth is soft and cold from restraint, his warm from blood and heat. You lean in fully only after a heartbeat, pressing into him with terrifying certainty, and Nanami–

Nanami breathes in through his nose and lets out the smallest sound. A low, aching sigh. Like the end of a prayer.

His hands find your waist–not grasping, not pulling. Just anchoring. Just holding. His other hovers for a moment near your shoulder, then rises to cradle the back of your head. Fingers threading through the strands of your hair, feeling the way it is braided loosely and the strands coming undone.

You kiss like someone who has memorized silence, but has never forgotten fire. And he receives it like a man made of nothing but drought.

When you pull apart, it is slow. Reluctant.

Your foreheads rest together, breathing uneven. His hand is still at your waist. Yours still cradles his jaw. Neither of you are untangled.

You close your eyes. He watches you, breath hot between you both.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

He does not hesitate. “Only that it took this long.”

You laugh. Just once. Just a breath of sound. His heart squeezes.

“You’ll ruin me,” you whisper.

“I already have,” he answers.

And then you kiss him again.

This one is not careful. It is neither a question nor a breath. It is a storm breaking.

Your fingers clutch at his undershirt. His hand slides higher along your spine. Your mouths part and meet again, hungrier now, sharper.

He groans, barely audible, swallowed between you both. You taste like fury and blood and something precious he’s never earned.

It is not elegant. It is not quiet. It is fevered, desperate, reverent.

You bite his lip. He grips you tighter.

There are no words now. Only breath. Only hands. Only the sound of silk shifting, armor forgotten in the corner, blood drying on marble.

Neither of you are cautious anymore. Not two figures walking along the edge of a blade. You are already falling. Together.

The breath hangs between you both, shallow and warm. Your fingers, still curled around the front of his shirt, loosen–but do not fall away. His own hand rests at your back, steady as stone, though his heartbeat pounds like thunder in a distant canyon.

Nanami draws in a quiet breath through his nose. Tries to center himself. Tries to remember who he is.

But your mouth is still wet from his. Your body is still pressed close. And your eyes, when they meet his again, are dark with something that looks a little like grief and a little like surrender.

You step back, slow, reluctant, and his hand slides away from your waist with a friction that makes his stomach ache.

“You should rest,” you say.

Your voice is composed again, but softer now. Not cold. And not distant.

“I’ll return to my quarters,” he starts, reflexively.

You cut him off with a glance sharp enough to cleave bone. “You are not going back to the barracks.”

His brows knit. “Princess–”

“No.” Your voice is firmer now. “You’ve killed the Emperor. You’re covered in blood. There are eyes in every shadow, and the only reason you are still breathing is because no one has yet realized what you’ve done. If you walk the halls now, you will not make it to the war pavilion.”

He lowers his gaze. He knows you’re right. But shame curls in his chest all the same.

Your steps retreat from him slightly, and you move toward the side table. You lift another cloth–dampened now with clean water–and turn back to him.

“Sit,” you order gently.

He doesn’t move.

“Sit, General.”

The old title. But now it doesn’t sound like a command. It sounds like a comfort.

He lowers himself onto the edge of your bed. His legs ache. His side burns. The linen at his ribs pull against the wound, and he exhales through gritted teeth.

You kneel in front of him, the hem of your robe spilling like smoke against the polished stone. Your hands rise again–fingers careful, cloth precise.

You wipe the dried blood from his temple. From his jaw. From beneath his ear. Your touch is firm, not tender, but he feels each pass of the cloth like a benediction.

“There is more,” you say, voice quieter now. “Behind your ear. And your neck.”

He tilts his head slightly, allowing you better access. The room is so quiet now, he can hear the faint rasp of your breath. The cloth is warm against his skin. Your fingers tremble only once.

You straighten again, your face closer now. Lantern light flickers behind you. It casts gold across your lashes, firelight threading through your hair.

He watches you, barely breathing.

“You’re going to lie down,” you say, “and you’re going to sleep. And in the morning–”

You hesitate.

“In the morning, I don’t know what will come. But you’ll face it rested. Not broken.”

He shakes his head. “I should stand guard.”

“You’ve done enough.”

“I don’t deserve your kindness.”

You sigh. “It’s not kindness.”

He looks at you. You touch his cheek once more, brushing away a final smear of red.

“It’s what I want.”

He cannot speak.

You turn then, stepping around the room. One by one, you move to each lantern, blowing them out slowly. The light dims with each breath, until only the warm flicker of a single taper remains.

He watches your silhouette cross the room. You return to him at last and rest your hand lightly on his shoulder.

“Lie back.”

He does.

The mattress is soft beneath him. His back sinks into it slowly. It smells like you–faint rosewater, old paper, the iron tinge of ink and memory.

You climb in beside him. The movement is not rushed. It is not shy. It is not fearful.

You lie on your side, facing him. Your fingers drift across his arm, across the linen binding his side, then up toward his throat. You don’t speak, and neither does he.

He reaches for you then, and you come easily. Your head rests against his shoulder, one leg draped carefully over his. He wraps his arm around your waist, the other around your shoulders. His fingers splay across your back like armor he cannot bear to wear anymore.

There is nothing between you now but breath. Heartbeat. Skin. Trust, raw and wounded and remade.

You are not speaking. But you are here. And so is he.

His lips press to the top of your head. A touch, nothing more. His eyes close.

He was forged to be a weapon. And tonight, he has laid down every piece of steel.

Not for peace. But for you.

Outside, the halls of the palace shift and turn like tides beneath a blood-colored moon. The Empire spins forward toward a dawn that will not recognize the night that came before.

But here, in the silence of a room scented with lavender and blood, beneath silken sheets and whispered breath–

You hold him. And he, for the first time in his life, allows himself to be held.

Not as a sword. Not as a shadow. But as a man.

A/N: so i am late but i hope you enjoy this chapter because they are my roman empire fr @gojover will agree (art by ykRRR23 on X)