#I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS AND IDEAS

[gay-dorito-dust]

Imagine if Bobby was the person manager!reader was going out with! How do you think the Saja boys + the girls would react?

You and @twennari asked similar things so I thought I’d bring both together.

The boys had -somehow- managed to locate where exactly your date was taking place, nothing too fancy, just a well beloved restaurant with a warmth that could be felt even when the door was closed.

They were all adorned in ridiculous outfits that no one with any ounce of self respect would ever be caught in for even a second, once glance within the mirror would’ve have them rethinking every decision they’ve made in their life, but not Saja boys as they were hell bent on seeing who this person that was trying to take you from them.

Yet when they saw who it was, he was the last person any of them would’ve suspected. Your date was Bobby, the manager of Huntrix, and the boys all collectively groaned at the implications of this going forward.

Baby and romance were disheartened by this revelation, yet knew there wasn’t much they could do in this situation without making things worse for themselves in the long run, they also can’t deny that you were having a good time. And if you were having a good time without them was a bit of a blow at first but they know that being overbearing or threatening Bobby will do nothing but push you away and into his arms further.

Baby would huff about how unfair it is but would not let it show on his face, not wanting to let his innermost emotions show unless it was for his own benefit. He didn’t like the idea of you on a date and you on a date with Bobby only made him dislike him just that little bit more, yet he knew that he’ll have to act civil with him for your sake and he’ll do it for you and you alone, though that doesn’t mean he won’t give Bobby the cold shoulder now and then.

He still expects his quality time with you, but he might start writing dis tracks about Bobby in a secret notebook, and keeping it hidden from you. Baby is more than willing to keep you happy, even if it goes against his own happiness.

Romance would be sad that Bobby was being an utter gentleman with you, but it’s how he would’ve treated you if he was the one on a date with you, so he had to give Bobby his flowers when he could. He wanted to see you happy and being spoiled, so seeing you and Bobby having a genuine time together, trading stories and having a good connection in due to your line of work being the same as it brought you both together.

He’s protective over you for a multitude of reasons, he doesn’t like having to share your attention with anyone else, but he’ll have to learn soon enough as to not make things awkward for you and ruin whatever relationship you have with him in the process. There was a time and the place to be selfish and he’ll feel that always whenever he will see you and Bobby in close proximity, but he knows that if he wanted to stay in your good graces then he needed to play nice, even if those niceties with be like that of a double edged sword.

Abby and mystery were sad that they couldn’t do anything about your date with Bobby, knowing that Zoey, Mira and Rumi would be on their asses faster then they could blink.

They were forced to accept that you were on a date with the manager of their rival group, laughing and chatting it up like you were lifelong friends, even if they didn’t like how Bobby would look at you with fond eyes and touch your hand or how you’d laugh and intertwine your fingers with his, showing them without the usage of words of how good Bobby was treating you and it was only the first date of many yet to come.

Jinu is the one with his head clear and able to see that Bobby was not to be harmed in any way. He understood the upset within his group but knew that if any of them acted out, putting their mission at risk in due to their jealously of not having you, then he would have to reprimand them quickly and quietly as possible before it caught wind elsewhere.

He’s got his own thoughts and feelings about the situation. He’s jealous and he’s envious, he’s upset, he’s mad, but he knows that he can’t act upon them without putting himself and the others at risk, he’s meant to lead by example and he needs to do that more then ever. He cares for you just as deeply as the others but can’t dictate your heart if Bobby is the one you happily see a future with, it’s something he’ll have to come to accept sooner or later as there’s no point holding a grudge against Bobby, not when he’s been nothing but respectful of you.

Yet he will keep an eye on him, the protectiveness he felt over you doesn’t fade, it grows stronger and he’ll be keeping a close eye on Bobby and will act accordingly if he found anything he didn’t like. You were priority to him and the group and he won’t allow you to be treated as anything less.

Now as for Zoey, Mira and Rumi, they were absolutely ecstatic that Bobby was going on a date, a gorgeous date as he liked to claim; but they were protective of Bobby and were suspicious on whether or not this date was actually a demon in disguise.

So they too dress in ridiculous disguises and began to follow Bobby on his date and surprise, surprise, the person he’s went on about going on a date with was you! The manager of demonic boy band: Saja Boys.

Now the girls have a level of respect for you because how you tolerated those five men they was behind them, you keep them in line and didn’t allow them to make a fool out of themselves and importantly you, making sure they didn’t get up to anything that would have you on clean up duty and lack of sleep.

Zoey loves you and the fact that you were the one Bobby was on a date with almost made her squeal in happiness because you both look adorable together.

Both overworked managers of two of the most successful groups within the industry, it was a match made in heaven, and yet seeing you both get along like you have for a while was more then enough proof for Zoey to trust you with Bobby. You both understood each other’s workloads and would look out for each other, it was wonderful watching you both laugh and smile at each other as you enjoyed your date.

She hoped that you go on plenty more dates after this, develop your relationship further and deepen it and just in general be happy together. She just knows you’d both make the perfect fit for one another and will gladly make it known whenever possible, maybe even teasing you both if you were to cross paths backstage perhaps? Bobby works himself to the bone and he needs a break even when he insists he didn’t, and if being with you was the way to get him to relax and take the time for himself to breath and enjoy life? Then so be it and she’ll be your biggest cheerleader through and through.

Mira is protective of those closest to her, and Bobby is one of them.

She loves you, don’t get her wrong, but it’s only natural of her to feel on edge or some sort of skepticism towards the demonic group you manage. She was happy that Bobby was on a date, but had her suspicions on who the mystery person could be, if they were only going out with him to get to them and other thoughts like this were within her mind.Mira didn’t want to see Bobby be hurt in any capacity and while she trusts you to not do so, she couldn’t say the same for the five men that seemed to act as though they were your lovers more often then not.

She didn’t like how they’d become borderline obsessed with you and thus would keep a close eye on them in case any of them acted out, it was almost as if she was wanting them to but would reframe from such as you and Bobby didn’t need any more stress that was built upon your shoulders because of them. She smiled softly at how you both seemed to be eager to be closer to one another, shoulder to shoulder as you traded smiles and share a desert between the two of you, looking nothing like the overworked and determined managers in that moment but two people who enjoyed their date together. You both deserve that much after dealing with them and it shouldn’t be ruined, especially not by the Saja Boys who only viewed you as a possession and not human.

Rumi distrusted the group you managed more than she distrusts you.

She doesn’t want them anywhere near Bobby, yet couldn’t help but smile as she saw how happy and relaxed you made Bobby feel, the dark bags under his eyes from excursion almost became none existent whenever he practically beamed at you. That’s all she wants for Bobby, to find someone of a like mindedness as him and someone who could easily make him ease up and relax, and she’s glad he had found that in you as she watched you both genuinely enjoy each others presence.

She also knows that from this point onwards your two groups would be seeing each other more often, and this could be used to her advantage to gauge each Saja boy’s reaction and determine who she should keep the closest eye on, knowing that they’ve become borderline possessive towards you over a short amount of time and so knowing that someone was encroaching on their territory, they were bound to lash out and she would be there to keep you and Bobby out of the line of fire. You were most likely unaware of the true natures of your boys, and thus Rumi saw your date with Bobby just as much of a threat towards you as she saw it a threat to Bobby.

Rumi would make sure that yours and Bobby’s peace was left undisturbed, you both deserve that much after all you’ve done for them, you both deserve to enjoy your date without worry and focus on each other, it’s a look she hoped to see more of in the future as it would reassure her that Bobby was in safe hands; your hands.

[dixonsbugaboo]

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦.

ꜱᴀᴊᴀ ʙᴏʏꜱ🎵

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 2 - 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭

Fem!Reader x Saja Boys

Summary: Reincarnated in the body of a demon from the last film you saw before you died, you have decided to change the script of the story in your favour. But you didn't count on your presence in the story changing everything.

Warnings: slow burn, swearing, Abby being touchy, ooc (probably), cringe (probably), no proofread (oops)

Word count: 3000

A/N: OMG THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR SUPPORT! I actually started this on a whip, I just needed to let it out but I couldn't even imagine how many of you would read it!! I'm sorry if the quality isn't the best, it's been a long time since the last time I wrote, and I'm not used to do it fully in English. Also, this is my first time writing for this fandom, I hope to do it well enough for your criteria (/へ＼*) this chapter is kinda messy (the whole story is, actually) but I hope you like it!

Ch. 1

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

The Saja Boys in their human form were even more breathtaking than you remembered. I mean, you'd seen the movie a bunch of times, you'd seen edits, but this… wow. Another level.

When you helped them get ready to look a little more like how you remembered them appearing in the human world in the movie (because it turns out Abby's hair was blonde, not magenta, and Romance had extremely long hair), they still had pointed ears, large fangs, and even horns, just like you. But once they took their human form, the one they used to have before Gwi-ma took his cut… holy cow. Jinu didn't change much, but the others… Why didn't they go around like that in the underworld? Didn't Gwi-ma allow it? Was the king of hell completely blind or did he just have the worst taste in the world?

On the first day after their human transformation, it was hard not to stare at them. But what could you do? When something so appealing is put in front of you, it's impossible to ignore it completely, right? Even though you knew they weren't for you. Jinu would end up falling in love with Rumi, clearly, and your main idea was to be cupid with the others to satisfy Zoey's fantasies about Mystery (or Baby, who knows) and prove to Mira that pink-haired boys could feel things.

Jinu was aware of how hard it was for you to look away from the others sometimes, and also that little by little you were snapping at them less and talking to them more, with less fear and less embarrassment. He was aware of how you were getting closer to them, how you were starting to laugh at their jokes… And that, for some reason, made him feel a little itchy.

He found it hard to understand you. You were cheerful and at the same time the grumpiest, foul-mouthed person he had ever met. He noticed that when you told them things, you never said everything and always kept bits of information, secrets, to yourself. You were bossy, but at the same time you were attentive and loving. And, although he found it hard to admit, unfortunately you were intelligent. And as much as he wanted to deny it, he loved how proud you could be: you never let anyone walk all over you, you turned red with anger if you weren't listened to, and you were always (always) right, even if deep down you weren't. Plus, for some strange reason, even though you were rude, bossy, and grumpy, when you sensed that the boys weren't in the mood, you were kind. You didn't ask for anything in return; that's just how you were. When the boys got frustrated because the choreography Abby came up with was too complicated, you encouraged them to keep trying, and you reasoned with Abby so that everyone would be happy with the result. You helped Baby write his parts, always gave Mystery his space, and were extremely patient with Romance. Clearly, you didn't behave like a demon, and that caught his attention. You had horns, you had patterns, you were there with them... but at the same time, it seemed like you were somewhere else.

You used to hum when you were concentrating and thought no one could hear you, you bit your nails when you were nervous, you tilted your head when you didn't understand something, you narrowed your eyes when you were angry... these were details he learned to see in you over time. Familiarity breeds affection, I suppose. But he would never, ever admit that he liked your company, that he liked the way you were. He'd rather suck Abby's toe.

Time passed, and the moment to negotiate with Gwi-ma was approaching. Soda Pop was almost ready, thanks in part to the fact that you knew the lyrics by heart from listening to the film's soundtrack too many times. You had given the boys some freedom with certain things because you were starting to trust that, despite the chaos they caused and the moments when they weren't bothering you, they were more or less normal boys (they were demons) who had made bad decisions. And also, what if some little details changed from the original plot? That was kind of your idea since the beginning, right?

Since one of your ideas was to free them, after all, you had to try to understand them and show them that they could get their souls back, right? And live happily in the human world, with a second chance. You just had to get them to want it themselves and believe they could do it.

"From the beginning, guys," Abby announced, bringing your thoughts back to reality, "One, two, three… leg, shoulder, shoulder, leg, and turn… No! Byeol, not like that! It's shoulder, leg, and turn, not shoulder, turn, and leg." He put his hands on his head and pulled at his hair in frustration.

"We've been rehearsing for HOURS, it's normal that I get confused when I can't even FEEL MY LEGS," Byeol shouted back.

But then… you noticed that right in front of you was a scene straight out of a fantasy drama, seeing them exhausted from rehearsing. Why did they have to be so alluring?

You couldn't help but run your tongue over your lips as you watched Sang's T-shirt cling to his torso, clearly revealing his defined muscles, and as a drop of sweat trickled down Dasom's neck to a place that was dangerous to imagine. Byeol panted and brushed his mint-coloured hair away from his beautiful face in a way that was too exquisite for your mental health, and Mystery was crouching down, pulling on the neck of his tank top and revealing his sharp collarbones. Jinu… you quickly looked away. That was dangerous. His face was tilted upwards, his neck tense and sweat dripping down it, panting. Your heart skipped a beat.

Oh holy molly.

They were going to be the best boy band in the entire human world.

As a former music producer in the genre, you had no doubt: the fans were going to be absolutely crazy about them. You knew by herat. You watched the movie.

When you let out an evil laugh while staring at the floor (looking at them in that state was dangerous for your plan and your heart), the boys decided that the best thing to do was… to leave you alone. Who knows what crazy or stupid idea had crossed your mind. They didn't want to be part of it.

And at the same time, how cute you were when you laughed like a villain.

¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸

Finally, after a lot of hard work, they were ready. The song, the choreography, the concept, the costumes…

It had been quite a journey.

From Sang and Byeol fighting over the choreography, to Minjun being unable to make the finger heart that is so typical of idols, Dasom planning scandals with the hunters to ruin their career (clever but cruel, you wouldn't let him do it), to Jinu refusing to wear anything pink. The fact is, you had to yell at each and every one of them at least three times during the process. You were exhausted, but it was finally time for them to negotiate with Gwi-ma, and since you intended to hide while they did, you took the opportunity to relax… and, since you already knew he would accept the deal, you also took some time for yourself.

It was time to abandon your demonic form (borrowed through possession, so to speak) and get to know your human form.

Goodbye horns and see you never outstanding frog eyes.

You missed being able to scratch your face without risking poking your eye out.

But you didn't expect Sang to come back so soon to find you and share the good news.

You had your back to him, putting a pastel pink bow in your hair and helping yourself with an old, broken, chipped mirror. You had put on a little make-up and dressed like a normal human (which is what you were, after all), so you could travel to the human world as soon as possible with the boys without attracting too much attention. A light breeze smelling of sulphur (the most characteristic smell of hell, actually) ruffled your hair. You were surprised by your human appearance, which you assumed would be that of the demon whose body you had taken over. You liked what you saw.

And so did Abby.

He swallowed hard, afraid to make a sound and disturb you. You looked so… different. So… human. You seemed smaller, more fragile… although it was clear that your bad temper was still there, beneath that good-girl image. You had caught his attention from the start, though. He thought you were an interesting and fun demon, and you never minded when he asked you to stroke his head because he was feeling particularly down about Gwi-ma's mental torture.

The first time you met, you seemed weak to him. Jinu had explained the plan to him and insisted that even though you looked like an average demon, you would be useful to them. Abby knew that the boy band idea, ridiculous as it was, could work and benefit him, so he decided to join (besides, Jinu was his friend and he knew that his memories were torturing him), but he didn't understand how a low-ranking demon with so little presence could be useful… until he tried to mess with you, saying sweet nothings to get you to benefit him in particular, delicately grabbing your chin to bring his face closer to yours… and you bit his hand. Hard. From then on, he learned that those tricks didn't work on you, and that you had sharp fangs.

Little by little, he opened up to you and became more himself. He liked your company, he liked how you pinched his elbow when he did something that annoyed you, and he loved how you smiled, showing your fangs and squinting your eyes.

But now, seeing you like this… something warm spread through his chest.

It was just you and him. Alone. For the first time ever.

He swallowed again.

His hands were itching; he needed to touch you. He wanted to rest his arm on your shoulder, caress your waist, touch your hair, try to take your chin in his hand again, this time without the biting. He wanted to know if your skin was as soft as it seemed, and if you would mind him hugging you from behind.

What were those stings he felt in his chest? It wasn't tickling.

Then you turned around and saw him. And you screamed. Really loud. And you threw the nearest thing you found at his head: the broken mirror.

How dare he show up like that, in complete silence? Was he trying to scare you? Did he want to pinch your hips to make you jump, like he had done so many times before?

Luckily, you had bad aim and he had good reflexes, because if you had hit the target (his handsome face), it would have been a problem for his debut.

"Abby!" you shouted, blushing from the outburst you'd just had. "You almost gave me a heart attack! Make some noise if you're going to appear like that, say something, I don't know. My heart is beating like a Chihuahua's." You put your hand on your chest to corroborate your comment.

Abby, who was still processing what he was feeling and thinking and to whom you had just thrown a mirror, decided that giving it too much thought would only give him a headache, and that surely everything that had just happened (especially the fact that you ALMOST destroyed his face) was due to nerves about whether Gwi-ma would approve of the plan or not.

‘I'm sorry,’ he said, flashing a half-smile that made your heart skip a beat. It bothered you so much that he was so good-looking and sweet at the same time, when he often pretended to be tough. Alert: attractive boy. Block K-drama music and sparkles behind his figure. Mayday, mayday.

You turned your back on him again and swallowed hard.

Did you just try to attack him…? Well, it was clearly self-defence.

Abby decided that thinking was indeed a waste of time, so he simply approached you (this time making it clear that he was moving so you wouldn't get alarmed and try to knock his teeth out with your fists), rested his chin on the top of your head, and wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

"Don't be mad at me," she said with a pout. "I just wanted to tell you the good news. Gwi-ma thinks it's a great idea."

"And why are you standing there in silence? Are you a ghost now?" you asked, frowning.

Abby found that expression adorable when you made it in your human form. You were much less intimidating that way. You squirmed a little until you turned around in his arms, and he moved back a little to give you space. He lowered his arms to your hips and his chin so he could look you in the eyes.

You had beautiful eyes.

Both as a human and as a demon.

"It's just that…" he tried to explain. For some reason, he felt embarrassed. His ears and the back of his neck grew hot, and he didn't know what to say to justify his actions.

Why hadn't he said something, or jumped on you to shake you off your shoulders or pinch your hips? Why had he preferred to watch you from afar, imagining what it would be like to hold you tight against his chest?

"HEY! THE FIRST RULE, ABBY! NO FLIRTING!" someone shouted.

Abby and you, startled, turned to find yourselves face to face with the other four members of the group. Romance was in front, pointing accusingly at Abby.

"Manager! Bite his head off like you did to me last time! Yank his hair and pull his ears hard!"

At that precise moment, you became fully aware of how close you were to Abby, your hands resting on his chest while he absentmindedly caressed your hip with his thumb.

You had been living with them for some time, and you had never allowed them to get so close to you without resorting to violence (always in self-defence) or without initiating it yourself (after all, Abby liked physical contact too much, and denying him that would make you a bad person). They really enjoyed teasing you to make you blush, which is why you had imposed the no-flirting rule. But since you had thrown the mirror at him, you had let your guard down… hadn't you?

You pushed away the thought of how good Abby's chest felt in your palms and decided to forget the look he had given you as he apologised. There was no need to read between the lines. He was just trying to annoy you. You took a step back and he didn't resist, letting his arms fall to his sides.

"For the last time, Romance. I'm not your manager. I'm your music producer. I just help you guys out a little bit with your stuff beyond writing your songs because you're a little inexperienced."

"Then why aren't you beating Abby up for…?"

"We were just talking, Romance."

With your hands? That close to each other?

Romance wasn't entirely comfortable with this. He understood that Abby liked physical contact, but when he had tried to caress your cheek affectionately, you had reacted by trying to bite his nose.

"(Y/N), you look very pretty," said Baby, who was looking at you with a gentle smile.

Wow. That had caught you off guard.

Mystery nodded slowly, agreeing with him.

"Pink suits you."

You tried to think of horrible things to keep the colour from rising to your cheeks. You weren't going to let them win.

Silly you, you couldn't understand that they meant it.

"Gwi-ma has given us the green light. It's time to settle into the human world and finish the last details before launching Soda Pop," said Jinu, who had been completely silent until then, staring at some point on the floor.

… Why were there bits of glass everywhere?

"Perfect," you said, clapping your hands. "It's time to conquer the human world and steal those fans from the hunters."

Everyone nodded.

Then Jinu looked up and saw you. He really saw you, for the first time since you appeared there. Human, you were… different. He noticed how small your hands looked without claws, and how soft your hair seemed.

………. not cute at all.

Abby had decided he wanted to touch you just because he simply wanted to touch you, period.

He liked how you hugged him and stroked his hair when he asked you to or when you realised without him saying anything that it was what he needed. It was because you were nice to him, and that was it, nothing else.

Besides, you had thrown a mirror at him.

Why had he apologised…?

Why did he think your smile without fangs was as beautiful as with them?

Why hadn't he realised before that he had always thought you were pretty, ever since the first time he saw you?

Surely it wasn't anything important.

And he was sure you would get angry with him if he told you.

Would you bite his hand if he took your chin again?

Would you push him away like you just did?

Why had his heart been in his throat when he hugged you just before the others arrived, if it wasn't the first time he'd done it?

And why couldn't he see that little by little he was feeling more and more like a planet orbiting around you, rather than a mere partner in a plan to destroy humanity?

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

Ch. 3

A/N: SO! Finally it's here! The next chapter! Woohoo! Sorry if it's bad, I'm not completely happy with the result. But well, some Abby time! And... Abby shimping... ish... hahah... My plan is to give them all the oportunity to steal yout heart... but onlye one of them is going to keep it. When the time comes, I'll let you chosse the endgame! But for now, let them just be confused hehe.

ALSO I probbaly won't be able to post as soon as I did with these last chapters, but I'll try to do it as soon as posible!

Please let me know if you like it! Commenting and rebloguing helps me write faster (at least it gives me the motivation to) (・ω<)

See you soon!

Nun🐇​

Taglist: @just-set-things-on-fire @nightmarewasteland @ph1lo-s0ph1a @gremlinartstudio @strayharmony943 @smoophie @valeriele3 @confusedparticle @queenskippy @enerofairy

(this is my first taglist ever, I hope it works!!)

[dgaftilwedie]

don't think i've done this talking about nam but that time is now YAY 😽 you guys know i can't stop yapping about him

i thought he was an asshole in the best way. i really liked his interactions with other characters and they way he'd instigate things. he's such a fun character to watch in action but i also saw a lot of myself in him. the borderline codependency, the clinginess - he's very similar to me in a lot of ways and i latched onto him immediately.

i think it's easier to talk about why i DON'T like him... the hair, the tattoos, the attitude... i dunno!! im so drawn to him i can't choose like, one thing. no wait i lied maybe the fact that he's so clingy... yeah... i'll go with that :3

the fact that he's lowkey just a little bit of a misogynist but i can play that off with headcanons and the fact that i am unbelievably turned on by him calling semi a whore <3 (that should be me)

i would put him in real life... no but in all serious, i've been thinking about either writing a thagyu bathroom trap ship or designing my own saw trap for namgyu...

hm... scaremonger by chiodos, it's the only song i have in my namgyu playlist so far

already mentioned it above oopsies... I CAN KEEP TALKING THO one thing i noticed about gyu is that he has very cat-like traits and a very cat-like appearance (which i also latched onto because me too...)

especially in fics, but i LOVE soft namgyu. he's not a great person but i truly believe that at his core, he's a broken man who yearns for love and affection by somebody who won't abandon him. i love when people break him down to his innermost self and show that outside of his cruelty and selfishness, he just wants to be taken care of.

this is kind of the exact opposite of what i just said but i HATE abusive cheater evil boyfriend namgyu. HATE IT. HATEEEEE it.

ABSOLUTELY

PROBABLY

OH MY GOD YES i could fix him i think... help him get better, be the kind of person he needs in his life yknow...

I HAVE SO MANY im like a headcanon encyclopedia for nam :3 one of my favorites is that he's an artist. he's really good at drawing. however, he has so much internalized misogyny that he keeps it a secret. he feels like it's a weirdly feminine thing to do (even though it literally isn't) but he loves coming home from a long day at the club and drawing whatever comes to his mind. another headcanon of mine is that he designed most of his tattoos :3 the only thing he didn't choose was the colors, he let his artist take care of that

I JUST KNOW HE'D USE ALL OF THE CAT EMOJIS... either that or the skull emoji, it's definitely his most used

HEAR ME OUT, numetal namgyu... i have a vision ok... the baggy clothes, the guyliner, the piercings, the chunky shoes... the only thing i can't see him doing is cutting his short and spiking it

CATSHIPPING !!!!!!!!!!!!! and then thagyu ofc :3 (sorry me and namgyu are canon in my heart)

I. HATE. NAMGGI. did i think it was incredibly hot to see them go on that killing spree together? yes. would i let them both hit at the same time? absolutely. do i ship them? FUCKKKKKKK NO. i hate myunggi with all of my heart. they'd be so toxic, i don't think myunggi even liked namgyu during the 20 some odd minutes they were paired up together.

i get namgyu x minsu? it's ok :3 i can be fun sometimes, i just don't seek it out

i love thagyu ok. even platonic thagyu....... idgaf!!!!! reminds me so much of me and my bff we are them for real

have. i. mentioned. myunggi. yet.

THANOS DUHHHHHH

i love making namgyu soft and sappy... if im writing a namgyu fic, it's either going to be like. hurt/comfort or smut

i think i already mentioned it but again, love good bf!gyu, hate bad bf!gyu

im gonna attach it at the bottom because it messes up the flow of the numbers :P

adam stanheight and jesse pinkman... WORST TRIO EVER!!!!! i kinda wanna write a fic where they interact but i have no idea for a premise

"oh my god i need that twink" to "oh my god I NEED. THAT TWINK." LMFAOAOAOA i've always loved namgyu... i was attached from the moment i was introduced to him

ok first of all, the scene in season two where he bites his lip and hits the blue button? his whining in season three???? GOOD LORD. GREAT HEAVENS. NAMGYU. NAMGYU HAVE MERCY

he's so purple...

LMFAO ACTUALLY FUNNY STORY i literally wrote a fic where namgyu and hoffman met... my two f/os of all time...

hm... ok first off all STOP USING HEROIN that is a good place to start i think!!

CHARACTER ASK GAME!!! 💫

Send a character + one or more of these question IN THE INBOX. Don't reply on the post!

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19. How about a relationship they have in canon that you don't like?

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29. Could you live as this character, would you? If not, what would you change so that you could?

30. FREEBIE QUESTION!!

[tokoyamisstuff]

Hwang In-ho x gn Circle Guard! Reader

Why did it take 6 months until the Frontman gave 222's baby to his brother?

just a quick drabble from the top of my head, idk it's 2am leave me alone

"Take off your mask."

A shaky breath escapes your lips while doing as you were told, sweat still dripping from your forehead from earier labour.

Now that the games have ended and the protocol for erasing all evidence has been completed, you assumed it was about time for the usual: One last, passionate moment spent together before you and your superior would part ways for yet another year.

Almost automatically, you fondle with the zipper of your suit, about to present yourself for him like so many times before.

"No" he stops you immediately, raising his hand in a rather appeasing than commanding manner. "Don't."

Before you could even react, the man turned around, fondling with a piece of furniture you didn't recognize despite being invited to his quarters on the regulary.

And then, out of the black box no one would assume was a bassinet, he took the last thing you'd expect to see ever again.

"Is that-"

"Yes, it is" he answers the obvious, beckoning you over while cradling the newborn in his arms with a tenderness you weren't aware he was capable of.

For a while the two of you would remain like this, standing besides each other as you undeservingly watched in awe of this peaceful innocence born in the midst of sin and despair.

In-ho observes intently how your eyes light up when the baby's little fingers wrap around yours, feeling the corners of his mouth etch into a smile he had long since forsaken.

Many questions were burning on your tongue, most of them concerning the child's future, but also about the Frontman himself that remained an enigma to you even after all those years. Because as intimate as your relationship was, it was also strictly physical, and in all other aspects he prefered to keep a 'professional' distance.

"Did you ever want to have children?"

You blink up at him like a deer in the headlights, unsure whether it was a trick question. After all, he was never interested in your thoughts, or feelings in particular.

"I heard you volunteered to feed her" he inquires further, gently wrapping a blanket around the baby after placing it back into the bed.

Sure, you weren't opposed to the idea itself, but with the circumstances your life had developed, you never truly allowed yourself to even consider it.

"I'm a murderer" you state matter-of-factly, facing downwards in a mixture of shame and bewilderment. "I shouldn't involve myself with anyone."

"Same goes for me" he retorts in his usual callous tone, standing so close that the back of your hand barely touches his. "But I was told to deal with the baby as I see fit."

"So...have you decided yet what to do with it?"

The Frontman's features always seemed as much of a mask as the angular black shapes of his attire, although right now a hint of melancholy slipped right through. "I...have someone in mind. But not yet, not while it's still so dependent."

Before you could even think of a possible answer to continue the conversation, you felt his fingers intertwine with yours, eyes still locked on the baby stirring contently in it's sleep.

"You still live alone, right?" You nod. It's not a question, it's a fact. He knows even the most trivial details about your life outside of this job, and unbeknownst to you he's way more involved than he should be.

In-ho remains silent, chooses not to reveal what's going on in the inside, about how the current games reopened old wounds and got him to question simply everything.

"Just a few months" he squeezes your hand ever so slightly, gaze darting between you and the newborn with a fondness that almost startled you. "I need to settle some other things, so...I could use some help caring for the child."

It sounds like he tries to convince only himself, for the power imbalance between you two made that proposition more order than offer anyways.

Still, here was method to his madness, well aware that you both would inevitably taint this symbol of hope shall you get too attached for too long.

In-ho leans to your height, planting a lingering hiss to your temple before resting his forehead against yours. You crack a meek smile, since this brief imitation of normalcry was the first thing worth looking forwards to in an eternity.

"Alright, then let's...try to enjoy this while it lasts."

[mononijikayu]

nanami kento had been thinking about this for a long time. perhaps longer than he’d ever admit aloud. the idea had crept in during late nights alone at his desk, when the office was silent and the city lights cast tired shadows across the floor.

it was foolish, he told himself. improper. but it stayed with him. you knew. of course, you did. that was the kind of intimacy marriage gifted you over time. it was not just knowing his routines or favorite tea, but the shape of his silence. the way his beautiful caramel eyes flickered toward the door when you visited.

the subtle tension in his jaw when your fingers brushed his shoulder as you leaned over his desk. you could read the thoughts he didn’t say, the ones he buried under duty and restraint.

so you suggested it to him in great detail. this morning. over breakfast. just after he kissed your temple and straightened his tie, resignation letter tucked into the inside pocket of his coat.

“if you’re really leaving, baby......” you said softly, to him. almost like a purr. “we should say goodbye to the place properly.”

he didn’t answer at first. he just looked at you like he wasn’t sure if you were serious. then something shifted in his expression. the faintest nod at you. so he waited for you at his office, over lunch. his last ever lunch delivery from you in this place.

now, in the hush of his office, the door clicking shut behind you, it feels like the air itself holds its breath. the lunch box was all but discarded in the corner of the room, abandoned. all his attention now was on you. he turns to you, eyes darker than usual. he was hungry for you.

“you sure about doing something like this?” he asked, his voice low.

you step toward him slowly, closing the space between you. “you’ve been thinking about it for weeks.”

his jaw tightens. “i didn’t want to ask.”

you smile, hands reaching for the buttons of his shirt. “you didn’t have to.”

in two strides, he’s in front of you, pulling you into his arms, kissing you like he’s making up for all the times he told himself he couldn’t. his mouth is warm, hungry. you melt into him, fingers gripping the front of his shirt as his hands slide down your back.

“you’re going to miss this place, aren't you?” you whisper between kisses.

he breathes a soft laugh against your lips. “only this moment. only you. everything else can burn.”

your back meets the edge of the desk as he presses you gently against it, lips trailing down to your neck. his hands are everywhere. it was all measured, reverent, yet maddened and desperate. all too urgent for the desire. like he’s chasing time.

“you’ve been patient with me, baby.” he murmurs, voice rough now. “more than i deserve.”

you run your fingers through his hair, guiding his face back to yours. “kento.”

he meets your gaze. he was steady. but he was truly losing himself in this. he was serious, now that you had given him the go to make love to you like this. yet it was like this means more than either of you can say. being together like this without a care for the world for the first time in a long time.

“let me have this, baby.” he whispers. “here. with you. before i let it all go.”

you nod, so readily and so willingly. you let out a hot breath. “it’s already yours. always and forever.”

and then he kisses you again, deeper this time. it was anchored in the ache of the many nights of parting. and now the relief of release, and the quiet fire that only lovers who’ve walked through years together can create.

he walked you backwards until your legs hit his desk, then lifted you onto it, stepping between your spread thighs. he broke the kiss, his hands sliding up your skirt, his fingers brushing against your core through your panties.

"you're already wet." he murmured, his voice husky with need. "were you thinking about this all day?"

he pressed a thumb against your clit, rubbing in slow circles, making you gasp. you nodded, almost too desperately as your hips rolled against his hand, seeking more friction. he snickered at the sight of you.

"i was imagining you bending me over your desk for a while." you confessed, your cheeks flushed. "taking me right here, where anyone could walk in and see."

kento's sweet caramel eyes flashed with heat at your confession, his thumb pressing harder against your clit. he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, his voice low and rough.

"and what if someone did walk in?" he murmured. "would that turn you on? knowing they could see me fucking you, claiming you on my desk?"

his other hand slid up your thigh, pushing your skirt up around your waist. he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, tugging them aside. your husband slipped a finger inside you. then another. then more. until you were already too full of him to even understand what was going on.

you couldn't help but continue groaning at the feeling of your wetness enveloping him, eagerly blessing him with the same desire as his. you tried to push back, trying to meet his finger's thrusts. but with your husband's speed, it was deliciously impossible.

"fuck, you're so ready for me, aren’t you?" he breathed, pumping his fingers in and out.

he pushed deeper and deeper, preparing you for his cock. he kissed you again, hard and demanding, swallowing your moans as he fingered you faster. he broke the kiss suddenly, pulling his fingers out and bringing them to his lips.

kento sucked your juices off his long fingers, his hunter's eyes never leaving yours. you tasted too sweet for him. and he just cannot get enough of it. he silenced you with a kiss, his tongue invading your mouth, claiming you. when he pulled back, his eyes were dark, intense.

"answer me." he demanded, his grip on your hips tightening. "are you my good girl?"

you swallowed hard, your heart racing fast with lust and excitement. you knew what he wanted to hear, what he needed to hear. what pulls the strings. you nodded, your voice barely a whisper.

your flustered face was beautiful to him, as he watched you struggle to get the words out of your mouth as you moaned little by little, glistening sweat. your husband liked you like this, being a goddess letting him worship.

"yes, kento. ah, ah.....my love, my husband…..i'm your good girl."

he smiled at you, with a wicked, smile that sent shivers down your spine. you felt even more excited. and once more, wetter than you probably were before. desire burned the great furnace down.

"good."

he unbuckled his belt, unzipping his pants, freeing his hard cock. it sprang out, long and thick, the tip glistening with pre-cum. he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your folds.

"if you make a sound, i'll stop." he whispered, his voice a cruel promise. "and we both know you don't want that, do you? everyone likes to take their lunch in their cubicles. you don't want them coming in to watch us, no?

you shook your head frantically, your eyes wide with a mix of fear and anticipation. your husband smirked down at you, knowing he had you right where he wanted you. here on his desk, laying beautiful for him.

"nod if you understand, baby." he commanded, his grip on your hips tightening.

you nodded, biting your lip to hold back a moan. satisfied, he thrust into you in one smooth motion, filling you completely. he paused, giving you a moment to adjust, his beautiful lustful eyes locked with yours.

"good girl, pretty." he groans against you. “you’re way too good.”

“ken….my love, oh my goddddd.......” you felt him in your throat, almost immediately. you felt so full of him. “y–you’re….fuckkkkk.”

kento began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. each thrust drove him deeper, hitting spots that made you see stars. it drove you to the edge of insanity, of all the pleasures known to man.

he leaned over you, his hands gripping the edge of the desk, caging you in full of him over and over again. you were choking up in moans with every in and out, busting the wind in your lungs into nothing.

you tried to keep up with him, but all it led to was crying and wailing with tears, letting the pleasure pouring out of your bitten lips in quiet moans and groans over and over again.

he kissed you fiercely, swallowing your cries of pleasure, his hips snapping forward with a force that shook the desk. you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, your nails digging into his shoulders.

he growled against your lips, his pace becoming erratic, his control slipping. kento all but reached between you, his long fingers once again finding your clit, rubbing firm circles. faster than he had done earlier.

that was all it took to push you over the edge. you bit your lip hard, to the point it was feeling a little bit bruised by the end. you could feel your muffled your scream in your ears as your orgasm crashed over you.

your inner walls clamping down around him, hard. you were sure that you could almost taste paradise, you could clearly see the stars in the heaven that he just given you joyously. if this was the afterlife, it was shining with pleasure you were enjoying too well.

kento followed soon after, his hips jerking as he spilled himself inside you with a guttural groan. he collapsed on top of you, his face buried in your neck, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

you lay there, wrapped in his arms, your heart racing. you could feel your entire body trembling with the aftermath of your orgasm. he got you good this time too, you fear. he lifted his head, looking down at you, his eyes soft and satisfied.

"you did so well, my good girl." he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. "so quiet, so obedient."

"only for you, my love." you promised him, giggling.

"well, i'm a mortal thanking his beloved goddess with all her love."

"hm, you better."

he laughs soundlessly as he pulled out of you slowly, his softening cock slipping free. he tucked himself back into his pants, then helped you sit up, straightening your skirt.

"are you sure you're okay?"

you nodded at him. "my legs feel like jelly but i can walk. i can rest at home, surely."

"hm, i'll massage your legs when we get home." he promises to you, as he kisses your jaw. "but wait, don't move. i have to help clean you. sit tight."

"thank you, my love."

"no thanking me, baby." he tells you, as he starts to get water from his mini fridge and then the tissue from his drawer. "i should always be taking care of you, no?"

"i love you so much."

he smiles back at you. "i love you too. now, let me take care of you."

that's what he does. kento makes sure you drink the water he got first while he grabbed some tissues and gently cleaned you up, his touch reverent and gentle.

he helped you off the desk soon after that, steadying you when your legs threatened to give out. he straightened your clothes, smoothing your hair, making sure you looked presentable. he grabbed your purse, handing it to you, his beautiful caramel eyes never leaving yours.

he took your hand, intertwining your fingers with his, a small smile playing on his lips. he presses a small kiss on the corner of your mouth. you gave him a small smile.

"i love you so much." you whisper to your husband. "with all that i am."

"i love you too." he smiles, kissing your bruised lips. "very very much."

"hm, i like the sound of that."

"let's go home." he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "i don't wanna stay in this place anymore."

he led you out of the office, through the now empty halls, his hand never leaving yours. he stopped at the elevator, pressing the button, waiting for the doors to open. he pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your waist, his lips brushing against your ear.

"can you....."

"if you want round two, i'm all in." you whisper to him, looking up at his precious caramel eyes. "but you have to carry me all around the house. my legs will be out of commission for a while."

"well since i'll be jobless for a while, the least this new house husband can do is be his wife's personal carrier." he says, kissing your neck causing you to giggle. "i'll do everything you want, baby."

"hm, i know."

[davinawritings]

Wrong Name

Hello! I hope you like this little Drabble! I did it with an unspecified monster so you can kind of imagine him how you want (although I did mention claws).

Pairing: Non-Specified Monster X Reader

Warnings: Sex, Creampie, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Rough Sex, Slight Size Kink

You aren’t quite sure why you thought your little prank would turn out any differently than it did. You were bored, and you just wanted to see if you could get under your boyfriend’s skin a little. Granted, calling your possessive monster boyfriend by your ex’s name… well, let’s just say it wasn’t the best idea.

The second your ex’s name left your lips, you practically felt the air shift. Your monster’s body tensed, and you heard the low growl rumbling in his chest. He stood to his full height, and your fight or flight kicked in. Obviously, a fight wouldn’t work against your beloved yet massive boyfriend, so that left the option of flight.

Could you have run to your bedroom, which has a soft bed and a feeling of comfort? Yes. 

Did you run to your bedroom? No…

Your next bad idea was taking off out the back door and heading for the woods behind your home. You aren’t really sure why your brain seemed to think that was a good idea, but honestly, you aren’t sure there was a lot of thought behind your actions anyway.

Do you have a good sense of direction? Not particularly, and it’s even worse at night, which it currently is.

Could you outrun your monster boyfriend? Absolutely not.

You only made it past a handful of trees when your feet left the ground. Large claws manhandle your body until you face your boyfriend, legs dangling several feet above the ground. 

“It was a prank!” you say quickly. His eyes turn into a glare as you try and give him your best innocent look. He walks forward until your back is pressed against a tree, your legs wrapping around him out of instinct.  

His voice is deep and rough as he says, “I don’t ever want to hear that name come out of your mouth again. You’re all mine and ONLY fucking mine!”. He uses sharp claws to tear the clothes from your lower half. “I’ll spend all night making sure you forget that name and never speak it again. The only thing that pretty little mouth will be able to do by the end of tonight is moan and scream”.

He thrust in your embarrassingly wet cunt with one hard stroke, the fat length stretching you open and leaving you breathless. He shifts so your legs hook over his arms, leaving you spread wide and at his mercy.

He bounces you up and down as he pleases, listening to you moan and whimper as he brings you to the edge over and over. His cock glistens with your juices, and he releases his own moans and growls as he feels you clench around him repeatedly. He fills you with his cum, marking you from the inside,  but he keeps going. 

Eventually, he moves you to the ground, fucking you hard and deep in the middle of nature, claiming your body like a feral animal.

You don’t know how long it’s been or how many times you have both cum. Your cunt and thighs are a sticky mess of fluids, and overstimulation has set in. The pain mixes with pleasure in a dance of overwhelming ecstasy.

You are barely aware of being carried back to your home, the sun just rising on the horizon, and your monster’s hands are gentle on your body. You are in desperate need of a bath and sleep, but more than anything, you are content to be in your monster’s arms. 

Pranking your boyfriend might not have been the most brilliant idea, but you’re pretty happy with the outcome now.

[2b4st4r]

hi bae!! could you (pretty please) write me one where sanji and fem! strawhat! reader have something really domestic, like taking care of each other after nightmares and such, until reader confesses and Sanji (who very much loves reader) says he don't feel the same because he's scared of someone actually caring for him?

maybe after a while Sanji see's reader close to someone else and crash out thinking reader lied about loving him but he's just being jealous and scared and we have a pretty happy ending to mend my little heart?

no need to have everything i listed, just listing the general vibe, feel free to include or exclude whatever you feel like

thx a bunch viu 💖

✧˖°. A Recipe for Reassurance ✧˖°.

Sanji x Reader

. ₊ ⊹ . ₊˖ . ₊

𖤓 Words: 11,335

𖤓 ִWarnings: Heartbreak, angst, jealousy, miscommunication, happy ending.

✶⋆.˚ A/n: i really hoped you liked this! ngl i kinda dragged it out a little but it was a lot of fun writing this! byebye.

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

The Grand Line was a capricious beast, its moods shifting like the tides, but aboard the Thousand Sunny, a different kind of constant hummed—the quiet, steady rhythm of family. And at the heart of that rhythm, in many ways, was you, Y/N.

You were the Straw Hats' anchor, their soft landing, the one who always had a kind word or a gentle touch. You'd often find yourself leaned against Zoro's side during his naps, a comfortable silence stretching between you as the ship swayed. Nami would frequently seek you out on deck, sharing her latest mapping ideas or simply enjoying the sunset together, a rare vulnerability in her usually guarded demeanor. Usopp would spin his wildest tales to you, knowing you'd listen with genuine fascination, your laughter always his favorite reward. Even the usually reserved Robin would sometimes share a quiet moment, a knowing glance passing between you that spoke volumes. And then there was Chopper, who’d often be found nestled in your lap, his tiny hooves gently kneading your clothes as you stroked his fur. You loved them all, each in their own unique way, a vital thread in the vibrant tapestry of the Straw Hat Pirates.

But with Sanji? That was a different story entirely. From the moment you’d stepped aboard, there had been an undeniable pull, a current that drew you both together. You loved everything about him: the way his perpetually swirly eyebrow twitched when he was deep in thought, the passionate fire in his eyes when he spoke of food, the almost theatrical flourish with which he presented even the simplest dish, the surprising gentleness of his hands when they weren't busy flipping ingredients or fighting, the way he'd fuss over everyone's meals, making sure each bite was perfect. You loved his chivalry, even when it was over the top, and the unexpected moments of seriousness that would flash across his face. You loved the little hum he’d make when he was pleased, and the way he’d light up a cigarette, the smoke curling around his impossibly handsome face. You loved his unwavering loyalty, his fierce protectiveness, and even his occasional dramatics. You loved the way he moved, with a dancer's grace, whether in the kitchen or in a fight. You simply loved him.

You two were inseparable. When he was in the kitchen, you were right there beside him, learning to chop vegetables with his precision, or just silently peeling fruit while he orchestrated his culinary masterpieces. You'd often find yourselves on the deck late into the night, sharing hushed conversations under the stars, or simply leaning against the railing, the rhythmic creak of the ship the only sound. When the world seemed to turn upside down, as it so often did on the Grand Line, you two were a singular unit. If a nightmare jolted him awake, you’d be there, a comforting presence beside him, stroking his hair until the terror receded. And when your own sleep was shattered by dark dreams, it was his warm embrace that would pull you back from the brink, his whispered reassurances chasing away the shadows. You were each other’s calm in the storm, a steadfast, unyielding comfort in a chaotic world.

Your love for Sanji wasn't a sudden, blinding flash, but rather a slow, steady burn, deepening with every shared laugh, every quiet moment, every crisis weathered together. It was in the way his presence alone could soothe the frayed edges of your nerves after a particularly harrowing encounter. It was in the unconscious way your hand would seek his when the ship rocked violently, or in the easy comfort of his arm slung around your shoulders during a rare, peaceful evening on deck. You found yourself cataloging every one of his gestures, every expression: the soft crinkle around his eyes when he genuinely smiled, the rare, almost shy glance he'd cast your way when he thought no one was looking, the firm, reassuring squeeze of his hand when you were worried.

You'd catch yourself staring, sometimes, as he moved around the kitchen, a blur of motion and passion, and a warmth would bloom in your chest. It wasn't just admiration for his skill; it was a profound appreciation for the dedication he poured into every aspect of his life, especially his cooking. You loved watching him explain a dish, his voice filled with an almost poetic reverence for the ingredients. And when he'd present you with a plate, specifically made to your liking, a small, knowing smile on his lips, your heart would ache with a sweetness that was almost overwhelming.

There were moments, too, when the lightheartedness would fade, and you'd glimpse the deeper currents within him. When the crew faced a truly grim situation, or when his past weighed heavily on his mind, you saw a vulnerability that he rarely showed to others. In those times, your love for him solidified into something fierce and protective. You wanted to shield him from every hurt, to be his unwavering support, just as he was yours. The thought of a future without him, without his quick wit, his passionate spirit, his surprisingly tender touch, felt like staring into an empty sea. Your world, it seemed, had become inextricably linked with his, a delicious, exhilarating entanglement you wouldn't trade for anything.

The decision settled within you like a quiet certainty, a gentle hum beneath the surface of your usual camaraderie with Sanji. Today was the day. The thought both exhilarated and terrified you. Each time you tried to find the right moment, however, the chaotic energy of the Thousand Sunny seemed to conspire against you.

The first attempt was during breakfast. He was bustling around the galley, plates flying, a symphony of clanking dishes and sizzling pans. You’d leaned against the doorway, trying to catch his eye, your heart pounding a nervous rhythm against your ribs. "Sanji," you started, but just then Luffy bellowed for more meat, and Sanji was swept away in a flurry of frantic activity, your words lost in the clamor.

Later, you found him on deck, meticulously polishing his shoes. The sea breeze ruffled his golden hair, and for a moment, the usual boisterousness of the ship seemed to fade. This was it, you thought. You approached him, taking a deep breath. "Sanji, there's something I really need to—" But before you could finish, Nami called for his assistance with some navigational charts, her voice sharp and urgent. With an apologetic glance, he hurried off, leaving you standing alone with the unspoken words hanging in the air.

The day wore on, each failed attempt adding to the growing knot of anxiety in your stomach. You tried again during his afternoon smoke break on the deck, but Usopp and Chopper joined him, launching into a boisterous recounting of their latest "brave" adventure. You even considered interrupting him while he was cooking dinner, a sacred ritual, but the sheer intensity of his focus deterred you.

Finally, as the stars began to pepper the inky sky, a sense of quiet descended upon the Sunny. The gentle rocking of the ship was almost lulling, and the air was cool and crisp. You found Sanji leaning against the railing on the upper deck, a familiar silhouette against the starlit expanse, the orange glow of his cigarette tip a tiny beacon in the darkness.

Hesitantly, you approached him, the familiar scent of smoke and his subtle cologne filling your senses. You stood beside him, the silence stretching for a comfortable moment before a fresh wave of nervousness washed over you. You could feel your palms sweating, and your throat felt tight.

He took a long drag from his cigarette, the ember momentarily illuminating his profile. He looked peaceful, lost in thought. This was it. No more delaying.

Taking another deep breath, you turned slightly towards him, your gaze fixed on the vast, twinkling universe above. "Sanji," you began, your voice a little shaky, "I... I need to tell you something. Something important."

He turned his head, his brow slightly raised in silent inquiry, the cigarette still held loosely between his lips. He waited patiently, his gaze steady on yours.

You gathered all your courage, the culmination of all those unspoken feelings finally finding their way to your lips. "Sanji," you said, your voice gaining a bit more strength, your eyes locking with his in the soft starlight. "I... I'm in love with you."

The words hung in the cool night air, a confession laid bare under the silent witness of the stars. The only sound was the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull of the Sunny and the soft creak of the ship. Sanji remained still, his expression unreadable in the dim light. He didn't speak, didn't move, the cigarette slowly burning between his fingers. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, amplifying the frantic beating of your heart as you waited for his response.

The silence stretched, agonizing and thick, under the indifferent gaze of the stars. You watched him, your breath held tight in your chest, waiting for any sign, any movement, any flicker of emotion in his usually expressive face. The cigarette glowed, a tiny, defiant ember in the dim light. And then, he took it from his lips, exhaled a plume of smoke into the night, and his voice, when it finally came, was soft, almost a whisper, yet it struck you with the force of a physical blow.

"I can't, Y/N."

The words hung in the air, simple, definitive, and utterly devastating. Your heart, which had been pounding a frantic drumbeat moments before, seemed to simply drop, sinking into a cold, empty chasm within you. The gentle rocking of the Sunny suddenly felt violent, the night air sharp and biting. You wanted to ask why, to plead, to demand an explanation, but no sound would escape your constricted throat. His gaze, usually so warm and inviting, was now distant, unreadable.

He turned back to the railing, his back partially to you, and took another slow drag of his cigarette. It was a clear dismissal, a silent wall erected between you. The intimacy of the moment, the closeness you had always shared, fractured into a thousand pieces. The air between you, once so comfortable and familiar, was now thick with unspoken words and the crushing weight of rejection.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, the reality of his words slowly, painfully, setting in. There was nothing more to say, nothing more to do. The hope that had blossomed so brightly in your chest withered and died in an instant. Without another word, you turned and walked away, the gentle creak of the deckboards beneath your feet a mournful counterpoint to the shattering of your own heart. Each step felt heavy, leading you further from the man you loved, and deeper into a silence that now felt colder than the ocean itself. You didn't know where you were going, only that you needed to be somewhere, anywhere, but there.

The night air, once a comforting caress, now felt like a frigid embrace as you stumbled away from Sanji. Every step was a dull ache, a physical manifestation of the chasm that had just ripped open inside you. Your confession, so bravely delivered, had been met with a quiet, undeniable "no," and the reverberations of that single word echoed in the empty chambers of your heart.

A cold wave of numbness washed over you first, a desperate attempt by your mind to shield itself from the raw, searing pain. You felt strangely detached, as if watching a scene unfold from a distance. Was that really your voice, so vulnerable, so exposed? And was that really Sanji, his back turned, leaving you to drown in the silence?

But the numbness was a fragile dam, and behind it, a torrent of grief began to swell. It wasn't the dramatic, weeping kind of grief, but a quiet, insidious ache that settled deep in your bones. It was the grief of a future unwritten, of whispered dreams that would now never see the light of day. Every shared laugh, every comfortable silence, every moment of intertwined closeness with him suddenly felt tainted, replaying in your mind with a new, cruel filter. Had you imagined it all? Had your feelings blinded you to the reality of your relationship?

Then came the humiliation, hot and stinging. To lay your heart bare, only for it to be gently, but firmly, pushed away. You felt exposed, foolish, as if you had worn your deepest secret on your sleeve for all the world to see, only to be met with polite indifference. You wanted to crawl into the darkest corner of the ship, to vanish completely, to escape the memory of his quiet rejection.

Beneath it all was a terrifying sense of loss. Sanji wasn't just a crush; he was your closest confidant, your anchor in the chaotic world of the Straw Hats. The thought of facing him now, of navigating the unspoken awkwardness that would surely settle between you, was unbearable. How could you go back to helping him in the kitchen, to sharing quiet moments on deck, knowing that your heart held a secret he didn't reciprocate? The very foundation of your most cherished friendship felt shattered, leaving you adrift and profoundly alone under the vast, uncaring expanse of the night sky.

Sanji watched your retreating figure disappear into the shadows of the Thousand Sunny, the glowing tip of his cigarette the only witness to the turmoil raging within him. Your confession, those simple, powerful words – "I'm in love with you" – had hit him like a physical blow, simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. He loved you. God, he loved you with a ferocity that surprised even himself. Every kind word, every shared laugh, every quiet moment of understanding you offered was a treasure he guarded fiercely. He loved your unwavering kindness, the way you effortlessly connected with everyone on the crew, your gentle nature that somehow managed to be incredibly strong. He loved the way you looked at him when he cooked, that genuine fascination that made his heart swell.

But saying "no" had been a knee-jerk reaction, a bitter taste in his mouth even as the word left his lips. It wasn't because he didn't feel the same. It was because the raw, unadulterated fear that had coiled in his gut for years had suddenly tightened its grip. The ghost of his past, the haunting specter of Zeff's sacrifice, the constant, gnawing anxiety of losing those he cared for – it all surged to the forefront. He'd seen firsthand the devastating price of love and attachment, the agony of watching someone give everything for him. He couldn't, wouldn't, put you through that. He couldn't bear the thought of you ever having to face danger, or worse, make a sacrifice for him. His deepest, most primal instinct was to protect you, and in his twisted logic, that meant keeping you at arm's length, even from his own heart.

He took another drag, the smoke bitter on his tongue. He could still feel the warmth of your presence beside him, the vulnerable hope in your eyes. He’d seen the pain flash across your face as he spoke, and it had twisted a knife in his own chest. He wanted to pull you back, to explain, to confess his own overwhelming feelings. He wanted to tell you how much your "I love you" meant, how it had simultaneously shattered and healed parts of him he didn't even know were broken. But the words had frozen in his throat, choked by the fear of what loving you truly meant – the potential for loss, for heartbreak, for the kind of pain he'd sworn he'd never inflict on anyone he cared for again.

He stood there for a long time, the cigarette burning down to its filter, the night air growing colder. He had pushed you away, the person he cherished most, all because he was a coward. A silent, desperate ache settled in his chest, a stark contrast to the lively, boisterous Sanji the crew knew. He had traded your love for what he perceived as your safety, but the silence that now enveloped him felt anything but safe. It felt empty, vast, and terrifyingly lonely.

You found yourself leaning against the mast, the rough wood digging into your back, but you barely noticed. The numbness had begun to recede, leaving behind a raw, exposed nerve. Every breath felt shallow, every sound on the ship amplified and distorted. The once comforting creak of the Thousand Sunny's timbers now sounded like a mournful sigh, mirroring the desolation in your own heart.

You squeezed your eyes shut, desperate to erase the image of his unreadable face, his quiet "I can't, Y/N." But it was seared into your mind, a brand of rejection that burned with a cold fire. All those shared moments, the late-night talks, the comfortable silences, the easy camaraderie – they now felt like a cruel deception. Had you misread everything so completely? Had your own feelings conjured a connection that never truly existed on his end? The thought was a bitter pill, difficult to swallow.

A profound loneliness settled over you, a heavy cloak in the vast expanse of the ocean. Even surrounded by your chosen family, the Straw Hats, you felt utterly isolated. How could you face them tomorrow, knowing this secret heartbreak? How could you look Sanji in the eye, pretend that nothing had changed, when your world had just been irrevocably altered? The very thought of his presence, once the source of so much joy, now brought a sharp pang of dread. The ease you once shared was gone, replaced by an insurmountable wall. You had bared your soul, and in return, you had been left with nothing but the echoes of a love unrequited, a future you had dared to dream of, now irrevocably shattered.

The morning wore on, the usual boisterous energy of the Straw Hats filling the galley, but for you, it was a finely tuned performance of pretending. You tried to focus on Chopper's excited ramblings about a new medicinal plant Robin had pointed out, or Nami’s exasperated sighs at Luffy’s bottomless pit of a stomach. But your awareness was a constant hum, attuned to Sanji’s presence.

He moved past your seat, heading for the stove with a stack of empty plates. As he reached to grab a new batch of pancakes, his hand brushed against your arm. It was a fleeting contact, no more than a whisper of skin on skin, but it was enough. You flinched, a tiny, almost imperceptible jerk, pulling your arm away as if scalded.

Sanji’s movements faltered. He paused, his back to you, the plates clattering slightly in his hand. The easy flow of his culinary dance had been broken. He turned his head just enough for you to catch his gaze over his shoulder. His usual playful smirk was gone, replaced by a strained neutrality. Your eyes met his for a fraction of a second, and in that brief connection, you both saw it: the abrupt, jarring distance that had replaced your usual closeness. The warmth that had always flowed between you had curdled into something cold and brittle.

The shift was immediate. The lively chatter around the table didn't stop entirely, but it certainly dimmed. Luffy, ever oblivious to subtle cues, simply paused mid-chew, his eyes wide as he looked from you to Sanji and back again. Usopp dropped his fork with a clatter, his mouth agape. Even Zoro, who often seemed to exist in his own drowsy world, cracked open one eye, sensing the sudden chill in the air.

“What was that, Y/N? Did you get burnt?” Chopper piped up, his innocent curiosity cutting through the sudden tension like a knife. His wide, earnest eyes looked from your stiff posture to Sanji’s rigid back.

You felt a flush creep up your neck. Your mind raced, scrambling for an excuse, any excuse, to diffuse the situation. Before you could even formulate a response, Sanji’s voice, sharper than usual, sliced through the air.

“No, Chopper-kun. Y/N-chan is fine. I just… almost dropped the plates.” His voice was clipped, a stark contrast to his usual melodic tone when addressing you. He didn’t turn fully, his back still partially towards the table as he resumed his work with a renewed, almost frantic, energy.

The excuse was flimsy, even for the Straw Hats. The atmosphere remained thick, laced with an unspoken question. You kept your eyes fixed on your plate, pushing a pancake around with your fork, acutely aware of the curious glances, the knowing looks that were now being exchanged around the table. The breakfast, once a lively communal affair, had become a public dissection of the sudden, undeniable rift between you and Sanji.

The breakfast incident was just the first tremor. As the days bled into a new, unsettling rhythm on the Thousand Sunny, the crew, despite their varying levels of perceptiveness, couldn't help but notice the profound shift in the dynamic between Y/N and Sanji.

It began with the small things, the almost imperceptible changes that, when accumulated, painted a stark picture. Sanji's usual flamboyant greetings to you – the twirls, the heartfelt "Y/N-chan! My darling!" – had vanished. Now, they were replaced by a polite, almost formal "Good morning, Y/N," delivered with a brief, unseeing nod. And you, who had always met his theatrics with a fond smile or a playful retort, now simply offered a strained "Good morning, Sanji," often averting your gaze.

The most glaring difference was in the galley. You, who had been his most constant companion in the kitchen, meticulously prepping vegetables, sharing quiet conversations over the sizzle of pans, or simply being a comforting presence, were rarely there anymore. You’d find excuses: needing to help Nami with charts, offering to mend Usopp’s latest contraption, or even spending extra time with Robin in the library. When you did enter the galley for meals, you’d choose a seat as far from Sanji as possible, and the easy banter that once flowed between you two had dried up completely.

Luffy, in his usual innocent bluntness, was often the first to comment. "Hey, Sanji! Y/N's not helping you cook anymore? Your food's still super good, but it's weird!" Sanji would just offer a tight-lipped smile and mumble something about you being busy, while you would busily focus on your plate, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

Chopper and Usopp were equally confused. "Y/N, why don't you sit next to Sanji anymore? You always used to!" Chopper might ask, genuinely puzzled. You’d usually manage a mumbled excuse about liking your current seat, or needing to be closer to someone else for a conversation.

Even Zoro, despite his constant naps, picked up on the tension. He'd occasionally open an eye to observe the subtle but significant distance between you two. He noticed how Sanji’s usual doting attention towards you had changed to a guarded professionalism, and how your normally open and warm demeanor towards him had become reserved, almost wary. He rarely commented, but a shrewd glint in his eye suggested he was watching, putting the pieces together.

Nami and Robin, with their sharper social instincts, noticed it immediately and more profoundly. Nami would sometimes catch your eye, a silent question passing between you, but you'd quickly look away, your usual openness replaced by a shuttered expression. Robin's usual serene smile would often dim when she observed the interactions, or lack thereof, between you and Sanji. They saw the way Sanji's usual fiery passion seemed a little muted when you were in the room, and how your radiant warmth seemed to dim whenever he was near. The crew's favorite dynamic duo, their closest friends, were suddenly acting like polite strangers, and the Thousand Sunny, for all its adventurous spirit, felt a little colder, a little less like home, because of it.

The initial sting of Sanji's rejection lingered, a dull throb in your chest that refused to fully dissipate. Days bled into weeks, and the forced cordiality between you and the cook remained, an unspoken tension that permeated the galley and the deck. Yet, beneath the surface of that lingering ache, something else, remarkably, began to stir. Very, very slowly, almost imperceptibly, your heart began its long, arduous process of healing.

It wasn't a sudden, dramatic shift. There were still moments, a familiar scent from the galley, a glimpse of his blond head, that would send a fresh pang of sadness through you. But these moments became less frequent, their intensity diminishing over time. You started to find comfort in the smaller joys of life on the Thousand Sunny, appreciating the warmth of the sun on your skin, the salt spray on your face, the familiar rhythm of the waves.

You began to lean more heavily on the other Straw Hats, seeking solace and distraction in their unique personalities. You spent more time with Nami, poring over maps and discussing fashion, her pragmatic realism a grounding force. You’d listen to Usopp’s wild tales with genuine laughter, finding a simple joy in his boundless imagination. Robin’s quiet wisdom became a soothing balm, her calm presence a welcome respite from the turmoil within. You played more games with Chopper, letting his pure, unadulterated innocence remind you of the simple happiness in the world. Even Franky’s super enthusiasm and Brook’s musical antics provided a much-needed lightness.

Perhaps most surprisingly, it was your bond with Zoro that deepened the most during this time. The swordsman, usually a man of few words and frequent naps, became an unexpected source of quiet comfort. You found yourself gravitating towards him more and more.

You'd often find him in his usual spot, leaning against the mast or stretched out on the deck, either meditating or lost in one of his famous naps. Instead of trying to engage him in conversation, you'd simply settle down nearby, sometimes with a book, other times just gazing out at the endless ocean. There was no pressure to talk, no need for explanations. His presence was a solid, unwavering anchor in your turbulent emotional sea.

One afternoon, you were watching the clouds drift by, feeling particularly restless. Zoro, who you thought was asleep, mumbled without opening his eyes, "Still can't figure out the damn direction, huh?"

You let out a small, surprised laugh. "Something like that," you admitted, a rare moment of honesty escaping you.

He shifted slightly, and you felt a warmth spread from his shoulder, which was now just barely touching yours. "It gets easier," he grunted, his voice rough but not unkind. "Or you just stop caring as much."

He didn't pry, didn't offer platitudes. He simply understood, in his own quiet way, that you were hurting and that time was the only true healer. You found yourself sharing these silent moments more and more, the simple act of existing beside him a profound comfort. There were no expectations, no complicated dynamics, just a steady, reassuring presence that allowed you to slowly, gently, start putting the pieces of your heart back together.

The bond with Zoro continued to deepen, but it was a comfortable, platonic closeness, built on shared silences and an unspoken understanding. There was no flutter of nerves, no racing heartbeat when you were near him. Instead, there was a steady calm, a sense of being truly seen without having to explain anything. You’d often find yourself handing him a cool drink after a particularly strenuous training session, and he’d offer a grunt of thanks, perhaps even a rare, small smile that never quite reached his eyes. Sometimes, he’d absentmindedly lean his head on your shoulder during one of his naps, and you’d simply let him, feeling the solid weight of him, a tangible reminder of a friendship that required nothing but presence.

You found yourself laughing more easily around him, too. Zoro, despite his gruff exterior, had a dry, understated wit that often caught you by surprise. He'd make a sarcastic comment about Sanji's over-the-top dramatics, or offer a blunt, insightful observation about Luffy's antics, and you'd find yourself genuinely chuckling, the sound feeling less forced than it had in weeks. You even started joining him for some of his late-night training sessions, not to participate, but to simply sit and watch, the rhythmic thwack of his swords against the practice dummy a strangely soothing sound. He never asked why you were there, and you never felt the need to explain. It was enough.

Sanji, however, saw none of this nuanced comfort. From his perspective, every shared moment between you and Zoro was a fresh stab of jealousy, twisting a knife in the wound your confession had left. He watched from the galley, from the deck, from the corners of his eyes, as your laughter, once freely given to him, now bubbled up around the swordsman. He saw the easy way you settled beside Zoro, an intimacy that had once been solely his domain.

He noticed the way your hand would sometimes hover, then gently pat Zoro's arm when he landed a particularly good hit during training. He saw the private jokes, the shared glances that passed between you, seemingly excluding the rest of the crew. When he’d observe you sitting quietly beside Zoro as the moss-head napped, a wave of resentment would wash over him. He imagined you gazing at Zoro with the same gentle affection you once reserved for him, and it burned.

He didn't see the platonic comfort; he saw a blossoming romance. He didn't see you finding solace; he saw you finding someone else. His mind, clouded by his own internal struggles and the bitter taste of his self-imposed rejection, warped every innocent interaction into proof of a burgeoning connection he couldn't bear to witness. Every quiet laugh he overheard, every casual touch, every shared moment of peace between you and Zoro, fueled his mistaken belief that you had moved on, and found the very connection he desperately wanted to offer, but felt he couldn't.

Sanji’s heart ached with a dull, constant throb, a counterpoint to the vibrant chaos of the Thousand Sunny. Every laugh he heard from Y/N, every casual gesture of comfort she offered Zoro, felt like a fresh stab. He'd tried to convince himself he’d done the right thing, that pushing you away was for your own protection, but the emptiness where your easy presence used to be was a gaping void. He missed your quiet understanding in the galley, the way you’d hum along to his cooking, the gentle touch of your hand when you’d hand him an ingredient. He missed you. And now, watching you find that comfort, that quiet joy, with Zoro of all people, was a torture he hadn't anticipated. The image of you, smiling so easily beside the moss-head, haunted his waking hours and infiltrated his restless sleep. He felt a bitter irony twist in his gut: he had pushed you away to protect you, only to be consumed by the pain of watching you slip further from his grasp.

The galley was a symphony of midday clamor, a usual lunch scene that felt anything but normal to Sanji. Luffy was, predictably, inhaling mountains of food, his cheeks puffed out. Usopp was animatedly demonstrating a new slingshot technique to a wide-eyed Chopper, narrowly missing a stack of plates. Nami was counting Berry on a notepad, a faint frown on her face, while Franky loudly described a "SUPER!" new modification he planned for the ship to Brook, who was making a skull joke about his empty stomach. Robin sat serenely, a book open in her lap, occasionally offering a knowing smile to the unfolding chaos. Jimbei watched it all with a calm, amused expression.

Your presence, however, was what drew Sanji's gaze, a magnet he couldn't resist. You were seated beside Zoro, a familiar sight now. The swordsman was sharpening one of his katanas with a whetstone, the rhythmic shnnk-shnnk a low hum. You, Y/N, were peeling an orange, occasionally flicking a piece of peel at Zoro's shoulder, making him twitch without breaking his concentration. A small, private smile played on your lips, and when Zoro finally caught a piece of peel in his eye, he grumbled, and you let out a soft, melodic laugh – a sound that used to be reserved for him, Sanji, for his jokes, his antics.

They weren't being loud, or particularly boisterous, but the easy camaraderie between you and Zoro was palpable. You leaned in slightly as Zoro muttered something under his breath, and you clapped a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle a giggle, your shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth. You glanced up, your eyes twinkling, catching Zoro’s gaze, and for a moment, the world outside their shared bubble seemed to vanish.

Sanji watched it all from his place by the stove, a pan in his hand, his blood slowly, steadily, beginning to boil. He was meant to be the one making you laugh like that. He was meant to be the one you shared quiet jokes with. He was meant to be your comfort. The sight of your genuine amusement, the shared glance, the intimacy of the moment between you two, was the final straw.

With a sudden, violent motion, Sanji pivoted, and with a harsh, metallic clang that echoed through the entire galley, he aggressively threw the pan into the sink. It landed with a loud, reverberating thud, startlingly loud in the confined space.

The cacophony of lunch instantly died. Luffy froze mid-chew, his mouth agape. Usopp and Chopper whimpered, clutching each other. Nami's head snapped up from her calculations. Franky's "SUPER!" died on his lips. Brook's joke hung unfinished in the air. Even Robin's serene expression faltered slightly, her eyes widening.

The entire galley fell silent, save for the faint rocking of the ship and the lingering echo of the pan's impact. Every eye was now fixed on Sanji's rigid back, his shoulders hunched, his hands clenched. He didn't speak, didn't move. The tension in the room was so thick you could almost taste it, cold and sharp. You and Zoro, who had been trying to stifle your laughter moments before, were now completely still, the playful glint gone from your eyes, replaced by a wide, startled apprehension.

The silence stretched, suffocating and charged. The air in the galley was thick enough to cut with a knife, every pair of eyes fixed on Sanji’s rigid back. He stood there for a moment longer, breathing heavily, before he finally spun around, his face contorted in a mask of raw emotion that stunned the entire crew into deeper silence. His usual suave demeanor was utterly shattered, replaced by a storm of pain, fury, and accusation.

His gaze, wild and unfocused, swept over the stunned faces of his crewmates before landing, like a physical blow, on you, Y/N.

“What are you looking at, Y/N-chan?!” he snarled, his voice rough, completely devoid of its usual charm. It was a voice none of them had heard directed at you before. “Happy now?! You got what you wanted, didn’t you?!”

A gasp rippled through the galley. Nami’s eyes widened, and Usopp and Chopper huddled closer together, fear etched on their faces. Luffy, for once, was completely silent, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Sanji didn’t wait for a response. His eyes, burning with a pain he couldn't articulate, flicked to Zoro. “And you! You just love this, don’t you, Marimo?! Always there to pick up the pieces, aren't you?! Always there to be the big, strong hero!” His voice was laced with a venomous bitterness.

“Sanji, what are you talking about?!” Nami finally managed to blurt out, her voice sharp with concern.

But Sanji was beyond hearing. He was caught in the torrent of his own anguish and misguided conclusions. He gestured wildly between you and Zoro, his voice cracking with the pain of perceived betrayal. “Don’t pretend you don’t know! All this ‘quiet comfort,’ all these ‘shared laughs’!” He spat the words out, mocking your developing friendship with Zoro. “Just a little over a month ago… she stood right there,” he pointed a trembling finger at the spot where you had confessed the other night, “under the stars, and told me she loved me!”

The words hung in the air, a shocking, unexpected revelation. The entire crew froze, their faces a mixture of disbelief, confusion, and dawning realization. The clattering of forks on plates, the quiet murmurs, all ceased. Your face, Y/N, drained of all color, while Zoro, who had been listening with a rare intensity, slowly narrowed his eyes, a dangerous glint appearing in their depths.

“She told me she loved me,” Sanji repeated, his voice dropping to a low, heartbroken growl, his gaze boring into you. “And now… now look at you! Laughing with him! Was it all a lie, Y/N?! Was it just a game?! Because if you loved me, if you truly loved me, you wouldn’t be acting like this! You wouldn’t be sitting there, cozy with him, like nothing ever happened!”

His chest heaved, his confession of your confession laying bare not just his own pain, but also his deeply held belief that your affection for him had been fickle, easily transferred. The pan lay in the sink, a testament to the sudden, violent eruption of a secret that had been simmering beneath the surface, unnoticed by all but the two people at its heart.

Sanji's chest heaved, his face flushed with a mixture of raw pain and a jealousy he could no longer contain. He pointed at you, then at himself, his voice rising, thick with anguish. “We should be the ones laughing like that! We should be the ones sitting close, sharing private jokes! We should be the ones comforting each other when we’ve had a bad day, or when we can’t sleep!” His voice cracked on the last words, the memories of your shared nightmares, your gentle comfort, flooding his mind, twisting the knife of his perceived loss deeper. “That was us! That was our thing! But you just… you just moved on, didn’t you?! So easily! All that talk about loving me, just to go running into his arms a few weeks later?!” He gestured wildly at Zoro, his eyes burning with accusation.

He took a ragged breath, the sheer force of his emotional outburst leaving him winded. His rant trailed off, replaced by heavy, shaky breaths. The silence that followed was absolute, punctuated only by the distant lapping of waves against the hull. The entire crew sat frozen, their gazes shifting between Sanji's trembling form and your pale, shocked face. The secret, raw and ugly, was now laid bare for everyone.

You, Y/N, felt a tremor run through you. His words, especially the accusation of you "moving on," stung with a fresh agony. It was a complete misinterpretation of your pain, your slow healing, and your platonic friendship with Zoro. The injustice of it, coupled with the humiliation of this public spectacle, finally broke through your shock.

You pushed yourself away from the table, the scrape of your chair against the floor unnervingly loud in the quiet galley. Your voice, though trembling, cut through the tension. “Sanji, stop! What are you even talking about?!” You stared at him, your eyes blazing with tears and indignation. “I don’t ‘love’ Zoro! I never did! He’s my friend, he’s our friend! And I wasn’t ‘moving on’ to anyone! I was just… trying to feel normal again after… after you told me you couldn’t love me back!”

Your voice cracked on the last words, the sheer vulnerability of your confession echoing through the sudden quiet.

Zoro, who had been watching the scene unfold with uncharacteristic stillness, slowly uncrossed his arms. He then pushed himself up, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he glared at Sanji. “You really are an idiot, love-cook,” he sneered, his voice laced with his usual antagonism, but with an underlying edge of genuine anger. “She was never ‘running into my arms.’ She was just trying to stop feeling like shit after you rejected her. Unlike some people, I don't need to be fawned over to be a decent friend. Maybe you should try it sometime, instead of throwing tantrums like a spoiled brat.” He then turned, a rare, softer glance at you. "You okay, Y/N?" he asked, his voice unexpectedly gentle.

Your voice, raw with emotion, hung in the stunned silence of the galley. The accusation of his betrayal, the public exposure of your deepest pain—it was all too much. Your eyes, already burning, prickled with the threat of tears. You couldn't stay. You couldn't endure another second of the tension, the prying eyes, the agonizing presence of Sanji and his twisted understanding of your pain.

Without another word, you turned on your heel, pushing past the stunned Straw Hats. Your vision blurred, but you refused to break down here, not now, not in front of everyone. You marched out of the galley, the swinging door echoing your abrupt departure. The cool sea breeze on deck was a welcome shock, but it did little to quell the storm inside. You hurried to the railing, grasping the cool metal, drawing in deep, shaky breaths. Only one tear, hot and defiant, managed to escape, tracing a path down your cheek before you fiercely blinked it away. You wouldn't cry. Not anymore. Not for this. The vastness of the ocean stretched before you, offering a semblance of calm, a powerful, indifferent presence that mirrored your sudden emptiness.

Back in the galley, the silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the usual lively chaos. Sanji stood frozen, his arm still outstretched from his furious gesture, his face a mask of shock as your words, particularly "after you told me you couldn't love me back," finally registered. His rage, so potent moments before, deflated, leaving behind a profound emptiness and a cold, creeping dread.

Zoro's sharp retort still hung in the air, but his gaze, now fixed on Sanji, was devoid of its usual mockery. It was serious, almost challenging.

Nami was the first to move, her face a mixture of anger and deep concern. "Sanji! What was that?! You just… you just humiliated Y/N! And what do you mean, you 'couldn't love her back'?!" Her voice rose, demanding an explanation.

Usopp and Chopper, huddled together, looked utterly bewildered and heartbroken. "Sanji, you made Y/N cry!" Chopper whimpered, his eyes welling up.

Luffy, unusually quiet, finally spoke, his voice low and serious. "Sanji. What happened?" It wasn't a demand, but a quiet, firm question that cut through the remaining tension.

Sanji slowly lowered his arm, his shoulders slumping. The color had drained from his face, leaving him ashen. His bravado, his anger, had completely evaporated, replaced by a dawning, terrible realization. He had messed up. Royally. He had misinterpreted everything, lashed out, and hurt the one person he was desperately trying to protect.

He turned to face the stunned faces of his crewmates, his gaze unfocused, seeing the anger in Nami's eyes, the confusion in Luffy's, the hurt in Chopper's, and the stern disapproval in Zoro's. His eyes fell on the empty chair where you had been sitting, and the raw truth of your words hit him with the force of a tidal wave. He hadn't seen your heartbreak, only his own twisted fear. He hadn't seen your struggle to heal, only his own jealousy.

"I..." Sanji began, his voice hoarse, barely a whisper. He looked down at his hands, trembling. "I… I was scared." The admission was agonizing, stripped bare for all to hear. He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to look up, his eyes pleading with his crew, but especially with the empty space where you had been. "I thought… if I loved someone again, if I let myself truly love again… I'd lose them. I'd fail them. I couldn't… I couldn't bear to put Y/N through that. I pushed her away… to protect her." His voice broke on the last word, the truth of his selfish fear finally tearing through his carefully constructed defenses. "I didn't... I didn't think she'd actually… leave. And then... seeing her with him..." He gestured vaguely at Zoro, his jealousy still there, but now overshadowed by a crushing wave of regret and self-loathing. "I just... I thought she had moved on. That she didn't… didn't love me anymore." He squeezed his eyes shut, a lone tear escaping and tracing a path through the faint stubble on his jaw. "God, I messed up."

The raw, painful confession hung in the air, revealing Sanji's deep-seated fear and the colossal misunderstanding that had driven his outburst. The crew, though still reeling, watched as his shoulders visibly slumped, his usual confident posture replaced by one of profound defeat. He didn't wait for their reactions, for pity, or for judgment. The image of your retreating figure, the single tear you had fought so hard to suppress, was seared into his mind. He had to fix this. He had to try.

With a sudden, decisive movement, Sanji pushed himself away from the stove. His chair scraped loudly against the floor, a jarring sound in the now silent galley. He didn't spare a glance at Nami's worried face, Luffy's confused frown, or Zoro's scrutinizing gaze. His eyes were fixed on the galley door, the one you had just stormed through.

"I... I have to go," he muttered, his voice still hoarse, but laced with a newfound urgency. He didn't offer an explanation, didn't ask for permission. The need to find you, to explain, to apologize, was an overwhelming tide that swept away all other concerns.

He strode out of the galley, his long legs carrying him quickly down the corridor. He burst onto the main deck, his eyes scanning wildly. The sea breeze whipped at his hair, and the familiar creak of the Thousand Sunny seemed to mock his inner turmoil. He spotted you almost immediately, a solitary figure leaning against the railing at the ship's stern, your back to him, gazing out at the vast, indifferent ocean.

His heart ached at the sight. You looked small, vulnerable, and incredibly distant. He had done that. He had built that distance between you. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Sanji began to walk towards you, each step a testament to the fear he was pushing past, and the desperate hope that it wasn't too late.

Sanji’s steps were hesitant as he approached you, the usual confident swagger gone. The silence between you was heavy, punctuated only by the rhythmic creak of the Sunny and the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull. He stopped a few feet behind you, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He couldn't see your face, only the stiff set of your shoulders, the way you clutched the railing.

"Y/N," he began, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. It was the first time he'd spoken your name without a flourish, without a honorific, and it felt stark, intimate in a way that made his stomach churn with nerves. "I... I'm so sorry."

You didn't move, didn't acknowledge him beyond a slight stiffening of your shoulders. The ocean remained your sole focus.

He took a tentative step closer. "What I said... back there... it was unforgivable. I was a fool." He closed his eyes briefly, the memory of his outburst a fresh wave of shame. "I was angry, and scared, and I took it out on you. That wasn't fair. You didn't deserve that."

Still, you remained silent, your stillness unnerving. He yearned to see your face, to gauge your reaction, but you kept it hidden.

"I know I messed up," he continued, his voice laced with a raw honesty. "When you told me... what you told me that night... I was terrified. Not of you, Y/N, never of you. But of... of losing you. Of hurting you. I've seen what love can cost, and I... I was a coward. I pushed you away because I thought that would keep you safe, keep you from the kind of pain I've carried. But all I did was cause you pain myself."

A soft, almost imperceptible sound escaped you. A sniffle, perhaps. It was enough for Sanji to feel a flicker of hope, a sign you were listening.

"And seeing you with Zoro..." he admitted, his voice softening, tinged with regret, "I just... I misinterpreted it all. I was jealous. Blinded by my own stupid pride and fear. I saw you laughing, being comfortable, and I thought... I thought you had just moved on, that what you said to me didn't mean anything anymore. That was wrong. So incredibly wrong of me." He paused, waiting, hoping for a response.

Finally, your voice, barely a whisper, floated back to him on the breeze. "It hurt, Sanji." Your voice was flat, devoid of emotion, yet the simple statement was a devastating blow. "A lot."

He flinched, the truth of your words a heavy weight in his gut. "I know," he choked out. "And I'll never forgive myself for it. I ruined everything, didn't I? Our friendship... everything."

You finally turned your head, just slightly, enough for him to catch your profile. Your eyes were red-rimmed, but dry, your jaw set. You looked exhausted. "You said you couldn't," you murmured, your voice brittle. "That was the hardest part. Not understanding why."

"Because I'm a damn coward, Y/N!" he burst out, frustration and self-loathing coloring his tone. He stepped closer, reaching out a hand as if to touch your arm, but hesitated, letting it drop. "I was so scared of loving you and then... losing you, that I chose to lose you myself. It was the stupidest, most self-serving decision I've ever made." He took a shaky breath. "Can you... can you ever forgive me?"

The wind whipped around you, tugging at your hair. You looked out at the endless expanse of the ocean, the setting sun painting the clouds in fiery hues. Your gaze was distant, thoughtful. After a long moment, you finally turned fully to face him, your eyes meeting his. The raw hurt was still there, visible in their depths, but beneath it, a faint flicker of something else—resignation, perhaps, or simply exhaustion.

"I..." you began, your voice still quiet, but steady. "I need time, Sanji." You offered nothing more, no promise, no condemnation. Just that simple, clear statement. The possibility of healing, of moving forward, was there, but it wouldn't be easy, and it certainly wouldn't be rushed.

Sanji stood there, absorbing your words. "Time," he repeated, the single word hanging in the air. It wasn't the immediate absolution he desperately craved, but it wasn't a definitive "no" either. It was a thread, fragile but present, in the wreckage of his own making. He knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his aching heart, that he would wait for as long as it took.

The first day after Sanji’s confession and your subsequent departure was thick with an unspoken tension that settled over the Thousand Sunny. Breakfast was quiet, almost unnaturally so. Sanji, though he served everyone with his usual precision, kept his gaze largely fixed on the plates, avoiding eye contact with you. And you, Y/N, felt the weight of every silent glance from the crew, though they admirably tried to act normal. You ate quickly, excusing yourself as soon as possible, seeking refuge on the deck, where the vastness of the ocean offered a strange sense of solace.

The next few weeks were a delicate dance of hesitant overtures and cautious acceptance. Sanji, true to his remorse, began a subtle campaign of making amends. It wasn't about grand gestures; it was in the small, thoughtful ways he always showed his affection, but now directed solely at you, with an added layer of deference.

You’d find your favorite tea waiting for you on the railing when you went to watch the sunrise, perfectly brewed and still warm. Sometimes, a plate of exquisitely prepared fruit would appear beside your usual spot on the deck, cut into perfect, bite-sized pieces, a silent offering. He’d leave small, perfectly arranged pastries outside your cabin door in the mornings, knowing you had a sweet tooth. He never lingered, never forced an interaction, simply left his culinary gifts and retreated, giving you space.

The crew, observing this quiet ballet, maintained a respectful distance, though their hopeful glances were not lost on you. They saw Sanji's obvious remorse and his earnest attempts to bridge the chasm he'd created.

The air between you and Sanji slowly, imperceptibly, began to thin. The biting tension eased into a more subdued awkwardness. You still avoided direct eye contact for the most part, but the sharp pain of his rejection had dulled to a persistent ache.

One afternoon, you were sitting on the deck, attempting to mend a tear in one of Usopp’s worn shirts. The sun was warm, and the ship rocked gently. You heard the familiar clink of ceramic as Sanji approached, placing a small, steaming mug of coffee beside you. It was your favorite blend, black with just a hint of vanilla, exactly how you liked it. He didn't say anything, just set it down and began to turn away.

“Sanji,” you said, your voice a little rusty from disuse, stopping him mid-pivot.

He froze, his back still partially to you, his shoulders tensing. He slowly turned his head, just enough for you to see his profile, his brow furrowed with apprehension.

You took a deep breath, the scent of the coffee filling your nostrils. It was now or never. “Thank you,” you said, gesturing to the mug. “It’s… it’s perfect.”

He turned fully then, his eyes, still guarded, meeting yours. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through him. “Of course, Y/N-chan,” he managed, his voice softer than it had been in weeks, the familiar honorific returning tentatively. “Anything for you.”

The silence stretched again, but this time, it felt less suffocating, less painful. It was a space for tentative breath. You took a sip of the coffee, its warmth spreading through you. “It doesn’t make it all okay, you know,” you said, your voice quiet, honest.

He nodded, a profound sadness in his eyes. “I know,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “I don’t expect it to. I just… I hope one day, it won’t hurt so much for you.”

You looked into the rich, dark surface of your coffee, seeing your reflection waver slightly with the ship’s movement. “Me too,” you murmured, the admission a quiet truce, a small, fragile opening in the wall that had been built between you. It wasn't forgiveness, not yet, but it was a beginning.

The quiet exchange over coffee was a delicate first step, a crack in the wall that had separated you and Sanji. In the days that followed, that crack slowly, tentatively, widened. It wasn't an immediate return to the effortless intimacy you once shared; the raw edges of the recent past still lingered, a phantom ache. But the silence that had felt so heavy began to fill with hushed conversations and the gentle hum of renewed connection.

The first few shared moments were tentative. You found yourself drawn back to the galley, not as a constant fixture, but occasionally. You'd sit at the counter, perhaps peeling an apple or sketching in a notebook, while Sanji worked. He'd offer you little samples of what he was preparing, small, perfect bites that were both an apology and an offering of his unwavering care. Your responses were brief at first, a soft "Thank you, Sanji," or a nod of appreciation, but they grew steadier, more comfortable.

One afternoon, you found him meticulously cleaning his collection of pristine cooking knives. You approached cautiously. "Those really are sharp," you commented, a simple observation. He paused, looking up, and for the first time in weeks, a small, genuine smile touched his lips. "Only the best for my lovely crew, Y/N-chan," he replied, the familiar honorific feeling less forced, more like a soft invitation. You stayed there for a while, simply watching him work, the comfortable silence a balm to both your spirits.

He started leaving you little notes with your morning tea—a silly drawing of a swirly brow, a perfectly pressed flower, a recipe for a dessert you once mentioned liking. They were small, almost childlike gestures, a testament to his earnest desire to reconnect. And you, in turn, began to leave him things: a particular herb you found growing on an island, a small, polished seashell, a drawing of him surrounded by hearts (which you quickly scribbled over, much to his amused glance).

You still sought out Zoro's quiet company, finding solace in his unspoken understanding, but now, you also found yourself back on the deck with Sanji, watching the stars. The conversations weren't deep confessions, but gentle, meandering talks about the day, about the sea, about nothing in particular. He wouldn't comment on your past rejections, nor would you bring up his fears. It was simply about being together again, slowly rebuilding the easy rhythm of your connection. He no longer looked at Zoro with overt jealousy, and you no longer felt the need to hide your interactions with the swordsman. The tension, though not entirely gone, had softened into a quiet understanding.

The Straw Hats watched this gradual reconciliation with a mixture of relief and quiet satisfaction. Nami and Robin, ever perceptive, exchanged knowing glances, a silent acknowledgement of the healing happening before their eyes. They saw the lingering hurt in your eyes, but also the tentative warmth returning, and the genuine remorse in Sanji's guarded expressions.

Luffy, after his initial confusion, simply seemed happy that his two friends were talking and spending time together again. He'd occasionally try to rope you both into his antics, a silent test of the re-established camaraderie.

Usopp and Chopper were overjoyed. "Look, Sanji and Y/N are talking again!" Chopper would whisper excitedly to Usopp, who'd nod with a knowing grin. They missed the familiar dynamic between you two, and seeing it slowly return filled them with childlike glee.

Even Zoro, in his own gruff way, seemed content. He'd occasionally catch Sanji watching you, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, and a rare, almost imperceptible smirk would cross Zoro’s face. He saw that Sanji was finally putting in the effort, acknowledging his mistakes, and that was enough. The tension that had permeated the ship had begun to dissipate, replaced by a sense of calm, a hopeful return to the harmonious chaos that defined the Straw Hat Pirates.

The tentative steps taken in the galley and on the deck slowly, but surely, led to deeper connections. The walls between Y/N and Sanji began to crumble, brick by painful brick, replaced by the familiar comfort of shared vulnerabilities and, most importantly, laughter. It wasn't the forced politeness of the initial weeks, nor the strained awkwardness of the first interactions. This was genuine, unrestrained mirth, a sound that had been sorely missed on the Thousand Sunny.

The shift was most evident during meal times. You found yourself gravitating back to your old seat near him, the casual brush of your shoulders no longer causing a flinch but a quiet warmth. You’d catch his eye from across the table, and a shared smirk would pass between you when Luffy did something particularly outrageous, a silent inside joke that needed no words.

One evening, while Sanji was meticulously plating dessert, he accidentally slipped on a rogue banana peel left by Luffy, doing a comical, flailing dance before catching himself just before he hit the deck. The sound of a genuine, unrestrained giggle burst from you, bright and clear. Sanji, momentarily mortified, looked up to see you clutching your stomach, tears of laughter streaming down your face. Instead of his usual dramatic sulk, a small, sheepish grin spread across his face, and he let out a chuckle himself, the sound a rusty but welcome melody. That shared moment of unadulterated amusement felt like a breakthrough, a vital return to the lightness you once effortlessly shared.

Soon, the galley became a place of easy laughter once more. You’d tease him about his overly dramatic reactions to Nami’s requests, or playfully challenge his insistence that carrots were always inferior to other vegetables. He, in turn, would jest about your occasional clumsiness or your tendency to hum off-key while you worked. The familiar, comfortable banter flowed between you like a river finding its natural course, washing away the last lingering remnants of tension.

Outside the galley, your interactions blossomed too. He’d still bring you tea or snacks, but now he’d stay, leaning against the railing beside you, sharing quiet observations about the passing islands or the starry sky. Sometimes, he’d recount a funny anecdote from his past, or share a new recipe idea with an almost childlike enthusiasm, and your genuine interest would light up his eyes. You, in turn, found yourself opening up about your own experiences, sharing stories and insights you hadn't voiced since the rift between you two had formed.

The crew, having witnessed the tumultuous journey, felt the palpable relief in the ship's atmosphere. Nami would often smile to herself, a soft, contented expression on her face, when she overheard your laughter mingling with Sanji’s. Chopper would bounce excitedly, delighted to see his two beloved friends back to their old selves. Even Zoro, who continued to share his quiet, unwavering friendship with you, would occasionally offer a subtle nod of approval in Sanji's direction, a silent acknowledgment that the love-cook was finally getting his act together. The Thousand Sunny hummed with a renewed warmth, a testament to the resilient bonds of its unconventional family.

While your relationship with Sanji had healed, returning to a comfortable closeness filled with laughter, the unspoken question of your romantic feelings still lingered, a gentle undercurrent beneath the surface of your renewed friendship. Sanji, still bearing the weight of his past rejection and your subsequent hurt, hadn't broached the subject again, content to rebuild your bond slowly and genuinely.

Unbeknownst to you, however, Sanji had been having clandestine talks with a certain navigator with a penchant for Berry and a surprisingly strategic mind: Nami. Seeing the genuine affection that had always existed between you and Sanji, and witnessing his sincere remorse, Nami had taken it upon herself to give him a little… push.

One evening, as the Thousand Sunny sailed under a sky dusted with a million stars, Nami casually steered you towards the deck after dinner. "Come look at the moon, Y/N! It's supposed to be particularly beautiful tonight," she said, a little too enthusiastically.

As you stepped onto the deck, you were met with a sight that made your heart skip a beat. Sanji stood there, bathed in the soft glow of the ship's lanterns, looking uncharacteristically dapper in a well-fitting suit. In his hand, he held a small bouquet of vibrant red roses. He looked nervous, his usual confident swagger replaced by a charmingly vulnerable demeanor.

Nami, with a sly wink, subtly backed away, leaving you two alone. Sanji took a deep breath, his gaze locked on yours, a warmth spreading through his eyes that you hadn't seen in a long time.

"Y/N," he began, his voice a little shaky but filled with sincerity. "After everything that happened… after my stupid mistakes… I realized something very important. Pushing you away was the biggest regret of my life. My fear almost cost me the most precious thing I've ever known." He stepped closer, the roses held out in offering. "You are kind, you are strong, you are the most amazing person I've ever met. And every moment I spend with you, even just laughing in the galley, makes my world brighter."

He paused, his gaze searching yours. "Y/N… I know I don't deserve it, not after everything. But… would you give me another chance? Would you let me love you, properly this time? Because I am, wholeheartedly, irrevocably, in love with you."

The air crackled with unspoken emotions. The stars twinkled above, silent witnesses to this long-awaited moment. You felt a warmth spread through your chest, a joy that had been dormant for too long finally blossoming. A soft smile touched your lips as you reached out, gently taking the roses from his trembling hand.

"Yes, Sanji," you whispered, your voice filled with emotion. "Yes, I would."

A wave of relief washed over Sanji's face, quickly followed by a radiant grin that lit up his features. He stepped closer, his eyes filled with a love that mirrored your own, and gently cupped your cheek. The Thousand Sunny, sailing smoothly under the starlit sky, finally felt complete.

The word hung in the air, a delicate bridge spanning the chasm of past hurts. "Yes, Sanji," you whispered, and the relief that washed over Sanji's face was immediate, profound, and utterly transforming. His usual suave demeanor, which had been a mask for so long, melted away, revealing a raw, pure joy. He gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin, and then, slowly, reverently, he leaned in. The kiss was soft, tentative at first, a question and an answer, before deepening into a heartfelt embrace that sealed the long journey back to each other.

The Thousand Sunny, ever the silent observer, seemed to hum with a newfound warmth. The stars above twinkled brighter, and the gentle rocking of the ship felt like a lullaby of contentment. When you finally pulled apart, breathless, your eyes locked with his. The love shining in his gaze was unmistakable, mirroring the radiant warmth now blooming in your own heart. It was a love that had been tested, nearly broken, but had ultimately endured.

The Straw Hats, ever perceptive, hadn't missed the private moment unfolding on deck. Nami, who had orchestrated the confession, let out a soft sigh of satisfaction, a small, knowing smile gracing her lips. She nudged Luffy, who had been quietly watching the scene with unusual focus.

"They finally did it!" Usopp whispered excitedly to Chopper, who was bouncing on his hooves with glee.

Zoro, leaning against the mast with his arms crossed, simply grunted. But a faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the successful, if dramatic, resolution.

The next morning, the Thousand Sunny felt lighter, filled with an almost palpable sense of joy. Sanji, true to form, outdid himself with breakfast, laying out a feast fit for kings and queens. His usual "Nami-swan! Robin-chan!" greetings were still there, but his eyes constantly sought yours, a soft, private smile just for you.

You found yourself sitting closer to him at the table, your hand occasionally brushing his under the table, a secret language passing between you. The crew, now fully aware of your newfound status, couldn't contain their excitement. Luffy cheered, Usopp and Chopper danced around the galley, and even Franky let out a booming "SUPER!" of approval.

The teasing was immediate and good-natured. Franky declared you both the "SUPER LOVE-LOVE COUPLE!" while Brook composed an impromptu, albeit slightly off-key, song about love on the high seas. Sanji, usually flustered by such attention, simply preened, his arm naturally finding its way around your waist, pulling you closer.

The journey ahead was still fraught with danger and adventure, but now, you faced it not just as a crew, but as a couple, your love a new, vibrant thread in the already strong tapestry of the Straw Hat Pirates. The difficult times had forged a bond of understanding and patience, a foundation upon which a beautiful future could finally be built.

[airybcby]

જ⁀✦ Mic'd Up!

── .✦ wc: 650

you guys know NFL mic'd up where players wear microphones and you can find the audios online ? yeah that's what this is. NEL mic'd up.

find the boys ( rin, isagi, bachira, barou ) under the cut!

જ⁀✦ rin itoshi

truthfully, he wasn't the first choice for the ParisXGen player people wanted mic'd up. no, that was shidou.

but the one time they had shidou mic'd up at practice for a trial run, all they heard was...not the most appropriate stuff.

would a child know what "coming" was? no. did the NEL want that on their page for millions of fans to see? also no.

so instead, on gameday, they clipped the tiny mic to rin's uniform and watched him run out on the field like proud parents.

this would bring so much love to PXG, they just knew it...

and it didn't. rin said nothing the entire game.

maybe a few grunts. perhaps, maybe, there was a few curses. other than that? nothing.

and when they get the mic back? it's wet...maybe because he couldn't keep his tongue in his mouth.

જ⁀✦ isagi yoichi

who thought this would be a good idea?

genuinely, i can't tell you.

maybe it's how he's so sweet to the media, he's a kind person through and through when you see him off the field.

him with his parents? how anytime they're seen together it makes everyone wants to be around that family that just radiates warmth.

so when they're clipping the small mic onto isagi's uniform, and he's talking to some teammates with a smile on his face?

they just know, he's going to get so much love.

and then they can't use any of the audio they captured.

fans know isagi is passionate on the pitch, they've seen him push over his own teammate to win.

seen him stand over his opponents even though this is supposed to just be a soccer game.

but they never hear him...

hear the things he calls his own team

what he calls the people some once thought were his friends.

and...well let's just say there's a reason he's dubbed as slursagi.

જ⁀✦ meguru bachira

on a team like FC Barcha where there's so much personality? it's hard to decide who should represent them.

definitely not otoya who, admittedly, doesn't know that cheating is bad.

maybe bunny iglesias! who fans love the look of, but always feels like there's someone praying on his downfall...perhaps in spain. I DONT KNOW.

with so many...characters...on the team it's a toss up for who could be the face ( and voice ) of their club, but ultimately they decided on bachira!

their energetic, loveable player was the perfect choice!

he had fun playing soccer, had great friendships with both his teammates and others from different teams, he brought happiness wherever he went!

...well, while all of that is true- they never took in account that what he says on the field could be so different.

yes, while some places he says he's having fun and that he loves soccer, but no one knew just how truly competitive he could be!

and when they hear something about a...monster?

yeah they decide no one should hear this audio ever again.

જ⁀✦ barou shoei

doesn't want to do it...absolutely despises the idea, actually.

but when you take a look at the Ubers lineup- a man who calls himself a policeman and others dogs, a self-proclaimed king, a terrifying looking man named don lorenzo...

yeah i'd choose the mean, young guy too.

he grumbles when they clip it onto his uniform, saying that it's a bother.

and while, usually, barou wouldn't let many things distract him- the idea of having a microphone? on the field? the place where he's supposed to be so genuinely himself?

it throws him off.

so what does he do?

he throws IT off and onto the ground.

no one ever said he had to keep it on...specifically.

you can bet when they go back to find the microphone they find the poor, tiny thing all dirty and beat up.

okay, maybe this idea isn't the best for the Ubers after all.

this idea is so stupid but i love it

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

✦ tags ✦ @irethepotato ✦ @kiyy0mei ✦ @x3nafix ✦ @sugacor3 ✦ @ohagiyoo ✦ @reigensuperstar ✦ @nevvynev ✦ @virgothesimp ✦ @werfiedeii ✦ @psyzcraze ✦ @chiieni ✦ @syleepy ✦ @academiq ✦ @peachysaki116 ✦ @manjirosanosgirlfriend ✦ @anqelkoz ✦ @silverwings920 ✦ @7leo7 ✦ @nishinoyaismycutie ✦ @sunathetuna ✦ @alexiaray ✦ @megumismyhusband ✦ @yutamy1beloved ✦ @luvlynabi ✦ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[thewinter-eden]

You Live Like This? - PT IV

Series master list PART 2 INFO

pairing: Bang Chan x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: home invader!Chris makes good on his promise to rob your ex to avenge your painful breakup, only to find that you're already there trying to collect your belongings. In order to keep your ex-bf from including you as an accomplice in his inevitable police report, you have to pretend you don't know the robber who keeps flirting with you. (plus like a lot more)

warnings: camping, murder, Ateez mentioned, mature

word count: ~7k

The second campground is bigger, more wooded, and far more secluded than the first one. After spending the whole day finding familiar faces nearly every time you stop for gas, you’ve finally adjusted to the idea of losing the solitude of your journey.

The people in the campsites on either side of yours are strangers, which supplies you with some comfort as you set up your gear and get a fire started.

Every time you find yourself getting lost in your routine, you realize how much you’ve been enjoying this experience. depending on yourself for your own place to sleep and a place to rest, trusting in yourself to see that you have food to eat—it’s such a stark contrast from the way you lived with so much doubt and worry so many months ago, that you can now rely on yourself and see that you are taken care of.

You’re proud as you put your tent together. The heat of the summer hits your skin harshly but you take it in peace. You will have shade. When your work is done, you will be fed and satisfied, you’ll have something to drink, you’ll have a book to read, you’ll have the sunset to watch.

When your equipment is all up and ready, you stand back with a glad smile. This is the work of your hands and the product of your own financial effort.

While your spirits are high, your energy has diminished quite a bit since yesterday, a second full day of driving wearing on you. This time, you plan to get dinner out of the way first thing and then head straight to bed. You’ll need to get as many hours of sleep as possible for the rest of the trip to be able to keep yourself alive on the road, and the necessity of stopping for the night during daylight hours should afford that without issue.

“You’re Chan’s friend, right?”

Or so you thought.

You’re in the middle of dumping a can of soup into a sauce pan when someone scurries into your campsite. He’s not exceptionally tall, but he has a muscular build and a full face with soft features that stand out against the thick biceps that strain the sleeves of his black t-shirt.

You lift an eyebrow, setting the pan on the grill. You don’t actually mind the intrusion, now that you’re comfortable with your routine and confident in the face of being somewhere so far from home. “Yeah, I guess? And you are?”

“Jisung,” he supplies with a cute smile. “Channie Hyung sent me to make sure you’re not being bothered by an annoying ex boyfriend?”

Huffing a short laugh, resentfully touched by Chan’s thoughtfulness, you spread your arms indicatively. “I’m good, thanks. You can report back the all clear.”

He laughs politely and takes in your humble camp. “I like your setup. I bet it takes you, what, ten minutes to unpack?”

“Twenty,” you say. “I’m getting faster though.”

He nods appreciatively. “Our mega camp takes like an hour. Minho is our camping enthusiast and he has all this bougie gear. A ton of tables and shelves and a portable shower stall and shit. It’s crazy.”

Despite his intrusion on your peace, you find that you don’t feel stressed by his friendly company.

He’s polite and respectful, and doesn’t come with a shared ton of baggage. Compared to finding Chan or Woosung suddenly in your personal space, this new guy is like a breath of fresh air.

“That sounds nice, though,” you comment kindly. “I rely on the public campground showers.”

Jisung shrugs. “I usually do too. There are eight of us and it takes too much time and too much water to wait around and take turns.” He shoots you another sweet smile. “I’ll go report back to my benevolent leader now, so he can come say hi. He said he had some caustic experiences with the guy that he doesn’t want to exacerbate.”

That’s nice.

It’s thoughtful of him.

Even going so far as to send a friend ahead of him to keep from causing problems with Woosung.

“Before I go, do you want any help with anything? The guys over there have our camp handled, so I really don’t have anything to do until dinner.” The man rubs his hands together in anticipation, but you just shrug.

“I really don’t have much to do. I pretty much just have to get my fire going, that’s it. But thank you, you’re very kind.”

Your compliment, though nothing short of polite, seems to go straight to his head. He grins, cheeks flushing pink. “I can help you get it going? Unless you’d rather me get out of your hair, then I’ll scoot—no worries.”

He’s not overly intrusive, and he seems genuinely willing to back out of your space if you want him to, which puts your mind at ease about a complete stranger suddenly appearing in your area. If you’re totally honest with yourself, he’s kind of adorable, and it’s not at all an imposition to spend a few more minutes chatting with him.

“Actually, if you have any idea how to do this properly, I’ll let you give it a go. I’m still learning the camping thing.” You gesture to the fire pit almost bashfully. You can start a fire on your own, of course, but if he has any tips from experience, you’re happy to take them.

Jisung’s face transforms into an expression of dutiful focus, his entire body jumping forward with a start to take on his new task. “Oh, for sure, I got you.”

The burst of energy amuses you, but you just stand back and let him go.

He crouches next to your pile of wood and kindling, confident movements arranging some of the pieces into the fire pit. “Have you been camping before?” He asks conversationally.

You try to stay out of his way, pulling up your chair to sit a few feet to the side instead of kneeling down where he’s working. “I’ve done a few single nighters just to introduce myself to things. It was so new to me that I actually went to a couple of classes to learn the basics.”

He chuckles with you, but doesn’t make fun of you like you halfway expected. “Oh, so you’ve been doing this on your own the whole time?” When you nod, he looks impressed. “Wow, it’s so cool that you jumped into something like this by yourself. I’ve only ever gone camping with friends, usually the whole group of eight. This is your first long trip then?”

You chat easily for a few minutes while he gets a good blaze going, and then smile gratefully as he steps back with a grin.

“There. You can put more on once this starts to go down. When the bigger pieces of wood burn most of the way up, that’s the best time to start cooking. You’ll get more control and consistent heat that way.”

You make a mental note of the information, reminding yourself to write it down in your binder after he leaves. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

He dusts his hands off and shrugs cheerfully. “No problem, happy to help.”

Before you can decide if you should politely offer for him to stick around or just wait for him to excuse himself, he rubs a hand over his arm and turns to you with a sheepish upturn of his lips. “So, apparently there are some cool ruins here.”

You’re reminded of the gas station cashier and the obnoxious interaction with Chan, your face immediately heating. “Oh, yeah, I heard that. Some famous ghost story or something.”

Jisung’s expression brightens at your recognition. “Yeah! The Kingston Steps. None of us are really followers of that sort of thing, but a few of us were gonna go check it out after dinner, since we’re here anyway. Do you want to come with us? We were just gonna go see it and come back, no big deal. I think it’s by the lake.”

The self-isolating part of you reflexively stirs up a number of excuses for not going, but you stop yourself before you can refuse the invitation. You are already here, and while you’re not invested in the merit of any ghost stories, you would value having photos of the experience to go in your collection.

Going with him and his group is a good way to keep yourself from psyching yourself out about going alone and feeling ridiculous about it, the way you always do when you convince yourself to try something new.

“Yeah, that would be great, if you guys don’t mind. I can always go by myself, though. I’m not all that cut up about my ex, you don’t have to babysit me.” You shoot him an awkward chuckle, carefully delivering the response in a tone that should allow him to rescind his offer without any discomfort.

But he just shakes his head quickly, eyes widening in earnest. “No, not at all. You should come with us, it’ll be fun. You can meet the guys. Show Chan we’re not all heathens.”

You blink. “What?”

He rolls his eyes with a snort. “Channie hyung just spent like the last half hour telling us not to bother you. Like we would trample all over your camp or something. He’s protective, but he warned us off like we were gonna embarrass him.” Jisung seems to realize what he’s telling you, and abruptly puts his hands up reassuringly. “My point is, if you want to be left alone, we’ll respect that. Just kick me outta here and I’m gone.”

Squinting in confusion but not at all concerned about Jisung or his friends approaching you, you struggle to connect the dots. “But he sent you to check on me?”

Jisung’s hands drop to his sides, eyebrows lifting in an attempt to appear casual. “He thought we would get along.” His tone hitched slightly, like that’s not the whole story. “He said you and I are pretty similar, and would probably click quickly.”

You watch a redness rise in his ears, and suddenly you’re remembering this morning—Chan’s voice telling you he’s not good for you.

Realization of the situation settles in with a trace of disappointment. He still thinks he’s not good for you, and he’s pushing Jisung in as a replacement.

Your smile falls, but not enough for Jisung to notice. “He’s right,” you say quietly, politely. “It’s good to meet you, Jisung.”

His cheeks flush to match his ears. “Yeah, you too.”

You don’t want to accept this newly arranged replacement, no matter how kind he is. It feels like being shoved along the line, pushed on to be someone else’s problem.

Like he won’t feel bad about not returning your texts or reaching out to you if he hands you Jisung as your consolation prize.

But if he’s going to play this game, seeing if he can just pass you off like it means nothing, it gives you a chance to read him from a new perspective.

If he really doesn’t return your interest, you’ll find out while you’re spending time with Jisung.

You can play this game.

Pulling yourself together, you shoot Jisung a friendly smile. “See you after dinner then.”

Your acceptance pulls his posture high instantly. The excitement on his face is contagious, and your shoulders relax with an easy breath.

Before he leaves, he spins back with a start. “Oh, and if you want one of us to walk you to the restrooms after dark, just in case, we’d be happy to lend an escort. You’re like all the way across the grounds from them. If you don’t want to risk running into your ex alone, we’ve got you.”

You’re surprised by his offer, but touched. “Why?”

He shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re hyung’s friend.”

Blinking slowly, you can only nod and mutter a soft thanks.

He tips a playful salute and disappears down a path that cuts through the trees.

Maybe there are benefits to traveling with a few extra people. You hadn’t realized that you were so far away from the camp restrooms, and the thought of trying to find them in the dark by yourself doesn’t comfort you.

By the time Chan meanders over to your campsite, you’ve run into another problem. Your fire has burned through all of your wood, and your soup isn’t warm yet.

You’re standing at the side of your car, peering inside at the stack of books you keep in the floorboard, wondering which of them you can bear to sacrifice to your cook fire when he appears next to you.

“Oh, your fire’s gone out.” Chan mutters, picking up a stick and poking through the ashes. “You got more wood?”

You shake your head, embarrassed. You have a system of buying a bundle of wood at a gas station every day, along with a fresh gallon of water and a new canned option for dinner. “One has always been enough before. That’s all I bought.”

He straightens, turning to you. “Do you camp a lot?”

When you don’t answer, Chan chuckles under his breath. “Okay, look, this happens. You should always get a little more than you think you need, just in case.” He notices you poking through your book collection, and makes a noise of surprise, pulling your head out of your car with a hand on your arm. “No, no, no, burning your books is a medieval and inefficient way of salvaging a fire.”

The smirk he hits you with makes your cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I don’t have more wood.”

He closes your car door before you can set your library on fire. “There’s a camp host around here somewhere, he’ll have firewood for sale. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.” He leaves you with a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder.

You slump down on the picnic table bench, mood effectively dampened. Obviously there’s a learning curve to trying something new for the first time, but you hadn’t wanted to be witnessed while you worked out the kinks. It’s good for you, you suppose—and better to be in the company of people who are willing to help you than completely stranded by yourself.

You pick up your trusty film camera and snap a demoralizing shot of your dead fire.

If you’re going to make a fool of yourself in front of people, you might as well keep a momento to remind you to buy more fucking firewood.

The next person to invade what little peace you have left is Woosung.

Because of course it is.

“Having trouble with your fire?” He snorts, sitting himself at your table.

You scowl. “Go away, Woosung.”

“My girlfriend and I use a camp stove. Propane. Works on a dial. Never fails. You’d know that if you had any idea how to run a basic campsite.”

You fight the urge to defend yourself. You’d chosen not to dole out money for an expensive camp stove, or even a cheap single burner, when you could expand your repertoire of skills and learn how to cook over a fire.

Trying to make a stand for yourself to him is a waste of breath. You have nothing more to invest in him or his opinion of you. “That’s nice.”

“Who are you kidding? You live on your couch. You eat instant ramen. It’s not like you can cook on a regular stove. And what’s that? Progresso? Why am I not surprised?”

Not bothering to answer, knowing you only have nasty things to say to him, you turn away and focus on stirring the tepid pot of soup as though it’s still cooking. You want to make a snarky comment about how if his girlfriend is so inspiring, she must be missing him back at his camp, but you don’t want to give him any invitation to rib you about being bitter about him being in a new relationship.

Especially when you couldn’t care less.

In fact, you’re hoping his new girlfriend will distract him from seeking you out.

But alas.

He remains.

“What have you been up to all these months? I haven’t heard from you since that crazy burglary.” His voice hits you with an odd edge that tenses your shoulders.

The last time you’d seen him, you’d been running out of his apartment under the pretense of sheer terror. You hadn’t prepared yourself for discussing the incident so long after it happened, when you’re not actually as shaken up about it as you acted.

This is delicate territory.

“This and that,” you say vaguely.

“You meet anyone? Reconnect with any old friends? Got any fun stories to share?”

You glance at him over your shoulder, watching him trace the grain of the picnic table nonchalantly. You’re paranoid.

He’s not fishing for a confession, he’s just being a dick.

“That’s none of your business. Please go.”

He snorts, shoes scuffing as he leans forward. “I just keep thinking about that day, you know? How crazy it is that some whacko broke into my apartment in broad daylight.”

You turn on him sharply, face burning with anger. “I don’t feel like reminiscing with you. I want you to go. Just leave me alone.” You have to get him out of here before you let yourself act guilty, before you give yourself away when he’s just trying to make you uncomfortable.

Chan chooses that moment to appear with an armload of firewood, wide gaze flashing between you and Woosung.

Your ex clocks him instantly, twisting himself to assess the man. “So this is the guy. Good for you, finding a new boyfriend.” He says with a sneer, like he hasn’t brought up his yet unseen girlfriend every chance he gets. “I hope he can cook. This is what you’re feeding him?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” You say abruptly, snatching Woosung’s attention back to you. Even if he doesn’t suspect your involvement in the robbery, you don’t need him discovering Chan’s. “Please leave, Woosung.”

Chan puts his head down and moves to your fire pit, arranging some of the wood in a log cabin formation.

“You know she’s helpless with all this, right?” Woosung directs this to Chan. “I’ve never seen anyone less suited for the outdoors.”

That stings, especially considering you’ve been enjoying your new hobby.

He’s trying to hurt you.

He doesn’t know whether or not you’re capable of camping.

It’s just bullshitting to get a reaction.

Chan doesn’t answer, busily pushing some small kindling into the open spaces between the wood. His eyes flick to you, assessing your reaction, and when you lift your chin reassuringly, he angles himself away again.

You don’t need rescuing.

But you get the distinct impression that the moment you do, Chan would be on his feet in the blink of an eye.

Woosung glances at you. “Is he deaf? Dumb?”

“Fuck off.” You snap instantly, appalled by his behavior—by the question. You know why Chan isn’t talking. He’d been wearing a mask in front of Woosung all those months ago, but his voice could be recognized.

He won’t speak, not when it puts both you and himself at risk.

You have no intention of making that a difficult task for him. “Don’t talk to him. Get away from my camp.” Your words are delivered quietly, dangerously low. “Unless you want to be kicked out by the park rangers, you can get lost.”

He shrugs and lifts himself from your picnic table. “Whatever. Enjoy your Progresso.” He shoots another rude laugh at Chan and shuffles away, hands tucked carelessly in his pockets.

Like an afterthought, he pauses and turns back to you. “I’m so glad that lunatic didn’t hurt you that day.” His eyes flash from you to the man crouching by your fire pit, lips curling in a smirk, and then he spins on his heel and saunters on down the road.

Chan rises, watching him leave until he’s out of sight. When he’s sure that your ex is gone, he turns to you. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“I know.” You cut him off, sliding your legs out from the bench and joining him at the fire pit, trying to put the odd interaction out of your mind. “Thanks for getting this for me. I’ve got matches, I can light it from here.”

He steps back, standing silently until you crouch and reach for the rest of the wood that he’s acquired for you.

“Wait, hold on.” He blocks your hand. “That’s why you burned through your supply the first time. You wanna get your fire started first with a few small logs, and then throw the biggest pieces on once you got some good heat. It will burn longer.”

He takes your matches from you and lights the kindling, talking the whole time, showing you how to efficiently get a hot flame burning. It’s the same way Jisung did it, but he takes care to warn you to burn your supply more gradually.

When you once again have a roaring cook fire and a few extra logs to keep it going later, you focus on stirring your soup. “Thanks for this,” you utter quietly, still embarrassed. “I’m still learning. Like he said, I’m not experienced with any of this.”

He squats next to you in the dirt and plays with a few twigs. “The guy’s a jerk. You’re doing great. Don’t let him rattle you.” He touches a hand to your shoulder and then points at your soup. “If you really want to blow some smoke in his eye, so to speak, I can show you a staple camp breakfast. Once you master that, no one can question your camping skills.”

You stare at him blankly, trying to reconcile the apparent agreement he has with Jisung with this extraordinary effort to help you. “All I have is hash.”

He shakes his head with a quick smile. “I’ll bring you the stuff. You’ve gotta get away from the canned crap. Trust me. It elevates your whole experience.”

“I only buy canned food so I don’t have to mess with fresh ingredients. I can’t keep them cold driving all day anyway.”

“A cooler and a bag of ice fixes that. Seriously, it’s worth the cost of groceries. I can have you going tomorrow morning. Don’t you want to see the look on his face when he walks by and you’ve got a feast of bacon and eggs? Also, if you haven’t eaten bacon and eggs that are infuse with woodsmoke, you haven’t truly camped.”

The only egg you can imagine is the one that’s gonna be on Woosung’s face, and it’s enough to convince you. Plus, Chan is offering you a valuable wilderness skill. You’d be foolish to turn him down. “I’ll pay you for the groceries and the wood.”

He waves you off. “First lesson is free. Don’t worry about it.”

You’re already feeling better about the whole trainwreck of your first solo roadtrip. “Thank you.”

Chan grins at you, rising to his feet. “And the firewood was free. Woosung said they have a propane stove, so they didn’t need it anyway. Don’t give me that look, you already gave me permission to rob him.”

You just stare at him in dumb silence.

How long had he been listening to your conversation before he revealed himself?

He surveys your site with hesitation before glancing back at you. “I really don’t like that he found your camp. You sure you don’t want to squeeze into ours for the night?”

Your response is a hard frown.

“No, I’m serious. You’re all the way over here alone and he knows it.”

His concern is touching, but you have to be able to overcome this obstacle on your own. Chan won’t be there for you forever. “I’ll be fine, Chan. Your friend already invited me to see those ruins. We’ll go explore, then I’m gonna wash up, and go to bed. Just come back in the morning.”

He pauses, watching you thoughtfully. “I’ll send someone to walk you over there.” He says. “Sun’s going down and you’re like five minutes from the showers.”

You try to protest, but he just zips up his jacket with finality and gives your arm another squeeze. “I’d do it myself, but I’m trying not to make trouble for you with that asshole. See you after dinner, okay?”

All you can do is nod as he leaves you to your dinner. Heart uncomfortably confused, you settle in to eat your sad little bowl of soup and watch the sun begin to go down.

The whole group appears as soon as you’ve finished washing out your pan and stirring up your embers to let them burn out on their own.

Jisung approaches you first, Chan lingering behind him with the others. “The explorers have arrived!” Jisung announces. “Ready to see if we can get ourselves cursed?”

Chan smiles at you, a tempered, detached expression that sends a jolt of insult through your blood.

You look away and focus on Jisung. “I want to get my camera, and then I’m ready.” He waits for you while you get into your car and loop the strap of your film camera around your neck, and then you’re off.

“What do you think of your trip so far?” Jisung asks you as you walk the campground road towards the lake. The group is loud and rowdy behind you, the friends joking and picking on each other to pass the time. “Are you enjoying camping?”

“I am,” you say honestly. “There have been quite a few surprises along the way, but it’s been fun. I like the peace of it.” You glance back at Chan, only to see his eyes dart away from you.

“Channie hyung said he didn’t know you were gonna be here. It’s crazy that you just ran into us like that.”

“Yeah. Crazy.” It bothers you more than it should that you’re getting this lukewarm shoulder from a guy you barely know, but clearly your feelings for him are stronger than you’d wanted to realize. Hadn’t he been sidled up next to you, only an hour ago, taking time away from his friends to help you? Is he still the guy who wants to be ‘good for you’? Or is he just being a friend taking pity on you?

Your mouth sets in a hard frown. “I didn’t know my ex was gonna be here either.”

Jisung continues talking, asking about the situation with Woosung, commenting appreciatively on your vintage camera, but your responses are halfhearted and distracted.

You’d hoped to be gauging Chan’s reaction to you interacting with his friend, but he’s ignoring you.

His apparent sudden disinterest disappoints you more than you thought it would, but you’re not discouraged. If he has no problem with you being close to Jisung, you can prepare yourself to get over him, once and for all.

And in the meantime, Jisung is nice. He’s kind, funny, not at all unattractive, and not in the slightest the consolation prize material you had initially accused him of being. You can be just as happy getting to know him as you were discovering Chan.

At least, you hope you can.

A few minutes of light hiking later, you come up on the ruins that you’d seen all over the postcards in the gas station this morning.

They’re beautiful in a nostalgic sort of way. A solid set carved in stone, standing alone among the over grown rubble of the mansion they once belonged to. Ivy clambers up the sides, moss ornamenting the outsides of each step but worn away from the centers where millions of tourists and campers have stepped.

Despite the obvious age of the ruins, the stairs stand strong, only crumbling at the edges with little affect to the integrity of the structure.

It’s amazing that every other part of the mansion has practically turned to gravel while the staircase remains proud and almost whimsical.

“Wow, cool!” One of the guys exclaims, rushing forward to hop onto the first step. “Who wants to go to the top?”

“No way.” One of them, you think his name is Felix, walks around the edges of the monument. “I don’t play with that shit.”

“You think you’re gonna be cursed for life?” Another, Minho, starts climbing the stairs with a grin. “Or death?”

“This is awesome.” Jisung runs up after him, clutching to the back of Minho’s shirt when he realizes there’s no railing to hold onto.

You lift your camera, peering through the viewfinder as you snap shot after shot.

The guys crawl all over the stairs, with the exception of two.

You realize Chan has come to stand next to you, watching his friends clamber over the stone and play like they’re going to push each other off. “It’s beautiful, right?” He says, taking a few pictures on his phone. “I’m glad we didn’t miss this.”

Your skin prickles where his arm brushes yours. “Glad that cashier gave us such a romantic spot for our honeymoon.” You quip smartly, catching his wide grin in your peripheral.

“Ah, he was just too much fun to play with.” Chan nudges you with an elbow, and then abruptly returns his arm to his side like you burned him. “So, what do you think of Jisung? He likes you.”

What the hell is wrong with this guy?

He’s going hot and cold on you, and it’s exhausting.

“Well, that was your plan, wasn’t it?” You return simply. “As far as stand-ins go, he’s an interesting choice.”

Chan blinks at you, wide eyed and stammering.

Shaking your head, you move away from him towards the stairs. “Jisung is great. I like him. Thanks for the introduction.”

He watches you go.

Jisung turns just in time to see you start up the steps, and hurries down with a beaming grin to extend a hand. “This is so cool—careful, though, the steps are worn super smooth. Hyunjin has already slipped like twice.”

You slap your hand into his and let him guide you up, pausing to take a few more pictures here and there, until you’re standing at the top with Minho and Hyunjin.

Chan remains at the bottom, staring up at you and Jisung with a tension in his jaw that fills you with satisfaction.

It’s his game.

You’re only playing by his rules.

“Come on, Jisung, let’s take a picture.” You slip your arm through his and let your camera hang against your chest, sliding your phone from your pocket and holding it up to catch both of you smiling widely over the abrupt drop off at the top of the stairs.

Jisung’s arm loops around your waist to keep you steady, his other hand throwing up a peace sign. “Let me get one too. Let’s all get in this.”

It’s a treacherous position to group all four of you in the narrow space to take the picture, so when you lean into Jisung, it’s not even an attempt to get under Chan’s skin.

But your eyes flick down to find him as you feel Jisung’s hand curl around your hip, and see fire flash in his expression.

Success.

You’ll have to apologize to Jisung later, but for now, the aggravation in Chan’s posture is exactly the result you wanted.

A figure in the background of Jisung’s picture catches your attention when he shows the selfie to you.

Woosung, standing in the rubble at the bottom, gazing up at you with irritation written all over his face.

You turn so suddenly that Jisung nearly drops his phone trying to catch you before you can trip over the edge.

The only people on the ground are Chan, Felix, and a few other random campers milling through the ruins.

No Woosung in sight.

“Alright, it’s getting late.” Chan’s voice calls up, beckoning for his friends to come back down. “Long day of driving tomorrow. We need to sleep.”

Jisung turns to you with a sweet smile. “Walk you back?”

Chan shoves his balled fists into his pockets and looks away, shaking his head with an inaudible mutter.

You slip your hand back into Jisung’s. “That would be great, thank you.”

He sticks around long enough for you to gather up your overnight bag and change of clothes, walks you to the restrooms as promised, and then leaves you to spend your second night alone.

It’s colder that night, and you have to dig your second sweater out of your car to add layers and flip the edge of your sleeping bag over your face to get warm enough to fall asleep. Your dreams are restless, riddled with charming robbers and cruel exes.

When morning comes, you unzip your tent to find your fire already started.

There’s no telling where the wood came from this time.

Chan’s head pops up from behind the picnic table at the sound of you stirring, and spreads his arms to gesture at the collection of ingredients and supplies on the surface. “Morning,” he says with a grin. “Sleep well?”

Is this ‘I want to be good for you’ Chan or pushing-you-at-Jisung Chan?

You decide not to fight it. You can spend this whole trip giving him terse responses and guarded glares, or you can save your energy and just pretend he’s a normal guy, a friend helping out.

It’s better than wasting your emotional energy on each confusion interaction.

“I slept okay.” You poke your legs through the door, setting your heels on your outdoor rug. “It got pretty cold last night.” Before you can ask him how he slept, the smell of coffee hits you, and your eyes flash to the cook fire. Your blue percolator is sitting on the grill, steaming and gurgling away. “You made coffee?”

The hard shell around your heart cracks.

You’re a goddamn sucker for coffee.

Damn you.

He rises to his feet, grabbing one of your cups off the table. “Yeah, I figured you’d want some. Thought I’d get it going for you to warm you up for sitting through a cooking lesson with me.” He pours you a rich, brown, insanely delicious smelling serving and brings it to you. “Careful, it’s hot.”

You cradle it in your hands, staring at him in bewilderment. “You don’t like coffee but you know how to make it? In a percolator?” It’s a bygone skill for most people, especially those who don’t drink coffee to begin with.

He shrugs. “My friends like it, so when it’s my turn to cook I make the coffee too. Is it good? I notice you drink it black so I tried to make it smooth, but I’m not sure how strong your roast is.”

The coffee hits your tongue with a scalding nutty richness that immediately warms you from the inside out. “God,” you mutter, sinking into the nest of your sleeping bag still bunched around you. “You gotta show me how you made this.”

Chan beams, flushed with your praise. “You like it?”

You nod, inhaling the steam like oxygen. “Mm-hmm.”

For a second he just stares down at you, your chill-blushed face surrounded by a thick cocoon of sweaters and sleeping bag, and the tips of his ears redden.

You scowl under his scrutiny. Him staring at you like he’s about to pinch your cheeks is not good for your plan to avoid catching feelings again. “What are you looking at?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I just…” he pauses, head cocking to the side. “Nothing, you’re just cute.”

“You should see me in the mornings.” You shoot back automatically, an ironic grin spreading across your face—because you know you’re not cute. You know your hair is a rat’s nest, your face printed with pillow creases, eyes probably puffy.

Chan’s eyes flash, an expression you can’t interpret. He’s thinking, debating saying something, but eventually extends a hand to you. “You ready to get cookin’, master chef?”

You’re loath to escape your little huddle of warmth, but you don’t want to waste all of your morning hours before you even get on the road again, so you pry a hand off your cup and slap it into his.

He pulls you up, steady as a statue as you sway on legs that haven’t held your weight in nine hours. He keeps your hand firmly trapped, eyes fixed down on you.

You’re in dangerous territory.

Clearing your throat abruptly, you reclaim your hand and skirt around him to set your coffee down on the picnic table. “So, what’s first?” You feel his eyes on you as you stretch the tightness out of your back, but he just joins you and starts organizing the ingredients he’s brought.

As you watch him arrange a small carton of eggs, packet of cheese, package of bacon, and a number of small potatoes and seasoning bottles, your eyes catch on something red, half hidden by a dish towel.

It looks like broken ceramic.

You move the towel, and find a broken mug, shattered into pieces. Fragments of the words ‘downward spiral’ stare up at you.

And on top of the pile of ceramic, slightly crumpled from the weight of the towel, a blue sticky note, with the words ‘You should have just asked for it’ scrawled on top in Woosung’s handwriting.

Your heart thuds angrily in your chest. “Did you put this here?” Terse, vicious, accusing.

Chan leans over to see what you’re staring at. “No? What is that?”

It’s your favorite mug, the one you had gotten from Woosung’s apartment. The one you had left at home.

How the hell did Woosung get his hands on it?

Before you can fly off in a rage and storm your ex’s campsite, you throw the towel back over it and focus your attention on Chan, breathing forcefully through your nose to calm yourself. “Nothing. Go ahead.”

He’s wary of your sudden irritation, but he doesn’t push you, instead reaching for the ingredients again. “Alright, so basically, when you’re camping with an iron skillet like you’ve got here, you wanna keep bacon as a staple ingredient. The grease doubles as your cooking oil for everything else, and it keeps your pan conditioned and makes it easier to clean when you’re done.”

You follow him between the fire and the picnic table staging area and back again, listening intently as he walks you through the motions of breakfast, showing you how to wrap potatoes in tin foil and place them directly on the grill while the bacon cooks.

He never seems to stop talking, gesticulating minutely into the air every time he has to pause to think of a better way to explain what he’s doing or consider his next course of action, checking in with you every so often to make sure your eyes haven’t glazed over.

You’re concentrating, but more on trying to make sense of the shattered mug and the somewhat ominous message than on the recipe for eggs and bacon.

By the time he gingerly pulls the softened potatoes off the fire and cuts them into chunks, dumping them into the sizzling leftover bacon grease with a mess of eggs, Jisung has shuffled his way over to your campsite with another young man, both of them in thick, oversized hoodies and faces scrunched with sleep. They nod half-closed-eyed greetings to you, mumbling good mornings and sliding into one side of your bench.

Chan watches them, unimpressed, his spatula hovering in the air. “What are you guys doing here?” His eyes narrow at Jisung, like the intrusion is an unwelcome one.

“Minho hit the sauce pretty hard last night.” Jisung mumbles sleepily. “He’s not up yet. We’re hungry.”

Your eyes snap to the two potatoes and single package of bacon and only four eggs, and then flash to Chan in a panic. “If the rest of your cult club are gonna come over here we’re gonna be out of food.”

The second newcomer, Hyunjin, slides his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll text Changbin hyung to bring more food.” He slumps over the table, chin propped up on his forearms as he blearily shoots off a text message.

Chan turns to you, an annnoyed upturn to his lips. “Is that okay?”

You shrug. This is all his doing anyway. “Of course it’s okay, obviously they can’t fend for themselves.” You’re mostly teasing, just to get their reactions, but Jisung just gives a drunken-looking smile and closes his eyes blissfully, breathing in the appetizing smell of breakfast.

Back to playing into Chan’s schemes, you suppose.

“Do you guys drink coffee?” You ask, already rummaging through your boxes for the other two cups you keep in your set.

“Don’t give them your coffee.” Chan groans, watching you shake out the dust from your unused dishes. “They’ll drink you dry, please don’t offer them your stuff.” He plucks one of the mugs from you obstructively. “Let them wake up the old fashioned way—a good kick in the pants—”

You snatch the cup back from him. “Knock it off,” You shoulder past him and grab the oven mitt, picking up the percolator and pouring two cups. When you turn back to the two new guys, you set the cups before them with an apology. “I don’t have cream or sugar, but Chan made it really smooth, so it shouldn’t be too offensive to you if you don’t normally take it black.”

“Thank you!” Jisung leans back with an excited gasp, cradling the mug with the same thrill that you had done half an hour ago, and elbows his companion. “Hyunjin. Coffee. Say thank you.”

Hyunjin’s eyes pop open, sucking in a big whiff of the beverage. “Oh yes. Thank you.”

You can’t fight the warm flood of gratification as they both gaze at you like you’ve brought them out of the cold. Just when you thought the best thing about mornings while camping was basking in the comfort of your sleep-warmed clothes and sucking down a hot cup of coffee, you suddenly find yourself watching an attractive man with a pinked nose cooking for you while two of his friends huddle together in massive hoodies with sleepy eyes and pouty lips, inhaling your coffee like there’s no life without it, realizing it’s somehow even better like this.

Two more members of their group arrive soon, with more dishes and more ingredients, immediately putting it on to cook while Chan plates the first round of breakfast. “Sit here,” he puts you next to Jisung with a tight smile, sliding your blue enamel plate towards you. “Try that out,” He says with a tense pat to your shoulder. “See if you ever want to settle for corned beef hash out of a can again.”

There he goes again, pushing you off on his friend.

Jisung scoots over a little as you crawl into the bench next to him, offering a cute smile back when you give him an overly warm grin.

If Chan wants to watch you ignore him, you’re just petty enough to oblige.

Chan tops off your coffee while you give your meal a chance to cool, watching the two new guys prepare an army’s worth of food over your small cook fire. One of them, Changbin, mentions the insufficient amount of firewood, and the other, Seungmin, mentions texting another member of their group to bring some over.

Before you know it, there are eight hungry men milling around your campsite, introducing themselves to you over the sounds of their growling stomachs, squeezing onto the benches all around you. You find yourself pushed against Jisung’s beefy shoulder on one side and Felix’s more angular one on the other.

Instead of feeling invaded and suffocated, you eat your unfairly delicious smoky breakfast with a happy glow, merely listening to the mindless chatter of the young men around you.

The muscular one across from you leans forward, sniffing at Jisung’s mug. “Why does your coffee smell better than mine?”

Jisung shrugs and gestures at you. “Don’t ask me, it’s her coffee.”

“We ran her out of coffee, you assholes.” Chan mutters from somewhere further down the bench. “Most of you are drinking our coffee.”

Before the man next to you, Changbin, you think someone said, can ask you what kind of coffee you buy, a line of police cars drive by your campsite in a rush of whooping sirens. One of them is a truck, hauling a boat on a trailer, kicking up dust all the way down the forest road.

“I wonder what’s happening.” Hyunjin mutters.

It’s only later, when you’ve just finished packing your camp back into your car, that a police vehicle pulls up behind you and you find out what happened.

The officer who steps out of the car calls you by name. He holds out his phone to you, a picture of a familiar face on the screen. “I understand you know this man?”

You glance at the device, expression twisting in unrestrained disgust at a selfie of Woosung. “Yeah, that’s my ex boyfriend. Why?”

A number of possibilities cross your mind, and you wonder how sunk you are. Had he recognized Chan? He’d called the police to arrest the man who robbed him, and informed them that you had been an accomplice?

On top of everything else screwing with your trip, now you’re going to miss Ateez because you’re locked up in a jail seven hundred miles from home.

“He was found murdered this morning. We just pulled his body out of the lake.”

< last part | next part >

tag list : @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @estella-novella @babyphotos0325 @softfor-svtptg @furfoxsake22 @tubelightanyaa @kayleefriedchicken @rockstarkkami @sp1derst0rrr @eastjonowhere @its-stayville-forever @allenajade-ite @naraportokala @jinniejjam @blackberryrains @feetoffthemalfoy @highandalive @scarlet789 @ramadiiiisme @thecutiepieme @lemonn015 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @dreamingartist13 @ebnabi @bangtan-sonyeondamn8 @lemonn015 @thepoeticpurplepotato @brbwritingfanfic @skzlover24 @stephanieeeyang @my-neurodivergent-world @xgridx @igotajuicyass @annovaz @robinnotgood24 @butterflybananabread @tirena1 @nougatjade @wickedbutlovely @justiceforvillains @beewilko @nougatjade @ellelabelle @qwonyoung23 @hwangjoanna @akindaflora @uhnanix @staylovesmiley @skzittomebabyuhhuhx3 @ateez-atiny380

[revelboo]

Howdy! So idk if you heard or not, but Michael Bay is coming back and is in progress of making another movie. How do you feel about that? Honestly hope it doesn't flop like the last 2 he made 🤩😖

🤣 so he’s going from directing Skibidi Toilet straight to the Transformers/ GI Joe crossover… I have so many fears/concerns about this… can’t… can’t we just have a sequel to TFO? Or the Bumblebee movie with those lovely G1 designs from the beginning instead of that blasphemy they did to Wheeljack in ROTB? Please? Please?

Someone had asked about created Cybertronians and their sparks/ability to bond or have sparklings and my brain kind of took off.

So I’d think that even though Sunstorm is Starscream’s clone created by Shockwave, his spark would have been altered enough from Star’s own for Sunstorm to functionally be independent of Star.

Springer’s spark was created from scratch by Mesothulas to be indistinguishable from the genuine article, so I’d think he’d be able to function like a normal Cybertronian bonding/sparking, too. Thought there might be some oddities.

Then we have the Vehicons. Who seem to be expendable, mass produced identical clones meant to be cannon fodder. I don’t see the Decepticons creating them and bothering to go to the effort to tweak each spark to make them true individuals, so in my head they’re kind of a collective consciousness with each Vehicon developing their own personalities. Maybe even dimly aware of each other to a point and aware when they lose one of their own, feeling it echo through them when a spark is snuffed out. If we go with that interconnected interpretation, then if one of them, Steve, for example, bonds a human, that human just inadvertently bonded all of them. Accidentally unlocking the achievement of most alien husbands.

Legion

Steve and Vehicons x Reader

• Sandwiched between Steve and one of his many, identical brothers, you run your fingers over the mesh of his neck as his own hand rests against your side, servos flexing occasionally like a cat kneading a blanket. And his head bumps yours, visor brightening. Because these soft touches are the norm between you. Have no idea what you are exactly to him and the other Vehicons, but they tend to reach for you. Touch you almost reverently and at this point, you can’t manage to feel shy anymore about it. “I wish they were nicer to all of you,” you whisper after he tells you about his day.

• Nudging your head with his own and rumbling softly, he loves how sweet you are for caring about them when no one else does. They’re expendable. Built to fight until they die. That’s their only purpose. But spending time around you makes him want more. Want things not allowed him or his brothers. And he’s aware of them all around the two of you, recharging as near to you as they can get and he’s not sure if it’s just you or if they’re being infected by his own needs. To be close to you, to feel the warmth of you against him, the beat of your heart. And one of his brothers shifts at your back, servos fisting in your shirt. Clinging to you.

• It’s not right and it makes your heart ache for them when he talks like this. Like nothing that’s done to them matters. Like he doesn’t matter. He’s sweet and kind and gentle. He’s not just a thing to be used and thrown away.

• “You’re a real person,” you argue, chin lifting and eyes angry on their behalf to make him love you even more. Even this, just being able to touch you feels wrong. You’d been the one to reach out to him. Holding his hand, touching his chassis, his face, because humans are tactile and he’d been so desperate for contact he hasn’t corrected you. And it still makes him feel guilty for being allowed these moments, like he’s dirtying you with himself. Shouldn’t touch you, hold you.

• “We all have the same cloned spark,” he argues and you frown at him. Why does he always talk like they’re nothing? Less than other Cybertronians. And he’s shifting his plating and you lose what you were going to say as you stare at the pulsing light inside him bathing you in its glow. Alien and still oddly familiar. Breath catching at the beauty and warmth of it, you reach out and it arcs to meet your fingertips.

• Should have stopped you, but couldn’t move. Frozen because you’d reached for him like you’ve done all along and he’d wanted to feel you brush up against his spark, sure that nothing can come of it because he’s only a clone. So it’s a delicious shock to feel you tangled in him. Your soft, warmth held inside his spark and he’s desperately wrapping around you. Clinging to that feeling of home and belonging that’s you. Asking for more of you, to keep you as your memories and emotions drug him. And you accept him. Accept them all. Aware of his brothers stirring, that they can feel it spreading through them.

[brrbree]

Somewhere in Between - Summary

‘Paige doesn’t know how she got into this situation really. Somewhere in between waning self-control and soft bronze skin, she had become someone who would drop everything, at the whim of Azzi Fudd.’

Paige is rough around the edges, distant, with a smoking habit. She knows what she looks like, with her tattoos, worn clothes and disinterested attitude. Luckily for her, she’s never cared much for other’s opinions. Her goal is just to keep her head down and make it through the year, and hopefully still have a stable job by the end of it. She wasn’t expecting anything more. Least of all a whirlwind in the form of Azzi Fudd.

Azzi is bored. She’s smart, predictable, private school princess. College was supposed to be different, but she finds herself strung along a line of expectations, unable to break out. She’s never quite forgotten the girl she used to meet at her grandparents’ place during sweltering Minnesota summers, all those years ago. So, when said girl walks back into her life, Azzi finds herself toeing the line between what’s expected of her, and what she truly, gutturally wants. 

Basically: bad boy (but not really) Paige x (burnt out) golden girl Azzi. 

Note: This will be my first fic on here. Please, please let me know what you think, lovelies. I cherish any and all thoughts, each like and comment means the world to me.  Also, I am someone that neglects a word count for detail. What I mean to say is: I suck at writing summaries, but I tried. Let me know if this would be a fic you would be interested in reading. I have many ideas and am also open to suggestions. Feel free to send anons. If y’all hate my writing… well, I’d only ask you tell me nicely. 

To all the amazing authors here, I truly admire you. The worlds you create for us are beautiful, the stories; achingly good. You all inspire me.

Love, Bree.

[knitmeapony]

So I don't respond to every single person who is having a little heart attack about how this geometric shape is defined, but every once in awhile I feel the need to jump on in. There is no such thing as a correct definition of a square. There are different definitions of squares, things that humans have done either to help us understand the world or to explore complex Concepts - for instance, in this case, what a square would look like when projected onto a cone, - but if you are deeply uncomfortable with the idea that sometimes things are going to be more complicated or different from the very basic stuff we are taught in elementary school, i invite you to take a breath and realize nothing is as simple as we learned it was in elementary school.

Gender is the obvious example in terms of something that really matters these days, but did you know we don't really know how photosynthesis works? We're pretty sure that chlorophyll does a cool thing with sunlight, but the details of that cool thing are pretty damn fuzzy.

We don't actually know how human bodies take food and process it into energy. We have a pretty good idea that there are chemical processes that break it down, and we have some thoughts that high calorie foods provide more energy than low calorie foods, but we don't actually know. We calculate calories by setting food on fire.

It's good to have basic understandings of things! It's good to have ways to explain things to people when they don't need to know the details. If I'm trying to keep a plant alive, all I need to know is it needs sunlight and water. But if I want to be a chemist or a botanist, there's a good chance I need to be comfortable with the fact that photosynthesis might look wildly different from the basic version, and it's okay if someone shows me a new version of photosynthesis I've never seen before.

( and even without the playing with the definition, it's amazing how many people are confidently wrong in the notes. Even in the most basic of euclidean planar geometry, you can have a right angle with a curve. It's also helpful not to be so unwilling to change your world view that you are even more wrong in the balance )

So yeah, that is a square. For a given definition of square, absolutely. And the definition is given right there in the image.

I love seeing a meme and being like oh, tumblrs going to love this one

[chubsonthemoon]

Another jayvik book, completed! This is the incredible motion on a circle, by @runesick. Stunning artwork by @marika-misc, who kindly granted me permission to include her art <3

As always, crafty chatting + more pics under the cut!

Whereeee do I even begin with this fic oh my gosh. The worldbuilding is PEAK. There are so many fun things that rune does with the structure that convey the strange, otherworldly, in-between space of the arcane. And the jayvik? AHHHHH. THE YEARNING! THE GRIEF!!!! It's both cosmic horror and sweeping romance at its finest. It's so, so good. I left a comment that was literally *checks notes* 2,000 words??? LMAO. Thank you rune for reading my yapping! I just had to bind your fic; it's been living rent-free in my mind for months now.

Some fun design things! There are a few sections in the second chapter that are written in the style of a screenplay, so I mirrored that in the typeset :3 For font, I went with Courier New, which is (I believe!) the standard for screenplays, and also changed up the justification for the paragraphs to be left-justified.

I really love the resulting effect--the chapter this happens in is about (spoilers aha) Jayce getting tossed into the metaphorical basement of the arcane, and because he's not technically supposed to be there, he's kind of only...partially rendered. But he's also literally aware that he's a construct, which is BONKERS and so delicious, narratively speaking. All that to say, I really wanted to convey that feeling of unreality, and I feel like the stark contrast between the two fonts really helps with that!

The title page was also super fun to design! After Viktor gets spat back out of the arcane, his face kinda splits into a thousand different after-images. I thought it would be really neat to convey that somehow, along with the general idea of motion as named in the title:

I liked the effect so much I did it for the cover text as well! This was my first time using printable canvas and gosh is it a game changer. For the cover artwork, I used Vasily Kandinsky's Several Circles and flipped it around so that that the title would fall in the black part of the big circle:

My bindery logo falling right in the middle of the orange circle was a happy accident heh, but it's one I'm quite pleased with :3 This was one of those designs that sort of fell into place the moment I found the artwork--it just felt right.

This was also my first time making paper endbands! I used the same paper for both the endbands and the endpapers and love how it brings it all together.

A million thanks again to rune for letting me bind their work, and to marie for letting me include her artwork! I had so much fun with this bind, and this is legit one of my favorite fics not just in arcane fandom, but also just in general. I'm so so happy to have it on my shelf! Here it is once more, for the road <3

[shadowlord420sgf]

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ Abandoned & Aching

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ xxXShadowl0rd420Xxx | Skips x reader ୭ ˚.

⌗ summary: You left Skips waiting, aching—now that you’re back, he won’t let you go until he’s felt all of you again. word count is 1.6k

⌗ warnings!: female reader, fingering, p in v, missionary, creampie, established relationship, porn with feelings, everyone & everything is desperate, skips is kinda emotionally deranged, fucking on the floor (sorry florence!), i think: hurt + angst with comfort

⌗ author’s note: (you can also read this on my ao3!)back with everyone’s favorite sad emo boy ☹️ thanks for all the support I’ve received on my fics it actually means a lot to me and i love everyone!! like and reblog if you would peg skips 💕 also my irl friend: @funnygirlwriter104 gave me the idea for this fic, check out her dirk one!

It had been some time since you’d last paid Skips a visit. You two had left off on a high note, he asked how you slept and told you about his efforts of keeping the silverfish away. Cute. However, you couldn’t help the excitement you got from speaking with other objects around the house. The dateviators just made you so curious that you didn't notice how you strayed away from the person, or shadow, who loved you the most...

Your ignorance wasn’t on purpose though, so many objects were really so entertaining! You especially liked helping Maggie solve cases, or going on extreme adventures with the Hanks. But none of that changed how you felt about Skips. If only he knew that, instead of assuming that you’d left him for good.

So, when you focus your dateviators on the shadow of Gaia one morning, what you find is a bit unexpected. It’s your beloved Skips, obviously, but something seems to be off with him.

“Hey you.” He greeted, looking a bit surprised that you were in front of him. “I was wondering when you’d come back to see me.”

You winced internally. It couldn’t have been that long since you spoke to him, right? Either way, you felt terrible for being the reason his voice sounded unsure, and a little hoarse like he hadn’t used it in a while.

“I—I know, I’m sorry,” you said gently, stepping closer to him. “I didn’t mean to be gone for so long. I just got caught up with everything—”

“It’s okay,” Skips interrupted quickly. A little too quickly. “You don’t have to explain. I mean, you’re here now, right? That’s all I wanted.” He gave a shaky smile, eyes flickering across your face like he was trying to burn it into his retinas.

He gazed at you like that for a moment before speaking, barely loud enough for you to hear, “I just… I thought maybe you didn’t wanna come back. Like Benji and the others, you know?”

Oh my god, you’ve fucked up this time. You’d left him alone for so long that he compared you to his old friends from way back in his Thiscord roleplaying days. You knew how important those memories were to him, and how hurt he felt as his companions drifted away. You never wanted him to feel like that again.

You stepped even closer, and he didn’t move away. He never would.

“Skips…” you started, finding the words to apologize, but you didn’t get far. He surged forward and wrapped his arms around you like he couldn’t stop himself, pressing your warm body against his cool one. He buried his face deeply into your neck, breathing in. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this. You missed being in the comfortable darkness and silence around Skips. Everything was just so natural with him.

You hugged him impossibly tight, and it still wasn’t as hard as he clung to your body. Your hands tangled into his hair and he made a let out a noise that you swear was a sob. Oh Skips… His voice was muffled against you, “I really fucking missed you. I kept thinking maybe I did something wrong, or maybe you found someone better. Or maybe you just—”

He cut himself off with a shaky breath. “But you’re here. You came back. You came back for me.”

His words made your heart shatter inside. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “There’s nobody like you, Skips. No one.” You whispered, not a hint of dishonesty in your voice. “Of course I’d come back for you, I love you.”

He paused hearing those last three words. You’ve said them to him before, and always meant it of course, but it changed something in him at this moment. There was a beat of silence, and then his lips brushed your jaw. Then your cheek. Then—finally—your mouth.

It wasn’t a careful kiss. It was desperate, uncoordinated, messy. Like he was scared you’d vanish again if he didn’t taste you right now. His hands were everywhere—your neck, your waist, clutching tight, tugging you closer like there still wasn’t enough of you against him.

You groaned at finally feeling his lips on yours again, after so long. “I need you,” he gasped between kisses, eyes half-lidded, voice wrecked. “I’ve been needing you every single night and—I didn’t think I’d ever get to touch you again—please…” Skips was practically whining for you.

You nodded, touching and kissing him all over just like how he was doing to you. “Ah…Need you too, Skips.” He groaned again hearing your sweet voice that he missed so much.

“I need you,” he rasped again, grinding his hips against yours with a frustrated moan. Oh how he wishes your clothes weren’t in the way. “I need to feel you. Now. Please—just—let me have you.”

“You always have me…” you mumbled against his lips. “I’m yours—fuck—I promise.” You both needed each other more than it was possible. It would never be enough.

“O—Okay, can you uh…get on the floor for me?” Skips panted, barely getting the words out. You obeyed him with a smile, pulling off your shirt in the process. Shit, everything you did drove him crazy. Skips did the same before slotting himself in between your thighs, where both of his hands gripped. You felt like melting under his gaze… His dark eyes were actually staring into your soul.

Skips moved his hand higher and higher up your thigh, until his fingertips met with your clothed core. Your back arched up a little at how the small touch sent heat throughout your entire body. Skips chuckled, “So wet already, huh? Knew you missed this as much as I did.” Moving your underwear to the side, he pushed a finger into your wet cunt, and groaned as you did.

“Missed touching you like this,” he started pumping his fingers in and out of you, and you cried out his name. “Missed the way you whine for me when I touch you just like this—fuck.” He always knew exactly what to say.

“M—Missed it too—” You couldn’t bother to answer him properly, not when he was so close to making you come all over his fingers and make a mess. “Ah.. Skips, I’m—I’m close,” you managed to blurt out, hips squirming under him.

Just then, he pulled his fingers out of you. “I know, Penumbra… I always know,” he was right, “And you know I’ll make you finish— But it has to be when I’m inside you. There’s nothing I missed more than that.”

His words alone could’ve made you come undone. They made you forget how close you’d just been, made you wetter than you already were. “Yes—Yes, please I need you… need to feel you, Skips.” You mewled, hands reaching for him on instinct & dragging him down into another kiss that was all tongue and teeth and desperation. He kisses you back with more force than you gave him. He’d never ever let go of you.

Skips was quick to slide off his pants along with his boxers in one impatient motion, allowing his hard length to spring up. You couldn’t help but moan a little at how perfect he was. He gave himself a few quick strokes before positioning himself between you again. “Are you ready, my Penumbra? I sure am…” You nodded, voice too broken to say anything except a “Please…”

With that, he pushed into you, agonizingly slow. You both gasped at the feeling, the familiar stretch of his cock and the wet warmness that enveloped it. You two stayed like this for a bit before you whimpered, “Skips… y-you can move, please I need you.”

“Right. S-Sorry, I just missed this—missed you— so much.” Before you could answer in agreement, he crashed his mouth against yours again, hips rocking into you as he began to move—deep and slow at first, like he was savoring the feeling of being inside you again after so long.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, digging your heels into his lower back as he hit that perfect spot in you again and again. You were already so close, pleasure building fast, curling deep in your belly like it had been waiting for him this whole time.

Your moans turned into soft sobs, overwhelmed. “Skips—fuck, I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he gasped, voice cracking, hips stuttering, “Me too—just… come with me, please. I need it. I need you.”

Before you knew it, your orgasm ripped through you like a wave crashing, sharp and hot and all-consuming. You cried out his name, clinging to him like your life depended on it as your walls clenched around him, pulsing hard.

Skips let out a broken, guttural sound—his body trembling as he followed right behind you, spilling inside you with a low groan pressed against your neck. His thrusts slowed but didn’t stop, like he couldn’t bear to pull away just yet, even as the continued thrusts made you both twitch and whimper.

“Don’t leave me like that again. Please don’t.” Skips begged, still panting. You kissed him yet again, breath heavy. “Never—I’ll never leave you Skips.”

Later, Skips had you tell him what objects you were hanging out with, giving his own input on them. He scoffed when you mentioned that you had to talk to Scandalabra, who Skips refused to interact with. Something about the light contrasting with darkness? It didn’t matter.

There was really no one like your Skips.

[sosheblabbed]

i see the actions as more than crass, but hollow. to be wanted is great, no matter which way, and there are certainly sensualities within the context of this type of sexual treatment, but to be degraded is an extension of the patriarchal tradition; to be made to submit rather than to be loved in a way that makes you crave submission.

i believe that there are soooooooo many things wrong with the current concept of love in modern society, but something i cannot stand is the notion that butches themselves are immune from being influenced by the patriarchy that controls and allows our existence.

maybe i am positing an inquiry into WHY so many women enjoy this kind of thing? i dont want to feel like i am speaking to someone that cannot perceive me in any other way besides crude, or objectively. i, innately have 0 of this type of gropey nasty intention, maybe it is because i am me or autistic or trauma or what ever that may be. but this is seemingly SO confusing for me because i like women because they are NOT as ferociously apathetic men. the entire idea that you WOULD treat someone this way if they signaled that they wanted to be treated that way IS PROOF! that you even have worries, is what makes you different from the crudeness i am speaking of.

I DID SAY I WAS KINK SHAMING SO I CANNOT COMPLAIN FOR THE DISCOURSE but i do not want to fight because i didnt even think a lesbian would see this let alone respond. i am sorry, sometimes i speak before i think and form actual thoughts? there is nothing wrong with liking, wanting, or giving this type of love, and i apologize for implying that, but i do still feel as those you missed my point a tiny bit whenever it came to the "male centered" thing but maybe i worded it wrong

hate arguing and fighting and this modicum of discussion but i appreciate your willingness to have it

Not here to kink shame but its wild how many femmes dream of a possessive, dominating, handsy butch to sweep them off their feet when a sizable chunk of the butch population are constantly worried about being perceived as predatory and a threat when meeting women.

The butch of your dreams is out there, just very conscious about making women uncomfortable.

[illum1z]

Merlot Canvases

paint instructor! seonghwa x f!reader

summary: You feel like you're lacking that artistic flair in your life. Everyone you've met who dabbles in the arts just has this twinge of light in their eyes that you feel like you're missing. So, taking a paint class might ignite that light in you, or maybe it'll ignite something else.

tracklist: hello?, overstimulated, professional,

tags: strangers to lovers, reader is overworked, seonghwa is whipped, reader is also whipped, unprotected sex(you know the drill), oral (f!recieving), fingering, tension tension TENSION, on a desk, mentions of voyeurism, petnames (baby, princess, honey, etc), soft/mean mdom, fsub, seonghwa needs you to breathe, not proofread

wc: 10.1k

notes: wrote this in one session. jeez, sorry guys. i have not read this through, its 11pm. i have work in the morning. there will be spelling mistakes. fuck it we ball

When you ask someone what motivates them, you get a wide array of answers. Some say their job, or their family. Others say their hobbies or their pets. And some people say nothing in particular, they just have a strong drive for life.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you’re depressed. It's not like you hate life and you want it to come to an end. But you could say you feel like you’re watching it fly by like a movie reel. You stand on the sidewalk as you watch yourself walk into your mundane office job 5 days out of the week. Sit in a cubicle for 8 hours before leaving, walking back home, having dinner, and going to bed.

Since graduating from high school, friends have been hard to come by. Making friends as an adult without being a college student or frequenting bars and clubs proves to be a challenge. You wouldn’t say you’re lonely either. You like your quiet life, but it just feels like something is missing. Like you could be doing more besides the repetitive schedule you’ve been following for the past 3 years. 

You sat on your couch, a few candles lit here and there as the rain pattered against your window. Your townhouse was dark, no sign of life other than you, and the flicker of candlelight on the dark brown walls. You leaned your head back on the couch, eyes closed, as you listened to the rain beat down like TV static. Cars whirred past the window of your home, rushing to or from work. To or from events. Busy, with things to keep them occupied.

You let out a deep breath, directing your attention to the flyer on your coffee table. Surrounded by unread books and worn-down pencils, a piece of paper you picked up from a pole plastered down the street on your way home from work a few days ago.

A flyer for a painter’s class. 

You hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in your whole life. At least not since grade school. You don’t think you’re the most artistic either. Yes, you have ideas and you have inspirations, but you could never put pen to paper. It's always come out janky, or just simply not how you envisioned it. The small town you lived in didn’t have many excursions to do.

You lived on a bustling street, lined with townhouses and little shops. Speakeasy-style bars littered here and there with live music and whatnot, but going out for a drink with the slim chance of getting drunk enough to hook up with some random who will leave you high and dry by morning was less than appealing to you.

You had been in every shop, every library, every single place this shit town had to offer, or so you thought.

Art Workshop

Every Sunday, 7 pm to 9 pm

Supplies provided for newcomers, the instructor will offer a list after the first session, given that you would like to return

Ages 18 and up

We look forward to seeing you there!

With an address printed on the bottom and some cute little drawings strewn about the paper, you couldn’t help but snatch it up in the moment. You weren’t really thinking about it, but at the moment, it seemed plausible. You had just gotten off a pretty rough shift, and a glimmer of possibility that you might do something other than grocery shopping or sitting at home on your weekend was tempting.

But here you are, Sunday, 6 pm, debating if you really should follow through and attend the class. You were reserved, not exactly shy. You spoke when needed to, and you didn't let anyone walk all over you, but you weren't one to randomly engage in conversations at work or on the street. You simply had no need. Like you said, you aren't lonely, just lacking a sort of passion. An urge to create, or the need to have an outlet.

You were so hesitant to go because you truly didn't know what you would make of it. What if it was a waste of time? Or what if it was not what you were looking for? There goes that hope, because this was your last option. That hope that you might finally find something.

So, ultimately, you decided to just go for it, because spending the rest of your life wondering surely won’t do you any good. And that's how you found yourself standing in an alleyway a few blocks away from home, umbrella shielding you from the onslaught of rain.

The streets were dark by now, and the entrance to the class was less than promising. Between two townhomes, illuminated only by a lampost, a staircase led down to a door. It was only a few steps, but the fact that it was somewhat underground raised some questions. You double, no triple, checked the flyer to make sure you were at the right place and the address was indeed correct.

You descended the staircase, the number on the door matching the one on the flyer. You checked your phone. 6:50. You closed your umbrella and shook it out, reaching out a hand and opening the door.

You stepped inside, closing it behind you. It was warm inside, and it smelled like citrus and sandalwood. There was an umbrella basket sitting by the door, with a couple of other umbrellas sitting inside. You set yours in the basket, looking up to take in your surroundings. It was just a hallway, with four doors. Two on one side, one on the other, and a door at the very end, straight across from the entrance.

It was quiet, like nobody was in the building, a yellow light flickered on the ceiling of the cramped hall, giving off a quite eerie glow. The two doors on the left had bathroom markings, one for men and one for women. The lone door on the right did not indicate what was behind; you safely assumed it was storage or for janitorial purposes.

The door at the end of the hall had a sign that simply said, “atelier.” You stepped further into the space, your footsteps quiet as you walked to the door at the end.

You stopped and listened to see if you could hear anything inside. Faint chatter, a couple laughs here and there. When you were sure you did in fact have the right day, you twisted the handle and stepped inside.

Immediately, all eyes were on you. There were about 6 other people in the room, with high ceilings supported by black metal pillars. There were a few large windows that opened to a perfect view of the cobblestone streets, like you could watch the shoes of passersby as they made their daily rounds. The floor was red varnished wood, and the walls matched. There were 10 stools in the room, scattered about randomly, and a canvas sat in front of each one, blank and ready to be painted on. At the front of the room, there was a desk, littered with papers and paint supplies, and a little bit of everything, quite messy.

A larger blank canvas sat in front of the desk, an empty stool beside it where you assumed the instructor would be perched later when class started.

Everyone sat and watched as you walked in, and took a seat farthest from the front, setting your bag on the floor. You directed your attention to the canvas in front of you, and like you never even showed up, everyone continued their conversation. You were just another addition to the class. Nothing special. Nothing notable. They’d forget you were there in 5 minutes.

The conversations around you droned on for another 10 minutes. The instructor was late, but nobody seemed to care. They continued to talk, slowly taking out supplies and setting them around their canvas.

Luckily, the seat you chose was right next to a table of supplies, and you stood and gathered paint palettes of all colors, a wide variety of paintbrushes, a cup of water, and a few pencils. When you had your area set up, you glanced at your phone again. 7:20. You were about to muster up the courage to ask a person nearby about the tardiness of your teacher when the door opened.

The conversations lowered to murmurs before completely dying out as everyone directed their attention to who came in. You looked up from your phone to see who it was, and it was then and there you decided there was no way you could come back to this class.

Sporting a ruffled collared white button-up shirt, black wide-leg slacks, and the most luscious head of hair you had ever seen, you immediately knew this was your instructor. He walked to the desk in front, his back turned, as he set down a bag on the desk. He grabbed a marker from a cup near the corner, uncapped it with a loud pop, and started writing on the whiteboard. Today’s date. And then the words “Impressionism and Perspective.” Neat handwriting, each ending letter had a slight curve akin to once knowing cursive. He capped the marker, threw it on his desk, and turned to face the class.

His face was unreal. Symmetrical, soft skin, plush lips, dark eyes, muse worthy. He was tall, radiant, exuding a calm energy, yet still, his presence had an impact. His eyes moved across the classroom, taking in the faces, bored almost. His eyes landed on you, sitting in the back. Quiet, keeping to yourself, staying out of the way.

He lingered on you for a second longer before looking away again. He smiled, a warm, welcoming smile, and moved to sit on the stool next to his canvas.

“Welcome back to class.” He was soft spoken, with a musical tone to his words. Gentle, he approached, speaking like the words could crack if he enunciated too harshly. A lullaby-worthy voice. His smile was just as smooth; it pulled you in. Your attention was 100% on him. 

And he liked it that way.

“Impressionism.” He stated, he leaned forward on the stool, his foot resting on a bar near the bottom of it, an elbow on his knee, with his hands idly playing with each other as he looked out upon the room as he spoke to the class in its entirety.

“Think Monet, Degas. A French style derived from the 19th century that ties into our second topic of the day, perspective. What can you tell me about it?”

Now you were no artist yourself, but that doesn’t mean you don't like to admire. You frequented museums in the area so often that the employees knew you by name. You had seen every piece, old and new, that they had to offer. Sometimes you’d sit on the benches in front of the displays for 30 minutes to an hour, analyzing brush strokes, memorizing colors, taking the full picture in.

And frankly, nothing could compare to him. You could stare at him for hours.

A student raised their hand. They said something about abstractness. You weren’t really listening. Another response from someone else, mentioning the lacking note of finality in impressionist pieces.

A few more answers here and there, all good ones, you assume, but your focus was completely narrowed in on your instructor.

Their answers fell on deaf ears as they prattled on about the art form. 

“And what about you?” Snapping from your trance, you realize he is staring directly at you. Eyes boring into yours, unrelenting. A question on his brow, the smile missing from his face, his hand stopped fiddling, and they now pointed in your direction, to your secluded island in the back of the studio. You hoped you wouldn’t draw attention, but you suppose your lack of engagement was more noticeable in a class with only 6 other people.

Feeling put on the spot, your back straightened as you locked eyes with the instructor, your knee began to bounce as the other students turned to look in your direction. You did your best to ignore their prying eyes as you cleared your throat.

“Well, like the name suggests, it's an impression. It's loose and undefined, but your mind is well enough off to piece it together. Not quite abstract, because the picture is clear. But it's the bare bones, just enough to create something beautiful…. I think…” You trailed off, nervousness overtaking you. You noticed the student who mentioned abstractness narrowed their eyes at you like you dismissed their answer as bullshit, which wasn’t your intention.

This was the last thing you wanted: all eyes on you, the center of attention. He didn't speak for a second, eyes staying glued on you. You averted your gaze, feeling so seen was not your favorite thing on earth, and his stare was far more than intense. It was exposing, like he could see every part of you.

“Seonghwa, doesn’t it also center around the way the light is painted as well as open composition?” A student chimed in. He didn't look at them; his eyes stayed on you for a few more seconds before ripping away and looking at the student who spoke. His smile returned, and he nodded.

“Everyone has great points. Visible brush strokes and light colors. Most artists completely avoided the color black as well. It was less of artists trying to capture images of real life, but closer to an idea, an impression of a scene.” You could breathe again, attention was drawn from you, and back on your instructor, whose name you just learned was Seonghwa.

He continued to talk, connected different styles and drew correlations, using his paints to demonstrate examples of brushstrokes and things of the sort. Everyone listened carefully. He was so easy to listen to with that soft voice and soothing demeanor.

He would look out at the class every time he made a new point to gauge reactions, and his eyes always fell on you at the end, before continuing the lecture. You were this close to walking out because every time his eyes locked with yours, he raised one eyebrow and almost smirked as if to ask you silently. “Are you listening?”

After a well-informed lesson, Seonghwa decided it was time for some practice.

“Alright, if you will, as simply as you can, don’t make it difficult yourself, paint your own impressionist piece. Paint something that means something to you. Whether that's a scenic spot you keep in your memories, whether it's a person, or an object. Paint it, but paint it like the image is pictured in your mind, but you spilled water over it. It's blurry and smudged; it's a silhouette. Barely there. Put pen to paper for the next hour. Go.”

Everyone immediately began getting to work, dipping brushes and collecting colors. You sat at your canvas, watching as everyone started. Seonghwa moved to sit behind his desk, looking at a stack of papers and organizing paint palettes.

His eyes locked on you again, catching you staring. His eyebrows raised, and he did smile this time, before mouthing the words. ‘Get to work.’

Obeying, you directed your gaze to your empty canvas, and you thought to yourself. Something, or someplace, that means something to you. This was proving to be difficult because that was the entire reason you attended this class in the first place. To find something that meant something to you.

You tapped the end of your paintbrush to your lips, lost in thought about what you should paint. Your job meant nothing, your place was homey but it was just a roof over your head. You didn’t really talk to your family, and you didn’t have any special places.

So, without a plan in mind, you started to paint. Some strokes of green here, smudges of blue there, pluffs of white and shades of red. You just started painting. What were you painting? You had no clue, not yet at least.

 The world drowned out the light chatter from classmates as you painted, like you were on autopilot, your hand simply moved on its own.

You didn’t know how much time had passed, but suddenly you blinked, and actually looked at your canvas.

There were shapes, forms, something was there, but you couldn’t quite pinpoint it. You tilted your head, moved from side to side to try and get an angle where you could decipher what you just made, but it was useless.

You frowned and went to set your brush down when a large, slender hand gently covered yours, gripping your hand softly and guiding your hand back up. A firm chest pressed against your back, and locks of hair tickled your neck.

“Here, like this.” The soft voice against your ear nearly made you shiver as you let Seonghwa control the way you paint. He lifted your wrist to wash the brush in the cup of water, then dipped it into a dark green on the palette.

He guided your hand to sweep the paintbrush across the canvas, adding bits of depth and shadow to the strokes, a few here, some there. The carefulness of his hand holding yours made your heart flutter. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel his steady breaths, smell him, sense him hovering over you.

He continued to paint while holding your hand, and you let him, feeling the warmth of his fingertips, the calluses of his skin.

Before long, he moved to have you set the paintbrush down and then let go of your wrist, his fingers gently caressing, a ghost of a touch as he pulled away.

“Now look at it.” He mumbled, only to you, like the rest of the class didn’t exist.

You squinted your eyes, tilted your head, and there it was.

Strokes of green that formed into a field. A silhouette of clouds against a powder blue sky. A form of a child, which strangely resembled you. The field was vast, and the sky was open. But far from the child was another form. A body, older. Standing under a tree, the leaves fell over her like a canopy. An adult, who once again, oddly resembled you. The child was staring at the sky, back turned toward the canvas, while the other stared directly out at the artist, watching.

In the far upper corner of the canvas, the blue sky faded into grey storms, angry and waiting far off in the distance. The child watched the clouds as the inevitable storm rumbled in from the east, while the older one simply stood in the distance, safe from the clouds but unable to scoop up the child and bring her underneath the canopy.

The paint smudged, and the forms barely even took place. But you could see them with your own eyes. Decipher your work.

Your breath hitched, and you turned to look at your instructor, who now stood off next to another student, helping them with their piece, back turned fully to you. You opened your mouth to speak, but shut it just as quickly. Turning back to your canvas, you stared at it. Not daring to ruin what you had made, you set down the brush and patiently waited for the rest of your classmates to finish.

Your chest bloomed, but your heart withered. How did your brain conjure this up? Sure, it wasn't professional and not even display worthy, but it made you feel something. Something familiar.

You must have zoned out, a loud clap snapping you from the trance as you looked up at the source. Seonghwa stood near the front of the class again, gathering his students’ attention once more.

“Our time is almost up, as always. Great work today. Even if it was just a stickman, your creations will always be beautiful. You can leave your pieces where they are, and when we come back, we can varnish them, and then you’re welcome to explain your piece if you’d like. Until then, have a great night, be safe. See you next week.” Seonghwa smiled that charming, warm smile again, before beginning to clean his desk.

Everyone gathered their supplies and packed their bags, one by one heading out the door as they talked idly with one another.

You stayed in your seat, eyes glued to your piece. It was time to leave.

When you finally stood to gather your things and clean your area, there were only two other people in the room, standing in front of Seonghwa’s desk and talking to him. Asking questions you assumed. You ignored them, and just as you gathered the rest of your stuff, they filed out the door. Now it was just you and him.

The air was still and the rain pattered softly on the windows.

“Will I see you next week?” His voice cut through the silence, almost startling you. Soft, yet firm. Expecting. You turned his direction, realizing you hadn’t even thought about whether you were going to return or not. He wasn't looking up, busy jotting down something in a notebook.

“I don’t know.” You answered simply. “Guess we’ll have to see.” You smiled nervously, and then you realized how rude that must have sounded. You scrambled to defend yourself.

“You’re an amazing teacher, and you really helped me understand what I was doing… I think. It just depends on how the week treats me, I guess.” He lifted his eyes finally, pressing the tip of his pen against his soft bottom lip. His eyes trailed up, then down, before landing back on your face.

“I look forward to seeing you next week, Ms…?” Dumbfounded to say the least at his confidence in the idea you��d come back. You were caught off guard, stuttering out your name in response.

“(Name)..” he stated quietly, like he was taste testing the syllables. He smiled again and set his pen down on his mess of a desk, folding his hands and resting his chin on them.

He nodded his head down at his desk, urging you to come forward. “Your list of supplies is on my desk. Come pick them up before you go, please.”

You hesitated, feet glued to your spot. Before you forced your legs to move and carry you to his desk. He watches you with every step, eyes never leaving you once.

You stopped in front of him, picked up the paper, and glanced down at it. Necessities, with recommended brands, ranging from the most expensive to budget-friendly. Locations of nearby art stores and QR codes to videos in case you’d like to practice on your own time. Thorough. His full name was scrawled at the bottom. Park Seonghwa.

When you looked back up, he was standing behind the desk, eye level with you, as his hands rested on the surface, palms flat, hunched over the papers.

A strange heat flushed your neck as his stare pinned you down, his fingers tapping against the desk in a slow rhythm like he was pacing himself.

Then he straightened, sat back down, and looked back down at the notebook. “That's all.” 

What.

You turned stiffly and hurried out the door before anything else weird could happen. You forgot your umbrella and walked out into the street, the rain soaking your clothes as you began walking back home hurriedly.

What the fuck.

There was no way you could go back.

A few days had passed, and work came and went. Draining as always. And even though you weren't even sure if you’d go back to the paint class, it was all you could think about. But was it the painting… or the painter that drew you in?

You found yourself standing in front of a crafts shop, the paper he gave you in your hand as you stared through the glass windows into the store. Were you really going to buy this stuff? Does this solidify your return? Guess you’ll find out.

Stepping into the store, you were met with silence. Like nobody was there/ Maybe one person browsing the paint section, one or two at customer service, other than that it was a ghost town. You looked down at your list and nodded to yourself, stepping further into the store to find the supplies you needed.

Some basic paint palette, an array of brushes, canvases, small and large. The store was homey, stone floors and wood walls, soft music played from the intercom as you meandered about the building, browsing different sections.

You were near the back of the store, in front of a canvas display. They had black canvases, white ones, canvases so large they could probably cover your bedroom floor. You grabbed a couple of 9x12s in case you wanted to practice at home.

You turned to go see what paints they had when you saw him.

Your instructor was across the aisle, looking at stencils and rulers. He hadn’t noticed you yet, and as quickly as you could, you walked the opposite direction, further towards the back of the store.

You could not handle him right now, the intense stares, the strange tension between you two. You pretended to look at the scissors on the wall, taking great interest in the different colors and sizes.

You waited there a few minutes in hopes that he had moved on.

“Need help choosing a pair of scissors? Contrary to popular belief, they are not all the same thing.”

Fuck.

You craned your head up to see the man of the hour standing behind you, a smile on his face and a shopping basket in his hand. Wearing a plain black V-neck that hugged his chest just a little too tightly, and some wide-leg blue jeans. You let your eyes wander for just a second before answering him.

“I’m okay, thank you, though.” He nodded in acknowledgment before raising an eyebrow in question.

“Coulda swore I saw you come in earlier, but I wasn’t sure if it was you or not.” So you were screwed from the beginning he had seen you walk into the store. He nodded down at the list in your hand, his smile widening as his gaze fell over the almost full shopping basket in your hand.

“I see you’re stocking up for upcoming classes. I’m happy to see that.” He stepped closer into your space. You needed to leave before you jumped his bones.

What no. Why would you think that? What's wrong with you?

“Well, I’m still deciding, y’know, I'm so busy with work and whatnot,  I have to make sure I have time..” You smiled nervously, trying to sound as believable as possible. Seonghwa cocked his head to the side in confusion, his tongue poking out to swipe across his bottom lip. He bobbed his head, and a small laugh slipped from him, like he was in disbelief.

“That's funny. From what I could tell, you really enjoyed my class. You came in all tense and closed up, but by the end, though you seemed like you really let yourself enjoy something.” Now you were somewhat offended. You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“And what do you think you know about me? I was trying something for the hell of it. I wasn’t searching for something.” Lying through your teeth. And he seemed to sense that.

His smile only widened at your response, his hand coming up and raking through his long hair.

“Anyone with eyes could look at you and tell there's more to you than you’re letting on, and that's okay. We’re strangers, I don't need to know everything about you. But if you don’t like my assumptions about you, you can fix it by telling me about yourself.”

This asshat.

“I’m glad you’re so sure of yourself, Mr. Park.” You sneered, turning to walk towards the cash register, so you could check out and leave. “But I know what I want, and right now I want to go home. It was nice seeing you, but you are slowly losing me. Sunday might be reserved for nights at home again if this attitude of yours is something I’ll have to deal with every week.”

They pulled a deep laugh from him, one that stopped you in your tracks. “Well, you’re still buying the supplies, baby, so I’m assuming that you’ll be seeing my face sooner than you’d like to let on.”

 The stupid pet name made your stomach flip and your cheeks heat. Unfortunately, it was more teasing than in an endearing way, which made you want to put him in his place even more. But before you could retort, Seonghwa took a peek into your basket before looking back up at you.

 “Looks like you’re missing just a few more things. Here, c'mon." He placed his palm against the small of your back, urging you to walk with him. You followed without much objection, mumbling curses quietly to yourself as he guided your body to walk to the other side of the store.

You stopped in front of a display of gloss varnish and some easels. Along with a couple gold gold-framed mirrors on the top shelf. He leaned over your shoulder, his lips close to your ear again. “See here.” He whispered, “Some varnish if you’d like to preserve the paintings. And an easel so you can paint without hunching the whole time. I promise you it’ll do your back wonders.”

While he spoke, one hand reached forward and grabbed a bottle of varnish, dropping it into your basket, while the other traced a feather-light trail down your spine. You shivered at the touch, his smile widening at your reaction.

For a moment, it was just you two again. Your eyes met in one of the mirrors. Seonghwa’s gaze was low, calm, but there was a twinge of something else in it. Like a barely controlled sense of need. Want. His eyes were half lidded as he watched your brows furrow at the feeling of his touch along your back. His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth. He hummed against your ear quietly, his hand twitched, like he wanted to hold more of your body. Like he wanted to touch you like you were his.

Or maybe you were crazy, lack of sleep. You barely knew him. Maybe you needed to get laid.

He pulled away and grabbed a couple of bottles of varnish for himself, dropping them in his basket. 

“Looks like you got it all, sweetheart,” he smiled, and you turned, ripping your eyes from the mirror and directing your attention up at him. His hand reached forward and held a lock of your hair between his fingers, letting the strands dance between his knuckles.

Seonghwa’s eyes roved all over your face, taking you in, like he was trying to memorize everything about you. “I’d love to paint you someday, beautiful. Would you let me?” It took everything in your power not to let your mouth fall open in shock at his words.

“Me..?” you swallowed, fingers fiddling nervously as your gaze fell to your feet.

“You.” He stated simply, like he was talking about the least intimate thing in the world. His finger pinched your chin gently and tilted your head up to look at him. He tilted your head to the right, then to the left, up, and then down, like he was mapping your face. Trying to figure out what colors would work, what shading to use, and what brushes would perfectly encapsulate the acne scars and the texture of your skin. What brush would perfectly capture the slope of your nose, and what colors would mix for that beautiful shade of your iris. 

“Think about it.” He said, leaving no room for argument, before letting go of your chin and turning to walk away. 

‘‘See you next Sunday, love.” And he was gone.  The fucking audacity. And guess what.

Sunday came faster than you would have liked. And you were in your mirror, touching up your hair. A tote bag filled with art supplies, as you prepared to head to your second class.

The fucker had you. Had you wrapped around his finger. He was alluring, annoying, beautiful, and you didn’t want to give him credit for it. But he was right. You enjoyed the class, and you liked that he was able to pull that creativity out of you. And you liked looking at him. And hearing his voice.

It was raining again today. You decided that being early wasn’t important today. So you left your house at 6:50, showing up at 7:15. Make him think you weren’t coming, but unfortunately, your punctual nature wouldn’t allow you to be any later than that. You did your best.

You walked into the building, stood in front of the door for a second, gathering your bearings. You twisted the knob and walked inside, more confidence in your walk than your first day.

Once again, heads turned to look at you, the same 6 students in their respective spots. However, your seat in the back was gone. And the only empty chair was the one closest to Seonghwa’s desk. He was sitting on his stool, a finished painting on the easel, a wide paintbrush in hand as he demonstrated varnishing the artwork.

His eyes locked with yours, only for a second before looking back at his task. “Nice of you to join us (Name.) Have a seat, we’re just varnishing.” Slowly, you made your way to the empty seat by his desk, sitting down and setting your supplies out.

“While most artists didn’t varnish impressionism pieces, we are for the sake of preservation. They preferred the matte, rough look. But they lived in Europe, where the sun didn’t shine. Your art kind of needs the varnish now more than ever. We're using a satin varnish that keeps the natural look, but offers a bit of protection. So don’t worry, they won’t be ruined.”

He clapped his hands and set down the brush, standing from his stool. “You can come up and grab your pieces from the drying rack and begin varnishing. I’ll walk around, and just let me know if you have any questions.” Everyone stood to grab their pieces, you following suit.

Seonghwa stood by the rack, watching as each individual picked up their pieces. You were last, his eyes following your every move. Pretending you didn’t see him, you grabbed your piece and walked back to your seat.

If he wants to play games, you simply won’t give him the satisfaction. You pulled the varnish that you bought from your bag and a large brush, setting your canvas on your easel. You gave the painting a once-over, still somewhat astounded that you could create something so pretty.

You opened the bottle and poured it into a cup, dipping the brush and beginning. The rain fell steadily as the students' idle chatter once again faded into background noise as you focused on your task.

Carefully as you could, you spread the varnish about your work, admiring as the soft sheen coated the colors and made them more vibrant. Stroke by stroke, you were evening out the gloss, and soon enough, the whole canvas was covered.

You were so lost in your work that you hadn’t noticed that Seonghwa was not in fact walking around the room, but standing at the back of the studio. Back against the wall, arms crossed, head tilted lazily to the side. His eyes were trained directly on the back of your neck. 

His gaze followed the curve where your neck met your shoulder, how your shoulder blades poked only slightly through your shirt, down and aligning your waist, admiring your attentiveness. Oh, how he’d love to capture every part of your body and hang it on his wall proudly. He didn’t know what it was about you.

You were nothing special, another young girl finding her way through life, discovering her passions. But there was just something. He couldn't place his finger on it. But he wanted to find out as soon as possible.

He walked back towards the front, striding towards your seat. But just as he was about to speak, some varnish dribbled down the brush onto your hands. Immediately, Seonghwa was at your side, grabbing your wrist, making you drop the brush.

Surprised, you yelled quietly at the contact. “What the hell, what did I do?” Not giving you time to object, he lifted you by your arm, urging you to follow him. However, in his frantic movement, his face and voice remained calm as he walked you both to the door.

“Varnish can irritate if it gets on the skin.” He spoke as he led you into the hall. The other students paid you no mind as he led you to the bathroom.

“It's best to rinse the area for about 15 minutes, because it could cause a burn.” He turned on the light and switched on the faucet, dragging your wrist under the cold faucet water.

“I can do it myself.” You groaned. The bathroom was cramped, his chest pressed against your back as you looked into the mirror. He let go of your wrist, a little too slowly, as you left your hand under the running water. He physically couldn’t step back in the confined space.

He remained behind you, watching you in the mirror. Your gaze stayed on your hand as you twisted your wrist to get the water all over your hand. The bathroom was silent, despite the rush of water and the hum of the air vent.

The air. Stagnant. The tension. Thick.

“Do you need to hover?” You asked, your voice smaller than you had liked. “I’m not 5, I don't need adult supervision, Sir.” You hissed around the last word, but Seonghwa’s breath caught in his chest so quickly you hadn’t caught it. 

He was so close, and refused to admit it was driving you mad. You could smell him, and you wouldn’t dare look in the mirror, because if you met his gaze, you just might snap. He was too much. He dripped sex appeal. Control. Authority. But it was gentle. Suggestive, like he would never do anything unless you got on your knees and begged for him. Like if your body cried for him.

 You turned off the faucet when you were sure the area was clean, and you were about to turn and walk out of the bathroom.

A hand, slender, large, and firm. With the softness of a mother’s touch, it slipped around the front of your throat, grounding you. His chest pressed harder against your back, almost pushing you against the sink. Your hands gripped the bowl of the sink, holding your upper body up as you felt him against you.

Seonghwa leaned his head down, pressing his lips against your ear. His breath tickled the shell, and your breath quickened.

“What is it about you?” He murmured against your ear. His breathing was heavier, his chest rising and falling against your back. “It's irking me so fucking bad.” His nose dipped into that soft spot between your neck and shoulder, inhaling softly.

Whimpering was your first mistake. His whole body shivered as he placed the softest of kisses on the nape of your neck. “Tell me no.” He whispered. His free hand came up and gripped your jaw lightly, directing your gaze to the mirror.

You locked eyes with him in the reflective glass, your knees going weak at the primal look he was giving you. “Look at me and tell me you don’t want this.”

Your lips remained glued shut. Your eyelids fluttered, and Seonghwa's hand rested on your jaw, his thumb rubbing your cheek coaxingly. You leaned back into his touch, a question in your eyes.”

“Ask.” He demanded, already sensing you had something to say.

“Are you playing with me?” You mumbled, your lips slightly slurred with the hold he had on your jaw.

“No playing. No games, darling. I promise I’ll be as gentle as I can.” There was a false promise in his tone, and he could barely hide the smile that tried to creep onto his lips.

The hand on your throat tilted your head up, craning your neck as his neck tilted down, his nose brushing yours, and his breath fanning against your lips. You were hesitant. But only because you were afraid that if you let him, you might become addicted. Then you’ll come crawling back by the end of it.

But that filthy, shameful dark corner in your mind couldn’t resist him. Your stomach clenched, and your heart battered in your ribcage. Suddenly, the bathroom was too hot, and the tension was so thick you couldn’t breathe. You needed to breathe. You needed Seonghwa to give you air.

So with the last bit of oxygen in your lungs, you parted your lips and whimpered out the softest, most pliant, “Please.” And that was all he needed.

Like he was savoring it, he brushed the skin of his lips against yours, back and forth, before opening his mouth and swallowing your lips. The slowest, most sensual rhythm of lips against lips. And you could breathe again.

You sighed into his mouth, and the sound only spurred him further. His lips moved away, but only for a second, before he turned you around and pressed your back against the sink. His hand around your throat again as he pressed his body into yours, melding with you like he belonged there. His mouth moved against you like you were the most flavorful thing he had ever had the pleasure of tasting, his thumb rubbing the side of your throat, his other hand gripping your hip, pulling you closer to him as he devoured you. Your hands lifted and gripped his hair at the scalp, dragging a groan from his throat, his lips smiling against yours at the feeling of your hands.

“So soft..” he moaned into your mouth, barely giving you time to think as your head spun at the pure intensity of the kiss. “So fucking sweet.” 

Your eyes were shut, but his were open, watching himself in the mirror as the hand on your throat moved to grip the back of your neck. He watched his flex tendons flex as he held your neck possessively, like he owned you. The way your back arched and your body trembled. 

“Seonghwa…” You whined into his mouth. He almost growled, pushing his tongue into your mouth and drinking the pretty sounds you made.

“Again.” He groaned like it hurt, his eyebrows furrowed, and the grip on your waist tightened. “Say it again.”

You obeyed. “Seonghwa…” His kisses were rougher, claiming and violent. Like he wanted to eat you alive. You were lost in him, his roaming hands, and the way his body kept trying to push itself into you as if you both could even possibly physically be any closer.

“Fucking beautiful.” He pulled from your lips, littering kisses along your neck, both hands sliding up your shirt and tickling the sides of your waist. “Making the most lovely sounds. I’d pick you up and fuck you against this wall if I you’d let me. Would you let me, huh, pretty girl?”

You nodded frantically, thighs clenching at the mere thought.

And suddenly you remember this was your instructor. There were students in the other room. They were bound to wonder where you two were soon.

“W-we have to go back…” You whispered, his large hands kneading the flesh of your waist, like the thought of letting you go might just kill him. He groaned, pressing one last, claiming kiss on your shoulder. He pulled back and let his hands fall from your body, and suddenly you were cold.

Seonghwa took a deep breath, calming himself. He looked at you, pupils dilated and lips flushed. “Stay here. Leave in 10 minutes. Class is almost over. Once everyone leaves, come back to the studio.”

Leaving no room for debate, he opened the door and left. Your back still against the sink, hair disheveled, and lips kiss-swollen. Did that really just happen? Silence enveloped you as you leaned against the wall, waiting.

What must have been the longest ten minutes of your fucking life, the anticipation swirling in your gut. You had never been so soaked.

Seonghwa left so quickly. If he had stayed any longer, he for sure would have had his way with you regardless of whether anyone was in the other room. He’d make you scream just so they could hear. But he had manners, ones that he was slowly forgetting more and more each time he laid eyes on you. He sat in the front of the class behind his desk, eyes void as he tried his best not to think of how pretty you looked, arched over the sink. Hair a hot mess, body trembling, taking what he gave you like a good girl.

His foot tapped against the ground impatiently, and finally. 9 pm. The students gathered their things, waved their goodbyes, and slowly filed out of the studio. The lights were turned off, and the rain beat against the windows harder.

You were sure it had been 10 minutes. Slowly, you opened the door and peeked into the hall. Silence. Shutting the bathroom door, you turned the corner and began walking to the studio entrance. You hesitated, just a moment. Preparing yourself.

You placed your hand on the knob, twisted it, and pushed it open. You got one foot through the door when Seonghwa grabbed your wrist and yanked you inside, shutting the door and shoving you against it. Like an animal, he gave you no time to react, burying his hands in your hair and slotting his lips with yours.

“Finally..” he moaned, pressing his body against yours, rendering you helpless against the wall. You kissed back with just as much fervor, free to be as loud as you want. 

“Not enough,” he snarled, hands holding your waist as he picked you up, your legs wrapping around him as he carried you to his desk. Carelessly swiping the papers and such off as he set on the surface, his lips not once parting from yours. His hand slipped between our bodies, tracing down your stomach and landing on the button of your pants.

“Want these off, honey?” He whispered into your mouth, laughing softly at your frantic nods.

“Please, yes please…” His fingers danced along the hem, unbuttoning them slowly, slipping them down and off your legs. His kisses moved lower, mapping a trail down your body until he had sunk onto his knees, dragging his lips along the insides of your thighs. 

You looked down at him, his eyes never leaving yours and he placed a soft kiss against your clit through the thin lace of your panties. Your thighs shook, and his big hands spread them open for him, keeping them open with a strong grip.

“Hwa… please…. No more teasing.” He smiled and placed a rougher kiss against your clothed cunt. 

“I’ll tease you all I want, sweetheart, if you keep giving me such cute reactions.” His tongue fell out of his mouth, flattening against you as he dragged a long, stripe up your cunt, smiling when your whole body shivered at his touch.

“Such a responsive baby. I knew you’d be so good for me. Want these off too? Want to feel my tongue against that pretty pussy huh?” You were so fogged in the head, shame way past, with the only feeling you had was needed. Pure and unbridled need for him to fuck you stupid.

“Yes, fuck Seonghwa please!” His thumb hooked along the waistband, dragging your underwear down your legs and stuffing them in his pocket. The cold hit your cunt, soaked and throbbing for him.

“Uh huh.” His own voice shook with need, unable to pull his eyes away from you. “Don’t worry, I got you. I’ll take care of you.” Seonghwa’s hands curled around your thighs, keeping them steady as he kissed your clit, so softly, then wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

Immediately, your body pulled taught and your brain felt like it had been shocked, a deep, guttural moan escaping. His hands dug into your thighs like he was holding himself back, losing himself in your taste, drowning between your thighs.

“Fuck baby.” His tongue drew impossible patterns around your clit, one hand moving from your thighs to trace a finger up your soaked slit, gathering your wetness and teasing.

“I’ll fuck you open on my fingers and you’ll take it like a perfect slut right? You’re gonna take it for me?” You nodded, words fleeting and hard to grasp as you focused on the way he touched you. Like he’s known your body for eternity, knowing what buttons to press and what words to say to get your stomach fluttering.

With ease that should have been embarrassing, he slipped his fingers inside your warm cunt, immediately curling them to press against that spot that made your vision go white and your breath catch, all the while his mouth was relentless on your clit.

“Don’t talk, honey, just feel. Moan nice and loud, let me know I’m doing a good job, okay?” He hummed around your clit, sending pleasure ridden vibrations though you that made your back arch and your fists clench. Your hands flew forward and gripped his hair, grinding themselves against his mouth as his fingers dragged in and out of you so delicately, slowly, applying just enough pressure to have you tumbling towards your orgasm fast.

Your head fell back, biting your bottom lip as you continued to grind against his face. “Fuck, cummng Seonghwa…” His tongue only licked faster, his fingers pressing harder inside of you.

Suddenly, his fingers slowed and he pulled off of your clit, a depraved groan slipping from him. You whined in disappointment, so close to falling off the edge.

“Why…?” You whined, desperation lining your voice. He only smiled and placed gentle kisses on your inner thighs. 

“Beg,” Seonghwa stated simply, his voice breathless. “If you want it so fucking bad then beg for it princess.” Suddenly, the humiliation was setting in, but not enough for you to not beg.

He rested his cheek against your thighs lazily, looking up at you like you were the most stunning thing he had ever laid eyes on. “Nice and loud. Let me hear you. Beg like if I don’t let you cum you’ll die. Let me know how badly you need it.”

And you did. “Please Seonghwa, please I need you to fucking ruin me. Please, I’ll do anything. Please make me feel so good that I die, please.” So pathetic. So whiny and so desperate, exactly how Seonghwa liked it. Before you could continue he buried his face inbwtewen your thighs again, this time slipping his surprisingly longue tongue inside of you, fucking you eith his tongue. His fingers pinched your clit, rubbing it between his fingers and making noises so sinful, the sound of his voice was almost enough to make you shatter into a million pieces.

“You beg so beautifully for me, baby, cmon. Fall apart. Cum for me. You’ve earned it.” Your whole body shook as your orgasm overtook you, the grip on his hair impossibly tight. He groaned into your cunt from the pain in his scalp, which only spurred him on further. He wasn't stopping until he was done.

He continued to eat you like a man starved, even as overstimulation throbbed in your cunt. 

“Fuck Hwa, let up, too much!” he laughed at your pleas, kissing your clit one last time before standing, his tongue coming out to clean you off his lips. He brought his fingers to his mouth, his tongue delving between and licking your slick off himself. Dragging his tongue from the bottom of his wrist and up to his fingertips, eyes boring into yours.

Pulling off his fingers with a loud pop, he ripped his shirt off his body, his pants following right behind. His chest was beautifully toned, a honey gold that was good enough to eat. The dips and shadows in his abs that were so smooth you had the urge to sit on his stomach and grind against it.

But he didn’t give you time, before he grabbed your thighs pulling you to the edge of the desk, slotting himself between your legs and pulling his cock from his boxers, letting them fall to the floor and kicking them off his legs.

Teasingly, he slipped your shirt off your body, hands squeezing your waist, swallowing your lips in slow, deep kisses. 

He slid his cock through your soaked cunt, slicking the length of it up with your wetness. “Oh baby can’t wait to have you go dumb on my dick. Want me inside?’

Your arms circled around his back, nails dragging angry red stripes along his shoulder blades. 

“Yes Seonghwa, I’m all yours fuck me stupid, please you’re all I can think about…” Of course this only stirred his ego up more, his cock jumping in response to the pure need in your tone.

“Alright, baby, you’ll get what you want. Relax, loosen up for me and just feel…” 

He pulled his hips back, pressing his tip against your entrance. “Nice and slow, baby…” He pressed inside, and inch by inch, sinking into your cunt. He groaned, savoiring the feeling, wanting to drag it out for as long as possible before he lost himself and fucked you like he’d never fuck again.

Full was an understatement. You could feel every vein, the heat was burning inside of you, igniting a fire in your stomach that made your hips move on their own, rolling forward to take him deeper. He moans, unfiltered and dripping with want.

“That's it, love, that's it right there. Feeling full?” You moan into his mouth, he sucking your bottom lips into his mouth and savoring your warmth. When he bottomed out, he didn’t move, just feeling you clench and pulse around him.

“Such a creature of wonder you are, gorgeous.” He whispered, words waxing poetic, your head swimming at his praise. “I love the way you shake, the way you cry…” He pulled his hips back slowly, the slick sound vile…

And with a deep thrust, he knocked the wind from your lungs. Your back arched, and your nails bit into his skin harder. “Like it when I take you slow honey? Like it sensual, deep, all-consuming, huh?” 

You moaned in response as he found a rhythm, rolling his hips into you, dragging perfectly against your G-spot in a way that could have you passing out at any moment.

“Oh.. fuck Hwa….” your brows furrowed feeling so full each time he slipped out of you and thrusted right back in like he couldn’t stand being anywhere except inside of you.

“You…fuck..” He groaned, feeling himself losing it. “You minx. Look what you do to me.” A thrust so hard it shook the desk, you yelped, throwing your head back. Seonghwa took this opportunity to attach his lips to your exposed throat, no doubt littering you with dark, possessive marks,

“Mine, mine mine all fucking mine. R-right? You all mine, baby?”  Seonghwa's hips rolled into you deeper, like a second too long away from you would kill him.

“Yes Seonghwa yours, fuck, yours..”  His hands enveloped your waist, so big and so rough, feeling your stretch marks, his tongue tracing your collar bone, his thick cock sliding in and out so smoothly. 

“Wet little slut, all for me. Can’t get enough. Lean back, cmon.” You leaned back on the desk, elbows propped so you could keep your eyes on him. His hands holding your waist, his thumbs pressing into your abdomen as he rolled his hips in that delicious way again that made your thighs tremble.

“Gonna fuck you like I hate you mkay?” He whined, rubbing your stomach softly. “Take it.” And with a tough snap of his hips, he kept true to his words,

Seonghwa bullied his cock into your guts like he wanted to hurt you. Rough, sloppy, deep. And you took it.

“Look at you, take what I give you like it's all you deserve. Fucking beautiful.” He let his head fall back as he fucked you, your moans sweet music to his ears. Your broken sounds alternate between gasps for breath and whines of his name.

Relentless, feral, mean. He fucked you like your moans were a drug, hs greatest addiction.

“Fuck Seonghwa, gonna cum.” He laughed, your pathetic whines spurring him on to push you off that cliff, ruin you for any other man. He wants you crawling back to him. Begging him to mold you, to put you on your knees and show you just what it means to belong to someone. Belong to him.

“Dumb baby, gonna cum for me again?” Seonghwa pouted faxuly. You nod, mouth open, only staggering breaths and quiet whines coming out. Your eyelids fluttered and your stomach clenched as you approached that inevitable edge. He pulled you back up by your throat, crashing his lips into yours, nipping at your tongue, and moaning into your mouth. When he pulled from your lips, he pressed them against your ear, blowing air on the shell and nipping at the lobe.

“Then fucking cum (Name.).” Seonghwa moaned, the words traveling straight to your cunt. “Cum on my cock and scream like I’m God.” 

Your legs twitched, your eyes tunneled, and you came hard. Seonghwa did not let up, in fact he fucked you harder, dragging you through your orgasm like it didn’t just nearly knock you out.

“Fuck!” you squealed, legs going limp as he held you against his body, still fucking you without abandon.

“Good job baby, good fucking girl.” He praised you, soft like his cock wasn’t turning you inside out. “Gonna cum inside of this pretty cunt. Take it, take it like you’ve been taking me so good all night.”

His hips stuttered and with a final, deep thrust, he groaned, kissing you like you might disappear, as he slowly fucking his cum deep inside of you, being sure not a single drop went to waste.

You both stayed like that for a long while, savoring each other's pleasure and letting your breaths mingle in tandem, existing in each other’s presence. His hands gently caressed your waist, soothing your body and just feeling your skin.

“Still with me?” He mumbled, pressing gentle kisses along your shoulder and massaging your body like you might break in his hold.

“Yeah..” You croaked, voice strained and body exhausted. He smiled against your neck and breathed you in. 

“Could you go for one more?” Seonghwa teased.

“Are you insane? I think you broke me.” He laughed, kissing your lips slowly, smiling against you, and caressing your neck gently, rubbing the tension out of it. 

Reluctantly, he slipped out of you, groaning and the loss of your warmth. “Cmon, let's get you dressed and I’ll take you home.” His voice soft and alluring, he helped you stand and cleaned you up, kissing up your legs as he wiped you clean and, like the gentleman he was, slipping your clothes back on and pampering you like you deserved.

“You’re dangerous,” Seonghwa whispered as he walked you down the sidewalk back to your townhome, hand interlaced with yours while the other held an umbrella over both of you.

The streets were quiet, well into the night, as he walked you home, his thumb rubbing your hand soothingly.

“You too.” You teased me. “But trust, I'll be in class next Sunday.” His smile widened at your words, stopping in front of your home and turning to face you.

“I do hope I’ll see you sooner, though. Dinner sometime, maybe?” Your cheeks flushed, and suddenly you were shyer than you had been all night.

“How could I say no to such a face?” You embraced, sharing one last kiss, before he walked you to your door.

“Catch you later, teach.” You stood in your doorway, heart fluttering as he looked at you with pure adoration.

“See you soon, (Name),” Seonghwa replied, eyes soft, placing a gentle kiss on the back of your hand, before turning and descending the steps back out into the rain. And your door shut, signifying the beginning to that passion you’ve been craving oh so badly.