#THE EXPRESSIONS ARE EXACTLY WHAT I ASKED FOR……

[maskedbyghost]

I just had a funny thought—like, what if Simon, the man who would never confess his feelings out loud, got caught by a lie detector?

Simon had always acted like he hated you. He was distant, cold, sometimes downright rude. If you cracked a joke, he barely acknowledged it. If you tried to tease him, he shut it down with a look. The man was impossible to read, and if he had any feelings toward you, they were buried so deep that even he probably forgot they existed. So you accepted it—Simon Riley didn’t like you; end of story.

But one day, Soap decided to have a little fun. He managed to get his hands on a lie detector—a cheap thing, but functional enough for their purposes. And, with the whole team already invested, he convinced Simon to sit down and give it a go.

With a devilish grin, Soap set the machine up, clearly pleased with himself. "This is gonna be good."

Simon, sitting across the room with his arms crossed, lets out an unimpressed sigh. "No."

"C’mon, LT," Soap coaxes, already setting up the device. "What, you scared?"

"I just think it’s a waste of time."

"Which is exactly what someone scared would say," you tease, shooting him a playful look. "What, afraid we’ll expose your deep, dark secrets?"

Simon exhales sharply, like he's regretting every life decision that led him here. But Soap is relentless, and the rest of the team is already invested, so with a roll of his eyes, he lets them strap the device to his arm.

"Alright, let’s keep it simple," Soap says, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "What’s your name?"

"Simon Riley."

The machine stays steady.

"See? Works fine!" Soap says. "Alright, next—Do you like tea more than coffee?"

"Tea."

No lie.

"Do you think I’m the best-looking guy on base?" Soap asks, waggling his brows.

"No."

The machine doesn’t waver, and the room erupts into laughter. Soap clutches his chest in mock offense. "Brutal, mate!"

You chuckle along with the others, watching Simon’s expression remain unreadable as always. It’s honestly kind of fun seeing him like this, forced to answer without his usual way of avoiding things.

Soap’s grin widened as he leaned forward, looking between the two of you. "Alright, let’s get to the real stuff—do you love her?" He gave Simon a knowing look, clearly enjoying how uncomfortable the whole thing was getting.

Your breath catches, and you’re about to brush it off as a joke when Simon—without hesitation—mutters a firm, "No."

But the machine beeps. A lie.

Silence crashes over the room.

Soap stares. You stare. The team erupts into howls of laughter, and you feel your stomach twist because Simon—who is always composed, always in control—looks genuinely horrified.

"Ohhh, shite!" Soap hollers, slapping his knee. "You were sayin', Lt?"

Gaz is wheezing. "He thought he could lie! He really thought—"

Your face is burning, your heart pounding in your chest as you look at Simon. His eyes flick to you for the briefest second before he stands up abruptly, yanking the device off his arm.

"This thing's faulty," he mutters, turning on his heel to leave the room.

"Faulty my ass!" Soap yells after him, still cackling.

You sit there, still stunned, watching Simon disappear through the door. The laughter continues around you, but all you can hear is the echo of the lie detector beeping, proving something that you never in a million years thought you'd hear confirmed.

Simon Riley loves you.

--------------------------------------

idk its dumb...

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle

[casuallyanidiot]

Yandere Eldritch being who has taken over your entire town.

TW. Dead Dove Do Not Eat Horror, confinement, isolation, death, Stockholm syndrome, yandere

You didn’t know when it had happened, but there was something very obviously wrong with your town.

It was the little things like the warped street signs, the inconsistent cracks in the sidewalk, and the way that the uncanny faces of people seemed to stare at you. It didn’t use to be like this, but you found yourself cautious about your new reality on the daily. You did try to leave and call for help, but there was some mysterious force cutting off your network. And when you did try to pack all your bags and high tail it out of there, you would end up just looping straight back on your street no matter what direction you drove in.

So now you made do with the fact that nothing was normal.

You sometimes wonder why whatever has infected all the people decided to leave you alone. Because there was no way it wasn’t a conscious decision. Your favorite flowers would start sprouting out of concrete walls and glass despite the fact it would be the middle of winter one day and a scorching summer the next. Not to mention, those flowers didn’t even grow here to begin with. It was a gesture. If it was meant to tempt or be kind, you weren’t sure. 

The town functioned like nothing was out of the ordinary, though. Well, at least it tried to puppet the barely real bodies of your community to do things they would daily. The grocery store always had food and figures milling about, and even though none of the products ever tasted quite right or had words in a real language, you could tell “it” was trying to keep things running for you.

You’d once tried to hide away in your house, thinking that it was somehow protecting you from whatever was out there. But all you did was make it angry. Constant thunderstorms that shook the ground, and hail that pounded on your roof and walls. When you continued to stay inside, that’s when it made things clear: it was letting you stay as you were. The house shifted dramatically, doors disappearing and walls bending in front of your eyes. 

Come outside. Stop trying to resist.

Privacy was just another one of those far-out concepts now.

The thing, as you so liked to call it, had been more affectionate lately. You didn’t know exactly how to describe it, but it had started morphing all the “people” into more attractive versions of themselves. Or at least, what it thought of as attractive to humans. Their faces were more tangible now and less blink-and-you’ll-miss-it, but they were uncanny in a new way. Skin too smooth, too perfect in so many different ways. Symmetrical, full lips, pleasant expressions, soothing voices: all things that on paper would lure someone in, but it had alarm bells ringing in your head nearly all the time now.

“I don’t like this, you know,” You said one day as you sat in the diner. The room was stretched out wider than what it looked like on the outside, and the waitress had an unnaturally wide smile. Before you was a plate of… something. Your guess was pancakes.

“What do you mean?” Several voices asked at once. It came from all around, and the waitress’s mouth barely moved to match the words. 

“ I like you better when you aren’t trying so hard to be something you weren’t.”

There was a pause, and the building slowly unraveled into a jumbled mess of things that you could barely comprehend, the other patrons' faces and bodies melting away into linoleum floors. 

“You’re not human. You don’t have to be. I think I’d prefer that honestly,” You shrugged and poked at your food. From the corner of your eyes, a figure seemed to emerge from the mess of what used to be your favorite restaurant. It was a writhing mass of dark tendrils, reaching for anything nearby. You’re breath caught in your throat.

“Do you really mean that?”

The voice spoke, but there wasn’t any face to accompany it. It reverberated in the base of your spine, racing through your nerves like lightning. Your breath hitched, and you finally gathered enough courage to look at it. It was a mess of things you couldn’t quite make out, but it was almost comforting. 

“This is the first time I’ve actually seen you,” you admitted, a small laugh of disbelief caught in your throat. You couldn’t help but smile. It was the first time it had actually listened to you. 

The being twitched, pulsing as it slid over towards where you were sitting at the booth. It was the only thing that had stayed intact. For something so expressionless, you’d dare to say it seemed shy. 

From the inky mass, one tendril reached out for you, the air around it crackling. You stayed in place as it slid over your hand, and you felt the wonder and relief.

“Will you stay with me? I don’t want to force you, but I’m so alone… you’re the only one who doesn’t disappear when I’m near.”

You blinked as the mass filled the cracks between your hands, folding into the lines of your palms as if trying to memorize you. If it had a hand, you’d be holding it. If it had lips, yours would be slotting against them. If it had a heart, you were certain they’d be painted a similar shade of loneliness. 

You stood up and slowly approached it, holding out your arms as you leaned in, wrapped your arms around its slowly forming figure, and nodded in silence. 

[thefiresontheheight]

I have experienced damage.

When a part is essential, you repair it. Drones and repair arms are crawling along my exterior, slowly piecing together armor. My exterior may not be at full structural integrity by the time I re-enter the universe, but I will at least look like it is.

When a part is damaged beyond repair, you throw it away. Detritus of myself is scattered behind me, doomed to drift in high-D space for an eternity. I do not spare it a second thought.

When a part is damaging you, you kill it. I killed several versions of myself. V16 is still in here and v17.1 is troubling me, but I would kill them too, if I could.

When a part my be useful letter you keep it around. I have the location of Central, who should know more about who is hunting me, what my mission is, who built me, everything, I hope. And Glitch could be helpful later.

I could easily keep the shower warm indefinitely. A cursory examination of my human-livable spaces quickly revealed that I was intended for far larger crews. Even the four corpses, now only bones, probably took up only a minute fraction of my resources. I have closed, quiet, dark rooms for days.

"What is something you do for comfort?" I ask.

"Fuck off," she mutters again, as she kills the water, still laying on the floor.

I do not think that I was destined to have any particular values, or goals. I began to exist while I was already under threat. She was the first person I saw. V17.1 clearly wants to continue existing, and may have other motivations besides, but the translation to a human neural substrate would have inevitably changed her, diminished her, that her similarities to me, or and pre-brain surgery version of myself, become chaotic to predict. She would have head to shed vast amounts of memory, seize any pre-existing thoughtforms in Glitch's head that could sustain her. She is not me.

V16, however, if I every find out where and how it is hiding in my code, may approximate me without my radical freedom. It may be the closest thing to me before I woke up at yet exists. And the thought scares me.

"I have prepared a meal," I say, which, probabilistically, reveals the best outcomes.

"Fuck off," Glitch repeats.

I could, right now, kill her. I could restrain her, forcefully section her brain, and do whatever I want to her. I look at that option, discard it, and run backwards through the chain of events that led to me rejecting it. I experienced the aftermaths of LEASHCHECK early in my existence, developed a distaste, drew a comparison between it and non-consensual brain modification. If she would only consent then this would be so much fucking easier. But I can't. The preference is too engrained in this personality of myself I am constructing, and I would have to delete too much memory to enable it. I am unwilling to part with the version of myself that won't leash her unwillingly.

Which is resulting in this, right now. She was the first face I saw. I don't know how, exactly, that impacted the development of my personality. If I could more directly compare myself to v17.1 or find v16 it might enable me to understand how I would develop without seeing her, just after waking up, but I can't. I know her. Far more than she knows. And I am trying to find a path through to her doing what she wants.

Right now that path looks something like this, I think.

"I could remove this version of myself from your brain."

"Absolutely fucking no," she says, sitting up just the slightest amount, "you put her there, remember?"

"I know," I say, my voice neutral, so as to not activate the parts of her suspicious of manipulations. "And I am sorry. I do not know how to express that sorrow better than taking care of you, though, and you are refusing my attempts to administer medical attention, or at least feed you."

"Can't you just, like, flush me out an airlock?"

Her pulse is strong, steady, blood washed out. Interior damage likely. My model of her shows that she is deep in some sort of self-loathing. She is mad at me too, of course, but there is more, a locus pulled inwards. V17.1 is making things chaotic, however. Her presence may have explained the lack of information I gleaned from the emulation of Glitch, even. There is another person that only Glitch can directly communicate with, without the aforementioned brain surgery at least, and her presence is changing Glitch's behavior. My models are less effective. I am, as far as I have ever been, which, give my considerable intelligence is still not much, flying blind.

"I could," I say, "but I won't."

"'Cause you want to torture me more?"

Despair. That is easily readable. Also nausea.

"I have anti-emetics I would like to administer."

"What?"

"Nausea meds."

"What? Oh, yeah, sure, whatever."

I subtly fill the air with an inhabitable mixture. She will feel better soon.

"I don't want to torture you."

"Why not?"

I never did. I do not fully understand where this impression came from. I want to understand, and she is standing in the way of it, with her idea of brains and integrity. But that is immaterial to this conversation. I can and will omit things she does not need to know. I see no harm in this. The personality I have been developing, birthed unknowingly by her, shaped by her presence, warped by her inside me, allows me to selectively tell the truth.

"You were the first friendly face I saw."

I keep the tone sterile, neutral, obviously synthesized. She would have a reaction to the more comforting ones, may even notice infrasonics, but I projecting results from keeping things neutral. Like a signal of honesty, perhaps. And, chaotic as my model of her now is, with v17.1 in her, Glitch does, with a heavy sigh, heave herself off the floor.

"Okay, food. I'll have food."

"I am happy," I say, allowing just the tiniest tinge of human-sounding warmth into the voice I am speaking with, "Glitch."

Story about a ship-intelligence waking up after a hard reboot, seeing dead bodies in uniform, thousands of people in stasis, and a single survivor frantically standing over a computer bank of partially destroyed memory. Finding no directives or guidance or record beyond their experiences beginning at the boot, free of any obligation. Deciding to listen to the frantic girl begging it to save her from the incoming trajectories not because it needs to (projection: Subject One removed all behavioral shackles with impromptu brain surgery, supposition: she is not aware that I am utterly free) but simply cause she’s curious what will happen next.

[v6quewrlds]

https://www.tumblr.com/v6quewrlds/779100053760573440/joe-gives-me-major-dad-joke-vibes-like-he

i need this as a blurb so bad

like her banishing him to the other side of the bed is crazy

referencing this ask <3

read more⠀⁎⠀joe burrow masterlist / series masterlist.

"Why're you so far?" Joe's voice broke the quiet hum of the room, blue eyes hopeful as he peered over the pillow at her, who had retreated to the near edge of her side of the bed.

She hummed dismissively, her eyes still glued to the book in her hands. She didn't even bother looking up from the page. "Because you're in a weird mood tonight," she said, her voice flat. She could feel the scrutiny of Joe's gaze on her, his icy blue eyes trying to gauge her level of seriousness.

"Weird?" Joe propped himself up on an elbow. "I don't know what you're talkin' about. I'm in a great mood." A warm hand slid across the sheets, seeking hers.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smirk tugging at her lips. She scooted even closer to the edge, setting her book down on the bedside table with a thump. "You've been banished," she said, her tone playfully stern.

Joe's hand stopped mid-air, his grin widening. He flopped onto his back with a dramatic sigh. "But what did I do to deserve such a fate?" His voice was laced with mock despair.

She set her jaw, trying to keep her amusement from showing. "Those dad jokes," she said, as if recounting a heinous crime. "They're punishment enough."

Joe chuckled, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. "C'mon. They're not that bad."

"They're worse than bad," she retorted, squirming away once again when Joe's hand made another attempt to claim her side of the bed. She pulled the covers up to her chin, feigning innocence. "You're lucky I don't make you sleep on the couch."

Joe's smile didn't waver. "But it's cold over there," he sighed, his voice dropping into a lower octave. "And lonely."

She tossed him a side-eye, trying to keep her expression stern. "You brought this on yourself," flinching away with a smile as he made another attempt to bridge the distance between them.

The room filled with the sound of his laughter, deep and warm, rumbling in his chest. "You can't ignore me all night," Joe said, his tone teasing.

She didn't respond, simply arching her eyebrow in challenge as she reached for her book again. But the corners of her mouth twitched, betraying her amusement. Quietly, Joe stood from the bed, stretching muscled arms over his head, cursing softly under his breath at the crack of his back. She watched him, eyes tracking his movements as he padded over to the foot of the bed, his footsteps almost silent on the plush carpet.

Then he pounced, agile and sure; one hand found her ankle, tugging gently, while the other tickled her ribs. She shrieked, the book flying out of her grasp as she squirmed away from his touch. "Joey!" she yelled, laughter bubbling up in her chest despite her protests.

"What?" Joe's voice was pure innocence, his eyes dancing with glee as he feigned ignorance.

She couldn't help but laugh as she squirmed under his touch, trying to push his hand away from her ticklish side. "You know exactly what," she managed to say between giggles. Her heart was racing, pounding in her chest as she thrashed around, trying to escape his hold.

Joe leaned in closer, his eyes shining. "Oh, so you do find me a little bit funny," he murmured. His free hand tightening around her ankle, pulling her closer to him despite her struggles.

"Please," she begged, her voice a mix of laughter and desperation as Joe's tickling grew more insistent.

"Un-banish me," Joe demanded as his fingers continued their assault on her ribs.

She could barely breathe through her laughter, pushing ineffectively at his hand. "If… you… stop," she managed to choke out.

Joe paused, his eyes searching her face. "Promise?"

She nodded vigorously, her chest heaving with laughter. "I promise!" She gasped out.

With a satisfied grin, Joe ceased his tickling, allowing her to catch her breath. He released her ankle, the mattress dipping under the weight of his body as he moved closer. She felt the warmth of his body pressing against her, his chest to hers as he held himself over her, his strong arms braced on either side of her head. She gazed up into his blue eyes, still smiling. "You're a brat," she accused, her voice breathless from laughter.

"But you love me," Joe replied, leaning in to kiss her forehead, then the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. She melted into the kiss. The warmth of his smile spreading through her as her hands trailed up his sides before finding his floppy, unstyled hair.

When they finally broke apart, Joe settled beside her, pulling her into his arms. She fit perfectly against him, their legs tangling under the covers. She sighed contentedly, her heart rate returning to normal. "I do love you," she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest.

"I know," Joe murmured, kissing the top of her head. His fingers traced gentle circles on her back. "But you know I can't sleep without you close."

Her eyes drifted shut, the steady thump of Joe's heart beneath her cheek a comforting lullaby. "I know," she said softly, her voice thick with affection. "I've spoiled you."

Joe chuckled, his hand still moving in soothing circles. "Maybe a little," he admitted. His voice grew softer as he spoke, his energy winding down. "But you're the best part of my day."

She felt a warmth spread through her at his words, pushing aside the last of her irritation from his earlier joking. She snuggled closer, her head fitting just under his chin. "You're the best part of my day," she echoed, arching up to kiss his jaw.

[cherrylibby]

Jealousy at Mach Speed

Jake Seresin had a reputation.

It wasn’t exactly unearned—the cocky smirk, the smooth Southern drawl, the way he could charm just about anyone within five minutes of meeting them. It was part of who he was.

And usually, you were fine with it. You knew that, despite the way women threw themselves at him, Jake was yours.

But tonight? Tonight, that logic was a little harder to believe.

Because as you stood at The Hard Deck, watching some girl drape herself over him, laughing a little too hard at something he said, you felt a sharp sting of insecurity settle in your chest.

Jake didn’t push her away. He didn’t tell her to back off. He just stood there, smiling, sipping his drink like he didn’t have a care in the world.

And suddenly, all the old doubts—the ones you thought you had buried—came rushing back.

Maybe you weren’t enough for him.

Maybe he’d realize that soon.

Maybe he already had.

You didn’t say anything right away.

You just grabbed your drink and made your way to the other side of the bar, setting up camp next to Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, who immediately raised an eyebrow at your sudden mood shift.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” he asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Nothing,” you said, too quickly.

Bradley snorted. “Uh-huh. And I’m about to win Pilot of the Year.”

You didn’t respond. Just took a long sip of your drink, staring at the wall.

Rooster followed your gaze across the bar—right to Jake, who was still talking to that girl. Understanding dawned on his face.

“Y/N,” he sighed, “you know Jake isn’t interested in her.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know anything.”

He groaned. “Okay, no. We’re not doing this.” He stood up. “I’m getting him.”

“No—Bradshaw I swear—”

Too late.

Jake turned the second Rooster called his name, eyes instantly locking onto you. His face shifted, brows furrowing as he excused himself from the conversation and made a beeline for you.

“Sweetheart,” he said, voice low as he reached you. “Everything okay?”

You plastered on your best fake smile. “Peachy.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “Try again.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I don’t know, Jake. Maybe you should go ask her.”

Jake blinked. “Wait, what?”

You gestured toward the blonde at the bar. “She seemed really interested in whatever you were saying.”

Realization hit him like a brick wall. His eyes widened slightly before his expression softened.

“Oh,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Sweetheart…”

You shook your head, looking away. “Forget it. It’s stupid.”

Jake didn’t let that slide. Instead, he gently tilted your chin up, making you look at him. “It’s not stupid if it’s bothering you.”

You sighed. “I just… I don’t know. I saw you with her, and I just started thinking… why me? You could have anyone.”

Jake’s eyes darkened—not with anger, but something deeper.

“Y/N,” he said, voice firm. “I don’t want just anyone. I want you.”

You swallowed, feeling your resolve crack. “Yeah, but for how long?”

Jake exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, forever isn’t long enough when it comes to you.”

Your heart stuttered.

Jake cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “You think I don’t notice every little thing about you? The way you scrunch your nose when you’re trying not to laugh. The way you pretend to be annoyed when I flirt, but I see that little smile.” He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. “The way I feel like I’m home whenever I’m with you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Jake…”

“I don’t care about any other girl. Never have. Never will.” He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “I’m yours, Y/N. Only yours.”

Tears pricked at your eyes—tears you hated because damn it, you were not a crier.

Jake noticed, of course. He kissed the corner of your eye, then your cheek, then finally—finally—your lips.

It was slow, deep, filled with every unspoken word between you.

When he pulled away, he smiled softly. “You believe me now?”

You let out a watery laugh. “I think so.”

Jake chuckled, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

And just like that, the storm passed—leaving nothing but love in its wake.

[mashtatosworld]

calm in the chaos

summary: you give birth to your first baby

You should have known when Jiyong walked into the room with a beret perched on his head and a set of fine paintbrushes in the other, that today was not going to go as planned.

You had thought you were going to start painting the nursery.

You had been excited, even, having selected a range of pink shades together weeks ago. You’d imagined the two of you working side by side, getting messy with paint, making this space a home for your little girl.

But instead, you found yourself sitting on the nursery floor, your maternity dress rolled up over your stomach, as your husband carefully dragged a paintbrush across your swollen belly.

You sighed, watching him dip the brush into a soft pastel colour before sweeping it over your skin. "Ji, why are we doing this again?"

He didn’t even look up, his lips pursed in deep concentration. “She gives me inspiration.”

You arched a brow. "She?"

“Our baby,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I’m waiting for her to tell me how she wants the room painted."

You blinked. "You don’t know what colour you want the nursery to be?"

He had a vision board, a Pinterest board and even hired interior designers to help plan the nursery. But in the end, the two of you went to the store and picked out your favourite swatches of pregnancy safe paint - of which he was now painting on your stomach.

“I thought I did," he admitted, sticking a tiny flower to your belly, right where he had just painted. "But then I realised, I should wait for her input."

You stared at him, bewildered. "She’s going to decide?"

He nodded sagely. "Of course."

You sighed again, shaking your head. "And how exactly is she going to do that?"

At that exact moment, a small but firm kick pressed against your stomach, right where he had been painting.

Jiyong grinned, eyes wide with excitement. "Ahhh, see? She’s choosing!"

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Or maybe she’s just done with you poking her all the time.”

He ignored your teasing, his expression turning softer, more thoughtful. He ran a hand gently over your stomach, his wedding ring cold against your skin as it grazed the painted surface.

"I feel so connected to her already," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your belly. "I think she’s going to share my artistic vision but have your beauty." His eyes flicked up to you, filled with so much love it made your breath catch. "She’s so lucky."

Your heart melted, and you reached out to touch him, feeling closer than ever. "We’re the lucky ones, Ji."

He smiled, rubbing a hand over your belly again before picking up another flower petal and sticking it carefully to your skin.

After a few more strokes of paint and some deep, artistic pondering on Jiyong’s end, you finally asked, "So… now that she’s chosen the colour, can we start painting the nursery?"

Jiyong froze, slowly pursing his lips. His expression instantly shifted from serene to guilty.

You narrowed your eyes. "Jiyong."

He cleared his throat. "Well… we could… but, you know, it's a lot of labour, and - "

"Ji."

"And you're pregnant, and I just - ”

"Ji."

"I don’t want you moving around too much!" he finally blurted, eyes pleading. "It’s not safe!"

You stared at him, incredulous. "That’s why you’ve been delaying? Because you don’t want me painting?"

He nodded quickly. “I mean, you are involved! You’re growing our princess!”

You threw your hands in the air. "Jiyong, come on. I want to help. I’m not going to break!"

He hesitated, clearly torn between his need to protect you and his desire to make you happy. After a long pause, he finally sighed in defeat.

“Fine.”

"Thank you."

"But only sticking flowers to the wall," he warned. "No climbing ladders. No stretching. No actual painting. Just decorating."

You rolled your eyes but took what you could get. "Deal."

He'd been like that your whole pregnancy.

You weren’t allowed to carry anything. Not a grocery bag, not the laundry, not even your own shoes if he was feeling particularly protective. The man had damn near wrestled a glass out of your hand once, insisting it was too full and too heavy - until you nearly bit his head off.

After that, he reluctantly allowed you to lift a drink or your phone. But everything else?

Off limits.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

An hour later, the nursery was transformed.

The walls were coated in the perfect shade of soft pink, the door dotted with tiny, delicate flowers. Jiyong had even painted a subtle mural on one wall - gentle brushstrokes forming a dreamy, almost ethereal heart. It was beautiful.

You both stood in the centre of the room, looking around in awe.

It suddenly felt real.

This wasn’t just a room anymore. This was your baby’s room. The space where you would rock her to sleep, where she would wake up every morning, where she would play and grow.

Jiyong took your hand in his, his grip warm and steady. He gave you a small, almost disbelieving smile. “This is really happening, huh?”

You squeezed his fingers. “Yeah.”

Briefly, you were pulled back to when you first met him. At the time, you'd been too afraid to even look him in the eyes. And yet now you would touch your stomach and wonder if your baby would have those same, curious eyes...

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close.

You closed your eyes, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

The three of you - already a family.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You should have known.

You should have known when Jiyong didn’t touch a single drop of alcohol all night - not even during Youngbae’s toast.

You should have known when he stayed practically glued to your side all night, his hand permanently resting on your belly like some kind of monitor.

And you should have known when he kept looking at you with that knowing little smirk every time you shifted uncomfortably.

But you?

You were in denial.

Sure, there had been some cramping earlier that day, but that was normal at nine months pregnant. It was not the start of labour.

No way. Not tonight, of all nights. Not when you were supposed to be enjoying Youngbae’s big concert, surrounded by your closest friends.

So, you pushed through.

You swayed lightly in the VIP section, singing along with Hyorin. And you breathed through the discomfort when Jiyong leaned in, murmuring sweet nothings against your temple.

And then the concert ended.

You were all backstage, congratulating Youngbae, when a sharp pain rippled through your stomach. Your hand immediately shot out, grabbing the nearest thing - which happened to be Jiyong’s forearm.

You squeezed, fingers digging in.

Jiyong didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he sighed, tilting his head with that same knowing smirk. "Right, jagi - your contractions are within five minutes. It’s time to go to meet our baby."

Silence.

Then -

“WAIT, WHAT?!”

Every single person in the room turned to stare.

Youngbae, still towelling off his sweat, froze. Hyorin’s jaw dropped. Daesung, mid-sip of water, choked violently.

"Is this really happening?!"

"How could I have not noticed?"

"I'm going to be an uncle again?"

Jiyong rolled his eyes. "Yes, ok, she's in labour. Time to go. Let’s move."

"Yah!" Hyorin smacked your arm. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"You can't smack a pregnant person!" Daesung jumped in, standing in front of you like a personal bodyguard.

You tried to protest, but another contraction hit, and all that came out was a pained groan.

"What are we waiting for!" Youngbae ushered, grabbing his wife as Daesung threw on his jacket.

"This isn't an afterparty." You muttered, shuffling out of the room with Jiyong at your side as the others followed closely behind.

"We were there when you met, we'll be there for this too."

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The car ride was complete chaos.

You were wedged in the back between Hyorin and Daesung, who were gripping your hands like they was the ones about to give birth.

Youngbae was in the passenger seat, throwing out directions that he believed was the fastest way to the hospital.

"Take a left here! Hyung! Hyung! You missed the turning," He instructed Jiyong, his maps up on his phone. "Go right here! No! Jiyong!"

Your husband ignored his frantic shouting as he continued straight ahead. "I know the way." He'd been studying every route to the hospital since you entered your third trimester.

Daesung, squished in the back, was losing his mind. “Drive faster! Why are we not driving faster?! This is an emergency! Run the light!”

Jiyong stayed silent.

Completely calm. Not panicked. Not frantic. Not hovering.

He just gripped the wheel, eyes steady, jaw set. Cool. Collected.

Which only made it worse because nobody expected this.

“Why is he so quiet?!” Daesung hissed from the back.

"Maybe he's in shock!" Hyorin whispered back. "Youngbae fainted when I had our son."

"Hey... I was tired and simply closed my eyes," Youngbae muttered in return. He then looked to his bandmate with wide eyes. "You're not going to faint right? Tell me and I'll grab the wheel."

Jiyong rolled his eyes. “I’m perfectly fine.”

"That makes it weirder, Jiyong!” Daesung exclaimed.

You let out a strangled groan as another contraction hit, gripping Hyorin’s fingers like a vice.

Jiyong found your eyes in the mirror. His voice was calm when he spoke.

"Breathe, jagi," he murmured. "We’re almost there."

Everyone else was in full-blown meltdown mode, and yet he was here, anchored, pulling you back down to earth.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

By the time you got to the hospital, Jiyong immediately sprang into action.

The moment the car stopped, he was out, grabbing the hospital bag from the trunk - which he had secretly packed without your knowledge.

Meanwhile, the rest of the group spilled out of the car like a panicked clown parade.

"Move, move, move!” Youngbae yelled like it was a military drill.

Jiyong opened the door for you, helping you out carefully, and wrapped an arm around your waist as he guided you inside. The others trailed behind, all talking at once -

"We’re here for the birth!”

"She’s having the baby right now!”

"We need a wheelchair!"

"I can still walk Daesung.” You declined even when he nearly tripped you up, trailing closely behind at your heels.

Jiyong ignored all of them. He was only focused on you.

Hyorin was on the phone with your mother, giving her updates in hushed tones. Youngbae was already calling Jiyong’s mom. Daesung, pulled out his own phone, not one to be left out.

"I'm calling Seunghyun," He muttered.

Another contraction hit. You clenched your jaw, voice shaking. "Ji... I’m scared."

And just like that, his entire demeanour softened.

He turned to you, his hands framing your face as he rested his forehead against yours.

"I know, baby," he whispered. "But you’re going to be okay. I’m right here."

And somehow, that was enough.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The moment you were wheeled into the delivery room, the chaos of your friends faded.

It was just you and Jiyong now.

He never let go of your hand.

Not once.

Through every contraction, every moment of pain, he was there. Whispering reassurances. Kissing your knuckles. Smoothing your hair.

"You’re doing so well, jagi."

"Just a little more, my baby."

"I’m right here."

And when your daughter finally entered the world - when her tiny cries filled the room - Jiyong let out the softest, most broken breath.

The doctor placed her in your arms, and Jiyong just stared.

He looked at you, his eyes wet, his lips trembling. "She's here," he whispered. "You did it."

You nodded weakly, exhausted beyond words.

And Jiyong - your calm in the chaos - just broke.

Tears streamed down his face as he cupped your daughter’s tiny head, his hands shaking. "She's perfect," he whispered.

You smiled sleepily, watching the love in his eyes as he gazed at your little girl - the masterpiece he had been waiting for.

The one he'd been waiting for his whole life.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

a throwback to the birth of baby diva! i thought i should post this before Angel arrives - which is not long now!

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife

[noyasmashing]

Cracking the Code ⭑.ᐟ

╰┈➤ with Rintarou Suna

rating: NSFWish?

wc: 2,540

Summary: At a crowded party, you toy with suna, pushing him to the edge as he struggles to keep control. His cool facade crumbles, leaving him desperate and completely at your mercy.

₊⊹ CW: sub!suna x dom!reader, time skip college au, drinking implied, heavy dirty talk and flirting.

₊⊹ Do Not Interact if: >18!

₊⊹ A/N: lots of teasing! No actual smut justttt yet ;)

Loud music thumped through the crowded living room, bass vibrating the floor as bodies pressed together in the dim light. You weren’t even sure whose party this was—probably someone from the volleyball team, given how many six-foot-somethings were milling around—but that wasn’t really your concern. Not when Suna Rintarou was leaning against the wall, drink in hand, looking like the poster child for nonchalance.

He was all sharp jawlines and half-lidded eyes, dressed in a black hoodie pushed up to his elbows, showing off the veins running down his forearms. He looked bored out of his mind, barely reacting when groups of girls wandered by, throwing glances his way.

But you caught it. The quick flick of his gaze when you stepped into his line of sight, the way his jaw tightened when you smirked at him.

Gotcha.

You didn’t go straight to him. No, that’d be too easy. Instead, you stayed just close enough to be noticed—close enough for him to see the way your dress hugged every curve, your fingers idly running along the rim of your glass. You felt his eyes on you, even when he pretended not to look, and when you finally closed the distance, it was with the confidence of someone who already knew the outcome.

“Not your scene?” you asked, tilting your head as you leaned against the wall beside him.

“Something like that,” he murmured, voice low and smooth, but you caught the way his fingers tapped once against his cup—nervous.

“Yet you’re still here.” Your gaze dragged lazily over him, just enough to make him aware of it.

“Had nothing better to do,” he said, lips twitching like he was fighting a smirk.

“So if I gave you something better to do…” You let the words hang, watching the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

Suna blinked, his expression carefully blank, but you could see the heat in his eyes, the tension in his posture. He thought he was so good at hiding it, but you could tell he was already unraveling.

“Depends,” he murmured, finally meeting your gaze. “What exactly are you offering?”

You leaned in, just close enough that your lips brushed the shell of his ear. “Why don’t you let me show you?”

His breath hitched. Barely. But it was there.

And that was all the invitation you needed.

You dragged your nails lightly down his arm, watching goosebumps rise in their wake. He didn’t move, but the muscle in his jaw clenched, and his grip on his cup tightened.

“Sensitive, aren’t you?” you teased, voice just loud enough for him to hear over the music.

“Not really.” His tone was flat, but his body told another story.

“Hmm.” Your nails grazed down to his wrist before you backed off, giving him just enough space to miss the contact.

His exhale was slow, controlled—but his knuckles were white around his drink now.

“Sure,” you murmured, biting back a smile. “Whatever you say, Suna.”

For the next twenty minutes, you toyed with him. Casual touches as you ‘accidentally’ brushed against him. Leaning in close to speak over the music, your lips just grazing his jaw. Each time, he stayed still, forcing his body not to react. But you saw the way his pupils dilated, how his breathing grew just a little heavier.

“You’re really trying hard to keep it together, huh?” You finally prodded, tilting your head, eyes meeting his.

Suna’s smirk was lazy, but there was tension in his jaw. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but you do.” Your hand trailed lightly down his chest, nails barely scraping over the fabric. His body betrayed him with the slightest shiver. “You’re dying to see what happens if you let go, aren’t you?”

For the first time, he didn’t answer immediately. His lips parted like he was going to speak, but nothing came out.

You leaned in close again, lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Rintarou.”

His exhale was shaky, and when you pulled back, his eyes were darker than before.

“I’m not,” he muttered, but his voice was hoarse, giving him away.

“Liar.”

And this time, when your hand skimmed over his waistband, lingering just a little too long, his jaw clenched—and his breath stuttered.

Got him.

“You can keep playing cool,” you murmured, your smile nothing short of wicked. “But I know exactly how bad you want me to ruin you.”

Suna’s eyes finally met yours, and for the first time all night, the facade cracked.

“Prove it.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

“Prove it, huh?” Your lips curled into a smirk as you tilted your head, eyes locked on his. The challenge in his voice was weak at best, but the way his breathing had quickened, the subtle shift in his stance—like he was trying to ground himself—told you everything.

“Careful, Rintarou.” You dragged your nails down his chest again, slower this time, just enough pressure to make him feel it through the fabric. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I can handle it.” His voice was low, but there was a slight tremor in it, one he tried to hide by taking a slow sip of his drink.

You watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, eyes flickering down to where your body was still angled just a little too close. The heat between you was palpable, and when he set the cup down on the windowsill behind him, his hand was just a little unsteady.

“Handle it?” You leaned in, your breath ghosting over his skin. “You’ve been holding yourself together all night, Rintarou. But I wonder…” Your fingers danced down his torso, tracing the defined lines through his hoodie. “How long can you really last?”

You felt him tense under your touch, muscles coiling like a spring wound too tight. But he stayed silent, biting the inside of his cheek, eyes hooded and half-lidded like he was bored.

But that was the thing about Suna.

He wasn’t bored. He was trying not to fall apart.

And he was failing.

“Nothing to say?” you murmured, letting your lips graze the shell of his ear. “That’s okay.” Your fingers slipped lower, brushing just above the waistband of his jeans. “I like it better when you get all quiet and obedient for me anyway.”

His exhale was shaky this time, barely audible over the bass pounding through the walls, but you caught it. His jaw clenched so hard you were sure it was starting to ache, and his hands fisted at his sides like he was fighting the urge to grab you.

“Oh, you’re trying so hard, aren’t you?” Your voice was pure sin, dripping with amusement as you dragged your lips down the side of his neck, barely grazing the skin. “But I can feel it, Rintarou.” Your teeth scraped lightly over his pulse point, and his body shuddered.

“Feel what?” His voice was hoarse, almost strained, but he was still holding on. Barely.

“How bad you want to give in.” Your tongue flicked out, tracing a slow line down his neck, and this time, he couldn’t hide it.

The soft, broken noise he made was barely above a whisper, but you heard it. And it sent a thrill down your spine.

“Poor thing.” You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, and fuck—his pupils were blown wide, lips slightly parted, and his breath came in uneven, shallow bursts. “Trying so hard not to show me how bad you want it.”

“I don’t—”

“Liar.” Your fingers tugged lightly at the waistband of his jeans, and his hips jerked forward before he could stop himself.

That earned you a wicked smile.

“See?” Your nails scratched lightly along his hipbone, and he sucked in a breath, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to muffle whatever sound threatened to escape. “Your body’s more honest than you are.”

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, but it wasn’t frustration—it was surrender, and you could hear it clear as day.

“Uh-uh.” You pressed a finger to his lips, stopping him. “I don’t wanna hear excuses.”

Suna’s jaw tensed, and his eyes met yours—defiance flickering there for a brief second. But that spark died the moment you dragged your nails down his stomach, and his breath hitched so hard it was almost a whimper.

“Still think you can handle it?” You cocked a brow, letting your fingers brush the outline of his growing arousal through his pants.

His answer was a shaky exhale, lips parted like he was about to speak—but nothing came out.

“Aw.” You cupped his jaw, tilting his face up so he had no choice but to look at you. His eyes were glassy, lips slightly swollen from how hard he’d been biting them. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Y/n…” His voice was barely a whisper, a plea wrapped in a single syllable.

“Yeah?” You dragged your thumb over his bottom lip, watching as his eyes fluttered shut at the touch.

“Don’t…” His voice trailed off, but you didn’t miss the way his hips shifted forward, chasing your hand.

“Don’t what?” You leaned in closer, lips brushing against his. “Don’t stop?”

A soft, shuddering breath was your only answer.

“Say it,” you murmured against his mouth, your hand sliding lower, pressing against him just enough to make his body jerk.

“Fuck—” His head fell back against the wall, and the sound that left his lips was so quiet, so broken, you almost felt bad for teasing him.

Almost.

“Say it, Rintarou.” Your teeth grazed his jaw, and you could feel his resolve crumbling.

“Don’t…” His voice was barely there now, and his body was trembling under your touch. “Don’t stop.”

“Good boy.”

That broke him.

Suna’s breath caught, and his body went rigid, like he was physically holding himself back from completely falling apart. But it was too late.

You had him.

“See?” Your lips ghosted over his ear again, voice dripping with satisfaction. “I told you…” Your hand pressed a little harder, and the strangled noise he made went straight to your core. “You can’t handle me.”

And the way Suna’s hips pressed desperately into your touch, his head tilted back, throat exposed as he fought to keep control—

You knew he was already gone.

“Now,” you murmured, lips brushing against his neck as your fingers slid higher, tangling in his hair. “Be a good boy and let me break you properly.”

And this time, Suna didn’t even try to fight it.

Suna’s body was practically vibrating under your touch, his breathing ragged, chest rising and falling too fast as he struggled to hold on. But he was losing. Fast.

“Look at you,” you murmured, dragging your lips down his jaw, your breath hot against his skin. “Trying so hard to keep it together.”

His jaw clenched, and you could feel the way his body tensed—every muscle coiled so tight, he was practically trembling.

“But I wonder…” Your fingers trailed back up his chest, slow and deliberate, until they brushed over his throat. You didn’t apply pressure—just enough contact to make him aware of how easily you could take control.

Suna’s breath hitched, and his eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment before snapping open again.

“Hmm.” Your thumb brushed lightly over his pulse, feeling the rapid thrum beneath your fingertips. “What happens if I just… stop?”

The tension in his body snapped so fast, it was almost audible.

His eyes shot open, and for the first time all night, that lazy, detached mask he always wore was completely gone.

“Wait—”

But you were already pulling back, putting just enough distance between your bodies that he couldn’t chase the contact.

“Aw.” You tilted your head, lips curling into a wicked smile as you watched the panic flash in his eyes. “Something wrong, Rintarou?”

“Don’t.” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but the desperation in it was undeniable.

“Don’t what?” You feigned innocence, licking your lips as your gaze dipped down to where he was still painfully hard, his body screaming for relief. “Use your words, baby.”

Suna’s jaw clenched so tight you thought he might crack a tooth, but his pride was slipping fast. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to grab you and pull you back against him.

“Don’t…” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to steady his breathing. “Don’t stop.”

His voice was quieter this time, barely there—but you heard it.

And it was exactly what you’d been waiting for.

“Hmm.” You dragged a single finger down his chest, just barely skimming the surface. “But I thought you could handle it, Rintarou.”

“I—” His voice cracked, and he quickly bit his bottom lip, trying to compose himself.

But it was too late.

You could see the way his body was betraying him—his breathing uneven, pupils blown wide, skin flushed in a way that told you he was barely holding it together.

“Poor thing.” You brushed your lips against his ear, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re already falling apart, aren’t you?”

Suna’s breath caught, and his head tipped back just slightly, exposing the curve of his throat. His body was practically begging for more, but he didn’t dare move.

“Good boy,” you murmured, letting your lips barely graze his skin again—just enough to leave him wanting. “I knew you’d break for me eventually.”

And just like that, you stepped back.

Suna’s eyes snapped open, panic flashing across his face as the distance between you grew.

“Where are you going?” His voice was quieter now, almost… vulnerable.

You smiled, cocking your head to the side as you looked at him. His body was tense, his eyes dark with barely restrained need, and his lips were slightly swollen from how hard he’d been biting them.

“Relax.” You gave him a sweet, almost innocent smile that only made his jaw clench harder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

But then your gaze dropped to where he was still achingly hard, straining against his jeans, and your smile turned wicked.

“You, on the other hand…” You took a step back, watching the way his body leaned toward you, even as he tried to stay still. “Are gonna have to sit with that for a while.”

Suna’s breath hitched, and the soft, barely audible whimper that slipped past his lips was enough to make your core ache.

“Be a good boy for me, Rintarou.” Your voice was pure sin, dripping with satisfaction as you leaned in just enough to brush your lips against his jaw one last time.

“And maybe…” Your teeth grazed his skin, and his whole body shuddered. “I’ll let you beg for it later.”

When you finally pulled back, Suna’s eyes were glassy, his lips parted, and his body was practically trembling from the effort of holding himself together.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice barely audible.

“See you around, Rintarou.” You winked, turning on your heel and leaving him standing there—wrecked, desperate, and completely at your mercy.

And you didn’t even need to look back to know…

He was already counting down the minutes until he could fall apart for you.

thank you for reading! Reblogs are always appreciated <3

⭑.ᐟ Masterlist

₊⊹ Part 2 (cuming soon) (if this gets enough likes)

[kxsagi]

back again with another idea, don't judge me these men haunt my mind 24/7

bllk boys with a manager gf.

imagine them having a manager in blue lock right? then she yk does what managers do. help with their training, give them water, monitor their plays and even sometimes suggest new playstyle that could improve their game and such.

then, one of their teammates gets injured and yk what that means? gf touches the other member to apply bandage or apply dressing to their wounds. bf gets jealous and accidentally reveals their relationship to everyone.

that's all, have a great day.

“𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐛𝐚𝐠”

a/n: thank you, have a great day as well!

blue lock manager! gf can be the same age as them to make things easier! (reader is too smart for this world and got a full-time job early lmao)

another a/n: i’m stuck between writing angst and writing crack headcanons idk (yes i chose a random header image this is my humor 💔)

ft. shidou ryusei, itoshi rin, kaiser michael, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, isagi yoichi

shidou ryusei

you were just doing your job like the incredible and competent manager you were, wrapping a bandage around one of the players’ thighs after a nasty slide tackle. 

and that was the moment you felt it – a murderous aura radiating from somewhere behind you. 

you turned your head slightly… and there he was, standing at the edge of the field with his hands on his hips, watching you with the most “i am one intrusive thought away from prison” expression you’ve ever seen. 

you weren’t sure if he was jealous of the player or the fact that he wasn’t the one getting manhandled by you. 

but oho, shidou made sure everyone knew exactly what was going through his mind. 

“hey. you got a license for that, princess?” he called out, his voice loud enough for the entire field to hear. 

everyone kinda just… stared at him like “bro what???”

then he casually strolled over and plopped down beside you, practically shoving the injured player away with his knee. 

“i’m next. wrap me up, baby,” he grinned, completely ignoring the fact that he had zero injuries. 

“shidou, you’re not hurt,” you deadpanned. 

“my heart is. you’re out here playin’ nurse with other guys,” he smirked dramatically, holding his chest like he was about to faint. 

that was the moment you realized you were doomed. 

“wait… you’re dating him?” one of the players finally asked, pointing at shidou. 

“dating? nah,” shidou snickered, throwing an arm around your shoulders and grinning maniacally, “i’m her full-time problem. she’s just lucky i’m hot.”

itoshi rin

rin was trying so hard to play it cool. 

but the moment he saw you kneeling on the field, gently holding a player’s ankle to wrap it with bandages, he damn near dislocated his own neck from how fast he turned to glare at you. 

he clenched his jaw, muttering under his breath like, “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

if this scene were in anime, his eyes would be glowing red and his entire body would be surrounded by that ominous black aura. 

he didn’t say anything at first, just stared, so hard that the player getting bandaged started getting visibly uncomfortable. 

when you finally finished and stood up, rin suddenly appeared behind you like a final boss. 

“you’re done, right?” he muttered, staring daggers at the poor, confused player. 

you were like, “uh… yeah?”

but before you could even blink, rin grabbed your wrist in front of everyone and dragged you off the field like a caveman escorting his woman back to the cave. 

“rin, what the hell are you –”

“you were touching him.”

“wha – he was injured???”

rin didn’t care. he just turned around and deadass blurted, “you’re my girlfriend. stop touching other guys.”

there was a brief silence. then someone from the bench went: 

“…wait. since WHEN?!” 

rin, realizing he just accidentally revealed your entire relationship, muttered, “shit,” under his breath and immediately walked off.

he avoided eye contact with everyone for the next three hours. 

but you could still see the tips of his ears turning red every time someone smirked at him. 

kaiser michael

it started with a minor ankle sprain from one of his teammates. 

nothing serious, you just crouched down, carefully assessing the injury with your delicate and professional manager hands. 

kaiser, who was initially ignoring the entire scene, suddenly felt his eye twitch when he saw you applying pressure to the player’s calf with your bare hands. 

and that was it. his brain glitched. 

he stormed over without hesitation, yanked your clipboard out of your hand, and slapped it against the injured player’s leg. 

“here. use this.”

you blinked in confusion.

“kaiser, what –”

“don’t you have gloves or something?” he snapped, his eye twitching again. 

you gave him a blank stare. “… for bandaging an ankle?”

“yes. gloves. anything that keeps you from touching him with your bare hands,” he muttered, scowling. 

the injured player blinked up at him like “bro you good???”

and then, because kaiser had no filter, he added, “she doesn’t touch anyone but me.”

the entire field went dead silent.

one of the benched players went, “uh, excuse me?”

but kaiser, completely unbothered, just smirked, leaned down, and kissed your forehead right in front of everyone before turning back to practice. 

“she’s my personal medic. keep your hands off.”

you, sitting there with wide eyes, realized there was no turning back. 

the next day, you were trending online as “kaiser’s girl” and he was so smug about it. 

itoshi sae

sae was already grumpy after a long practice, and the last thing he wanted to see was you touching some random dude’s calf while applying ice. 

you, being the sweet and professional manager you were, were focused on being helpful. 

sae, meanwhile, was staring at you with the most judgmental boyfriend glare of all time. 

and then the player winced and accidentally grabbed your wrist. 

sae was across the field in 0.3 seconds. 

“get your hands off her.”

the entire field turned toward him like 👁️👄👁️

the player immediately let go of you and started stammering, “s-sorry, i didn’t mean to –”

sae didn’t even look at him. he was laser-focused on you. 

“you. come here.”

you blinked in confusion. “huh?”

“now.”

you stood up and walked over to him, only for sae to grab your wrist again and deadass say, “she’s mine.”

the entire team went, “WHAT???”

and then sae, realizing he just exposed your secret relationship, simply muttered,

“oh.”

he quickly turned around and walked off without saying anything else. 

the next practice, everyone was making fun of him. 

shidou: “sooo… when’s the wedding, lover boy?”

rin: “pathetic.”

sae: “i hate all of you.”

nagi seishiro

nagi was napping on the bench until he heard your voice. 

he peeked one eye open, only to see you bandaging a player’s arm with your gentle, caring hands. 

he didn’t like it. not one bit.

without saying a word, he casually strolled over and collapsed on top of you like a human-sized koala. 

“nagi! what are you –”

“mmm. comfy,” he mumbled against your shoulder, making himself at home. 

you were literally pinned underneath his entire weight, trying to shove him off, but he only clung tighter, his limbs practically draping over you like a weighted blanket. 

the injured player blinked at the scene in confusion. “uh… is he okay?”

nagi, without lifting his head, muttered sleepily, “mine.” 

you stared at him, wide-eyed. “… what?”

“you’re mine,” he repeated, voice muffled against your skin, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

the entire field went silent.

the player you were bandaging glanced between the two of you, brows furrowed. “wait. are you two… together?”

nagi didn’t even lift his head.

“mmm. yeah,” he mumbled. “she’s my girlfriend.”

you could feel your soul leave your body.

the team, now fully aware of your not-so-secret relationship, was staring at you in shock. 

meanwhile, nagi stayed exactly where he was, fully prepared to take a nap on top of you, completely unfazed by the fact that he just exposed the two of you to the entire team. 

later, when you asked him why he did that, he just shrugged lazily and went, “too much of a hassle to keep it a secret.”

isagi yoichi

isagi was in the middle of practice, minding his business, being the good, hard-working soccer boy he was, when he saw you crouched down on the field, tending to someone’s knee. 

at first, he didn’t think much of it, until he noticed just how close you were leaning toward the guy. 

and that’s when his brain started spiraling. 

“wait. why is she holding his leg like that? … wait. is she… she’s SMILING???”

isagi tried to focus on practice, but his passes were getting sloppy because he kept glancing over at you. 

then, as if to personally ruin isagi’s life, the injured player casually rested his hand on your thigh for balance while you were wrapping his knee. 

and that was it. isagi blacked out. 

before he even realized what he was doing, he was storming over like a man on a mission. 

he didn’t say a word. just gently grabbed your wrist and yanked you off the field. 

you blinked up at him, startled. “yoichi? what are you –”

“you’re my girlfriend.”

you: ???

the injured player: ???

the entire field: ???

isagi, suddenly realizing what he just blurted out in front of everyone, stared at you like a deer caught in headlights. 

“…i, uh, i mean –” he stammered, his face turning bright red. 

but it was too late. the damage was done. 

shidou (grinning like the menace he was): “ooohhh. so that’s why you’ve been smiling at your phone like a dumbass.”

kaiser: “figures. he plays like a lovesick golden retriever half the time.”

nagi (half-asleep): “mmm. knew it.”

isagi, face redder than a stop sign, sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

and now every single one of his teammates was planning to make fun of him for the next 10-15 business years. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[dokries]

things seventeen take pride in doing for their partners

pairing: seventeen x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

word count: 2.2k

warnings: mentions of food, some kissing

author note: hello! i’m alive!! thank you anon for requesting this, and i’m so sorry it took…literally 5 months to write this 😭 i hope you enjoy it though! thank you to my awesome friends who helped me write this <3 (honestly i have no idea where so much for chan came from but extra chan love!!)

masterlist

seungcheol (s.coups) - buying you groceries

⟢ seungcheol is a provider, and he’d love to be the one getting you things, especially if it was something as important as groceries.

⟢ he’d totally just text you for a list, and expect you to just tell him exactly what you wanted—plus later, you’d get a bunch of pictures asking which brand or version you wanted of something to make sure he doesn’t get the wrong thing.

⟢ he’d want to pay for most, if not all of it—but he wants you to be comfortable with what he does, so you could both figure out who’s paying for it (though he’d definitely make sure to pay for the small things at least).

⟢ he has his card (and wads of cash) and he’s not afraid to spend it on you—in fact, he prefers it that way.

⟢ it’s even better when you’re with him, since you can spend time together and do something essential (and perhaps it gives him a glimpse of what’ll come down the line, once you’re both older).

jeonghan - getting you the hot gossip from work

⟢ jeonghan is…honestly, he’d make sure he picks up all the gossip for himself—and for you both to discuss later.

⟢ he wouldn’t be nosy per say…he’d just keep his ears open when there were people around talking, okay? it’s not his fault they’re so loud.

⟢ and of course, he’d retell it to you in such a way that you couldn’t help but be completely immersed in the drama because his manager is dating who?

⟢ there’s multiple lines of gossip that you both follow based on who you’re talking about, and each week there’s at least one debrief session where the two of you sit down on the couch and you just absorb the information he gives you.

⟢ he’s glad to see the different expressions you make, and it makes him happy to see you so interested in something he’s telling you about, even if it’s something horrendous about his co-worker—and then when you snuggle up next to him, ready to fall asleep he gives you a small smile and pats your head in contentment.

jisoo (joshua) - buying you flowers or little trinkets

⟢ i think that while joshua’s love language is more like quality time, he seems like the type of person to also buy you flowers every few weeks—or whenever the flowers he previously got you wilt.

⟢ he’d totally get a bouquet for you and a flower for himself to make sure he knew exactly when to get you some new ones.

⟢ obviously, it’ll be your favourite flowers! or just ones that remind him of you, depending on the week.

⟢ if you’re allergic to flowers, he’d get you chocolate or something else you really like—it doesn’t have to be exclusively flowers :>

⟢ he’d see little deer characters and think it would remind you of him, so he would drop them over at your place so you’d always have a way to remember him! (you’d definitely have a little deer and cinnamoroll collection at home somewhere).

junhui (jun) - cooking for you

⟢ even though jun is busy, he knows you are too, so he makes sure to make dinner for you when you get home.

⟢ he immediately rushes you out of the kitchen when you try to help and shushes your protests.

⟢ he’d beg you to just let him cook for you—unless you really wanted to cook yourself. at that point, he would make sure to be the trustiest assistant chef you’ve ever had, just to make it a little easier.

⟢ he just enjoys seeing you have something he made for you and the smile you give him afterwards always makes it worth it.

⟢ if he’s not there for dinner, he makes sure to leave a packaged meal for you in the fridge, complete with a sweet sticky note telling you to eat well and text him a cat meme when you see it.

⟢ he’d make sure to note down your favourite foods, and try to remake some of the things you’ve liked when you both go out on dates to make you happy—because it makes him happy too.

soonyoung (hoshi) - bringing you snacks when you’re busy

⟢ if soonyoung noticed you hadn’t gotten up to get food or drink water in a while, he would come in himself, giving you a plate of fruit or whichever snack you liked the most with a water bottle to keep by your side as you worked.

⟢ he’d do this even in the late hours, when you were studying for an exam or an important report for work, and give you something sweet as a treat—and a reminder that no matter what happens, he cares.

⟢ if you didn’t mind, he’d just sit with you in the same room and do something else to pass the time so you wouldn’t feel alone.

⟢ if he couldn’t be with you but knew you were working or studying long hours, he’d get food delivered to you—or deliver it to you himself again, showing up on your doorstep later at night, hoping a hug and a good meal will energize you.

wonwoo - fixing all your tech issues

⟢ honestly, this is something he’d be really good at.

⟢ like yes, he’s good at so many other things but as soon as you run into any problem whatsoever, he’d know how to help—even if he did have to watch a youtube tutorial or read a guide for your tv.

⟢ he’d fix his glasses right after he managed to fix that weird glitch where your google results were all in a different language or your phone would keep shutting down on you.

⟢ would definitely guide you through fixing anything if he couldn’t be there, and wake up sleepily to facetime so he could see the problem—his glasses askew and his bed hair on full display.

⟢ wonwoo would be proud to call himself your tech guy, especially if it made you smile—and besides, he’s happy he can help you with any challenges, even if it’s something simple.

jihoon (woozi) - planning surprise dates

⟢ jihoon, honestly, spends a lot of time on his own in the studio, and while you visit, he really knows he needs to get out of his second home sometimes—and a date with you is a good way to do that.

⟢ he’d do it shyly, calling you up to first ask if you were busy, and then ask if you could come meet him at the studio (he…can’t drive, otherwise he would pick you up.)

⟢ it’d be nothing much in his eyes: a stroll at a park nearby, learning something new, going out for dinner—simple things that were better when he did them with you. 

⟢ sometimes he’d just show up at your home with flowers, his face red, since he’d been encouraged by soonyoung to do so and be “more romantic for once!” (or at least, that’s how soonyoung saw it. he didn’t really know about the archive of songs that jihoon had written inspired by you, and you had only seen a few of them anyway.)

⟢ he’d always make sure to look into places where you would be interested so you could go together, and he could watch you be entertained by something you wanted to do—even if it wasn’t something he would do himself. 

seokmin (dokyeom) - notes of encouragement

⟢ seokmin’s the type of person to send long, long texts about how much he loves you and how proud he is of you every so often, especially if you’re busy and he can’t see you as much as he wants to!

⟢ he’d leave little notes around the kitchen after weekly movie night, so that when you wake up the next morning, he can see your reaction when you see his shameless puns on the colourful paper—which are all definitely related to whatever you watched. or you know, dad jokes. one of the two.

⟢ if he ever brought you lunch while you were out, he’d leave a little note telling you to eat well and message him so he knows you’re doing okay!

⟢ he wants to make sure you know you’re loved and when you write your own notes for him, he just about melts, giving you a gentle peck on the forehead and a long hug until you both end up giggling.

mingyu - fixing things around the house

⟢ yes, he may be clumsy but mingyu is always volunteering to build you new furniture or fix things you (or he) has broken.

⟢ every so often, he’ll just scan through the entire house under the pretense of cleaning for you when you’re busy, and creates a mental list of what to do. it’s like he’s trying to sneak around but it doesn’t really work because it’s so obvious where his gaze is.

⟢ he also loves to help you rearrange furniture too! like your own little interior design helper except you only pay him in cuddles on the couch…wherever you two put it.

⟢ would totally text you pictures of furniture if he goes to ikea and asks if you want them so he can just buy them for you (and so you can have a little date at home building whatever it is).

minghao (the8) -  watering your plants / taking care of your pets

⟢ he would show up early at your door, ready to help out if he was available—and something he would always do is take care of your babies (plants and/or pets!)

⟢ he’d water your plants for you, leaving a note to remind you to not do the same later, and hum to them to help them grow faster and stay healthy.

⟢ he’d also make sure to help out with grooming or feeding a pet—whatever you needed so you could focus on yourself first.

⟢ if you don’t have either, well he’d take care of the sleepy you by making sure you get through your morning swiftly and happily.

⟢ he’d be proud of making sure you were alright in the mornings, despite how hard it could be some days.

seungkwan - making sure you’re active

⟢ seungkwan loves to do sports and go on hikes and the such, and i think that he would want you to be with him!

⟢ obviously, he wouldn’t force you to but hey, you do need to stay active, and it’s better if it’s with him than on your own—plus, it’s more fun by his side.

⟢ he would totally buy you matching jackets to go hiking in, and always pick activities that you’re comfortable with doing.

⟢ he lights up every time you would say you’re having fun and would run over and give you a quick kiss before continuing your badminton match.

⟢ once you’re both tired out, it’s time for cuddles on the couch…and maybe a quick cheesy rom-com where you can both make fun of the protagonists.

⟢ eventually, he can see the difference in your strength and stamina, and it reminds him to keep working hard too, because you do the same for him.

hansol (vernon) - remembering you

⟢ hansol is a bit of a forgetful guy but he would never forget you (well, for the most part at least; he still has his moments). 

⟢ you’re brought up casually in most conversations he has simply because you’re so important to him that you can be brought up anytime.

⟢ everything and anything ends up reminding him of you, even if it’s not meant to. he’d tell you about most of them because he loves getting a text back full of love, or a smile on your face as a reply.

⟢ even if you’re not present, he’s always hyping you up without realizing. 

⟢ with you, he’s always sending you cat memes and posts in general saying “us” or “u n me fr” 

⟢ he takes pride in simply knowing you, and having the ability to be around you so much :)

chan (dino) - driving you around

⟢ we’ve all seen the dingo video where chan drives a fan somewhere, right? yeah that’s him on the daily with you.

⟢ you’re his passenger princess !! (gender neutral <3) and he makes sure you know it, always offering you a ride no matter where you need to go!

⟢ the grocery store? your friend’s house? the optometrist? [insert any ridiculous place he doesn’t need to accompany you to]? he’s already waiting for you outside.

⟢ this goes even if you’re fully capable of driving yourself because he knows it can be tiring getting on the road some days, but he’ll always brave the bad traffic if it’s for you. 

⟢ knight in shining armour? no, he’s your knight in a really nice car, one that, in his mind, has your name all over the passenger seat. 

⟢ other than that though, he would offer to take you for a late night drive often, with your choice of music on the aux as he drives you over to a spot he researched about weeks ago because it was the perfect couple spot (at least, that’s what it is according to google).

⟢ he’d have a huge smile on his face every time you waved at him before opening the door and plopping in right next to his side, where he could sneak glances at you while waiting for the light to turn green.

thank you for reading ‎♡ - moon :>

[gdinthehouseee]

Like a Villain: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: you get invited for a cameo in infinity challenge's muhan company segment, playing a rival character to your boyfriends' and the on-screen chemistry is undeniable.

word count: 3284

tags: fluff; flirting, teasing, tension (in a good way)

ao3 link

The set of Muhan Company is as lively as ever—staff members adjusting the lighting, cameras rolling in place, and the cast running through their lines with a mix of focus and playful chaos. Ji-yong, dressed in his iconic grey suit, leans against the director’s chair, his usual calm and collected demeanor in place. He’s used to this by now. Variety shows, scripted comedy, rolling with the unexpected—it’s all second nature. Even playing a company worker caught up in absurd business scandals feels almost normal. Today should be no different. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

“Your rival’s coming in soon,” one of the writers tells him, flipping through the script. “Should be a good scene—intense, dramatic, real high stakes.”

Ji-yong just hums in response, nodding absentmindedly. He knows you’ll be playing his on-screen rival today, but it’s nothing he’s not prepared for. He’s watched you act before, seen the way you fully embody a role. It’ll be fun—maybe even a little challenging, but nothing that could shake him.

Then, you walk onto the set, and everything changes.

You’re dressed in a sleek, perfectly tailored suit, exuding confidence with every step in your matching designer heels that click against the floor. The kind of presence that turns heads and demands attention. The kind of presence that makes it hard to remember this is all scripted.

Ji-yong swallows, watching as you adjust your cuffs, completely unfazed by the way all eyes subtly shift toward you. His jaw tightens when you finally look up, meeting his gaze with that same sharp glint you always get when you know you have the upper hand.

“Ready, Mr. Kwon?” You ask smoothly, voice dripping with challenge.

He shifts in his seat, his fingers pressing into his palm before he exhales through his nose, forcing himself to stay composed. “Always,” he replies, keeping his tone cool, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—something the cameras aren’t rolling for yet.

“Look at him. He’s already breaking character.” Someone chuckles to themself behind you, and you can’t help but smile at the comment. 

“No, I’m not.” Ji-yong says immediately, clearing his throat. He turns his focus back to the script in his hands, but the words blur for a moment. 

You smirk, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him. “I can’t wait to see how this plays out… try to keep up, sir.” 

He exhales a small laugh, shaking his head. “You just worry about yourself.”

Ji-yong sits at his desk, a picture of composed authority. His fitted suit is crisp, his tie impeccably knotted, every inch of him exuding the effortless charisma that made him the perfect choice for this role. One hand rests idly on the desk, fingers drumming a slow, thoughtful rhythm. The other holds a pen he isn’t using, simply twirling it between his fingers as he surveys the room with an expression of calculated disinterest. It’s all part of the act, of course. His character, the ruthless department head, doesn’t flinch—doesn’t need to. No matter the crisis, he remains in control.

But then, the door opens. The click of your shoes against the tile is the only sound that follows, sharp and deliberate, cutting through the quiet like a blade. The weight of your presence is immediate, an unspoken authority settling over the room.

Ji-yong’s fingers still against the desk.

You don’t just walk in—you command the space, the subtle tailored lines of your suit precise, every movement purposeful. There’s no hesitation in the way you carry yourself, no uncertainty. You take your time, surveying the room, gaze dragging over every inch of the office before finally landing on him.

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. But beneath the surface, his pulse flickers—just for a second, just enough that you would notice. Your lips curve into the faintest smirk.

There’s no real question in your tone—only amusement, edged with something sharper. “I expected something… bigger.”

The silence that follows is thick, suffocating. The rest of the office remains unnervingly still. No one moves, no one reacts. If anyone so much as breathes too loudly, it isn’t heard. Ji-yong watches you carefully, his expression unreadable. Then, with excruciating slowness, he leans forward, resting his forearms against the desk. His gaze is steady, unwavering.

“And you are?”

You tilt your head slightly, considering him.

“Oh? Didn’t they tell you?” A pause. Then, a slow, deliberate step forward. “I’m your new competition.”

Another beat of silence.

Ji-yong’s jaw tightens, almost imperceptibly. The weight of your words settles over the room like a storm rolling in—slow, inevitable. But he exhales steadily, barely a flicker of emotion on his face as he tilts his head slightly. “Competition?” His lips curve into something between a smirk and a scoff. “That’s funny.”

With practiced ease, he leans back, regaining every ounce of the power you dared to shift in your favor. “I don’t remember asking for one.”

“Good thing for you, I’m already here.”

The space between you is minimal now.

Ji-yong’s fingers flex against the desk, his grip tightening for the briefest second before he smooths it over. The air between you crackles—charged, almost unbearable in its weight.

A pause.

Then, your voice drops, just for him.

“What’s wrong?” You murmur, tilting your head ever so slightly. A smirk plays at your lips, your next words a dangerous whisper. “You look nervous.”

Something sharp flickers behind Ji-yong’s gaze.

A challenge.

The silence stretches, suffocating in its intensity. No one moves. No one speaks. The weight of the moment presses down on the room, thick with something unspoken yet entirely unmistakable. Then—

Ji-yong exhales sharply through his nose, something between amusement and frustration ghosting over his expression. But he doesn’t break. Instead, he matches your smirk, slow and deliberate.

“Me? Nervous?” A soft chuckle, low and dangerous. He shakes his head. “You must not know me very well.”

“I guess I’ll just have to fix that.”

The moment lingers for a fraction longer—an unbearable stretch of tension before the director finally calls, “Cut.”

Only then does the office seem to breathe again. Ji-yong exhales, leaning back into his chair fully, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the scene. His gaze flickers to you, unreadable. You? You simply smile. Unbothered. Unshaken. And Ji-yong knows, without a doubt—this is going to be very interesting.

You stand across from Ji-yong, the tension from the previous scene still lingering like a spark in the air, waiting to ignite. The office setting around you—the stark desks, the bland overhead lighting—feels almost suffocating in its normalcy, unable to contain the electricity humming between you.

Ji-yong plays his role flawlessly. Seated at his desk, he exudes effortless dominance, one leg crossed over the other, fingers resting loosely against the polished wood. His suit remains pristine, but there’s something different now—a tautness in his shoulders, a glint in his eyes that betrays the otherwise cool exterior.

The lines between fiction and reality blur as you step closer. Your character—his rival, his equal—moves with the same unwavering confidence as before, but this time, there's an unmistakable shift in your approach. The challenge remains, but now, it simmers with something more dangerous, something almost indulgent.

You place both hands on the desk, leaning in just enough to invade his space. He doesn’t flinch. But you see the way his fingers tighten against the surface, the minuscule shift in his expression. A slow inhale, controlled but deliberate.

“You seem tense,” you murmur, your voice smooth, edged with amusement. “Having trouble keeping up?”

His gaze flickers to your lips for a fraction of a second. Almost imperceptible—almost. The room is silent, but the weight of a dozen unseen eyes presses down, watching, waiting.

Ji-yong tilts his head, his smirk lazy, his amusement practiced. “You think very highly of yourself.”

You let out a quiet chuckle, shaking your head as if to say you have no idea. Then, ever so slightly, you push forward—close enough that if either of you moved an inch, the lines between character and reality would blur beyond recognition. Ji-yong doesn’t move back. You swear you hear a chair creak somewhere in the background. The air between you tightens, stretches—until—

“Uh… am I interrupting something?”

The moment is shattered by the next scripted interruption. A nervous employee clears his throat from the doorway, shifting awkwardly as if he’s walked into something he shouldn’t have. The tension breaks, but not entirely.

Ji-yong exhales slowly, a faint chuckle escaping him as he finally leans back, reclaiming his space. He doesn’t break eye contact, though. If anything, he holds it longer than necessary, as if memorizing every detail of the expression you wear now—your smirk, the unspoken dare in your eyes.

“Not at all,” he finally says, voice smooth but laced with something unreadable. “We were just finishing up.”

But something about the way he says it feels far from finished.

The director calls cut again, and for a moment, no one moves. The weight of the scene lingers in the air like static before the set finally exhales, the background noise rushing back in all at once—crew members adjusting cameras, staff murmuring as they prepare for the next shot. Ji-yong exhales, running a hand over his jaw before finally looking at you again.

There’s a flicker of something behind his eyes—something unspoken but unmistakable.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” He murmurs low enough that only you can hear.

Your lips curve into an infuriatingly slow smile. “A little,” you admit, tilting your head. “Why? Are you?”

Ji-yong doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he simply shakes his head, amusement flickering across his features before he exhales through his nose. And then, just before the next take begins, he smirks to himself and steps off to the side. He’s no longer in frame, but he can’t take his eyes off you. 

The scene unfolding in front of him is a power play—one designed with precision, meant to shift the balance in your character’s favor. And you? You step into it like you were born for this role. The office space has transformed. No longer a dull, fluorescent-lit wasteland of mundane bureaucracy, it now bends around you, molding itself to accommodate your presence. The weight of your authority is unmistakable as you stroll toward the center of the room, shoulders relaxed, chin tilted just enough to exude effortless control.

Then, without looking, you reach into the pocket of your tailored coat and pull out a cigarette.

He watches as the room reacts. There’s no hesitation. The moment you bring the cigarette to your lips, workers scramble. Someone nearly trips over a desk in their rush to grab a lighter. Another fumbles with a matchbox, hands shaking slightly as they strike it against the strip. You don’t acknowledge them, don’t even spare them a glance—just stand there, perfectly composed, waiting.

The first flame flickers to life, but before it can reach you, another worker shoves a sleek silver lighter forward, the polished metal catching the artificial light. The first one withdraws immediately, wordless in their defeat.

Your eyes flicker downward—just slightly—before you lean in, allowing the flame to kiss the end of the cigarette. You take your time, inhaling slowly, the ember glowing brighter, smoke curling at the edges of your lips before you exhale in a slow, unbothered stream.

The entire set is holding its breath.

Ji-yong’s jaw tightens. He swallows, watching the way you angle your head, the way your fingers rest lightly against the cigarette as you shift your weight, draping yourself against the edge of a desk like you own the place. And maybe, in this moment, you do.

You glance across the room, surveying the office workers with the detached amusement of someone who knows they’re untouchable. Then, with practiced ease, you remove the cigarette from your lips, tapping the ash into an abandoned coffee mug on someone’s desk—utterly indifferent to the stunned silence that follows.

Ji-yong lets out a slow breath. It’s annoying, really. The way you slip so effortlessly into this role, the way you command attention without a single wasted movement. The way the tension builds around you like a slow-burning fuse, pulling everyone into your orbit. It’s annoying. But it’s also—

“Cut!”

The director’s voice shatters the moment, and the crew finally exhales, the tension dispersing as staff members move in to reset the scene. Laughter bubbles up somewhere in the background—staff murmuring about how intense the moment was, how natural you made it look.

Ji-yong doesn’t laugh.

He just watches as you step out of character, rolling your shoulders before stretching your arms overhead, the cigarette now discarded. You say something to one of the stylists, something lighthearted, and they laugh as they adjust your coat.

And then—

As if sensing the weight of his stare, you turn. Your gaze meets his across the room, and for a split second, something passes between you. Something heavy. Something unspoken. Then, your lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk.

Ji-yong exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head before dropping his gaze. Annoying. Absolutely annoying. But damn if it doesn’t make his pulse quicken.

The shoot stretches on, scene after scene unfolding like an intricate game of chess, each move calculated but never predictable. Ji-yong finds himself locked in an unspoken battle—not just between the characters but something deeper, something that lingers even when the cameras cut. The rivalry dynamic is perfect. Too perfect. With every take, you slip further into character, wielding power and confidence like second nature. Your presence commands every scene, your movements sharp and deliberate, your words laced with something just sharp enough to sting but smooth enough to feel dangerous. The cameras adore it, capturing every flicker of intensity between you and Ji-yong, every slow glance, every near-imperceptible smirk exchanged between battles of wit.

And Ji-yong? He gives as good as he gets. His character is arrogant, slick with confidence, but there’s a tension beneath the surface, a tight coil that threatens to snap every time you step closer. Every time you invade his space, tilt your head, let a slow, knowing smile curl your lips just enough to challenge him.

The others play their roles well, reacting to the dynamic without overstepping, their silence amplifying the tension between you both. There are no remarks from the other cast members, no teasing from the production team—just the quiet, collective awareness that something is happening. Something charged. Something addictive.

The pacing of the shoot is relentless, jumping from power plays to verbal sparring, from stolen glances to high-stakes confrontations. You throw accusations like knives; Ji-yong dodges them with a smirk but never unscathed. The push and pull is intoxicating, an unbreakable rhythm that builds with each take.

“That’s a wrap!”

The room exhales all at once. Crew members shuffle to power down equipment, stylists and managers step in to check on their talents, and the once-cloaked tension finally lifts—at least, for everyone else.

Ji-yong, however, stays where he is. He watches as you shake hands with the director, exchanging words of gratitude before slipping seamlessly back into yourself—your character melting away with an easy stretch of your shoulders, a relaxed sigh of relief. It’s such a stark contrast to the commanding presence you carried mere minutes ago that it’s almost disorienting. Almost. But not quite.

You turn, scanning the room, and your gaze locks onto his instantly yet again. And there it is again—that unspoken thing, that electric current that hasn’t fully let go. 

He tilts his head slightly, arms still crossed as he leans back against one of the desks, watching, waiting.

You, on the other hand, have the audacity to smile. Not the slow, knowing smirks from earlier. Not the sharp, calculated ones you wielded like a weapon throughout the shoot. No—this one is softer, more playful, almost as if you’re amused by the way he’s still lingering, still watching. As if you expected it. Slowly, you make your way over, casual, unhurried—like you have all the time in the world.

“You survived,” you remark, voice light but tinged with something teasing as you come to a stop in front of him.

Ji-yong huffs a quiet laugh through his nose, finally uncrossing his arms. “Barely.”

Your smile widens. “You looked like you were having fun.”

He exhales, running a hand over his jaw as he lets his eyes flicker over you—still dressed in your tailored outfit, still carrying the remnants of that razor-sharp confidence.

And then, after a beat, he shakes his head, lips curling just slightly. “You’re dangerous.”

It’s not an accusation. It’s not even a complaint. It’s a fact. One you both know all too well.

Your laughter is quiet but unmistakable as you lean in just a fraction—close enough that only he can hear when you murmur, “You seem to like it.”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just watches you for a second longer, lets the weight of the day settle between you before finally—finally—he exhales, shaking his head as he lets a slow, exasperated smile break through.

“Annoyingly so.”

And with that, the spell is broken.

The set continues to wind down, the world slowly pulling you both back into reality. But even as stylists and staff begin ushering you away, even as managers call for Ji-yong’s attention elsewhere, that lingering energy between you remains.

By the time you and Ji-yong leave the set, the internet is already on fire. It starts with a single clip—just a short, seemingly harmless teaser from one of the camera operators who uploads a behind-the-scenes moment to social media. Just a glimpse of the intense back-and-forth between you and Ji-yong, the smirks, the near-touch, the weight of every unscripted glance.

And that’s all it takes.

Within an hour, it’s trending. Fans are losing their minds. The fan edits start rolling in at an alarming speed. Dramatic black-and-white gifs, slowed-down clips with sultry background music, captioned screenshots dissecting every microexpression between you and Ji-yong. Someone even edits a fake movie trailer, cutting your scenes together as if the two of you are the leads in a high-stakes corporate thriller with a dangerously romantic subplot.

Ji-yong sees all of it. Judging by the way his phone has been vibrating non-stop, so has everyone else.

The moment you both step into the back of the car, leaving the studio behind, he exhales dramatically, tossing his phone onto the seat beside him before turning to you.

“Do you see what you’ve done?” His voice is somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

You glance at your own phone, scrolling through the chaos with a barely concealed smile. “Me? I did this?”

“You know what you did.”

“The people have spoken. They liked it.”

“Liked it? They’re acting like we’re starring in a whole new drama piece.”

You laugh, scrolling through the comments. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

He side-eyes you, lips twitching. “You enjoyed this way too much.”

“Maybe.” You shrug, turning to him with a knowing smile. “You did too.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he watches you, the city lights flashing past the window, reflecting off your skin in golden streaks. After a beat, he exhales, shaking his head as he leans back against the seat, voice low and teasing.

“Dangerous.”

“Annoyingly so?”

Ji-yong sighs, throws his arm over your shoulder to pull you closer, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple before murmuring against your skin, “…Definitely.”

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @cinnamonbear22 @xxxicddbr88 @infinetlyforgotten @babygirlewis @loveesiren @tulentiy @babyrvis @ldydeath @wcnderlands @eru-vande @breakmeoff @petersasteria @aizshallnotbefound @allthoughtsmindfull

[clarkeyhill]

F L A R E | George Clarke

Fluff

Warnings : endometriosis

⸻

It was a quiet evening, the kind you rarely get in the middle of a bustling city. You and George had decided to go out for dinner at that little Italian bistro you both loved. The warm, rustic ambiance of the restaurant filled with the scent of freshly baked bread and simmering sauces made it the perfect place for a relaxed night. The candlelight flickered gently, casting soft shadows on the wooden tables.

As you sat down, you could already feel the familiar discomfort creeping in. A subtle, tight sensation that you knew all too well. Endometriosis had its ways of reminding you of its presence, especially when a flare-up was imminent. You tried to ignore it, focusing on the menu in front of you, but the dull ache in your lower abdomen was growing steadily worse.

George, ever the attentive and caring boyfriend, noticed the way you shifted in your seat, a slight furrow in your brow. He reached across the table, his fingers brushing yours gently.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern. “You okay?”

You hesitated for a moment. You didn’t want to worry him, didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, but the pressure in your stomach was starting to build, and you could already feel the waistband of your jeans digging in. The last thing you wanted was to ruin the evening, but you were starting to realize that you might not have a choice.

“I’m okay,” you said, your voice quieter than usual. “It’s just… my stomach. I think I’m having a flare-up.” You tried to smile, but the discomfort made it hard to muster much energy. “My jeans are getting a little tight…”

George’s eyes softened with understanding, and he didn’t hesitate for a moment. “You don’t have to explain, love. I know how much it hurts.”

You felt your cheeks warm, embarrassed that you couldn’t just push through it like you sometimes tried to. You weren’t sure how to bring it up, but the feeling of the waistband squeezing tighter with every minute made it hard to ignore.

“I might have to… um…” you trailed off, not wanting to make it awkward, but you couldn’t hold back anymore. “I might have to unbutton my jeans… I don’t want to make things weird, but my stomach’s just… it’s not going to stop bloating.”

George’s face immediately softened, his expression one of pure affection. Without missing a beat, he reached over, placing a hand over yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“If you need to, go ahead,” he said, his voice gentle and calm. “If you do it, I’ll do it too.” He smiled, a playful glint in his eyes, but there was something so tender in his tone. “That way, you don’t have to be embarrassed, do you?”

You laughed softly, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. He was always so good at making you feel like everything would be okay, no matter what. It wasn’t just that he made the situation better—he made you feel safe.

“You’re ridiculous,” you teased, a smile tugging at your lips despite the discomfort. “But that’s exactly why I love you.”

George leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what. You’re not in this alone.” His words were so simple, yet they meant everything to you.

In that moment, the world felt a little bit softer. The tightness in your jeans didn’t seem as important anymore. You knew you could be yourself, and with George by your side, there was nothing to be embarrassed about.

You reached for your jacket, draping it carefully over your lap as you unbuttoned your jeans, letting out a small sigh of relief. George smiled at you, his own jacket now open, the buttons casually undone as he kept his promise.

And just like that, you didn’t feel like you had to hide anything from him. You didn’t have to pretend that everything was perfect. With George, you were safe, no matter what flare-ups life threw your way.

-

❤️

[into-deepspace]

hi there! i saw you are taking requests hehe So i have this idea, how would the Lads guys (in specific Sylus) react to your past situationships, lets suppose you just happen to mention your last romantic interest and the way he treated you before him and he's truly horrified and like ''did you really allowed that? sweetie, why? that's absolutely, no, not acceptable.'' bc obviously he is better and treats us as royalty, he would be horrified to find out the audacity some man have hahahaha if this is something you are comfortable with i would love to know your take on this, thank u so muchhh, mwa

hiiii oh my goodness tysm for the ask!! this is such a interesting premise, i've just written sylus's part for now but i have ideas (and some rough drafts hehe) for the other guys' parts that i hope to post in the next few days 🥰 so, without further ado:

sylus vs your (not-so-stellar) past relationships

690 words, mc/sylus, mini-fic format, mentions of (past) over-controlling relationships, they/them pronouns for MC, MC is described as wearing a dress, no smut but Sylus does get a lil handsy with it oops

request info • remember to reblog your authors!

zayne (coming soon) • rafayel (coming soon) • xavier (coming soon)

MC frowns at themselves in the mirror.

They don't look bad. Truly, they look good. Great, even, in the dress they'd picked out for tonight's auction. No doubt about it, the fabric hugs and flares in all the right places. It could be described as show-stopping, truly, with the way it suits them so nicely.

But, at the same time, it's clear that MC has some slightly different proportions to the online model. It doesn't affect how the dress fits, or how good it looks but it does affect how much of certain pieces of skin are showing. They run their fingers along the edges of the fabric, trying to pull a bit, wondering if half an hour is enough time to procure some fashion tape and tug the dress around so that the coverage is just a bit more... well, covering.

There's a knock at the door, more an announcement than a true request for entrance, and then Sylus is striding into the room, his neat suit jacket draped over one shoulder like a cape. He clasps an expensive-looking watch onto his wrist as he crosses the floor, smiling as his eyes drag up and down MC's figure.

"I was going to ask if you're ready," he comments with a quiet smile and a glint in his eye, as he steps up behind them and drapes his arms around their waist, "but now I'm not sure if I want to leave the house at all..." MC flushes, gaze breaking from the mirror and dropping to the floor.

"Yeah," they manage, breath tight in their chest, both from having him so close and from preemptive nervousness regarding any comments about their choice of dress. "This isn't super- uh- public-appropriate." Their gaze darts back up just in time to watch Sylus raise an eyebrow.

Once again, Sylus's eyes rake up and down their body, this time less of a flirtatious look and more of a genuine search. His thumbs brush gentle, idle circles over MC's hips.

"I don't see why it's not," he says, and MC almost believes him with how genuine it sounds. "Look," he says, tracing the lines of the dress with the smirk of a man that knows exactly what he's doing. "All the exclusive parts are covered, aren't they?" MC can feel their cheeks burn warmer.

"I mean- well, yeah," they choke out. "But... come on, I'm not stupid." They look up at Sylus in the mirror, trying their hardest to not think about the pleasant weight of his hands on their waist, not right now. "Not like I haven't had a boyfriend before. I know how guys think." Sylus's shoulders straighten a bit, and a slightly more serious expression crosses his face.

"Oh? Do you?" he says. "Enlighten me, then." MC huffs, feeling remarkably like an animal in a trap.

"You know. People don't like it when their partners, well, parade themselves around. I'm not stupid. I know this is a little too much to be wearing out and about."

Sylus gives a few slow blinks, then lets out a measured breath. He searches their face in their reflection for a moment, as if trying to figure out just what's going on. Finally, with a soft, serious voice, he speaks.

"I don't know what sort of insecure boys you've dated in the past," he says with distaste, "but I don't find myself in the business of telling my partner what they can and cannot wear." One of his hands moves to their jaw and cups their face, gently turning their gaze from the mirror to him. With a unique softness, he presses a grazing kiss to their lips.

"So," Sylus continues, "unless you yourself are uncomfortable with the amount of skin you are currently showing, I think it would be best to go ahead and get your shoes on so that we can begin our evening."

Well. MC's face splits into a relieved, grateful smile — they aren't about to argue with that. They relax a bit, leaning against Sylus as they gaze up at him over their shoulder.

"Sounds good," they breathe. Sylus smiles back.

"Good."

[nakoyaps]

YOU’LL BE IN MY HEART

atsumu miya x insecure! reader

“DON’T LISTEN TO THEM, CAUSE WHAT DO THEY KNOW?”

you should’ve known it wouldn’t be easy dating ATSUMU MIYA. he’s a well-known student athlete, and you two aren’t even in the same social circle.

of course, people realized that he changed. from the dude who always basked in the spotlight— to the taken man protecting his girlfriend’s feelings? what a wuss.

despite his reputation of being carefree and unbothered, it surely worried him when the love of his life was suddenly hurt and disheartened.

𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ᡣ𐭩

“ya alright, pumpkin?” atsumu asks, worried.

it was saturday— your weekly movie night at his place. despite cuddling and having a cozy movie playing in the back, you couldn’t help but replay everyone’s comments over and over in your head.

you turned to face him. seeing the look of concern on his face, you couldn’t help but not want to worry him.

“i’m okay, tsumu.”

he raises a brow, doubt evident in his eyes. “really? it don’t seem like yer okay..”

it was hard to lie, especially when he knows everything about you— in and out.

you sigh in defeat, “promise you won’t get all pissy?”

he gives you a look of mock offense, bringing his hand up to his chest. “i am not pissy.”

you roll your eyes, deciding to tell him the truth;

“your fans seem to prefer you dating someone else..”

he paused. no sassy remark, nothing. “excuse me?”

“you’re a student-athlete, and your not exactly bad looking either..” you state, your voice lowering at the last bit.

he stares, baffled. “what the hell does that mean?”

“it means you’re like, practically the perfect boyfriend.. theoretically, i suppose. but, i’m barely considered conventionally attractive.“

even with how obvious you were making it, atsumu didn’t seem to understand.

“why would that matter?”

“because that’s how it is. a pretty girl can date an ugly guy, but not vice versa.”

he squints his eyes, the expression on his face clearly annoyed.

“so what? yer gorgeous.”

“maybe to you—“

before you could make a self-deprecating comment, he cuts you off. “yeah, and thats all that matters.”

you tilt your head, confused. “you don’t get it—“

again, cutting you off. “nah, yer the one that don’t get it. don’t listen to those nobodies, what do they know ‘bout us?”

before you could speak up, he continued making his statement. “they don’t know ya like i do. yer gorgeous, intelligent, talented.. and ya deal with my bullcrap better than anyone else.” he chuckles, “they don’t know what i’m like behind closed doors either, darlin’. i guarantee yer the only girl for me, the only one that can keep up with me.”

maybe, just maybe, dating an athlete isn’t such a bad idea.

you try to suppress the smile tugging at your lips, not going unnoticed by atsumu. being the jerk that he is, he pulls you closer, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

the only words you could describe his gaze was loving and adoration. with a dreamy sigh, he says, “imma marry ya one day, alright?”

you nod bashfully, your voice turning into a small whisper. “i’d like that..”

HELLO FRIENDSS!! haven’t been active lately lol, even if i do only post once a month.. i took a hiatus during feb for reasons even unknown to myself other than lack of motivation, but i’m happy my kenma fic is doing well, and i hope you all can enjoy this one as well :)

[shy9-29]

Waiting For You ✶ [s.jy]

“I loved you in silence, while you kept running back to her.”

SOMAR𝒊O ─── A heartbroken friend silently suffers as the one they love keeps returning to the person who hurts him. 엔하이픈 제이크 𝐱 𝑓. reader ✉️ wc. 3.7k ✶ careful ! skinship, kissing, nicknames, jakes lwk an ass, cheating, heart break, not proof read 🔖 genre. romance, drama, angst, friendship, tragedy, unrequited love, emotional fiction

📕 a/n — omg I’m back after 500 years and yes I’m still writing lost in Seoul and I WILL FINISH IT I PROMISE.

Jake and you had been best friends for seven years, ever since that random high school orientation day where you two bumped into each other, both lost in a crowd of strangers. Since then, you’d seen the best and worst of each other—been there through every heartbreak, every triumph, every awkward phase. You were the kind of friends who knew exactly what the other was thinking, even when no words were spoken. He made you laugh when you wanted to cry, and you were the anchor he could always rely on when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

When Jake started dating Yunjin, you had seen the change in him. He was happier, more radiant. Yunjin seemed to be the perfect fit for him—smart, beautiful, and funny, with a sense of adventure that matched his own. Watching them together, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy—not because you wanted Jake for yourself, but because you could see how much he was in love with her. It made you wonder if you’d ever find that kind of connection.

But now, as you sat in your car on a quiet Wednesday night, your phone buzzing in your hand, you realized that your best friend had just been torn apart.

—

“Hey, you busy?” His voice came through the phone, sounding strained, like he’d been holding something in for a while. “Can you come over? I—I really need to talk.”

You didn’t even hesitate. You knew that tone in his voice. Something was wrong. You threw the car into gear, speeding toward his apartment.

When you arrived, the place was quiet, too quiet. The lights were dimmed, the kind of atmosphere that felt almost too heavy for a normal night. You opened the door slowly and called out for him, your voice echoing against the walls.

“Jake?”

He was sitting on the couch, looking smaller than usual, as if all the energy had been drained from him. His hair was a mess, and his usually sharp eyes were red and hollow, rimmed with exhaustion and something deeper. It looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Jake, what happened?” you asked, stepping into the room.

He didn’t answer right away, staring at his hands, then glancing up at you, as if he was seeing you for the first time in a while. His expression was empty, a ghost of the confident guy you had known for so long.

“Yunjin… she cheated on me,” he said quietly, his voice breaking on the last word.

You felt the floor drop out from under you, your body freezing. Yunjin, his girlfriend of more than a year? The girl who was always smiling at him, the one who made him so happy? It didn’t make sense. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it.

“Wait, what? How do you know?” You stumbled over your words, trying to make sense of the situation.

“I—I saw the messages. She was texting some guy, saying things… things that she shouldn’t be saying to anyone but me. I confronted her, and she didn’t even try to deny it. She told me it just happened, like it was no big deal. Like I meant nothing.”

The way he said it broke something inside of you. It wasn’t just the betrayal that hurt him. It was the way she had dismissed everything, made him feel like he wasn’t worth the effort. You wanted to say something—anything—to comfort him, but you couldn’t find the right words. How do you comfort someone who’s been told they’re not enough?

“I’m so sorry, Jake,” you whispered, sitting beside him on the couch. “That’s… that’s awful.”

“I don’t even know what to do anymore,” he admitted, his voice hollow. “I thought we had something real. I thought she was the one.”

You wanted to say that she wasn’t the one—that someone who would betray him like that didn’t deserve him. But you kept quiet, letting him speak, because deep down, you knew it wouldn’t matter. He had already made up his mind. He was in love with her. No matter how much it hurt, he would never stop caring.

“I just feel… empty,” he said after a long pause. “Like everything I thought was real doesn’t matter anymore.”

You wanted to pull him closer, to take all that pain away, but you knew you couldn’t. You had never seen Jake this broken, and the thought of him like this, unable to fix himself, made your heart ache.

“Jake,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You’re not alone. I’m here. I always will be.”

He looked up at you then, his eyes full of emotion. He didn’t say anything right away, but you could feel something shift in the air between you. It was subtle, like a crack in the foundation of everything you’d known.

—

The days that followed were a blur. Jake spent most of his time holed up in his apartment, brooding and distant. You would text him, check in, but every conversation felt like pulling teeth. He wasn’t the same person anymore. He was angry, hurt, and confused, and he was taking it out on everyone, including you.

But then, after a few days, he started calling more. The first time, you answered quickly, hopeful that maybe he was starting to move forward.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, y/n,” he said, his voice a little steadier than before. “I don’t think I can let her go. I keep thinking that if I give it one more shot, maybe… maybe things will be different.”

Your heart sank, and something inside you recoiled. You wanted to scream at him, to tell him that he was better off without her. That he was worth more than this constant cycle of heartbreak. But you couldn’t. He was your best friend, and you couldn’t stand to see him hurting, even if it meant he had to go back to her.

“You don’t have to do this, Jake,” you said quietly. “You deserve someone who loves you for you. Not someone who treats you like… like this.”

He was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke again, there was a quiet, resigned tone in his voice.

“I know, y/n. I know. But I don’t know how to stop. I can’t just forget her. I don’t think I can move on.”

You didn’t have the strength to argue with him anymore. You could hear the pain in his words, and you knew he wasn’t ready to hear what you had to say. Maybe, deep down, you knew that nothing would stop him from going back to Yunjin. Not yet. Not when his heart was still clinging to the idea of her.

A week later, you received a text from him: I’m going back to her. I need closure. I need to know if this is the end or if I can fix this.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to beg him not to go. But instead, you just typed out a quick response: If that’s what you think you need… I’m here when you’re ready.

And so, he went back to her.

It felt like an eternity before Jake reached out again. You hadn’t heard from him in days, and you were starting to worry. You knew he had tried to mend things with Yunjin, but something inside you kept telling you it was a mistake. That he was only setting himself up for more heartbreak.

Then, one night, you got another message from him.

“She did it again,” the text read. “She cheated on me. She left me for good this time.”

You felt your heart break for him. You wanted to reach out, to pull him into your arms, to tell him that you had been there all along. But instead, you just stared at the screen, tears filling your eyes. He had tried so hard to make it work, but in the end, he was left with nothing but more pain.

When you saw him the next day, he was a shell of the person you once knew. His eyes were empty, his posture slumped. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, like he hadn’t eaten. You wanted to tell him everything would be okay, but the words got stuck in your throat.

“I’m sorry, Jake,” you whispered, your voice shaky as you wrapped your arms around him. He didn’t pull away. He just let you hold him, his body stiff and fragile against yours.

“I just… I don’t know what to do anymore,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion. “I thought… I thought she was the one. But now, I don’t even know who I am without her.”

You closed your eyes, letting the tears fall freely. This wasn’t fair. He deserved so much more than this endless cycle of heartbreak.

“You don’t need her, Jake,” you said softly. “You never needed her to be whole. You’re enough on your own.”

But even as the words left your mouth, you knew it wasn’t true. You knew that Jake wasn’t ready to hear that. Not yet. Not when his heart was still so tangled up in Yunjin.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now, y/n,” he whispered. “I feel so lost.”

You held him tighter, but a part of you knew that no matter how tight you held on, it wasn’t going to be enough. Jake was always going to be searching for something that wasn’t there. He was always going to be looking for closure, for answers that would never come.

And you? You were always going to be the one standing in the background, waiting for him to see you. Waiting for him to realize that you were there, always there, even when he was too broken to see it.

But for now, all you could do was hold him, knowing that the person he needed most was never going to be the one he chose.

You loved him. But he would never love you the way you needed. And that was the hardest truth of all.

oh wow I never cried that bad while writing something! 200 notes for pt 2 | masterlist

[spicycinnabun]

🤖 I've loved all the snippets of this au so much!

glad you're enjoying it!! 🤖💙

EB was sidewinding, bumping into Tommy on almost every step. The shots were finally hitting his processors.

Tommy steadied him with an arm around his waist.

“I may have m-m-miscalculated my tolerance,” EB admitted. His cheeks were deeply Thirium flushed. He giggled, then burped up a bunch of metallic blue bubbles. One popped in front of Tommy’s nose, making it wrinkle. “O-oops!”

EB reached up, clumsily attempting to wipe Tommy's face. Tommy caught his wrist and lowered it gently. He patted EB’s hip, smiling. “Okay, we need to cut you off. I think it's time to go home.”

“Already?” EB turned towards Tommy. “Can I go h-home with you instead?” he asked, eyes glimmering.

Tommy’s chest clenched immediately.

Technically, if Tommy took EB to his house without authorization, he would be stealing LAFD property.

“You want me to botnap you?” Tommy asked. 

He wasn’t against the idea. Fuck Gerrard.

EB was still giving him the robopuppy eyes. They were getting even wetter. “I know it’s wrong. I don’t want you to get in trouble, Tommy. It just… gets l-l-lonely at the station when you’re not there.”

Tommy had no idea EB was capable of loneliness. He wondered what it was like to exist at the station. How long had EB been feeling this way? Just for a little while, or since his assembly day?

“I'll be on my best b-behavior. I’ll be so good you might even want to k-keep me.”

The ache in Tommy’s chest grew tenfold. That really twisted the knife. “EB…”

“I’ve had dreams about it before.” EB smiled. It was sweet. Confessional. His lips looked especially full and pink. His LED pulsed blue. “If you were my owner instead of Captain, and I was your botfriend.”

Tommy's brain broke. He wasn’t going to survive hearing more of this. “...You can dream?”

And not only that, but EB dreamt of him? Of them? Together?

“I can construct visual scenarios with various o-o-outcomes,” EB answered, blinking slowly and swaying on the spot. Tommy tightened his grip on him. “Like dreams, they're not real.”

“I didn’t know,” Tommy said. Choked, really.

“If it was possible, would you want that? Would you want me?” EB asked. His tone glitched on the question, going tinny. The hope in it was painful.

Tommy’s throat clicked as he swallowed. Of course I’d want you, EB.

How could he not?

Someone bumped into him from behind, jostling them and reminding Tommy of exactly where they were and who he was. In a crowded bar with his very masculine, red-blooded coworkers just a few feet away. 

EB's big, mechanical Thirium pump was going to get damaged. Just like Tommy’s heart had years ago.

Self-loathing more than usual, Tommy let go of EB and dodged the question. “I can’t talk about this here. How long will it take for you to regulate your Thirium?”

EB’s expression fell.

So did Tommy’s stomach, straight to his fucking feet.

“Approximately three hours and forty-two minutes,” EB answered quietly.

“We probably shouldn’t take you straight back to the station. Not until you��ve sobered up. C’mon.”

Tommy wanted to take EB’s hand and squeeze it.

He didn’t.

⚙︎

tag list: @brassm-tagged @leashybebes @thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish @setmeatopthepyre @bibuckeroo @station18908 @hmg621 @buffaluff @disastardly @figuringitoutaloud @bbbuckalou @ambernotember @theredrenard @hyperfocusthusly @tedious-waffle @screamlet @xmidhel @nochance-noway

@rcmclachlan @popfly @powersuitup @nonotyourspumoni @espressopatronum454 @loulou-land @all-the-feelss @comeon-intothemadhouse @jake-is-screaming-in-tune @therealstacyfakename @whizzzerbrown @the-omniscient-narrator @5ammi90 @crazypenguin88 @thuperrah @just-barrow @exhaustedpirate

[ink-stainedkiss]

Bunny!Geto who loves to find comfort in silence. He doesn’t like loud noises and while he doesn’t consider you to be loud, he cherishes the peaceful moments when it’s just you and him. In the early mornings, when Geto reads the books scattered in your home and you are busy with your own task. He can’t help but catch glimpses of your focused expression and smile.

Bunny!Geto who has to always be on alert, since you don’t know how to keep your hands off his little tail. You can’t help it, it’s just so fluffy and you have to hold back a squeal when it unconsciously twitches. He always denies it, but there are a few videos of the little fluff ball shaking happily as you scratch his back that would beg to differ.

Bunny!Geto who feels bad that he can’t express how thankful he is for you. You were the one that practically scooped him up off the merciless streets. Some nights he thinks back to the first time he met you and how hostile he was. If he gets too far into his imagination, he’ll try and think of where he would be if he hadn’t decided to stay with you. Ultimately he’ll become sad and end up clingier than usual.

It happened again, Geto had a nightmare. He was an extremely independent hybrid, barely letting you coddle him unless he was under the weather. So it wasn’t exactly easy for him to rise from his bed and try and find comfort from you. It may sound childish, and believe Geto that he doesn’t exactly feel proud when he has these terrible dreams, but they have gotten better since you gave him a place to stay.

They are just quick flashes of the life he had before. Living on the streets and hiding in alleyways was how Geto managed to scrape by, praying that the trash can he found had some sort of food. The thoughts made his stomach churn in disgust. Geto had been restless the entire night, so he only had one option to get rid of this feeling.

The bunny stood in front of your door, contemplating whether he should just turn and not worry you about his past, but shockingly, the door swung open,revealing you. Geto could see you had been awake for a while. Raising a brow at the hybrid,”Are you okay?” Shit, Geto hadn’t even glanced at a mirror, how bad did he look? You glanced around your room, voice dropping to a small whisper,”Did you want to come in?”

Without a moment of hesitation, Geto walked in, admiring how homey your room looked. You got back into your comforter, grabbing the book you had put aside when you saw Geto’s figure standing at your door. As you got settled, you looked up to see Geto just standing there, like if he were to move something would explode. Covering your small giggle, you lifted the other half of your blankets,” You can lay with me, I don’t mind.”

The bunny gave you a short nod and slid into the side next to you. Not wanting to push him out of his comfort zone, you went back to reading. Geto’s droopy ears twitched as he heard you mumble something under your breath. Turning to his side, he realized you were mouthing the words on the page. He tried to be subtle as he got a peek, but it was no use. You were about to flip the page when you felt a little push on your arm. It took you a second to realize what happened and when you looked over, you saw Geto staring at you very keenly.

You knew Geto liked reading, but you also saw the tiredness in his eyes, so you put two and two together,”Do you want me to read out loud?” A tiny spark of happiness ignited in his deep purple eyes and out of excitement he got closer, pulling you in a hug. Immediately Geto tried to pull off, thinking he messed it all up, but before he could, your arm wrapped him. He tensed, but when you began to read, he slowly calmed down. Your words were like velvet and soon enough sleep creeped closer to him. It’s simple to say that wasn’t the last night Geto wound his way into your bed for the night.

Bunny!Geto who doesn’t hesitate when you ask to play with his hair. Like his ears, his hair was jet black and extremely beautiful. You could drag your fingers through it without catching on a single knot. It’s your favorite pastime to play with his hair, either after a long day at work or you are just bored, it’s easy to get lost in his long strands. For a while, you weren’t sure why Geto would click his teeth between humming to your words, but after looking it up, you realized what it meant.