#and i’m not trying to change anyones mind!

[baby-yongbok]

"Let Me Make You a Mommy"

SKZ Maknae Line x Reader

⤷ Smut | drabbles/hard thoughts

⤷ WC - 1.7k [total]

⤷ CW - breeding kink, rough sex, creampie, degradation, praise, teasing, unprotected sex, 

⤷ A/N: It's Maknae Line Time! ... Somehow Seungmin and Innie's ended up being the longest ... anyway, I hope you enjoy♡

Hyung Line | ⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Han

He's a mess above you, hair damp with sweat, mouth parted, hands gripping the backs of your knees to keep you spread open for him. The headboard slams against the wall with every thrust, the bed creaking like it’s begging for mercy. But he doesn't slow down. He can’t even fathom the thought of stopping. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he groans, voice cracking as he slams in deep again. “You feel so good, baby. So tight. So wet—shit, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

You’re already half-gone, body rocking with every thrust, barely able to keep your eyes open with how hard he’s taking you. Han fucks you like he’s made for it and you take it like it’s all you know how to do. It’s carnal how he presses you open, fucking a whimper out of your throat every time his hips slam home, like he’s trying to brand you from the inside out—like he won’t stop until your cunt forgets anyone who isn’t him.

He leans down suddenly, forearms bracketing your head, hips still pounding into you without pause. His forehead rests against yours and he moans—loud—like your body’s dragging the truth out of him.

Then he says it.

“Let me make you a mommy.”

Your whole body locks up. His doesn’t. He slams into you harder.

“You want that?” he pants, words slurred and frantic. “Want me to fill you up? Fuck a baby into you?”

“Ji—”

“Bet you’d look so good,” he growls, eyes blown wide, totally wrecked. “Walking around full. Round. Dripping with me.”

You whimper, and that sound breaks him—he starts babbling, so close, completely unhinged.

“Wanna see you take it. All of it. Wanna come so deep you leak for hours. Wanna ruin you—fuck, wanna keep you like this.”

He kisses you sloppily—teeth, tongue, need—and then pulls back just enough to watch your face.

“Gonna give it to you, okay?” he gasps. “Gonna come inside you like you were made for it.”

One more thrust. One more shattered moan.

And then he’s spilling into you—loud, twitching, clutching you like he needs to anchor himself to survive it.

He doesn’t stop moving, just slower now, grinding into you like he wants to make sure every drop stays.

“Shit,” he breathes, blinking hard, chest heaving. “I meant that. Every word.”

And you know he did—because Jisung never says what he doesn’t mean. Especially not when he’s this gone.

Felix

He moans when you pull him in deeper—legs wrapped around his waist, nails scraping down his back. His body is flushed and slick with sweat, golden skin glowing in the dim light as he thrusts into you, slow at first, savoring the drag.

“You feel so good,” he whispers, voice low, eyes locked on yours. “So fucking perfect for me.”

You tighten around him and his breath catches, hips faltering just a bit.

“You’re everything,” he says, like a prayer. “Don’t wanna be anywhere else.”

His hands cradle your face as he fucks you, tender and steady, like he can’t believe he gets to have you like this.

But then your fingers slide into his hair—tug just a little—and the sound he makes isn’t soft. It’s raw. And suddenly his pace changes. Faster. Deeper. More desperate.

“I want—” he gasps, cutting himself off with a groan. “I want something.”

“Tell me.”

He hesitates. Thrusts hard once, and again, and then—

“Let me make you a mommy.”

The words come out breathless. Shaky. Like he’s been holding them in.

You blink up at him, stunned, and his face breaks into this wrecked, needy expression.

“I think about it,” he pants, fucking you harder now, voice dropping into something rough and gritty, close to a growl. “Think about coming inside you. Filling you up. Watching you swell with me.”

You moan—loud—and his grip tightens.

“You’d be so beautiful,” he says, voice cracking. “You already are. But like that? Mine?”

His rhythm starts to lose its smoothness—hips snapping with less control, mouth parted, breath caught on every thrust.

“I’ll be good,” he whimpers, forehead falling to your shoulder. “I’ll take care of you. Everything. Just let me do this. Let me give you something.”

He comes with a cry muffled against your skin—body trembling, cock buried deep as he spills into you. He doesn’t move for a while, just stays pressed against you, breathing hard, whispering soft nothings into your shoulder.

And then, when he finally pulls back to look at you—eyes dark, voice barely audible—

“I want all of you. Always have.”

Seungmin 

“Look at you,” Seungmin mutters, voice like hot iron cutting through the haze as he drags his cock slow and deep. “Already cockdumb and I’ve barely even started.”

Your hands are fisting the sheets. Back arched. Lips parted as he keeps you there—legs wide, hips tilted just how he wants them. The way he fucks you is deliberate. Precise. Like every thrust has a goal.

You try to say his name, but all that comes out is a broken whimper.

He leans down until his forehead is brushing yours, hips still rolling in maddening rhythm. “So good for me,” he breathes. “Take me so well. Always do.”

And then he goes still. Deep inside you. Not moving.

His hand curls under your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“You want everything from me, don’t you?” he says, voice low and sharp. “You want me to fuck you full. Fill you up until it sticks.”

You can barely breathe.

His thumb brushes your bottom lip as his cock twitches inside you.

“Let me make you a mommy.”

You gasp. The way he says it—like he’s offering a crown and daring you not to kneel for it.

“I bet you think about it,” he whispers. “I know you do, I do too, all the time. Watching you swell with me. With us.”

Your body clenches around him involuntarily.

He groans, low in his throat—and then it all shifts into something heavier. What comes next is pure fire behind the eyes.

“Say it back.”

You blink, breath shuddering.

His voice drops. “You heard me. Say it. Say you want me to make you a mommy.”

“Seungmin—”

“Uh-uh” He thrusts once, sharp and deep, and you cry out. That was a warning. “Say it.”

You’re shaking, heart pounding, every nerve ending lit up like a live wire—and he’s watching all of it, waiting. Not letting you look away.

“Say it, baby,” he murmurs, voice dangerously soft. “Or I’ll stop right now.”

You don’t even think.

“Make me a mommy.”

He goes still again. Eyes dark. Breathing hard.

“Again,” he rasps.

“Please, Seungmin—make me a mommy.”

And then he’s gone. All restraint snaps as he drives into you with brutal precision, fucking you like he’s trying to etch himself into your DNA.

“Good girl,” he grits. “So fucking good for me.”

You can’t think. You’re crying his name, legs shaking, nails digging into his shoulders as he fills you deep, deep, deeper, like he’s trying to give you every drop he has.

And when he comes—buried inside, panting against your skin—he says it again, this time like a promise:

“We’ll make it real. Just say when.”

Jeongin

You’re testing him—and you both know it.

Feet in his lap, short skirt riding up your thighs, head tilted like you’re innocent. But your smirk says otherwise.

“I don’t know if you could handle me,” you tease, swirling your wine glass, legs slowly parting as he watches, sharp-eyed and far too quiet.

Jeongin doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t bite back. He just shifts—broad shoulders rolling, a slow smirk rising like a storm behind his eyes.

“I don’t want to handle you,” he says low, fingers dragging up your shin. “I want to ruin you.”

You blink. The air thickens.

He sets your glass aside, pushes your legs open with a firm hand and leans in, lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, “I know that’s what you really want too, isn’t it?”

He moves you, you barely register it until your hips are in the air, ass up for him and he pries your legs apart. You moan, gripping the couch cushions like they’ll save you.

“You want it?” he growls, fingers digging into your waist like he’s deciding how rough he wants to get. “You want me to fuck you stupid?”

You look back at him, just barely—biting back a smile, biting back a moan. “You’ve been talking a lot, Jeongin,” you pant. “Still waiting for you to actually do it.”

That’s all it takes.

His eyes go dark, pupils blown, and he’s on you before you can blink. 

He flips up your skirt and you yelp when his hand comes down in a harsh slap that makes you jolt. You feel him moving, you can hear the clinking of his belt then the drag of his zipper.

“You keep teasing like you’re not desperate for this,” he says, cock pressing right at your entrance, thick and pulsing. “But I can feel how ready you are. All wet, waiting for me to fill you up.”

“Jeongin—”

“You want it?” he growls. “You want me to breed you?” He slips in easily, groaning at just how ready you are to be torn apart.

You whimper—pathetic and honest.

One hand snaps to your throat, wrapping his fingers around and dragging you up against him, your back to his chest and the breath knocked out of you as he buries himself. 

“Still waiting?” he sneers against your jaw. “You’ve got a smart mouth for someone already shaking.”

Your previous bratitude fades the second he thrusts, hard and slow—obscene.

“You’re gonna be sorry you said that,” he whispers, tightening his grip just enough to make your pulse stutter. “Or is this what you wanted?” You whimper.

He’s fucking you like a threat. Every drag of his hips a punishment—every thrust precise, overwhelming, relentless. His hand slips between your legs, thumb circling your clit like he knows just how to end you. And he does—tears slipping from your eyes as your body tightens around him.

“Let me make you a mommy.”

Your pulse stutters.

His mouth finds your throat. He kisses slow—possessive.

“You’re gonna take it,” he hisses, “And you’re not gonna spill a fucking drop.”

You don’t answer—you can’t. But the way your hips buck and your fingers claw at his forearms says enough. He spills into you with a guttural curse, eyes locked on yours like he’s never letting you go.

And he won’t. Not now. Not when you’re his.

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[bnnysweets]

APPLE CIDER

loser!ellie x ditzy!reader

author’s note: english is not my first language. they’re inspired by cat and robbie in victorious bc i saw this edit and i couldn’t just don’t do nothing. ellie is just so mf in love with you omg.

warnings: ellie is IN LOVE, truly. reader is clueless. mention of marriage. reader is going out with a girl (booo🍅🍅) and she’s a asshole, ellie comforts you. fluff!

ellie is DELIRIOUS ’bout you, you share the same friend group so everyone knows she’s in love with you, but everyone also knows they can’t tell you because they already tried, but you didn’t believed, always excused it.

once, julien tried to tell you: “i telling you, she fucking loves you!” you laughed, “i knows she loves me, i love her too.” you said smiling and julien rolled her eyes, “i mean she wants you! like a girlfriend!” “yeah! we’re totally girlfriends!” you answered genuinely, “lord help me…ellie is in love with you. she wants to kiss you, with tongue. she draw you naked on her sketchbook, she writes songs about you, she gave your name to her favorite star.” you looked at her for a moment, without saying anything, just analyzing. “you know i don’t understand irony.” you said and julien gave up, changing the subject.

little did you know it’s aaaalll true, ellie’s big motivation to go the college everyday is to one day she have a great job and earn a lot of money to spoil you with all the expensive makeup you like and a pretty ring that you deserve. one page on her sketchbook has you in a wedding dress and veil, with your name + williams wrote on it. nobody else has ever saw it, it’s too precious to her.

so imagine her state when you started seeing a new girl, rachel. she was miserable, thinking you would never look at her the same way, but in one radom thursday you sat at the cafeteria table with a pout and sad eyes, ellie was experiencing a bittersweet feeling: at the same time time you looked so cute and sweet with that face, she was mad someone or something had made you sad. “rachel told me she liked me more when she didn’t really know me.” you announced to your friends, almost crying but before anyone could say anything ellie let a loud scoff, “are you fucking serious? this girl is insane?” she said and everybody was shocked, no one had ever seen ellie so mad and speaking so loudly, you just looked at her, speechless, batting you eyelashes at her, she swore you were trying to hypnotize her. “anyone who says they don’t like your personality is fucking insane, anyone should be fucking proud to get to know you. to know the pretty person you’re, inside and out, to know your kind heart and your bright mind. i’m not gonna sit here and listen to you say how rachel it’s just a difficult person when in reality she’s just a asshole, she’s a damn prick. she doesn’t deserve you, and you don’t see this! you don’t see how she talks ‘bout you when you’re not around, you don’t see because you trust her and it is the saddest and yet the prettiest thing ‘bout you, you believe her besides everything. but you need to wake up, she doesn’t like you! she likes to have you by her side, to show you off, to kiss you and show everyone how she has a pretty girl by her side. but she doesn’t truly like you, she likes how you make her feel, because she fucking knows how much you like her.” when ellie finished your face was all wet with tears, and ellie was out of breath, looking at you, fearing your reaction.

you got up and went to hug ellie, who was on the other side of the table. she embraced your body, smoothing your back while you cried and tightly hugged her body. when you calmed down you took your head out of her shoulder and looked at her, “thanks for the cold shower els, i needed it.” you said and waved goodbye to the group. you head to the rachel’s dorm to end everything right after this. maybe ellie has a chance after all.

[wbbobsesserr]

ᯓ sweet spot — chapter two

pairing: paige bueckers & azzi fudd

wc: 2.5k

it had been three weeks.

three weeks of pretending azzi fudd didn’t occupy 99% of paige bueckers’ waking thoughts. three weeks of trying not to stare during film, of forcing herself not to “accidentally” sit next to her at every team meal. three weeks of scrolling through azzi’s social media accounts like they held the secrets of the universe. three weeks of watching every reposted workout clip like it was a sacred ritual. three weeks of dying. slowly. softly. lovingly.

it was hell.

because azzi was still azzi.

sweet. soft-spoken. warm to everyone. she high-fived her teammates. she brought extra protein bars to practice in case anyone needed one. she complimented everyone, everyday. and paige? paige was losing her mind. she’d never felt like this before. not about anyone. there had been hookups, of course. flings. a very short-lived situationship with a girl from back home who smoked too much weed and ghosted her after two weeks. but azzi?

azzi made her feel like a middle schooler with a crush. like she was trying to act normal during a fire drill while her entire body was combusting.

and the worst part was that azzi didn’t even know.

or maybe she did, and she was just too nice to say anything.

practice had ended an hour ago, but paige was still in the gym, sitting on the bleachers with a bag of ice balanced on her knee and her phone glowing in her lap. she wasn’t texting anyone. she was just looking at azzi’s most recent post: a photo from the locker room after the team’s first practice. azzi smiling, flushed, holding up a peace sign. caption: “i love it here already.”

she’d liked it within 0.3 seconds of it going up.

now she just sat there, staring at it like it might change.

“hey.”

paige nearly threw her phone across the gym. she looked up. it was azzi, hair pulled into a high bun, hoodie slung over one shoulder, and a water bottle tucked under her arm. she looked like a nike ad. or her own personal dream.

“you good?” azzi asked, stepping closer. “didn’t see you leave with everyone.”

paige sat up straighter, hiding her phone screen. “yeah— just icing. knee’s a little sore.”

azzi nodded, then sat next to her. right next to her. their knees almost touched. paige stopped breathing.

“you looked good today,” azzi said, like it was just a fact. “sharp on that last drill.”

paige shrugged, trying to act chill. “you always look good.”

silence.

paige’s eyes widened. “i mean— you played good. you looked good playing. like— your shot. your form. it was— good.”

azzi laughed quietly. “thanks.”

paige wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

they sat in silence for a few moments, the quiet hum of the lights buzzing overhead. azzi leaned back on her palms, gazing out at the empty court.

“you like being here?” paige asked finally, voice low.

azzi turned her head, smiled. “yeah. i do. it’s… different. but good-different. i feel like i’m supposed to be here.”

paige nodded, then swallowed. “you are.”

azzi’s smile lingered. “what about you? you still like it?”

paige glanced down at her hands. “i used to think it was just about winning. getting a national championship. now… i don’t know. it feels like it matters more when you have the right people around.”

azzi looked at her, something soft in her eyes.

before paige could completely combust, someone called from down the tunnel— lou, probably. something about team dinner.

azzi stood, brushing imaginary dust off her pants. “you coming?”

paige blinked, then nodded. “yeah. just need a sec.”

azzi lingered for a moment. “you sure?”

“positive.”

azzi gave her one last look, then jogged off.

paige watched her go, heart a tangled mess of hope and helplessness. she grabbed her phone again and looked at the photo. zoomed in just a little. yeah. she was so, so screwed.

the team dinner was supposed to be casual. nothing fancy— just some bonding, a little pasta, maybe a couple of dumb games nika liked to spring on them out of nowhere. coach had even given them the evening off to “build chemistry,” which everyone knew really meant “don’t get in trouble and try not to burn the dorm down.”

paige almost didn’t go.

because azzi.

and because paige had barely survived three practices without turning into a puddle every time azzi looked in her direction. but nika wouldn’t let her skip, practically dragged her by the collar out of her room with the promise of free garlic knots and good lighting for selfies.

the restaurant was small and loud, with big booths and sticky menus. half the team was already there, squeezed into one corner and tossing crumpled straw wrappers at each other. azzi sat near the end, her curls pulled up and her smile lighting up the table like a lantern. paige picked the seat next to her before she could think twice.

“hey,” azzi said, voice soft over the buzz of conversation. “glad you came.”

paige nodded too fast. “yeah. me too. i like… food.”

azzi blinked.

nika snorted soda out of her nose.

lou choked on her breadstick.

“smooth,” aubrey muttered, bumping paige’s knee under the table.

but azzi just laughed— a quiet, melodic sound— and passed paige the basket of garlic knots like she hadn’t just committed a social crime. “i meant to tell you— you’ve got a really quick first step. it’s hard to guard. you kinda burned me yesterday.”

paige blinked. her soul left her body. “i— uh. i didn’t mean to? i mean, i did, but not like— burn— like basketball, not like… fire.”

nika buried her face in her hoodie.

azzi smiled. “i got what you meant.”

it was fine. everything was fine. except her hands were sweating and her fork was now mysteriously on the floor. paige reached down to get it and hit her head on the table.

azzi leaned over, voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. “are you okay?”

“never better.” paige’s voice cracked. she never wanted to die more.

later that night, paige laid in bed, phone screen glowing inches from her face. she should’ve been asleep— they had weights in the morning. but instead, she was twenty minutes into another accidental deep dive of azzi fudd’s instagram.

it started innocent. a few scrolls. a couple likes.

and then she found him.

noah.

the boyfriend. azzi’s boyfriend. smiling next to azzi on some beach in california, both of them mid-laugh. another post from valentine’s day— azzi in his hoodie, captioned “my favorite human.”

her stomach twisted.

azzi didn’t post often. but when she did, the captions about noah were always so full. like she really meant them. paige lingered on one in particular— a photo of the two of them in front of the usc gym. the caption read: “through every win, every loss, every late night practice— you’ve been my home. i love you so much.”

paige closed the app.

then opened it again five seconds later. she wasn’t proud of herself.

she was about to close the app for good when nika barged into her room with her blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a cape.

“you’re so gone for her.”

paige flinched so hard she dropped her phone.

“excuse me?”

“don’t even try to deny it,” nika said, plopping onto the bed like she owned it. “you short-circuit every time she so much as looks at you. i’ve never seen someone so flustered.”

“i don’t—”

“you do.” nika pulled paige’s pillow out from under her and whacked her with it. “you’ve got the biggest gay panic i’ve ever seen. and i roomed with lou.”

paige groaned, burying her face in her hands. “she has a boyfriend.”

“yeah, and you have zero chill,” nika leaned back. “i’ve never seen you like this before. nervous, shy. it’s weird.”

paige didn’t answer. she couldn’t.

because now, every little moment replayed like a loop— azzi’s compliment. the softness in her voice. her dimply smile that lingered too long.

well, fuck.

practice had ended twenty minutes ago, but paige was still out there, lazily flipping a ball between her hands as the last few teammates trickled out. her shirt clung to her back, sweat drying slowly in the gym's faint breeze. she could’ve left. should’ve. but something told her to stay.

and then azzi appeared.

“hey,” she called softly, pulling her hair into a ponytail as she approached. “you staying to shoot?”

paige’s heart dropped to her knees, then tried to crawl back up her throat. “uh— yeah. just a little.”

azzi smiled, grabbing a ball from the rack. “mind if i join you?”

“join? no. i mean yes. i mean— of course.”

they started with simple catch-and-shoot drills. easy rhythm. azzi’s release was still perfect, every shot as clean as glass. paige couldn’t stop glancing sideways, watching the way azzi’s eyes followed the arc of each shot, the way she bounced lightly on the balls of her feet after every make.

paige hit her stride eventually, sinking threes from the corner, then fading toward the wing. they passed back and forth, no words, just the soft echo of the ball and their sneakers squeaking on the court.

azzi shot like she was born doing it. No wasted movement. every jumper was soft, clean, perfect rotation. paige tried to stay focused— tried to match her rhythm— but she kept getting caught in the way azzi would laugh lightly when she missed, like even failure didn’t rattle her.

“your arc’s so pretty,” paige said before she could stop herself.

azzi looked at her. “mine?”

paige nodded, suddenly shy. “yeah. it’s, like… the perfect rainbow.”

azzi smiled. “thanks. yours is faster, though. quick release. super smooth.”

paige’s stomach did an actual flip.

“thanks. i, uh— yeah. i work on that,” she said, for what felt like the tenth time this week. why was she always saying the same thing around her? like she had five phrases and two working brain cells?

they continued shooting.

after a few more rounds, azzi passed her the ball and stretched her arms over her head. “you know, you’ve got such a calm confidence about you. like, on the court. even when you mess up, you never look rattled.”

paige literally missed the rim.

not the net. not the backboard.

she missed the rim.

azzi’s eyes widened, a little startled. “you okay?”

“i— yeah. i’m just— tired,” paige mumbled, retrieving the ball like it wasn’t the most humiliating moment of her life.

azzi laughed, light and genuine. “that was kinda cute.”

paige stopped breathing.

she didn’t even know what to say. her mouth opened, but no words came out— just a small, embarrassed sound like a kicked puppy.

azzi tilted her head. “sorry, was that weird?”

paige shook her head fast. “yes. i mean, no. i mean— not weird. totally fine.”

azzi walked over and gently bumped her shoulder. “you’re funny.”

you’re funny.

paige wanted to throw herself into the sun.

just then, nika popped her head into the gym.

“ohhhh,” she called, loud and dramatic. “what’s this? a little after-hours hoop date?”

paige glared. “we’re just shooting.”

azzi, ever the sweetheart, smiled and waved. “hey, nika!”

nika waved back and winked directly at paige. “don’t stay too late, lovebirds.”

she disappeared before paige could cuss her out.

azzi giggled. “she’s funny.”

paige swallowed hard. “yeah. real funny.”

they kept shooting a little longer. paige never fully recovered from the embarrassment she put herself through.

when they finally called it a night, azzi walked beside her toward the locker room. “i’m really glad i transferred,” she said quietly.

paige looked over. “yeah?”

azzi nodded. “everyone’s been really welcoming. especially you.”

paige could barely breathe.

“oh. uh.” she blinked, thinking of the words. “well, you’re easy to welcome.”

azzi’s smile curled into something almost shy. “that’s really sweet.”

paige scratched the back of her neck. “i mean it. you’re… like. good. at everything. and nice. and— you know. people notice that.”

“people like you?” azzi teased, gently.

paige almost dropped her water bottle. “i mean, yeah. maybe.”

azzi smiled so softly, paige thought she might cry.

paige was halfway through tying her shoes when she spots azzi just a few feet away, standing by the gatorade cooler, laughing at something aubrey just said. it should be normal. it is normal. but paige’s brain short-circuits the same way it always does lately when azzi’s in the room.

and then it happened. a moment. a mortifying, soul-leaving-your-body moment.

“yo, paige!” nika yelled across the gym. “you left your phone in the locker room. again.”

she tossed it with a perfect spiral. paige reacted late and fumbled the catch. the phone hits the floor with a dramatic thud, screen up, very much alive, and very much still open to instagram.

specifically, azzi fudd’s instagram page.

a beat of silence. then a few beats.

someone snorted. probably aubrey.

paige dove for the phone, her face already bright red.

“i’m fucking killing myself,” she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut.

out of the corner of her eye, azzi’s gaze landed on her. she never said anything. but she smiled.

oh, jesus.

during a quick water break, azzi was sitting beside paige on the bleachers, who was untying and retying her sneaker for no real reason. nika and caroline are arguing about music again. nobody was really listening.

“god,” azzi groaned softly, scrolling through her phone. “i forgot how cursed my finsta is.”

paige, stretching her calves, froze like someone hit pause. “you have a finsta?”

azzi laughed. “unfortunately— i don’t call it that, though. more like my friends-only account,” she paused. “my friends at usc made me make one. it’s mainly me complaining about homework or pictures of my boyfriend.”

she didn’t mention the username. but paige tucked the information away in the back of her mind.

“sounds cool,” paige said casually, but her mind was already in overdrive. she knew what she’d be doing later, that’s for sure.

paige was supposed to be writing a paper. she had three tabs open for it. but none of them matter. what mattered was the list of usc mutuals she’s stalking, scanning every tagged photo of azzi from the past two years.

it took time. it took way too much time.

but eventually, she found it.

@fuddleazzi. azzi’s not-so-secret account.

private. 63 followers. the profile picture was azzi in a pair of massive ski goggles, wearing a bright smile with her dimples on display. no bio, no nothing.

paige stared at the screen for a full five minutes, thumb hovering over the follow button.

she doesn’t press it.

instead, she swiped up, into the messages app and texted nika:

paige: i found azzi’s secret account and i think i deserve a metal

nika: SEND ME THE @ U MANIAC

paige: it’s private. should i request or would that expose me as terminally obsessed

nika: baby u already dropped u phone OPEN TO HER IG. embrace ur downfall

paige groaned into her pillow.

she didn’t request.

but she did screenshot it.

and maybe saved the profile pic too.

just in case.

© wbbobsesserr

[vampireimiko]

Mark Grayson & Adam Warlock with a Vigilante S/O !

warnings, none !!

note, anon your mind is unmatched !! mark + adam ? sign me up NEOW 💳💥

Mark Grayson

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° Mark wasn’t sure what to make of you at first. The way you handled criminals made him flinch—even if they deserved it. Broken bones, brutal takedowns, and that glare? Yeah, you scared him a little.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° But the more he saw of you, the more he realized there was something deeper behind your actions. You weren’t cruel—you were just angry. Angry at the people who hurt others. Angry at the system that let them walk free. And Mark got it.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° He starts showing up at your fights, not to stop you, but to back you up—because as intense as you are, your heart’s in the right place. And he kind of finds your ferocity attractive. Not that he’d admit it right away.

The alley stinks of blood and sweat.

Mark drops down from the sky just in time to see you slam a thug into a brick wall hard enough to leave a dent. The man groans, slipping into unconsciousness, and Mark flinches as you step back, fists still clenched.

“Geez,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “You ever not aim for a concussion?”

You look over your shoulder, breathing heavy. “He was trafficking people, kids, Invincible. I don’t do warnings with guys like that.

Mark pauses. You’re right. But it still rattles him how unflinching you are.

“I know,” he finally says, walking over. “But I also know you didn’t have to chase him down after. He was already running.”

You’re silent for a moment before you sit down on a nearby crate, wiping blood off your gloves.

“I know,” you mutter. “I just… I’ve seen what happens when we let people like that go. They always come back.”

Mark crouches next to you. “Hey. I get it. Really, I do. You’re intense, and yeah—kind of terrifying—but I know your heart’s in the right place.”

You glance at him. “Still think I’m scary?”

He grins. “Terrifyingly hot, maybe.”

You blink at him, surprised—before bursting into a laugh, the first in hours. And Mark smiles, because that was the real you underneath it all.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° Over time, he becomes your unofficial moral compass. He doesn’t try to change who you are—but he offers softer alternatives when he can, and he’s genuinely proud when you take his advice.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° When the public paints you as a villain, Mark’s the one defending your name—sometimes without even realizing he’s doing it. “They’re not evil, okay? They’ve saved dozens of people. Just… don’t get on their bad side.”

Adam Warlock

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° Adam found you fascinating the moment he saw you. You weren’t like the other heroes—there was fury behind your strikes. But still, he could sense your intentions weren’t malicious.

He watches you without judgment. Where others see brutality, Adam sees precision, control, and passion. “You do not fight with hate,” he tells you one night. “You fight with purpose. That is… admirable.”

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° He’s incredibly protective of you, even if he knows you don’t need it. If anyone dares to call you a villain, he’s calmly—and intensely—shutting it down. “Their hands are bloodied not by malice, but by necessity.”

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° You’re surprised by how unshaken Adam is by your harshest moments. He sees past them—he sees you. Sometimes you worry he thinks too highly of you, but when he gently takes your hand after a mission, you start to believe him.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° He tends to your wounds silently after a fight, his hands soft despite your rough exterior. “It is alright to fight fiercely,” he says. “But you must allow yourself to be cared for, too.” He reaches out, brushing his hand against your bruised knuckles. “You burn bright with purpose. You see clearly—even when it hurts.”

You stare at him, eyes softening. “You always say stuff like that. Like you know me better than I do.”

“Perhaps I do,” Adam says, and there’s the faintest smile on his lips. “Or perhaps… I simply believe in the version of you that you’re afraid to.”

You don’t say anything, but when he takes your hand, you don’t pull away either.

additional note ! adams part is literally hot ass im so sorry

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

[alltimecharlo]

maybe something along the lines established relationships and one of a new guy/rookie on the team slowly figuring out that willmack are a thing and codependent bastards at that too 😭

fun fun fun!! i went with an oc rookie's pov for this because the thought them being like 'wtf are these guys doing' was so funny to me lol. fic under the cut!!

The first time Levi sees it, he thinks he imagined it.

He’s sitting in the Sharks locker room after a morning skate, still in his damp gear, trying to look like he belongs. He’s the new guy—newest rookie on the roster, straight up from the minors, still getting used to the feel of NHL ice under his skates. Most of the guys have been cool. Toffoli nodded at him once, which felt like some kind of spiritual initiation. He thinks one of the equipment managers gave him a protein bar with a nod that might've meant "you'll survive."

And then there’s Macklin Celebrini and Will Smith.

They’re already legends in Levi's head. Not just for the stats and the highlight reels, but because they move through the locker room like planets caught in the same orbit. They’re always around each other.

That first weird moment: Mack walks into the room, hair still wet from a post-skate shower, and without even saying anything, drops a coffee in front of Will, who just accepts it like it's owed. Will grunts a thanks and takes a sip, then makes a face.

"You did two sugars, right?"

"Obviously," Mack says, rolling his eyes. "I’m not a monster."

Will smirks and takes another sip. Mack sits next to him, shoulder to shoulder, even though there are six empty spots around them.

Levi glances around to see if anyone else clocked it. No one seems to care.

Okay. Weird, but whatever.

He doesn’t think much of it until a week later, after a win. The room’s loud and chaotic. Someone’s blasting bad EDM, Toffoli is half-naked and chirping guys across the room, and Mack and Will are off in their corner—again.

Will’s sitting on the bench, unlacing his skates, and Mack is standing between his knees, talking quietly. Too quietly. Will laughs at something, leans forward a little, close enough that Mack has to tilt his head. Levi watches Mack grin, bright and unguarded, and reach out to brush something off Will’s jaw. It's soft. Domestic.

"Dude," Levi mutters, turning to Collin, who’s changing next to him. "Are they…together? Like, is that a thing?"

Collin shrugs. "I dunno man. They're just always like that."

"Like that? That was some rom-com shit."

Collin laughs. "Yeah, but it’s Mack and Smitty. That’s just how they are."

Levi’s brain does not compute.

A few nights later, he sees it again. After practice, they're all heading out, and Will yells, "Mack, you coming?"

"Two secs!" Mack calls, then grabs Levi by the elbow.

"Hey, you're not walking back alone, right? Take the shuttle or wait with someone. It's a sketchy block past the lot, especially late."

Levi blinks. "Uh. Yeah. Okay. Thanks?"

"Don’t mention it." Mack gives him a pat on the shoulder and jogs to catch up with Will, who’s already holding the door open for him.

Levi stares after them.

He mentions it to Toff the next morning.

"I think they're together," Levi says, whispering like it’s a state secret.

Toff doesn’t even look up from taping his stick. "You think?"

"So it's…a known thing?"

"They’ve been dancing around each other since before they hit the league. No one says anything because it’s more fun to watch them not say anything either."

Levi is spiraling. "They, like, finish each other's sentences."

"Yup."

"Will loses his mind if Mack takes a hit."

"Yup."

"Mack almost fought someone on the bench last week for chirping Smitty."

Toff smiles. "Welcome to the team, rookie. You’ll get used to it."

Levi watches Mack walk into the room five minutes later and bump Will with his hip. Will leans into it without even blinking, like it’s muscle memory.

Yeah. Sure. Totally normal teammate behavior.

He sits back and shakes his head. These guys are unhinged.

And clearly, desperately in love.

Everyone else just seems to be waiting for them to figure it out.

♡

[scary-grace]

Midoriya Analysis, Vol 2

Last time (five minutes ago) we talked about how Midoriya’s goal was not necessarily to save people, but to be a hero as BNHA defines heroism. The next step is to look at Midoriya’s worldview and how it matches, or doesn’t match, with the worldview the fandom assigned to him. Once again: I’m not hating on 15-year-old quirkless Midoriya for this worldview. This is more of a how it started vs how it’s going situation.

We don’t get a chance to see much of what Midoriya’s life is like pre-One For All, but given that he’s in school with Bakugou and Bakugou is allowed to do pretty much whatever he wants, we can guess that it’s not good. I’m not going to say that Bakugou’s behavior is a microcosm of how BNHA society treats the quirkless, but if his behavior is acceptable, I think it’s a signal that quirkless people, while being a minority at this point, are not a protected class. We also don’t see Midoriya having peer-group interactions with anyone but Bakugou and his cronies, so I can’t speak to whether he’s completely isolated or not, and while I could see there being a social cost to being less affluent or being raised by a single parent, I think the driving factor in Midoriya’s treatment by the rest of the world is his quirklessness. And he accepts it.

I think this is the point where our (the fandom) opinion of Midoriya diverges sharply from Midoriya’s opinion of himself. When faced with Bakugou bullying him, Midoriya seems to internalize that it’s his own fault — that he deserves this, somehow, because he’s lesser than Bakugou in some way. Where most people would probably feel justified in hating someone who bullied them for years and told them to kill themselves, Midoriya continues to try to win Bakugou’s approval and respect, even though Bakugou’s long since proven that he doesn’t deserve it. What we can take from this example is this: Midoriya believes that people who are mistreated deserve what they get, and if they’re unable to get stronger and fight back, they should just be stuck like that forever.*

Because of Midoriya’s devotion to and adoration of heroes, and his belief that “hero” is the only worthy job on the planet, he’s uniquely ill-equipped to recognize that hero society as a whole is deeply corrupt and cruel. He sees his mistreatment as his fault rather than the fault of society, and consciously or unconsciously, he projects that viewpoint onto the villains he later fights. Villains like Stain and Gentle Criminal, who adhere mostly to society’s norms with a few changes here and there, are easier for Midoriya to understand and empathize with. They’re playing by the same rules as Midoriya, for the most part, which is how you get Midoriya talking about how he “understands” Stain, even though his understanding is superficial. And Gentle Criminal wanted to be a hero too, so he and Midoriya are best buddies. /sarcasm/

But there are villains who don’t accept that they’re the problem. Who don’t see their mistreatment as their own fault, and instead point the finger at people who’ve hurt them — and try to fight back in ways that don’t align with the archetype of the stoic victim or the poor, innocent angel. Midoriya has vastly more societal privilege than the members of the League of Villains, but his experiences of ostracism and rejection in BNHA society are similar to the experiences they’ve had. Although these are the villains Midoriya should be able to empathize with, he sees them as worse than the others, to the point where they’re unworthy of life. (See: The non-reaction to Twice’s murder + “well, at least I saved his heart!” response to murdering Shigaraki.)

There’s a metaphor that comes to mind for me when thinking about the situation of Midoriya, the villains, and hero society. In discussions of abusive family dynamics, the idea of rocking the boat is introduced — a family in a boat, where one individual is shaking the boat and attempting to sink it. Although everyone knows what the problem is, it’s the person who points out that the boat is shaking who takes the blame for the situation. This is the dynamic BNHA ends in, for Midoriya. He identifies very heavily with hero society, to the point where rejection of it deeply wounds him (see: Kota), but he’s not so blind that he can’t see some of the cracks in the system; after all, he fell through them himself. The difference between Midoriya and Shigaraki, in Midoriya’s subconscious, is that Midoriya didn’t throw a fit about it. Midoriya saw that it was all for the greater good and accepted that as a person who is seen and sees himself as lesser, he’s an acceptable sacrifice in order to preserve the greater good of hero society.

So in short, while Midoriya’s experiences should suggest an ability to empathize with villains, his worldview itself presents the stumbling block. He’s unwilling or unable to see hero society for what it really is — if he did, he’d have to reckon with what was done to him, and I doubt he’d ever be ready for that.

*refers to Eri and Kota, who deserve to be saved by virtue of being cute little kids who haven’t had time to make mistakes yet. There’s also the weird element with Kota where it almost seems like Midoriya’s trying to prove to him that his feelings about heroes are wrong, which — eugh. No thank you.

[lyragrayson4ever]

Daven and Catalina (Lyra x Grayson)

The fire was still burning.

From across the water, Hawthorne Island lit up the sky in orange and black, a blazing silhouette against the night. Smoke smeared the stars like charcoal streaks across velvet. It should have been beautiful.

It wasn’t.

“Fun fact,” I muttered, soaked, breathless, and huddled in the back of a stolen fishing boat. “I’m not actually an arsonist.”

“Noted,” Grayson said dryly, gripping the oars like he’d done this before. “Though it’s the kind of crime I’d expect you to commit stylishly.”

“I was wearing my running clothes, Grayson.”

“You made them look like Armani.”

That earned him a glare. “So just to recap: somebody set an actual fire. I get blamed for it. You and I are presumed dead. Everyone thinks I finally lost it and torched the island. And our best plan... is to flee on a boat like we’re in a badass Netflix thriller?”

Grayson didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched, eyes locked on the dark speck of land ahead. He hadn’t said much since we escaped the fire. Since he carried me through smoke and heat and leapt off a flaming balcony with me in his arms. Since we realized someone had set us up. Framed me. Tried to kill me.

We didn’t talk about that part yet.

We didn’t talk about how I almost hadn’t made it out.

We rowed away from it.

Hours passed. I didn’t know how many. We washed ashore on some tiny, empty island with one broken dock, no phone signal, and zero chance of rescue. So we did what anyone in our position would do.

We made s’mores out of expired granola bars. We laughed too loud. We didn’t sleep.

And then we ran.

**

Two days later, we were at a train yard that looked like it had never heard of cell reception. We’d hitchhiked, hiked, and hidden our faces for forty-eight hours straight. No phones. No IDs. No plan except: Get to a place that doesn’t think we’re dead.

Which sounded easy—until we got caught.

“Hey!” A flashlight beam caught us mid-sneak.

We froze. A security guard, built like a fridge and just as friendly-looking, stalked toward us. “You know train-hopping’s a crime, right?”

I opened my mouth. Grayson beat me to it.

“We’re eloping,” he said dramatically, like we were auditioning for a soap opera. “I’m Daven. This is Catalina.”

My mouth fell open. Daven and Catalina?

“Our families disapprove,” he went on, voice shaking like he’d practiced this. “We had to run. It was her or nothing.”

I turned slowly. “Her?”

He squeezed my hand. I got the hint.

“Catalina ,” I said breathlessly. “My father—he said if I ever saw Daven again, he’d disown me.”

Grayson turned to the security guard, gripping his heart like he was catching a faint. “But love… love doesn’t listen to bank accounts and last names.”

“We climbed into a freight car,” I added, trying to look tragic. “Because if we can’t be together, what’s the point of anything?”

The guard blinked. “You two… ran away? Together?”

“We chose each other,” Grayson whispered. “Against the odds.”

I couldn’t help it. “I almost got hit by a raccoon to make it here.”

That was true. Also beside the point.

“You kids remind me of my wife,” the guard said, sniffling. “We eloped too.”

Grayson nodded solemnly. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Damon.”

Grayson turned to me, eyes so serious I nearly burst into flames again. “Damon,” he said. “That’s the name of our first-born son.”

I slapped a hand over my mouth to keep from cackling. “Daven,” I whispered. “Please.”

The guard was full-on tearing up. “Go. Just… go. Be happy.”

We bolted before he changed his mind.

**

The train rattled beneath us, loud and rhythmic. We were tucked into the corner of a freight car filled with bags of rice, because this was apparently our life now. Grayson leaned against a crate. I was sprawled beside him with a snack-sized bag of pretzels and a thousand emotions.

“So,” I said, popping a pretzel in my mouth, “Damon?”

Grayson shrugged, smug. “It sealed the deal.”

“You named our hypothetical baby after a guy you just met.”

“He had kind eyes.”

“You’re unhinged.”

“Strategic,” he corrected. “Emotional manipulation is a tool.”

I tossed a pretzel at him. He caught it. Ate it.

“I swear,” I muttered. “Next time we get caught, I’m naming our fake dog Carl.”

“We can do better than Carl.”

“Carl’s a good name.”

Grayson smirked, not his usual half smile, an actual smirk. “Only if our hypothetical second-born is named Martha.”

“Stop. You’re already insufferable as a hypothetical fiancé.”

“Hypothetical husband, technically. We eloped, remember?”

I blinked. “Do I get a ring?”

Grayson looked down at his hand, then pulled off the expensive corded bracelet around his wrist. “Here.”

He tied it around my finger like it was sacred. “Boom. Married.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re laughing.”

I was. I hated how easy he made it. How even when we were running for our lives, with dirt still in our hair and an entire world believing I was a villain—he could make me laugh.

I glanced at the makeshift ring on my finger, then at Grayson. An idea sparked.

“Wait here,” I said, rummaging through my backpack. I pulled out a small, worn leather cord—one dad had given me years ago. It had a tiny, carved wooden charm attached, shaped like a ballet shoe.

I held it out to Grayson. “Your turn.”

He looked at me, puzzled. “What’s this?”

“Our hypothetical wedding exchange. You gave me a ring; I give you this.”

He took the cord, fingers brushing mine, and examined the charm. “A ballet shoe.”

“So you can always dance your way back to me,” I said, half-joking.

Grayson’s eyes softened, the usual coldness replaced by something more vulnerable. He tied the cord around his wrist, the charm resting against his pulse.

“Now we’re officially hypotheticaly married,” I declared.

He chuckled, a faint blush coloring his cheeks and ears. “Guess we are.”

We sat in silence for a moment, the rhythmic clatter of the train filling the space.

“How long do we stay dead?” I asked softly.

He looked at me. “Until it’s safe.”

“And then?”

“We go home.”

Home. I didn’t know what that meant anymore. But I did know this, it would be wherever Grayson was.

“Hey,” I said after a beat, teasing. “If Damon finds out we didn’t actually name our hypothetical baby after him, do we go to emotional jail?”

Grayson grinned. “We’ll say it was short for Damonious.”

“You’re so bad at this.”

He leaned his head back against the crate, looking up at the roof of the freight car like it held the answers to everything. “We’re alive, Lyra. They tried to burn us down. But we’re still here.”

Still here. Still fighting.

Still laughing.

And, apparently, fake-married with a fake son named Damon.

[lemotmo]

I know a lot of us have said at this point we don’t care how we get buddie canon we just want it because we’ve been waiting for it for so long now. Which fair because it’s been years lol.

I’m not dooming or well I’m not trying to anyway so i apologize if it comes off as such but im curious on your thoughts and if after the last few episodes you’ve changed your mind and become a little more actually yeah i would rather them not do it this way and do it this way instead?

Because for me I was def at the point of I don’t even care how it’s done at this point as long as it’s done but I do believe we have hit a point of yeah actually scratch that I do care.

Because this? If this is how they are going for buddie canon? I can’t say I’m a fan of it. No one is happy. The vibes are completely off. The dynamic between them is off because the show has taken Eddie Diaz main character and turned him into

“This week With Guest Star Ryan Guzman, playing Eddie Diaz, Evan Buckleys Love Interest”

And I just. I don’t want that. I can’t imagine anyone wants that. We know for sure Ryan and Oliver don’t want that. They have said so many times they don’t want Buddie unless it’s with them keeping their dynamic and relationship in tact. And you can not do that when you suddenly sideline one of them and treat them like a guest star love interest. All their development happens off screen. They aren’t in the episode unless it’s to propel the others storyline and then they disappear for weeks at a time again. Moments between them happen off screen.

Idk. I guess congrats to Tim because he apparently did find a way to show me I’m not just a I don’t care beyond it happening after all.

#giveEddiehismaincharacterstatusback

First, I want you to know that I fully respect your views and your opinion here. I don't think you are dooming at all. You are just concerned and disappointed. I get that.

But my opinion is quite the opposite of yours. 🤷‍♀️ Let me explain:

Have they treated Eddie really badly these last episodes? YES! YES! YES! Did I hate the way they treated him? YES!

He should have been notified about Bobby's death. Hell, he should have been in the episode in the first place. They never should have done the Vertigo plot either. It was just one bad idea after another for Eddie.

Eddie Diaz' story has been sidelined for waaaay too long and I HATE it! I've been pretty vocal about it too.

I loved how he seemed to get some focus in the beginning of 8b. I was so relieved to see his storyline progress. I didn't even mind him not being in 8x11, because while he wasn't physically present, he was THERE in everything Buck said and did.

Eddie is my favourite character and I would gladly watch this show just for him and him alone, even if he did only have 2 minutes of screen time last episode. I'm there.

I think the idea behind having Eddie move to El Paso was two-fold:

A. They needed to find a way to get Chris back.

B. They wanted to show us how much Buck missed Eddie and how Buck and Eddie's lives are so intertwined that their friendship never faded into nothing. They were constantly in contact with each other.

They did a good job with that in the first half of 8b, but then 8x14 happened and he wasn't there at all. Now, logically I understand what they were trying to do here. They wanted the audience to wonder if Eddie would ever come back and if he might stay in Texas forever.

The problem is that it was pretty clear from the get go that Eddie was never going to stay in Texas in the first place. Ryan's name was still in the credits, as was Gavin's. There was no exit announcement and in interviews Ryan never said anything about Eddie leaving forever.

So Eddie was always going to come back. Everybody knew this. In that case, why couldn't they find a few seconds to add in someone calling Eddie to tell him about Bobby?

And when he finally did come back, he was only there to eyefuck with Buck, eat crumpets and look gorgeous while a tear was rolling down his cheek.

I do think this was all plotted and planned to make us wonder if we wouldn't only lose Bobby, but Eddie as well. But the execution of the storyline fell flat. No one liked Eddie's absence and everyone was very vocal about it as well. 😋

But I do think the Buddie dynamic and relationship is still very much intact Nonny. I don't see a problem there. I'm sorry. Eddie was only gone for 2 episodes and in the third one Buck picked him up and brought him home. I mean, they picked up right where they left of.

So I can't lie. I'm very happy with this progression. I do expect some more Eddie scenes and development in the next two episodes. I think we'll see more of him then. But as usual, only time will tell if my expectations will be met. 🤷‍♀️

And as for the vibes Nonny? The vibes are still very much there for me. Even in those brief minutes he was on screen in 16, he got to spend those minutes practically glued to Buck's side. They were presented to us as a unit, which I found very interesting.

Their connection and chemistry still has soooo much untapped potential. Their story still needs to be told.

I love Eddie so much and I want to see him achieve the kind of happiness he dreams of. And I do think that finally admitting that he is in love with Buck, a man and his best friend, will set him on the path of joy.

Same for Buck by the way. The man has been looking for love for his entire life. He has been left too many times. It's time for him to recognise what real love looks like, embrace it and just go for it.

These two idiots are perfect for each other.

So yes Nonny, no matter how Buddie begins, I will be sat and I will be there every single step of the way.

It's just how I roll.

¯\(ツ)/¯

[chaosandcandies]

UNPLUGGED

CHAPTER Ⅻ: Lights, Camera, Overload

trope: fem!9th skz member warnings: angst, drama, insecure oc, cyber bullying, slow burn pairings: hyunjinxfem!oc prev|next

ISEUL’S STOMACH CHURNED AS THE MAKEUP ARTIST brushed a final sweep of powder across her face. The soft bristles tickled her skin, but her nerves made it hard to sit still. Behind her, the studio buzzed to life—camera rigs clanked into position, stylists rushed by with hangers of backup outfits, someone shouted over a headset, and the lighting crew debated angles. It was chaos, but the kind that was orchestrated, familiar to those who belonged here.

Except Iseul still wasn’t sure if she did.

Her first music video. She’d trained for this. Dreamed of it in half-lit practice rooms, in quiet dorm corridors, while icing sore feet and nursing bruised knees. But now, standing in front of the mirror in full costume—eyes lined, lips glossed, hair curled to perfection—it all felt too real. Too loud. Too big. Too soon.

She smoothed her hands over the knit sweater they’d styled her in, fingers snagging on loose yarn threads. The high-waisted skirt clung a little tighter than she liked, and the platform sneakers felt like stilts beneath her unsteady footing. She shifted her weight, catching her own gaze in the mirror���wide eyes, lips pressed into a line, trying not to look as terrified as she felt.

“You okay?” the makeup artist asked gently.

Iseul smiled automatically, the same polite, practiced curve she wore for rehearsals and uncomfortable conversations. “Yeah. Just…excited, I think.”

She wasn’t lying. She was excited. But the kind that trembled under her skin like an oncoming storm—too many nerves, too much pressure, too fast.

Just then, the stylist strode over with a clipboard in hand, her expression pinched with quiet frustration. “Iseul, we need to make a quick change. The skirt—well, it’s a bit snug around the waist. Let’s swap it out for one size up.”

Iseul barely nodded before the stylist leaned in, voice lower, muttering, “We can’t have you looking bloated on camera, can we?”

Her breath caught, and for a second, she didn’t trust her voice. So, she nodded, brisk and mechanical.

“Sure…yeah, of course.”

She swallowed hard and turned slightly, pretending to fiddle with her sweater sleeve. Anything to avoid showing the way her confidence was crumbling at the edges. The last thing she needed was pity. Or worse—attention.

The stylist moved off, muttering something about measurements and camera angles, but Iseul barely heard her. Her ears were buzzing.

She stood still for a moment, back rigid, fists clenched. No one else had heard it. Thank God. But still—it lingered. Like static. Like smoke. It wasn’t just about the skirt. It was the implication. The unspoken expectation. Look a certain way. Be a certain size. Don’t draw attention for the wrong reasons.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew the industry she had walked into. But knowing didn’t make it easier to hear.

With a tight inhale, she tried to shake it off. She forced her shoulders down, relaxed her jaw. She was here for a reason. She’d worked too hard, bled too much, to let a comment undo her.

But still—the sting clung to her. Like the way-too-bright studio lights, exposing things she didn’t want anyone else to see.

She was here to perform. To debut. To prove herself.

So, she smiled. Or something like it.

As the stylist hurried off to find a larger skirt, Iseul forced herself to breathe, shoving the creeping insecurity into the back corner of her mind—

“You look like you’re about to combust,” came a familiar drawl.

Iseul blinked, startled. She turned to find Minho leaning against the dressing room doorframe, arms crossed, one brow arched with maximum judgment. He gave her a once-over—not in a critical way, just… very Minho.

“You good?” he asked, though his tone was already flatly unconvinced.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, too quickly.

Minho didn’t move. Just stared at her, the way only he could—deadpan, unreadable, but annoyingly perceptive. Then he tilted his head slightly.

“Sure. Because people totally ‘fine’ stand around looking like they’re debating whether to cry or punch someone.”

Iseul let out a sound between a laugh and a sigh. “Wow, your emotional intelligence is scary.”

“I contain multitudes,” Minho said, smug. “Now come on. Stylists are panicking, directors are probably making another coffee IV, and Chan-hyung looks like he’s on the brink of scheduling another emergency meeting.”

Iseul’s smile wavered, but she appreciated the sarcasm. It made everything feel less sharp.

“Also,” Minho added, turning to walk off, “if anyone gives you crap about your weight again, just point to my abs and say, ‘This guy eats three rice cakes and a doughnut every night.’ Balance.”

She snorted, “That’s not how balance works.”

“Try me.”

By the time they made it onto set, the air was already thick with urgency.

Cameramen adjusted their rigs. Staff darted around with clipboards and headsets, shouting half-heard instructions. Lights blinked overhead, hot and merciless. The air smelled like hairspray and nerves.

Iseul’s new skirt fit better, but her skin still prickled with discomfort. Every inch of the oversized sweater and platform shoes felt foreign—cute on paper, awkward in practice. And the knowledge that hundreds of thousands of people would one day see her like this made her stomach twist.

First MV. First shoot. First impression.

She couldn’t afford to mess this up.

“Whoa.”

She turned to see Jeongin standing a few feet away, blinking owlishly.

“You look…” he trailed off, eyes widening, clearly scrambling for a safe adjective. “Different.”

“Different?” she echoed, one brow raised.

Seungmin appeared beside him like clockwork, eyes flicking over her outfit. “He means you look like someone who actually sleeps. I assume the stylist worked a miracle.”

Jeongin gasped. “Hyung!”

Iseul snorted. “Don’t worry. I know what he meant.” She paused, brushing her hair behind one ear. “But I will take the ‘miracle’ part, thank you.”

Changbin passed by just then, did a full double-take, then walked backward to get a better look. “Wait—wait, is that Iseul?”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed.

“Yah, no one told me our team had a lead from a drama set,” he said, grinning wide. “Should I act cooler now? Is this where I pretend I wasn’t yelling at a bug in the hallway five minutes ago?”

“Please don’t,” Seungmin muttered.

Before she could reply, a hand gently touched her shoulder. She turned to find Chan giving her a once-over, his expression unreadable for a beat. Then he gave a soft nod, smiling just slightly.

“You look great,” he said quietly. “Comfortable? Need anything?”

“Just don’t let me trip on these shoes.”

Chan blinked. The sarcasm took him off guard—just for a second—but then his eyes crinkled as he laughed under his breath, clearly relieved.

“Stop hanging out with Han so much,” he murmured, shaking his head fondly. “His dramatic antics are corrupting you.”

Her smile deepened—real, if a little nervous. Before she could think of a comeback for Chan, a familiar voice piped up beside her.

“Corrupting her?” Han scoffed, sidling into view like he’d been lurking for the right moment. “Please. This is character development.”

Iseul turned, eyebrows lifting. “I’m sorry—who gave you a microphone?”

Han grinned, dramatically clutching his chest. “Was that sass? Was that actual sass aimed at me? I feel like a proud mother bird.”

“More like a crow with a YouTube channel,” Seungmin muttered behind them.

“I’m ignoring that,” Han said, then looked at Iseul again. “No, seriously. You look like you walked off a K-drama shoot. Like, second female lead—but the one everyone really wants the male lead to end up with.”

Iseul snorted. “That sounds dangerously specific.”

“Just say thank you and move on,” Felix said, bounding over with a bounce in his step and eyes wide. “Iseul-ah, you look so good, I almost didn’t recognize you. Like, ‘is this a cameo from a new girl group?’ kind of good.”

“You’ve seen me with a charcoal face mask on,” she deadpanned.

“Yeah, and even then, you looked iconic,” Felix replied without hesitation, clutching his chest like he was emotionally moved. “But this—this is idol material.”

“You’re being weird again,” Hyunjin said, appearing beside them like he’d teleported, hands in his pockets and brow furrowed in faux seriousness. He eyed Iseul for a long second, then gave a small nod, his voice softer. “...You look really good.”

Iseul blinked, caught off guard by the shift in tone. “Thanks,” she said, almost shyly.

Hyunjin’s ears turned pink immediately. “I mean—like—for the concept. Good for the concept. Don’t read into it.”

“Too late,” Han sang.

Minho strolled past just then with a protein bar in hand, glanced at the group, and sighed. “Wow, one outfit change and you’re suddenly the nation’s sweetheart.”

“Jealous?” she teased, falling into step beside him.

“I don’t get jealous,” he said, biting into his bar. “But I do get concerned when the group’s collective IQ drops around you.”

“I take that as a compliment,” she said sweetly.

“You would.”

Chan, watching all of this from a short distance, shook his head. It was subtle, but there was something in his eyes—pride, relief, maybe even a bit of awe. After everything, after the tension, the tears, the silence that used to cling between them like fog—this felt new. Looser. Warmer.

A staff member clapped loudly nearby. “Stray Kids, standby! We’re rolling in five!”

The group scattered with practiced ease, each falling into their roles. Felix bounced toward the set, already mouthing through his lines. Seungmin and Jeongin exchanged a quick handshake, like a pre-show ritual. Han took one last exaggerated deep breath before walking off in the opposite direction.

Iseul swallowed hard and followed Minho and Hyunjin toward the stage.

The set was surreal—neon signs, fog machines, lights that pulsed in blues and reds. The music hadn’t even started, but the beat was already in her chest, heavy and fast.

“First positions, please!” a voice called.

Iseul stepped into her mark, heart hammering. She could feel the weight of the camera lens pointed at her. The lights above buzzed, casting everything in a too-sharp glow. Someone adjusted a mic pack on her back. Another stylist dashed forward to fix a stray hair.

Across the way, she caught Chan’s eye. He gave her a small thumbs up—just once, quick and unobtrusive—but it anchored her. She nodded back.

“Playback, take one!”

The song kicked in.

And just like that, they were moving.

It was easier than she thought—at first. The choreography was muscle memory, and her lips moved to the lyrics like they’d been stitched there. But the stage was smaller than the practice room, and the lights were hotter, and the camera was always there—hovering, tracking, waiting to catch the smallest misstep.

By the second verse, her smile was starting to stiffen.

By the third, her platform shoes felt like bricks.

By the final chorus, the first take had derailed completely.

“Cut!” someone yelled. “We lost tempo—again from the center. Let’s reset!”

Iseul bit the inside of her cheek as the music faded. Her lungs burned slightly, but it was the familiar burn of frustration more than fatigue.

Her brain was fogging up. The lights, the pressure, the nerves—they were crowding in, wrapping around her spine like a vice.

“Reset, people! Back to positions!”

She stepped off the mark. Felix gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder as he passed, muttering something encouraging that she barely heard. Minho didn’t say anything, but his gaze brushed hers briefly. A flicker of concern.

She inhaled slowly. In. Out.

Just a rough start, that’s all. It was normal. First MV shoots were always like this. Everyone said so.

The music cued up again.

She took her mark.

This time, she told herself she’d breathe slower. Hit every step. Keep her eyes up. No panic. No spiraling.

The beat dropped.

They moved.

But halfway through the verse, it happened.

Her left heel slipped—just barely, just enough. Her balance wavered, and her hand instinctively shot out, brushing Minho’s shoulder as she caught herself. He barely flinched, shifting seamlessly to keep the line clean. But she knew. She knew.

She missed the next beat trying to recover, steps misaligned by half a count. Her face didn't betray it, but inside—her stomach dropped like a stone.

“Cut!”

Silence fell. The music cut out sharply, like a guillotine.

She stood frozen, jaw tight.

A long pause.

Then someone—maybe a PD—muttered, “Let’s reset. From the top.”

No one said her name, but the implication was heavy. She’d thrown the take. It was her mistake.

As the group shuffled back to starting positions, she felt her throat tighten. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. You don’t cry on set.

She was about to apologize, to mumble something—anything—when Minho leaned in slightly as they passed.

“You’re fine,” he said low, so only she could hear. “Don’t get in your head.”

Iseul didn’t respond, but the words stuck. Like a hook. Holding her steady, barely.

Behind them, Hyunjin’s voice cut through. “Do you want to switch positions for this take?”

She turned. He was looking at her—not annoyed, not condescending. Just… measured. Careful.

“What?”

“Just for now,” he said, nodding toward her shoes. “You keep slipping—maybe if you’re not centre for this run, you can focus on getting stable first.”

Her jaw clenched. “I’m fine.”

Hyunjin blinked, taken aback.

Han, sensing the tension, slipped in quickly with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Or we just all do it barefoot. Concept: natural idols return to Earth.”

Felix laughed, but it sounded a little too forced.

Hyunjin looked away, jaw tightening.

Chan stepped in then, clapping his hands once. “Okay, we’re just warming up. Don’t stress over early takes. Let’s reset—five minutes to breathe, then we go again.”

Grateful for the pause, Iseul stepped off-set quickly, trying to clear her head. She felt like she was unravelling, thread by thread, and if someone looked too closely, they’d see how frayed she already was.

Minho offered her his water bottle wordlessly. She took it.

Felix hovered nearby, casually looping an arm around her shoulders. “Hey,” he said softly, so no one else would hear. “You’ve got this. Don’t let one bad run ruin you.”

She nodded faintly.

But her chest still ached.

She barely heard the five-minute call.

Felix had wandered off to stretch. Minho was talking to one of the cameramen. The set buzzed around her, a swarm of movement and voices, but it all blurred into white noise.

Iseul stood just off to the side; arms wrapped around herself despite the heat of the lights. Her platform shoes dug uncomfortably into her heels. The sweater suddenly felt like it weighed ten pounds. Her lungs worked harder for every breath.

Don’t cry. Not here. Not now.

“Hey.”

She startled, looking up to find Hyunjin standing in front of her again.

His expression had softened. Less composed now. He rubbed the back of his neck, awkward.

“I wasn’t trying to… I wasn’t saying you can’t do it,” he said quietly. “I just thought—if it were me, I’d want the option. That’s all.”

Iseul didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure she could.

Hyunjin shifted his weight from foot to foot. “You don’t have to prove anything. Not to me.”

That nearly undid her.

Her throat closed.

She turned away too fast, blinking hard, but the sting behind her eyes gave her away.

He noticed.

“Hey,” he said again, gentler now, almost guilty. “You’re allowed to be overwhelmed. You don’t have to—”

“I do, actually,” she said sharply, not facing him. “I really do.”

Hyunjin froze.

For a long second, neither of them moved.

Then—soft footsteps behind her.

Chan.

“Iseul,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Let’s take five. A real five.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. And that’s okay.”

She swallowed hard.

“It’s the first MV,” he continued. “No one’s expecting perfect. Not even the company.”

“I am,” she whispered. “I expect it.”

That silenced him.

And then, quietly, from across the set:

“I tripped in our first MV.”

Everyone turned.

It was Han. He was perched on a prop box like it was a throne. “Dead serious. First full take. Slipped on my own foot and nearly took Minho-hyung down with me.”

Minho, without missing a beat, called out, “Nearly? You did take me down.”

Han held up two fingers. “Two full takes ruined. I was convinced I was going to be kicked out of the group.”

Felix chimed in. “Chan-hyung cried after our first MV shoot.”

“I did not!” Chan called, scandalized.

“You did,” Changbin said with a mouthful of protein bar. “You cried in the bathroom and tried to blame allergies.”

Laughter echoed.

Even Iseul—through the tears brimming in her eyes—let out a shaky, startled sound.

A laugh.

Small. Real.

Chan gave her a side glance. “You okay?”

She nodded slowly.

Her voice was hoarse, but steadier now. The lump in her throat hadn’t vanished, but it felt manageable—shrunk down by the ridiculous image of Han wiping out mid-choreo and dragging Minho down with him, by the fact that even Chan had apparently cracked under the pressure once. By the fact that they weren’t looking at her like she was weak.

They were just here.

Still joking. Still standing.

Still hers, in a way she was still getting used to.

“Okay then,” Chan said, gently adjusting the collar of her sweater—more reassurance than styling. “Let’s show them why you’re here.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she muttered. “I’ll settle for not face-planting.”

“No promises,” Han chirped from behind them, far too enthusiastically.

“Why are you still sitting like that?” Seungmin asked as he walked past Han. “You look like a cursed meerkat.”

“It’s my artistic pose,” Han replied, dramatically striking a new, even worse one.

Minho rolled his eyes. “You want her to laugh or throw up?”

“I’m versatile like that.”

Changbin gently nudged Iseul’s shoulder. “Come on. We’ve got your back, yeah?”

She glanced up at him. “Even if I freeze in the middle of a shot?”

“I’ll pretend I meant to spin and fall next to you in solidarity.”

“I’ll trip before you do,” Jeongin called from somewhere near the monitors. “I’m building the suspense.”

She laughed again, this time more freely, as Hyunjin quietly passed her a water bottle. Their fingers brushed. Neither of them said anything.

But he didn’t look away this time.

And neither did she.

“Places, everyone!”

The call echoed through the set again, more urgent now.

The group began to move, bodies falling into formation like second nature, but this time—

This time, Iseul didn’t feel like she was following.

She felt like she belonged.

As the music began to thrum through the speakers and the cameras rolled into place, she let herself breathe. Deep. Full.

The lights hit.

Her cue arrived.

And Iseul stepped into it.

The track blared through the speakers, bass heavy and sharp. Lights cut across the set in timed flashes.

Iseul moved on instinct.

One beat, then another. A glance at the camera, a tilt of her head, the movement of her hands—every gesture honed through hours of practice now carried a new weight. Not perfection, but something real. Nervous, yes. But steady.

Behind her, she could feel them all moving too. Familiar energy. Familiar rhythm. The boys weren’t just backup—they were her anchors.

Felix caught her eye mid-routine and gave the smallest wink. She nearly missed a step from smiling.

Take after take passed. A few stumbles. A missed cue. Laughter in between. No one snapped. No one scolded.

Even when she flubbed a choreo segment, Hyunjin didn’t sigh or look away. He just ran the move slowly beside her, mirroring the steps until she caught on again.

“Better,” he muttered when they finished. “Still awkward, but better.”

She smacked his arm on instinct. He grinned like it was the highest compliment.

Chan watched everything like a hawk, as always, but whenever she met his eyes, his nods were calm. Assuring. He didn’t say much—he didn’t need to.

At one point, during a break, Changbin wandered over with two water bottles and handed one to her. “Still standing?” he asked, mock-serious.

“Barely,” she admitted, wiping her forehead.

“You didn’t fall once. That’s already better than my record.”

“I tripped twice,” she pointed out.

He shrugged. “Style points.”

By the time the director finally called, “That’s a wrap!” the room erupted in scattered applause.

Felix whooped. Han threw both arms in the air like they’d won a championship. Minho gave a small but satisfied nod, muttering, “That’ll do.”

Iseul stood in the middle of the set, dazed but buzzing.

She did it.

“First MV done,” Jeongin said, bouncing over to her side, awkwardly holding a camera. “How do you feel?”

She opened her mouth—then paused. She wasn’t sure she had the right word.

Chan saved her the trouble. He stepped beside her, voice quiet. “Like a member of Stray Kids.”

Her throat caught.

Then Felix draped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into the group’s orbit without hesitation. “Group photo!” he declared. “We need to memorialize her transformation from yogurt gremlin to visual goddess.”

“You’re gonna get smacked,” Seungmin muttered.

But she let herself laugh anyway, pulling in close as the camera clicked.

One chaotic, blurry photo later, the memory was sealed: her, tangled somewhere between Felix’s bear hug and Han’s peace signs, Minho smirking just off-center, and Chan’s hand on her shoulder—solid, warm, proud.

They didn’t know what would come next.

But for tonight, they had this.

And it was enough.

TAGLIST: @leewritesstuff, @athens-09xx, @allenajade-ite, @idjdndjzbsdm, @idjdndjzbsdm, @hyuneskkam, @geni-627, @valkirymin, @miminbin, @tillaboo, @dreamerwasfound, @youthsquaredd, @skzstannie, @nchhuhi, @rtyuy1346

STORY HINT: Iseul went home that night and changed her phone’s homescreen to the group selfie they’d taken after filming. A reminder—just for her—that she was here, she was a part of this, and maybe, just maybe, she was exactly where she needed to be.

Ahahhaha I reaallllyyy liked writing this chapter - it was so cute TwT Hope yall loved it too <33 Vacay has officially started so yay freedom lol...I'll try to come up w more but honestly I'm scrambling for ideas...yall please share yer ideas w me...I'll try to include it TvT Stay safe! ~candy

[arkaiveofurown]

i have like 4 diff requests in my mind but idk which i want most so imma try and combine them 🙂‍↕️

if possible, sabo x fem!strawhat!princess!childhoodfriend(??) 😃

im imagining sabo met her when he joined the revolutionary army when he was like 13 and met her on some island that was an ally of the revolutionaries(??? idk im so sorry) just coincidental that she joined sabos brothers crew and that makes him so happy m

ne ways

shes a strawhat, and i lowk just wanna see them reunite, just happily ended up on the same island. yk they’re both lowk busy- sabo chief of staff and miss y/n a strawhat, but i imagine they send each other letters and talk on the den den mushi sometimes 🙂‍↕️ maybe some smut, maybe some fluff 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

A Promise Across Time

Pairing: Sabo x Reader

After years of being apart, you and Sabo, childhood friends, unexpectedly reunite when you both end up on the same island. Between your busy lives, the bond you once shared is reignited.

Word Count: ~6,000 words

tags: fluff, childhood friends to lovers, very mild smut

my master list here ♡

——

a/n: thank you for this cute request! sabo is one of my faves so i love writing about him. anw sorry for the very mild smut i’m still not used to it.. haha maybe soon i can write a full one! but hope u like it still :)

——

The Revolutionary Army had visited your island only twice in your lifetime. The second time changed everything.

You were thirteen. A firecracker of a girl—barefoot, grass-stained, and too sharp-tongued for the noble title you hadn’t asked for. Your island, a neutral ally to the Revolutionaries, had always been peaceful, quiet. Boring, honestly.

Until he arrived.

“What’s your name?” you asked the blond boy with soot on his cheeks and a pipe strapped to his back. He’d just finished showing off some half-baked martial arts to a group of island kids.

He turned, startled by your directness. “Sabo.”

“That’s a dumb name.”

“You’re kinda rude for a princess.”

You grinned. “You’re kinda soft for a revolutionary.”

He stared at you—then laughed. A clear, surprised sound. “You wanna see the secret passage I found under the governor’s garden?”

You did.

You spent a few weeks with him. Racing through trees, trading stories, laughing until your ribs hurt. You taught him how to pick the garden locks with a hairpin; he showed you how to swing from the old rope bridge at the edge of the ravine. You never asked what he was running from. He never asked why you hid dirt under your fingernails and scraped your knees on purpose.

He was clever—sharper than any boy you’d met—and far too serious when he thought you weren’t watching. Sometimes you’d catch him staring out at the sea with his jaw clenched, like it owed him something.

You never pressed him about it.

The night before he left, the two of you sat beneath the half-finished bell tower, feet dangling off the ledge, the sky thick with stars. The kind of silence between you was rare—heavy, but not uncomfortable.

“I’m not gonna stay here,” you said quietly, picking at a fraying thread on your skirt.

“I didn’t think you would.” He glanced at you. “You’re not really the noble type.”

“Yeah. How about you? Any plans?”

He shifted, looking at his boots for a moment, before lifting his gaze to the night sky. “I’m not sure where I belong yet.”

You nudged his knee with yours. “Does anyone?”

He looked at you, a hint of uncertainty in his expression. “Guess not.”

The next morning, neither of you said goodbye.

You climbed a tree near the port instead, watching from the branches as the Revolutionary ship began to pull away. He stood at the railing, gripping the edge like he wasn’t sure whether to jump or wave or just stare.

And he did stare—right at your tree, even though you were sure he couldn’t see you through the leaves.

As the wind pulled at his coat and the ship turned toward the horizon, Sabo felt something deep in his chest—something strange and warm. The thought lingered in his mind:

I will marry her someday. That’s a promise.

He didn’t remember much from his life before joining the Revolutionary Army. Pieces of his past were shattered, lost in the flames of his childhood accident.

But now, no matter what happened, he was sure you are someone he would never forget.

——

The newspaper hit the desk with a soft thud, but it might as well have been a gunshot with how fast Sabo sat up.

He’d only meant to skim the headlines—another World Government scandal—but his eyes snagged on the image like a hook in the gut.

A group photo. Grainy, low-quality, and clearly taken mid-battle. The Straw Hat Pirates—grinning, bruised, chaotic as always.

But one face stopped everything.

Hair a little longer, body older—but it was you. No doubt in his mind. No hesitation. The same eyes, the same smile that he hadn’t seen since he was thirteen.

Sabo’s fingers trembled as he touched the edge of the photo.

Sabo’s fingers trembled as he touched the edge of the photo.

He wanted to go and see you.

He needed to.

His hand curled into a fist over the page, brow furrowed. You were standing next to the Straw Hat captain—Luffy, right?

He was happy you’d gotten away from all that noble shit.

Happy that you’d made your own choice.

That you were free.

——

Sabo stood amidst the wreckage of the colosseum, the cheers of the crowd still ringing in his ears. His thoughts, however, were elsewhere. His mind was flooded with memories—the ones he had regained a few weeks ago.. after Ace’s death.

Luffy… His brother. The brother he had forgotten but was now so sure of. The brother whose smile was forever etched into his soul.

Earlier, he had met Luffy again, a heartfelt reunion that shook him to his core. Luffy, who had been fighting so fiercely to avenge Ace, was his brother. And Sabo was proud of him.

But there was another thought that filled him with happiness, a quiet relief that made his chest feel light: You. The girl who had once been his closest companion, the one who had made him laugh beneath the shade of trees and shared his childhood secrets… You had ended up in Luffy’s crew.

He didn’t know exactly when it happened, but one thing was certain: you were with Luffy now, and that gave him peace. He knew Luffy would take care of you—he always had. He was certain that, just like Luffy, you were as tough and free as the wind, fighting alongside him and the others.

Sabo was still trying to process everything, trying to take it all in when a familiar voice rang through the air.

“Hey, Sabo!”

Sabo turned, the sound of Luffy’s voice pulling him from his thoughts. Luffy stood there, grinning widely as usual, his straw hat perched proudly atop his head. But it wasn’t just Luffy standing there.

To the side, a little further away, there you were. You.

Sabo’s heart skipped a beat. He blinked, staring at you, unable to fully process the sight of you standing there, so unexpectedly. You looked different—more mature, more seasoned by the seas—but that same spark in your eyes was unmistakable.

“Y/N…?” Sabo’s voice was barely above a whisper.

You seemed just as stunned, blinking in surprise before your expression softened. “Sabo…?”

A smile crept onto his face despite the shock. “Yeah… it’s really you.”

You took a step closer, still hesitant, as if unsure whether to bridge the gap between you. “I didn’t know you’d be here… in Dressrosa.”

Sabo shrugged, trying to act nonchalant despite the warmth spreading across his face. “I didn’t expect to see you here either… but I’m glad you’re with Luffy.”

You nodded, the words catching in your throat as you struggled to hold back the flood of emotions. “Yeah… I didn’t expect it either. But… I’m glad you’re okay.”

There was a beat of silence before Sabo spoke again, voice quieter. “I used to wonder a lot, you know… what you were up to. Where you’d gone.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “You did?”

He nodded, glancing to the side. “I even went back to your island once… years later. Hoping to see you.” He let out a soft breath. “But you weren’t there anymore.”

You bit your lip. “I waited… for a while, after you left. Thought maybe one day, you’d come back.”

Sabo looked at you, guilt flashing briefly in his eyes.

“But I get it,” you said gently, cutting through the silence. “You were with the Revolutionary Army. You couldn’t exactly come and go freely… we were just kids. I knew it wasn’t up to you.”

His expression softened. “I still wish I had… I missed you.”

Your chest tightened at his words, a thousand emotions surging all at once. You opened your mouth to speak, but your voice caught.

“…I missed you too,” your breath hitched, cheeks heating.

Both of you looked away at the same time, flushed and a little awkward, but smiling despite it.

Luffy, who had wandered back holding a giant drumstick, blinked between the two of you. “Huh? What’s with the both of you? You guys are acting weird.”

You both jumped slightly, startled.

“We’re not!” you said quickly.

Sabo cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… catching up, like I said.”

Luffy tilted his head. “Weird catching up.” He shrugged and took a huge bite of his meat. “Anyway, wanna eat?”

You and Sabo exchanged a look—half embarrassed, half amused.

“Sure,” you said, voice still a little soft.

“Yeah,” Sabo added, his eyes lingering on you for just a second longer. “Sounds good.”

And just like that, with the warmth of old feelings rekindled and Luffy still blissfully clueless, the world started moving again around the two of you.

——

A soft wind passed between you, warm against your skin. The chaos of Dressrosa—battle aftermath, shouting, the clatter of repairs and movement—seemed to fade into a distant hum. Here, in this little corner of quiet, it was just you and him.

Sabo looked down at your hand, then back up. “You really didn’t forget me?”

You shook your head slowly. “Not for a second.”

He swallowed. “I thought maybe you would.”

You smiled faintly. “Idiot. You were the hardest person to forget.”

He let out a quiet laugh, cheeks faintly pink, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know what I thought I’d say if I saw you again. I tried to imagine it, but…”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice a little breathless. “Same.”

The silence returned, but it was a good kind. A warm kind. The kind that came from people who once shared something important and were just now realizing they still did.

Sabo looked out at the sky, a little smile playing on his lips. “Feels like we were thirteen yesterday.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Except now you’re taller. And your hat’s cooler.”

He laughed. “Oh, so that’s what you noticed first?”

“No,” you said, glancing away quickly, face flushing. “…It was your smile.”

That stopped him cold. His breath caught just slightly as he turned to look at you again, softer than before, quieter.

You didn’t dare meet his eyes.

“…I really missed you,” he said again, almost like he couldn’t stop himself. “And I don’t wanna lose you again.”

Your eyes met his this time, sure and steady. “You won’t.”

He pulled something from his coat—folded paper, already slightly worn. A Vivre Card. “Here. So you’ll always know where I am.”

You blinked, then smiled and tore a piece from your own, offering it in return. “And now you’ll always know where I am too.”

Your fingers brushed as you traded pieces.

For a second, neither of you moved. Then you both laughed quietly, awkward and warm.

——

Weeks had passed since your reunion with Sabo.

A folded letter arrived with a bird messenger. Luffy had just shouted something about meat when the paper was handed to you.

Your heart skipped. You recognized the handwriting instantly.

Hey,

I don’t even know where to start. I don’t really do this kind of thing, so forgive me if it’s awkward. But I figured if I can’t talk to you often, I can at least write.

I hope you’re safe. I bet you’re giving Luffy hell when he’s being reckless—which, knowing him, is probably every five minutes.

Things are busy here, but I keep thinking about that day in Dressrosa. I didn’t get to say everything I wanted to. Not even close. So… I’ll keep trying, letter by letter.

Take care of yourself. Seriously.

— Sabo

You read it three times before finally tucking it away in your coat pocket, smile lingering.

You wrote back that night.

Dear Firebrain,

Your handwriting is as messy as I remember. I had to squint at half the words.

But… I’m glad you wrote. It’s strange not having you around after seeing you again. I didn’t realize how much I missed you until you left.

Luffy is exactly like you guessed. He picked a fight with a sea king because “it looked funny.” He’s fine, of course. But yes, I’m yelling at him enough for both of us.

Stay safe too, Sabo. I want to hear from you again soon.

— Your tree-climbing partner

You were both busy—him with the Revolutionary Army, you with the Straw Hats—but you never missed a chance to write. As days turned to weeks, the missing grew heavier, settling somewhere quiet between each letter exchanged.

One afternoon, another letter arrived. You unfolded the worn page carefully, eyes already searching for his handwriting:

I’ve been thinking about you more than I probably should.

Some nights, when everything goes quiet, I wonder what you’re looking at—what ocean, what sky. I tell myself it’s the same stars. I like believing that.

I thought it’d get easier after seeing you again… but it didn’t. Now I just know exactly what I’m missing.

The others tease me for spacing out lately. I don’t tell them it’s because I’m thinking about your voice, your laugh, your stupid jokes.

I hope you’re safe. I hope you’re smiling.

I want to see you again. I want to tell you something.

Write back soon. Please.

— Sabo

You replied;

Dear Sabo,

You always knew how to make things harder, didn’t you?

I read your letter three times. Then a fourth. I didn’t want it to end.

I’ve been missing you too. More than I thought I would. It’s like I saw you, and now every part of me is stuck back in that moment—back to when we were just kids under the trees, or standing in the quiet after Dressrosa.

Luffy asked why I was smiling like an idiot the other day. I told him it was nothing. (It wasn’t nothing. It was you.)

I wish I could see you again soon too. I don’t know when, or how, but I’ll be waiting. Just keep that Vivre Card close. I’ll be following where it leads too.

Write again. Always.

— Y/N

——

The day had finally come. You’d kept up with the letters, the occasional updates, but nothing compared to this. Seeing him again—seeing Sabo in person—was a feeling you couldn’t put into words.

As soon as you saw him, standing there with that familiar smile, it was like everything around you disappeared. Without thinking, you rushed toward him, heart pounding in your chest, and hugged him tightly.

Sabo’s eyes widened in surprise, but in an instant, his arms were around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. You couldn’t help but bury your face against his shoulder, feeling his warmth, his presence that you’d missed so much in such a short time.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice a little shaky. “You miss me that much?” he teased.

You pulled back just slightly, eyes still locked on him. “I was gonna ask you the same thing,” you laughed softly, still feeling like you were dreaming.

He grinned, then his smile faltered as he hesitated. “Yeah… I missed you.”

Your heart melted. “I missed you too,” you whispered, taking a deep breath, your words nearly stuck in your throat.

Sabo looked at you seriously for a moment, the playful smile slipping away. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say… something I should’ve said a while ago.”

You blinked, suddenly nervous. “What is it?”

Sabo swallowed, his gaze dropping for a brief second before locking back onto yours. “I’ve liked you… for a long time. Even when we were kids. I… I always have.” He shifted a little, looking shy, unsure of how to continue. “I’ve just never had the guts to say it before.”

You felt your heart race at his confession, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “I… I’ve felt the same.”

A wave of relief washed over his face. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice a little softer now, almost shy.

You nodded, stepping closer to him, not wanting to let this moment slip away. “Yeah.”

Without another word, he leaned down and kissed you gently. The world seemed to disappear around you, and for that brief moment, everything felt right again.

But then, suddenly, a loud cheer erupted from behind you.

“Y/N! You’re my sister now?! I can’t believe it! Hahahaha!” Luffy’s voice echoed across the area, completely unaware of the moment he’d just interrupted.

Sabo glared over his shoulder, shooting a sharp look at Luffy and the rest of the crew who were now openly cheering and grinning like they’d just watched the final scene of a romance drama. “You fools! I thought you were going to give us some privacy!”

“Don’t expect anything from them,” you sighed, rolling your eyes but smiling at the same time.

Luffy just laughed louder, completely unbothered, while the others chuckled.

Sabo turned back to you, his expression softening. “Come on, let’s go somewhere quieter,” you suggested. “We still have a lot to talk about.”

You led him away, to your room, where the noise of the crew faded away. Once the door was closed behind you, the space was filled with an intense, quiet anticipation.

You both exchanged a glance before Sabo gently cupped your face, his thumb traced slow circles against your skin. “I never thought this would happen, you know? But I’m so glad it did.”

You could feel your pulse hammering, a wild drumbeat in your chest, and his eyes—those damn stormy eyes—locked onto yours with a heat that made your knees weak.

“I’ve waited too long for this,” he murmured, voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver racing down your spine. Have you ever felt a moment so raw, so electric, that it steals your breath?

His lips crashed into yours again, not gentle this time, but fierce, desperate, as if he could pour every unspoken word from all those lost years into this single kiss.

You gasped against his mouth, hands fisting into his coat, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you, just heat and need and the hard press of his body against yours.

He groaned—a deep, primal sound that vibrated through you—as his hands slid down to grip your hips, fingers digging in with a delicious bite of pain.

“Fuck, I’ve dreamed of this,” he rasped, breaking the kiss to trail his mouth along your jaw, down your neck, teeth grazing your skin until you arched into him, a whimper escaping your lips.

That said, it wasn’t just lust driving him; there was something deeper, a fierce ache, as his hands roamed your body like he was memorizing every curve, reclaiming every inch of you after so much time apart.

You pushed back against him, guiding him toward the narrow bed, your own desire mirrored in the way you tugged at his shirt, fabric ripping slightly under your impatient fingers, until his scarred, taut chest was bare under your hungry gaze.

You both stumbled onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths, and Sabo hovered over you, his weight pinning you down in the best way, his gaze dark and predatory as he drank you in.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growled, voice thick with want, as he yanked at your shirt, buttons popping free, exposing your skin to the cool air and his searing touch. His mouth descended, hot and wet, sucking at your collarbone, then lower, until his tongue flicked over your nipple, drawing a sharp cry from you—ahh, fuck!—as your hips bucked up against his.

His cock, hard and straining through his pants, pressed into your thigh, and you ground against him, desperate for more, for everything. “Sabo, please,” you begged, voice breaking, and he chuckled darkly, teeth nipping at your skin as his hand slid between your legs, fingers teasing through fabric before shoving it aside to stroke you, slow and deliberate, until you were writhing beneath him, every nerve on fire.

The room spun with the scent of sweat and desire, the creak of the bed, the slick, wet sounds of his fingers working you, building you up, and you knew—fuck, you knew—this was only the beginning as his other hand fumbled with his belt, the metal clinking urgently in the charged silence.

——

The rest of the night blurred into warmth and softness, laughter against skin, whispered words you’d never dared say aloud before now. You held each other close, learning and relearning each other with every breath.

Later, tangled in the sheets, your head rested on his chest, rising and falling with each slow breath he took.

“I can’t believe this is real,” you murmured.

His fingers lazily traced circles on your back. “If this is a dream, I’m not waking up.”

You smiled sleepily. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice quieter now. “I love you.”

You looked up, heart swelling. “I love you too.”

There was a pause. Then, in a voice so soft you almost missed it, he added, “You know… I used to tell myself, even when we were kids, that one day I’d marry you.”

Your breath caught, eyes meeting his again. “You did?”

He nodded, a small, sheepish smile pulling at his lips. “I didn’t know what love really was back then… but I knew it was you.”

Your fingers laced with his, your heart so full it almost ached. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve been waiting for you.”

The night stretched on, and neither of you moved—just lying there in each other’s arms, where everything felt safe. And finally, after all the years, the distance, and the waiting… you are home.

[dol-dolly]

im basic af, but for the kink thing: overstimulation and somnophilia?

There’s a reason they’re classics!! If I’m missing a character you want, let me know!! I had to stop somewhere 😅😅

Avery - Avery strikes me as a selfish lover. They don’t really care if you cum, so they’re not likely to overstim you. Unless they’re feeling possessive or like they have something to prove. Tell them your record orgasms and then gush about the person who gave them to you, and they may change their mind.

They don’t have a specific somnophilia kink, but they will take advantage of you sleeping if you’re cute enough. They’re more into very sleepy but conscious, although that would mean doing more of the work.

Eden - they have in-game overstimulation kink and I’m sure it doesn’t stop in the garden. It’s about ownership of your body, ruining you for anyone else, making you limp and even easier to throw around. Which is also why they like somnophilia. They revel in their strength versus your fragility. They’re never gentle enough to not wake you up, though. They will not be slowing down when you do.

Whitney - only enjoys overstimulation occasionally. They don’t want you thinking they care how you feel. They will do it to embarrass you in public mostly. Overstimming them is a different matter entirely. They will cuss you out the entire time, but they secretly love it and will force you to do it again.

Whitney doesn’t let anyone sleep with them for a while, and they’re not like that little freak Kylar, so they’re not sneaking into your room at night or whatever. They do use your hands if you fall asleep in class. By the time they let you actually sleep next to them, they’re too dopey in love to try it. If you ask they will, and they’ll whisper the sweetest things to you they’re always scared to say in the daytime.

Kylar - doesn’t care to overstim you unless their jealousy is high. Will overstim themselves with you because they love cumming. Loves somno. Will fuck you in your sleep whether you like it or not, stealthy enough that you don’t always wake up.

Sydney - bottom Sydney wants you to lowkey kill them if it means you’re touching them (not really they’re just needy and masochistic). I think they’d take a long time to cum and their refractory period would be long, at least at first, so they wouldn’t be into overstim. They’d get too physically sensitive. They want to be on the receiving end of somno, but they’re too embarrassed to admit it.

Top Sydney wants to worship you. That includes after you cum, and while you’re asleep.

Robin - If you overstim them they’ll cry, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. They’ll only overstim you a little bit unless you’re very clear you want more. Somno is an absolute no on all counts.

Alex - Alex thinks it’s a fun game to get you to cum more than once, but they don’t necessarily go into overstim unless you need it to get over the edge. If you reject them at night enough times, and you’re in their bed, they will fuck you in your sleep.

Great Hawk - if you ask, they are happy to oblige their mate!! They love the noises you make during overstim, and timidly ask you if you want it every few times you have sex. They’re not attracted to somno in particular, but will wake you up in the middle of the night and take advantage of your sleepy self.

Alpha - does not intentionally engage in overstim, but they are going to have you on their knot for a while…😵‍💫 pack mates take what the alpha gives them, including when you are asleep.

Bailey - overstimulates others when they’re angry. You wanna be a brat? They’ll make you cum until you cry. Then you’ll see who’s in charge. But you look too innocent for them to fuck you while you’re asleep. Bailey is an asshole, but he leaves the actual assault to other people. Fucking you while you are unaware and trusting reminds them too much of their childhood.

Wren - Wren has the perfect hands for overstimulation. Long, clever fingers. A quick tongue. A mocking tone as you cum again and try to beg them to stop. No, no, you asked for this, sweetheart. They made you admit explicitly how much you wanted it, and now they’re going to give it to you. And give it to you. And give it to you.

And those same hands are very skilled at slipping into you while you’re asleep, bringing you to the edge before they wake you just as you crest into pleasure, their voice a consistent purr in your ear. If they’re feeling mean, or especially nice, they’ll overstim you after that, too.

Remy - outside of overstimming cows during milking to make them produce more, Remy isn’t particularly into it. However, it often comes up because the bitch has stamina. They can go for a long time. And if you fall asleep during because you’re so thoroughly fucked, well…why should they stop?

Harper - will overstim you, but only in a clinical way, and while taking notes. Especially after giving you some kind of aphrodisiac. They’re much more into intox kink than somno, although it sometimes ends up nearly the same thing. Consensual or non.

Leighton - only a fan of overstim if you don’t leave a mess. Especially during spankings over his lap. Much prefers edging and denial though. Not into somno because he wants to see the lust and concern and occasionally fear in your eyes.

Sirris - Sirris will try anything once. They like trying all their toys (“for quality control”) and overstim is a regular consequence of that. With somno, they will wake you up with oral, soft and slow, until you’re moaning and begging for more. Their biggest kink is more mommy/daddy though.

Ash - yes yes and yes. Turning her brain off??? Proof that someone is attracted to her enough to make her cum??? More than once??? Pretending to be asleep so someone can use her however they want to??? Everything she needs please and thank you.

Gabriel - overstim yes. Yes yes yes of course. Their whole point of being is to make others cum. They will overstimulate you every time. Unless you convince them you feel better, but that’s hard to do. Especially when you’re crying and begging them to stop. Not into somno except that they like fucking uou when one or both of you is being controlled by the Ivory Wraith.

Candy - not a huge fan of overstim because she’ll sweat and ruin her makeup. But she won’t say no if you do it, especially in a closet at school, because it’ll make her late and she’ll get to see Leighton in detention. Not somno though. She doesn’t like people to see her in the mornings, much less mid-slumber.

[sapphiconherknees]

Soph and Bees chaotic week wrap up 🐝🎀

Bee

🐝 Fell down the step of her stairs inside the house (A weekly occurrence for me you’d think I’d of learned by now)

🐝 Walked into her closed GLASS door (don’t ask)

🐝 Almost had a melt down when she couldn’t find her bed sheets she wanted…they were on top of the tumble dryer

🐝 Went to put the washing out. Forgot peg bag. Went back for peg bag. Legs buckled and to stop herself from knocking herself out her hand caught herself on the outside of the wall cutting, grazing and bruising her thumb joint

🐝 Chronic fatigue (just this)

🐝 Forgot to get the food she wanted for dinner out the freezer. Had a meltdown.

🐝 People demanding I owe them an answer

🐝 Forgetting she had hurt her thumb joint and kept leaning on it, hurting herself even more

🐝 To finish of on this Sunday half of her tooth broke sending her into a meltdown

Soph @miss-soph-star

🎀 Hurting her back at work, then walking into her car door before she could drive home (I’d like to thank myself for not having glasses on for that one)

🎀 Getting on her 3 hour train ride back home after Easter and realising 15 minutes in she had left her house keys at her mams house (I’m a bit silly sometimes)

🎀 Managing to cut both knees while shaving (testing my patience)

🎀 Bumping into her ex domme (awks)

🎀 Getting messages from said ex domme (as Bee and I put it, “your not a domme, your just a c*nt)

🎀 Breaking her laptop mousepad (*sighs*)

🎀 Thunder and Lightening (okay don’t laugh it’s scary)

🎀 Being called a ‘sissy’ by a random dom account trying to get her to submit (haha good luck) and having men in my DMs (stop talking about your tiny willy darling…I’m bored)

🎀 Burned her hand on her curler

Joint chaos

💋 Overwhelmed by the heat and itchy clothes, so had a meltdown in the shower for over an hour

What could have made our weeks better 🐝🎀

Bee - My week would have gone better if a beautiful older woman had me tied up, waiting for her on my knees, in the middle of the bed. Her telling me exactly what she was going to do to me. Spanking me if I make even so much a murmur, knowing how needy and desperate I am for her touch and my want to be with in every possible way. Holding me open and pliable to just her and no one else, and trusting in her that she knows me better than anyone else does, she can see the changes in my body language and I trust her enough to keep me safe, and she trust me enough to communicate throughout.

Soph - My week would have gone better if a gorgeous domme tied me up, all pretty for her and spanked me. She chooses what pretty little rope designs to adorn me with, so I’m completely at her mercy. She chooses whatever instruments she wants; her hands, paddle, cane or flogger…I don’t mind…I’m just so desperate for her raw connection. I’m craving it…leave marks across my skin, little reminders of your love, I need you! <3

What doesn’t kill you makes you kinky 🐝🎀

[cherrylgc]

lgcaeri

“that’s good to hear.” aeri nodded, feeling glad that cherry had found something that she was interested in. as the topic of punishments were brought up, aeri thought about the last time she heard about it. it felt such a long time ago but at the same time, it was fresh in her mind due to the unexpected visit from all of the higher-ups and their managers. “i’m unsure either, but i think it would be good to keep it that way.” she stated as her voice softened. “you probably have a better idea than i do what the trainees are doing if you have some trainee friends. a lot of mines have left the company or debuted.” aeri shrugged, realizing then and there how she’s becoming more withdrawn compared to when she was a trainee. she knew her past self would still try to seek ways to interact and meet with people, but the present moment was an example of how some parts of that have changed. aeri chuckled at cherry’s words and tried to reassure her, “there’s probably a musical out there that i’m unaware of that might not have dancing involved, so if that happens maybe it can be the one for you?” she wasn’t quite knowledgeable enough to be considered an expert when it came to musicals but she did know some of the popular ones and the ones she’s been a part of. “...or if that doesn’t work out, maybe you can be a part of a rom-com drama where your character’s hidden talent is rapping.” she suggested lightheartedly, unsure if that would happen but based on the past projects she’s taken, aeri has been embracing the concept of “anything is possible as long as you try”.

“i wonder why it’s such a big deal… to date” the blonde leans back a bit. “i guess some people say it’ll distract you from your career or something” she shrugs “but i just can’t seem to find out how it’s such a big deal”. cherry deeply wished she could be public about her girlfriend, but not only was her girlfriend an idol, they were also both girls, and the world for some reason didn’t seem to be a fan of that. cherry wishes one day she can talk about it, there’s barely anyone that knows, her dad is the only person she’d told about her girlfriend. “ah well, i have a lot of trainee friends, i’m good at making new friends” she nods. 

“i could be part of some comic musical where we all suck at dancing” a chuckle escapes her lips. “i won’t worry too much about musicals at the moment, my first goal should just be landing a role, any role” she shrugs “i still have far to go though… not exactly the best actress yet” she pouts “but i’ll learn it” … “right?”. cherry had been used to sucking at basically everything, but now she had something she really wished to not suck at. “but it makes me curious, what will my first role ever be?”.

[heraldofcrow]

One thing about me is that if you shun or try to isolate a friend of mine (or just anyone who you’ve dubbed a “fault in the system” or harmful despite evidence to the contrary) after you misjudged them for being a bad or malicious or untrustworthy person, I am going to rabidly support them and be extra fucking loud about it and make sure their voices are heard from every corner and it will literally be my driving force to stay online and alive for years.

[adapotata]

Listen I need them to stop leaving Flora places, isn’t she Layton’s legal ward after the first game? Stop ditching her?

“Oh it’s dangerous” THEN DON’T BRING LUKE????

[tomatotales]

sapphic tashi/patrick/art

Patrick who has been in love with Art since she was twelve, and Art who has no idea.

But during the Junior US Open Art has a major sexuality crisis, and realizes Tashi Duncan is so fucking hot.

Patrick thinks Art is just following her lead and is absolutely clueless that she likes Tashi romantically. It isn’t until they are all in the hotel that Patrick realizes Art likes Tashi too. Art likes a girl, and it isn’t her.

So the rest of the story goes on as normal. Patrick is frustrated that she fell in love with Art, and even worse is than Art being straight, she just never liked Patrick.

And Art goes through her adult like realizing that her and Patrick’s friendship wasn’t necessarily platonic, but she didn’t understand it at the time. And it’s so much easier to understand that she loves Tashi, because who doesn’t, but to fundamentally understand she’s like girls, that she loves Patrick, that’s much harder.

And Tashi is like, “How did I get stuck with the two most useless lesbians ever?”