#slicing up melon

[suguwu]

blindsided by the idea of kita who cuts up fruit for after sex and you being almost pavloved by seeing him cut up fruit any other time

[sammsays]

I would normally never do this and I normally avoid all political posting, but the FDA has had to stop a lot of food testing due to staff cuts currently planned at least until September 30th.

This is very dangerous for certain foods and if you live in the United States, I highly recommend that you keep track of this list: https://www.fda.gov/food/food-safety-modernization-act-fsma/food-traceability-list

That is a (not fully comprehensive but useful) list of the high-risk foods for contamination and sickness that could result in serious harm or death. The broad strokes are cheeses, but especially soft cheeses, raw/fresh vegetables, pre-sliced fruit packages, ready to eat salads, chicken eggs, milk (bird flu), anything fermented like melons, and pet food, among others.

This is likely not a comprehensive list, so be sure to look things up yourself as well.

If you buy vegetables and plan to eat them, it is best to cook them to a safe temperature and wash their outsides well with water and light scrubbing instead of eating them raw.

Make sure that the individual foods that you buy often are safe to eat or at risk, and adjust accordingly. This is a fundamental necessity that everyone here will need to follow. Testing is reduced or gone, and reporting on outbreaks will also likely be reduced or banned outright as well.

All you can do is stay safe, use your masks in public again, and make sure that you are clean as well as your food.

Attached below are more tips for vegetables, meat safety should be the same, just be more vigilant.

I love you all and don't want any of you hurt. Let's all support each other, thank you.

[bowtiepasta]

kita’s sitting contentedly on the porch in sweatpants and a t-shirt with sleeves he very clearly cut himself. there’s a cup of cold tea sweating by his knee, moreso lukewarm by now, your bare feet in his lap, and a hummingbird chipping away at the fruit his grandmother spent the afternoon cutting.

the air smells like citrus rinds and fresh-cut grass. his thumb runs along the bone of your ankle, calloused from farm work but soft where it counts.

“you look real smug over there,” you say, squinting at him without lifting your head. “like you aren’t the idiot that spilled juice all over your shirt an hour ago.”

“ain’t smug,” he doesn’t look up, keeps thumbing at the arch of your right foot. “just comfortable.”

you hum. “comfortable with the idea of marryin’ me?”

that gets his attention. his eyes meet yours, adoration immediately settling in them. “that a proposal, or you just flirtin’ to get outta helpin’ with dishes?”

you smile, oh so sugary-sweet, “can’t it be both?”

the bird dips down toward the plate, pecks at a chunk of melon and flits away with it.

kita watches it for a second, then turns back to your feet in his lap. his thumb goes back to rubbing at that same little spot on your ankle — second nature.

“she said you were good luck,” he says suddenly.

you blink. “who did?”

“gran.”

your heart stutters. “she said that?”

“mm.” he shrugs like it’s nothing, but his cheeks are turning pink. “said the tomatoes grew sweeter this year, and she hasn’t yelled at that godforsaken neighbor in weeks. thinks it’s ‘cause of you.”

you snort. “i’ve been here, what, three times total?”

“apparently that’s all it took,” he says, serious now. “she likes you. really likes you.”

you raise a brow. “that surprising?”

kita sits up straighter, suddenly full of conviction. “yes. it is. you don’t get it — gran doesn’t like anyone. she’s sweet to their face, sure, but the moment they’re out the door it’s all ‘that one’s got no sense,’ or ‘he dresses like his mama never taught him how.’”

you laugh, leaning on his shoulder. “she said those things about the twins, didn’t she?”

“whispered it while ‘samu could still hear, too.” he shakes his head, sounding in awe. “but you? she lets you sit in her recliner. she makes you iced tea from scratch, not the jug mix.”

“boiled the leaves herself,” kita says, holding up a hand like he’s swearing in court. “haven’t seen her do that since my uncle’s birthday. not even for me.���

your foot slips off his lap, and he catches it again without missing a heartbeat.

“i mean it,” he murmurs, quieter now. “she loves you. and to me that’s… big. real big.”

your voice softens. “you care what she thinks?”

“course i do.” he looks a little embarrassed now, gaze not-so-subtly traveling down to your ring finger. “the woman raised me. it matters. a whole bunch.”

there’s a short pause. the cicadas kick up louder in the bushes right on cue, and the last bit of sun stretches long shadows across the porch.

“you know,” you say, voice as soft as the dying light, “you keep rubbing my foot like that and i might have to actually marry you out of obligation.”

kita huffs out a laugh, hands working at your calves now. “might?” he echoes. “actually..? even after all the things i’ve done for you today?”

“all you’ve done for me?” you push his face away with your palm, smiling ear to ear despite yourself. “i was the one who peeled the grapefruit. didn’t hear me complain when it squirted me in the eye did you?”

he grins. “my brave soldier.”

“damn straight.”

“but really,” he starts again, thumb pausing at your heel, “you ever think about it?”

“foot rubs?” you deadpan. “dream about ‘em.”

kita chuckles again, the joy you are to be around. “marriage,” he clarifies. “with me.”

“sometimes.”

he leans back onto his elbows, looking out toward the yard where the hummingbird’s darting back toward the fruit plate, stealing a melon slice.

“i think about it,” he confesses. “think about what flavor cake you’d want, if you’d wear your hair up or down. think about you in white. had a few dreams about that last one.”

you look down at your hands, gather them in your lap. “you’re too good at that.”

“too good at what?”

“sayin’ stuff that makes my heart feel all wobbly.”

he laughs, your favorite sound. “think your heart’s wobbly now — wait ‘til i get down on one knee.”

you stretch your toes against the inside of his thigh, playful. “if i was mrs. kita, you’d still be good to me if i hogged the covers, let hair go down the drain?”

“when you’re mrs. kita.” he corrects, palming your thigh now. “ain’t stopped me before.”

“those are boyfriend duties,” you say, hand over your heart. “sure you could handle wife-level chaos?”

“darlin’,” he says, nosing your cheek before he kisses it, “i’d carry your chaos around in my shirt pocket if it meant i got to call you mine.”

you groan. “enough of that, shin.”

his eyes crinkle at the corners. “hmm? of what?”

“i’m gonna start doodling hearts on my skin around your last name like we’re in middle school.”

he leans in, tucks the stray hairs from your face behind your ears. “go on and do it. looks good on you.”

“what does?”

his voice dips. “my name.”

you reach forward and tug at the hem of his cutoff, an attempt to cover up the shade of red you’ve quickly turned into within the past couple of minutes. “…can’t believe i’m fallin’ for a man who can’t cut even sleeves.”

“can’t believe you’re gonna marry him,” he teases.

you kick at him, yet you don’t bother denying it.

then you pad barefoot into cool floorboards, screen doors clattering shut behind you.

in the kitchen, the fan spins overhead. the scent of old wood and lemon cleaner clings to everything, comforting in a way you never expected a home to be.

you lean against the counter to rinse the peach-sticky plate at the sink, water running cold.

“dry towel’s hangin’ on the oven,” a voice calls.

you glance back.

his grandmother’s at the table, sorting green beans into a big metal bowl. her hands move like clockwork — snap, flick, drop — she’s done it a hundred times before. probably thousands. doesn’t look up, but the corners of her mouth twitch like she knows.

i see you. i’ve seen this before. i know exactly where it’s going.

you reach for the towel, dabbing at your arms.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to drip,” you mumble, guilty while the mess collects on the wood. “i’ll go wipe it up.”

“don’t fuss,” she clicks her tongue. “you’re fine.”

you hover there awkwardly for a second, unsure if you should offer to help or scurry back out. before you can decide, she sounds out again, hushed.

“he’s steadier with you around.”

your hand stills on the wool.

she drops another into the bowl. “always been a good boy. but you — you make him settle, not slow down. there’s a difference, there is.”

your throat goes dry. “that’s kind of you to say.”

“don’t say nothin’ unless i mean it.”

you bite your lip, eyes stinging. “i care about him.”

“i know,” she says simply.

silence settles again, thick like molasses. then she adds, so quiet you nearly miss it:

“and if he does it right, he’ll marry you on that back lawn under the dogwood tree, same as his grandpa married me.”

you swallow, unsure how to respond.

she finally looks up, meets your gaze square. “that sound alright to you, sweetheart?”

you hum, soft and teary. “sounds like a dream.”

“good,” she goes back to her beans. “now go on and tell him i ain’t pickin’ no more unless he gets his lazy behind in here and grabs the second bowl.”

“yes ma’am,” you nod, barely containing the smile.

outside, kita’s still on the porch, bent over the cups, humming under his breath — some old country tune he often falls back on when his hands are full and his heart’s even fuller. (like right now.)

the screen door thwaps shut behind you.

you bump his arm with your hip and whisper, mischievous. “you’re in trouble, shinsuke.”

“what? why?”

“she says you gotta help with the beans.”

he groans dramatically, flopping back like he’s wounded. “throw me to the wolves just like that?”

you grin, sitting next to him. “might be worth it to get in on her good side. gonna be mrs. kita, after all.”

his eyes cut to yours, boyish and in love. “might be sooner than you think. ‘m not just messin’ around when i talk about you bein’ my wife someday.”

“got a ring tucked behind them peach slices?”

“not yet,” he says. “though i do have a down payment on somethin’ shiny. if you’re patient with me.”

you smile so wide your cheeks start to hurt. “good thing your gran says i’ve got that in spades.”

kita’s fingers still on your palm, face softening.

“she’s right,” he murmurs. “always is.”

[luveline]

coworker!james and his love hate gf meeting his parents by accident? she thinks he won’t own up to her but he’s super proud and calls her his girlfriend (for the first time 0.o) 

coworker frenemies <3 fem, 1.2k

You get the foolish idea to check in on James. Dying, he’d texted, won’t be in. Don’t miss me too much <3

And then, throughout the day, can you ask Remus to answer his phone please lovely, sorry 

Can you make sure my smiskis are all okay

I miss you too much 

Did you see that thing on the news about the goats in Spain ? 

Sometime around three, as you’re preparing to leave, his sporadic texting ends. You and Remus get on alright without James, and a quiet day comes to a close at four. 

“See you tomorrow,” you say. 

“Yeah, see you, have a good night,” he says back. 

You might. It depends on how James is feeling. You go to the shops on the way and wrack your brain for the things he likes. You know he likes cream of chicken soup: he brings it in his thermos sometimes for lunch. He likes freddos, tangerines, melon slices, and everybody likes balsam tissues and painkillers. 

James doesn’t necessarily have to let you take care of him, but it’s a care package. He can take what he wants and bin the rest. You get him some cool patches for his eyes and a box of teabags and consider yourself finished, paying, packing it into a tote, and carrying it back to the car. You get nervous on the road leading into James’ flat building, but Sirius’ car isn’t outside, just an old BMW that looks well loved. 

You pop the button to be let into the building and seconds later you’re opening the door. You make your way up the tight steps to the second floor and then the third, pausing to catch your breath lest you seem unfit just outside the door. 

You raise your hand to knock. James laughs from somewhere inside, loudly, and that laugh travels toward you until he’s yanking the door half off of its hinges.

When he sees it’s you, he grins. “Hello, beautiful.” 

“Hi. You okay?” 

He sniffles, but he doesn’t seem too poorly. His eyes are sore and he has a tissue in hand, but James is nothing if not spritely. “I’m okay, lovely, are you okay? To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

“I brought you sickness survival essentials,” you say, dangling the bag on two fingers between you. “Just in case.”

He gets that look on his face you’re finding yourself on the receiving end of more and more. That You can be so lovely face. Like you’ve done something selfless, and he’s not deserving of it. “Thank you,” he says genuinely, quietly, slipping the bag from your hand and leaning in. You’re expecting the kiss on the cheek, just not the hand under your jaw turning you for a chaste one on the lips.

“Listen,” he says softly, “my mum is here.” 

You pause. “Oh.” 

“My dad, too, actually. She caught wind that I was feeling rough from Sirius and she’s brought it upon herself to come and make sure I’m alright.” 

“Oh. Well, well I’ll just go–”

He shakes his head. “Don’t go. I mean, you don’t have to stay, ‘course you don’t, but you can come in and meet them.” 

“As…” 

“What do you want to be?” he asks. 

It’s probably written all over your face exactly what you want to be to James. It’s the bag swinging from his elbow. It’s what he asked you not so long ago, sitting on the end of his bed with a puddle of nerves in your stomach. Do you want to be… this is the real thing, right? 

You didn’t know what to say, so you’d kissed him, and he’d known it wasn’t a yes or no. 

“Are you sure you want them to meet me?” you ask. 

“Yes.” He strokes your cheek with his forefinger, all gentleness, but then he gives it a squeeze. “Be warned, mum’s heard everything about you, even when I was sure I hated you.” 

“What if she doesn’t like me?” you ask, sickly. 

“She took your side every time,” he assures you. “I just mean she’ll give me a smug look every other minute. And my dad’s just happy to be wherever he is. But if you don’t want to… you know, if you’re not ready, that’s fine. I wasn’t gonna ask ‘cos I was worried you’d say no.” He winces. 

“I’m really worried they won’t like me.” 

“Why wouldn’t they?” he asks, as though the possibility is a pipe dream. 

“James, you didn’t like me.” 

“That had less to do with you and more to do with email politics,” he jokes, “lovely, you don’t have to come in. It’s fine, there’ll be other times.”

It’s his confidence in that that makes you take a step forward. “Do I look a mess?” 

“You’re beautiful.” 

“James, I just went to work, I’ve been up since six–” You give him you’re most pleading look, eyebrows soft and lips a little pouted, “please, just check.” 

James holds you by the shoulders, his gaze moving over you one feature at a time. “Still beautiful,” he says quietly, “you have something in the corner of your eye.” 

“Get it.” 

“I will,” he laughs, “just gimme a second.” 

You gasp as he almost pokes your eye out. 

“James, babe, who’s at the door?”

You’re surprised to hear a male voice and instantly endeared. James, babe, turns away from you, slipping a hand behind your shoulder to force you into the hallway next to him. A dark-haired older man is standing in the door to the kitchen, his smile curious and friendly. “James?” 

“Yeah, this is Y/N,” James says, “she was just making sure I’m okay.” 

“You've invited her in for a cup of tea?” Monty asks, a picture of his son as he gestures for the kitchen. 

“Tea?” James asks, watching you carefully. 

You attempt to hide your nerves with a nod and a smile of your own. “Yes, please.” 

Monty heads back into the kitchen. James runs his hand down your back and lets you step in front of him, bearing the brunt of his mother’s gaze all by yourself. “Hello,” she says, clearly excited.

“Hi.”

James holds you by the back. “Mum, dad,” —you suck in a breath— “this is Y/N. She’s my girlfriend but–” He raises his voice before Euphemia can talk. “It’s not been long, okay?” 

“James, why didn’t you say?” 

“Mum, I just–” James sighs. You go numb with the pleasure of the thing —you weren’t expecting him to say girlfriend. To own up to you completely. “You dropped in unannounced, and we aren’t telling very many people.” 

“It’s my fault, I didn’t say–” You start, tamping down a brilliant smile. 

Monty cuts you off swiftly. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. We’re all here now, aren’t we? So, you work with Jamie?” 

“Yeah, yes, I’m on the accounting team.” You relax into James’ touch, letting your shoulder be guided against him just a bit. “I started a couple of months ago.” 

“Almost a year ago,” James corrects. “Should we have that cup of tea?” 

You frown at the scratch of his voice. “I can make it,” you offer. 

Euphemia laughs, James groans, and Monty has a twinkle in his eye you aren’t familiar with. “I can make the tea,” Monty says, “why don’t you lovely ladies sit down?” 

“Does that include me, dad?” 

“Of course it does.” 

[studioeisa]

mingyu is absentmindedly scrolling through instagram reels when he finds a video of a content creator in his kitchen. his caption is simple enough: meals i made for my girlfriend this week.

mingyu watches, slightly bored, as the influencer shows off everything from at-home matcha lattes to vegetable omelettes. he's just about to scroll away when the influencer shows off the last meal: a bento box.

mingyu rewatches that part once. thrice, even. he's had dosirak countless of times before, but this one is different. it's— cute.

mingyu looks up a hashtag of #bentoboxlunch and is absolutely floored. there's rice shaped like sanrio characters, and boiled eggs with nori eyes, and hotdogs cut up to look like octopi!

mingyu, who has always taken pride in cooking for you, in making your favorites of bibim-guksu and jajangmyeon, finds an entirely new purpose.

mingyu blows an inordinate amount of money on supplies. character picks, rice shapers, vegetable cutters. in between schedules, he watches how-to videos. when you're asleep at night or he wakes up earlier than you in the morning, he quietly pads around the kitchen to practice.

mingyu spends a good three or so months stealing away this new hobby, hiding it from you, until he decides his skills are up to par. with the intensity of which he's going about this, you'd think he's competing on master chef.

mingyu who, one morning, nonchalantly informs you, "i packed you lunch. let me know how you like it, okay?" you try to tell him that it isn't necessary, that you're a grown adult, thank you very much, but he pouts and whines until you take the lunch box anyway.

mingyu, whose leg bounces up and down all the hours leading up to noon.

mingyu, who has gotten a lot of praise across his life for many things. his skills as an idol. his physical appearance. but this? the text he gets of you gushing over the puppy-shaped mashed potatoes, over the boiled egg that's been cut to look like cherry blossoms? this is definitely a top five compliment.

mingyu enjoys this way too much. he learns more and more over time. heart-shaped tamagoyaki, doraemon constructed out of seaweed, rice that looks like snoopy. you tell him he's going overboard, doing too much, but how can anything be 'too much' when it's you?

mingyu doesn't even understand why he loves doing all this until, one day, you present to him sandwiches that have been cut in to stars and melon slices that are molded like diamonds. the sandwich is a bit dry, and the melon is out of season, but mingyu doesn't care. it's the best damn meal he's ever eaten.

mingyu, who has to hold himself back from proposing on the spot when you tease him, i love you, i want us both to eat well.

mingyu, who thinks to himself that he would cook for you for the rest of his life, if you'd let him.

[inseobts]

Uniform Trouble

trafalgar law x fem!reader

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

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

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

word count: 7.7k

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You scoff “You’re lucky I like you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The whole room goes quiet. Even Shachi shuts up.

You blink “Wait… so you’re not—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then his ears turn red. Fast.

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

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

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

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

You don’t hear any of it.

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

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

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

But you’re barely listening now.

Your eyes keep drifting to Law.

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

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

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

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

The table howls with laughter.

You don’t laugh.

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

You can feel the jealousy coming off him like steam.

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

Shachi nearly chokes from laughing too hard.

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

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

That does it.

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

You glance down.

Oh.

That explains it.

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

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

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

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

But that’s when it happens.

Law pushes his chair back. Fast. Sharp.

Everyone flinches.

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

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

Everyone at the table stares in confused silence.

You watch him go, pulse quickening.

And then you move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You slip inside and shut it quietly behind you.

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

You don’t speak.

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

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

The air in the room shifts. Heavy. Heated.

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

He breathes in, shallow. Controlled. Barely.

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

You smirk up at him, soft but bold.

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

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

“Now let me help you—”

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

You blink, surprised “Law?”

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

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

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

“Looked like you couldn’t breathe.”

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

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

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

You smirk harder.

Game on.

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

He looks completely undone.

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

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

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

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

Firm. Not forceful. But stopping you.

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

“Law?”

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

“Come here.” he murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happens if I wear your clothes?”

He laughs under his breath, low and dark.

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t.

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

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

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

“Law…”

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

The zipper goes down another inch. And another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can barely answer.

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

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

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

“I'm not wasting it.”

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

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

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

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

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

And he doesn’t stop.

Not this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then things start falling from his desk.

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

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

But Law doesn’t even blink.

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

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

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

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

You barely notice.

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

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

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

The footsteps retreat.

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

“You’re loud...” he murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then comes a knock... again.

“Captain? Is everything alright in there?”

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

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

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

You flash him a guilty smile “Oops.”

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

You roll your eyes “Read the room!”

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

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

Clatter. Clink. Thud.

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

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

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

Footsteps retreat quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hum “And yet you never stop listening.”

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

“Desk or chair again?” he asks.

“Mmh… surprised bed isn’t an option.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. So?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Law…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We can try,” he mutters “Next time.”

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

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

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

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

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

But silence never lasts long between the two of you.

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

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

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

He opens one eye “Seriously?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

You try to play it off, suddenly anxious.

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

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

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

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

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

You do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He groans audibly from behind you.

“Oi. It wasn’t about the uniform.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know how I’ll look. Amazing.”

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

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

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

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

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

He freezes. Blinks.

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

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

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

You grin. He’s blushing.

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

“Tight around the curves, huh?”

He coughs. Looks anywhere but at you.

“Don’t start.”

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

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

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

And he absolutely hates that he loves it.

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

“Captain, sorry to interrupt but...”

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

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

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

Then his gaze drifts past you.

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

Bepo’s ears twitch.

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

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

“It smells weirdly in here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shoot him a look.

And he just smirks.

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

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

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

He raises an eyebrow “For what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t waste time.

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

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

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

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

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

Sniffs.

Pauses.

Sniffs again.

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

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

Law pinches the bridge of his nose.

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

You glance at him with a smug smile.

“Yeah, but you love it.”

He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t deny it.

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

[dooberific]

❝ 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘓𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢 𝘎𝘶𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘛𝘦𝘯 𝘋𝘢𝘺𝘴 (𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘯 𝘏𝘪𝘮 𝘉𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘖𝘯𝘦) ❞

harumasa x afab!pubsec!reader

genre: slice of life, hurt w comfort, vengeful woman meets silly man, reader is intentionally insane so get ready to cringe and die on the inside right alongside her, suggestive

summary: your heart has been broken a few too many times, and he’s broken a few too many hearts. the perfect flip side to each other’s coins, surely nothing bad could happen if you both accept silly bets.

wc: 11.2 k

I rocked my own shit w this trust me, but I was inspired by cinema. READ THE TAGS, I wrote this and made myself violently cringe a few times but you gotta see it through. Trust the process bbgs

There is a flip side to every coin, another half to every story, a perfect balance in nature between opposing forces.

On one side was him, and on the other, you. 

The bar was busy, brimming with a number of people. Business men with loosened ties enjoying a round after a long day, young women out for an evening on the town to celebrate, officers you recognized personally taking a load off their minds after a busy shift. The energy was relaxed, but maybe it was just the martini you nursed as you leaned against the bar talking.

“Trust me, there is not a single woman in this bar who would think any less of you.” Zhu Yuan slurred, stirring her own drink, a flush of red already creeping up the sides of her neck.

She was referring to the woes in which you confided with her. As your closest friend through the police academy, she had been unshakeable even as your rank advanced past her own. You had worried that things would change after your last promotion, that when you took the seat of Janus Quarter Commander of PubSec with the revelation of Bringer’s corruption that your relationship would become strained but that fear had long abated. She was just the same as ever, another loveless soul keeping you company, another person rather hopeless when it came to relationships.

She plucked the toothpick from her glass, the wooden stick garnished with olives as she pointed it at you. “What you need, is to start taking back.” 

She drew an olive off the stick with her teeth, chewing it thoughtfully. “‘s not fair, you are wayyy too good of a girl to be toyed with like this.” 

Your head hung. She was right, it really didn’t seem fair. You were successful, had a good job, and you liked to think your personality and looks weren’t half bad. But there was just something in the equation that was missing, some integral piece that left you chronically unable to keep a man for more than a week. It was nothing short of a mystery, one that slowly chipped away at your self esteem despite your best efforts.

“What do you suggest I do?” You mused, head raising as you took a sip of your drink.

Zhu Yuan shrugged, head swiveling as she surveyed the crowded bar, plucking another olive from the toothpick in her glass. She gasped as if struck with some brilliant plan, head whipping back in your direction. 

“You need to go find a guy.”

Your face instantly went stony. “I’m not following.”

“No, no, you need to go find a guy. Play with him a bit, make yourself a real dream girl in his eyes, then give him a taste of his own medicine. Drop his ass before he can even wrap his head around what happened, and leave him running for the hills.”

“That’s diabolical,” you countered, turning to lean your back against the bar so you could survey the room, glass raised back to your painted lips. 

“I love it.”

At the same bar, at the same time, sat the other side of your coin, a can of some bitter melon soda leaving a ring of condensation on the table by his elbow. He didn’t drink much, ya know “alcohol is bad when you take a lot of medication”, but he didn’t mind the social aspect of a bar scene when things seemed promising. 

There were a couple other HSO officers milling around aside from the ones he accompanied, Miyabi and Yanagi both perched at the table with him. He was hoping to get some leg up on things at the office with this little excursion, a little leverage to use on Yanagi next time she smugly refuses his time off request, but the conversation had rapidly devolved in a way that he could have done without.

“You need to be more thoughtful, Asaba.” Yanagi chided, the lens on her glasses flashing momentarily under the bar lighting as she adjusted her glasses. 

“I understand that you have personal issues you don’t like to discuss, but this serial dating thing you’re doing is starting to impact more than just yourself.”

He groaned dramatically. “C’mon Tsukishiro, I didn’t think she would show up at the office like that. I told you she was,” his finger raised circling his temple to emphasize his point, “crazy.”

Yanagi’s brow furrowed, glare deepening as she crossed her arms.

“And what about the one who staged a stake out in the parking lot in front of my car?” 

He shrugged. “She was insecure.” 

“And what, the poor girl before that was just some clinical sociopath?”

“Maybe?”

“She was the mailroom girl! She was totally normal! Asaba you can’t just blame everything on them. At some point you need to take responsibility for your part in it too. That’s why,” she pulled a folded stack of papers from her bag, tossing them on the table. 

“I won’t be accepting any of your leave requests until you can prove to me you can keep a relationship longer than a week.” 

Yanagi may as well have dropped a brick on his head from some great height from the way he reacted.

“Tsukishiro!”

“No, Asaba, I’m not backing off on this. You have to prove yourself, but I am willing to make a deal with you. If you can date a girl of my choice for ten days and she be willing to say you were nothing but an absolute peach, then I will approve you for a solid week of leave. No questions asked.”

He perked up. “No questions asked, huh? Deal.”

Yanagi grinned evilly as she turned in her seat, scanning the crowd within the bar with a thoughtful hum. There were plenty of options, both good and bad but of all those present she was drawn rather conclusively to the figure leaned against the bar, a tasteful yet flirtatiously cut dress hugging her figure perfectly as she sipped her drink. 

The Public Security Commander for the Janus Quarter? 

Yes, you would do well to make his life miserable, she thought as she pointed a manicured nail in your direction.

“I want you to go talk to her.”

His golden eyes sparkled with mischief as he rose from his seat, popping another button on his shirt as he loosened his tie.

“Bet.”

Day One - Make Him Crave You

You had somewhat unsuccessfully prowled the bar for your victim. Too many duds and married men, and you considered yourself above being a homewrecker. No need to kill someone else’s happiness, it wasn’t the respectable married folk who saw it fit to drag your heart through the mud. 

You were all too ready to give up and call it a night as you leaned against the wall. Going home and slipping off your heels and enjoying a greasy pizza on your couch was sounding much better than revenge at the moment, but it seemed fate had a different plan.

He was tall enough that he still maintained a few inches of height on you even in your heels, a fair complexion complemented with a mess of curled black hair. His face seemed familiar, though you hadn’t fully placed it in the time it took you to meet his eye and him to arrive at your side. 

You grinned over the rim of your glass. “Hi.”

He echoed your sentiment, a smile on his face as he stopped just within your personal bubble. Interested already? A good sign. Him being handsome was an added bonus, smoldering honeyed eyes warming you from the inside out. Hm, maybe too handsome.

“(y/n) (l/n).”

“Asaba Harumasa.”

Oh shit. He was an HSO executive officer, no wonder you found his face familiar, but if he knew you his face didn’t give it away.

“Cute.” You murmured, taking care to bat your lashes. 

“Thank you.”

“I meant your name.”

His brow raised, a small chuckle rumbling from his chest. “Thank you twice then.”

“Single?”

“Currently.”

“Surprising.” 

He hummed, giving you a once over. He was bold, you would give him that. “Same. Psycho?”

“Rarely.”

“Interested?”

“Maybe.”

You could practically see the thrill of the chase burning him alive, his lopsided grin relaxed even as he rubbed the back of his neck. 

“You hungry?”

“Starved.”

“Leaving?”

“With you? Only if you ask nicely.”

“Please?”

You held up a finger. “You’ve charmed me, one moment.”

You slipped past him and back to the bar, sidling up to Zhu Yuan as you passed her your glass. “Got one. Black hair, choker.” You giggled, as her head whipped over her shoulder to where you just came.

“Shit, (y/n), an HSO officer?” She threw back the rest of her drink before snatching up yours. “Good luck, girl, call me when you make it home?”

“Of course,” you bumped her with your hip as you grinned, “See you tomorrow~.”

You would admit that you had low expectations for dinner, after all, he was just some loser you met in a bar, so a sit down meal was a real treat. The conversation flowed easily, discussing work, life, things you had in common, and before you knew it you were pressed against the door of his apartment with his tongue in your mouth and his hands on your ass. 

He fumbled to get the lock undone, attention divided between the sloppy work of your lips hot against his mouth and a tiny keyhole that seemed much too difficult to overcome. The door gave way and you squeaked with surprise, as you stumbled backwards, hands stilled knotted in his hair as your back thumped against the door once more.

He laughed against your lips, the smear of your lipstick painted across his own. “Too fast?”

You nodded, your thumb brushing against his swollen lower lip. “Too fast.”

“Right…too fast,” he wasn’t listening and you supposed you weren’t either because you didn’t argue when he kissed you again, your fingers knotting into the back of his shirt. He rocked his hips against yours and you moaned against his lips, his tongue snaking into your mouth. He tasted like the gum you gave him after dinner. 

Your hands slid down to rest against his chest. Despite his lithe stature you could feel the muscles beneath his thin work shirt as you pushed him away. 

“I’ll see you around, Harumasa.” You said as you slipped past him and back into the hallway, peeking coyly over your shoulder at him. “Do yourself a favor and call me sometime.” 

You grinned as you exited back onto the street, the air crisp in your lungs like the world was congratulating you on your skill. Now it would be a waiting game, waiting on your phone to ring once he realizes you left your purse sitting on the floor of his apartment. 

You hoped he was a praying man, because he would need all the help he could get.

Day Two - Be the Cool Girl 

Your fingers flew across the keyboard as you worked on a new project submitted to your office. So far things had been quiet, but you expected that to not last much longer with how your cellphone sat perched beside you on the desk.

It rang once, twice, and you answered on the third, leaning back in your seat with a grin.

“Pray tell what I’ve done to be graced with a call from you today?” You hummed, a lock of your hair curling around your finger as he laughed on the other end of the line.

“You left your purse at my place.”

“Ohh, yeah I can’t believe I left it there.”

“I just figured you might want it back with all the cash, credit cards and those… reverb arena tickets for the New Eridu Underground Target Archery Club Finals for tonight.”

“Sounds like somebody’s been going through my bag.”

His head rolled lazily to the side where he sat at home on his couch, your bag on the coffee table. “No, you see my cat is super curious and knocked it off the counter where I put it last night and dumped it out.”

The cat, once resting quietly at his side now looked up at him as if it understood his words. He scratched its chin as it purred. 

“If you insist, but you’ll be disappointed because I’m going with someone else.”

“Not anymore you’re not. I don’t think you left your purse here on accident, if you ask me I think you subconsciously wanted to take me out again tonight.” 

Zhu Yuan would be disappointed but you were sure she would understand, it was for the greater good in the grand scheme of things after all. 

You hummed. “Alright then, mister psychic, I will see you at the street entrance at seven o’clock?”

“You got it~.”

The entrance to the Reverb Arena was busier than usual when you arrived, waving to Harumasa who already stood waiting for you, your purse in his hand. 

“Fancy meeting you here.” You called with grin, receiving your purse back as he extended it to you, his eyes trained momentarily on your shirt.

“Didn’t take you as a fan of the New Eridu Archery club.” He said as he nodded towards the graphic emblazoned across the front of your shirt. 

“I’m just fond of the Janus Quarter team.” You countered. 

“No kidding,” He fished a card from his wallet as he passed it to you. The faded blue plastic was stamped with the archery club’s insignia, the back etched with his name and member number. Looks like you would be dodging any price inflation tonight, members of the club received certain perks after all. 

 “Consider the rest of your evening on me then.” 

The arena was crowded as you had expected for the first night of the finals, but your seats were perfect despite the swell of other bodies pressing you close to his side. Part of you had thought it would be a less sought after event, but the crowd rapidly energized as the event continued to the final rounds of the night. 

You eyes trailed from the ring to your date, his eyes laser focused on the match. You almost felt a little guilty when you shook his arm.

“Haru, Haru? I’m really thirsty, could you go get me a drink?” 

He blinked down at you like he had been in a haze, eyes momentarily darting back to the ring. “Right now?”

You nodded, and he bit the inside of his cheek.

“A diet cola with no ice, please.”

You mustered up your cutest expression as he begrudgingly nodded and got up, pushing his way past the other patrons before making a mad dash to the concession counter. Your grin had turned malicious within moments as you returned to watching the match.

He was back within a minute or two, handing you your drink as you thanked him and recounted some of the tense final moments as you sipped your drink once, twice.

It was the true final match of the night now, and you had your diet cola in your hand. You elbowed his side.

“Haru, this isn’t diet.”

His head snapped in your direction. “What?”

“This isn’t diet, Haru please I’m so thirsty!”

He did his best to hide it but you could see the frustration crease his brow as he took your cup and disappeared again.

The match was over by the time he made it back, your drink in his hands as you thanked him profusely, snuggling up at his side as you walked out.

The crowd filtered out across the street as you emerged from the underground, tossing your cup with a practiced hand into the wastebasket. 

“Are you busy tomorrow, we could watch a movie or something?” He offered in an attempt to salvage the mood.

You squeezed his arm a little tighter, turning your head to peer up at him. “Sounds like a date, I’ll see you then.”

Day Three - Be Clingy

When you met up in front of Gravity Cinema in Lumina Square he had some notion of what you would be watching. Plenty of new movies had hit the box office recently, enough variety that he was sure you could find something agreeable and not painful to sit through. 

You looked happy as you stood beside him in the line, eyes dancing across the titles by the ticket booth. There were plenty of good options, things you wanted to see on your own that you were sure he would find entertaining like a new comedy that brought tears to your eyes just seeing the trailer on tv. 

“What do you wanna see?” He asked, bumping your shoulder fondly. 

“Hmm,” you tapped a thoughtful finger to your chin. “I want to see…that one.”

A rerun of Coffee Mate wasn’t what he was expecting, but you looked quite pleased with the situation as you enjoyed your popcorn beside him. The theater was full of couples or groups of friends enjoying the nostalgia of the rom-com, all engrossed in the film. He wouldn’t lie, his own interest was also growing.

You looked over at him, the warm tones of the movie screen casting a sepia glow over his cheeks. You might be a little disappointed by the end of your little escapade, he was one of the more handsome men you had dated. 

“What are you thinking about?”

“Hmm?” He looked over at you.

“What are you thinking about?”

“The movie?” His confusion was evident in his tone as his eyes darted from the screen back to your face. 

“So you’re just completely thoughtless?”

A man in the row behind you shushed you loudly, shooting you both a glare yet you didn’t relent. 

Harumasa looked rather taken aback. “No, sorry baby, I was just thinking about…how pretty you are, now hush and let’s just watch the movie. You said you loved this one, right?”

You sat your popcorn down, brows furrowing as you turned in your seat to face him. 

“Who is she?”

“Who’s who?”

“First you’re thoughtless, now you’re an owl? I said who is she? You’re obviously not thinking about me right now.” 

The man behind you kicked your seat as he hushed you again, and you turned to face him, a wrathful look on your face.

“Listen buddy, if you interrupt me one more time my boyfriend is going to beat your ass.” 

He looked from you to Harumasa, the latter’s face decorated with a nervous smile as he quickly assessed that it was in fact a fight he didn’t want to have any part in.

“Let’s go then.”

You grabbed at Harumasa’s arm as you followed him out of the theater. “Haru, baby don’t fight him.” You pleaded. 

“I don’t have any intention of fighting him, this is all just a big misunderstanding.”

But misunderstandings usually didn’t end with a kiss from another person’s knuckles being planted firmly against your nose. He stumbled back, hand cupping his nose as blood began to pour from between his fingers and down his chin.

The man pointed harshly at the both of you as you rushed to Harumasa’s side. 

“Nobody gets between me and Coffee Mate!”

 

He was strangely impassioned as he stormed back into the theater, leaving you alone as your hands cupped Harumasa’s face.

“Let me see,” you cooed sweetly as you pried his fingers away from his nose. His eyes were watering from the sting of the hit, blood smearing down his face and dripping onto his shirt in crimson blossoms. 

You fished through your bag for a moment before you produced a few tissues, cursing internally that your pack was almost empty and that your luck was rotten enough to have seated you in front of someone willing to take a swing in passion over a romcom rerun movie. 

It was bleeding more from one side than it was the other, a rivulet of thick blood streaming almost instantaneously after you wipe his upper lip clean. You apologized about a hundred times as you pulled a tampon from your purse, unwrapping it before shoving the cotton up his nose as he grimaced. 

“What the hell is this?” He questioned, the taste of iron washing down the back of his throat as his fingers grasped the little woven tail on the tampon to bring it to eye level.

“Don’t worry about it,” you grabbed his hands, ignoring the blood that smeared onto your own. 

“You were so brave standing up to that guy!” 

He blinked at you stupidly.

Day Four - Become his Manic Pixie Dream

His apartment was rather nice when the lights were on, surprisingly clean if the precise organization of his shoe rack by the door would be any indicator of the rest of his space.

He was busy in the kitchen, talking to you mindlessly as he worked. All the better for your cause, giddily kicking off your low heels as you perused the apartment. It felt like a man’s apartment, a little dark and sparse as far as decor went, and it smelled distinctly like herbs and anesthetic more akin to what you would expect of a pharmacy or apothecary than a home. 

His cat chirped pleasantly from where it lay stretched across the couch, rising to arch its spine into your touch as you stroked its black fur.

“Don’t tell your dad that I’m redecorating,” you whispered as you sat down the box propped against your hip and produced a pair of stuffed animal cats stitched to be embracing.

The white fur on the toys reminded you a bit of Officer MewMew, but you found them endearing nonetheless, patting them on the head and you continued on your trek of evil. More cheesy stuffed animals, a flowery pink quilt across his bed, an array of girly magazines on the back of his toilet to match the pink toilet seat cover you placed.

By the time you returned from your side quest he was waiting for you by the table, eyeing the new creatures that sat on his couch curiously. 

“Looks like you’ve been…redecorating.” 

You smiled at him sweetly, “I just thought you could use a woman’s touch in here, isn’t it cute?” You reached into the box you still carried, dropping it to the side as you produced one last trick form your theoretical hat. A little fern in a pink pot bounced merrily in your hand. 

“It’s a baby fern to mark the budding growth of our relationship! Just like us it will need lots of tender love and care to thrive.”

You placed it dead center on the table.

“And now you will have something to remind you of us all the time.”

Ugh, it made you want to hurl how silly and empty headed you had to act, but it was all for the glory of the hunt you reminded yourself. You had put up with some real bullshit in the past and still been hung out to dry, this was just a little payback inflicted upon a member of mankind.

He smiled and graciously accepted, but you could see the concern swimming in the hues of honey in his eyes as he pulled your chair out for you to sit. 

“Yup, I’m a lucky guy for sure.”

He was ready to let it pass, the archery finals were about to start any minute and dinner was ready. Sure your change in attitude was a little…unique, but maybe you were just having an off night.

You sniffled and he paused, practically covering over his seat as he looked up at you. You sniffled again, fanning at your eyes.

“What’s wrong, (y/n)?”

“Nothing, nothing, it’s perfect just—,”

“Just..?”

You blew your nose dramatically into your napkin as you turned your head away, voice warbling with tears. “I don’t eat meat.”

It was like being hit by a truck, his eyes bouncing between the precisely crafted chicken dish on your plate to your quivering shoulders and reddened eyes. 

“A full week off, no questions asked. A full week off, no questions asked.” It was a mantra running through his head on repeat as he sat beside you in a tiny booth at the nearest vegan restaurant to his apartment.

He didn’t mind it he guessed, though as he picked through the tofu bowl sitting in front of him he couldn’t help but be a little disappointed at the thought of the chicken now chilling in his fridge.

You seemed appeased though, your knee brushing against his under the table as you picked your own meal quietly. The waitress stopped by the table, topping off your glass of water.

“Something wrong with your meal, hon?” She asked, eyeing you curiously.

“No, no.” You answered quietly before he watched your face contort, your pitch rising into a sobbing tone as you threw your fork down.

“My boyfriend thinks I’m fat! And I can’t eat in front of him.”

“What!?” He said incredulously as you shot up from your seat, hands covering your face as you rushed into the bathroom at the back of the restaurant.

You locked yourself in a stall, wiping away your fake tears as you pulled up the stream of the archery finals for the night. Ah, what a disappointing loss for your favored archer, but you were sure that he was still having a better time than what your date was having as he sat in the dining room now, certainly insisting that he has never called you fat a day in your life.

The walk back from the restaurant was quiet. He seemed tired even as you followed him back into his apartment and flopped down onto his couch. The archery finals for the night blazed to life across his TV screen.

“I’m sorry we missed the finals tonight.” You apologized with your sweetest tone.

He sighed. “It’s okay, baby, let’s just see what happens.”

You scooted closer to him on the couch, a hand coming down to squeeze his thigh. He looked at you with a surprised expression, eyes widening behind dark lashes as you flipped yourself onto his lap. You loosened his tie as you popped the buttons on his shirt open down to his belt, nails trailing down the expanse of his stomach as he shuddered. 

You kissed him, and he keened into your lips, hand coming to knot into your hair as you tugged his bottom lip between your teeth. You wiggled your hips against his lap, savoring the way his hand flexed against the meat of your thigh.

“What’s wrong, is somebody a wittle pent up?”

The baby talk took him by surprise, not really something he found to be attractive but if you were gonna shove your tongue into his mouth the way you just did and pull his hair well—some things could be overlooked in favor of others.

You broke from his lips, kissing down the side of his neck and to his clavicle, teeth nipping at his pale and tender skin. You were a vixen in your own right as you slid from his lap to your knees, a trail of kisses pressed from his sternum to his belt where your fingers deftly pulled the buckle loose. 

“Poor wittle Haru~,” you cooed as you rested your cheek against his thigh and stared up at him from under your lashes, toying with his zipper. His body tensed as you palmed him through his pants, his hand curling into your hair as his breathing became labored. 

“Does our little pwincess wanna come out and play~?”

You blinked in surprise at how quickly you were on your feet, his hands bracing your arms. His cheeks were dusted a hearty pink, the flush carried to his ears and the heady way his eyes dilated. He swallowed thickly.

“Please don’t do that.”

You cocked your head to the side dumbly. “Do what?”

You could practically see the internal war raging in his mind as he let out a shaky breath. There was no reasonable way he could explain it and not sound fucking insane.

“Please do not name my, uh,” he cleared his throat as he broke eye contact, “unmentionables.”

On the inside you were dying with laughter, struggling to keep your face straight as he fumbled around. So you pouted instead.

“Are you mad at me?”

His head hung in defeat. “No, I’m not mad at you.”

He was scrambling for an out, lost somewhere between hot and bothered and terribly disturbed by the tragic way events unfolded.

 “Ohh would you look at the time,” he said glancing momentarily at the watch that wasn’t on his wrist before quickly snapping his hand back to his side. “You should really head home for the night, can’t have you wandering the streets too late. Someone might try to snatch you up or something.”

Was it bad that he momentarily thought it might not be all bad if you got kidnapped? They would definitely return you within an hour, just long enough for the casual and flirty you to vanish like a werewolf morphing under the moonlight into whatever you were now. 

“I guess so…” your tone was mournful as he ushered you to the door and made sure you had all of your belongings. 

You stood in the hallway outside his door, he still looked like a flushed mess as he leaned against the doorframe. 

“Goodnight then, Haru.”

“Goodnight, (y/n). Get home safely.”

Day Five - Make Him Your “Cool Boy”

He desperately wanted to call it quits, throw in the towel and run away from you as fast as his legs could carry him. Did you have a split personality or did you just fall and hit your head and not receive medical attention sometime after you two first met? It was a toss up in his mind, but every day that he walked back into the office and saw the smirking expression of Tsukishiro as she asked, “How’s your girlfriend?” his pride would rear its ugly head and will him to continue. 

It hadn’t even been a full week, he could handle a few more days. Then he made the mistake of answering his phone. 

“Goodmorning Haru-waru~.”

Jesus Christ, maybe he was wrong. He was pretty sure his eyes rolled into the back of his skull as he pinched the bridge of his nose that was still bandaged from the movie date. You on the other hand had to mute your end of the call for the roar of laughter that came from Zhu Yuan who sat in your office listening in to your psychological torture fest. 

He met Tsukishiro’s eye from across the room, a forced smile coming to his face as he waved and stood up to take his call in the hallway. 

“Goodmorning, baby.” It sounded forced and he had to bite his tongue to make his tone sound more pleasant. “What’s up?”

“Oh you know, I was just thinking about you and how I got these tickets from a friend.” You baited, the tickets pinched between your fingers tapping against the smooth top of your desk. “The seats aren’t as good as the ones from the other night, but I thought you might wanna join me?”

He was torn, but relented, praying he wasn’t making a horrible mistake. 

“What time?”

You were beaming as you waved at him. You were like a toxic fume disguised a breath of fresh air, hair and makeup done cutely. For a moment he willed himself to think the original you was back from the coy way you spoke, how you curled a lock of your hair around your finger as you walked arm-in-arm.

His reminder of your wicked nature came five minutes into the Astra Yao concert he now stood in the middle of, the base from the speakers rattling his bones as the crowd roared alongside the music.

You looked thrilled, bouncing beside him as you sang along to every song. It really was a treat for you to get to see her after all, and you wouldn’t disclose how much you spent to secure your tickets but it didn’t matter. 

You were radiant under the purple and white stadium lights, your lip gloss shining as it caught the light. Your eyes were closed behind the ridiculous purple heart-shaped sunglasses some other girl in the crowd had handed you, an invisible microphone in your hand as you lived like no one was watching for just a moment. Maybe you seemed crazy, but did that really matter? He wouldn’t be hanging around much longer anyways. You could see the threads of his sanity snapping away with each passing day.

But today he was quiet as he watched you with a reverence your eyes wouldn’t see, the concert nothing shy of background noise compared to the beating of his heart in his ears and the slightly off-key sound of your voice as you sang and grew more hoarse by the minute. It was like wearing a pair of rose colored glasses, your previous infractions melting out of his mind as a glimpse of the real you shined through.

His ears were ringing as he followed you out of the venue at the end of the concert, a ridiculously glittery Astra Yao t-shirt now layered over his original shirt to match the one you donned. Your palm was warm clasped in his own as you pulled him through the crowd. 

He forgot all about the archery finals till the patrons filtered out of the Reverb Arena onto the shared street, excitedly chattering about the winning shot.

Your head whipped over your shoulder as you smiled at him, sunglasses now perched on your head. “Wasn’t that fun?”

He didn’t have a chance to answer before you cut him off.

“Let’s make sure to play some of her songs at our wedding!”

And just like that those rose colored glasses shattered with frightening speed.

Day Six - Sabotage His Reputation at Work

His mind was a muddled mess as he sat listlessly at his desk the next day. Your unpredictability had not only shaken him to the core but disturbed him so deeply he was now in a constant state of unsteadiness, torn between wanting to chase that sliver of you that made his heart race and wanting to run from the other part that made him want to tear out his hair in frustration. 

He pondered texting you, calling you even, but he didn’t know why. He sighed loudly, throwing his phone onto his desk as his head flopped over the back of his chair.

“Everything alright, Asaba?”

He glanced up at Yanagi, a cup of coffee waving temptingly in her hand as she placed it on his desk. “You look tired.”

“You have no idea.” He thanked her for the coffee, pulling the lid off as he took a sip. It was hot and bitter against his tongue, a soothing taste sure to inspire a short burst of vitality to his morning.

He didn’t bother to glance up as the door to the Section 6 suite hissed open.

“Goodmorning, Haru~.”

He sputtered and choked as he sucked coffee down his windpipe, quickly putting the cup down as he practically jumped from his seat. 

“(y/n)!” He chimed back in a poor attempt to match your excitement as he hissed through his teeth. “What are you doing here?”

It was a shame you looked as cute as you did today, a perfect black plaid patterned skirt suit hugging your body just right as you practically bounced to his desk, pushing a stack of papers to the side as you perched on his desk with a smile.

“I just wanted to see you, silly!” 

Oh. How lucky. 

Everyone in the office was fully tuned into your conversation now, some (ahem, Soukaku and Miyabi) more obviously than others. 

“I brought you a present by the way.” You reached into the large tote bag that you had brought along with you, producing a black plaid shirt that matched your own outfit. 

“Here! Put it on!”

There was no getting out of it, you had practically dragged him closer as you tossed the shirt over his shoulders and forcefully helped him drag his arms through the sleeves as you buttoned it all the way up to his neck.

“My, Asaba, you’re certainly a vision in plaid.”

He glared at Tsukishiro over your shoulder, his eyes rolling fiercely at her jab before you drew his attention back to yourself. 

“We are gonna make such a cute family of four.” You squealed.

“Family of four?”

You nodded as you reached into your bag once more, drawing out the long orange body of a medium haired cat in a little black plaid vest. A golden tag dangled off its collar, its name carved into the metal in a curling script.

Princess.

He felt his stomach drop. 

“I got one for the other cat too so we can all match for family photos!”

“Family photos!” Soukaku squealed from her desk. 

He gripped your shoulders with a forced smile. “Can we talk outside? It would be bad if we interrupted office workflow after all.” 

“Oh, no need, I’ve gotta run back to work. Duty calls!” You giggled as you placed Princess in his arms, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek, your lipstick staining his cheek a pretty shade of rose. 

“Watch our baby girl for me! Toodles!”

You pranced out of the office with a giggle, the door sliding shut behind you before it quickly reopened.

“Hold on, (y/n)!” 

You paused in your step, glancing at his disheveled state with the warmest smile you could muster. 

“Yes, Haru?”

“I won’t be able to hang out tomorrow afternoon,” he said, Princess struggling in his arms for a moment as he readjusted his grip on her. “Some of my old friends from PubSec wanted to get together and have a game night, you don’t mind do you?”

“Of course not!” You said with a smile. “You boys have fun.”

He looked relieved as you turned away to leave, flipping your hair over your shoulder. The stupid smile on your face faded so quickly you felt like a true psychopath for a fleeting moment. 

Day Seven - Become the Psycho Girlfriend of his Nightmares

“I don’t know what this guy’s problem is,” you bemoaned, popping another cheeseball into your mouth. 

The roof of your apartment building was a pleasant place to be on a day off, lounging on the deck chairs as the sun warmed your skin.

Zhu Yuan laid beside you in her own chair, her eyes closed behind her sunglasses as she shrugged. “Maybe he’s a little mental?”

“There is no history of mental health conditions in his medical file.” Chimed Qingyi from your other side where she sat crossed legged. 

You frowned. “No need to violate HIPAA for the sake of this conversation, Qingyi.” 

She shrugged.

“But seriously, I’m not making things even remotely easy and he still hasn’t called it quits. I’ve been clingy, ruined the archery finals multiple times, accused him of calling me fat in public, been overly emotional. Damn, he even got his nose busted over a date with me.” You huffed irritably, crunching another cheeseball between your teeth.

“I just don’t get it, what else am I supposed to do?”

“When do you see him again?” Zhu Yuan asked, her head rolling in your direction as she held out a hand. You shook a few cheeseballs into her waiting palm.

“Tomorrow.”

“Not tonight?”

You shook your head. “No, he’s got a boy’s night planned.”

Zhu Yuan practically launched herself upward, flipping her glasses onto her head. “Boy’s night, surely you don’t intend to let him off that easy.”

You pursed your lips before a wicked smile morphed onto your face. “You’re right, what would he be without me?”

There were eighteen missed calls on his answering machine when he returned home, four playing through as he fed the cats that rubbed incessantly against his legs begging for his attention. It was fortunate that Princess had an agreeable nature, it would have been a shame to rehome her if she had clashed with his own cat.

“Haru, are you home?”

“I miss you~”

“Pick up the phone, Haru!”

“I just wanna know how your day was my handsome boy~”

He paused the message playback as a knock sounded at his door. Seemed like the first of his guests had arrived, a perfect excuse to forget your incessant tone.

Everything seemed to be going quite well, conversation flowing easily over the passing of cards and bets placed in poor, alcohol-addled states of mind. He refrained once more, sipping on another bitter seltzer as he fanned out his cards. A good hand, he was feeling lucky.

Or he did before his front door swung open. 

“Hi boys!” You chirped. 

He folded his hand immediately, an expression of fear flashing through his eyes as he gritted his teeth. You waltzed right in, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

“Heyy, (y/n). I thought we weren’t seeing each other tonight—,”

“Oh, we weren’t, but then I was just thinking you might need some snacks for game night!”

You practically stared daggers into the befuddled faces of some of your very own N.E.P.S officers that sat around the table. They will definitely think you are a nutcase after tonight, but internal PR was a small price to pay.

You pranced to the kitchen, your tone cheery as you babytalked to the cats that prowled after you. You could hear the muted conversation from the kitchen where you fished through his cabinets for a plate and serving utensils.

“She’s something alright.” 

“If something means psycho then…”

“Easy now, she’s not that bad.” You were surprised to hear him defending you, albeit poorly.

“C’mon man, don’t kid yourself.”

You came out of the kitchen just in time to see Harumasa’s shoulders sag as he nodded, hands rising to rub his face.

“She might be a little…”

“A little what?” You hissed from where you stood, plate of cookies in your hand. You looked like a disgruntled housewife, the kind that poisons her husband and buries him beneath the roses in the backyard.

“Asaba Harumasa,” your tone sent shivers down his spine, venom dripping from your tongue as you stared him down, slowly approaching the table like a predatory cat. 

“It’s okay sweetie, you can tell me. Go ahead, say you think I’m some kind of psycho bitch!” Your pitch rose to a yell as you flipped the plate in your hand for good measure, cookies scattering everywhere as each man at the table recoiled. 

The waterworks came next as the plate clattered to the floor, your hands rising to hide your face as you willed tears to your eyes. 

“I have tried so hard to be a good, attentive girlfriend but you just think I’m crazy.” You sobbed, catching a glimpse of the silly fern in the pink pot you had left in his care days ago. Its leaves were wilted.

“Did you ever want this relationship to work?” You accused, angrily wiping your ‘tears’ as you pointed at the plant. “You even let our love fern die, how can I trust you to take this relationship seriously?”

He was stirred into a panic now, rising from his seat. “It was an accident, I got busy with work and forgot to water it is all.”

“I told you a relationship takes tender love and care. Care does not mean forgetting to water it!” 

You wiped your tears and stifled your sniffles, raising your head proudly. “Consider us, over.”

You stormed out the door and down the hall, and as soon as the elevator shut behind you you laughed like a maniac. Oh the sweet taste of release. You deserved an award for your performance.

Meanwhile he stood in the carnage of your departure, mentally counting the days in his head. Seven. He was still several days shy of his bet with Tsukishiro.

“Lucky, she saw herself out, wait—you’re not thinking of stopping her, right?”

“I just need three more days,” he whipped around as he grabbed his friend by the shoulders, “what do girls like to hear at times like this?”

You felt liberated as you stepped onto the street. Finally you had shaken yourself free of the burden you had placed upon yourself. There was almost a skip in your step as you turned to walk home.

“(Y/n), wait!”

Your stomach plummeted. You didn’t even want to turn around, didn’t intend to until his hand circled your wrist with a gentle grasp.

“I am so sorry, I would do anything to make it up to you.” 

You rolled your eyes as you shook your head, wrenching your wrist free. “It’s too late for that, Asaba.”

Ouch, back to last name basis. This was worse than he thought.

“Why don’t we go to couple’s therapy?” 

The very words felt bitter on his tongue, quietly instilling both of you with profound dread.

You turned over your shoulder, voice teary. “You would do that for me?”

He nodded.

Shit. Guess both of you were still stuck. 

Day Eight - Couples Therapy

His stomach felt sick all night and he couldn’t sleep, a shared sentiment occurring in your own bed several streets away as you tossed and turned. 

He’s unshakeable, and you needed to find an out. 

That’s why you stood in front of a sterile door in your well pressed skirt suit, Harumasa anxiously stirring at your side. “Thank you for suggesting this,” you murmured as you knocked on the door. “It makes me feel like you actually care.”

The door opened as you bit your tongue to suppress the grin that threatened to crease your cheeks. 

Qingyi stood in the doorway, a pair of comically large glasses perched on her nose and her hair pulled tightly back. She looked more like some sort of cult member than a therapist with the unique oversized smock she wore. 

Harumasa’s brow furrowed. “Are you the doctor..?”

Qingyi nodded, “Yes, now come in, we have a lot to discuss.”

The conversation devolved rapidly once you actually sat down. You poured out a dramatized version of the truth, tears streaming down your cheeks as your mascara smeared. He was lost somewhere between fighting for his life defending his actions and trying to comfort you. 

Qingyi was playing her role beautifully, hell she even opened the door for you to accuse him of trying to flirt with her before she turned up the heat and began to put pressure on him.

“He’s just so distant, he won’t even tell me about the things he likes!” You cried, blowing your nose dramatically into another one of half the tissue box you had already gone through.

“Fine! Fine, I’ll take you out and show you. Just please stop crying.”

Your tears dried immediately, casting a glance at Qingyi who simply nodded.

“A couples weekend to grow closer, I think it’s an excellent idea.”

You cursed her a little internally as you walked out the door. 

Day Nine - Doing Things He Enjoys..?

The scent of seawater met your nose as you stepped out of the car, the wind off the ocean tugging at your meticulously fixed hair as you watched the boats at the dock bob over the waves.

When he told you he would take you to do things he enjoyed you weren’t anticipating to end up here, but there was a palpable shift in his attitude as he pulled the camera from the backseat and raised it to peer through the viewfinder, the shutter clicking loudly as he took a picture of the sun rising over the distant horizon.

The tiny smile on his lips painted his features with a serene expression, the sun painting his cheeks in a shade of gold that could rival the saturation of his eyes as the sea breeze ruffled his already unruly hair.

You watched him silently. It felt like an intrusion for you to be standing here with him, a feeling that never left even as he turned his warm expression in your direction, beckoning you to follow him as he walked towards the dock.

You half expected him to walk down the actual dock, not for him to pause at the edge of the railing to kick his shoes off before climbing over it in favor of the thin band of sand lining the rocky outcropping that the lighthouse sat upon.

“Don’t wanna get your shoes wet,” he stated simply as he offered you a hand over the rail to follow him. 

The water lapped past the rocks and onto the sand, the gritty substance soft and soggy under your bare feet as you picked along the nondescript beach until it turned into a bank of slippery black rocks.

You paused just shy of the terminus of the rocks, watching him look thoughtfully over the water as he raised his camera again. 

You wondered what went through his mind. Photography was never your strong suit, you lacked a discerning eye for beauty like that captured in a still life. Your eyes danced over the waterline, willing yourself to see some deeper artistic vision like whatever had caught his fancy.

The camera shuttered again, and you turned to look at him only to be met with the shiny black lens of his camera as he brought it down from his eye. 

“I like that one.” He mused, clicking back through the saved photos as he turned the screen to show you the pensive image of yourself, hair wild in the wind, face bathed in gold contrasting the harsh black of the rocky bank you stood on. He turned it back to himself, dropping the camera to hang around his neck. 

“It looks like you.”

For a moment it crossed your mind that he had found you out, exposing some chink in your carefully fabricated armor to protect your heart in the little game you had subjected him to. You swallowed thickly, avoiding his gaze.

“Of course it looks like me.” You muttered as if it was an obvious observation. 

You stayed at the Port till the afternoon sun blazed high overhead, your skin sandy and fingertips greasy from the basket of fries you shared with him as you dangled your feet off the edge of the dock. You had long given up on your looks, the wind from the top of the lighthouse where he took you having ruffled your hair in a way so attractive that you thought it safer to knot it upon your head with a hair tie than let it hang free a moment longer.

When he told you he had another place to take you afterwards it took you by surprise. Had he actually taken that ridiculous therapy session seriously? Ah, you were starting to feel guilty again.

The cityscape gave way to a lush road lined with trees before you pulled over again in a gravel parking lot. It was largely empty, the chirping of crickets meeting your ears as the trees rustled in the gentle wind. A rusted sign stood by the road announcing it as a shooting range. 

“You ever shot a bow?” He called to you. 

“Can’t say I have.” 

You heard the car door shut, eyes catching on the longbow resting in his hand as he walked to your side, looking down at you with a grin that actually met his eyes. 

“Well, do you want to?”

The target stood a reasonable way down the green from where you stood. His weapon of choice felt heavier in your hands than you expected, the grips worn and a variety of scuffs decorating the metallic surface. You had watched plenty of archery matches, but actually doing it was a little more daunting than you imagined, less “pull and shoot” than you were expecting. 

“You okay over there?” He asked from the sidelines. You could feel his eyes burning holes in your back. No pressure.

You nodded as you lifted the bow, arrow already nocked as you drew back the string. You could feel the flexure of your muscles all the way to your shoulders, a quiver rattling through your forearm at the strain. You didn’t know how many pounds it was, but it was enough that your lack of practice with such an instrument showed rather evidently. You were ready to drop your aim before his hands steadied your grip, circling you from either side.

You turned your head slightly, bumping into his chest before you felt your heart race, his arms warm where they brushed your own. 

“You’re almost there.” He hummed in your ear, fingers hooking just above yours on the string. The weight suddenly vanished as he easily drew the string taut, his other hand anchoring it still.

“Now just look down the sight and aim where you please.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding as you followed his instructions, the colorful rings of the target appearing under your gaze as you gently redirected the position of the arrow.

“Just say the word.” He added, watching the concentrated look on your face with a fond look. 

“Now.” You breathed, fingers releasing from the bowstring in tandem with his own as the arrow whistled down the green. 

“That’ll be a two.” He observed aloud, the orange tail of the practice arrow you shot seated just shy of the black margin line. His free hand subconsciously rested against your arm, thumb brushing your skin.

“Not bad for a beginner?” You asked hopefully as you peered up at him.

“Not bad at all.”

You spent the rest of the day at the range, the sun sinking below the horizon line as you drove back into the city. Some part of you was disappointed to see the day end, it had been a breath of fresh air to experience an easy day alongside him. 

You would hate to admit that when he put the car in park as asked you if you wanted to take a walk with him that you were actually excited.

It was against everything you had promised to yourself and Zhu Yuan when you accepted her challenge, but the taste of your strawberry soda was sweeter against your tongue when you sat under the lowlight of the playground by the water, legs dangling off the side of a broken down one-Denny ride with him perched at your side. 

“Thanks for joining me,” he murmured as he pressed his own bottle to his lips. 

“And thank you for letting me tag along today,” came your reply, buttery smooth as you mimicked his actions. “It was…nice.”

You actually meant it, a warm feeling bubbling in your gut as the admission met the wind. 

“It was nice being around you, the real you, for the day.” He picked at the label on his drink as you stared at him owlishly. “Don’t act so surprised, it’s not hard to realize you’ve been masking a lot of things once you open up. You're a little too honest when you aren’t faking it.” 

You opened your mouth to retort but he beat you to it.

“You’re cuter when you aren’t pretending to be someone else.”

Your head hung a bit lower as you downed the last sip of your drink, discarding the bottle by your feet as if it were liquid courage and not a sweet, syrupy concoction. 

“Do you really mean it?” You asked weakly, shivering as you felt his warm fingertips graze your skin as he tucked a stray hair behind your ear. His fingertips trailed down the curve of your ear to your jawline, drawing your chin up to face him.

He was closer than you thought he was, his thumb brushing your lower lip, breath warm as it fanned your cheeks. He didn’t answer you directly as he leaned into your lips, hands warm as they cupped your cheeks tenderly.

You were sure you would melt into a puddle, filtering through his fingers like the pile of rotten mush you were  for how poorly you had treated him in the last few days. Surely you didn’t deserve the tender way he kissed you, the breathy sigh that parted your lips dousing his own in the strawberry-tinted taste of your surrender as you kissed him back with the same gentleness he offered you. 

For him to claim a dislike for sweet things his kiss was anything but bitter in your mind, while his own simply pondered the fact that syrupy sweet had never been more tolerable than when it dripped off your lips and teased his tongue.

You were regretful when you parted, lips still tingling as you caught your breath. 

“I should take you home.” He whispered into the air between you.

The ride to your place was silent, but you didn’t regret what transpired at the park as you chewed your lip thoughtfully. 

You still didn’t have any regrets when you hesitated to get out, inviting him upstairs with a spark of hope burning inside your chest that you wished he would douse once and for all by denying your request. 

You didn’t regret holding his hand as you guided him to your bathroom, when you let him slide your t-shirt over your head as you helped him out of his own, when you kissed him like you meant it as you backed him into the warm spray of your shower, the tickling scent of sweat and seawater intensified before it washed away under the hardwater. 

You wouldn’t regret a single moment of letting him ravish you with an affection you’d never experienced, one laced with longing and appreciation for each inch of your body that passed under calloused fingertips, one that surpassed anything spoken that could be retracted with a breath.

You would only regret any creeping memory of the distressed looks you had cast onto his gentle features in the past, painting over them with a glaze of the love and pleasure stricken expressions that pinched his brow as you indulged in each other at the most carnal of levels. Whispers of adoration pressed to your skin that made your toes curl and made the sickly knot of pleasure in your gut twist all the tighter as you sought a release that only he could provide you as you drowned in the intense wave of his silent affections.  

Day Ten - Break his Heart

Every coin has a flip side, like how every story has an opposing view. Maybe he was simply your mirror in that, or that was what you willed yourself to think as you stared down the hurt that burned in his golden eyes. You were sure you looked none the better if the hot anger that surged in your veins had anything to say about it. 

This wasn’t at all how you imagined it going, but maybe you had just been lying to yourself the whole time just as he had done.

Zhu Yuan’s expression looked stricken, Tsukishiro’s cool if not a little surprised as she shook her head.

“Pardon the interruption.” The pink haired deputy Chief said as she swiftly dismissed herself from the scene, Zhu Yuan shuffling away in a similar apologetic fashion. 

You wished your own feet would carry you far away from here, to turn tail and run like the coward you were when it came to confrontations you couldn’t control. If you ran would it change anything? Would it soothe the ache of guilt and the harsh throb of heartbreak? You knew the answer to that well enough as your fingers tightened around your purse strap, convincing yourself that their accidental revelation was for the better despite the despicable feeling that welled up in your chest. 

“So.”

“So.” He parroted with a similarly bitter tone, lips drawn into a thin line. 

“Was it worth it?” 

He scoffed. “You’re gonna ask me that? Last time I checked intentionally being insane as a dig back at mankind as a whole is a little worse than a stupid deal for some time off.”

Your pride wouldn’t allow you to back down even if his words rang soundly in your ears. “But that was the point wasn’t it? You were no more innocent than every other asshole who strung me along and ditched me like an old toy when something better came along.” You seethed. 

“Coming after me for the sake of a bet with a timeline like that proves it enough for me. So let’s just cut the crap and get this over with.”

Your expression was icy as you met his eyes, steeling yourself. 

“It meant nothing to me, and I never want to see you again.”

Something crumpled in his chest, but he didn’t show it, simply nodding. “Fine. Do us both a favor and lose my number.” 

And nine days of intimate torment died on the gritty sidewalk like a tortured animal, both of you turning away without looking back.

You would save yourself the dignity to do so later in the silence of your own home, to let the guilt of your actions bubble over the waterline of your lashes as your heart broke all over again in the same foolish way you swore not to allow this time as quiet pleas for his forgiveness pressed past your lips.

You wouldn’t know of the numb way he sat on his couch when he finally arrived home, the lithe body of Princess rubbing against his shin as the feline begged for an affection he couldn’t muster.

There was a meticulously crafted wall around his heart, or there had been before you managed to breach it, one placed with the intent to deflect anything meaningful so he wouldn’t have to die with any regrets should his state of being decline rapidly. With it now in tatters his chest felt heavier than ever as he curled into himself, face buried into his hands as he forced himself to breath deeply and will away any thought of the softness of your touch or how treacherously you had warmed his heart in the exact way he had tried to prevent each time he felt a relationship teetering near anything past a casually physical state.

Day Eleven

Work felt like a chore, your eyes dry, tired and puffy as you stared blankly at your computer screen. Anything laborious would have to take a backburner this time, as your brain was still too addled from crying yourself to sleep like a real slob to handle anything too intensive when it came to thought. 

Sure others had noticed, but they didn’t ask questions, opting to give you space instead of intruding upon your foul mood. It left your day rather silent, a breeding ground for getting lost in your own thoughts which was exactly what you didn't want right now.

Your secretary shuffled into the room hesitantly. 

“Commander, you have a visitor.”

“Tell them to come back another day.” You replied flatly, clicking aimlessly on your screen.

“I did but it’s an officer from the HSO. Says it’s urgent.” 

Your stomach flipped unpleasantly. You had a crawling notion of who it might be.

“Let them in.” 

The secretary nodded, disappearing from your sight before your guest entered silently.

“Commander.” 

“What business do you have here, Asaba?” Your tone was icy and sharp, not bothering to look in his direction as you busied yourself with the same menial task that had plagued you for the past hour.

“Not looking at me is a new low, even for you.” 

You frowned, shooting a glare in his direction as you turned to face him fully. He looked messy, but when did he not? Eyebags weren’t even unfamiliar for him, but the spiderwebs of tired veins that snakes across his sclera were even if you were sitting too far to see the bloodshot nature.

“If it isn’t urgent then we have no business to discuss, and you need to leave.”

“It is important,” he interjected as he pulled something from his pocket, a thin photo that he flipped in your direction.

It was the picture of you that he took at Port Elpis.

“I’m calling you on your shit,” he declared firmly as he approached your desk, dropping the picture right in front of you as he planted his palms on the flat surface, staring you down.

“False pretenses or not, the past ten days weren’t meaningless to you.” He pressed, eyes not wavering from where they locked with your own. “I refuse to believe it’s left you unaffected, because I’ve been sick over you every hour since then.”

A shaky breath sucked between his teeth, his eyes darting to your lips that quivered despite your best efforts. 

“I just don’t think it’s possible that you’ve charmed me as one-sidedly as you’re trying to let on.”

You couldn’t escape his gaze if you wanted to, as staring down at your neatly folded hands only brought the hazy gold kissed image of you by the ocean he had taken, a picture taken under the same eye you had admired for its ability to scrutinize and capture beauty in its most raw and unfiltered state. A lens that had snatched your moment of contemplation in a clutch of unabashed appreciation, a diamond picked from the rough of days of undue torture.

So you didn’t run from it anymore, turning your chin up from where it had sunk as you met his gaze head on, a rueful smile gracing your lips.

“Am I that bad of a liar?”

His mouth felt dry, heart racing in his ears as he studied your resigned expression. You looked serene as your gaze cast back down to your fingers, toying with your cuticles. 

“You made me break my one rule for my little experiment. Don’t fall in love.” Your tone was still laced in bitterness, a hand raising to dab at the corner of your eyes at the admission. 

“I assure you, I’ll be slower to forgive myself for hurting you than you would be. You’re a good person, Asaba. You deserve only the best the world has to offer you, and I’m sorry that couldn’t be me.” Your eyes were the clearest he had ever seen as you looked up at him, a warmth still radiating from the depths of your irises as you smiled sadly. 

“Don’t call me that.” His voice was hushed and gentle like the finger that brushed your cheek, a stray tear smearing across your cheek. “I don’t want you to be distant anymore, I think we are past that now.”

Your lips pursed as you drew a shaky breath, the warmth of his hand still lingering on your skin. “Haru, I am so sorry for hurting you.”

His apology came whispered against your skin as he cupped your cheeks in his palms, warm kisses pressed against your forehead, your cheek, the tip of your nose before his forehead came to rest against your own.

“I’ll beg for your forgiveness too,” he murmured against your lips. “Because I don’t think I can let you go that easily.”

A silence fell between you cut only by the soft sounds of your mingled breathing, his skin still warm against your own as you leaned fully into his touch, eyes fluttering shut as you pressed a kiss to the side of his fingers. 

“Then let’s start fresh.” You offered. “Single?”

A toothy smile cracked his lips, his pointed canines as pronounced as ever. 

“Currently.”

“Interested?”

“Definitely.”

“Want to kiss me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Rey 2025

[try-set-me-on-fire]

They’ve got the little window over the sink open and Bobby keeps calling through it, asking for ingredients, utensils. Eddie clatters around the cabinet by the fridge.

“Third shelf,” Bobby says again, elbow on the sill. It doesn’t help any more than the first time he said it.

“I don’t even- Bobby, I don’t know what I’m looking for. Just- you can’t just use a normal spatula?”

“The flexibility and sharp edge of a fish spatula,” Bobby says, also for the second time, with a strained sort of patience, “Is perfect for sliding under-”

Buck’s arm reaches over Eddie’s shoulder and plucks a long slotted spatula from Bobby’s elaborate and baffling collection. “Got it.” He kisses the side of Eddie’s head as he keeps moving, lips catching the top of his ear. “It’s better for-”

“Pancakes, fritters, any sort of delicate patty, yeah, yeah, I heard.”

Bobby and Buck grin at him with identical raised eyebrows, it's kind of uncanny. “He’s not hopeless after all.”

“I do my best,” Buck says, smacking Eddie on the back and heading towards the door. “He’s come a long way.”

Eddie crosses his arms. “I don’t have to keep handing you shit. We’re not at work. I could make you walk inside every time.”

Bobby grins wider. “And I could give you all the burnt tater tots.”

Eddie pouts. “I’m reporting you to HR for unfair retaliation in response to labor concerns.”

“We’re not at work,” Bobby says, serenely. “Hand me the tenderizer.”

Eddie was sent in here, originally, like half an hour ago, to cut up the two giant watermelons Hen and Karen had brought direct from the farmers market, but he’d only got the knife halfway through the first one when the side quests started coming. He finally returns to the cutting board as Buck and Bobby’s voice drift further away, towards the grill. He cuts the thing in half and then stares at it so long he jumps a foot in the air when Maddie suddenly appears next to him.

“Woah,” she laughs. “What secrets of the universe does that watermelon hold?”

Eddie coughs out a chuckle. “I was just- debating the best shape to eat.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Big choice. Little cubes? Little cubes are nice. Or, like, slices?”

“I’ve always been a fan of a nice wedge.”

Maddie makes a triangle shape with her hands. “It is a classic.”

“Kind of makes your plate top heavy, though.”

“You’ve got two watermelons,” she points out.

“Wedges and cubes,” Eddie nods. “I like your way of thinking.”

She grabs a bowl from a different cupboard — why does everyone know this kitchen so well already? This is the new Grant-Nash residence house warming party, Eddie’s got lost on the way to the bathroom like three times since he got here — as he cubes the first melon. “How was the movie?”

“Hm?”

“Didn’t you and Buck go see Conclave earlier? The trailer looked interesting.”

“Oh, yeah.” Eddie scoops the cubes into the bowl and rinses his hands off before starting in on wedges.

Maddie laughs behind him. “… and how was it?”

“Oh! Uh- yeah, I mean- you know, horror movies, they’re fun.”

Maddie tilts her head. “Wait, wasn’t that one a drama?”

“Uh-”

“Wait.” She wrinkles her nose. “Were you just- were you making out with my brother literally the whole time?”

Eddie, hands up, gives her a bare teeth grimace of a smile as she cackles and whacks him with a towel. “Hey- I mean, I kind of looked up once, they were in some sort of- I don’t know, a theater or something? It was really dark in there? It looked kind of creepy.”

“Oh my god.”

“There’s a lot of Catholicism themed horror movies,” Eddie weakly tries to defend himself. “How was I supposed to know?”

“By watching it!” She laughs. “Why spend the $12?”

“My air conditioning is broken,” Eddie says sheepishly. “And it was 10 AM on a weekday, the only other person in there was 80 years old and snored through most of it.” He frowns. “Which also makes more sense if it wasn’t- I don’t know, I thought it was like The Conjuring?”

She laughs again, helpless giggles while she covers her face. Her daughter laughs the same way sometimes. “Don’t you have catholic guilt? Wasn’t that a thing?”

Eddie shrugs. “My abuela always says once I commit to something I never do it by half.”

“So, making out all through a movie about the pope?”

Eddie points at her. “Gay making out all through a movie about the pope.” He frowns again. “Damn, it was really about the pope? Okay I’m not- look, I’m not feeling guilty about that but, uh, if you ever talk to my grandmother or Pepa, uh-”

“I don’t think it would come up,” she says, patting his shoulder.

“They’re not- it’s- they wouldn’t like me making out with a girl during a pope movie, either, it’s not the gay thing.”

“I know, Eddie,” she says, more kind than teasing. “Everybody’s really happy for you,” kinder still.

“Oh.” His cheeks are probably bright red. “Uh. Thank you.” His ears burn as he busies himself with the watermelon again. “You know- I wouldn’t’ve got here, without Buck.”

Maddie comes close, presses their elbows together until he looks back up at her. “He deserves someone who doesn’t commit to things halfway.”

It makes Eddie laugh with soft edges, because: “I think… I’ve always been all the way, with him.”

She smiles so wide her nose crunches. “I know.”

There’s a tap at the window, and there he is, Buck himself. His nose is a little pink from the late October heat, he’s smiling real big. “Hi.”

“What do you want now?” Eddie’s tone is snappy but he’s sure his face is pure mush.

Buck sticks a thumb at Maddie. “Chim’s threatening to, and I quote, ‘eat five hundred tater tots,’” Buck pauses, presumably in service of Chim’s love of dramatic effect, then continues, “‘and then fall into a coma.’ So, like, if you wanna do something about that you might wanna get out there.”

“W-” Maddie starts to ask, and then shakes her head. She grabs the cube bowl. “At least he should have some fruit, too.” She flashes them a grin as she walks out the door, their laughter following.

When Eddie looks back at the window Buck has his chin in his hand, smiling at him. “What?” He laughs, ears hot again.

“Admiring the view,” Buck says, with the combination of flirtatious and earnest that Eddie has come to expect but is never prepared for. “Food’ll be up soon. Come and join us?”

Eddie leans forward over the sink. “Cap doesn’t need anything else?”

Buck shrugs, very close now. Eddie almost laughs wondering if he’s on his tiptoes in the dirt out there. “He can get his own shit. I’ll eat your burnt potatoes.”

Eddie closes the last half inch of distance and does laugh, right into Buck’s mouth. “We can share,” he says, magnanimous, because Buck’s always been all in, too. He can go halfsies, it’s only fair.

There’s shouting outside, Buck pulls back, drums on the windowsill. Smile, wink, turn. Eddie grabs the wedges, and hurries out the door.

(Ao3)

[nephynes]

tension theory/friction principle bonus chapter 2

set right after the events of friction principle

Jake's pacing again. Back and forth across Heeseung's living room, socked feet on hardwood, hands slicing the air as he pleads his case for the third time in ten minutes. "I'm telling you, bro, it'll be fun. Beach. Booze. You, me, Sunghoon, Y/N—and Chaewon. You haven't met her yet, but she's cool. Funny. Smart. Kinda your type, actually."

Heeseung doesn't look up from the couch, arm draped over his eyes. "My type is women who don't try to sleep with other guys while I'm in the next room, remember?"

Jake winces. "Okay, yeah, that was...rough. But this is a clean slate. Fresh air, a whole new country. Would you be more convinced if I told you Chaewon was hot?"

Heeseung shifts, finally lifting his arm and narrowing his eyes at Jake. "Does your girlfriend know you're out here calling her friend hot?"

Jake pauses for a beat—just long enough to look mildly offended. "She told me to tell you that!"

Heeseung snorts despite himself.

"She said, and I quote, 'Tell Hee that Chaewon is super hot and really sweet and might help him stop being a mopey little bitch.' Her words, not mine."

Heeseung finally sits up, rubbing his face. "You're unbelievable."

"But are you coming?"

Heeseung doesn't answer right away. Jake stands still, watching him closely, then adds quieter, "You deserve a break. From all of it."

There's a pause. Then Heeseung exhales slowly. "Fine. But if this girl's weird or annoying, I'm blaming you."

Jake grins, victorious. "Deal. And hey—she's nothing like Yunjin. I swear."

Heeseung doesn't really know what he expected, stepping off the plane. Not much. Just some sun, maybe some sleep, and a temporary reprieve from the mess he left back home. Jake had pitched it hard—new country, fresh air—but Heeseung's not naive enough to believe in quick fixes anymore.

Still, the ocean air is cleaner than the thoughts that usually haunt him, and your bright smile when you spot him in the villa entryway? He hates how much it helps.

"Hee!" you call, jogging over in a linen dress, wearing sandals already. You look stupidly happy. Carefree. And for once, that doesn't annoy him, not that he really did before. But if Yunjin was annoyed with you then so was he back then?.

You grab his wrist and tug him through the airy room, chattering about bedroom assignments and welcome drinks, and then, too casually, you say, "Chaewon! Come meet Heeseung!"

The girl perched on the edge of the sofa straightens as they approach. She's dressed simple—denim shorts, a white tank top, sunglasses perched in her hair, but there's an ease to her posture, a warmth in her smile that immediately puts him off balance.

"Hi," she says, holding out a hand. "I've heard a lot about you." Heeseung glances at you, suspicious, but you’re already pretending to be preoccupied with the fruit platter. "Hopefully good things," he mutters, shaking her hand.

You shoot him a very obvious thumbs up over her shoulder before disappearing up the stairs with a grin.

Of course.

Heeseung clears his throat and drops onto the armchair beside her. "So...Chaewon, right?"

She nods, biting back a smile.

"I'm guessing Jake threatened you into coming on this trip?"

"Actually," she says, tilting her head, "Y/N bribed me with promises of beach sunset photos, bottomless sangria, and the chance to see you shirtless."

He chokes. Literally.

She laughs and reaches for a slice of melon. "Relax, I'm joking."

He coughs once more for good measure, dragging a hand over his face. "God, you're worse than her."

"Not really," Chaewon says. "I think Sunghoon and Jake bring out a whole different side to her you haven’t even seen."

And somehow, from there, the conversation just works. They talk about everything and nothing. Favorite music, the last book she gave up on, the dumbest argument she's ever had with her brother. She doesn't bring up Yunjin, even though he’s sure she knows about what happened by now. She doesn't tiptoe around him like he's fragile. And when she laughs, it's always with him, never at him.

It's strange.

Heeseung came here with his guard up. He didn't expect to enjoy himself, didn't think he had it in him anymore. But sitting beside this stranger with the soft voice and sharp wit, he starts to think maybe Jake was right. Maybe this trip isn't just a distraction and if he lets it, it could actually be something new.

The fire crackles in front of them, smoke drifting up into the ink-dark sky. Waves crash steadily in the distance, a constant hush beneath the chatter and laughter. The sand is cool under his feet, and there's a cold beer sweating in his hand, half-forgotten because Chaewon just said something that made him laugh so hard his abs hurt.

She's leaned in close, whispering some dumb inside joke they've crafted over the past forty-eight hours, and he can't stop smiling. It's been like this the whole trip—light, easy, better than anything he expected. He glances around the circle of beach chairs and towels, stomach warm from more than the alcohol.

Sunghoon's poking at the fire with a stick, his expression relaxed. You're curled up in Jake's lap nearby, his arms around you and your cheeks flushed from laughing too hard. You catch Heeseung's eye across the flames and beam at him. Jake leans in and says something that makes you both snort, and Heeseung knows that look—you're plotting and sure enough, Jake perks up. "Let's play something."

Sunghoon groans immediately. "Really? We're twenty-two."

You twist around in Jake's arms and grin. "So? Might be fun. We'll keep it chill."

Jake raises his beer. "Drinking game? Truth or dare?”

"God," Heeseung mutters, but he's smiling. He'd complain, but the way Chaewon's eyes sparkle under the firelight when she says "Oooh, I'm in" has him nodding before he can think better of it.

You sit up straighter and point directly at him. "Heeseung. Truth or dare?"

He raises an eyebrow, feigning hesitation.

"Don't be boring," Jake calls from behind you.

Heeseung takes a slow sip of his beer, then shrugs. "Truth."

You lean forward, eyes gleaming. "Do you miss her?" you ask, softer this time.

And everyone goes quiet.

Chaewon glances at him, just barely, but she doesn't move away. Doesn't flinch. Just waits with the rest. Heeseung could lie. Say he doesn't or that he's over it.

But the words stick in his throat, heavy and dry. He looks at you with your knowing expression, the way Jake tightens his arms around your waist, and something about the quiet between everyone makes him answer honestly. "I think I miss who I thought she was," he says. "But I don't miss how I felt with her. Not anymore."

You nod slowly and Chaewon nudges his knee with hers. "Your turn."

He looks at her, really looks, and the tension unwinds in his chest. He's not dreading going back because of what happened.  He's dreading it because this peace, this laughter and warmth feels dangerously close to something he never thought he'd get again.

The circle loosens with his answer, everyone easing back into the comfort of the firelight and their drinks.

He turns toward Sunghoon, who's lounging back on a chair, sipping something strong out of a plastic cup.

"Alright, Sunghoon," Heeseung says, eyes narrowing playfully. "Truth or dare?"

Sunghoon sighs, but there's a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "Truth."

Heeseung doesn't miss a beat. "When it's the three of you..." He raises his eyebrows meaningfully. "Who do you like starting with? Jake or Y/N?"

You sit up straighter, eyes going wide. "Heeseung!"

Sunghoon just blinks slowly, like he's thinking about it. You can tell he's tipsy, his gaze a little hazy, but still calculating. Then he smiles. "Y/n," he says, looking at you through the fire. "It's fun watching her get all worked up from just a little touch. She’s so easy to unravel."

You let out a soft, stunned laugh, covering your mouth. Jake groans behind you, tossing his head back dramatically. "Oh my god, Hoon."

Sunghoon's grin widens, taking another sip. "It's true. She melts. It's cute."

You give Jake a look over your shoulder, and he grins back at you, whispering something against your temple that makes you squirm in his lap. And from the way his fingers are already creeping along your waist and Sunghoon's looking far too pleased with himself, Heeseung thinks he’s way more interested in this game now.

Sunghoon takes another sip of his drink, eyes glinting with mischief in the firelight. "My turn," he hums, scanning the circle before zeroing in on Chaewon. "You." She stiffens slightly, eyebrows raising as she narrows her eyes. "Me?"

"Truth or dare?"

Chaewon, to her credit, doesn't flinch. She lifts her chin. "Dare."

Sunghoon's grin spreads slow and sharp—more amused than cruel, but clearly dangerous in that 'older brother who stirs the pot just because he can' kind of way. "I dare you," he says, dragging the words out, "to sit in Heeseung's lap for the next round. Until it's your turn again."

Heeseung blinks, caught off guard. "Wait, what—"

"You heard me," Sunghoon shrugs. "I'm just trying to join my boyfriend and girlfriend in their little cupid scheme."

You let out a bark of laughter, covering your mouth. Jake smiles, clearly loving this way too much.

Chaewon turns to Heeseung, and he's suddenly far too still, barely managing to lift his palms like I didn't plan this, I swear.

She pauses for dramatic effect then shrugs once and gets up on her knees, stepping toward him. "I've had worse dares," she says breezily.

And then she's settling herself delicately in his lap, adjusting her weight until she's comfortable, her legs folded neatly across his. Heeseung swallows hard, eyes darting to yours like help. He’s trying desperately not to look at where Chaewon's thigh is pressed flush against his. Her hair brushes his jaw when she turns toward the circle again, totally casual.

"Okay," she says coolly, lifting her drink. "Let's keep it moving."

And for a second, Heeseung looks like he might die, but then she leans back just slightly, her shoulder against his chest, and he exhales.

"My turn," she says, and her gaze cuts straight to you. You raise your brows, already bracing yourself. "Oh no."

She tilts her head innocently. "Truth or dare?"

You hum in thought, swirling the drink in your cup before settling back against Jake's chest. "Truth."

Chaewon's smile widens, she'd clearly hoped for that answer. "Alright," she says, voice light, but her eyes are gleaming with mischief. "Whose dick is bigger—Jake's or Sunghoon's?"

You just gape at her, somewhere between scandalized and impressed. "Oh my god," you wheeze, covering your face for a second before peeking at her through your fingers. "Do you want to see for yourself?"

She gasps in fake offense, then starts laughing all over again. Jake wraps his arms a little tighter around your waist, murmuring, "Answer carefully."

Sunghoon leans forward with a mock-serious expression. "There’s no wrong answer if she’s offering."

You roll your eyes, dramatic and exaggerated. "You guys," you sigh, grinning as you take another sip. "They're basically the same."

"Oh come on," Chaewon protests. "That's such a cop-out."

"No, I'm serious," you insist, nodding solemnly. "They’ve measured."

Jake groans, burying his face in your shoulder, while Sunghoon just grins, shaking his head like he can't even be mad.

It’s your turn now. You shift a little in Jake's lap, turning just enough to face him, a lazy smile curling your lips. His hands tighten around your waist automatically, eyes narrowing like he knows what's coming.

"Truth or dare, Jaeyun?"

He eyes you warily. "Truth."

Heeseung groans. "Oh my god, can someone pick dare?"

You ignore him. Your gaze is locked on Jake, voice syrupy sweet. "Do you prefer me more dominant or submissive?"

Jake immediately sputters, half-coughing into his drink, ears turning a soft pink. "What—" He clears his throat, eyes flickering to Sunghoon who's just watching him with raised brows, unhelpfully amused. "You're really doing this in public?"

You just tilt your head, smile widening. “This is barely public baby.”

Jake drags a hand over his face, but his answer is honest. "Dominant," he admits, low and a little hoarse. "You know that."

"Good boy," you murmur and he groans but now it's his turn. He peeks up and his eyes flick toward Chaewon—still in Heeseung's lap like she belongs there, comfortably sipping her drink, grinning.

"You," Jake says, pointing. "Truth or dare?"

Chaewon raises both brows. "Truth."

He nods like he expected it. "Have you ever kissed a girl?"

"Yes," she replies, no hesitation. "More than once."

You and Jake share a quick, impressed glance, but before Jake can follow up, Sunghoon cuts in, a smug look on his face. "Ever thought about kissing her?" he asks, jerking his chin toward you.

The fire crackles, but it feels too quiet now. Chaewon's still smiling, but it's changed, still sly and amused. She looks you up and down slowly before her gaze settles on your face. "Who hasn't?" she says simply.

You blink and then burst out laughing, cheeks warm. "I'm flattered, really."

Chaewon leans forward again, still in Heeseung's lap like she's completely forgotten she has her own chair and her turn has come again now.

"Sunghoon," she asks, "truth or dare?"

He doesn't even hesitate. "Dare."

She smiles. "Three-way kiss. You, Jake, and her." She looks towards you. Jake laughs, setting his drink down. "You make it sound like that's hard for him."

You smile at Sunghoon already rising from his seat, languid and confident. Jake shifts forward and you both meet him halfway, leaning in. It starts with Sunghoon kissing you, slow and teasing, then Jake's lips press to yours just as Sunghoon kisses him too—seamless, practiced, because this isn't the first time and won't be the last.

Now it's Sunghoon’s turn again. He looks around deliberately before pointing at Chaewon. "Truth or dare."

She tilts her head in mock thought. "Dare."

His smile curves up, all slow wickedness. "Okay then," he drawls, "I dare you to kiss my girlfriend."

Jake hums lowly behind you, and you glance over your shoulder, brows raised, but you're smiling too. Chaewon looks at you, not at all flustered, just intrigued. "Is this you giving me permission or are you trying to test something?" she teases, but she's already standing.

Sunghoon shrugs, leaning back. "Does it matter?"

Chaewon moves toward you slowly, one brow raised like she's giving you a moment to say no. But you don't, in fact you meet her halfway.

Her lips are soft, more playful than anything, and when she pulls back, you're both laughing a little, breathless from the sheer absurdity of it all, from the thrill. You're breathless too, blinking at her before both of you burst into giggles like you can't believe what just happened.

But the second you turn and settle back into Jake's lap, you feel it. Jake’s hardened cock, pressing up under you. He exhales shakily, his fingers tightening on your waist.

Chaewon clearly feels the same thing, because she freezes slightly in Heeseung's lap, then lets out a small surprised noise—more amused than shocked. Heeseung shifts beneath her, trying to play it off, but his ears are red.

Sunghoon notices it all and he groans, tilting his head back toward the stars like he's suffering. "Okay, not to kill the vibe, but are Heeseung and Chaewon gonna kiss already, or are we gonna keep playing this middle school game until someone has to dare them?"

Jake chokes out a laugh behind you. Sunghoon waves a hand lazily toward them. "Heeseung's boner is probably suffocating by now."

You giggle uncontrollably, half turning to look at them. Chaewon raises a brow, amused, while Heeseung mutters something under his breath and tips his beer bottle to his lips like it might save him from the situation.

Sunghoon sighs again, dramatically, like he's shouldering the burden of everyone's pent-up tension. "This game is doing too much and not enough at the same time."

The game fizzles out not long after. Everyone's a little too buzzed, too tangled up in the energy pulsing beneath the surface. Bottles are half-empty in the sand, and laughter fades into background noise as the fire crackles lazily. Sunghoon gets up with a stretch and a groan. "I'm gonna head in," he says, brushing sand off his hands.

"No one asked you to leave," Jake calls after him, but Sunghoon's already trudging toward the beach house, mumbling about how no one ever appreciates his sacrifices.

Chaewon shifts in Heeseung's lap, the light painting her in amber. She leans closer to him, her fingers brushing his jaw and he doesn't flinch, doesn't overthink it. His hand moves to her waist, tentative at first, then firm, like he's finally stopped resisting.

And then they're kissing, quietly, intimately. No show, no dare, no commentary. Just them, lost in their own moment.

You and Jake sit back in the beach chair, watching like creeps. "Should we be watching this?" you whisper, eyebrows raised but voice too entertained to be serious.

Jake doesn't look away. "I mean...it's kind of cute."

You lean your head on his shoulder, both of you quiet now, observing from the flickering glow of the fire as Heeseung and Chaewon melt into each other. There's something sweet about it. Gentle.

Jake kisses your temple. "Think this means we'll get invited to their wedding?" He asks you as he helps you stand up. You giggle, squeezing his hand. "Only if you don't scare her off first." You tell him as he guides you off the sand.

You're standing in front of the bathroom mirror, fresh from the shower, robe warm around your shoulders, dabbing serum into your cheeks when you hear it.

A muffled whimper. Faint and distant. You freeze, fingers paused mid-pat.

Then another, louder this time. You blink at your reflection, brows drawn together. Was that...?

"Hey," Jake hisses as he swings the bathroom door open without knocking, eyes wild with mischief. "You hear that?"

You turn, wide-eyed. "Wait, you heard it too?"

Jake nods like a cartoon villain mid-scheme. "You think what I'm thinking?"

You squint. "Could it be them?"

He doesn't even answer. Just grabs your hand and pulls you with him like you're both on a covert spy mission. You're tiptoeing through the villa, trying not to laugh as you both make your way down the hallway, past the kitchen, and toward the bedrooms. The moans are louder now—unmistakable, breathy, high-pitched.

Chaewon.

You slap a hand over your mouth as Jake quietly loses his mind next to you, the two of you grinning like idiots. Her voice, breathless and needy, "God, right there—don't stop—don't stop—"

You slap your hand over your mouth again, nearly snorting with shock.

Then Heeseung responds, his voice low and hoarse, "You're so fucking tight—fuck—you feel insane."

You nearly choke on your laughter, burying your face in Jake's hoodie while he squeezes your hand in absolute glee. It's obscene, filthy, and you're both entirely too happy about it. "She's louder than I expected," Jake whispers.

You giggle. "Heeseung's filthier than I expected."

You're both crouched near the cracked door now, barely breathing from how hard you're trying not to laugh—when suddenly a voice appears behind you, low and cool, "You two get off on this or something?"

You both jump like you've been electrocuted.

Jake spins around. You nearly stumble back.

Sunghoon stands behind you, wearing low-slung sweats and a damp tank, brow arched, hair still wet from a recent shower. You blink up at him, guilt written all over your face.

"We weren't—" Jake starts. "—Spying," you say. "We were...just checking."

Sunghoon steps closer, expression unreadable and then dryly asks, "Did you confirm enough?"

You grin, tucking into Jake's side as the moaning from Heeseung's room hits another crescendo. You can't tell if Chaewon's laughing or crying with pleasure now.

Jake winces. "Jesus."

Sunghoon sighs and shakes his head, muttering, "Unbelievable," as he comes closer to you, making you straighten and turn, already smiling, already melting into him. His arms slide around your waist instantly, pulling you close until your nose nearly brushes his collarbone.

"Really" he murmurs, voice low and amused, eyes flicking toward the door where the sounds are still spilling out. "You two are standing out here like perverts"

"They're being loud," you defend softly, fingers slipping up into his hair, a little dazed from the heat of him.

Sunghoon tilts his head. "Hot?"

You nod, cheeks flushing. He leans in, brushing his lips just barely over your cheek as he whispers, "Not as hot as you."

Your knees go weak.

Then, his hand slips around the back of your neck, thumb ghosting just beneath your ear. "Is your plug still in, baby?"

Your breath hitches audibly, and you nod again, eyes wide. He exhales slowly, smile tugging at the corner of his lips, there’s something almost devout in the way he looks at you. Then he tips his head toward the guest bedroom behind him, his mouth curling into a knowing smile. "Yeah?"

You nod again, smaller this time, breath hitching as his hands grip tighter. Without another word, he lifts you and starts walking. Jake grins, trailing after you both, already tugging off his shirt. "Fuck yeah," he says with a laugh, gaze flicking to the cracked door of Heeseung's room.

════════════════════════════

• a/n: i had to give heeseung a semblance of a happy ending 😭 i just had too!

[justbelievinginmagic]

when worlds collide - part 1: welcome aboard.

pairing(s): ATEEZ OT8 x Fem!Reader

series summary: What if Aniteez appeared on Ateez's ship, Twilight, after being sent through a Cromer wormhole? How would the two crews work and live in harmony when worlds collide?

warnings/tags: slice of life pirate au! silly times. this is the closest to a crack fic ive ever written but its also done in earnest lol. this is pure fluff for the most part. technically theyre in ateez lore timeline. chaotic aniteez, polyateez x reader, sandeoki is canonically a girl idc shes a princess.

word count: ~3.3k

-> next chapter

series masterlist

“Y/N!”

It wasn’t often Y/N was awoken by one of the crew crying out her name from the top-deck. Sure, there were moments she was woken up by a crew mate snuggling into her bunk with her, sun-warmed or bath-warmed returning from their shift. A kiss pressed to her cheek before they whispered a soft ‘go back to bed.’ Yelling from the sun-deck was rare. In fact, there had only been one other time. A time where they had battled a mechanical kraken of sorts, thanks to the Android Guardians. And the very memory struck fear into her heart.

Jumping out of her bunk, Y/N scrambled to find her dark face-mask, her black hat, something – anything to hide her features from an android’s database mind if they were present. Finding only Hongjoong’s cowboy bandana, she was quick to tie it around her mouth as she hobbled out of the cabin, half-awake but fearful. The cabin door shut with a heavier clank, and she felt the ship tilt to one side suddenly. Tumbling into a wooden post with a thud, she heard a commotion on the main deck that was barely audible through the creaking wood of the pirate ship. There was a clattering and clanking of items tumbling and shifting canons moaning as the ship continued to tilt.

“Let go!” she heard Hongjoong cry out.

With the rudder clicking loudly far off, the ship steadied itself once more. She quickened her step, grasping onto the stairwell’s rope railing, stomping up the stairs, and pushing open the latch to the sun-deck upwards. Her head popped up through the opened space, and she glanced about.

The bright suns blinded her for a moment; they were so far above the clouds that the sea of fluff only made the brilliant twin-suns burn everything into a fuzzy white haze. But as the sun spots and constellations of rainbow fractals in her vision faded, she only saw chaos on her beloved ship. 

Strange tiny creatures were chasing after the men she knew and love. Their little screeches were not very intimidating yet she still saw San run away quick from a purple-cat thing? as if they were! These beings all wobbled on two legs with over-sized heads that looked fuzzy and soft-looking in the sun. The tallest was perhaps 3 Star Apples tall she pondered; the over-sized apples probably looked like melons next to them though.

Across the deck, there were fights breaking out between the creatures and the feared, wanted pirates. Seonghwa was trying to pull a creature with brown fur and a small wiggling tail from a tall barrel of Mini-Melons that suspiciously rumbled with chomping sounds. A puddle of fruit juice soaked into the wooden planks below.

A pink-rabbit creature wobbled and warbled as it tried to chase after his frantic friends tormenting her crew. Its tiny arms reached out to soothe the others with chittering sounds as it quickly caught the purple cat that had been chasing San by its tail. The lavender-kitty let out a squeak of surprise, almost tearfully looking at the other, before curling into the bunny, daintily. It gave up the fight so quickly it was almost funny.

Some of the creatures were running in circles, panicking. A puppy-dog sort of creature was doing so, fear riddling its features as it took in the large ship, oversized in their perspective.

Others were facing off with her crew mates more directly.

“Y/N! Help!”

Wooyoung cried out from nearby, half perched on a barrel. A black-cat creature hissed at him before turning its head to look at her – following Wooyoung’s gaze on her. Its dark eyes widened at her before turning back to look at Wooyoung, dramatically. The creature wobbled on his feet (almost like their heads were too large for their little bodies, making them clumsy) to grab at the barrel’s edge. As if it could hoist itself after Wooyoung.

“Get back!” Wooyoung slapped at a paw.

The cat let out an unimpressed grumble before hissing again.

“Captain!” Yunho called out, tugging a map from another puppy-figure, that was so tiny next to Yunho that it was almost humorous. The tallest and smallest played a sort-of tug-a-war.

“Busy!” Hongjoong cried out as he fought his own creature at the wheel.

A large tail towered over the orange-furred squirrel?? The little thing let out its own constant stream of gibberish; its wild eyes fixated on her captain with such intensity as they pulled and spun the flying ship this way and that.

While the ship was mostly just jostled by the back and forth movements, every now and then they dipped to one side and the other. All beings – fuzzy and not – would let out shrieks until together Hongjoong and the squirrel would level the ship before eventually it happened again.

The bear creature, faced smeared in bits of Mini-Melon flesh and running away from Seonghwa’s approaching form, tumbled into her legs powerfully, making her plop onto the floor. She let out a shriek. The bear too squeaked in surprise; their eyes meeting for a moment before he was lifted up and off her by Jongho.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” he asked, holding the bear out like a disobedient child as it kicked and wiggled.

“I think so. Thank you, baby.” Y/N replied, catching her lost breath.

Seonghwa stopped beside Jongho and in front of Y/N with a huff. “What are these things?” he queried.

The bear creature babbled and wriggled. Y/N went to stand in the meantime before the ship shifted once more and she lost her balance alongside everyone of the ship. The entire crew tumbled to the ground heavily, even Hongjoong. Jongho thudded to the ground loudly; the baby bear was tossed from his grasp and tumbled into the other animal creatures nearby like a bowling ball into bowling pins. There were groans of pain from them before the entire crew felt the ship dip.

They let out screeches and warbles of fear; the pink creature pushing a few of the crew behind him; the black cat latched onto a puppy-dog.

The ship cut through the air, the crew sliding and banging into one another as the direction of the deck became steeper. She felt Yeosang’s hands, dainty but strong as ever from hauling himself up and down to the crow’s nest, grip onto her and tug her away from hitting a nearby crate. She was pressed into his chest as they finally came to a stop. Mingi let out a gasp as he hit the side of the ship beside them. A duckling-creature thudded into his chest, next, with a warbled cry.

The air rattled through the sails inconsistently as they dipped down and towards the right wildly. Clouds cut through the ship’s keel with a ploof, shaking the ship with a turbulence.

Hongjoong grasped onto the edge of the helm, gritting his teeth and digging his boots into the wood planks. He glared up at the squirrel creature who was half-hanging onto the wheel, clinging to the handles with a wide-eyed look of surprise.

“We have to stop!” Hongjoong snapped at the creature. “Or else, we will fall from the sky – got it?”

The orange-furred being’s nose scrunched, almost insulted that Hongjoong thought he didn’t know that! His ears twitched and his tail jittered erratically behind him. With a huff, Hongjoong hoisted himself up to grab onto the other half of the wheel, hands gripping onto the other side’s handles.

“Truce?” Hongjoong prompted to the creature who wanted to claim control of the ship so eagerly.

It looked the Captain up and down. After a mutter under its breath, it let out its own shriek of a sound. His gigantic head nodded firmly.

Agreed!

Together, it and Hongjoong spun the wheel to an even level. The entire crew and the creatures let out a sigh of relief. Y/N sagged into Yeosang’s arms; his hand rose to pet over her hair soothingly. San and Wooyoung were tangled up; the purple kitty cat pressed to their side. Mingi glanced down at the duck creature on his lap.

It warbled up at him, tilting his head at the healer curiously.

“Hello?” Mingi said softly.

It tumbled back in surprise, rolling back and off of Mingi’s lap in a pile.

The orange-squirrel let out another string of babbles from the nearby helm’s platform, loud and demanding. His paws went to his hips as he looked over to his crew of creatures. The pink-bunny’s ears popped up from inside a barrel of fruit – how did he end up there?

It chirped out and hoisted itself out with a huff. Standing on the rim of the barrel, it looked towards the pile of crew members. It’s high-pitched chatter was almost cute if it wasn’t also commanding, mind you. The duckling made a soft sound before rolling upright and wobbling into the nearby puppy-dog’s welcoming embrace. They giggled at one another, dusting at invisible grime from the battle, before holding hands and wandering over to the squirrel. One by one, the creatures formed a huddle around their squirrel leader; the pink-bunny nudged the black cat towards the group warningly as it hissed at them in passing.

Yeosang and Y/N exchanged glances before they heard a low whistle.

Their first mate, Seonghwa, lowered his fingers from his mouth, giving them a steeling look. Yeosang nearly hoisted Y/N up by her arms as they stood quick. And, one by one they fell in line behind Hongjoong. San crossed his arms; Wooyoung tilted his head at the black-cat.

The two crews faced one another; the gentle breeze of the calm skies ruffled hair and fur, alike.

“You can understand us?” Hongjoong clarified.

His hips tilted as he steadied a glare at the squirrel. It babbled out a reply; the tune sounding like ‘duh!’.

“We can’t understand you, not really,” Seonghwa commented from nearby, his hand resting on the butt of the musket slung across his chest. When had he slung that back on? He rarely wore his musket. He sauntered up beside San.

There was a gasp in the animal-creatures. As if surprised there was this language barrier.

“Why are you here?” Hongjoong followed up. “How’d you get here?”

The puppy-dogs shifted forward, stumbling into the squirrel nearly and babbling over one another. The one with longer ears tugged at the squirrel’s tail, quite chaotically, as he exclaimed something. All the squirrel did was let out a squeak over the chattering, turning to glare at the offending-puppy who smiled innocently.

“Can they write it out?” Y/N wondered, leaning on Wooyoung’s shoulder. His arm went around her waist easily.

“In creature-ish?” San commented nearby, raising a brow. Doubtful as it was jesting.

She nudged his strong shoulder with her hand (slinging it over Wooyoung’s shoulder to do so). She was trying to figure something out. It was worth a shot. San chuckled at her.

There was a sound of agreement, of delight nearly. And then one of the creatures had brandished a thing of chalk triumphantly.

“Oh…” San mumbled with a pout.

Quickly, the shorter dog-creature drew out a shape onto the floor boards. One triangle, another triangle, a circle…

“The Cromer?” Hongjoong breathed, eyes widening at the symbol.

There was a squeak of agreement by the dog and the squirrel.

“The Cromer brought you here?” Seonghwa clarified. “You know of the Cromer?”

The squirrel nodded; his tail bounced, pleased.

“How?”

The squirrel chittered out annoyed that they couldn’t just get it. He shrugged his shoulders and looked to his crew for aid. The black cat huddled closer to steal the piece of chalk, scratching out the symbol and drawing a ship, an arrow, and a cloud.

“You… flew into a cloud?” Jongho said.

There was a grumble of disagreement. Another member of the animal crew stole the chalk, the bunny this time, and it drew an hourglass with sparkles above the cloud and an arrow from the cloud to the Cromer symbol.

“The Cromer made a sort of time-traveling cloud and you went through it?” Yeosang prophesied.

How did he get that from that?

“On purpose?” Yunho added, doubtfully.

Together, the creatures chimed out a negative sound – except for the squirrel who glanced aside innocently. Hongjoong eyed the leader carefully at that.

“You’re lost, then?” Y/N clarified, kneeling down, and eying the creatures and their illustrations at a closer range. “This isn’t your dimension and you know it.”

There was a sound of agreement, almost bouncy in tone as the creatures nodded.

“Why did you attack us, hm?” Wooyoung argued out.

There was a glance between the animal crew as they huddled closer together, protectively…shamefully.

“You were scared?” Mingi asked.

There was a whimper from the lavender cat and it clung to the long ear of the fluffy-maltese-esque puppy dog.

“We won’t hurt you – we’re Ateez.” She told them, reassuringly. “We help others, okay?”

Now, Hongjoong was the one that glanced away at that; fingers fiddled with the gold on his phalanges. They all did help others, but, as much as they were Robin Hoods, they also enjoyed their pillages. The squirrel’s ear twitched, and he tilted his head at the Captain.

Meanwhile, the bear creature eyed Y/N carefully, shuffling closer as if to test if she was telling the truth. His big eyes took in her facial expression; her genuine soft smile. It nodded with a rumbly reply. Its head was large; shimmering fur glinted in the sunlight. Its face was sweet as it smiled up at her, buck-toothed. Its babbling reply was incoherent but by its tone she could tell it was positive. The bear turned to say something to the others encouragingly.

Slowly, the others spread out from their tight-knit huddle, relaxing just a smidge.

“What’s your names?” Wooyoung prompted next, hands going to rest on Y/N’s shoulders as he peered over her.

The bear said…something. It was a warble of sorts, guttural and distorted by the warbling chatter that was their language. None of the crew could understand. There was an ‘ah-ha!’ sound from the squirrel suddenly and he stole the chalk from the pink bunny.

One by one, he drew a little face on the ground of each animal-creature, a bit messy and crude in nature but identifiable, and a wrote a name above it. It was hard to decipher, the writing almost more symbols than text. Squiggly lines and swirls. It was definitely not of this world and yet…

“Jjoongrami?” Hongjoong sounded out, looking at the mischievous drawing of the squirrel.

The squirrel squeaked out in excitement, pointing to itself proudly. His head bobbed up and down, his tail nearly dancing in joy.

“Bbyongming?” Mingi read out.

The duckling warbled clapping its paws? How did a duck have paws?

“Hetmongi!” Yeosang guessed quickly. He loved doodling a character named Hethet! What a coincidence!

One by one they sounded out their names and there was a back-and-forth if there was miscommunication. But it was almost like fate, a different crew member could read another creature’s scribbles.

“That was surprisingly easy,” Seonghwa sighed.

“Well… hello, we’re Ateez. You’re aboard the Twilight.” Hongjoong introduced finally after a look from JJoongrami, ear twitching in patience. Just as they wanted to know who the intruders were, the intruders wanted to know who they were… where they were.

He tapped his own chest. “I’m Hongjoong, the Captain.”

With a grandiose gesture, he glanced to Seonghwa before introducing him: “My First Mate, Seonghwa.”

The long-haired man raised a brow at the creatures, still careful, despite the slowly-charmed smirk on his lips.

“Yunho, Navigator.” 

Yunho, with his mussed dark brown hair over his eyes, shifted his goggles on his head before offering a salute.

“Yeosangie, our Look Out.”

The deep-wine red-head tilted his head at the creatures carefully, only having a flicker of a smile appear at the sight of Hetmongi.

“Y/Nie,” Hongjoong patted her head; Y/N grinned up at him before dropping her head to look at the other crew. “The Helmswoman. Heads it when I'm away, of course.”

“Sannie.” The buff man offered a smile at the creatures easily. “He’s our Bosun.”

Mingi grinned with snake-eyes, an attempt at intimidation despite the softness that was Mingi, as Hongjoong introduced him next. “Mingi, our Healer.”

“Wooyoung,” Wooyoung interrupted Hongjoong boldly. “I’m the best Cook in all of the skies and seas.”

Hongjoong huffed affectionately, rolling his eyes. He gestured to Wooyoung as if to punctuate the other’s introduction. His hand then shifted, pointing towards Jongho. The stoic man stared with pursed lips at the other group, examining them.

“Jongho, our Gunner.”

The creatures mumbled out an acknowledgement before Hongjoong quickly redirected their attention, standing in front of Y/N and the crew once more. Taking control of the situation. Y/N stood, shifting to Seonghwa’s side.

“That’s the crew. Now give us a moment, lads,” Hongjoong requested to the creatures. “So, we can talk - as a crew.”

There was a squawk from the kitty named Sandeoki.

 “What? What’s wrong?” Yunho exclaimed hands raising in defense.

The black-cat who they now knew was called Wooyonyang mischievously stole the chalk and drew a quick crown over Sandeoki’s doodle.

“Oh, not… lads,” Hongjoong exclaimed. “Lads… and lady. Only one lady?”

He eyed the pink bunny carefully, but there were no further explanations (in the form of squeaks or squawks). Sandeoki preened at the clarification nonetheless, and the group nodded along.

“Alright, lads and lady,” he said once more before gesturing for his own crew to huddle across the ship.

“You all alright?” That was the first question.

There were nods; Wooyoung rambled about how he was hissed at. San rubbed his back reassuringly.

“What says all of you?” the Captain prompted. “What should we do?”

“I think… the Cromer sent them for a reason,” Yeosang commented.

Yunho nodded along.

“I don’t think they’re dangerous,” Seonghwa added, draping an arm across Jongho’s shoulder. “Frightened but not outwardly cruel.”

Jongho raised a brow, stern-faced.

“They’re cute,” San argued, even if Wooyoung gasped dramatically. Cute, his ass. Wooyonyang tormented him!

“They know about ships it seems,” Y/N added. “If they came from one like they said. They will be helpful.”

“There will need to be an agreement,” Hongjoong raised a brow. “I can have Jjoongrami stealing the helm again like that.”

“I think they were just scared, Joongie,” Seonghwa reassured.

Hongjoong’s seriousness didn’t ease at his first mate’s comment.

“I’m not convinced,” he said. “That squirrel…”

“He’s mischievous,” Jongho agreed.

“Of course, you’d clock that,” Yeosang commented.

Jongho smirked slyly. Despite his seeming stoicism as the gunner, he was the most mischievous maknae.

“Eight more mouths to feed,” Wooyoung lamented.

“They’re, like, us – I think. Would you abandon a doppelganger of yourself?” Yeosang prompted.

A scoff left Wooyoung, always ready for a debate or a moment to be bold. “Yes.” He exclaimed. “Who trusts doppelgangers?!”

Seonghwa raised a brow, lips twitching into a snarl of a sneer.

Y/N glanced over at the animal-creatures. They too were huddled up, talking. It was cute to see how mirrored they were.

“We can’t just abandon them.”

“You want to keep them?” Hongjoong said.

“They need our help,” Mingi mused, looking at the creatures over Y/N’s head.

He saw the puppy dog and the duck huddle closer, a frightened pout coming to Tyudeongi’s face as the squirrel chattered at his crew. Mingi reached out and wrapped Y/N in his embrace, hugging her close. His chin rested on her shoulder.

“We can’t just abandon them somewhere; the Cromer works in mysterious ways. You know that.” Seonghwa said.

“Captain, what’s the worst that could happen?” Y/N asked.

Hongjoong sighed, hand raising to press against his nose bridge. He could name so many things. But he was no dictator – freedom, expression, this is what he lived for. And his crew wanted this.

“Alright, fine…. They can stay.”

Yippee! They could hear the creatures’ celebrations, because, of course, they had been listening in by that point.

"Welcome aboard!" Y/N cheered.

Hongjoong let out a deep sigh. What were they getting into?

[gracie-eilish]

can you do pregnant billie ?

babys orders

pairings: pregnant!billie x reader

warnings: none

an: … i’m kinda soft at the idea of taking care of snuggly, pregnant, baby mama billie🥹🫨🥰 might do more of these once i’m done with requests

here is the winning draft number from last night haha!!

The sun hadn’t fully broken through the curtains yet, casting a soft, golden haze across the bedroom. The world outside was quiet. There were no cars, no texts, no noise. Just you guys. And the way Billie had wrapped herself around you like a warm, clingy octopus, you’d think the world had stopped turning altogether.

Billie was nestled against you, her breath warm on your neck, one leg hooked over yours, her belly, round and full, pressed snugly against your side. Even now, heavily pregnant, she was still a master of the cuddle trap. You stirred gently, trying to slip out from under her, but she groaned and tightened her grip like you were her emotional support pillow.

“Mm-mm. Don’t go,” she mumbled, voice low and sleepy. “Stay. Baby says stay.”

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Lovey, I was gonna make you breakfast. Thought maybe waffles, some fruit…”

“Mmm. That sounds amazing,” she whispered. “But baby says we need five more minutes. For bonding.”

You smiled into her hair. “Did the baby really say that? Or are you using them as an excuse again?”

Billie opened one eye just barely and gave you a sleepy grin. “I’m incubating a whole person. I can do whatever I want. Including keeping my wife in bed like a teddy bear.”

You stroked her back slowly, letting her soak in the comfort. “Fair enough. But if I don’t get started soon, your waffle cravings might turn into rage.”

“They already have. I’m just hiding it because you’re warm,” she whispered, nuzzling into your chest.

You laid like that a little longer. Five minutes turning into fifteen as she hummed occasionally and rubbed lazy circles on her belly. At one point she looked down at it and whispered, “Tell Mommy we’re comfy in here. Say, ‘No waffles, only cuddles.’”

You chuckled and placed your hand on her bump. “Okay, you little waffle thief. But at some point, I will make food, or your mom is going to start eating throw pillows.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Billie murmured sleepily.

Eventually, you kissed her temple and gently pulled away. “Let me go warm up the shower for you. Get that beautiful body nice and relaxed.”

She groaned, dramatic and theatrical, but let you go. “Fine. But I expect luxury. Maybe some mood lighting.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” You chuckled, disappearing into the bathroom. You turned the water on warm, verging on hot the way she liked it, and set out her robe, towel, and that lavender body wash that always helped her unwind. The bathroom filled with steam fast, curling around the mirror and making the whole room feel like a little cloud.

When you called out to her that the shower was ready, she finally waddled in, clutching her belly like it was her favorite stuffed animal. “If you weren’t already married to me, I’d propose again for this.”

You winked. “You just want waffles.”

She grinned and kissed your cheek. “…Maybe both.”

While she showered, you got to work in the kitchen, making waffles with crispy edges, soft centers, plenty of fresh strawberries, and an almost irresponsible amount of whipped cream. You even poured her some decaf coffee and cut her a slice of melon, because she’d mentioned craving something juicy the night before.

You were plating everything when you heard the bathroom door open and her soft footsteps pad into the living room. Billie looked like a vision of sleep-kissed beauty, pink cheeks, hair damp, and wrapped in her oversized robe that barely closed around her now. She cradled her belly with both hands like it was the most precious thing in the universe.

“Smells like heaven,” she said dreamily, coming up behind me.

You turned and kissed her, one hand resting automatically on her bump. “You hungry, Mama?”

She giggled. “Starving. Baby’s been kicking like crazy, like they know breakfast is coming.”

“Oh, yeah?” You leaned down and pressed your lips gently to her belly. “Hey, little one. Your waffle order’s up.”

Billie laughed and stroked your hair. “They’re excited. I felt a little somersault earlier. I think they’re practicing their Olympic routine.”

You moved to the couch instead of the table. She plopped herself down in the corner like a cat and patted the spot next to her.

“Couch breakfast,” she declared. “It’s tradition now. Plus, I like using my bump as a tray.”

Sure enough, as soon as you handed her the plate, she giggled and rested it gently right on her belly.

“Look at that. Perfect balance.” She beamed proudly. “Tell me I’m not a genius.”

“You’re a genius,” You said, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close. “A very round, very cute genius.”

She snorted. “I feel like a squishmallow.”

You kissed the side of her head. “You look like a dream.”

She nibbled on a strawberry and rested her head against your shoulder, then whispered, “I can’t believe we’re gonna meet them soon. Like… we made a whole person.”

You placed a hand on her belly again. “You did most of the work. I’m just the emotional support.”

“Well, you’re very good at it,” she said with a soft smile. “I hope they have your eyes. And your calm. I need at least one of you to be chill.”

“And I hope they get your voice,” you said. “And your laugh. And your stubbornness, even though it drives me crazy.”

She laughed then, light and real. “They’re definitely stubborn already. Won’t let me sleep on my back, only my side. Bossy little thing.”

“They just want you comfy…. And full of waffles.”

Billie finished her last bite and set the plate down, sighing in contentment. Then, with absolutely no shame, she curled into you like a sleepy cat, her hands around your waist and her belly pressing right into your side again.

“I’m gonna nap here,” she whispered. “You can’t leave. You’re stuck.”

“Oh, really?” You grinned. “Didn’t I just escape this trap earlier?”

“Nope. Round two,” she said, yawning. “Babys orders.”

And just like that, you were right back where you started. Wrapped up together, belly and all, in a cocoon of warmth, love, and sweet baby-talk nonsense. The world could wait.

[sugary-strawberry-shortcake]

Just A Normal Day On The Going Merry

Yandere Strawhats x Sweetpea

She was sprawled on the sunny wood, sandals off and sleeves rolled up, locked in a mock wrestling match with Chopper. He was currently “fainted,” tongue out, little hooves twitching dramatically.

The Going Merry sliced across the glittering blue like a dream. Sunlight shimmered over the ocean in bursts of gold, the air warm and salted, wind teasing at the sails overhead.

Sweetpea sat cross-legged on the deck, a soft pink ribbon Chopper had tied into her hair fluttering with each gust. Her sandals had been discarded nearby, and she was laughing—full-bodied and bright—as Chopper dramatically pretended to faint from a tickle attack.

“Agh! Too strong, Sweetpea!” the little reindeer cried, rolling on his back.

“You promised you wouldn’t use your Rumble Ball!” she giggled, hands up in surrender.

“I’m not, I swear!” Chopper puffed up, cheeks pink beneath his fur. “But you’re cheating! That laugh—it’s not fair!”

“Doctor Down,” she whispered, poking his fuzzy cheek. “I thought you said you were the strongest on the ship?”

Chopper jolted up, flustered. “T-That’s only when I’m serious! I was holding back! If I really went all out, you’d be on the floor!”

The girl pouted. “Mean… I just wanted to play…”

He instantly folded. “Wha—N-No! You’re amazing! I was just kidding, Sweetpea!”

The nickname had become her name after the accident. Something about the real one had been swept out with the tide — a head injury in some long-gone storm, the details swallowed by time and salt. They never talked much about it, only said she was found floating near a wreck, half-drowned and clutching a piece of sailcloth like it mattered.

Now, she was Sweetpea. That was all that mattered to them.

A lanky shadow fell over them both.

“Hey, Chopper,” Luffy’s voice cut in, deceptively bright, “you’ve had her all morning.”

The little reindeer blinked. “Huh?”

Luffy crouched beside her, straw hat tilted back so you could see the impatient gleam in his eyes.

“Sweetpea, let’s go. I want to try something with my Gomu Gomu no… you’ll love it. Come on!” He didn’t wait for a response, fingers curling gently around her wrist.

Chopper puffed up. “She’s resting! You always get to steal her!”

“But she said she’d help me today,” Luffy whined.

“I didn’t,” the girl started, confused.

“Yes, you did,” Luffy said, voice still light but sharp beneath it. “You forgot again.”

That made her freeze, and Luffy’s grin widened just a little. His grip tightened.

“She forgets a lot,” he said softly. “So we have to remind her.”

“Don’t pull her like that,” Zoro’s voice cut in from the upper deck.

He was leaning against the railing, swords at his hip, gaze cool and unreadable. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Sweetpea once since breakfast.

“She’s not some tug toy, Luffy.”

“Don’t act like you’re not waiting to drag her off to nap on your stupid moss pile again,” Nami said sharply, brushing past Zoro with a thick binder of maps in one hand. “I actually had plans. Sweetpea and I are reorganizing my old route logs—”

“Like hell that’s happening,” Sanji appeared on the lower deck with a tray of melon slices, eyes burning like twin suns. “She hasn’t eaten enough today. I’m taking care of her.”

“She was with me,” Chopper protested.

“And now she’s mine,” Luffy shot back.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” she said, small and uncertain.

The deck went quiet.

Sanji’s smile trembled at the edges. Zoro’s knuckles turned white around a sword hilt. Nami didn’t blink. Luffy’s arm curled a little tighter around her wrist.

“You don’t mean that,” Luffy said gently. “That’s just the memory thing talking.”

“I—”

“You’re one of us,” Nami added, kneeling in front of Sweetpea, brushing her hair back. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Zoro stepped down the stairs slowly. “And we’re not sharing you around like a game piece.”

“I didn’t say I wanted—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Sanji said, pushing the fruit tray into her hands with a too-bright smile. “We’ll make sure you’re happy. Always.”

A breeze stirred the deck. The sails flapped softly.

She looked down at the melon in her lap, her hand still caught in Luffy’s, the others crowding closer, all of them staring like their newest crewmate was the only sun in the world.

She smiled sweetly.

It felt easier than arguing.

[swizzlemynizzle]

Underneath The Noise - George Clarke

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Summary: When Y/N joins a chaotic drunk bingo challenge across London, she doesn't expect to fall for the smirking stranger who always seems one step ahead.

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“You can do this,” Y/N whispers under her breath as she stares at the apartment door, the painted wood blurring slightly as her pulse thuds behind her eyes. Her hand hovers near the doorknob, not quite touching. For a beat, she lets the noise from inside wash over her—laughter, music, voices overlapping with the easy confidence of people who already know each other.

Her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag. Social anxiety hasn't been bad recently—not like it used to be—but stepping into an unfamiliar group, especially one where everyone already fits, still makes her chest flutter with a too-familiar tension. She’s not sure if it's dread or anticipation, or some twisted blend of both.

She closes her eyes and exhales slowly, mentally rehearsing her smile. Just be cool. Be normal. Be fun.

“You alright?”

The voice behind her is casual, but it slices clean through her spiraling thoughts. She jolts, heart leaping in her chest.

“Oh shit.” She spins slightly, not fully turning around, eyes fixed on the door like it's safer to face. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” the stranger replies, amusement threaded through his tone.

Before she can make sense of that answer—or the weird prickle of awareness that races down her spine—he steps past her and swings the door open. As he leans in, his breath grazes her ear.

“They won’t bite.”

A shiver flickers down her neck, too subtle to show but too sharp to ignore. And then he’s gone, swallowed by the noise and the light inside. She blinks after him, catching only a flash of his back and the echo of his words as her pulse stubbornly refuses to settle.

Who the hell was that?

She barely has time to collect herself before Chris’s familiar voice booms from inside.

“Y/N! Did you have trouble finding the place?”

The warmth in his voice helps ease something tight in her chest, but not entirely. As she steps inside, her gaze skims the room, registering a handful of unfamiliar faces clustered around the lounge. She offers a tentative smile—but then her eyes land on him.

The guy from the hallway is already sprawled on the couch, looking infuriatingly smug. And way too good-looking.

“She’s been standing outside our door for like ten minutes. Total stalker behavior,” he quips before she can get a word in.

Her cheeks flare instantly, heat creeping up her neck. Seriously?

“What a prick,” she mutters under her breath, but her voice has more breath than bite.

“Okay, but why were you silently watching me from the hallway like a creep? That’s way worse,” she shoots back with a practiced smirk, masking the flurry in her chest.

Chris lets out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, George, you melon.”

George. She files the name away instinctively. Of course the smug stranger has a stupidly charming name.

She takes another glance around the room, spotting Arthur Hill—holy shit—and feels a little jolt of awe. She’s been a fan for years. He’s here. Just casually leaning against a kitchen counter, drink in hand. The surrealness of it all mixes with her nerves like static in her bloodstream.

She shifts closer to Chris, lowering her voice. “Are you going to introduce me, or…?”

“Oh—yeah, shit, sorry,” he says, turning back to the room. “You’ve already met George—aka the hallway lurker.”

George gives a mock bow from the couch, grinning. Y/N pointedly ignores him, but she can feel his eyes on her.

Chris continues, gesturing around the room. “That’s Arthur Hill—musician extraordinaire. ArthurTV—resident nerd. And Bach—or Isaac—funny guy, big nose.”

“Wow, okay. Arthur gets a compliment and I get an insult?” Bach replies with mock offense.

“Yeah, mighty bold coming from the hobbit himself,” George adds.

The group erupts in laughter, and to her own surprise, Y/N laughs too. Not just politely, either—her nerves slip enough to let something real crack through. George glances at her, quick and knowing, and for a moment, the room tilts strangely around her.

She shakes it off, choosing a seat beside Arthur Hill. The warmth of the banter continues, and slowly, her shoulders loosen. Maybe this won't be so bad.

Then Chris launches into his idea: a chaotic, oversized game of drunk bingo. Filmed, of course. Because mainstream YouTube waits for no one.

Two teams.

Y/N is on Team 1 with ArthurTV and Bach.

George is on Team 2. A small, irrational part of her exhales in relief.

His presence is distracting—an odd mix of aggravating and… magnetic. And under the easy confidence he wears like cologne, there’s something sharper. She can’t tell if it’s a challenge or just who he is, but she already knows it’ll be a problem.

Out on the street, the energy shifts. The city is alive, buzzing around them, and the boys are ridiculous—in the best way. It helps. It drowns out the buzzing thoughts that try to creep in when she’s quiet too long.

“What should we name our team?” ArthurTV asks, glancing between them.

“Hot Ass Bitches?” Bach suggests like it's the most obvious choice in the world.

“What the fuck, mate?” Arthur laughs.

Y/N smirks. “Let’s… think on it.”

They hit up a bargain shop, digging through racks with the unrestrained energy of people who don’t take themselves too seriously. She finds a shirt—soft pink, bold print. She holds it up with a grin.

“Hey boys, I think I found something good.”

They jog over, arms full of equally awful pink tracksuit pants and sneakers.

“Oh perfect—pink all the way,” Arthur says.

She flips the shirt to show the front: Hot Bitch Ready To Party.

Bach howls. “Okay, we’re 100% calling ourselves the Hot Ass Bitches now.”

By the time they step back out, dressed head to toe in bubblegum chaos, Y/N’s laughter is real. Her anxiety hasn’t disappeared, but it’s quieter now, buried beneath the noise of absurdity and movement.

They’re rounding a corner when they run into the other team. Y/N’s breath catches, just for a second.

“Well, look what we have here,” Chris says.

George’s eyes are already on her. That same half-smirk, like he’s in on a joke she hasn’t heard yet. His gaze drops briefly to her shirt, and her cheeks flame, again.

She forces an eye roll and keeps walking. You’re not twelve. Breathe.

But just as they pass, he leans in again, too close—too familiar—and murmurs, “Nice shirt. Very accurate.”

The words are light. Harmless, technically. But his voice drops just enough to curl into her chest and settle there.

She doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t need to. She can feel his smirk like static against her spine.

And despite herself—despite every rule she’s made about not falling for anyone in this scene—she’s already dreading and anticipating their next run-in.

---

1,430 words

Masterlist

Chapter two

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Okay I’ve never ever written a fic of any kind but I’ve been reading a lot on here lately (ao3 and Wattpad my whole life) and wanted to give it a try.

[moonstruckme]

hey! could i request a james potter x reader fic pls?? i have been thinking about him specifically non stop and now i just wanna be domestic and cute with him-

Me too lovely :')

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 661 words

You’ve told James that you’re painting your toenails on the kitchen counter because it has good light, but he knows it’s really because you want to be near him. He’ll have to clean the counter again after you go, but he’s not complaining. He wants you near him too. 

And anyway, the kitchen does have good light. It streams in through the window to tangle in your hair and glance off your skin, illuminating the concentrated set to your mouth as you bend over your foot on the counter. 

James kisses you lightly, and one corner of your lips quirks up like you’re trying to stop it but can’t quite manage. You taste sweet and a bit tart. 

“Don’t mess me up,” you warn. “This is my last coat, it’s do or die.” 

“Stop eating my blackberries,” he counters, “and we’ll see. No promises.” 

You finish with your nails, setting the brush back in the polish and nabbing another blackberry from his bowl. James gasps, betrayed though not surprised. He pinches your side.

You laugh, leaning away from him fruitlessly. “Stop, I’m going to knock polish onto the rug!”

“You could at least vary your snacking,” James says. “My fruit salad is going to have hundreds of pieces of melon and two blackberries if you keep on like this.” 

“I just like blackberries best.” 

“So does Remus,” he chides with no real severity. “And when he gets here later today and they’re all gone, who do you think will be blamed?”

You bat your eyelashes at him, smiling angelically. “He doesn’t need to know there were going to be blackberries in here to begin with, does he?” you ask. The hope in your voice sparkles like sunshine off the ocean. 

James caves instantly at that tone, but he pretends to take at least a second to mull it over before capitulating. “Fair enough. Have at them, lovie. Leave no trace.” 

You descend like a hawk upon your prey, clawing through the bowl of fruit and popping blackberry after blackberry into your mouth. 

“I’m thinking of going to the store in a bit,” you say. 

James grins down at his cutting board, slicing the skin off a wedge of cantaloupe. “To replenish Remus’ blackberry supply?” he asks. He knows you’re too tenderhearted to truly rob his friend of something he enjoys; you’d be racked with guilt for the rest of the night. 

“To get lemons for lemonade.” You touch your big toe delicately, testing the dryness of your polish. “And if I stumble upon blackberries that look good while I’m there…” You shrug, turning away from him like you think you can hide your smile. As if he can’t hear it in your voice. “Then maybe I’ll grab some. To keep the peace.” 

James reaches over and grips your foot, channeling as much love as he can fit into a good squeeze. You gasp and nearly shriek when his thumb digs into a ticklish spot on your arch, grabbing onto his shoulder to keep from tipping off the counter. He sets a hand on your side to help. He can feel your ribs shaking as you laugh. 

“Sorry, sorry,” James laughs. “I forgot about that spot.” He didn’t. “Wait for me to finish and we’ll go together, yeah?” 

Your nose scrunches with your smile. “Why, you wanna keep an eye on the blackberries?” 

“I was thinking we’d just get extra,” he proposes. 

You hum contentedly, and he takes the invitation to get further into your space, his hip bumping against your leg. “That’s very chivalrous of you,” you reply, your teasing softened by fondness. 

“Well, I do try. Pretty girls need to be kept happy, yeah?” 

You laugh again, grabbing James’ face in both hands. He knows when you let go, there’ll be sticky purple fingerprints on both of his cheeks. He doesn’t mind. 

“Flirt,” you accuse. 

James pushes forward until his nose is pressed up against yours. “Only for you.” 

[connorsui]

You know, something that I was thinking about while I was walking my way towards my car was how the lads' men would treat you on mothers day with their kids?

Like think about it? — the morning hasn't even started yet, and they are already up and ready for the day before you could even crack a centimeter of your eyelids. and that's not because they didn't bother to wake you up on such an important day…

But because they promised their kiddo, they would serve you breakfast in bed

Like Xavier?... Now you cannot tell me Xavier wouldn't guide his toddler on how to properly stir the pancake batter from the bowl– like this man is patient, gently guiding their tiny hands with his own– he would soften and tender his voice as his baby tells him how much they want their momma to love it – that I even bet you by the time you wake up to the smell of pancakes and fruit on a tray …Xavier is already standing by your bedside with your child proudly presenting their new creation.

“Papa, is this enough?” they ask, holding up a slightly uneven cup of flour. Xavier glances at it, his blue eyes soft with patience.

“A little more,” he murmurs, placing his hand over theirs to guide the pour. “Careful, not too much.”

They continue working together in silence, Xavier focused on making sure everything is perfect, while the child chatters excitedly about surprising you.

“I bet Mama’s going to love this!” they exclaim, cheeks dusted with flour. Xavier’s lips twitch into a small smile, his voice steady as ever.

“She’ll love it because you made it for her.”

Sylus: now we know this man can cook ..and if he could ..he would prepare an entire cuisine that would rival Michelin star restaurants…he can make it basic ..but we all know he won't..it ain't gonna be some cereal with milk and maybe an orange on the side..NAH ..he gonna be wide awake in the morning with your toddler bouncing all over him in the kitchen eager to help at all costs to give you what you deserve – like he would task your baby to give your favorite drink in the morning in a glass cup as he whisks eggs and butter together.

“Daddy, I think I made a mess,” she says, eyes wide with innocence.

Sylus smirks, wiping a streak of flour off her nose with his thumb. “It’s not a mess. It’s art,” he declares, glancing at the bowl of slightly lumpy batter.

She giggles again, bouncing on her toes. “Mommy likes art …right?”

“Yes, she does," Sylus says, his red eyes gleaming with amusement as he pulls the tray together. “But maybe next time, we’ll leave the drinks to me, alright?”

Zayne: …now zayne tho …zayne is a different story ..he always lets his actions speak louder than his words and this is no different like he doesn't need to tell you how much he appreciates you but the gentle way he guides your toddler as they cut fruit says everyyyythingggg — like he would let them take the lead and offering quiet encouragement as your baby carefully cuts another strawberry in half

They frown, concentrating hard as they carefully slice the strawberries, while Zayne watches quietly, offering the occasional word of encouragement. “You’re doing great,” he says, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he slices the melons beside them.

“Is Mama still sleeping?” they ask, their voice soft with excitement.

Zayne nods, his green eyes glowing with quiet pride. “She’ll be surprised when she sees what we’ve made.”

As they finish assembling the fruit salad, Zayne picks up the tray, balancing it carefully with one hand while resting the other on his child’s shoulder. “Ready?” he asks, and they nod eagerly.

When they walk into the room, your child bounces onto the bed, proudly holding up a forkful of fruit. “Mama, look! I helped!”

Zayne sits beside you, his voice low and warm as he says, “Happy Mother’s Day, love. We wanted to make this day special for you.”

Rafayel: …oh my lord ..rafayel ..listen you walk into that kitchen and it's gonna be mess …ur toddler still gonna be smiling in the corner all proud of themselves saying how much they love you and prepared you sum scramble eggs with toast— only for it to be burnt and half baked. Flour is everywhere…the fruits they planned to put together that your toddler suggested they should make a smiley face with the eggs as eyes?? …all over the place. But it doesn't mean the morning went to waste!? – the whole scenery is adorable and filled with affection that you bet Rafayel is still going to say it was made with love.

You wake up to the unmistakable sound of chaos coming from the kitchen. There’s laughter, the clatter of dishes, and... the smell of something burning? You sit up, rubbing your eyes, just as Rafayel strides into the room, a lazy grin on his face and your toddler trailing behind him, still beaming.

“Mama! We made you breakfast!” your toddler shouts, bouncing on their toes with excitement.

Rafayel raises an eyebrow, clearly trying to suppress a laugh. “Yeah, ‘breakfast’ might be a generous word for it.”

Consui random thoughts

[luveline]

JADEEE I'M THE ONE WHO REQUESTED SPENCER X BADASS READER (the one where they read a book together). I LOVE IT😭😭 may I share some request again? maybe it is a day off and one of the bau member saw reader and spencer spend their day off together like a couple?? maybe they bump into them at the alley of supermarket because reader and spencer is going to cook dinner together???

thank you for requesting gorgeous!! ♡ fem!reader

Derek supposes he shouldn't be shocked. He knows you and Spencer are making a go of going steady, knows you see each other outside of work, even knows you're sleeping at one another's places between cases (Here, you forgot your badge last night, Spence). 

It's hard to align his view of you with what he's seeing, is all. You're not spiteful, only stoic. Never cruel, but stern. And there you are on your knees by the cantaloupes tying Spencer's shoelace, mumbling something too quiet to hear. 

"Do you like honeydew?" Spencer asks, thumbing along your forehead gently. 

Derek's proud of him through the boggled haze. He always knew Spencer was a kind, loving man, and seeing him display that through small gestures has a brotherly pride swelling in his chest. 

You tap Spencer's ankle and climb to your feet. You keep some of your usual attitude even with Spencer, refusing his helping hand. "I like it if you like it." 

"That's not an answer." Spencer points to the dropping shelf of watermelon, their green stripes like shining emeralds, freshly misted. "We need one of these." 

"We don't need one. You just liked when I cut them up for us." 

"Yeah, I did. In Egypt they serve sliced watermelon with feta cheese." 

"Yeah?" you ask, reaching for a melon. You turn it around to examine the bottom, looking for a yellowed spot where the watermelon would've laid in the field. "That's a choice. Doesn't sound as nice as our chocolate fondue."  

"The first ever record of watermelons were in Egypt, so they'd know best." 

You smile at him with lips pressed together, your eyes soft with fondness. All the women in Derek's life are beauties, but he thinks love has made you prettier still. He isn't surprised when Spencer reaches out and strokes the back of your hand. 

"Hey, lovebirds," Derek croons. 

Your shoulders don't stiffen, exactly, but you lose the relaxed droop you'd acquired as you and Spencer both turn to face him. 

"Hey," Spencer says, "what are you doing here? I thought this place was too 'hokey-pokey' for you?" 

"Hey, their coupons never work. What are you guys up to? Plans tonight?" 

You withhold the typical None of your business, confessing, "Spencer and I are making breakfast for dinner." 

You have your secrets, but you don't hide Reid. It's why Derek doesn't mind the occasional snap or frosty smile; your coldness is a shield rather than a weapon. 

"And you guys eat watermelon and…" He peers into your shopping cart, miscellaneous items scattered throughout. "Massage oil?" 

You glare at him. "Don't get any ideas. It's for his knee."

Derek smirks. "Breakfast of champions." 

"We only just got here," Spencer explains your empty kart. 

"Yeah, well if what I just saw is the norm, we can expect you'll both be home sometime tomorrow morning. He'll talk your ear off if you let him, you know?" Derek asks you. 

Your glare softens. Derek might even say you're smiling at him. "I'd let him," you say. 

"He's a lucky guy," Derek says. He gives Spencer a clap on the shoulder. "I'll see you kids Monday." 

"See you, Morgan," Spencer says. 

Derek walks away, basket in hand and determined to grab a carton of eggs and get out of here, but he slows when he hears Spencer talking again. 

"Why do you act like you don't like him?"

You're too quiet for the untrained ear. Thankfully, Derek's highly trained. "I don't. Derek knows I like him. I just didn't want there to be any confusion."

"Confusion about what?" 

"About who I want." You say it simply. Derek can imagine the steam funnelling out of poor Spencer's ears. "You can be easily deterred, Spence. I wanted you to know I liked you." 

"I know now. You and Morgan would get along really well if you let him talk to you, you both care about–" 

"You?" you ask. "Let's go look for that weird miniature toast you wanted, or we really will be here all night." 

"It's not miniature toast, it's melba toast, and it's actually a kind of rusk–" His babbling fades out of range. Derek snorts and grabs a small carton of eggs. He knew you liked him. 

Not as much as you like Spencer, that's for sure.