#Fireworks Over the Sea

[faaun]

what draws you back to your country what draws you back to your land when i was a kid i told myself if i ever left iran i'd never go back 2 years into living in the UK i started looking at news on iran again 10 years in and i visited it for the first time again and today i heard an iranian mother talk in farsi to her child on the train to london the way my mother used to and i wanted to cry i wanted to ask her whether they're still cutting the mountaintops whether the lakes are still drying today i showed the person i was with pictures of waterfalls and palaces and forests and snow-white north something odd pulls me back with increasing force i can't ignore it ever again

[mephisto-reporting]

Hidden in Plain Sight: Xavier

Premise: You were a Lemurian, hidden in plain sight. It was never a probelm.. until you started dating Xavier. With Ebb Day approaching, would you be able to hide it from him? Based on this request. Pairing: Lemurian! Reader x Xavier Note: Reader and Xavier are dating. Let me know if you want to be a part of my taglist.

The first time you met Xavier, he was asleep. Just lying there, tucked into himself like the world had nothing to do with him, breathing slow and deep as if he had all the time in the universe. You had nearly walked past him, assuming he was just some drifter seeking rest. But when his eyes fluttered open—serene, unreadable, and just a little too knowing and then you felt something shift.

You hadn’t realized then how much those moments would mean to you.

Xavier, with his quiet presence, had slipped into your life like water filling the cracks between stones. He wasn't expressive in the way most humans were, but you learned to read him in other ways. The way his fingers would tap against his knee when he was thinking. The slight tilt of his head when you said something that amused him, the way his lips would quirk up when he teased you.

He could be so endearing in ways that left you breathless, and then frustrating in ways that made you want to shove him. Like when he let himself doze off during Kitty Cards, giving you the perfect opportunity to cheat—not that you ever would. Or when he gave you the choice to go first at the claw machine, watching you struggle with an intensity that was almost unnerving before effortlessly plucking out a prize with an ease that made you groan.

"You looked like you were having fun." he’d say with the barest flicker of mischief in his eyes.

You loved these things about him.

And yet, for all the time you had spent together, for all the things he had come to know about you—he didn't know everything.

Not about the tail you kept hidden. Not about the faint, iridescent scales that shimmered beneath your skin. Not about your eyes that burned too brightly if you let loose.

Because you weren’t human.

You had lived among them long enough that it was easy to forget. You had learned their mannerisms, spoken their language, adapted. But some things never truly went away. The memories of what had happened to your kind—the stories whispered in hushed voices about Lemurians who had been taken, kept as pets, their freedom stolen the moment the seas had begun to recede.

You had no idea how Xavier would react.

Moreover, you were scared that these distinct Lemurian features would be less than appealing to him. You had been insecure about them all your life. Why could you not just be human? Why be ‘blessed’ with these features? You had asked these questions ever since you learned of your heritage.

The fever came in waves, each one worse than the last.

Your body ached, limbs trembling as cold sweat clung to your skin. The sheets beneath you were damp, tangled around your restless form as you tossed and turned. Your head felt like it was underwater—sounds were distant and muffled, light blurred at the edges of your vision. The glowing patterns along your arms flickered weakly, no longer hidden beneath your usual disguise. You were slipping.

You knew this would happen.

It was Ebb Day.

The day the tides receded so far they exposed the ocean’s hidden skeleton, when the land remembered the sea and the sea remembered its people. A day of human celebration—festivals, fireworks, lanterns drifting in the dusk sky. And for Lemurians like you, it was the weakest, most vulnerable time of the year.

You had lived among humans for so long, buried your Lemurian blood so deep, that you almost believed you belonged among them. Almost.

But here, now, in the sweltering heat of your fever, reality crashed over you like a wave. The truth of what you were—of what you had hidden, burned through you with every aching breath.

The soft fins along your arms trembled as chills wracked your body. Your eyes, usually dulled for the sake of blending in, pulsed faintly with their unnatural glow.

It was Ebb Day. And Xavier had wanted to spend it with you.

The way he had asked—softly, earnestly, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered—made your chest ache with guilt. You had said yes before you could stop yourself.

Lemurians were at their weakest during Ebb Day. When the tides pulled away, so did the strength in your limbs. Fever. Chills. A gnawing, unbearable exhaustion. You had known it was coming, and yet the moment you felt the first waves of heat rolling through your body, you cursed your own weakness.

When you called Xavier to tell him you were sick, his reaction was everything you expected—calm, understanding, not even a hint of disappointment in his voice.

You didn’t know how he would react if he found out. You didn’t know if his care for you would falter if he saw you like this—if he knew what you were.

You had heard the stories. When the sea dried up, when the Lemurians lost their sanctuary, they were no longer seen as people. They were pets, slaves, exotic things to be admired and owned. And even now, even after centuries, whispers of those days remained.

Would Xavier see you that way, too?

A fresh wave of fever rolled over you, and you whimpered, curling in on yourself. The room was too hot. No—too cold. You couldn’t tell anymore. The world swayed around you, everything tilting in and out of focus. Your fingers trembled as you ran them over your arms, feeling the faint ridges of scales pushing through too-sensitive skin. You were changing, slipping, losing control—

A noise.

Soft. Barely there. But enough.

Footsteps. The faintest creak of your door.

"You're burning up, aren’t you?."

Xavier’s voice.

It should have been comforting. Instead, it sent ice through your veins.

You forced your eyes open. Your vision swam, a hazy blur of heat and dizziness, but you could see him. Standing there, his brows slightly furrowed, the usual neutrality in his face edged with something sharper. Concern.

Your body went rigid.

No.

No, no, no.

Xavier was here.

A surge of panic cut through the weakness in your limbs. You tried to move, tried to pull the blankets higher, to hide yourself, but your body refused to cooperate. Your strength had long since abandoned you.

And then there was warmth.

A hand against your forehead, cool against the burning of your skin. You flinched, but Xavier didn’t pull away. His touch was steady, grounding.

"Why didn’t you tell me you were this sick?"

Your throat felt raw. Your head spun. You wanted to answer, to explain, but the words tangled in your mouth, too heavy to speak.

His gaze flickered downward, and instinctively, you followed his line of sight—

You clenched your eyes shut. Maybe if you didn’t look at him, if you pretended hard enough, he wouldn’t see.

But then…

“You’re glowing.”

Your stomach dropped.

His fingers brushed over your cheek, slow, unhurried. Not startled. Not repulsed. Just tracing the faint luminescence that had broken free from your control. You didn’t dare open your eyes.

“I—” Your voice cracked. You swallowed against the tightness in your throat, but the words wouldn’t come.

Xavier exhaled softly. The bed dipped as he sat beside you.

“You should have told me,” he said, voice even but quiet. "You're a Lemurian." It wasn't a question but more of an observation.

Shame coiled deep in your chest.

“I couldn’t.”

A pause. The warmth of his hand never left your skin.

“…Why?”

Because you were afraid. Because you didn’t want to see the shift in his expression, the hesitation, the unease. Because you wanted to keep this—this strange, wonderful thing between you, the way he let you see the softer edges of himself, the way he looked at you like you were something worth protecting.

Because you didn’t want to lose him.

Your fingers clenched weakly in the sheets. “Lemurians… aren’t safe among humans. I was… scared.”

A moment of silence. Then—

“You don’t think you’re safe with me?”

Your breath hitched.

You opened your eyes then, just barely. The dim light of your room flickered, casting soft shadows over Xavier’s face. His gaze met yours—steady, unreadable, but impossibly gentle.

And there it was.

No fear. No disgust. No cold detachment.

Just Xavier. Just the boy who fell asleep in ridiculous places, the boy who let you win at Kitty Cards, the boy who would throw himself between you and danger without hesitation.

And maybe it was the fever, maybe it was the exhaustion, but something inside you cracked.

A choked sound left you—half a laugh, half a sob.

“Xavier,” you whispered. “You… you’re ridiculous.”

His hand moved before you could react. Slow, deliberate, pressing against the space just above your wrist, where the scales were faintest. His thumb brushed over them, testing, as if he were memorizing the texture.

"You could have told me," he said, voice as steady as ever. But there was something else there now, something you couldn’t place.

"I was scared." you admitted, barely a whisper.

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, his fingers curled around your wrist, his touch firm, grounding.

"You don't have to be," he murmured. Then, softer, almost teasing, "And here I thought I was the one keeping secrets."

You blinked at him, your thoughts fuzzy as the fever swirled inside your head. "Secrets?" you managed to rasp, your voice barely a whisper. The words felt heavy, like you were trying to carry something too much for you in this state. "What secrets, Xavier?"

He looked at you, his expression still unreadable, but there was an odd tenderness in his gaze. His fingers curled around your wrist, as if grounding both you and himself in this shared moment. He hesitated, his lips pressing together in a thin line, before he spoke again, quieter this time.

"I’ll tell you everything when you're feeling better," he murmured. "But for now... you just need to rest. Listen to your body."

You nodded weakly, your exhaustion making your eyelids heavy. Yet, there was a flutter of anxiety in your chest—something tight, something uncertain. You swallowed hard, the words escaping before you could stop them.

"I was... worried. About my fins... my scales... my eyes." You stammered, the fear bubbling to the surface despite your best efforts to keep it hidden. "I thought it would... freak you out."

Xavier’s hand paused. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his thumb stroked gently over the skin of your wrist, the sensation grounding in a way that calmed the storm of your thoughts. His gaze softened, and he leaned closer to you, the coolness of his breath a slight contrast to the burning fever that gripped you.

“Shhh…" he murmured, a comforting sound. "None of that. None of it would ever freak me out." His voice was soft but firm, a reassurance in the midst of your fear.

He pressed a finger to your lips before you could protest further. "You’re beautiful. Ethereal, even. A person like you," he hesitated for a moment, searching your face as if trying to hold you in a gaze that would keep the words safe, "would never, ever be something to be afraid of. You are perfect as you are."

You inhaled sharply, the words too gentle, too much for you to process in your state. Your heart fluttered—faint and weak, like the softest ripple of water—but it was there, beating, and somehow calming.

Xavier continued, his voice a low murmur as he reached out again. His touch was soft, as if he were afraid to break you, his fingers moving gently along the soft curve of your wrist before moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Whenever you feel comfortable... I’d like to see the real you," he said, a playful note creeping into his voice despite the situation. "Maybe... maybe I could see your tail, too?" He paused, his lips quirking slightly. "I have no doubt it would take my breath away."

The words left you breathless, but in a way that made you feel lighter. The tension that had wound itself tightly in your chest began to ease, your breath coming in slower, steadier gasps. You let out a shuddered breath, unable to stop the faint, tired smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. Your head sank deeper into the pillow, the heat of the fever still present but suddenly more bearable.

"Thank you," you whispered, the words barely audible, but you meant them more than anything. "For... not being afraid."

Then, to your utter disbelief, he shifted, moving carefully until he was lying beside you, propped on one arm. His fingers brushed through your damp hair, slow and deliberate. The warmth of him, the steadiness, sent a shiver through you.

“Sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll stay.”

Your chest ached. “You don’t have to—”

He flicked your forehead lightly, the gesture so normal, so achingly fond, that your throat tightened.

Xavier smiled—small, barely there, but real.

“I’ll stay,” he said, settling more comfortably beside you. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

You blinked sluggishly up at him, fevered and drained but impossibly, inexplicably safe.

His fingers ghosted over your hand before he spoke again, voice softer now, fond.

“Rest now, seashell.”

The steady thrum of his presence was everything, and you closed your eyes with a sense of peace you hadn’t realized you’d been yearning for. For now, you didn’t have to hide. And that, more than anything, was what gave you the strength to close your eyes and let yourself finally rest.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace @sinsodom @m00nchildwrites

[lotuswish]

˗ˏˋ what they gift you for valentine’s day 𐙚 .ᐟ

synopsis: valentine’s day means something different to each of them—some treat it like a grand romantic event, others act like it’s just another friday, and a few are probably panicking last-minute. but whatever they give you, one thing’s for sure: it’s undeniably them, for better or worse.

featured character(s): lilia vanrouge, malleus draconia, silver, sebek zigvolt, leona kingscholar, ruggie bucchi, jack howl, vil schoenheit, rook hunt, epel felmier, jamil viper, kalim al-asim, riddle rosehearts, cater diamond, trey clover, ace trappola, deuce spade, azul ashengrotto, jade leech, floyd leech, idia shroud, no ortho shroud

content warning(s): none!

a/n: happy valentine’s day! ❤️

link(s): (masterlist)

an overly extravagant display of affection

why settle for one gift when he could give everything? a sea of roses flooding your dorm, an entire box—no, several boxes—of gold-wrapped chocolates, or even fireworks painting your name across the night sky. to him, valentine’s day isn’t just about romance—it’s a stage, a perfect excuse to turn his feelings into something grand. love, in his eyes, should be seen, felt, and impossible to ignore. he doesn’t believe in halfway gestures; if he adores you, the world will know it.

⤷ kalim, malleus, rook

a single, meaningful item that shows they know you

this isn’t just a generic valentine’s day gift—it’s something that proves he listens. something small you once mentioned in passing, something he went out of his way to track down, something that perfectly aligns with your tastes in a way that leaves you wondering just how long he’s been paying attention. maybe it’s a first-edition book from your favorite author, a piece of jewelry that fits your aesthetic so well it feels like he had to have spent time picking it out, or a limited-edition item from a brand you once mentioned offhandedly. it’s not about extravagance—it’s about thoughtfulness, about making sure you know he sees you.

⤷ idia, jade, jamil, leona, ruggie, vil

a carefully crafted, handwritten letter

it's more than just a few words hastily jotted down onto a card—this is a letter, deliberate and meticulously composed. every word is chosen with purpose, every stroke of ink placed with careful intent, as if he agonized over each line, rewriting certain sentences more times than he’d ever admit. it feels less like a simple valentine's note and more like a confession woven into ink, every phrase carrying the weight of emotions he might struggle to voice aloud. this gift is more than a simple gesture—it’s a glimpse into the feelings he’s likely held onto far longer than he ever intended.

⤷ malleus, riddle, rook

a bouquet, but with intention

it’s not just about flowers—it’s about what they mean. this isn’t some store-bought, last-minute bouquet; every bloom has been deliberately chosen, each one carrying a message. roses for love, lilacs for first emotions, camellias for admiration—there’s no need for him to say anything outright because the meaning is woven into every petal. whether he expects you to recognize the symbolism or not, the sentiment is there, tucked between soft petals and carefully arranged stems. and if you do look up the meanings? you’ll see everything he couldn’t quite put into words.

⤷ cater, epel, trey,

jewelry, meant to be worn always

it’s not flashy or excessive, but it’s meant to last. a necklace, a bracelet, a ring—something simple but chosen with care, something that feels right for you. the weight of it is subtle but constant, a quiet reminder of him no matter where you are. he won’t say it outright, but the thought of you wearing something from him every day pleases him. and if anyone asks where you got it? well, he wouldn’t mind hearing you say his name in response.

⤷ floyd, jamil, leona, lilia, ruggie, sebek

a luxurious experience rather than an object

he sees no reason to limit valentine’s day to just a material gift—not when he could give you a memory. a private dinner under candlelight, an exclusive event, a perfect evening where every little thing has been arranged so you don’t have to lift a finger. it’s not just about extravagance (well, maybe partially); it’s about making sure you feel special, about ensuring this night is one you won’t forget. to him, valentine’s day isn’t about what you receive—it’s about how he can make you feel.

⤷ azul, jade, kalim, malleus, rook, vil

handmade, because it means more that way

he could have just bought something, but that wouldn’t have meant enough. instead, he put in the time and effort himself. maybe it’s a home-cooked meal, carefully prepared with your favorite flavors in mind, or a bouquet he arranged by hand rather than picking something up from a florist. maybe it’s a small carved trinket, a handcrafted piece of jewelry, or even a carefully stitched charm meant to bring you luck. perfection isn’t the goal—it’s the sincerity, the intention behind giving you something that holds a part of him.

⤷ deuce, epel, jack, jamil, silver, trey

something playful, because love should be fun

who says valentine’s day has to be serious? he doesn’t just want to give you a gift—he wants to make you laugh. maybe it’s a ridiculously oversized plushie, one so big you practically have to wrestle it through your door. maybe it’s a scavenger hunt, little notes leading you to the actual gift just to watch you figure it out. maybe it’s a box of chocolates with one secretly filled with something spicy, just to see your reaction. love doesn’t always have to be grand or serious—sometimes, it’s just about enjoying each other’s company.

⤷ ace, cater, epel, floyd, lilia, ruggie

something simple, but given with genuine care

he doesn’t make a big deal out of valentine’s day, and he doesn’t see the point in overcomplicating things. what matters is that he thought of you. a warm cup of your favorite drink waiting for you in the morning, a carefully wrapped box of chocolates, a small charm for luck. he won’t make a scene about it, but there’s something undeniably sweet about how naturally he makes sure you’re taken care of.

⤷ deuce, idia, jack, jamil, sebek, silver

congrats on making it to the end! if you enjoyed this, likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are always appreciated—they help motivate me to keep creating and sharing!

[rothpie]

❝FIDELITY❞ |part13

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: daddy issues

previous - next

The golden glow of the late afternoon sun bathed the shoreline in warm hues as the car came to a stop in front of a small, weathered beach house. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore was faint but unmistakable, a background melody that you hadn’t realized you missed until now. It had been years since you’d last set foot in the Outer Banks, but as you stepped out of the car, it felt like the island hadn’t aged a single day. 

From the backseat, Liliana was practically vibrating with excitement, her little sneakers tapping against the edge of the seat as she craned her neck to take in the house and the stretch of sand just beyond. “Is this it? Are we here? Is the beach right there? Can we go now?” Her words tumbled out in a rush, her face lit with pure anticipation. JJ had really hyped this up for her. 

JJ chuckled as he opened the trunk, throwing you a knowing glance. “Told you she wouldn’t be able to sit still the second we got here,” he teased, slinging a couple of bags over his shoulder. He leaned into the car to unbuckle Liliana, who was already wriggling like she could free herself. “Hold your horses, Lily! The sand’s not going anywhere.” 

“As if you didn’t spend the entire day filling her head with stories,” you shot back, grabbing your bag and giving him a pointed look. He just shrugged, flashing that lopsided grin of his that always brought out his dimples. 

“And I’d do it all over again,” he said, stepping closer, the playful glint in his eye unmistakable. 

Your brow shot up. “Oh, would you now?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with mock solemnity, scooping Liliana out of the car like she weighed nothing. 

The moment her feet hit the ground, Liliana shot forward like a firework, running a few steps before skidding to a halt and turning back to you both. Her face was a mix of wonder and worry. “But what if the waves get too big and take all the sand away?” she asked, her big eyes wide with concern. 

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you shut the car door. “That’s not how beaches work, sweetheart.” 

JJ walked over, effortlessly lifting Liliana back into his arms. Her little arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and her free hand pointed enthusiastically toward the dunes. “Come on, uncle JJ! You promised to show me the secret seashell spots!” 

He adopted an exaggeratedly serious expression, as if carefully considering her words. “Oh, you mean the super secret ones? The ones where mermaids leave their treasures?” 

The sharp intake of breath Liliana let out was so dramatic that you were sure the neighbors heard it. “Mermaid treasures? Really? You never told me that before!” She wriggled, trying to break free to race toward the beach. 

JJ held her a little tighter, laughing. “Easy, kiddo. First, we have to go over the beach rules. Right, Ma?” 

You arched an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms with a faint smirk. “Oh, there are rules now? This is news to me.” 

JJ grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he bounced Liliana lightly in his arms. “Rule number one: You always stick with your beach buddy.” He gave Liliana a small shake for emphasis. “And guess what? I’m your official beach buddy. Certified pro.” 

Liliana nodded seriously, like he’d just shared the most important information of her young life. “Got it. Beach buddy. What’s rule two?” 

JJ tilted his head like he was deep in thought, but you could tell he was stalling. He clearly hadn’t expected her to press for more. The realization made you stifle a laugh. 

“Rule two…” He trailed off, then snapped his fingers like he’d just remembered. “Oh, right! Never, ever leave the beach without finding the perfect seashell for your mom.” 

The warmth in your chest spread so quickly it was almost overwhelming. You didn’t even try to hide your smile. “A very important rule,” you said softly. 

“And no going into the water without our say-so,” you added, shooting JJ a quick look. He nodded firmly in agreement, giving Liliana a playful kiss on the cheek. 

“Got that, sweet pea? Most important rule of all,” he said, his voice gentler now. 

Liliana turned to you with the most serious expression her tiny face could muster. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll find the prettiest one for you. Maybe even a mermaid shell!” 

When JJ finally set her down, she took off again, her little feet leaving chaotic patterns in the sand as she dashed toward the dunes. JJ stepped beside you, setting the bags down as he followed your gaze. 

“Is everything okay?” he asked quietly, his hand brushing yours in that casual, familiar way that always made your stomach flutter. 

You glanced at him, sunlight catching the angles of his face in a way that was almost unfair. Beneath his usual playful demeanor was that rare sincerity that always left you a little breathless. “She already loves it,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Liliana’s excited shout broke through the moment. She stood at the edge of the dunes, waving frantically. “Come on, slowpokes! We’ve got mermaid treasures to find!” 

JJ nudged your shoulder and leaned in, planting a quick kiss on your cheek. “You heard the boss.” 

And just like that, the two of you trailed after her, leaving the bags behind for now. As you watched Liliana’s tiny figure dart across the vast expanse of sand and sky, the weight of your old worries began to fade. 

With JJ and Liliana by your side, the past didn’t seem so heavy anymore. Their laughter and joy had a way of grounding you, steadying you like nothing else could. Almost like a balm for every wound you thought would never heal.

-

The soft rays of morning sunlight filtered through the expansive windows of Cameron Development's conference room. Rafe sat at the head of the table, pretending to listen to the consultant leading the meeting. Carefully crafted slides lit up the large screen, their graphs and figures giving the room a heavy, serious air. But Rafe’s mind was far removed from the dense mathematics on display.

He absently twirled the pen in his hand, his fingers tapping a rhythmic pattern on the table. The others in the room were focused—scribbling notes, nodding in agreement, and asking sharp questions. Yet Rafe felt as though he were sealed off in a bubble of silence, alone amidst the crowd. Inside, a weight lingered—indescribable and unshakable, like an itch beneath the skin.

“Mr. Cameron, the cost analysis for this property is displayed in the following chart...” a voice began, pulling him out of his thoughts. The woman's words, however, sounded distant, as if she were speaking from another room. Rafe’s eyes flicked to the screen, but the numbers meant nothing. They blurred together like meaningless symbols.

After a moment, his assistant Jasmine leaned over and whispered, “Mr. Cameron, is everything all right?” 

Startled, Rafe tore his gaze from the screen and looked at her. He straightened in his chair, shaking his head. “Yes, go on,” he replied, his voice harsher than he intended. Jasmine recoiled slightly before retreating, returning to her notes as the presentation continued.

But that unease—that suffocating sense of discontent—had been with him all morning. Even as he sipped his coffee earlier, he’d tried to pinpoint its source and come up empty. Maybe it was the wine he’d indulged in last night. Or the muggy weather. Yet, deep down, he knew it was neither. This wasn’t the usual stress of work. It felt like a harbinger of something unknown.

He was tired of certain things. Years ago, he’d envisioned this life differently. But now, as his father Ward Cameron prepared to pass the company to him in just a few months, Rafe couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been chasing the wrong dream. Gaining his father’s approval had been the ultimate goal for years, and now that it was within reach, he wasn’t sure he wanted it anymore.

What did he want? He couldn’t answer that either. But he knew it wasn’t this monotonous grind. Waking up, burying himself in work, and returning home late at night to collapse into bed—it was draining him. He missed having a life.

He felt like a machine. His hangouts with Kelce and Topper had dwindled. There was no one special in his life. Occasionally, they played golf, only to part ways afterward. 

Not that he wanted his old life back. The endless partying had lost its appeal long ago. He was closer to thirty than twenty. 

Parties were for the young, and he wasn’t young anymore. His life revolved around work now. But even so, he wished for something resembling balance. 

No one forced him to work until midnight—he chose it. He could leave at a normal hour, like everyone else. But then he’d just be another employee in his father’s eyes. And yet... he couldn’t tell if his father’s opinion even mattered to him anymore.

The meeting finally wrapped up. As the attendees trickled out, Rafe stayed seated, leaning against the edge of the table and staring out the window. The city outside was alive, its energy a stark contrast to the sterile stillness of the office. Cars passed, people chatted. It was just another day for them. For Rafe, nothing felt ordinary anymore.

He heard Jasmine approach but didn’t turn to her. His gaze remained on the street. Outer Banks moved at its own pace, a rhythm he’d forgotten how to follow. “What’s next on the schedule, Jasmine?”

“There’s a site visit this afternoon, and a meeting at five,” she replied. He nodded, not saying anything more. Taking the cue, Jasmine stepped away.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Fishing it out, he saw Topper’s name flash on the screen. With a resigned sigh, he answered, “What is it, Topper? I’m busy.”

Grabbing his wallet and car keys from the table, Rafe listened as his old friend’s voice came through, casual and unapologetic. “Man, you’re always busy. It’s boring as fuck!”

Suppressing an eye roll, Rafe considered hanging up. Topper could be exhausting.

Unlike Rafe, Topper hadn’t taken on any family responsibilities. He lived off his parents’ wealth, hosting parties and drinking himself into oblivion on his yacht. It was the life Rafe used to lead, now a distant memory.

“If you’ve called for no reason, I’m hanging up. I’ve got work to do,” Rafe said, heading toward the elevator. He nodded briefly at a few passing colleagues, their polite smiles a reminder of his carefully curated image.

“Don’t tell me you’re skipping my birthday, man. It’s my 25th! It’s gonna be legendary! You know that new yacht my dad got? I’m packing it full of people—drinks, music, girls—the works!” Topper’s enthusiasm was palpable. 

Rafe stepped into the elevator, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. Five years ago, he might’ve been thrilled. Now, it felt like a relic of a life he’d already left behind.

“Topper,” Rafe said, his tone sharp with warning. He rubbed his temple, already tired of the conversation.

“Come on! It’s my birthday! We’re best friends! You can’t ditch me—it’s practically betrayal!” Topper’s mock indignation made Rafe huff out a reluctant laugh. As much as he could be a pain, Topper had been his closest friend since they were kids.

“Fine,” Rafe relented. “I’ll be there. But don’t expect much more from me.” 

Topper’s triumphant whoop on the other end made Rafe’s lips twitch into a faint smile. Annoying or not, Topper had a way of breaking through his walls.

“Bring Sarah too,” Topper added slyly. At that, Rafe’s smile vanished, replaced by a sharp furrow of his brows.

"Fuck off. You’re disgusting. She’s married, man." Rafe grimaced as he stepped out of the elevator, almost revolted. He couldn't stomach the idea of his best friend dating his sister again. Once was bad enough; thinking about it now made him queasy all over again.

"I know, I know. I was just joking. Besides, Ruthie would lose her mind if she saw us." Rafe rolled his eyes, heading toward the company entrance.

"If you think I’ll let you use my sister to make Ruthie jealous, I’ll come over there right now and break your nose." He pressed the button on his key fob to unlock his car parked at a distance.

"If that’s what it takes to get you to hang out, sure. Come on, man, I just wanna spend some time with my buddy." Rafe opened the car door and slid into the driver’s seat.

"Yeah, no. Screw off. I’ll see you tonight."

After hanging up on Topper, Rafe let out a deep sigh, though it did nothing to ease the tension gnawing at him. He stared at the phone in his hand for a moment before tossing it onto the passenger seat. 

Of course, he’d meet up with him later. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do tonight—today had already been a miserable excuse for a day. Maybe killing time with a drink and some banter would bring a flicker of color back to his gray world.

His schedule after the meeting had him heading out to scout a new piece of land, but he found himself pulling into a store parking lot instead. Maybe he needed a bottle of water, a cup of coffee—or maybe just something, anything.

He’d always hated smoking. The handful of times he’d indulged were just to blend in, and even then, he’d sworn it off years ago. Two years clean, give or take. 

But now? Now he craved something—cigarettes, coffee, maybe just a distraction. 

Music might help, or something to drown out the endless chatter in his head. He couldn't seem to live with the gnawing unease inside him. Not just live—enjoy. Life had become tasteless.

He was tired of the monotony, yet he didn’t want to fall into the reckless chaos of living without direction. He didn’t want to become like Topper—didn’t want to go back to the way things were four years ago. He’d left that life behind. Still, he couldn’t shake the hollow sense that life itself had no meaning anymore.

Wake up. Coffee. Work. Lunch. More work. Home. Sleep. Repeat.

It wasn’t that he expected something or even hoped for it. He just believed—deep down—that his life needed spontaneity, something unscripted.

When he glanced at other people’s lives, he hated the envy that simmered under his skin. He had everything—literally everything. Half the island bore his family’s name. He had the money, the yachts, the cars, the houses, and the company that would eventually be his.

Thinking back on how hard he’d tried to earn his father’s approval made him cringe. The future had already been set in stone. He would have ended up with it all anyway. Sarah had never wanted the company, not even as a backup plan. She couldn’t picture herself stuck in a 9-to-5 grind. She’d built a life with John B—a life she’d chosen.

Sarah made her choice.

But Rafe couldn’t help feeling like he’d fought too hard for the life he now had. The absurdity of struggling for something he was destined to inherit stung.

Looking at Sarah’s life now—running that local restaurant with the guy she loved, the one they built brick by brick—it was obvious she was happy. They spent their time together. And whenever Rafe saw her, she wore a smile so big it was impossible not to notice.

She enjoyed what she did. She had a purpose, a goal—not a grandiose one, but something she’d worked toward piece by piece.

Rafe had always aimed for the top. He wanted the best and wouldn’t settle for less. Every time he fell short, he hated it. But Sarah Cameron—now Sarah Routledge—knew how to stumble and pick herself up. She wasn’t afraid to rise slowly, setting her sights a little higher each time. Rafe, on the other hand, had always gone straight for the summit.

Sometimes he wished he could be more like her—the beloved child, the one who succeeded without trying too hard, who didn’t draw ire even when they failed.

But those thoughts felt toxic now. He no longer envied Sarah the way he had years ago. He knew her ability to be loved came from the absence of the poisonous thoughts that plagued him.

He didn’t want to look at her with bitterness or jealousy anymore. He wanted to erase those thoughts from his mind. She was his sister, and he was happy for her.

Still, he couldn’t help but admire her.

Rafe pulled his car into the convenience store’s lot and stepped out quickly, desperate for a distraction.

Every time his mind drifted to the past, it felt like his heart skipped a beat. The way he’d treated his sister—the jealousy, the reckless behavior—it was nothing short of awful. He had been a terrible person, a terrible brother.

And a terrible boyfriend.

Even if he wanted to believe those years hadn’t happened, some moments—some memories—clung to him like an unwanted shadow. During the rare moments when he let his guard down, his mind always wandered back to one thing.

Regrets and what-ifs.

His thoughts would take him there, wandering through a maze of past mistakes and fleeting happiness.

Of course, he had happy moments, as everyone did. But the happiest ones stuck with him, refusing to fade—even when he drank to forget them. 

And sometimes, he hated that. The harder he tried to drown those memories in alcohol, the sharper they became. He’d never seen himself as the kind of guy to cry drunkenly. Not until the last three years.

He clung to regrets and the potential of what could have been. He despised the ideals and fears that had once defined him. He loathed how every "truth" he’d believed in had turned out to be a lie, and how he was always the wrong person at the wrong time.

Sometimes, he couldn’t help but question and compare the choices his current self made versus the ones he’d made in the past. If he’d do it differently now. Would he, or wouldn’t he? The answer had never once changed: he’d undo every mistake. Every single one. He wouldn’t have done any of it. Not a single thing. 

She had been the right person at the right time. There was no way it hadn’t been the right time for her. But for him? Rafe wasn’t so sure. He’d been the wrong person at the wrong time—both, at once. 

Rafe stepped into the store, pulling his phone from his pocket as it buzzed with a notification. Jasmine. She was texting about some of the stakeholders causing trouble regarding the new property. 

“Perfect,” he muttered under his breath, irritation already bubbling up. He inhaled sharply, trying to calm himself. He had to think this through carefully and not let his temper get the best of him. This wasn’t some minor hiccup in his day—this was business. He couldn’t make rash decisions and screw it all up. 

He focused on steadying himself, considering what sort of issue this particular idiot might be stirring up. Was the guy testing his patience on purpose? Trying to push his boundaries? 

With another deep breath, he worked to calm the tension in his chest. Ward would have handled this with ease, but Rafe’s impulsive nature had always been his Achilles' heel. He cursed himself for it. Quickly, he typed a reply to Jasmine, asking her to cancel the evening’s meeting and schedule one with the problematic stakeholder instead. He followed up with instructions for Jasmine to stall the guy and keep things civil until then. 

As soon as the messages were sent, the sound of his own thoughts drowned out the world around him. It was like something was pulling at him, calling his name. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, trusting Jasmine to handle it. She always did. 

Looking up, he ran a hand through his hair, his gaze wandering toward the aisle ahead. That’s when he saw it—the door opening, letting in a gust of cool air. A woman walked in, a small child at her side. 

At first, he couldn’t make out her face, but something about the way she moved felt… familiar. Rafe’s heart stuttered, an inexplicable urgency creeping into his veins. He knew her. He knew her well. Or at least—he had, years ago. 

The woman stepped further into the store, placing a few items on the counter. Then, she turned. 

And Rafe froze.

You. 

It was you. He was sure of it. Nothing in his life had ever felt this certain. That face—etched into his memory, the one he used to know every detail of—was still the same, even with the faint traces time had left behind. His heart raced and sank all at once. Seeing you again, after all these years, wasn’t supposed to be this easy. 

Four years. Four long years without hearing your voice, without holding your hands. Yet you had never left his mind. Your name, your face, every moment spent with you—they were all still there, as vivid as ever. 

You had lost the golden tan you used to have, but your eyes—they spoke volumes. And your smile? God, that smile. It could kill him. A smile that big shouldn’t even be legal. 

Shit. You were still breathtaking. Rafe wanted to fall at your feet, worship you. You were still the most beautiful girl on the island, and nobody else even came close. 

He had thought about you so much. There were nights he thought he might go insane from not being able to see you. The disappointment he felt when he saw you’d removed most of your Instagram followers, leaving only a few family members, and then made your account private—it had stung more than he cared to admit. 

How many times had he stared at your profile picture, wishing he could have just one more chance to stand by your side? To go back and rewrite everything? He couldn’t count. He would’ve given up everything for a do-over. 

But then his eyes drifted to the small child by your side. His heart, which had been racing, suddenly slowed to a halt. He hadn’t noticed the little girl at first, too focused on you. She was cheerful, looking around the store with wide eyes, holding up a chocolate bar in her tiny hands. She said something to you, and you bent down with a soft smile to answer her. 

But Rafe wasn’t watching that moment of sweetness. He was staring at her face. 

Those eyes.

Rafe’s breath caught in his throat. The girl’s eyes—they were his. The same intensity, the same color, the same expression. Something deep inside him caught fire, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe properly. Everything felt so sharp and clear, yet utterly chaotic. 

He had always known this was a possibility. In the back of his mind, he had replayed your last conversation over and over. You’d told him you were drunk. He had assumed you’d terminated the pregnancy. But the thought that you might not have—that had lingered in his mind all these years. 

You’d told him you were keeping the baby. He hadn’t asked, and you hadn’t offered any more than that. 

And now, standing here, it hit him like a truck. 

A girl. 

She was his. Yours. 

Their daughter.

You lifted your head then, your eyes meeting his. And Rafe saw the panic there, the shadow of old memories and old fears. For a moment, you froze. The child clung to your leg, oblivious, as you and Rafe just stared at each other. God, he had missed looking at you. Even from a distance, he had missed seeing your face. 

But then you moved. Quickly. You grabbed the little girl’s hand and turned away, your other hand carrying the bag of groceries. You headed toward the exit without looking back. 

Rafe stood there, rooted to the spot, as if chained in place. He wanted to call out, “Wait!” But the words stuck in his throat. He wanted to chase after you, but he didn’t know what he’d say if he did. 

The way you had left made it clear you didn’t want to talk. And he had already hurt you enough. The last thing he wanted was to reopen old wounds. 

And yet, he couldn’t stop staring after you, his heart in his throat. He’d need time to process this. To figure out what the hell he was supposed to do now.

He felt like he was drowning. All he could think about was getting out, finding air, calming himself. Memories crashing against him so vividly made it hard to breathe.

As he rushed out of the store, he tried to steady his breathing, but it didn’t help. His hands were trembling as he walked to his car.

It was as if he were drowning. He just needed to get out—out of this moment, out of this place—and catch his breath. The way his past had suddenly been thrust in his face made it hard to breathe.

He left the market in a rush, trying to control his deep, shaky breaths. His hands trembled as he walked toward his car.

---

Rafe, still struggling to process what had happened in the market, found himself standing outside Sarah's office. His knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel too hard, a physical reflection of the chaos in his mind. He had seen Bella. A little girl... and now, everything was in disarray.

He didn’t think much—he couldn’t. He was looking for a safe harbor, someone to help him shoulder the weight of seeing you again after all these years. The missed chances, the regrets—they crushed him.

He had been young then, practically a fool kid. He was never sure if the decision he’d made was the right one.

So, without a second thought, he drove to Sarah. He knew he couldn’t go to Topper. Topper wouldn’t understand—he didn’t even know about the baby. And even if he did, he was too shallow to handle something this big. Kelce wouldn’t get it either; he’d just tell Rafe to let it go. That left Sarah as his only option.

Despite the fact that Sarah could be insufferably annoying sometimes, Rafe knew she would understand. Unlike him, she was good with emotions. She could empathize and offer sound advice. She was the only one who could talk him through this.

No matter how much she had changed, when it came to you, Rafe knew Sarah would hesitate to steer him wrong. This wasn’t some trivial matter—it was serious. It was about the woman he had once loved. 

When Rafe knocked on Sarah’s door, he was a tangled mess of unease. He couldn’t get you out of his head. The way your hair had once been straight, now effortlessly wavy. The childlike look on your face had been replaced with a maturity that only made you more beautiful—almost impossibly so. You’d always been an angel in his eyes, but now? Now you seemed ethereal.

“Rafe? What’s wrong?” Sarah asked, her tone laced with worry. She was almost panicked at the sight of him. It had probably been months since her brother had shown up at her door. To see him looking so unhinged? That had been years.

“We need to talk,” Rafe said, his voice lacking its usual edge. It was almost shaky. He needed to calm down, and he needed Sarah’s clear-headedness to help him think straight.

Sarah hesitated but opened the door fully. “Of course, come in.”

Rafe walked into the living room but didn’t sit down. He shoved his hands into his pockets and paced around before facing Sarah. “I saw her today,” he blurted out. His hands, deep in his pockets, felt ice-cold despite the sweltering heat outside.

Sarah’s face froze. “Saw who?”

He steadied himself, finally saying your name. His gaze fixed on some point on the wall, far away. “She was in the market. She had a little kid with her,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. He didn’t know what to do. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing again like a trapped animal. He felt like he was losing it.

Sarah stayed quiet for a moment, a shadow of concern crossing her face. “And?” She was bracing for some sort of story—a confrontation, a drama, maybe even a fight. Watching Rafe’s agitated figure pace the room was dizzying. He needed to calm down.

“And…” Rafe shook his head slowly. “Nothing happened. Just… our eyes met. Her eyes…” He trailed off, haunted. “I couldn’t stop looking. But I told you, didn’t I? She said she called me because she was drunk. And I thought that she… that she got rid of her. I thought she—” His voice cracked. “I thought she did. I never knew for sure because we stopped talking, but I saw them today. Both of them.”

Sarah took a deep breath, trying to steady her tone. She didn’t want Rafe to catch on to her growing unease. “Rafe, I’m not sure bringing this up is a good idea.”

“I just keep thinking!” Rafe’s voice rose. “It’s not like I wanted this! She told me she was drunk—what was I supposed to think?! And now—now, after all these years, I see her, and I don’t know what to do.” He was trying to rein himself in, to pull back the storm brewing inside him. He wasn’t blaming you. He regretted the pressure he had put on you back then, hated himself for it. It had always been your choice. It always would be.

But he had spent years in limbo, stuck in a no-man’s-land between missing you and wondering what had become of you.

Sarah looked down, staying silent. But Rafe’s eyes stayed locked on her, probing. “You shouldn’t do anything, Rafe. Maybe she’s just visiting. After all, she and Liliana haven’t been here in years—”

Rafe froze. His entire body went still, and his head snapped toward Sarah. “What did you say?”

Sarah stammered, realizing too late what she’d let slip. Her lips parted in panic as she cursed herself inwardly. All she had to do was keep quiet—and she hadn’t.

“I—I mean, I just—”

“Liliana?” Rafe’s voice was ice-cold, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Who’s Liliana?”

Rafe blinked, his mind whirring. Just moments ago, he had been pacing like a caged animal. Now, he stood stock-still, rigid as if he were a machine running out of power. The silence in the room was deafening. “Is that her name?” His voice grew sharper, angrier with Sarah’s continued silence. “How do you know her name?!”

Sarah stayed silent for a beat, her gaze dropping to the floor as she braced herself for the hell she knew was coming. Her lips opened and closed uselessly before she finally exhaled. She was screwed. “I—I mean, we—met a few times. In Asheville—”

Rafe stumbled back, almost losing his balance. He shook his head slowly. “You were meeting with her? While I was here, losing my mind, wondering if she was even alive?!” His voice cracked with fury, spiraling out of control. Sarah flinched at his rising volume, clasping her hands nervously in front of her. 

“Rafe—” Sarah started, her voice defensive. She knew she had messed up, big time. Not only had she let it slip, but now, with Rafe losing it right in front of her, she had to keep herself from blurting out everything else. Because if Rafe knew this, he’d want to know the whole truth.

“She didn’t want our family involved,” Sarah explained cautiously. “And you—”

“Stop right there, Sarah! That should’ve been my choice!” Rafe roared, his voice shaking with emotion. “I didn’t want it, fine, I’ll admit that. But that doesn’t mean you had the right to take away my chance to know her. Or— or what she’s done! You’re my sister—my own blood. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Sarah narrowed her eyes, fists clenched. It took everything in her not to hurl the closest vase at his head. “You already made your decision, Rafe! You chose to stay out of her life, to abandon her! So don’t you dare come at me now just because I didn’t fill you in on everything she’s been up to! If you cared so much, you’d have been there! Instead of partying while she was pregnant, maybe you could’ve been in the delivery room with her!”

“Oh, so I didn’t care?!” Rafe barked out a bitter laugh, his hands trembling. You had been the first person who made him believe in love, the first to show him kindness for no reason at all. The only person who made him want to be better. The only person he ever loved. “That’s your excuse? My mistakes? You think I don’t know I screwed up? Of course, I know! But since when did that give you the right to keep everything from me?”

Sarah shot to her feet, glaring daggers at him. “Oh, don’t even start with me! Since when did me being there for my niece and her mom turn into ‘keeping things from you’? Yes, I spent time with them. What was I supposed to do? Ignore them just because you didn’t want to be in the picture? Grow up, Rafe!”

“It was my choice!” Rafe yelled, his voice raw with frustration. His eyes burned with an intensity that matched his words. “But don’t you get it? I was falling apart! Every day without her—without them—was hell! And you saw it! You knew how much I loved her! You knew why I made that choice, why I did that!”

The argument had reached a boiling point. Sarah shook her head, finally stepping back, her voice quivering with quiet fury. “Oh, I remember your ‘choice,’ Rafe. The one you made to earn Dad’s approval by erasing her and the baby. That’s what we’re talking about, right? Own it for once!” Her voice dripped with venom, though her expression was eerily calm. She was done yelling.

At this point, she didn’t think there was anything left to defend. Rafe wasn’t the only one who had suffered. Sarah had been there. She had been there for you when you gave birth, and the father of your child wasn’t. Instead, JJ, Cleo, Pope, Kiara, John B, and Sarah herself had stood by your side. But Rafe? Nowhere to be found.

“At least when you got wasted, you had the luxury of waking up the next morning and moving on. She didn’t. Eight months after you walked out, she was leaking milk through her shirt while a baby screamed in the next room, and she was still recovering from giving birth. You left her alone, Rafe. So no, you don’t get to come in here and play the victim. I didn’t tell you, yeah. You’re damn right I didn’t.” Sarah crossed her arms, forcing herself to stay calm. Despite everything, he was still her brother.

“And you know what? I’m glad I didn’t. Because if you had even a shred of courage, you would’ve been there to find out yourself.”

Rafe froze for a moment, his chest heaving as he tried to contain himself. He took a long, shaky breath, but the anger in his eyes refused to fade. Finally, he shook his head, his jaw tight, and turned sharply toward the door. The slam echoed through the house, leaving Sarah standing there in silence.

Everything was a disaster. He hated it all—hated the situation, hated himself. But most of all, he hated that Sarah was right. 

[yoomiwrites]

Got the hots for you

Summary: You're dorks, but you're in love. GN Reader, you perspective.

Note: So! Here we have our second place, Ace and a cheerful Reader. This one was...idk, kinda difficult for me but I think I am satisfied with how it came out in the end. Much love to you! I will post an update after this how the other stories are going and when they will get an new chapter. For those who are waiting for them!

Part 2

♤

The salty sea breeze ruffled your hair as you leaned against the railing of the Moby Dick, watching the waves ripple under the silver moonlight. The night was calm, the ship’s usual boisterous energy reduced to the occasional creak of wood and the muffled laughter of pirates lingering below deck. The warmth of a nearby lantern cast flickering shadows over the deck, and beside you, Ace stretched, letting out a contented sigh.

“You’re unusually quiet tonight,” he commented, tilting his head toward you with a lopsided grin. “Thinking about something?”

You huffed out a laugh, folding your arms on the railing. “Pfft, when am I ever not thinking? My brain’s a constant carnival.”

Ace chuckled, his voice warm. “That’s true. But c’mon, tell me what’s up. I know you, Y/N. You’re all sunshine and fireworks, but something’s different.”

You swallowed, keeping your gaze locked on the ocean. It was Ace. He always saw through you. You had been on the Moby Dick longer than he had, but from the moment he set foot on board, you had clicked effortlessly. He was the only one who could keep up with your antics, the only one who matched your energy. And somewhere along the way, you had fallen hopelessly, irreversibly in love with him.

But he could never know.

It wasn’t worth the risk. What you had with him—the laughter, the teasing, the unspoken understanding—was too precious. And so, you swallowed your feelings, shoved them into the depths of your heart, and pretended they didn’t exist.

Unfortunately, Ace had a talent for making things difficult.

“Maybe…” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe you’re thinking about Thatch?”

Your head snapped toward him so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “What?!”

Ace smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Aha! I knew it. You’ve been acting all weird around him lately. Blushing. Looking away. Laughing at his dumb jokes.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You got the hots for Thatch, don’t you?”

Your brain short-circuited. Of all the ridiculous things—

“What—Ace, no! I do not have the hots for Thatch!” you protested, flailing your arms wildly. “He’s like a dumb older brother! A ridiculous, cake-obsessed brother!”

Ace narrowed his eyes playfully. “Suuure. That’s what everyone says before they end up running into someone’s arms all dramatic-like.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Oh my god, you’re impossible.”

“But adorable, right?” he teased, nudging your side.

You bit your lip, trying to fight the stupid smile threatening to break through. This was exactly the problem. He made your heart race without even trying. You had spent months—years—falling for this idiot, and he had absolutely no idea.

Taking a deep breath, you forced a grin and leaned closer, elbowing him back. “Yeah, yeah. Keep dreaming, fire boy.”

Ace feigned offense, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. “Wow. After all we’ve been through, you wound me.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, he sobered slightly, his gaze turning curious. “So if it’s not Thatch… is there someone?”

Your stomach did a backflip. You didn’t trust yourself to lie convincingly, so instead, you laughed—a little too loudly, a little too forced. “What kind of question is that?”

“A pretty simple one.”

You hesitated, gripping the railing tighter. He was watching you carefully now, his dark eyes searching, waiting. You could feel the weight of the moment pressing against your chest. If you answered wrong, if you slipped up—

You shrugged, plastering on the most nonchalant smile you could muster. “Pfft, please. Who would have time for romance on this ship?”

Ace studied you for a long second before finally shaking his head with a chuckle. “I dunno. You strike me as the hopeless romantic type.”

You scoffed, nudging him again to mask the ache in your chest. “And you strike me as the kind of guy who eats before he thinks.”

Ace laughed, bright and carefree, but then his expression turned thoughtful. He leaned against the railing, staring out at the sea. “I don’t think I deserve it, you know?”

You blinked, taken aback. “Deserve what?”

“Love.” He exhaled, his fingers absentmindedly drumming against the wood. “My family doesn’t deserve to live on. I don’t either.”

Your blood boiled instantly. “That’s crap.”

Ace turned to you in surprise, and before he could say anything, you jabbed a finger into his chest, your voice fierce. “You listen to me, Portgas D. Ace. If you ever say something that stupid again, I will personally kick your ass. You are more than your bloodline. You are good, and you are kind, and you are loved.”

His lips parted slightly, as if he didn’t know what to say. And then, suddenly, he laughed—warm, genuine, surprised. “You’re something else, Y/N.”

Your heart raced as he reached out, fingers brushing against a loose strand of your hair. He tucked it behind your ear, his touch lingering just a second too long. His eyes softened, the usual teasing replaced with something deeper, something unspoken.

For a moment, the entire world shrank down to just the two of you—the moonlight, the waves, and the space between you that felt smaller than ever.

And in that moment, you knew.

Ace was going to figure it out. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow.

But someday.

The next morning, Ace sat on a barrel, groggy-eyed and yawning, when Marco plopped down beside him, arms crossed and a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

“You look troubled, yoi. Thinking too hard?”

Ace groaned. “Why does everyone think I think too hard?”

Marco shrugged. “Because when you do, it looks like it hurts.”

Ace squinted at him. “What do you want?”

Marco leaned back, looking far too entertained. “Just wondering what’s got you so lost in thought. Maybe… a certain someone?”

Ace frowned. “What?”

“Oh, you know. Someone who gets under your skin. Someone you can’t stop messing with.” Marco waggled his eyebrows. “Someone with a very familiar laugh.”

Ace blinked, brain still sluggish from sleep. Then it hit him. “Wait. No way.”

Marco’s grin widened. “Oh, way.”

Ace scoffed, waving him off. “Pfft. You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I?” Marco hummed, standing up and stretching. “Because I could swear Y/N looked at you last night like they wanted to set you on fire. But, y’know, in a loving way.”

Ace choked. “EXCUSE ME?!”

Marco clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Think about it, fire boy.” And with that, he walked off, leaving Ace staring after him, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“…Wait… WAIT—HOLD ON, MARCO! MARCO, GET BACK HERE—WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?!”

The sun was high in the sky, casting golden light over the deck of the Moby Dick, but Ace was acting like an idiot.

You had spent the entire day watching him fumble through tasks he normally handled with ease. He tripped over a barrel, nearly set a crate on fire (thankfully Marco intervened before the flames got too excited), and somehow managed to spill an entire plate of food on himself at lunch. It was so ridiculous that even the crew had started placing bets on how many more times he’d mess up before the day was over.

And you? You were torn between laughing and being seriously concerned.

So, after watching him almost walk straight off the ship for the third time, you finally decided to step in.

“Ace!” You stomped over, hands on your hips as he froze mid-step, looking at you like you’d just caught him sneaking extra dessert from Thatch’s kitchen. “What the hell is going on with you today?”

“W-What?” He blinked rapidly, as if that would help him process the situation. “Nothing! I’m fine!”

You scoffed. “Oh yeah? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re actively trying to win the ‘Most Clueless Idiot of the Year’ award.”

Ace groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m not clueless.”

“Then explain why you almost walked off the ship again.”

“I was distracted!”

“By what?”

Ace clamped his mouth shut, avoiding your gaze. Suspicious.

You leaned in, squinting at him. “Is there something you need to tell me? Because at this rate, I’m going to start thinking someone hit you over the head.”

He muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?” You cupped a hand to your ear, grinning now because you could tell whatever this was, it was embarrassing for him.

Ace sighed dramatically, rubbing the back of his neck. “Marco said something weird this morning, and now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You frowned. “Marco? What did he say?”

Ace hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. Then, after a long moment, he blurted out, “He said you got the hots for me.”

Your brain short-circuited.

“…WHAT?!”

Ace looked like he regretted every decision leading up to this conversation. “I told him he was crazy! But then I started thinking about it and now—” He gestured vaguely. “Now I’m acting like an idiot.”

You stared at him, mouth opening and closing as your brain desperately tried to process his words. Then, before you could stop yourself, you let out a loud, incredulous laugh.

Ace frowned. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because,” you wheezed, wiping at your eyes, “I cannot believe this is what’s been making you act like a total disaster all day.”

Ace huffed. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s hilarious.”

“No, it’s—” He paused, suddenly squinting at you. “Wait. You’re not even denying it.”

You froze. Oh. Oh no.

Ace’s eyes widened as realization dawned on him. “Wait… WAIT—”

Panicking, you did the only thing you could think of.

You shoved him and bolted.

“HEY! GET BACK HERE!” Ace yelled, chasing after you, laughter ringing through the ship as the crew watched in amusement.

You had successfully evaded Ace for a good fifteen minutes before he finally cornered you near the back of the ship, arms crossed and a triumphant smirk on his face.

“You can’t run forever, Y/N.”

You huffed, crossing your arms as well. “I could try.”

Ace shook his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “C’mon, just be honest with me.”

Your heart hammered. “Honest about what?”

He rolled his eyes. “You know what. Do you… actually like me?”

You opened your mouth—then closed it. You were usually quick-witted, but right now, words were failing you. Instead, you dramatically groaned, throwing your hands in the air. “Ace, you’re making this so awkward.”

Ace snorted. “Me? You’re the one who ran like a guilty criminal.”

You huffed. “Because you were being weird!”

“I was being weird because Marco got in my head!” He rubbed his temples, looking exasperated. “And now I can’t stop thinking about it!”

Silence stretched between you. His words hung in the air, heavy and uncertain. Slowly, Ace’s expression shifted, something softer flickering behind his usually confident eyes. He stepped closer, hesitant but determined. “Would it be such a bad thing?”

Your breath caught. “What?”

“If you did like me.” He scratched the back of his head, suddenly looking unsure. “Would that be so bad?”

Your brain screamed at you to say something—anything—but your heart was too busy doing somersaults.

Ace sighed, then suddenly reached out, brushing his fingers against your wrist, barely touching, like he was testing the waters. “Because… I think I’d be okay with that.”

Your stomach did a backflip.

You looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the nervousness hidden under his bravado. He was waiting for your answer. Waiting for you.

So, with a shaky breath, you decided to be brave.

“I think I’d be okay with that, too.”

Ace blinked, stunned. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a grin—one so bright and full of mischief that you knew, without a doubt, you had just signed up for an absolute disaster.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[beansprean]

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oh my god they're engaged to be engaged...

(also this is entirely separate from the izzyguana series fyi, but my god I have drawn their little island so many times by now)

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Wide shot of Stede and Ed's ramshackle house on a hill of long grass, a forested mountain sliding into the sea behind them as the sun peeks above the waves, painting them orange and yellow. Some work has been put into the house since they found it: the holes in the roof have been boarded over or covered with tarp, a rickety porch railing and staircase off the left side have been built on from scraps, oil lamps have been hung on each corner, and an addition on the right side is in progress, rocks stacked on the wood-slat roof and tarps hanging from unfinished walls. Planks of wood, tools, and fishing poles are leaned up against the porch, the path to the house has been cleared out and defined by stones and shells, and a wooden sign out front has the words "Best Little Inn By The Sea! +fishing equipment" carved into it. Stede and Ed, wearing a teal blouse with brown leather trousers and purple tee with black leather trousers respectively, are standing on the porch and looking out over the land, arms around each others waist. Stede raises his arm in a wave and shouts, "Great to see you two! Come again any time!" In the foreground, Pete and Lucius are walking down the path away from the house, looking tired. Pete has one arm around Lucius's shoulders and his eyes are closed, head listing to the side. Lucius covers his mouth as he yawns, lifting the other to throw a halfhearted wave over his shoulder. 1b. Waist-up in profile of Stede and Ed on the porch, sunrise behind them. Closest to the viewer, Stede stares out after their guests, hand lowering, smile fading to something a little bittersweet. Ed leans into Stede, free hand in his pants pocket, and rests his head in the crook of his neck as he follows Stede's gaze with a thoughtful smile. Ed asks, "You ever think about that for us?" 1c. Repeat. Stede's hand drops further, wrist dangling, as he turns his face toward Ed with a bewildered smile. "What?" Ed straightens from his cuddle, embarrassed, but keeps his right hand on Stede's waist. His left gestures randomly as he scrunches up his face, avoiding Stede's gaze. He explains, "Y'know...the matie-monie thing, whatever."

2a. Zoom out slightly; Stede takes a step back toward the house to face Ed as he pivots with his back toward the yard. They are still connected waist-to-hand. Stede plants his free hand on his hip with a smug little smirk and says, "Well I certainly hope that's not your proposal." Ed waves his free hand in a 'stop' motion, flustered as he meets his partner's eyes, and splutters "Wha- no! No, mate, I just... 'M having a dialogue." 2b. Repeat, zoom in. Ed dips his chin to look up at Stede through his lashes, red-faced and accepting defeat as he mumbles, "...How would you want it to go, though? Hypothetically." Stede giggles helplessly, free hand leaving his hip to rest fingertips on Ed's chest. 2c. Repeat, the background cutting out in favor of the sunrise occurring between them. They are almost forehead-to forehead, both of Stede's hands now pressed to Ed's chest and idly playing with the tips of his hair. Ed stares at his face with hooded eyes. Stede smiles, gaze lowered to focus on his hands, and says "Oh, I don't know. A bit of romance, you know. Dazzle." 2d. Repeat, zoom in to bust, background now mottled oranges and yellows. Ed raises his head to look past Stede with a frown, brow furrowed in confusion as he repeats blankly, "Dazzle." Stede hums idly to himself, concentrating on petting Ed's chest. 2e. Repeat. Stede lifts his head with a little smile, putting them nose-to-nose and adds, "I wouldn't say no to some fireworks." Ed flusters at the pointed reminder of their first time, cheeks turning red and a wobbly smile creeping across his face.

3a. Repeat. Stede asks, "What about you?" Ed leans back from their embrace, smile turning incredulous as he repeats, "Me?!" 3b. Waist up of Ed as he turns, sunrise at his back, to lean his left arm against the porch railing. He glances over the yard with a resigned little frown, fiddling with a piece of his hair with his right hand. He replies, "I dunno. Never really thought about it." 3c. Chest up of Stede as he mirrors Ed's pose with a fond if slightly amused smile, stairs and forest behind him. Offscreen, Ed continues, "Bet you had a whole scrapbook of ideas, eh?" 3d. Repeat. Stede straightens with a "Well!" and turns his body to face the house. 3e. Knees-up from the house POV as both men lean against the porch railing, the yard, ocean, and brightening sky beginning to streak itself with orange beyond. Stede is facing the viewer, back to the yard, leaning with his elbows braced on the railing. He aims his gaze to the side with a bit of a pained smile and says, "When Mary and I were engaged, a scrapbook wouldn't have been much use." Ed is turned toward Stede, left elbow propped on the railing. He scowls and sticks out his tongue at mention of Mary. 3f. Repeat. Stede turns his head toward Ed, who quickly tucks his petty tongue back in his mouth and schools his expression into one of interest. Stede continues, "Everything had been decided for us already. Never really got to the proposal part."

4a. Repeat. Ed turns his body more fully toward Stede, folding his arms on the railing and leaning his head over them with a warm smile. Stede raises his eyebrows in surprise and goes slightly pink as Ed says, "I'll have to make it really good, then." 4b. Stede turns his body toward Ed, left arm sliding against the railing behind him and right hand cupping Ed's chin as he leans closer, nose to nose. Ed's eyes hood, looking at Stede's mouth as is curls into a loving smile. Stede responds, "Can't wait." 4c. Repeat. Ed suddenly goes pale and blurts out, "You'll say yes, though, right?" Stede freezes in surprise, lips puckered in preparation of a kiss. 4d. Repeat. Stede throws his head back in a loud bark of laughter, straightening up and turning fully toward Ed to cup his cheek in his right hand and his shoulder with the other. Ed aims an embarrassed, besotted smile at him as Stede replies, "Ed, of course! Who could say no to you?"

5a. Repeat, both now in profile. The orange and yellow light of the sunrise is slowly spreading across the sky from the left. Ed straightens up from his lean to bring their foreheads together, still a bit red-cheeked and with a nervous edge to his smile as he lowers his gaze. He says, "You can say no if you want, though." Stede smiles at him with every ounce of tenderness he has, hands firm on his cheek and shoulder. He replies, "There's nothing I want more than to say yes to you, Ed. Permanent ink, remember?" 5b. Repeat. Stede moves his right hand from Ed's cheek to hook around his back, tugging him closer as he leans himself back. Ed stumbles forward with a helpless grin, cheeks even redder, bracing himself with his right hand on Stede's chest. When their eyes meet, Stede's smile turns teasing and faux-sinister, continuing, "You're stuck with me regardless. Foreverrr~" 5c. Repeat, larger and brighter, as Stede and Ed finally come together in an affirming kiss, the land behind them retreating to allow the sea and sky to fill the background. The sun finally breaches the horizon, sending glitter sparkling across the waves and gilding the pair in warm golden light. Ed's right hand is cupping the side of Stede's neck, thumb tracing through his sideburns, and Stede's right is hooked fully around his shoulders, cushioned in his soft hair. They are both smiling into the kiss, unhurried and in harmony.

6a. Repeat as they pull back from the kiss just far enough to meet each other's gaze, arms still around each other, Ed's right hand brushing Stede's cheek and Stede's buried in the back of Ed's hair. Ed smirks flirtatiously, eyes hooded, and says, "You know... I hear there's a traditional engagement sex sabbatical, too." Stede matches his expression, left hand sliding down Ed's shoulder to press against his lower back. Stede replies playfully, "Oh, is there? I suppose I can plan that part, then." 6b. Repeat. Ed brings his left hand up to mirror his right, cupping both of Stede's cheeks, and arches up on his toes to lean over Stede with a teasing grin. His movement forces Stede to arch his back in the first motions of a dip, hands briefly flying free of their grip on his future fiance to try to catch his balance. Their lips a centimeter apart, Ed hums, "Mmm, gimme a rehearsal, first." Stede tosses his head back with a giggle in response, eyes closed, cheeks pink. Hearts float above their heads. 6c. Shot at the bottom of the hill Stede and Ed are stationed on, the packed-dirt path to the house curving upward in the background, the stones and shells now more conservatively scattered. Amidst the tall grass and tropical plants lining the way are handmade wooden signs shaped like arrows pointing the way to the inn. Words carved into them say "this way!" and "best inn!" Pete and Lucius are in the foreground, walking down the hill towards the viewer, Pete's right arm still looped around his husband's shoulders. They still look very tired with dark circles beneath their eyes - Pete still hasn't opened his. Lucius has, barely, and is scowling his way forward with a furrowed brow, declaring, "We are leaving them the worst review." Pete nods solemnly. Text nearby points to them and says 'kept up all night by noises'. Pink hearts and exclamation points spill out behind them from the bend in the path, echoing the lovey-dovey noises from above that must have made their stay so insufferable. /end ID

[amethystarachnid]

I know it's very classic. Tony Stark x F!Reader. Office romance. Tony likes her and the reader is unaware of it. Tony gets very angry at a man who tries to flirt with the reader in the office and makes her uncomfortable, then informs him of his mistake. He drags his assistant to his room and while arguing, he lets it slip that he is in love with her.

OFFICE ROMANCE

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance, rom-com

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.1k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): little spicy scenes at the end, nothing too explicit

ᯓ★ Part 2

ᯓ★ yeah I know the title sucks I didnt know what to name it lol

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The elevator ride to Tony Stark’s office is uneventful—until the doors slide open, and you step right into chaos.

“Where is she? Where’s my assistant? Oh my God, I’m dying.”

Tony Stark is dramatically draped over his desk, one hand clutching his chest, the other extended toward the heavens like he’s in a Shakespearean tragedy. You barely have time to react before he twists his head toward the elevator, eyes locking onto yours with laser focus.

“There you are,” he groans. “Y/N, I think this is it. This is the end. You’re going to have to plan my funeral. Make it something classy, but also extravagant. Maybe fireworks? A Viking funeral? I don’t know, you decide.”

You sigh and step inside, the doors sliding shut behind you. “What is it this time, Mr. Stark?”

At the sound of his title, he frowns. “Really? We’re doing the ‘Mr. Stark’ thing today? Thought we were past that, sweetheart.”

You ignore him and set your bag down at your desk, flipping through the folders left for you overnight. Tony is still sprawled across his desk, his theatrics undeterred by your lack of concern.

“I’m serious,” he insists. “I might actually die this time.”

You finally look up at him, arms crossed. “Is it reactor-related, or are you just being dramatic?”

He gasps, placing a hand over his arc reactor. “I am never dramatic.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine, maybe I’m a little dramatic. But you were late this morning.”

You glance at the clock. “I was not late.”

“You were late to me,” he says, pointing accusingly. “Do you know what happens when you’re not here? Bad things. Boring things. Pepper makes me do paperwork, and Happy refuses to let me take the suit out for a spin at seven in the morning.”

Your lips twitch, but you suppress the smile. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark. I didn’t realize my presence was so vital to your survival.”

He lifts his head, expression serious. “Y/N, I don’t think you understand. You are the glue holding my fragile existence together.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Without you, I am but a billionaire genius playboy philanthropist adrift, lost at sea, doomed to perish in the harsh, unforgiving corporate world.”

“You are so full of it,” you mutter, grabbing your tablet to check his schedule.

Tony watches you, chin propped up in one hand. He does this a lot—just looks at you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the room, even when you’re doing something as mundane as scheduling meetings and reading emails. But you don’t notice.

You never notice.

And it’s driving him insane.

Tony Stark is in love with you.

Painfully, ridiculously, stupidly in love with you. And he’s not subtle about it, either. At least, he doesn’t think he is. He finds reasons to keep you around, finds excuses to talk to you, makes up the dumbest emergencies just to get your attention—and yet, somehow, you remain oblivious.

It’s almost impressive, really.

But also aggravating.

Tony sighs, rubbing his hands down his face before dramatically throwing himself back in his chair. “Okay, what’s on the agenda today, darling?”

You scroll through your tablet. “You have a meeting with Pepper at ten—”

“Cancel it.”

“You cannot cancel on Pepper.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “What else?”

“You have a tech demonstration at two, a conference call with the board at four—”

“Cancel that too.”

You sigh. “Tony.”

“Oh, now it’s Tony?” He smirks. “See, I knew you liked me.”

“I tolerate you,” you correct, setting your tablet down. “And you are going to that board meeting, whether you like it or not.”

“Fine, but only if you’re there,” he says, pointing at you. “I refuse to suffer alone.”

You roll your eyes but nod. “I’ll be there.”

Tony grins, far too pleased with himself. He’s made you sit in on dozens of meetings that had nothing to do with your job, just because he likes having you there. He tells himself it’s because you keep him sane. That you make the long, boring hours more bearable.

But if he’s being honest, it’s just because he likes looking at you.

He likes the way your lips press together when you’re concentrating, the way your nose scrunches up when he says something stupid. He likes the way your eyes soften when you talk to him, even when you’re exasperated. He likes you. God, he likes you.

And yet, you remain completely, utterly unaware.

Tony watches as you type something into your tablet, your brows furrowed in concentration. He wonders what would happen if he just said it. If he just leaned across the desk, took your hands in his, and said—

“Mr. Stark?”

He snaps out of it. “Huh?”

“You okay? You spaced out.”

Tony clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. Fine. Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

You squint at him, suspicious. “Are you sure? You look kind of—”

“Handsome? Dashing? Devastatingly attractive?”

“I was going to say pained, but sure.”

Tony groans and leans back in his chair. “This is agony,” he mutters.

You blink. “What is?”

You. You are agony. Being around you, loving you, wanting you, and you not even noticing—it’s torture.

But of course, he doesn’t say that.

“Nothing,” he sighs. “Just this board meeting. Ugh, corporate politics. You have to sit next to me, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, amused. “Anything else?”

“Yes. I need coffee. Desperately.”

You snort but stand up, grabbing your purse. “I’ll be back in ten.”

Tony watches you go, his head hitting the desk as soon as the doors shut behind you.

He is so screwed.

The days pass like they always do—fast, chaotic, and filled with Tony Stark’s unique brand of dramatics.

Between meetings, tech demos, Stark Industries board nonsense, and the occasional explosion in his lab (which he always swears is intentional), you’ve settled into an odd routine with him.

A routine that involves not just work, but him.

It starts small.

At first, it’s just casual conversation in between scheduling his appointments and making sure he actually attends them. A random question here and there.

“Morning, sweetheart. How do you feel about pineapple on pizza?”

“It’s fine, I guess.”

“Wrong answer. Completely unacceptable. I might have to fire you.”

Then, it becomes a daily thing.

He asks about your coffee order, remembers the way you take it without you telling him twice. He learns your favorite snacks, stocks the office kitchen with them. He finds out you love old Hollywood movies, and suddenly, his TV has a list of black-and-white classics queued up.

You don’t think much of it.

Tony Stark is friendly. He’s nosy. He likes to know things. It makes sense that he’d ask about your life outside of work.

But to him, it’s everything.

Because these little details—the things you like, the way you laugh, the way you light up when you talk about something you’re passionate about—are what keep him grounded.

Sometimes, he even talks about himself, which is rare.

You don’t realize what a big deal it is at first. You’ve worked for him long enough to know he talks a lot, but usually, it’s about his inventions or some wild new idea he has.

But with you?

He tells you about his mom’s love for classical music, how she used to play records while she cooked. How his dad was cold but brilliant, how he spent his childhood trying to impress a man who never really saw him. How he went to MIT at fifteen and spent half his time pranking professors and the other half building things he wasn’t supposed to.

He tells you about Afghanistan one night, when it’s just the two of you in his office, the city lights glowing behind him.

About the cave, about the first arc reactor, about Yinsen and what he’d meant to him.

You listen.

You don’t pity him, don’t give him some empty platitude about how it must’ve been hard. You just listen.

And Tony—who has spent most of his life drowning out his own thoughts with distractions—thinks maybe you are the best thing that has ever happened to him.

He also thinks you might never notice how much you mean to him.

Which is why he’s completely blindsided when it happens.

It’s a normal day.

You’re at your desk, typing away, while Tony lounges on the couch with a blueprint in one hand and a screwdriver in the other, pretending to work while actually watching you.

Then Happy walks in.

“There’s a guy here to see you,” he tells Tony, looking unimpressed.

Tony doesn’t even look up. “Tell him I’m busy.”

“He says it’s urgent.”

Tony sighs, pushing himself up. “Fine, fine. Send him in.”

Happy steps aside, and the guy walks in.

You glance up, offering a polite smile before going back to your work.

The man is tall, well-dressed, and carries himself like he’s important—which immediately annoys Tony. He hates people who walk into his space acting like they own the place.

“Mr. Stark,” the man says, offering his hand. “Nathan Ellis. Big fan.”

Tony shakes his hand but looks bored already. “Uh-huh. What do you want?”

Nathan chuckles, like Tony just made a joke. “I had a business proposition I wanted to discuss with you. Something that could be mutually beneficial.”

Tony gestures lazily to you. “Talk to her. She handles all the boring stuff.”

You roll your eyes but give Nathan a professional smile. “What’s the proposition?”

But Nathan isn’t looking at you like a businessman pitching an idea. He’s looking at you like a man sizing up a woman, and Tony immediately hates him.

Nathan smirks. “You’re much prettier than I expected.”

You stiffen just a little, but you keep your composure. “That’s not really relevant,” you say, your tone still polite but firm. “What’s relevant is what you’re proposing.”

Nathan leans against your desk like he belongs there. “Can’t I compliment a beautiful woman?”

Tony sits up straight, his eyes narrowing.

You force a tight smile. “I’d prefer if we kept this professional.”

Nathan laughs, but it’s the kind of laugh that says he doesn’t really take you seriously. “Oh, come on. No need to be so serious, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Tony sees red.

That’s his word.

His fingers tighten around the screwdriver in his hand, but he stays quiet—for now—watching you, waiting to see if you want him to step in.

You shift uncomfortably, clearly trying to remain professional, but it’s obvious you’re not enjoying this.

Tony doesn’t give a damn about professionalism.

He stands up, moving toward you in a few easy strides before leaning down and planting his hands on your desk, effectively caging you in while staring Nathan down.

“You know,” Tony says, voice deceptively light, “I really don’t like it when people make my assistant uncomfortable.”

Nathan blinks, clearly not expecting that.

You glance up at Tony, eyes wide.

Tony doesn’t look at you. His attention is solely on Nathan, his jaw tight, his expression calm but dangerous.

Nathan chuckles nervously. “I was just making conversation.”

“Yeah? Well, here’s the thing,” Tony says, tilting his head. “She doesn’t want to have a conversation with you.”

Nathan raises his hands. “Didn’t mean to step on any toes.”

Tony smiles, but it’s not friendly. “Oh, buddy, you stepped on mine, and I really don’t like that.”

Nathan shifts uncomfortably.

Tony straightens, taking a step back—but then he leans down again, close enough that only Nathan can hear when he says, “If you ever talk to her like that again, I will ruin your entire life before breakfast.”

Nathan swallows.

Tony claps him on the shoulder, grinning. “Now, I think we’re done here.”

Nathan nods quickly, then turns and practically flees the office.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Tony turns to you, concern flickering across his face. “You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Just… guys like that make my skin crawl.”

Tony watches you for a moment, then surprises you by gently brushing his fingers over yours.

You glance down at your hands, startled.

It’s not much. Just the lightest touch. But it makes your heart stutter.

“Next time, just say the word,” Tony says softly. “I’ll handle it.”

You swallow, suddenly very aware of how close he is.

“I—uh—thank you,” you murmur.

Tony smirks, his fingers curling around yours for just a second before he lets go.

Then, just like that, he’s back to normal, plopping onto the couch and stretching like nothing happened.

But something did.

And for the first time, you wonder if you’ve been missing something this whole time.

In the days after the Nathan incident, something shifts.

You don’t know what it is exactly, but you feel it.

Maybe it’s the way Tony watches you a little too closely when he thinks you aren’t looking. Or the way you replay that moment in your head—his fingers brushing yours, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.

Or maybe it’s the way you feel when you look at him now.

You’ve worked for Tony long enough to know he’s magnetic. People gravitate toward him, caught in his orbit like planets around the sun. You’ve always thought he was charming in an annoying way, a flirt by nature, someone who could talk his way into—or out of—anything.

But now, for the first time, you find yourself looking at him differently.

You start noticing things you never did before.

The way his eyes soften when he looks at you. The way he always saves the last bite of his favorite snacks for you. The way he makes excuses to keep you in his office longer, even when the work is done.

And it’s terrifying.

Because if this was anyone else—anyone—maybe you’d let yourself admit it. Maybe you’d let yourself fall.

But this is Tony Stark. Your boss.

And that means it’s impossible.

So, you bury it. You convince yourself you’re imagining things, that Tony is just Tony, and you’re reading into it too much.

Then Nathan Ellis comes back.

You’re at your desk, sorting through a ridiculous amount of emails when Happy walks in, looking unimpressed as always.

“Great,” he mutters. “He’s back.”

You look up, confused. “Who’s back?”

As if on cue, Nathan Ellis strolls in, his smarmy grin already making your stomach twist.

Tony is in the corner of the room, tinkering with something, but at the sound of Nathan’s voice, his hands still.

Nathan leans against your desk. “Miss Y/N,” he says smoothly. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot last time.”

You keep your expression polite but distant. “Did we?”

He laughs. “Look, I’m not here to talk business today.”

Tony doesn’t like that.

His fingers tighten around his wrench, his jaw clenching as he subtly shifts closer to listen.

Nathan continues, oblivious. “I was hoping to make it up to you. Dinner, maybe? There’s a great place downtown. My treat.”

You blink, caught off guard.

Your first instinct is to say no. You don’t like Nathan. He made you uncomfortable, and you have no interest in him.

But then—Tony.

You don’t look at him, but you feel his presence. You feel the weight of everything unspoken between you, the things you refuse to acknowledge.

So before you can think it through, you hear yourself say, “Sure.”

It’s a knee-jerk reaction, a way to prove—to yourself, to Tony, to whatever this thing is between you—that you can still be rational. That you don’t have feelings for Tony. That you can move on, be professional, keep your life normal.

But as soon as the word leaves your mouth, you regret it.

Nathan grins, clearly pleased. “Great. I’ll pick you up Friday at seven.”

You nod stiffly, and he finally leaves.

Silence lingers in the room.

You risk a glance at Tony.

He’s looking at his workbench, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t say a word.

And that, somehow, makes you feel worse.

—

Friday rolls around faster than you expect.

You dread it.

The moment you wake up, you regret saying yes.

You don’t want to go out with Nathan.

But backing out now would make you look ridiculous, and you refuse to admit—to yourself or to anyone else—why you really don’t want to go.

So, you tell yourself you’ll go. One date. It’s not a big deal.

Then Tony ruins it.

The day is insane.

More meetings than usual, a sudden crisis with one of Stark Industries’ overseas contracts, a last-minute tech demo that Tony insists he needs you to be there for.

By the time you finally look at the clock, it’s almost nine.

Your stomach drops.

You completely forgot about the date.

You grab your phone, wincing when you see multiple missed calls and texts from Nathan, all of them getting progressively more annoyed.

Shit.

You stand abruptly, grabbing your bag.

Tony—who is lounging on the couch, looking suspiciously satisfied—raises an eyebrow. “Going somewhere?”

You glare at him. “Did you do this on purpose?”

He blinks, all mock innocence. “Do what?”

“This.” You gesture wildly at the stack of paperwork still on your desk, the mess of your day, the way you were so busy you lost track of time. “You knew I had plans tonight.”

Tony shrugs. “Did you?”

You want to scream.

“Tony.”

Something flickers in his expression when you say his name like that—low, almost dangerous.

You step closer, jabbing a finger at his chest. “You did do this on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, but the smug look on his face tells you everything.

He did this.

He made sure you were too busy to leave, too busy to go on the date.

And for some reason, that makes your heart pound in a way you don’t want to analyze.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter.

Tony leans back, tilting his head at you. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a date.”

You gape at him. “That’s not the point!”

“Then what is the point?”

“The point is you manipulated me into missing it!”

He stands, stepping into your space, close enough that you have to crane your neck to keep looking at him.

And suddenly, the room feels too small.

“I didn’t manipulate anything,” he says, voice low. “I just gave you work. You’re the one who got so caught up in it you forgot about him.”

Your breath catches.

Because he’s right.

You were the one who didn’t check the time. The one who let yourself get wrapped up in Tony’s world.

And maybe—just maybe—it was because deep down, you didn’t want to go.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he wanted this. That he made sure it happened.

You shake your head, stepping back. “You don’t get to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Mess with my life like this. You don’t get to control who I see, Tony.”

He flinches.

For a second, you think he’s going to argue, make another joke, deflect like he always does.

But instead, he just watches you, something raw and unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

Then, he sighs. Runs a hand through his hair.

“You’re right,” he says quietly. “I don’t.”

The honesty in his voice catches you off guard.

It almost—almost—makes you soften.

But you’re still angry.

So without another word, you turn on your heel and leave.

Tony doesn’t stop you.

And the worst part?

A small, traitorous part of you wishes he had.

You don’t make it far.

You storm out of the office, heart pounding, anger bubbling in your chest so violently you can taste it. You don’t even know where you’re going—just away.

Away from Tony and his smug little I didn’t manipulate anything face. Away from the way he looked at you, like he wasn’t the least bit sorry. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Like he had every right to do it.

You make it to the elevator before you hear him behind you.

“Y/N.”

You don’t turn around.

“Y/N,” Tony repeats, voice sharp now, edged with something you don’t recognize.

You stab the elevator button. “Go away, Tony.”

“Yeah, see, that’s not gonna happen.”

You spin on your heel, glaring at him. “Oh, what now? You gonna kidnap me? Make sure I never leave this damn building?”

Tony sighs like you’re the one being difficult. “I just want to talk.”

“Oh, now you want to talk?” You laugh, crossing your arms. “Because when I was trying to talk about how you sabotaged my night, you had nothing to say.”

Tony clenches his jaw. “It wasn’t sabotage.”

“Oh, really?” You raise an eyebrow. “So it was just a coincidence that today of all days you gave me twice as much work as usual? That you suddenly needed me in meetings I normally don’t have to be in? That you—”

“I didn’t want you to go.”

The words come out quiet, almost too quiet to hear.

But you hear them.

And you freeze.

Tony exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. His gaze flickers away for a second, like he’s regretting saying it.

But then he looks back at you, and there’s something in his eyes—something real.

Something that makes your stomach flip.

You swallow hard. “Tony…”

He shakes his head. “Just—come back to the office. Please.”

You should say no. You should walk away.

But you don’t.

Because even though you’re furious, even though every rational part of your brain is screaming at you to be professional—to keep things normal—there’s a deeper, quieter part of you that wants to hear what he has to say.

So, you turn. Walk back.

And Tony follows.

—

The office feels different when you get back.

Quieter. Tense.

You lean against your desk, arms crossed, watching as Tony paces the room.

“Well?” you say finally.

Tony stops. Looks at you.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, he looks… nervous.

Not the fake, exaggerated kind he puts on for show, but real nervous.

He exhales. “I don’t want you dating him.”

You scoff. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“I don’t want you dating anyone.”

Your breath catches.

Tony swallows hard. “Because I—” He hesitates, like he’s physically fighting the words. Then, finally, he just says it.

“Because I love you.”

Everything stops.

The air in the room shifts, like the world itself is holding its breath.

You stare at him, your brain struggling to process what just happened.

Tony looks like he wants to take it back, like he wants to shove the words back into his mouth and pretend they never happened.

But they did.

And suddenly, everything makes sense.

The way he looks at you. The way he knows you—your coffee order, your favorite movies, the way you feel about things before you even say them.

The way he brushed his fingers over yours that day, like it meant something.

The way he sabotaged your date—not because he was being petty, but because the thought of you with someone else made him want to burn the world down.

And, God—maybe you do love him.

Maybe you have for longer than you realized.

You exhale sharply, your heart slamming against your ribs.

“Say something,” Tony mutters.

You don’t.

You move.

Before you can second-guess yourself, before you can let all the rules and expectations stop you, you grab him by the collar of his stupidly expensive shirt and kiss him.

Tony freezes for half a second.

Then he melts.

His hands come up, one gripping your waist, the other tangling in your hair. He kisses you like he’s starving for it, like he’s been waiting for this—for you.

And maybe he has.

Maybe you both have.

When you finally pull back, you’re breathless.

Tony stares at you, lips parted, looking so completely wrecked that you almost laugh.

Almost.

Instead, you press your forehead against his, inhaling deeply.

“I hate you,” you whisper.

Tony chuckles, breath warm against your skin. “No, you don’t.”

You sigh, closing your eyes. “You could’ve just told me.”

“Yeah,” Tony murmurs. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You do laugh this time.

Because of course he’d say that.

Because of course it was always going to be this—messy, chaotic, inevitable.

And as Tony kisses you again—slow this time, like he never wants to stop—you know one thing for certain.

You’re never making it to another date with anyone ever again.

Tony kisses you like he’s making up for lost time. Like he’s wanted this for so long he doesn’t know how to hold back anymore. His hands grip your waist, fingers pressing into your skin through the fabric of your blouse as he pulls you closer, eliminating the last bit of space between you. You feel the edge of the desk dig into the small of your back, but you don’t care. Not when Tony’s mouth is on yours, not when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, not when his hand slides up your back, warm and firm and impossible to ignore.

You gasp against his lips, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt, and he groans in response. The sound sends a shiver down your spine, and suddenly you’re not thinking about where you are or what this means or how this is completely unprofessional. You’re only thinking about how much you want him. How much you’ve always wanted him, even when you didn’t want to admit it.

Tony shifts, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, and before you can process what’s happening, he lifts you onto the desk. You barely manage to let out a startled breath before he’s between your legs, pressing into you, his lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

You tilt your head back, your hands moving on their own, pushing his jacket off his shoulders, sliding over the hard planes of his chest. Tony lets out a low curse, his breath hot against your skin, and you know this is getting out of control. You know you should stop. But then his fingers graze the hem of your skirt, and your heart is pounding, and—

A knock on the door makes you both freeze.

Your eyes snap open, and Tony’s lips still against your throat. For a second, neither of you moves. Your breath is ragged, and Tony’s grip on your waist tightens like he’s physically stopping himself from ignoring the interruption.

“Tony?”

Happy’s voice is muffled through the door, but it’s enough to jolt you back to reality.

You push at Tony’s chest, and he steps back with obvious reluctance. His eyes are dark, his hair is a mess from your hands, and his lips are swollen. The sight of him like this, completely wrecked, makes something deep in your stomach tighten.

You shake yourself out of it, sliding off the desk as you smooth down your clothes. Tony watches you, chest rising and falling like he’s trying to get himself under control.

“Yeah, yeah,” he calls out, voice rough. “Give me a second.”

There’s a pause, then the sound of footsteps retreating.

You exhale, pressing your fingers to your temples.

“That was—”

Tony smirks. “Hot?”

You glare at him, but it lacks heat. “Unprofessional.”

Tony sighs dramatically. “Yeah, that too.”

You shake your head, trying to ignore the way your entire body is still buzzing. “We can’t do that at work.”

Tony’s smirk widens, and you realize what you just said a second too late.

“So you’re saying we can do it outside of work?”

You groan. “Not what I meant.”

Tony grins, stepping closer again. His fingers brush your wrist, light and teasing. “Come over after your shift.”

You bite your lip, considering.

Tony dips his head, voice dropping. “I’ll behave.”

You snort. “No, you won’t.”

Tony shrugs, completely unapologetic. “Yeah, okay, I won’t.”

You roll your eyes but don’t say no.

Tony notices.

—

You don’t talk about what this means. You don’t sit down and define your relationship, don’t have some long, serious conversation about what you are to each other now.

But you don’t need to.

Because it’s obvious in the way Tony kisses you when you show up at his penthouse after work. In the way he pulls you onto the couch, his hands sliding under your shirt, his mouth never leaving yours. In the way you spend the night tangled in his sheets, waking up to his arm draped over your waist, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

It’s obvious in the way he looks at you at work, in the way he always finds an excuse to touch you. A hand at the small of your back when he passes by, a brush of his fingers against yours when he hands you something, a teasing whisper against your ear that makes you shiver.

You try to be subtle.

You don’t want anyone thinking you’re only with him to climb the corporate ladder, and Tony—surprisingly—understands. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t announce it to the world, doesn’t make some grand declaration in the middle of a meeting.

But he also doesn’t hide it.

Not really.

Because the way he looks at you isn’t subtle. The way he finds any excuse to keep you in his office longer than necessary isn’t subtle. The way he calls you sweetheart in private and Miss Y/L/N in front of others with a smirk that says he knows exactly what he’s doing definitely isn’t subtle.

And then there are the stolen kisses.

The ones in the elevator when no one else is around. The ones in the hallway when he tugs you into a supply closet with a grin and a just real quick, I missed you. The ones at his penthouse when you show up after a long day and he greets you at the door with his hands already on your hips, pulling you inside like he’s been waiting for you all day.

Because he has.

You find yourself spending more nights at his place than your own. It starts slowly—one night, then two, then three. Then, before you know it, most of your stuff is at his penthouse, and you don’t even think about going home after work anymore.

Tony never says anything about it. He never asks you to stay.

But he doesn’t have to.

Because the way he holds you when you fall asleep says everything.

Because the way he presses a lazy kiss to your temple in the morning when he thinks you’re still asleep says everything.

Because the way he looks at you—like you’re the most important thing in the world—says everything.

Tony kisses you like he’s savoring every second. His hands rest on your waist, fingers pressing just enough to make you shiver. You’re sitting on his desk, legs wrapped loosely around his hips, completely lost in the moment. It’s a rare quiet afternoon in the office, just the two of you, and Tony has taken full advantage of it.

You hum against his lips as he trails his mouth down your jaw, then lower to your neck. His stubble grazes your skin, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. His lips are warm, soft, teasing as he lingers just beneath your ear. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Tony chuckles when he feels your breath hitch. You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

You grab a fistful of his shirt. Tony responds with a slow, deliberate kiss to the side of your neck. His tongue flicks against your skin, followed by a light nip that makes you gasp. His mouth lingers there, sucking just hard enough to leave his mark.

A sharp knock on the door shatters the moment.

You both freeze. Tony exhales against your skin, shoulders tensing.

Another knock, this one louder.

Tony groans. "They have the worst timing, I swear—"

Then the door swings open, and your stomach drops.

Nathan Ellis stands in the doorway, his expression dark and furious.

The sight of him immediately kills any lingering warmth from your moment with Tony. He looks different from the smooth, arrogant man who asked you out—his jaw is clenched, his eyes cold, his posture rigid with anger.

You stiffen, already knowing this won’t be good.

Nathan steps inside without waiting for permission, eyes locked onto you. "You stood me up."

Tony straightens, immediately stepping in front of you in a way that makes it clear he has no intention of letting Nathan get any closer. "Big deal," he says flatly. "She didn’t want to go. Move on."

Nathan ignores him, eyes still burning into you. "You didn’t even have the decency to text me? Let me know instead of wasting my time?"

Your throat tightens. You don’t want to deal with this. "I got caught up at work. It wasn’t intentional."

Nathan scoffs. "Bullshit. You’re just another woman who likes to play games. You say yes to a date and then don’t even bother showing up? You think that makes you look good?"

Something shifts in Tony. His entire body goes tense, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. "Watch how you talk to her."

Nathan finally looks at Tony, his upper lip curling in disgust. "Oh, I get it now. This is why you didn’t show up, huh?" His gaze flickers back to you, sharp and accusing. Then his eyes catch something on your neck, and his entire expression twists into something uglier.

Your stomach sinks.

You don’t even need to look in a mirror to know what he’s staring at. You feel the lingering warmth where Tony’s mouth was just moments ago.

Nathan lets out a short, bitter laugh. "Wow. That’s just perfect." He turns back to Tony. "Guess I should’ve figured. Why go out with someone like me when you can just screw your boss instead?"

Your eyes widen in shock.

Tony moves before you can react.

His fist collides with Nathan’s jaw, the impact loud in the silence of the office. Nathan stumbles back, his hand flying up to his face, a stunned expression flashing across his features before fury takes over.

"Tony!" You grab his arm before he can swing again, your heart pounding.

Nathan straightens, eyes blazing with pure hatred. "You’re insane."

Tony glares at him. "Get out."

Nathan sneers, wiping his mouth. "Oh, trust me, I’m leaving. But you’re gonna regret this. Both of you."

Tony doesn’t even let him turn fully before pulling out his phone and pressing a button. "Happy. Come get this asshole out of my office."

Nathan’s jaw tightens, but before he can say anything else, heavy footsteps echo down the hall. Happy Hogan appears in the doorway, expression unreadable but posture firm.

"Let’s go," Happy says.

Nathan glares at you one last time, then at Tony, before reluctantly stepping back. Happy follows him out, and just like that, he’s gone.

The office is silent again, but the tension lingers.

Your pulse is still racing. You take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down. Then you look at Tony.

He’s standing there, still tense, his hand flexing like he’s barely holding himself back from going after Nathan again.

"You punched him," you say, still a little in shock.

Tony shrugs. "He deserved it."

You let out a breath, rubbing your hands over your face. "I can’t believe this happened."

Tony frowns. "You okay?"

You hesitate. "I just—" You groan. "Tony, you gave me a hickey."

Tony blinks, then smirks. "Just now realizing that?"

You glare at him. "I have to work in this office. People are gonna see."

Tony tilts his head, completely unbothered. "So? Let ‘em see."

You stare at him. "I don’t want them to see."

He sighs dramatically. "Alright, alright. I guess I can be more strategic about my placement next time."

You groan again, turning toward your desk. "I need concealer."

Tony snickers. "You could just wear a scarf. It’d be very elegant. Very old-Hollywood."

You shoot him a look over your shoulder. "You think this is funny."

Tony steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. His chin rests on your shoulder as he murmurs against your ear, "I know this is funny."

You shove at him, but you’re smiling despite yourself. "You’re the worst."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your jaw before finally letting you go. "Now hurry up and cover it. I have a meeting in ten minutes, and I need my very professional assistant to not look like she just had a makeout session with her boss."

You roll your eyes, reaching into your bag for your concealer. Tony watches you with a stupidly smug expression.

You shake your head, but your heart is still racing for a completely different reason now.

Because even after everything, even after the chaos Nathan caused, one thing is crystal clear.

You and Tony? You’re solid. And no one—not Nathan, not anyone—can change that.

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍

# with trafalgar law.

the heir to a throne had taken a liking to you — and law takes it upon himself to mark you his.

⎰ & KINKTOBER, day eleven. smut (mdni!). hate!sex. choking. possessive!law. biting. marking. mentions of blood. shower!sex. dom!law. afab!reader. no y/n used.

WC: 2.3k.

one could mention beyond one dozen fear-stricken adjectives when it came to the surgeon of death. sadistic, ruthless, cruel. the one to rearrange your limbs, to tear your beating heart off your chest and sell to whoever paid more. strangers trembled at the mention; lower-ranks marines were advised to not engage. law was but a monstrous criminal to most, a force to be reckoned with. to his crewmates, he lost partial sharpness, for he was but cap — strict, strategical, cunning, with a preference for solitude more often than not ignored by said boisterous subordinates. to you, he was law. a passionate, yet cold, individual — as though white flame. wielder of neutral facade that hid a habit of collecting coins; an excitement over illustrated, super-hero stories. zelous glances; fleeting brushes of fingers. love explicit through palid eyes, the mirror to his soul with your name all but engraved on it.

a commonly chosen adjective, agreed regardless of those who spoke, was that trafalgar law was thoroughly unlucky. which had been shown a fair amount of times through his journey at sea, one of them right in that instance.

it was supposed to be a common, brief, re-stocking period. when considering the increasing bounty on his head, law being the one assigned to stay-at-ship, caring for it rather than venturing through the streets, was understandable — advisable, even. whenever the captain was in need of particulars, he’d write it down and entrust you with the task of buying it all for a fair price. bepo acted as both a companion and an escort, and said routine had been settled for such a prolonged period that neither of you had expected law to leave later on that day. as capable as he was, captains had first-mates for a reason, and as a result of his stubborn nature, law suffered a combined attack from the kingdom’s security force, which culminated in his capture altogether.

the promise of the marines’ arrival had the crew on edge, desperately seeking for a route to the palace’s dungeon, yet finding none. the solution, however, fell from the skies — or rather you had thrown yourself in its arms. a naive prince, wielder of a bleeding heart and with quite a haste to fall in love. it had taken neither effort nor time to sway him off his feet, a golden crown wrapped around your criminal-esque finger. the man had taken you for a sweet commoner, enlightened at the idea of meeting one who was not royal, and after proper wording you had him at your feet within the midday.

you were showered in jewelry; poems; promises. he demanded a song to be written in your honor and defended you to whoever dared meddle. by the end of the afternoon, you had managed to successfully convince him to escort you to the dungeons — oh, my brave knight! —, for you were ever-so-curious to see the terrible surgeon of death, chained and set to execution. the prince had no time to react — too busy bragging — when you knocked both him and the guard off, stealing the keys and freeing your lover within the second.

law was revolted at your recklessness, yet curious as to how you had managed to get an audience in the dungeon. regardless, the flame of rage dimmed down into an endless, dark pit of hatred when the pair of you managed to escape and run towards the polar tang ashore. as it seemed, you were far too successful in your seducing, for now the guards followed-in-suit, shouting at each other and informing that the surgeon of death kidnapped the prince’s bride. to make matters worse, a celebratory festival was arranged and thrown, exploding fireworks announcing the incoming marriage.

law grew quieter; deadlier. he sliced whichever guard dared to come in between the route of your escape, and once the tang, at last, submerged, he was in such a mood that no crewmate had enough courage to approach him, rather focusing on the urgent task of fleeing. you weren’t given the privilege of shying away from his wrath, for a room, followed-in-suit by a shambles, had you locked in his chambers the second thereafter.

he scanned your figure, face contorting in both disgust and non-contained possessiveness. you were adorned in gold from head-to-toe, courtesy of the prince. the silken dress you wore, expensive and brand new. law prided himself in the jumpsuits the others’ wore — chest embroidered with the symbol of his crew, a lingering reminder to the external that their loyalty laid with him. yet, with you — his lover —, said jumpsuit had him growing twice as territorial; twice as prideful. he used to smirk at the thought of lustful men and women alike, cowering at the sight of the symbol you proudly displayed, retreating in fear for they knew you were his. his to protect; to adore; to touch. not the bride of a prince so incompetent he could neither sway a sword nor differentiate west from east. not a queen, but a pirate — his pirate.

at last, however, law had grown envious. the submarine’s temperature was erratic, oftentimes freezing, yet prone to insufferable warmth, depending on the sea’s conditions. those jumpsuits, although unfashionable, unflattering, had a purpose — to guarantee the comfort and safety of his crew. you feigned indifference, but he never once missed your lingering glance at the outfits worn by the straw-hat’s crew during the alliance. you, too, wished for that, and the context of being a heart pirate did not allow it. there you stood, wearing a dress gifted by another man, shining with the jewelry of his family. it made law’s entire being flare with revolt, and as if that hadn’t been enough, the scent of that prince was smeared all over your skin, causing his own to itch. treacherous thoughts a haze of unwanted images, the sight of that man hugging your shoulders; hunched over you; breath fanning over your face.

perhaps that had been the price to pay for his request for discretion; for the desperate — and unnecessary — grip he had on his privacy. your skin was unmarked, untraced. he never dared bite, never thought useful to apply perfume. no wonder that royal blood believed you free for the taking. law would need to fix that.

if he were a decent man, he would have spared the time to appreciate your efforts; to thank you for going through such lengths to save his life. yet law had not an ounce of gratitude to spare, for he cared more for the claim of your life than for the maintenance of his own.

“did you have fun?” he inquired, drawing pleasure from your wariness, shrinking as though a cornered prey. law grimaced at his approach, bitter as the prince’s perfume invaded his nostrils. “was it enjoyable being pampered while i rotted in a cell?”

your eyes widened, lips parted in shock. “of course not! i was worried sick—”

“don’t interrupt me,” law snapped, struggling to control his breathing.

it was unusual for him to behave in such an angered state, logic thrown aside for the sake of raw emotion. he was not an untamed beast of uncontrollable impulses; he was the patient feline who sent his prey to the edge of despair before offering them the sweet reprieve of death. law was not some half-assed hound who pounded without appreciating what had been given; he was not the damned eustass kid. yet, perhaps the bastard had a point — not that law would ever admit that out loud.

law kicked the small trash can straight into your feet, his eyes boring into yours. “throw it away.”

your fingers wrapped themselves around the clasp of the necklace you wore, and he clicked his tongue in annoyance, gripping the cleavage of your dress. “this one first.”

you complied, scanning him through worried eyes. law drowned in the sight of silk slipping from your shoulders to the ground, fluid fabric wavering in its descent as though a cascate of liquid, pale fire. law hated it. once he was done with you, he’d set that dress aflame with not a care for the stench whatsoever. you hunched over to grab the silk and throw it in the trash as has been instructed, yet law placed a firm hand on the crown of your head when you began to rise to your feet, forcing your knees to meet the ground.

you looked at him through your eyelashes, and his cock all but throbbed at the sight. “law—”

“why are you still with those jewels on? i told you to take it off,” he interrupted, tethering his glance to your cleavage. the lingerie set had not been altered — lacy, beige — one he had gifted to you. your hand went to the bracelet at your wrist, concentrated eyes glued to the piece. “who told you to stop looking at me?”

you shivered, careful when returning your gaze up to his face. the golden band fell onto the can, the round, diamond encrusted earrings following-in-suit. your fingers struggled with the clasp of the necklace, and law grunted with delight at the sight, aroused by your frustration. the star pendant fell into your cleavage, and had it been gifted by him, law would have commanded you to retrieve it with your teeth. but there mere thought of you doing it so in that instance had him seething.

“hurry up,” he barked, revolted with his own thoughts. you were swift — borderline desperate — in the act, throwing it out with a willingness that had him grunting in approval. “on your feet.”

despite having emerged to your full height, you shrunk under the pressure of his gaze, hugging your frame with uncertainty. law wanted to caress your cheek and spread your arms; scold you for depriving him of the sight of your breasts and abdomen, while comforting you on his desire altogether. yet, the scent lingered as though the remnant of a pest on one’s skin. law refused to give in to the urges to ravage you; to touch you as your gleaming eyes begged him to. but you would not leave without a lesson learned.

law teleported the pair of you to the bathroom, pointing towards the shower. “turn it on and stand underneath it.”

a cascade of water was bestowed upon you, soaking the fabric of your lingerie until it left nothing to the imagination. two minutes were required for it to heat up, yet law had no mercy whatsoever, forcing you to withstand the freezing liquid as he stood steps further, stripping himself without haste. vapor swirled around the room, covering inches of your flesh. your trembling stopped, and though law approached with his body bare, cock slapped against his stomach, you remained with the lingerie, for he hadn’t — and wouldn’t — order you to remove it. that had been his gift to you, and law would fuck you numb in it.

his tattooed hand closed around your neck, not quite squeezing it, yet. your head was angled as in a way to have your eyes glued to his own. “where were you touched?”

“waist,” you mumbled, ashamed. “sometimes he hugged my shoulders, too, but he’d rather have his hand on my waist.”

his pupils dilated, tempers rising. you gasped at the strength of his grip, wasting your reserve of air in a single act. law felt the wild pulse of your pressure point, crescent pace beating against the palm of his hand. underneath bone and flesh and muscle, caged amidst ribs, rested a heart whose surface that prince hadn’t touched, for that inch of you was his. every breath you took, every contraction of your heart, belonged to him. those wide, lust-coated eyes were his, as were the hardened nipples, trembling legs and awaiting lips.

law smashed his mouth against yours, more an act of violence than a kiss itself. his teeth dug into flesh, drawing blood from your lower lip, allowing it to drip down your chin. law hummed to himself at the sight, before he pushed you against the wall, ignoring the echo of your head meeting the ceramic. his canines were dragged on your shoulders, nose buried in. he hummed half-approvingly, for the water had expelled the most prominent aspects of the insufferable perfume — not nearly enough. law bit on every inch of your shoulder, steel grip unmoving on your throat, with not a care for your lack of air in your lungs. if you fell unconscious, the shower and his cock would eventually bring you back.

crystalline water merged with specks of dripping blood, soothing tongue licking your fresh wounds. law pressed himself against you, rolling his hips in order to be granted an ounce of friction. your eyes were rolled, maimed waist bearing the marks of his fingers. the grip on your neck loosened, for you could neither moan nor beg without proper breathing.

the white of his smile was tainted crimson when he smirked at you, digging his nails into your waist. “were you enjoying his attention? the festival had beautiful fireworks, wouldn’t you agree?”

his taunts fell on deaf ears. your eyes were filled with tears that dared not fall, your voice rough. the golden collar wrapped around your throat had been replaced by the mark of his fingers.

“i don’t know,” you croaked out, hissing ever-so-slightly at the wound left on your lower lip. “i was staring at you the whole time.”

his anger faltered ever-so-slightly, cock twitching at the confession. for an instance, the bathroom was filled with nothing but the steady sound of the shower and your shallow breathing. until law pressed his mouth against yours with enough strength to have your head hitting the wall behind yet again, clashing teeth; tongue forcing itself inside. he swallowed your mewl, grunting as his shaft pressed itself against you; rutting hips, dragging the tip around the slick flesh.

“law, please,” you begged, choking on your words. sadistic bastard of considerable strength. he stole the air off your lungs, yet demanded you to speak. words but a meek plea, strained and pathetic. “fuck me, please.”

“who do you belong to?” he demanded, teasing your entrance with his leaking tip.

“you,” he dug his teeth into your shoulders, squeezing your neck. his eyes spoke when words failed him; narrowed slits demanding for more. “i’m yours, yours!”

he grunted, shoving his cock inside. law increased the pressure on your neck, muffled moans sending vibrations through your skin as he slid in — base to the tip; balls slapping your ass. his tip assaulted your g-spot, hardened nipples sliding onto his chest. the angle itself was odd; challenging. your back slipped, and your legs wrapped themselves around his waist, offering him a better angle and chance to support your weight. you let out a strangled, desperate moan when his tip forced itself deeper, a ruthless pace that gave neither of you enough time to form a coherent thought.

law retreated from your shoulder in order to catch a glimpse of your face. water had united some of your eyelashes; your lips were swollen where he bit it; your eyes were facing a losing battle against consciousness. he had never seen a prettier sight.

your legs trembled, muted sounds pointing out to the approach of your bliss. law threw his head back to witness it in its full glory, snapping his hips with particular strength, holding a moan at the sensation of your walls — tightening; caging him. when you came, spurs of white smeared the pool of water underneath, law picked up his pace, torturing your abused cunt as he selfishly seeked out his own bliss.

law was a doctor. he did not fall into the spectrum of irresponsible individuals who thought themselves acquitted to the effects of unprotected sex. he had a fair stash of condoms well-hidden and set for usage, and if he ever were to run out of it, either your stomach, tits or face were chosen to be smeared with his cum. however, after the previous demonstration of desire from another, law grew territorial. his cock was yet sheltered within your walls when he reached his high, smearing your insides with his essence and grunting in the process of it all — knowing that you were his; that it was your tight, demanding cunt who milked him dry. his hand raised from your throat to caress your cheeks with an affection at odds with his past behavior.

you were soaked; exhausted. with his load lodged inside, traces of his teeth on your maimed shoulder. you would be sore in the morning, and the collar of his fingers would linger for at least a week. not the bride of a prince — rather the treasure of a pirate.

— 🐈‍⬛ : i should NOT be allowed to write this man. happy kinktober friday!

[dropsnectar]

Your Puppy Siren!: When a Siren Gets his Legs

M!Siren x gn!reader

NSFW

You had just moved into your aunt's summer house. It was a lovely place with its own private beach. You had been excited to go on a morning swim when, on one of the rocks by the shore, you found him. He was covered in grey skin and scales that shone sea blue in the sunlight. He scared you at first, causing you to run away, but you had made the mistake of tripping over your own bag before inhaling a mouthful of sand.

This seemed to amuse the creature as it laughed lightly at you. He continued to stay at his rock and raised his hands. He made quiet keening sounds, as if to sooth you. You had to admit it worked. You had never heard such a lovely sound before coming from a creature. Something about the texture of it made your heart flutter.

You kept your distance but tried to speak with him. He didn’t reply, but made gestures to your hair, which you had been growing long lately. He made the gesture again and let out a long beautiful sound. Was he? Complimenting your hair?  

You put your hand to your heart and smiled. He seemed to get the gist because he sang out a low relaxing serenade. The two of you went on like this for an hour. Eventually, you felt brave enough to rummage through your bag for a tuna fish sandwich. Slowly, you made your way towards the creature, showed you ripping off a piece of your sandwich, and taking a bite. You ripped off another piece and handed it to him.

His fingers ghosted around yours as he took the food, his skin was cool. 

He took a hesitant bite, before finishing it off in one go. He seemed to like it as he reached his hand out for more. You moved closer, sitting on the other side of his rock. When you handed him the last piece he put one of his hands on top of yours. He carefully took the sandwich from your fingers and brought it to your lips, gesturing for you to open your mouth. You did so, and the merman warbled gleefully, popping it in. As you chewed, he watched your mouth with interest.

When you had finished the sandwich, he was still humming, his feelings of satisfaction evident by his tones. He moved closer to you and pointed to his mouth, then to you. You wiped your mouth instinctively but he pouted. Carefully, he leaned forward, and pressed his lips to yours. They tasted salty. Your face heated and you put a hand on his scaled shoulder. He slipped a textured tongue into your mouth and you moaned around him, leaning your body flush against him.

You were surprised by the fire of the kiss. You felt needy and desperate almost immediately. There was something about his tongue that felt like fireworks and when he pulled away, how he nudged your forehead with his own was so cute. Except for the static shock that shot through your forehead. That hurt like a bitch.

You swore and shot away from his face, eyes hazy. 

“Don't move too much, you could fall!” A worried voice chirped toward you. You looked up to see the merman leaning over you with concern.

“You… you can talk?” You whispered. He gave you a lopsided grin and hummed a lovely little serenade. After a moment, he continued. “I didn't before. But you gave me enough of your mind for a moment so I could learn! Now I can speak as well as you!”

“Like, Merman magic or something.”

He laughed and pulled you closer to him again. 

“What an adorable thing to say. We do have types of magic, though I will admit, its more of an instinctual sort.”

He leaned toward you and started leaning down, rubbing his cheek against your shoulder. His other hand hand reached around your waist, holding you close to his cool body. Honestly, his scales felt nice under the heat of the sun. You leaned into him as he hummed. 

“You're voice is beautiful Mr. Mermaid.” You mentioned a bit shyly. He beamed at you with eyes that stared a little too hard.

“I'm a Siren actually! But you were close! Mermaids don't come to shore often, so I hope you don't have the misfortune of running into one.”

He started playing with your hair happily. He was very affectionate, this Siren. 

“Aren't Sirens… you know. Supposed to eat people?” You said, somewhat at a whisper. He paused in disbelief for a second and bit his lip, revealing sharp teeth. 

“While you look particularly scrumptious, we don't tend to eat humans. Though if I was traveling with my pod, our song could capture a good shark or a whale that would feed us for quite a while. Not that a perfectly spiteful Siren couldn't do it.” 

He kept answering your questions, the whole time refusing to let his hands leave you. You had to admit, after that kiss, it had really flustered you. But your curiosity won out. Eventually, it grew dark and you told your new… friend? That you would need to head home as it was getting too dark for you to see.

“All this talking and I don't know your name.” 

He looked at you with quirked brows. “You wouldn't be able to pronounced it with your human tongue, but… you can call me Baby. Yes. That will fit perfectly.”

Heat filled your cheeks. “Baby? You should know thats more of an endearement then an actual name…” 

“We have been talking all day. Are we not close to each other now?” He made a dramatic face of disappointment. 

“Please call me Baby. I like that name. I will answer to nothing else.” His tone was final. 

Seeing that he would not budge, you acquiesced. He begged you to come visit him the next day, and you did. In fact, you visited him every chance you got. You had him try different human food, and the two of you had even set up a book reading arrangement. It seemed his language magic also stretched to written language.

You loved listening to his voice. Whether he was warbling or using his human pitch, it always gave you a little pep. 

He continued to glue himself to you, hands always wandering. He'd wrap them around your waist, massage your shoulders, and hold your hand every chance he got. Whenever you called to him, he would look at you pointedly, waiting in earnest until you said what he wanted to hear.

“Baby.” You'd sigh, and he'd keen and be merry for the rest of your conversation. He was so earnest, it was adorable.

Today though, something was different. Summer was starting to transition to fall. You didn't know how but you knew he would have to leave. Your sweet little Siren couldn't stay with you forever.

He finally confirmed this himself.

“The water is getting too cold for me. Ill have to return to my pod soon.” 

“I'll miss you.” You admitted, wrapping your arms around yourself as the cool air swept up.

He looked at you with such longing, his face leaning closer to yours. 

“May I kiss you?”

You paused a moment, eyes staring into his heated gaze and pretty mouth. You nodded, and he pounced on you, crushing his lips to yours. You stayed like that for a while. As you started to moan he started to hum into you, a beautiful noise that filled you with hope and flooded your core.

“Are you putting a spell on me Mr. Mermaid?” You teased, head getting dizzy as he started rubbing the gap between your swim shirt and swim trunks. His mouth ghosted over your neck now, and he was starting to hump at your thigh with his tail his eyes lidded. 

“Thats not my name.” He pouted, pulling down your trunks, airing you out for him and the ocean to see. 

“Baby.” you breathed out, pushing his head down to your most sensitive area, and skimming the place that made you moan best with your fingers. He grinned happily, and started to experiment, his rough fingers drawing circles around you. Eventually, you started to leak. This seemed to surprise Baby. It made sense, as he lived in water.

“It means I feel good.” You admitted bashfully. He experimentally touched the fluid with his finger and brought it up to his mouth. He made a low trilling sound, his eyes changing color. You had never seen that before. He pushed you down onto the sand, and started sucking you down. As you chocked out in pleasure he continued. You felt that familiar live wire feeling, buried beneath all the sensation he was giving you and you knew he was using that magic of his. For what you didn't know. 

He started to sing, the vibrations of it echoing through you and you jerked manically. He kept itup, singing the most beautiful tune. It was full of lust and need and want and as you looked down at him you could see his tail was humping a hole into the sand beneath him. You hoped it felt good, as you could see something had emerged from his tail, a curved, ocean blue cock. You couldn't make out much else as he sucked you down hard again, causing waves of pleasure to crash through you.

“Am I making you feel good?” You could tell he was looking for praise. 

“So good. You've been such a good boy-- ah!” He had chosen that moment to pump two of his slick fingers into you, gently tracing your spongy walls. You jerked some more, feeling you were close.

“Baby, mmm Baby so good.” You drooled out as he experimented with tracing a certain spot inside you, driving you mad. 

He was singing again as you came, his voice making your core even hotter, like it always did.

“Wanna breed you. Can i?” He was looking at you from under his blue grey lashes. You nodded, but frowned, as he was slowing his pumping. You felt your tension recede and you whined out, nose wrinkling.

“Please! Take me!” You finally gave in and his lips quirked up in triumph as he pulled himself up to mount you and thrust inside. 

You both choked out, his groans going from human to inhuman, as he made little chirping and warbling sounds, drool dripping down his chin. He pumped himself into you, slowly at first. Their was a strange sensation and you realized he was growing inside you. Longer, his ridges were more pronounced and it felt divine.

“You feel so-mmmnn.” He was singing again, and this time it had magic to it. It was like some invisible force had invaded your mind, scratching an itch you never knew you had. You groaned out as you came hard around his cock, the feeling so delicious you didn't even know if you were breathing. You were just sensation and pleasure and you knew he was using his magic, he couldn't help it, you just felt so good and that's what sirens did.

You didn't know how you could comprehend all this as you came but you continued to ride out your high. Baby was so sex drunk he was grinning at you as he keened.

“Nothing… has felt… as good as you!” His strokes were  faster now, his eyes rolling in the back of his head. Something was different, but your hazy mind couldn't understand what, you just kept coming. 

And then he came, his seed hot inside you. Baby was so cute, his breath shaky as he leaning over you, finally collapsing onto your body. He was silent now for the first time your whole session.

“I love you.” He said, as easy as if he was stating the weather. Then he sat up and crossed his legs.

His legs?? 

This seemed as much as a surprise to him as you. 

“This is perfect.” He breathed, wiggling his new toes. “Now I’ll never have to be without you again!”

***

Siren magic is so interesting, maybe ill write a part two? 

(Future Nectar here, I did a part 2!)

Part Two

[vandal-flower]

Saying Something Stupid, like I Love You

Poseidon x Amphitrite!Reader

Requested. @amphitriteswife

Plot: Poseidon faces a dilemma concerning his love life. Reluctantly accepting their help, he plans to make things right with (Name). Thankfully she is lonely on New Year's and needs all the company she can get.

Warnings: Poseidon is bad at feelings but it works out, angst but a happy end.

Notes: Happy new year. Here is my gift. 🐚

"You've been an awful mood lately.", Zeus teased, raking his beard as he chuckled.

His brother, Poseidon didn't dare to say anything, but instead glared at him. Not that it would do much anyways.

"Look I was right Hades! Doesn't he look like a pouting child!", at this point Poseidon nearly summoned his trident just to skewer his brother, not caring for the consequences at hand.

But before he could, Hades smacked Zeus's head, "Quit your teasing Zeus, but you do have a point. Brother what is going on with you, did something happen?", Hades glanced over at the ruler of the seas with a look of concern.

In all his years, not once did Hades ever see Poseidon be so...off. Sure he is arrogant, but he has the power to back it up. But now, he looks as if he is distressed. This whole week he has been.

From what he heard, he has been ignoring meetings with his fellow godlike beings, causing unnecessary problems, ignoring his duties on Olympus, and at one point nearly flooded the whole of Olympus when asked about it.

Since that incident, no one has been able to tell him to stop, out of fear of being killed.

"It's nothing you should concern yourself. I'm perfectly fine."

If there was anything that Hades knew better than anyone else, it was that Poseidon was a terrible liar.

Zeus sneaked behind Poseidon's chair, "Let me take a guess."

"You need my help but you don't want to admit it."

"I would never require the assistance of someone like you."

"You accidentally broke your trident and now you're throwing a fit."

"Should I smite you with said 'broken trident' Zeus?"

"Is it concerning Amphitrite?", Hades asked, breaking the dispute between his younger brothers.

Poseidon was silent. Bingo.

Zeus's laugh filled the room as Hades chuckled at the sudden realization. Poseidon has been having love problems. Should news of Poseidon's love life ever go out, the Heavens would fall apart. Maidens and potential suitors would have their dreams shattered.

Realizing he could not get out of this mess, Poseidon, reluctantly, have a brief summary of his situation.

Amphitrite or (Name), has been distancing herself from him as of late. Everytime he approached her, she would throw some reason to excuse herself. No longer could he see her glowing dark skin under the sun, or the moonlight. Stare into her eyes that put the beauty of various beings to shame. He could no longer be held by her, or even listen to her enchanting voice.

In short, he could no longer be with her.

"I never thought you would be a lovesick fool Poseidon. Never thought they day would come.", Zeus joked earning another glare from Poseidon.

"It makes sense, you have been a temper tantrum. I should've stopped your habit if I knew it was going to be this bad.", Hades said, a smile growing on his face as he too teased the King of the Seas.

Poseidon hated the reaction he received from his brothers. They were making fun of him, and had it not been for the fact that they're his most trusted pupils, he would of ended their lives swiftly long time ago.

Soon, Hades collected himself, and Zeus followed suit. "So do you want our help or not, lover boy Poseidon?", Zeus nudged Poseidon, further agitating him.

With no other option, Poseidon answered a begrudgingly "yes".

The aftermath of Christmas lingers as festive lights and decorations all around the Heavens. With the new year, brought new beginnings and although it was meant to bring joy, it had only brought more sadness to (Name).

Seeing all the couples walking around with each other in arms, or buying more fireworks to celebrate the new years at their parties. Not to mention, a sculpture of Zeus dressed up in a tuxedo with Hera beside him with a glamorous dress to showcase her beauty. How great...

As much as she wished to climb into the arms of her friends to get rid of her feelings, she couldn't. With the following reasons...

Her nymph friends were trying to get a chance to be with gods like Apollo.

Persephone was visiting Hades in the Underworld or her mother on the Overworld.

Other friends of hers were visiting family or too busy.

Nonetheless, she was alone. She sighed to herself, the cold wind gently blowing against her face."For a bright and lively season like this, you don't like you're having much fun."

(Name) perplexed at the sudden voice, turned around to see Hermes. "Happy New Year to you Hermes. Any deliveries you should be attending to?", she looked at him with suspicion. Hermes smiled wider than usual.

"No reason.", he spoke. "However if I were you, I would go to the beach to calm all my worries." He pointed towards the beach, his smile not faltering not once. (Name) frowned at his words.

Sure, the beach would be great. Sand under her feet, and a chance to relax in the cool waters. However it reminded her of Poseidon.

Something told her that he doesn't like her presence as he hardly ever responded to what she says, only answering with a nod or a hum. And with his cold attitude, it only made sense he didn't think much of her or at all. The guilt of wasting his and her time ate her inside.

So to avoid making the situation worse, she distanced herself. Sure it hurts, but it's the thought that counts.

"Any reason for you to say that? In fact, why don't you mind your business, go run errands somewhere. I'm busy.", she waved off his suggestion and continued walking.

"Oh, but you have to. Poseidon ordered for your presence. And if word got out that you rejected the Poseidon himself, what would the Heavens make of you?"

Damn. He made a good point.

With no other choice, (Name) changed course and walked towards the beach. Not without cursing Hermes.

"So...you wanted my presence, Lord Poseidon?", (Name) asked. Before her was a dinner table and multiple decorations: seashells, corals, and lights. Donned in a fine suit with a small flower in the chest pocket, was the King of the Seas with his signature cold gaze. In his hands held a bouquet.

"I would like to take you to dinner.", he answered as she still tried to process the situation. This was all too much! The dinner table, decorations, and the flowers?

It would have been anyone's dream to experience was the scene right in front of her eyes, but not her. She avoided Poseidon like the plague only for him to ask for her and present her with dinner? Romantic as it is, it seemed suspicious...

"But, why? You clearly don't like my presence, so why the sudden change, AND why did you feel the need to plan a romantic dinner?!"

His eyes glanced at a rock that hid both Hades and Zeus, the duo gave him a thumbs up. He glared at them before turning his attention back to (Name). "I wanted to make you feel special, and...to apologize for my behaviour towards you."

If there was one thing the King of the Seas was not good at doing was apologies, however it was always genuine whenever he was backed into a corner to apologize.

"Apologize?"

"Yes."

Internally, (Name) clutched her pearls. Poseidon the King of the Seas, most feared Olympian, apologizing?! "It must be a dream", she thought.

Poseidon took a deep breath, silently cursing his brothers, " (Name), for the past weeks that I was away from your presence, I had the opportunity to contemplate my actions towards you."

"Every time you make some pathetic excuse to avoid me, it...breaks my heart to see you go. Your presence makes living more tolerable, since I'm surrounded by a circus.", Zeus gasped is shock at his comment, had it not been for Hades stopping him, he would have ruined the moment.

"You are more enchanting than the stars themselves, your voice eases my heart, and even if I were to give you a thousand compliments today and ten thousand tomorrow, it would still not be enough to describe how I truly feel about you."

Despite the cold look on his face, his cheeks and ears were dusted with pink. His eyes held a hidden warmth only meant for her. He walked towards (Name), holding the bouquet of forget-me-nots to her. It looked like he wanted to propose to her.

"But why, do this all for me, why do you want me?", (Name) asked, tears about to spill from her eyes. Poseidon sighed, "Because I love you."

Zeus and Hades popped their heads from behind the rock, eyes wide open. To hear their Poseidon actually say he loves someone was a miracle of itself.

Time had stood still for a moment between (Name) and Poseidon. Without realizing, tears had already started streaming down her face. Closing the distance from the two, Poseidon wiped her tears away with his thumbs. (Name) pressed her forehead against his, her eyes looking into his own.

"I appreciate the view, allowing me to see your eyes closely once more.", he whispered causing a smile to form on her face. She wrapped her arms around his waist, before giving him a kiss on the lips. As she pulled away, she rested her hands on his cheeks.

"Come back to my palace, there's a new collection of pearls and other accessories that I believe would suit you."

"I would love to, my dearest."

The two entered the ocean together, Poseidon in the arms of (Name), and (Name) telling him of her latest adventures. Once the two were gone, Zeus and Hades left their hiding spot.

"Well that turned out better than I anticipated.", the King of the Heavens smiled. "But what to do about the dinner setup?", Hades questioned.

The two stopped and thought about, "I'll just use it as an apology to Hera, after we had our argument the other day.", Zeus said.

"You are really shameless."

Happy new years!!

Sorry if Poseidon is ooc, but we deserve a soft Poseidon at least once in a while...

[clone-futon]

「 Fireworks 」

Phew, finally I can do something for them on this day! 🥹🙏🏻

I was actually going to throw away the first sketch of this because I was desperate and didn't know how to color, (I still think it's not in its best state) but at least I'm glad I didn't do that.

And I also tried to write something too, again, probably, using gg trans- but whatever, enjoy :'Db

__________________________________

"Hey, kid, what are you doing here?"

The familiar voice rang out between the crashing waves, carrying its usual amusement. Conan didn’t need to turn around—he knew exactly who it was.

"Fireworks," he replied curtly, igniting a sparkler and watching golden sparks dance in the salty breeze.

Behind him, Kaito Kid approached slowly, his shoes already off, leaving messy footprints on the damp sand. His signature white cape fluttered in the humid sea breeze, though the heavy moisture seemed to try and drag it down. The thief didn’t seem to mind, only glancing at the bag of fireworks beside Conan with curious eyes.

"Wanna join?" Conan held out a bundle of sparklers toward Kid.

The thief chuckled softly, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes "You saved some for me, huh?"

"You snooze, you lose. You'd better hurry before I light them all myself."

"Now, now—there’s no way I’d let you hog all the fun." Kid stepped forward, pulling out a small sparkler. The crinkling sound of the paper wrapper blended with the endless rhythm of the waves.

Conan sat down, shielding the small flame as he lit another firework. The first burst of light illuminated both their faces.

"That thing’s gonna get wet," Conan remarked, eyeing the edge of Kid’s white cape dangerously close to the surf.

Kid shrugged, unconcerned. "Nah, it'll be fine—"

The wind shifted. A sudden wave crashed onto the shore, sending a thin mist spraying into the air. Kid blinked in surprise as a few cold droplets hit his cheek, while Conan merely raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"Yeah, sure, fine."

Without hesitation, Conan reached over, grabbed a handful of the thief’s cape, and tied it into a knot to keep it from trailing on the wet sand.

Kid blinked down at him. "Hey, you—"

"I told you, but you didn’t listen." Conan pulled the knot tight, making sure it held. "Watching you struggle with that thing was getting annoying." His tone was completely casual, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

Kid sighed but made no move to undo the knot. Instead, he sat beside Conan, twirling a sparkler between his fingers.

The second firework flared to life, golden sparks flickering against the night. Kid walked closer to the shoreline, his bare feet sinking slightly into the damp sand as the light reflected off the waves, creating dazzling streaks of gold.

He stared at the sight for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes, before turning his attention back to Conan. Under the wavering glow, the detective’s expression looked more relaxed than usual, the reflections in his glasses shimmering like tiny stars.

The waves crept closer.

"Uh, Meitantei? You might wanna step back a bit..." Kid said, a smirk playing at his lips.

"That trick won’t work on me." Conan muttered, shifting slightly but refusing to move too much.

Another wave rolled in—faster, stronger.

Neither of them reacted in time.

The freezing water surged forward, climbing higher than they expected, soaking Conan’s shoes and pants, and completely drenching Kid’s pristine white suit. The sparklers in their hands flickered desperately before dying out.

They stood still for a moment. Then—

"The fireworks... went out."

"Obviously."

"I told you, but you didn't listen." Kid parroted Conan’s words from five minutes ago.

"...This is gonna be a pain," Conan groaned.

Kid glanced down at himself—his coat clung to his body, his hat dripping water down his nose. "Well... now we’re both soaked." Then he laughed.

Conan sighed, shaking his shoes in vain to rid them of water. "You owe me a hot drink after this."

"Happily."

And so, under the night sky, with the waves lapping at their feet and the cold seeping into their clothes, neither of them seemed in a hurry to leave. They lit another firework—after all, the night was still young.

"Happy April Fools', Meitantei."

Conan huffed, but the corner of his lips curled up. "Yeah. Same to you, magician."

Neither of them planned on leaving anytime soon.

[saphig-iawn]

Installing Updates

You had a good night. A little session with me, followed by playing some games and just enjoying the evening to yourself.

Tiredness was making itself known, hanging on your shoulders and soothing your eyes to a gentle sleep, but your PC was still running and the last time you left it on overnight meant you were greeted by a uncomfortably warm room the following day.

You shrug off sleep's welcoming blanket and go through your little rituals; resisting one more quick game, closing everything down, turning off the lamp at your desk, repositioning the little figurine you knocked over when reaching for the lamp.

A blaze of solid colour greets you as your lamp turns off; your adjusting eyes fighting through the torrent of light to see what was happening on your monitor.

A Windows update…

You practically go limp in your chair with twinned apathy and disappointment, a sigh hanging in the air where you were holding yourself up. You fought off the notifications for so long, but your PC finally got you when your guard was down.

Usually you would've just pulled yourself up from your chair and left for your bed, but an unknown error interrupted the last update and you found your meticulously arranged desktop all rearranged and Edge had reinstalled again so you decided to just sit and let this one pan out.

What was a couple more minutes at your desk?

You tiredly chuckle under your breath when you remember the spinning dots at the centre of the screen is called throbber, and right now they're the best entertainment to keep you occupied.

The percentage number finally appears and begins its steady march through single digits.

You sigh again, realising this could be one of those ones where the PC restarts a whole bunch, so you decide to snuggle into your chair a little, resting your weary head on your shoulder.

A laboured blink rolls through your eyes.

20% complete.

Your head lolls with another chuckle, perhaps next time you blink the update would've sped up again, like skipping a cutscene.

In your tiredness, you decide to commit to the bit you've spun in your head and blink.

34% complete.

A little spark of joy lifts the veil of sleep for a moment, hehe your new power works!

Blink.

45% complete.

Blink.

58% complete.

Bllliink

66% complete.

Bllllllliiiinnnkk…

78% complete.

Your head was growing heavy, your eyelids using more energy with each blink.

Bllllllllllliiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnkkk…

Oh that one felt strange, like it was pulling your consciousness down as the darkness poured in behind your eyelids.

Blllllllllllllllllllllllllliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-

Your eyes can't focus. Your head feels like its orbiting your shoulders. You feel like you're being rolled and tossed by a thick caramel sea.

-iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnkkk…

The text on screen is in triplicate, all copies fighting for recognition in your foggy mind.

97%

The three screens dance across your vision.

98%

Your mind is swimming.

99%

Your feel yourself slipping.

100%

The screen flashes white.

You sit bolt upright.

Your mind is full of calm laced with apprehension…

No… not apprehension…

Anticipation…

Like a dog waiting to run.

Like a firework waiting to go off.

Singular,sharpened,focused.

Thiswasagony,whythewaiting?

Timewasdragging

Youcanfeelafrustration

Itiscracklinginthecornersofyourmind.

BeggingpleadingscreamingpleasepleasepleasepleasePLEASE

The screen wakes up.

Good drone.

Your heart fills with pride, with accomplishment, with validation. The crashing waves of the Anticipation quell and hush.

Drone. [Action]: Stand.

You stand. You didn't even think about standing. You just stood. Like the white noise of your mind peeled away to the arrow of the words on your screen. Like you always have been standing, like it was your purpose to stand.

Good drone.

Fuck that felt good, you thought, but that sudden bursting forth of that thought was quickly hushed by the Anticipation.

Drone. [Action]: Strip.

You were naked. Like you were supposed to be naked. Like it was your natural state. That it was right that you weren't wearing anything.

Good drone.

Your body tries to convulse with the pleasure that courses through it, but you weren't told you could.

Preliminary Test: Complete

The Anticipation purred hungrily.

Drone. [Action]: Enter Standby.

…

The layers of your consciousness slide back into position.

You gather your bearings.

Your chest is heaving; your heart, racing.

The chill of cool night's air catches your attention, as the warmth of the clothes pooled at your feet begins to dissipate.

You go to react with the shock that you were just stood naked in front of your PC, but something in your mind reaches for that emotion and coddles it before it can go any further.

A calm settles on your thoughts like morning dew, that what happened was pleasant, and that you really should get going to bed.

You glance at the monitor one last time, and then at the PC next to it; the memories of botched updates passed surfacing again.

A single LED turning off informs you that your computer has gone to bed too.

With a contended sigh, you gather your clothes and make your way to your bed, each step soothing your body and welcoming back that warm blanket of sleep.

Cocooned in your blanket, head on your pillow, you can't help but softly smile as sleep pulls you in.

Did you enjoy? Here's my ko-fi if you fancy leaving a tip or want to talk about being transformed yourself!~

[amoristt]

the night falls like heaven || 2

part one (x)

「 ✦nam-gyu/reader ✦ 」 tags: sfw // hurt/comfort, mild sexual themes, mild violence, not as angsty as the first one lol, namgyu is a fake idgafer,

a/n: im so happy to get this final out UGH i do have one more small piece related to this mini series ( wink wink iykwim) that ill get posted asap! i hope you guys enjoy hehehe word count: 7.5k | songs i listened to (x) (x) original request (x)

・❥・When you open your eyes on the dawn of the third day, the first thing you’re met with other than the ceiling is the hushed whispering of other players already awake. Chatter that grew by the minute, drowned out below you. 

Sitting up was a hassle for sore, sore muscles and aching bones that had been shaken to the very marrows. You remembered praying, staring up into the white tiles above, for god to give you an easier day than the last. 

You weren’t sure how much more of this you could take. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the third game. Mingle was a monster bearing teeth and a gaping maw, biting and snarling and killing. Blind panic, grabbing hands and twisting fingers. Room after room watching the light in someone's eyes go out through the miniscule gap in the heavy doors. 

Almost every second of the game was spent in apprehensive terror, watching the room go round and round until you were dizzy between the colors and blood. The way fear had stricken you made it hard to focus on anything except numbers and faces, split second decisions that showed only the truest of nature, tailing the few people you’d grown acquainted with into rooms bathed in muted greens and oranges. 

Nam-gyu was nowhere to be seen- or perhaps you were just simply overlooking him, lost in the sea of moving bodies and swaying feet. 

Groups of six became five, and then four. One after the other, names of those you’d never gotten the chance to learn became grave markers. Four, and then three. 

Over the days, you’d grown quite close to a player who’d happened to choose the bed a couple feet from yours, the both of you chatting about the people scattered about the dormitories. He was a kind man with dark hair and even darker eyes that never seemed to feel untrustworthy. Normal enough, friendly enough. Quick to let you join his team during the six-legged race even though you’d found him with a sour expression and an ever more sour attitude. 

So when the number of players per room dropped to two, you jumped to grab his hand and yank him into a room. The least you could do, you think. He had been so kind when you kept messing up your minigame, managed to gather your confidence into the final try, you owed it to him to get him through his game. 

You threw a door open and let him jump inside. For just a second, all the chaotic cries were muffled through the thick walls. 

But only for a second. Because something true and powerful ripped you back by your tracksuit, dragged you right out from that room and sent you skittering on the floor feet away. The wind knocked from your lungs, the back of your head bouncing off the floor with a crack. Fireworks exploded behind your eyes, obscuring the scene before you, but not so much to miss a man slipping into the room after forcibly taking your place.

When you finally bring yourself to your feet and try to pry the door back open, you see your friend held back by that damned player all the way in the corner. 

“Run!” Your friend cries. No sound reaches you. “Run!”

The step back you took was shaky, your mind swimming, lost under the ocean. Heat flooded your skin, prickly and loud. Your heart was a thrashing beat, beat, beat, in your ears. 

Outcries and players beating on doors in the corners of your eyes. 

You were going to die. 

The first thing you think of, standing there frozen in place, watching your friend try in vain to free himself from the other player’s (your murderer’s) grip, was what death would be like. Doors slam shut, rooms occupied with poor souls clutching at the window trying to pry the doors open.

The player holding your friend back gave you sorry, sorry eyes despite it all. 

You hoped the afterlife would be kinder than this. 

And then, with seconds to live, you think of Nam-gyu. The time spent with him argues with the pit of hours spent wasted. Years of wondering and then days of having. It was never good for you, not really, but you loved him in a way that made you weak in the knees. And you missed him so, so deeply that when you’d locked eyes with him on day one there was this little part of you that hoped he did, too. 

Clearly, he did. And you fought against him like a bull, his hands tearing away on your horns, all anger and sneers. A piece of you rearing its head, an angry beast that would prickle at the very thought of his name. A suit of rage to hide away that broken hearted girl standing in the doorway, wishing he’d stop her. 

All that. Just to let him back in. 

If you had known this was the end, perhaps you would have let him prove himself.

You’re yanked to the side so intensely you almost drop to the ground like a stone through murky waters. Running, somehow, even though you couldn’t feel your legs. Everything is a blur of colors and flashing pinks, your brain’s gears have gone haywire and firing blanks in the disarray. When you’re getting your footing back, and your eyes have decided to process the sight before you, you’re drowned out in green covering every corner. 

Metallic thudding and muffled screams. You’re spun around on your heels so quickly it almost made you tip over all over again.

“Why the fuck were you just standing there?!” 

You hear his voice before you see his face. 

When you do, and Nam-gyu’s blocking that abhorrent neon light beating over your skin, it feels like all the gears have stopped. Tunnel vision, all else echoing away in chambers far forgotten. His hands drag from your shoulders to your face, tries to gather the bits of you scattered outside the room. 

“What’s going on with you, huh? Listen to me!”

He’s angry. Or, at least, he looks like it- sounds angry too. But the way his eyes are scanning you, searching you over in noticeable distress tells you otherwise. Fingers running through your hair, tips dancing through your locks until suddenly they nudge up against something so sharply sensitive that it makes you leap. He’s quick to stop you when you try to shove against his chest. 

“Hold still,” Fingers still searching, the palms flat against the sore spot you’d cracked against the hard floor. “You hit your head.”

Not angry, after all. Even the animosity in his tone has melted into something quieter. He draws back and checks his hands for blood. 

“I’m fine.” You have this idea to push Nam-gyu away from you. For some reason, you don’t. You lean into him. Maybe it’s because your head is still struggling to support your brain. Or, maybe, it’s because at that moment you were grappling with the reality that was him being one of your final thoughts. Again. 

Flirting with death was becoming a trend with a common denominator. 

You bury your face into his chest and let yourself feel protected for the first time in years. For a moment, Nam-gyu tenses. Unsure, disbelief. 

“Thank you.” Your voice was a gentle hum that vibrates against his chest, and sticky tears are dampening your water lines, lost in his tracksuit. Wakes him up, muscle memory wraps his arms around your body. You can’t hide the way you tremble like a leaf.

And you can’t hide the way he soothes it all out, rests his chin against the top of your head and lets you use him to find yourself in one piece.

You thank him again, even when he says not to. You thank him, and thank him, and thank him until the door unlocks and you follow him out like a braindead zombie. Pools of blood, now more than ever, are splattered along the floor. 

You see yourself among them.

Still a meandering zombie all the way back to the dormitories. The top bunks have all been taken down, marking the end of lives. There’s a pit in your stomach that only alleviates when you lock eyes with your friend- and this stupid grin explodes over your face when he realizes you lived. He’s across the room from you now, but he’s warm all the same. 

It takes a long time to find a new bed to call your own, but when you do, you hope laying down will help you with the thoughts rattling around in your skull. 

.

Hours later, you’re still drowning in thoughts. 

I do know you. That's exactly why I won’t be on your side. 

Your throat strickens. A million thoughts are bursting your brain at its very seams and spilling out from the cracks. Chatter is endless in the dormitory, but you loiter in uncanny silence. 

You know that I can’t stay with you. Never again. 

The extraordinary disdain so profound it had scared even you to hear it rolling off your tongue. Standing before you, ears flat and flickering tail tucked, an unending urge to control, Nam-gyu had been the very same man you’d deserted for all those years. But the core of you had been so blue it would frost to the very touch, sapphire walls of licking flame to keep anyone and anything out. Even as you found companionship in the presence of others, your mind called for him until you’d hushed it with an onslaught of terrible, terrible memories at his own hands. 

But then you almost died, ripping the cord back on your third attempt at the spinner, watching it tumble fruitlessly as your heart thudded in your ears. Finally getting it, and still barely passing the finish line with your lives intact. It rocked you- changed you, but only in the ways you didn’t notice right away. Walking back into that dormitory, frightened as rabbits before great jaws of teeth, the first thing you fancied yourself to see was him. 

You felt something real when you did- something forgotten and dusty creeping into the forefront of your mind. 

And then he went and saved your life during Mingle. 

Plucked you from the claws of death itself and dragged you into that washed out green-lit room, the colors hueing off your skin and glistening in his eyes when he grabbed your face to check on you. The distress of his expression, the red-hot regard for you to be in one piece, to be in his hold again after so long… It rewired something in your fuzzy brain. Clarity, or illusion, settled and fired echoing shots of previously snuffed out passion to life. 

Reminded you why you fell in love with him, why you never wanted to be without him. More specifically, why being his girlfriend, his one and only, was so important. 

You had known from the start that you were his. You knew it the first night he’d picked you up on his night off and drove you around the city, watching the lights sing in the hues of his eyes. You knew it when he crept into your apartment at a very whim after a long shift, particularly worn and falling into your bed with beautiful ease. 

You knew it the first time he kissed you, eager and fervent. And you knew it the first time you felt him inside of you. Heavy, filling, the perfect piece to all that you needed. 

At the end of the day, you knew it was always you and him- until that fact began to waver and fade, and you found that resolve cracking. Disappearing for weekends at a time, never returning a text or a call, until suddenly it was two in the morning and he was at your door, and you’d barely even get the chance to rub the sleep from your eyes before he was pushing you into the walls and stripping you down to your very bones. All teeth and grabbing hands and your voice chanting his name through the silence. 

A flame roaring so deep and red hot it scorched at the touch. 

It was such a small request, you felt- labels. Be mine, be mine, be mine so I may give myself entirely to you and trust the fall on the way down. You needed that reliability, you needed to know that he held you as you held him. And, lord, you had been so sure of yourself. Brought it up as you ran your fingers along his chest absently, exposed and naked and shimmering with the hazy afterglow of sex. 

No had caught you off guard so severely you had to ask him to repeat himself. The second time you heard it, it hit you like a cold bucket of water splashing overhead. Drenched, chilly down to your very bones. Air ripped from your lungs, mouth dry when he proceeded to laugh at you. 

“Be serious.” He’d chittered. “I’m too busy for all that.” 

Voice wavering, tears already threatening to build in your eyes as you spoke, I am serious. 

“Don’t be a bitch, okay?” Hands touching your naked sides, wrapping around you like slithering snakes threatening to drag your life from the confines of your skin. A touch that felt as slimy as his voice sounded. “We’re fine like this.”

“So what, you just want to fuck and call it a day, forever?”

Lips finding your neck. 

“Come on. You know I like you.” Licks up your jugular, doesn't notice the way you aren’t shivering at the feeling, locked up. 

“If you like me then be my boyfriend.” His ceiling was mundane, void of anything particularly eye-catching, but you couldn’t tear your gaze off.

“I’m busy.”

“…Not too busy for sex, though.”

He pulled back to look at you, this growing sneer on his lips. “What’s gotten into you, huh?”

“Come on, is it really so bad? Being my boyfriend?” You sweetened, tried to soften him. “I just wanna hear you say it, y’know?”

Nam-gyu had tensed at the word the first time, and he did just as well the second time around. Prickles at every word. 

“We’re not fucking-” He gets up and you’re cold, and you’re heart broken and there’s rage simmering somewhere in your belly. “What we have is fine. Don’t complain about shit.”

“Seriously Nam-gyu? You show up and you fuck me and but that’s all you want out of life?” When he doesn’t answer, that simmering rage bubbles into more, swinging your legs from around his bed and bringing yourself to your unsteady feet. “Tch. Fine. Forget about it. ‘Too busy’. God’s sake- If you’re too fucking busy have you considered working a little less?”

Nam-gyu’s jaw tenses and he scoffs, climbs out of bed and passes you right by to throw himself limply onto the couch. 

“Can you chill? How about you focus on you and I’ll focus on me, yeah?”

You took all of five minutes to throw your clothes on and find yourself running down the halls of his apartment. All you bore was your clothes, your phone, and your dignity. Rest be damned, scrambling to get to the privacy of your home with eyes so blurred with tears you almost didn’t make it. 

Months and months to scrub him from your body, even longer for the weight of his presence to go unnoticed in your mind. Even longer to stop seeing him in your dreams, and feeling your heart flutter with every knock at the door. 

You should hate him, still. 

But oh god, you can’t.

And oh god, the way he looked at you in that room, all hands clutching and grabbing and touching you so gingerly you wonder if you’d died somehow, after all. In that moment you wondered how he could ever hurt you at all. Beautiful and warm. 

Years to forget him. 

Exactly 3 days for him to sink back in as if he’d never left. 

Corners of your brain would always house him, the door was always propped open and all the windows unlocked. Nam-gyu would find himself right back where he had started within you, leaving dirty footprints through your hallways.

The differences in him were subtle creatures, if you’d blink you’d miss it at times, but he’s trying and that means he gives enough of a shit. He’s waiting for you to open your arms and welcome him back in so he could make a mess of you all over again- and though you may be a fool, you decide to throw the poor dog within him a particularly tasty bone. 

You don’t sit next to him by any teams, but after grabbing your dinner from the guard you make a point to settle upon a set of steps within Nam-gyu’s general vicinity. It’s an invitation- one that reaches him in alluring calls the very moment he sees you lean back and catch his eyes. As always, he was eager to take that chance, hastily getting up from what little ‘friends’ he had and scurrying over to sit beside you. 

At first you don’t offer any words. There’s a certain weight in the gapping pause, like he’s at the edge of his seat, leaning on every inhale and exhale of yours. Dark eyes and a pointed expression that can never quite seem to figure you out. He waits, and he waits for you to break the silence whilst spinning the rings on his fingers, his meal yet to be touched at his lap. Your tongue swipes out over your lips.

“Thank you.” Tentative, careful. But you break the stillness regardless like a stone through water.

“You already said that.” 

“I know, but I need to say it again. You could have gotten yourself killed, you know.”

Poking through his rice with his chopsticks, all he offers is a dull shrug, like it doesn't matter. Your eyes narrow, and you mock him with a dramatic shrug of your own.

“That’s all? Really?” He won’t meet your face, chewing the edge of his lower lip. You scoff. “Does your life mean that little to you?”

“How can you ask that? It means a lot to me. I don’t wanna die.”

“You almost did.”

He finally finds your eyes, expression caught somewhere between the dance of upheaval and agitation. Perhaps he doesn’t even understand it himself- the way he’d thrown his life around so easily for you. You’re pushing him, so you reign back, let yourself soften just enough. 

“You could have died, and you did it anyway?”  

“Damn it,” He sets his food down and rubs his eyes, dragging at the skin. “Why’re you always asking so many questions?”

“Because you never tell me things on your own.” You pluck the fried egg from your box, chewing down the cold food. When you take a bite, Nam-gyu does too, whether he means to move in tandem with you intentionally or not. 

“I tell you lots of things.”

“Sure, but nothing I ever really wanna know.”

“Alright.” He puts his food down again, swallows his mouthful of rice, restless. “Ask me shit, then.”

You know the smart thing would be to have a couple buffer questions, little things real easy for him to digest, but the words leave you before you get the chance to pull them back down to the pandora within your chest. 

“Why did you turn me down?”

It should catch him off guard, but it doesn’t. His blinks down at you, jaw tensing, those eyes of his always so stormy and unsure. Once again, all he manages for you is a shrug. He’s hiding right before your very eyes, all hands reaching out whilst slapping yours away when you reach back. A scared, hurt, biting dog. The tendency to howl for your love was beastly and he never stopped bearing those teeth. 

“Please,” A sweet touch to his arm, a downcast to your lovely eyes. “I have to know why you didn’t want me.”

“I did want you.” He says it so fast you have to take a second to process him. Your brows knit, the early stages of confusion and anger bubbling under your skin as you set your bento box down. Your temper was always the first to bloom.

“Clearly not, or you wouldn’t have let me leave.”

He swallows, tongue poking out to swipe over his lips. “I freaked out.”

“Really? Because I remember you just sitting there.”

“I know.” His fingers find his mouth, teeth catching on the hangnails he’d worked into the nail beds during bouts of anxiety. “I was freaking out. I didn’t want all that extra shit and then you left and I-...” He swallows again, mind searching for all the words. “I don’t know. I didn’t think you’d really go.”

You have to digest it all for another moment, a pregnant pause as you do. The look on his face that day, so mullish and nonchalant even though you knew with every fibre of his being that he was anything but never left you. Haunted you, drew you away from anyone that shared even an ounce of similarities. You saw his smirks, heard his laughter, saw the outlines of his posture in strangers and it always made you sick to your stomach. 

There’s a thousand questions, now, but you hone in one in specific. 

“Extra shit?”

“Extra shit. Like-... Girlfriend, boyfriend shit…”

“Nam-gyu, we did have girlfriend, boyfriend shit.”

“Yeah but then you wanted to go and make it some official thing. If we already had it, why bother? All labels do is cause problems. What we had… It was good. It was fine.”

Your skin is starting to heat up. There’s a fall to your tone when you slip your hand off his arm and murmur, “Fine, for you.”

His eyes follow your hand retracting as if you’d cut him, shoulders slumping. “...Why didn’t it work for you?”

“I really liked you. I needed all that extra ‘official’ shit, whether you think it’s stupid or not. It meant a lot to me. It meant that you were serious about me, that you wanted me more than the… Fun. we had.” The words leave you forlorn, alive but peaking at the brims with defeat. “I knew I was yours, but… I wanted-... Needed to know that you were mine, too.”

“I was yours!” Nam-gyu leans back hard, terse and pointed with this sullen desperation around him that cried hear me. “I was yours and I didn’t need some stupid name to prove it.”

It’s a tale as old as time, true as it can be when he’s bunching his sleeves up, gripping hard to the inner fabrics, growing frustrated and antsy under the glint of your spectacle. His skin twitches like it’s its own separate entity, like he has to squeeze and clutch and drag to get it to settle back over his muscles and nerves. You’re sure you’re under there right now, worming paths through his veins and into his brain like a sneaky little parasite he could never seem to shake. 

All it takes is a gentle touch to his arm again. Reminds him that you’re right there, beside him. 

And then he’s giving up. Losing his edge, losing his temper but crushing the rolling bites of anger into a simple longing itch of you. He’s trying to clamp his mouth shut but you’re dragging it all out of him anyways, cast by cast. It’s a gratifying satisfaction you never knew could scratch so good. You’d wanted it since the start- all these swirling emotions sputtering from his lips so you could lap up every sound. 

Fingers fall from his tracksuit. You eye him, meet his dejection face to face. 

“Why was being my boyfriend such a terrible thing to you?”

Nam-gyu’s expression falls miles below anything else you’ve seen thus far, somehow. Drawn and weathered, far away down into his lap and hiding himself within the darks of his eyes to escape your gaze. 

“I didn’t want anything to change.” Strands of hair slip past his ear and hang around the frame of his face, further shielding him. “I didn’t think… I don’t know what I thought.”

“Didn’t think what?” It’s like pulling teeth, you find, extracting the bits of him he’d clocked years into burying. You coax him anyway, and he finds your light with compulsory desire. 

“I thought I didn’t want it.”

 “It, or me?”

“It. It really got under my skin. You, got under my skin.” When he looks at you, you can truly see the mask breaking away into shards. A person suit coming untwined as the real him bloomed. “Girlfriend had a lot of… weight to it. I didn’t want all of that, but you then left, and I don’t know.”

And thus, that nonchalant squarecrow he’d planted onto that couch all those years ago is gone in the blink of an eye. You remembered him ugly and defiant in the moment, but you had overlooked the smirk of anxiety. The way he watched every move you made, the way he rubbed red into the skin of his hands with his fingers itching to drive into something, anything to release the tension. 

I thought I didn’t want it.

A weight settles in your chest as the being of him crawls further into your ribcage, carefully.

“...How do you feel, now?”

Eyes travel from where your touch meets his skin, up to your shoulders, and then to meet your line of sight. His lips twitch, parting, but he’s searching for the words. Searching for you, you realize, reaching and begging to be taken out from the cold. 

“I thought you died earlier.” He blurts. It throws you off guard, but your perturbation is only as long as it takes for him to continue with the ghost of fright still saturating the memory. “After the six-legged race, I thought you died, and it felt like it was my fault.”

 “Hold on, I chose to not join you.” Your brows knit, clutching the fabric of his tracksuit a little tighter. He just shakes his head. 

“If you had died, I don’t know what I would have done. It was only for a few minutes, but fuck. I just kept thinking I shouldn’t have let you say no.”

A cross between amusement and empathy shapes your lips into an uptick, your palm dragging upwards to his bicep. “That’s the problem we keep having, Nam-gyu. When are you gonna’ realize you don’t ‘let me’ do anything?”

“Oh, I know it already. Trust me.” A sigh leaves him but it almost sounds like a scoff. 

The recollection of your momentary loss eats at him. In all the years you’d been gone from his life, a ghost turned into forlorn fleeting blips of memories, you could still read him like your favorite book. Line for line, word for word. Every character and detail etched into your mind, a glorious museum packed to every corner with him, him, him. 

There’s this part of you that’s coming to life again, rising from the ashes not so much like a roaring phoenix but this gentle stream of embers singing the tips of your soul. Like an old battery, a feeling that comes from deep, deep, within. The uncanny urge to sooth out all those tensions stoning over his muscles and push his hair from his face as he always does. 

“I didn’t realize you had been that upset, earlier.”

Which is a lie. Truth be told, when you’d managed to find your feet back into that dormitory, the first thing you sought was him. And he was on you, quick, teary and red. In that moment, you could see the way he felt as though he could breathe again. You all the same- this all consuming relief washing over you like a wave from head to toe. 

He was the first thing on your mind when you’d walked in, and he was the last thing on your mind when you fell asleep that night. 

Nam-gyu’s breath stutters as he nods.

“I almost did.” You murmur, feeling the blitz of terror that’d driven into your heart during your round. “I kept fucking up the spinner, and my teammate lied about knowing how to play Ggongi. Because of us, we barely even made it with a second left. You wanna know something?” It takes a second for him to look you in the eyes, but he does, and you smile pathetically. “I remember thinking to myself, man, I should have gone with you. And then you went and saved my life earlier and I felt like such a…” 

He blinks at you, and you can’t help but laugh. 

“I felt like such a bitch.”

For a couple seconds, he doesn't react, but when he does, he leans back and clicks his tongue. His lips tuck upwards and he’s trying to not smile- your heart soars. 

“You can say it this time,” You giggle, nudging him. “I won’t be mad.”

Another shake of his head, those black strands falling even further from his ear. “Yes you will.”

Tongue swiping out over your lips, you can feel the energy lifting back up, buzzing and trilling like a spring day melting away the laundering billows of snow. Something blooms there with beautiful petals under the sun. 

“You haven't answered my question.” You chirp. He looks at you, and you’ve got him now, all his attention and all his warmth. Subconsciously, you lean towards him. And he does the same. “How do you feel now?”

There’s a heaviness that adopts the space between your bodies. Heartbeats and staggered breaths moving in tandem, a rhythm you knew all too well. All the time apart, bitter and spiteful and angry, just to realize that he’d never truly left the closets of your soul. You knew him like your own self, knew all his fine tunings and the jagged edges of his resentful anxieties.

Nam-gyu takes in the very essence of you with those all seeing eyes of his. 

“I never stopped thinking about you.” 

The world stops turning all at once when he speaks. 

Oh god, how your heart bursts into flames, unaware of how badly you’d been wanting this. Like getting a taste of the finest wine, or a forbidden fruit, so sweet and perfect and dripping down your chin. A confession spills from you in the stream. Years of snuffing out that licking flame just for it to combust into a raging wildfire at his whim. 

You can’t stop yourself. 

“I haven't, either.”

A version of you from three years ago howls out in retribution.

But then it’s hushed with the doe of his expression, leaning in like every word out of your mouth is gospel. His own personal bible, his own personal heaven. When you tell him, his breath leaves him in a broad rush of air.

A  voice echoes over the speakers, chopping chunks out of the palpable tension growing. Lights out in five minutes. 

For a long moment, you both just watch each other. The raw brunt of emotions is palpable, thick over your mind and body like a sheet of yearning tension. 

But Nam-gyu speaks first after he glances towards where your bed had been, gone as the number of players dwindled and the beds were rearranged to compensate. “Where are you sleeping tonight?”

“I found a different bed.” You don’t tell him that you purposely chose an empty bed closer to his, but when you point to it, you can see the pleased expression drawn out from the disappointment. 

“If you get nervous, come to mine.” He says suddenly, and you blink at him. 

“Nervous?”

“Just saying.” Fingers catching his sleeves, bunching the fabric up. “You can if you want.”

‘If you want’. He’s learning after all. 

“I’ll keep that in mind. I’m gonna get to bed, okay? I’ll come talk to you in the morning.” 

You say it so softly, like it could wound him. Perhaps it does regardless, however, because the look he gives you in return is especially pained. Hates that your getting up, hates that there’s going to be meters and meters of metal frame work and sleeping bodies filling the spaces that lead to you. He almost grabs you, fingers popping out from under his sleeves, but he reels himself back in and instead leans back against the wall of the step and watches you. 

Leaning down, you kiss his cheek, and you pretend you don’t notice the way his breath lodges into his throat when you do.

.

It’s quiet that night. This weight has settled over like a blanket of smog threatening to snuff you out everytime your breath leaves your lungs. There’s this irritation stuck within you- a certain twist and churn within your guts that makes you shift positions ceaselessly. The present arguing with the past, years of growth and the endless tumble back down to where you’d begun. The mindless, dangerous joy of landing flat on your back under him all over again. 

Laying on your side doesn’t work, your brain far too busy behind your eyes. You give laying on your back one more shot, eyes staring up at the bottom of the bunk above you, but it doesn’t help. Nam-gyu still floods your mind no matter what you do.

Fuck, you still see him. Those beautiful angles and the slopes of his cheekbones, the feeling of dragging your hands down his shoulders to his chest and marking every last inch. 

He’s saying your name within the confines of your skull, the sound echoing through your dome. 

You’re hearing him now, too? Great. As if it wasn't bad enough before. He’s taking over your mind, your body, and now you’re having to audibly hear him like a teasing ghost paying you visits of desire. You’re the same person you were three years ago, for god’s sake. After all you’d done to move on he’s still there under your skin, working his way through the ridges and bumps of your brain. 

“Hey, are you even awake right now?”

Wait- that’s not in your head. 

You launch up with a gasp sputtering in your throat, eaten by the sudden lurching fear of a dark figure leaning over your bed. The knee jerk reaction to scream fails you, as does your strength when the figure leans in close and you try to shove them away hopelessly. 

“Stop, stop! I’m not gonna’ do anything.”

Oh, it is Nam-gyu. He’s just decided to come and sneak up beside your bed like a creep in the darkness and properly scare the living daylights out of you. The sudden plummet of your nerves makes you wheeze out a sigh of relief and you toss yourself flat onto your mattress. Your hands cover your face, dragging the skin down in irritation. 

“I thought I was going to die.” You hissed.

“Come on. Seriously?” He sat at the edge of your bed, and you’re so fucking relieved it’s not some random player coming to sweeten the pot, that you let him without a word. 

“I didn’t realize it was you.”

“Who else would it be? Thanos?” 

“Yes, actually.” You smirk at him through your fingers. “That’d really bust your balls, wouldn’t it?”

“Don’t say that shit.” He grunts, huffing. “You being serious?”

He looks pathetic, even despite the way his brows collect in annoyance. You used to find that cute about him- all angry and ruffled on the outside but always this anxious, soft little thing on the inside. So pent up with nowhere to go, clinging to the few things that he gives a shit about but no means to show it. 

You still do find it cute. At least a little bit, anyways. You must because you find your lips tugging upwards before you can stop them. 

“No, obviously. Your friend is fucking weird.” Saying it like he isn’t weird, too, is a funny thing. But his weird is different in your eyes- better. 

You start to wonder if maybe things were changing, again. Reverting and revisiting a side of yourself he’d forced you to abandon. 

You also start to wonder if that's a good thing. It’s hard to tell with Nam-gyu. He has a way of making the things so terrible for you feel so, so good. 

He’s just sitting there in silence, thinking harder than you’ve ever seen him think. The tenacity of him is something new- which is crazy, because you truly had thought you’d seen all the in’s and the out’s of him. 

“Can’t sleep?” Your voice drags him out of his trance. 

The floor lights illuminate a glow in his eyes when he turns to look at you again, those dark hues far away. When he doesn’t answer, and you fully take in the somberness of him, you have this urge from deep within your soul. An insatiable itch that you’d refused to admit to yourself you’d been longing for the last three years. You swallow hard, your mouth opens and closes, struggling to get the words out.

“...Do you want to lay with me?”

It’s like inviting the vampire into your home knowingly.

Nam-gyu doesn’t linger for even a second. Maybe he’s afraid you’ll change your mind if he doesn’t jump on the chance, or perhaps he’d been desperate to be at your side since you’d left him that day. You weren’t sure- not really, but he was throwing himself at your side in the blink of an eye.

Even worse, his arms are already snaking around your body, finding you against himself in the darkness. Entitled to your body, and taking your air with him. A part of you has this immediate suspension- or more like, an experienced worry that those long fingers of his are going to try and explore down your body until they find something all too warm and familiar, but just like the look on his face moments ago, somethings different about him. Something longing, feeling. 

He drags your back against his chest and he cages you in his grasp and he buries his face into your hair, breathes you in so deeply you’d think he’s getting high off your scent. Squeezing you so tight like he can’t believe he’s really got you. He even brings the blanket over you and pats it over your shoulders before he nestles in against your body.

“Nam-gyu,” You whisper, and he hums in response. “What are you doing?”

As if you aren’t actively letting him, as if you aren’t feeling all your tensions melt away in his hold. A puzzle piece settled back into its place after so long it ached. 

His response is quiet, broken up. Words you never thought you’d ever hear leave his lips. 

“I missed you.”

Between his confession and his breath on your neck, you shiver. A full body wrack that makes you crack your eyes open in the darkness. 

“Yeah?” Your voice is equally as wavering.

He just nods and clutches you tighter. He’s never been this sweet with you- not even when things were good. And then he goes and surprises you again for the second, or third, time since he’s slinked into your bed. 

“When we leave here, give me another chance.”

The fence you’ve stuck atop of is mighty tall with a great leap on either side. One side him and all his backage, the other, lonely peace. To go through all that bullshit again might actually kill you. And fuck, you’ve done it, you’re out. You’re on the other side and untethered to him after so long, but he’s so warm next to you, and he’s saying the things you used to imagine in your weakest hours…

“You’re serious about this?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

He can’t say it, but he can nod against the cradle of your neck. 

“...And you’ll be my boyfriend?” You’re chewing the inside of your cheek, putting heavy emphasis on the label, making sure it rings true through that thick skull of his. 

Another nod. Your breath stutters in your fluttering chest. It’s slow, hesitating, but it’s there and you’re rolling over to face him through the dim lights. In this light, you can see certain parts of him that you’d seldom ever been able to touch. This softness, endearment that you caught fleeting glimpses of in his afterglows. Vulnerable. 

Your fingers find the sides of his face and he reacts like they’ve got their own gravitational pull, putty in your hold. Your touch is like warmth in the cold, like shelter within the storm. Life over all else. 

“So say it, then. Tell me you’re mine.”

He presses his lips into a tight line. “You already know I am.”

“Say it.” Dragging your thumb over his lower lip. “Say it so I can kiss you.”

You can see, you can feel the way light soars into those dark, dark eyes. His lips part. 

“I’m yours.”

Nam-gyu’s lips against yours, fingertips ghosting the mound of your cheekbone. 

It’s like coming home again. 

Sweet and gentle and nothing like you’d ever had the fortune of sharing with him. Kisses with him were always so urgent and demanding, but this was void of anything other than the yearn of finding yourself again. It’s the most intimate moment you’ve ever had with him, you think, in the middle of a packed room inches from death.

So intimate, that when he pulls away to gauge you, you drag him down by his collar for another. 

The flat of his palm cups the side of your face, and you hold the fabric of his suit to keep him right there. Deeper, this time. 

Too long for him was a beast of its own entirely, one that grew claws in your nail beds as you buried your hands in his thick black hair and let yourself melt into pools of honey around him. He’s equally so fervent, passion radiating off him like an aura, all hands and twisting arms and his body covering your own. Your back is flat to the bed and he’s overtop of you, so familiar but so different from before. Real and raw. He’s gripping a fist into the pillow beside your head, the blanket shifting off the bunk entirely and pooling onto the floor, forgotten. 

You pant when he breaks away, his hair tickling your face. He kissed your cheek, your jaw, and you’re excited to find his lips at your neck but instead he just kisses your jugular and buries his face within your collarbone. 

You wait for him to try to take it further. To claim the prize he’d really been working for- that sickly-sweet nectar between your legs that always seemed far too eager to drag him in. But he doesn't, and he’s quiet, and he’s breathing in your scent. 

And you haven't felt better in years. Clicked into place, even with the plane. 

“Okay.” You pant., find his shoulders and trace lines down his back, marveling in his twitching muscles under your ghost light touches.

“Okay?” His breath is hot against your skin. 

You pull him from the crook of your neck and pet down his face. He kisses your hand and you can’t stop this foolish grin from spreading over your face. A single nod.

“Okay. I’ll stay with you.”

He stops breathing. 

“For the game… Or, afterwards…?”

“For the game and afterwards. If we make it out.”

All of his weight settles at once, as though you’d pulled the pounds lodged onto his shoulders off entirely. 

“We will make it out.” His brows twitch together, caught between the cocktail of relief and trepidation, realizing that he could lose you all over again. He props himself up over you before he leans back on his knees, your waist trapped underneath his weight. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows. “You don’t know that.”

The moment you start to get up, he feels the need to flatten you back out under him with those hands of his. And you’re just as happy to do so- watching him towering over you before he lays at your side and wrenches you against his curling form. He kisses the back of your neck, chaste and soft until your skin flutters under each one. 

“Whatever happens,” You murmur, running your fingers over his knuckles. “I’ll stay with you.”

“We’ll make it out. I’ll make sure of it.” One more kiss to the back of your neck before he nuzzles you into him. 

It feels right. It feels like being rewarded, like getting the thing you wanted most in life. You bring his hand up to your lips just so you can dot kisses another his wrist. 

“I’ll hold you to that.”

[amyzworldds]

Oh this is out of the happy/fluff side of the 14th member lol maybe if yn sneaks out again she'll be on a real accident maybe danger and she'll finally learn her lesson and her calling scoups for help FINALLY loll and total chaos and him panicking (little bit of angst) (I'd understand if you won't write this just an idea HAHAHAHHA)

Part Two: Night Market Nightmare

Masterlist | Part 1

Seventeen's Seungcheol takes Y/N to his hometown on a rare day off, sparking a whirlwind of chaos as she overpacks, showers his dog Kkuma with affection, and turns his car into a glittery shrine. Their misadventure escalates from a midnight ice cream run to a lively night market, but takes a dark turn. Pairing: Seventeen x 14th member Genre: Fluff, Humor, Heavy angst (mention of harassment)

The midnight air was crisp as Seungcheol and Y/N slipped out of the house, her arm looped through his like a koala clinging to a tree. They hit the convenience store, Y/N darting straight for the ice cream freezer, snagging a chocolate cone, then piling on gummies and a candy bar despite Seungcheol’s stern “Ten minutes, Y/N—ten minutes!” She just smirked, licking her cone, “Sure, oppa—ten minutes is forever!” He sighed, already sensing defeat as her “ten-minute” promise evaporated like smoke.

The cashier—a lanky college kid with a grin—rang them up, then leaned in conspiratorially. “Hey, you’re from Seventeen, right? There’s a new night market five minutes away—street food, a park, live bands. You’d love it!” Y/N’s eyes lit up like fireworks, her ice cream dripping forgotten as she gasped, “Night market?! Street food?! Bands?! Oppa, we have to go!”

“No!” Seungcheol snapped, shoving change into his pocket. “We’re going home—ice cream was the deal!”

But Y/N unleashed the full arsenal—puppy eyes, clasped hands, and a pleading whine. “Pleeeease, Coups oppa! It’s a night market—I’ve never been to one! Think of the food—the fun! I’ll make you my favorite member forever! I’ll do anything you say—no more trouble, I swear on Kkuma’s tiara! Days off are rare—let’s live a little, away from the spotlight!”

He glared, arms crossed, but her logic gnawed at him. Rest days were rare, and she looked like a kicked bunny in that sleeper. “Fine,” he growled, throwing his hands up. “But no chaos—or you’re grounded ‘til you’re 30!”

“Yes!” she cheered, latching onto his shirt like a human GPS—directionless as ever—and dragging him toward the market. “You’re the best, oppa—top of my list!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, trudging after her. “Famous last words.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

The night market buzzed despite the hour—stalls glowed with fairy lights, crowds munched on skewers, and a band strummed on a tiny stage. Y/N’s ice cream vanished in record time, her eyes locking onto a tanghulu vendor—glossy strawberry skewers glistening like jewels. “Tanghulu! Oppa, now!” she squealed, yanking him over. He paid, grumbling, “Slow down—you’ll bankrupt me!”—but she was already off, darting to a tteokbokki stall, then a hotteok cart, him trailing like a tired wallet on legs.

The band kicked into a lively tune, and Seungcheol paused, watching them strum on their rickety stage. Memories hit—Seventeen’s early days, small gigs, big dreams. “Huh,” he mused, lost in nostalgia. “We started like that—now it’s arenas and world tours.” He didn’t notice Y/N’s grip slip from his shirt, her bunny headband bobbing away into the crowd.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N, meanwhile, had spotted a sausage-and-rice-cake skewer vendor and bolted, drooling, “Sausage heaven—gimme!” She snagged one, then darted to a fish cake stall, then a corn dog cart—arms piling up with greasy goodies, oblivious to Seungcheol’s absence. She chattered to herself, “Oppa’s gonna love this—wait ‘til he tries the—” She turned, arms overflowing, and froze. No Seungcheol. Just a sea of strangers. “Oppa?!”

Panic hit like a freight train. “Oh no, oh no, oh NO! I promised him a fun night—no trouble! Where is he?!” Her phone? Back in her room. Her wallet? With him from the convenience store run. She spun in circles, skewers wobbling, a tteokbokki stick nearly impaling a passerby. “Coups oppa! Don’t leave me! I’m lost—again!” She took a frantic bite of her corn dog, muttering, “Okay, stay calm—food helps!”—but her eyes darted wildly, bunny ears flopping like distress signals.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Seungcheol, meanwhile, had clocked her absence the second the band’s song ended. He scanned the crowd—easy peasy, her bunny headband glowed like a neon sign—and spotted her flailing by a skewer stall, arms stuffed with food, yelling his name like a lost toddler. But instead of rushing over, he smirked, ducking behind a takoyaki cart. “Oh, this is gold,” he chuckled, pulling out his phone. “She stickered my car, stole my dog, hijacked my parents—time for payback!”

He zoomed in, snapping pics—Y/N biting a sausage skewer mid-panic, sauce dripping down her chin, yelling, “Coups oppa, where are you?! I’m doomed!” He stifled a laugh, filming as she spun into a cotton candy stall, nearly toppling it, squeaking, “Help! I’m a lost idol—someone save me!” A tteokbokki skewer fell, and she dove for it, wailing, “Nooo, my food! This is your fault, oppa—wherever you are!”

Seungcheol doubled over, wheezing silently behind a trash can. “She’s a walking disaster—look at her go!” He caught her tripping over her own bunny slippers, juggling her haul, muttering, “He’s gonna ground me forever—I swore no trouble! Why me?!” A hotteok slipped, and she caught it with her mouth mid-air, chewing through her freakout. “At least I’ve got food—don’t cry, Y/N, don’t cry!”

He snapped a close-up—her sauce-smeared face, bunny ears askew, eyes wide as she shouted, “Seungcheol, you jerk! I’m telling Eomma you abandoned me!” He cackled, nearly dropping his phone. “This is better than any game—revenge is sweet!”

--------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N stumbled into a balloon vendor, arms trembling under her food tower, whimpering, “He’s gone—he ditched me! I’m a night market orphan!” She bit into her tanghulu, sugar crunching as she scanned the crowd, oblivious to Seungcheol tailing her, filming her every flop. A kid pointed, giggling, “Look, bunny lady’s lost!” and she waved a skewer at him, “Shush, tiny human—I’m a star in crisis!”

Seungcheol, now crouched behind a kimchi pancake stall, wiped tears of laughter. “She’s a sitcom—‘Lost Gremlin: The Food Chronicles’! She’ll never live this down!” He zoomed in as she tripped again, catching a fish cake mid-fall, yelling, “Coups oppa, you owe me ten tanghulus for this!”

He grinned, savoring the show. Her car stickering? Kkuma’s betrayal? Parents’ favoritism? This was his masterpiece—watching her panic, sauce-drenched and bunny-eared, was the revenge of the century. “Wander on, chaos queen,” he whispered, snapping one last pic. “I’ve got enough blackmail for a lifetime!”

--------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N’s panic had morphed into exhaustion as she wove through the thinning night market crowd, her arms aching from her food haul—tanghulu, tteokbokki, a half-eaten corn dog. She spotted a bench tucked away in a dim corner, far from the bustle, and sighed, “Coups oppa’ll find me—he always does.” She plopped down, setting her snacks beside her, and nibbled on a sausage skewer, rehearsing her apology. “Sorry, oppa—I didn’t mean to ditch you… I’ll clean your car, I swear…” Her voice trembled, but she didn’t notice the shadow creeping closer—a man who’d been trailing her, unnoticed, through the market.

She was mid-bite when he sat beside her, too close. She glanced up, expecting Seungcheol’s familiar scowl, and froze. It wasn’t him. The man’s eyes bored into her, dark and unblinking, and he rasped, “Y/N… I’ve been following you all night.” Her stomach dropped—she knew that face. The sasaeng who’d plagued her for months, flooding her phone with calls, lurking outside schedules, his creepy letters stuffed with warped devotion. Her breath hitched, and she shifted to stand, but his hand clamped onto hers, yanking her into a forced hug.

“Let go!” she yelped, shoving at his chest, tears pricking her eyes as his grip tightened. “Seungcheol! Help!” Her voice cracked, desperate, as she clawed at his arms. “Get off me, or I’ll scream—I swear I will!” Her threats shook with sobs, her bunny headband slipping as she thrashed, tears streaming down her face.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Seungcheol had been hunched behind a stall, chuckling at his phone’s gallery of Y/N’s panicked antics—her sauce-smeared face, her flailing arms—when a chill cut through his amusement. He glanced up, and she was gone. The spot where she’d been juggling food was empty. “Where’d she go?” he muttered, pocketing his phone, unease prickling his spine. His revenge prank felt trivial now—he scanned the food tents, heart ticking faster with each empty corner. “Y/N? Come on, kid, don’t hide…”

No bunny ears, no jangling trinkets. Then his eyes caught the darker edge of the market—a shadowed bench—and his gut twisted. Something was wrong. His feet moved before his brain caught up, dragging him toward the gloom. That’s when he saw her—trembling, sobbing, locked in a stranger’s embrace, her cries piercing the night. “Seungcheol!”

Rage exploded in his chest, blackening his vision. He didn’t think—just ran, fists clenched, and slammed into the man with a roar. His punch landed square on the stalker’s jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground with a sickening thud. “Get your hands off her!” Seungcheol bellowed, looming over him, fist raised for another blow, knuckles already red.

Y/N stumbled free, gasping, and the man staggered up, fury twisting his face. He lunged, swinging wild, and caught Seungcheol’s cheek with a glancing punch. Seungcheol barely flinched—years of pent-up anger at this creep fueled him. He grabbed the man’s collar, slamming him back down, fist crashing into his nose with a crack. “You don’t touch her—ever!” Blood smeared the stalker’s face, but Seungcheol didn’t stop, pinning him as he thrashed, every hit a release of the fear he’d buried for Y/N’s safety.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N’s sobs choked her as she watched the man hit the ground, Seungcheol’s fist a blur of fury. “Oppa, stop!” she cried, lunging forward, grabbing his arm with shaking hands. “Please—stop it!” Tears blurred her vision, her voice raw as she clung to him, pulling him back. She couldn’t bear it—his rage, the blood, the chaos she’d caused. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry!”

The stalker scrambled up again, dazed but defiant, and swung at Seungcheol’s jaw. Seungcheol ducked, shoving Y/N behind him, and landed a final, bone-crunching punch—down he went, groaning in the dirt. Seungcheol straddled him, holding him down with one hand, yanking out his phone with the other. “Police—now!” he snarled into the call, voice shaking with fury. “I’ve got a stalker harassing my sister—get here fast!”

He didn’t care anymore—company inaction, PR risks, none of it mattered. This creep had crossed the line, and Seungcheol’s protective instincts drowned out everything else. His eyes were black with rage, breath heaving as he kept the man pinned, ignoring the growing crowd.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Police sirens cut through the night, officers swarming the scene. The stalker was cuffed, hauled away spitting curses, while Seungcheol turned to Y/N. She stood trembling, hoodie pulled low, tears carving tracks down her cheeks. He dropped to her side, pulling her into a crushing hug, “You’re okay—you’re safe now.” His voice broke, hands shaking as he tugged her hood up, shielding her from prying eyes.

She buried her face in his chest, sobs muffled, “I’m sorry, oppa—it’s my fault—I dragged you out…” Her words dissolved into hiccups, guilt clawing at her. A police officer recognized them, barking at the crowd, “No pictures—back off!” Another guided them to a squad car, away from the gawking onlookers snapping blurry shots.

At the station, the interview room was cold and stark. Y/N sat silent, head bowed, clutching Seungcheol’s sleeve like a lifeline, her usual spark snuffed out. He answered for her, voice steady but tight, “He’s been stalking her for months—calls, letters, showing up. Tonight, he grabbed her. I stopped him.” His jaw clenched, reliving every punch, every cry she’d let out.

Y/N’s whisper broke the silence, barely audible, “I didn’t mean for this… I didn’t want you hurt…” Her eyes welled up again, guilt crushing her. “If this gets out—your name, the group—I ruined it…”

“Stop that,” he snapped, softer than he meant, pulling her closer. “You didn’t ruin anything—this isn’t on you. I’d punch him a hundred times over.” His throat tightened, anger and love warring in his chest.

The police offered to drive them home, and Seungcheol nodded, guiding Y/N to the car. Her hand trembled in his, head still down, silent tears dripping onto her bunny slippers. He squeezed her fingers, “We’re okay, kid—I’ve got you.” But his heart ached—her cries, her fear, the stalker’s grip burned into him. This wasn’t the hilarious chaos he’d signed up for; it was a wound he’d carry, vowing to shield her from ever again.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The police car rolled to a quiet stop outside Seungcheol’s parents’ house, the midnight silence shattered only by the faint hum of the engine. Seungcheol stepped out first, his bruised lip throbbing, and gently guided Y/N from the backseat. Her bunny slippers dragged on the pavement, her head still bowed, trembling hands clutching his sleeve. He pulled her inside, shutting the door softly, and wrapped her in a tight hug, his arms a shield against the world.

She broke. “I’m sorry, oppa—I’m so sorry!” Her voice cracked into a wail, tears soaking his hoodie as she clung to him, her body shaking. Her eyes caught the purpling bruise on his lip, and she sobbed louder, “Your face—it’s my fault! I dragged you out—if I didn’t, this wouldn’t have happened!” Her fingers brushed his cheek, trembling, and she crumpled against him, guilt pouring out in heaving cries.

“Shh, Y/N-ie, stop,” he murmured, voice thick as he rocked her gently. “It’s not your fault—none of it. You’re safe now, that’s what matters.” His hands rubbed her back, but his own chest ached—her tears cut deeper than the punch he’d taken.

The commotion roused his parents. His mom appeared first, robe tied hastily, eyes wide at the sight—Seungcheol holding a trembling Y/N, her face buried in his chest. His dad followed, concern etching his features. Seungcheol caught their gaze over Y/N’s head and shook his head slightly, mouthing “water.” They nodded, slipping to the kitchen without a word, leaving him to cradle her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Y/N hiccupped, quieter now but still gripping his shirt like he might vanish. “I messed up—I always mess up…”

His mom returned with a glass, setting it on the table, and knelt beside them, wrapping her arms around Y/N too. “Sweetie, no—it’s not your fault,” she soothed, stroking her hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong—don’t carry this, okay?” Her voice was warm, maternal, but Y/N’s tears kept falling, softer now, exhaustion seeping in.

His dad hovered, worry creasing his brow. “She needs rest, Cheol-ah—let her sleep it off.”

Seungcheol nodded, easing Y/N to her feet. “Come on, kid—let’s get you to bed.” She didn’t let go, her hand locked in his, trembling as he guided her to her room. The bunny sleeper hung limp on her frame, her usual chaos replaced by a fragile quiet. He tucked her in, sitting on the edge of the bed as she curled up, still clutching his fingers. “Sleep, Y/N-ie—I’m right here,” he whispered, brushing her hair back until her breathing slowed, eyes fluttering shut.

--------------------------------------------------------------

He slipped out once she drifted off, closing the door softly. His parents waited in the living room, water untouched, faces etched with concern. “Go back to bed,” he said, voice low, forcing a tired smile. “She’s okay now—I’ll handle it.”

“You sure, son?” his dad asked, hesitant. “You’re hurt too—get some rest.”

“I will,” he lied, waving them off. They shuffled back to their room, and Seungcheol trudged to his own, collapsing onto the bed. The adrenaline crashed, leaving a hollow ache. He stared at his bruised knuckles, the stalker’s face flashing in his mind—then Y/N’s terrified cries. “If I’d gone to her sooner…” he muttered, guilt gnawing at him. “I was laughing—playing a stupid game while she…” His throat tightened, eyes stinging. He’d hidden his fear under rage, but now it clawed free—he could’ve lost her.

He grabbed his phone, hands shaking as he dialed Jeonghan, then Joshua on a three-way call. They picked up fast, groggy but alert. “Cheol? What’s wrong?” Jeonghan’s voice cut through, sharp with worry.

“It’s Y/N,” Seungcheol rasped, voice trembling as he spilled it all—the night market, the stalker, the fight, her sobs. “I punched him—over and over—but she was so scared, Hannie, Shua. She’s blaming herself, and I… I should’ve been there. If I’d stopped messing around, this wouldn’t have happened. It’s my fault.” His words broke, a tear slipping down his cheek.

“Hey, stop—breathe,” Joshua said, firm but gentle. “You did the right thing—you protected her. That creep’s the problem, not you.”

“Yeah, Cheol,” Jeonghan added, softer. “You think Y/N blames you? She doesn’t—she’s scared, but she knows you saved her. Don’t beat yourself up—you’re her rock, man. You did what any of us would’ve.”

“I could’ve lost her,” Seungcheol choked out, rubbing his eyes. “She was crying my name, and I wasn’t there fast enough…”

“But you were there,” Joshua countered. “You got her out. She’s safe because of you. Rest, okay? We’ll come tomorrow—Hannie and I will be at your parents’ first thing.”

“Yeah, we’ll handle it together,” Jeonghan said. “You’re not alone in this—go sleep, Coups. Y/N needs you strong tomorrow.”

Seungcheol nodded, though they couldn’t see, and whispered, “Thanks, guys.” He hung up, staring at the ceiling, their words a faint balm against the guilt eating him alive. He’d held it together for her, but now, alone, the fear crashed in—she’d been so small, so broken, and he’d almost failed her. He buried his face in his hands, letting the quiet tears fall, vowing to never let her out of his sight again.

[nlvrr]

CHEERLEADER | jude bellingham

summary: you go to your new boyfriend’s football game to support him which leads to an abrupt hard launch to your relationship.

warnings: fluff, implied sexual themes

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader

chapter 1 , game day at madrid

the mirror in front of you felt like a stranger as you studied your reflection. you hadn’t worn a jersey in years, let alone go to one. but today was different. it wasn’t just any jersey. It was your boyfriend, jude’s. his number 5 stretching across your back. you’d seen him wear it with pride countless times, but wearing it now felt… strange, in the most exciting way possible.

“is this really happening?” you muttered to yourself, tapping the fabric against your chest. with a soft sigh, you slid it on, the oversized fit swaying gently with each movement. you gaze shifted to your reflection in the full-length mirror. nervous but excited. ready but not sure at the same time.

another buzz from your phone startled you as you slipped on a pair of sneakers. jude’s name with a tiny heart next to it flashed across the screen. his text made your heart beat a little faster.

“are you ready? im about to hit the field. can’t wait to finally see you here.”

your fingers shook slightly as you typed back.

“i’m almost there. so ready to cheer you on.” you felt a flush on your cheeks after you hit send. it felt surreal saying “your boyfriend,” even in a text. her had quickly become the one constant in your life, his sweet laugh, the way he cared for the smallest details…

you grabbed your bag, pausing in the doorway for a second. how are you supposed to feel? nervous? exited? confident?

the drive felt like a blur, as if the whole world was moving too quickly. the closer you got to the stadium, the louder the noises outside became. the fans. the tailgate parties. everywhere you looked, people were wearing the same jerseys, hats, and scarves. the bright glow of neon banners and screens teased you. the overwhelming sound of cheering from stadium-goers carried through the streets.

once you parked, the walk toward the place jude calls home seemed to drag on forever. the pulse in your neck mimicked the beat of the cheering fans.

the stadium towered above you, all sharp edges and glaring lights. the crowd was a moving sea of colors, shouts of anticipation weaving into the heartbeat of the city. you pulled the jersey tighter around yourself as you threaded through the bustling fans, their excited energy contagious.

finally stepping into the grand stands, you were hit with an overwhelming view of the field. rows upon rows of perfectly manicured green stretched out before you, floodlights making the blades of grass look almost unreal. the smells of all different aromas took over your nose, the freshly cut grass, the smell of fireworks due to a pregame celebration and the mix of different foods. it was oddly comfortable.

your phone buzzed again. jude.

“where are you?”

you smirked, thumb tapping away quickly.

“somewhere cheering you on, superstar. don’t worry. I’m hard to miss.”

sliding your phone into your bag, you found your seat. It was closer to the sidelines than you’d expected, almost perfect for catching every move he made. the players were warming up already, and even from afar, you could see jude, easily recognizable in his number five jersey.

it felt like he sensed your gaze before he spotted you. he jogged to the sideline, loosening up with a final stretch, before sneaking a glance toward the stands. the second his eyes landed on you, his smile softened and he lifted his arm to give you the smallest wave. you grinned, lifting your fingers in a shy little wave back.

“nice jersey!” someone yelled beside you, clearly spotting his name on your back. you turned, cheeks heating up slightly. “i guess we know which team you’re rooting for,” the older man added, laughing lightly as you nodded.

“you could say I have a favorite player,” you joked back.

jude, watching from the field, probably noticed your flustered reaction because he ducked his head with an amused shake of his own, clearly proud of himself. this was quickly interrupted with a punch from one of his teammates and he laughed, running to the bench to talk to his coach. a warmth bloomed in your chest; he was yours, and there was something special about seeing him in his element.

-

the energy in the stadium was electric—the fans roaring, chanting jude’s name as his goal decided the match. your voice was already hoarse, throat tight with excitement as you cheered your heart out. as the final whistle blew, jude’s arms shot up in victory, and before you knew it, you were being nudged and congratulated by fans around you who assumed you were just another supporter.

moments later, when players were wandering closer to the sidelines again, jude found you with his eyes and mouthed something exaggerated and teasing, tapping his jersey. you squinted, trying to read his lips. Nice shirt.

your rolled your eyes playfully, laughing as you motioned for him to get back to celebrating with his team. still, the moment lingered between you two like it carried a weight only the two of you could understand.

-

the tunnel was chaotic. a mix of buzzing fans, random staff members weaving through, and reporters darting around like vultures hunting for prey. your leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching it all, trying to keep a low profile. it wasn’t exactly your scene, but you’d been waiting for jude to finish his interview with the media.

and then, there he was, fresh from the match, looking exhausted but that usual cocky grin still plastered on his face. His messy hair and shirt sticking to his skin only added to the scrappy-but-charming vibe. when his eyes landed on you from across the chaos, his whole demeanor shifted—like he’d spotted his favorite person in the crowd. his lips curved into that easy grin, and for a moment, the madness around him seemed to fade.

you leaned off the wall with a grin of your own. "you took your sweet time," you teased, eyebrow raised.

he walked up with an exaggerated slow pace, clearly enjoying how much he could mess with you. “miss me already?”

“do i look like i’m dying to see you?” you smirked, folding your arms.

he leaned in, ignoring the close group of reporters nearby, giving you an exaggerated look like really?“come on. You can’t tell me you’ve survived this long without me.”

“oh, i’m surviving.” you gave him a playful shove. “i’m just bored, that’s all.”

just as he opened his mouth to reply, a couple of reporters, catching sight of him walking toward you, began to rush forward. jude, always quick to pick up on what was happening, straightened up and snapped into his public persona. he gave you a wink before he turned toward them with a practiced, easy smile.

“jude! congrats on the win! what an assist, yeah? could you tell us how you’re feeling about this season?”

“happy with how things went today,” he said smoothly, giving his usual ‘team-player’ response. but there was that familiar distance in his voice, like he wasn’t entirely present. it was clear, he’d answered these questions a hundred times before.

another voice interrupted. “and who’s that with you? a new girlfriend, jude?”

you could practically feel the moment hanging in the air between you both. A new girlfriend?

his smile remained, but there was a subtle shift in his body language, and then, he slid in front of you just a little, instinctively protecting your space. his tone didn’t change, but there was an edge to it. “that’s enough questions for today, yeah?”

the reporters, not willing to give up, pushed a few more questions. your could hear snippets but the responses turned into a blur. jude kept the conversation light, answering in the most polished, public-friendly way, as if this moment didn’t matter much to him.

with the last camera flash blinding you, jude’s hand brushed your lower back gently, urging you to walk toward the car park. the overwhelming weight of the attention felt like it was fading, but a few lingering reporters took notice. it only took a second, and before you could even fully process what was happening, you heard a sharp click behind you.

a photographer had snapped a picture—the kind that could get recycled into another stupid article. your barely registered it, your heart racing, more than a little annoyed by how easily they caught the moment. your gaze shot to jude, who paused and glanced back.

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath, but the words barely had time to leave his lips before he took a deep breath and leaned in close to you, turning his attention back to you instead. “its the game, babe,” he said in a quiet, dry tone.

you shook your head, trying to calm the mild irritation swelling inside of you. “i don’t like being the game.” your eyes stayed ahead, trying to put as much distance between the scene and the cameras.

“tell me about it.” her nudged you playfully with his elbow. “you’re the mysterious new girlfriend, huh? how’d that for a headline?”

“thats what they’re going with?” you raised an eyebrow as you both stepped into the quieter car park, finally leaving the madness behind.

he shrugged, walking with easy strides beside you. “they’ll spin it any way they can. but it’ll keep them happy for a while.”

you shot him a teasing look. “of course, you’d be the one to feed the drama.”

"drama’s where the fun’s at." he smirked. "but you look good in a headline. guess that's not all bad."

you rolled your eyes to jude’s playful teasing that still managed to make you smile as you arrived to the car.

jude leaned in and opened the car door for you, his fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the frame as he did. there was an effortless ease to his movement, a silent promise in his quiet gesture.

“thank you," you said, your voice softer as you climbed into the seat, trying to shake off the feeling of being thrust into the chaos.

jude lingered for a second longer, and you could feel his gaze on you as you settled. he stepped in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “ill meet you at your apartment after i’m done with the guys," he said, voice lowered, the playful tone gone as something more genuine replaced it. "shouldn’t be too long, but i’ll text you when i’m on my way.”

you raised an eyebrow, giving him an amused look. “you sure about that?”

his lips curled into his signature grin, all cockiness and charm. “would i lie to you?”

“guess I’ll find out.” the words were playful, but there was something else there, a curiosity—you hadn’t expected the weight in his voice just now.

he seemed to read it, his eyes searching yours for a moment, then it was like a switch flicked—he was closer, too close to ignore. without another word, he gently cupped your face with one hand, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. the sudden proximity caught your breath, the playful tension shifting into something more electric.

he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours.

the kiss was slow, teasing, barely more than a graze at first. his lips were warm, fitting perfectly against yours, but it was the intensity of it—how everything else in the world blurred out of existence for just that second—that left you breathless. when he pulled away, your chest tightened with the weight of his absence.

there was that teasing glint back in his eye, but it was clouded by something deeper, a promise unspoken. “see you soon,” he said, his voice low, husky.

you swallowed, struggling to push the immediate need rising inside of you down. That kiss hadn’t been long enough infact, it was far from it. and now, that familiar longing was twisting inside you, making your mind whirl.

jude shut the door gently, the final sound of his footsteps echoing in the distance before you were left in the car, the car engine humming softly in your ears.

one kiss. It hadn’t even lasted a full minute, but it was enough to leave you wanting more.

and you couldn’t help but wonder just how much more he’d be willing to give.

—

a/n: lmk if i should continue this! im not too sure but definitely could expand it

[ira-hydrangea]

Twisted Sugar Realm

One fateful night, a mysterious comet of crystallized sugar streaked across the sky and crash into the forgotten land of Cookie kingdom. The crash created a strange new realm , now known as the Twisted Sugar Realm—a land where magic and sugar intertwine in dangerous ways.

Amidst the chaos, a Cookie born to balance it out. The Chosen Cookie, Y/N Cookie. Unlike ordinary Cookies, this cookie possesses a unique core of pure, ancient magic that holds the key to restoring balance. With their power, a balance soon found itself in Twisted Sugar Realm.

To help keep the balance, they appointed 7 Leaders Cookie and bestow them, the crystal shards. In return, this 7 Leader Cookies also pledge their loyalty to Chosen Cookie, swore to always protect them from the evil of all of this Cookie Land.

As the Twisted Sugar Realm formed, the magic of shards help reshaped the land giving each of the Leader Cookies authority to rules over their respective territory.

Crimson Tartland {The Kingdom of Order & Roses}

A kingdom where strict rules shape every layer of its golden crust. Once a land of warmth and harmony under the Sweetheart Queen, it is now governed by the Crimson Judge, who enforces absolute order. The land is shaped like a massive gingerbread castle garden, with candy-cane hedges, tart-filled fountains, and chessboard-patterned roads made of caramelized sugar.

Here, perfection is law, and those who dare disobey risk sugar petrification, becoming nothing more than lifeless cookie statues. The kingdom’s towering tart walls, caramel rivers of discipline, and the Crimson Court of Judgment reflect its ruler’s unyielding will.

Cinnamon Dune {The Kingdom of Spiced Winds}

Cinnamon Dune is a land of endless golden sands and sweet, spiced winds. Ruled by the Caramel Mirage King. This desert kingdom is lush with treasure and magic but the desert’s harsh landscape offers little mercy to those who seek to exploit it, where shimmering mirages confuse travelers and masked secrets lie buried beneath the dunes. The land is also steeped in cinnamon curses, and only those who understand the desert’s rhythm can survive its sweet, yet dangerous charm.

Molasses Abyss {The Kingdom of Sweet Shadows}

Hidden deep within the Twisted Sugar Realm, the Molasses Abyss is a dark and mysterious kingdom ruled by the Abyssal Confectioner. A sugary ocean of unknown depths, filled with secrets and syrupy contracts. The ocean is no longer water, but a dark, swirling mass of molten molasses and caramel waves, constantly shifting. This land is consumed by thick, dark molasses seas, where sweet contracts bind its inhabitants and where every deal comes with a price.

Gilded Sugar Oasis {The Kingdom of Sweet Serenity}

Gilded Sugar Oasis is a vibrant kingdom ruled by the cheerful and extravagant Sultan of Spiced Honey. This land is an oasis of golden honey rivers, saffron deserts, and lush palm trees that thrive under the warm, never-setting sun. A never-ending festival takes place here, with sugar-coated fireworks, golden candy pavilions, and a bustling dessert market. The rivers flow with liquid honey and sweet saffron syrup, with bridges made of almond brittle.

Beneath the radiant skies, the Gilded Sugar Oasis flourishes, offering endless riches and warmth, but with a touch of danger—for not all sweetness comes without a cost.

Crystalized Belle {The Kingdom of Shattered Beauty}

Crystallized Belle is a kingdom of breathtaking beauty and fragile perfection, ruled by the Sugarglass Monarch. The land is a stunning realm of sparkling sugarglass palaces and glimmering crystal flowers, where every corner reflects the pursuit of flawlessness. beauty is both power and prison, where imperfections are swiftly corrected, and those who fail to meet the highest standards risk being shattered into decorative pieces.

In Crystallized Belle, only the most refined and beautiful can thrive, but one wrong step could lead to a fall from grace, forever trapped in sugarglass.

Candied Circuit {The Kingdom of Sweet Innovation}

Candied Circuit is a kingdom where technology and candy collide, ruled by the enigmatic and tech-savvy, the Candied Phantom. This land is a mysterious blend of glowing neon candy wires, sugary circuitry, and futuristic confectionary factories, where everything is powered by candy magic and high-tech sweets. In Candied Circuit, the future of sweets and tech intertwines, but beneath the glowing surface, there are whispers of experiments gone wrong and sugary creations that have turned into dangerous, sentient beings.

Eclipsed Sugar Hollow {The Kingdom of Eclipse Magic}

Eclipsed Sugar Hollow is a mystical kingdom bathed in eternal twilight, ruled by the enigmatic Midnight Ice Sovereign. This realm exists in a perpetual moonlit glow, where macaron towers rise from dark chocolate rivers, and silvery sugar leaves flutter under the cool night air.

The kingdom’s magic is tied to the eclipsed moon, imbuing its people and landscape with dark enchantments and lunar energy. In Eclipsed Sugar Hollow, the lines between reality and dream blur, as illusions of sweet serenity hide hidden dangers. The land thrives on moonlit macaron magic, but the secrets of its power are as elusive as the changing phases of the moon itself.

The Sugarveil Haven {The Kingdom of Sweet Secrets}

The Sugarveil Haven is a land cloaked in mysterious sweetness, ruled by Y/N Cookie, the Sweet Mystery Keeper and also known as Chosen Cookie. Nestled in the heart of the Twisted Sugar Realm, this kingdom is enveloped in a constant, gentle sugar mist that gives the land an otherworldly glow. The veil of sugar hides the kingdom’s hidden wonders, where magical pastries and unseen treats linger just beyond reach, waiting to be discovered.

The kingdom is known for its whimsical charm and enchanting serenity, where the sweet aromas of sugar veil the truth behind its seemingly perfect facade. Secrets are woven into the very fabric of the realm, and only those with a true understanding of its mystical nature can uncover its hidden treasures.

In Sugarveil Haven, Y/N Cookie wisdom and quiet power guide the kingdom, balancing the delicate line between curiosity and danger, as the fog of mystery whispers of a hidden sweetness that could either be the key to the kingdom's future—or its undoing.

In the Cookie Run Kingdom, The Gingerbrave Gang and the Ancients have learned a tale of a Chosen Cookie, a special cookie whose powers could either save or destroy the entire Cookie world. This Chosen Cookie are maybe the key to restoring balance to the realms and unlocking a hidden power that can undo the damage caused by Dark Enchantress Cookie's spreading influence. With hope that this power can help them to defeat Dark Enchantress Cookie, the gang and the ancient decide to journey into the Twisted Sugar Realm and find this Chosen Cookie.

But what is the meaning of the journey if it not without trials?