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witchywithwhiskey · 3 months ago

Note

Alright, Molly, let’s try this again ❤️

What if I say Lloyd Hansen and 1-800-Cupid? 😌 Does that strike your fancy?

be my cupid

pairing: boyfriend!lloyd hansen x female reader

summary: when your boyfriend is away on a work trip for valentine's day, you have a plan to make it special. but then he surprises you with an even more exciting present that you weren't expecting.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, light bdsm, light dom/sub, sir kink, praise kink, finger sucking, aftercare, pet names, established relationship, some insecurity from reader and reassurance from lloyd

word count: 3.1k

a/n: i'm so happy you sent in the "1-800-Cupid" prompt!! i was hoping someone would because it seemed so fun. i really like the idea i came up with for this one—and i think it works perfectly with lloyd! thank you for playing my sweethearts game, i hope you enjoy ♡♡

sweethearts game masterlist

“Thank you for calling 1-800-Cupid,” you trilled into the phone, unable to bite back the smile that had spread across your face when you saw the name Lloyd Hansen appear on the screen. “I’m your personal cupid, here to connect you with your true love.”

“My ‘true love’?” The familiar voice on the other end of the line scoffed with an ungentlemanly snort.

You could practically hear the whiskers of his mustache twitch as his mouth twisted into a playful sneer. Indignantly, you sat up in your bed.

“Don’t you dare scoff at me, Lloyd Hansen,” you scolded, even going so far as to give your phone a little glare when you knew there was no way for the man on the other end to actually see your expression. After all, you were sitting in your bed, alone in your apartment, while he was half a world away on some business trip.

“I’m sorry, cupcake, I’m sorry,” Lloyd said soothingly, managing to sound genuinely contrite and teasingly playful all at the same time.

You rolled your eyes with affection—it was a feat only Lloyd could manage. But it did the trick and you settled back into the pillows on your bed, playing with the edge of your sweater while you huffed a sigh.

It took you a moment to get back into character, glancing at the short script you’d prepared as part of the surprise you’d planned.

“Now, why are you calling today, sir?” you asked in your best professionally cheerful customer service voice.

“Well, I found a mysterious card in my jacket, with your number on it,” Lloyd said, mirth filling his tone even as he tried to play along. “You don’t think my girlfriend could’ve had something to do with it, do you? D’you think she’s trying to get rid of me?”

It took all your effort to stifle a hopeless giggle. You could always count on Lloyd to make you laugh, even when you were sad about the fact that he wasn’t there with you.

It was your first Valentine’s Day together, but he’d had to go away on a work trip, and you’d come up with a little plan to make the holiday special when you weren’t able to be together. But he kept distracting you.

You took a moment to collect yourself, Lloyd waiting patiently on the other end of the line, seemingly just happy to be on the phone with you, which made you all the more eager to get on with your plan.

“I don’t know anything about that…” you said primly, trying to keep your mouth from curving into a smile and utterly failing. So you moved on, blurting out the next part of your script. “Would you like me to send a photo of the true love you’ve been matched with, sir?”

“You keep calling me sir, sunshine, and you’re going to be getting a photo of my hard dick,” Lloyd muttered, sounding like he was palming the bulge in his pants already.

Your breath hitched in your throat, warmth cascading down through your body and settling heavily between your thighs, wetness beginning to gather in your panties. It was on the tip of your tongue to beg him to send the photo, so you’d have something to touch yourself to when he inevitably needed to go and attend to the work that had taken him out of the country.

But you shook yourself and persevered with your plan. “Lloyd,” you admonished, your voice a little breathy despite your best efforts. “Do you want the photo or not?”

“Sure, princess, send me the photo,” he said. Affection was clear in his tone, which made you soften just a bit.

Pulling the phone away from your ear, you tapped on the screen until you pulled up the photos you’d had taken in a boudoir photoshoot. They were Valentine’s Day themed, with your body swathed in red and white lingerie, surrounded by rose petals and soft silk sheets. In your hands, you held a pink, plastic bow and arrow, making you look like a particularly sexy cupid.

Biting back a grin and a sound of excitement, you sent your favorite of the photos to Lloyd, then quickly replaced your phone against your ear, holding your breath while you waited with eager anticipation for his reaction.

You were rewarded a few seconds later with a choked groan and a muttered curse from your boyfriend. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought he was in pain, but then his lust-soaked voice filled your ears.

“Fuck, angel, look at you,” he cooed down the line, sending little shivers of delight racing beneath your skin. “You look so fucking gorgeous—so perfect and pretty and…” He trailed off, his words dissolving into another restrained groan, like he was biting his hand to muffle the sound. “Is this all for me? Is this my Valentine’s Day present, sweets?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, almost shyly, unable to wipe the grin off your face. The rest of your words left you in a rush of excitement. “Do you like it? I wanted to give you something you’d like even though you’re on your work trip.”

“I love it, buttercup,” Lloyd purred.

His deep voice made you shiver with a desire that you knew was going to go unslaked until your boyfriend got home. No matter how much phone sex the two of you had, it was never quite as satisfying as having Lloyd with you in person, bending you over and taking you hard and deep…

Lloyd kept talking then, distracting you from your dirty thoughts with a surprise of his own.

“I got you something, too, pumpkin. Open your door.”

Excitement shot through your body and you bounced eagerly off your bed. You didn’t think much of his words, it wasn’t uncommon for Lloyd to send you little presents while he was on his work trips—coffee and pastries delivered to your door in the mornings to help you start your day, some jewelry or a book in the evenings because he was thinking of you.

“Oohh, did you get me flowers, Lloyd Hansen?” you chattered happily, padding through your apartment to the front door. “Some chocolates? One of those giant stuffed teddy bears?” You paused, glancing around your cramped and cozy space, wondering where you would even put a giant teddy bear.

Your boyfriend just chuckled softly on the other end of the line, not giving anything away. Your excitement to know what he’d gotten you rushed back in, and you turned to the door again, eager to see what he’d sent you.

Flinging open the front door of your apartment, you were stunned to find not flowers or chocolates or a teddy bear, but Lloyd Hansem himself. He wore a familiar smirk on his handsome face, his blue eyes glittering with mischief in the fluorescent lights of the hallway, his phone still held up to his ear.

“LLOYD!” you screamed, your phone slipping from your fingers and tumbling loudly to the floor as you launched yourself at your boyfriend. “You’re here.” The words came out much softer as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar, spicy scent of his cologne.

“Did you really think I’d let you spend our first Valentine’s Day alone?” he teased you playfully, one of his arms banding around your back while his other hand cupped the back of your head, holding you tightly against his chest. He walked you backward into your apartment, kicking the door shut behind him. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here with you, muffin.”

His words filled your heart with joy, and you wrapped your arms tighter around his shoulders, clinging to his big, strong form while he slowly twirled the two of you around, like you were dancing to a silent slow song. You were so happy, it took you a moment for reality to crash back down around you.

“But I wasn’t expecting you,” you whined into Lloyd’s neck, remembering that your face was entirely bare of makeup and you were wearing the same thing you’d had on all week—a pair of leggings and one of Lloyd’s shirts, even though his cologne had long since worn off. “I’m not pretty right now,” you mumbled, hiding your face against Lloyd’s throat.

Lloyd gently eased you away from his body, having to pry your clinging arms loose, so he could rake his eyes over your bare face. He smiled, his mustache twitching a little, and his blue eyes sparkled with nothing but genuine affection.

“You’re gorgeous just like this, pretty girl,” he cooed, ducking forward and pressing a kiss to your lips. Then he brushed kisses to your cheeks and forehead, even dropping a kiss to the tip of your nose, making you giggle. “You make a very sexy cupid, but you’re always my gorgeous girl.”

“Thank you, Lloyd,” you said on a soft sigh of contentment, dragging him in for a proper kiss.

His mustache tickled your upper lip in the way that you’d grown to crave, and you moaned at the familiar, delicious taste of your boyfriend. Pulling him even closer with your fingers curled around the lapels of his jacket, you kissed him harder, pouring all the affection and happiness you felt about having him home into the way your mouth moved against his.

Kissing you back just as fervently, Lloyd walked you backward until you were pressed against the wall in your living room. He crowded in around you, pinning you to the wall with his big, hard body, his bulge jutting into your belly while he deepened the kiss, coaxing a burning inferno of need to life within you.

Before long, you were pushing impatiently at his jacket, wordlessly whining for him to take it off. Lloyd was only too happy to oblige, shedding the garment and tugging his shirt over his head, his mouth finding yours again for another hot, searing kiss.

His fingers hooked in the waistband of your leggings, shoving them down over your hips and thighs so you could kick them off. Then his hands came up to cup your face, cradling your head while he licked into your mouth, fucking you with his tongue until you were whimpering, desperately needing him to fill another of your holes.

Quickly, Lloyd toed out of his shoes and stripped off his pants, leaving him in only a pair of boxer briefs, while you still wore a sweater and your panties. Glancing down at your shirt before he went back to kissing you, Lloyd’s hands pushed beneath your sweater, his fingers finding the soft flesh of your tits and kneading until you were breaking away to moan.

“Is this my shirt?” Lloyd asked in a low, rumbling voice that was soaked with lust and a little hint of humor. He pressed hungry, nipping kisses along your jaw, pinching your nipples and making you squirm between his hard, unyielding body and the wall at your back.

“Yeah,” you answered on a gasp. “I missed you,” you confessed, your hands curling around his bare shoulders, clinging to the muscles bunching beneath his warm skin while your head tipped back against the wall and you let out a low, keening whine.

Lloyd made a gruff sound in the back of his throat, pulling away so he could look you in the eye. Your head was still tipped back, though, so he cupped your jaw in his hand and tilted it forward, his thumb running along your plump lower lip.

You took the tip into your mouth and nipped playfully before sucking on Lloyd’s thumb, staring up at your boyfriend with half-lidded eyes. You watched while his gaze darkened, his pupils blowing wide with a lustful hunger that made your body clench tight with anticipation.

“I missed you too, baby cakes,” he rumbled, ducking his head to brush a kiss to the corner of your mouth. His mustache tickled and you giggled, turning your head and letting his thumb fall from your lips so you could kiss your boyfriend.

The kiss quickly turned heated again and it felt like both of you suddenly remembered how long it had been since you’d been joined together in the most primal way possible. There was an urgency in your movements as you impatiently tugged your boyfriend’s boxer briefs down, palming his cock while he tugged your sweater off and shoved your panties down your legs.

“Lloyd, please, I need you,” you gasped, wrenching your lips from his to suck in some much-needed air. The fingers of your free hand curled in the hair at the back of his head, clinging to him while stroked his cock, your thigh lifting and trying to curl around his hip. “Need your cock inside me, need you to fill me up, sir, please.”

“Fuck, alright, alright, lollipop—you want my cock, you’ll get it,” Lloyd rumbled, his hand grabbing your raised thigh and lifting it higher. His fingers dug into your plush softness while he hooked it around his hip and you guided his cock to your entrance. “Take it, honey bee, take your man’s cock.”

You sank down on Lloyd’s cock while he pressed into you, filling you up in one smooth stroke that had your head falling back against the wall and a filthy moan spilling from your lips. You weren’t quite wet enough to take him easily, but you enjoyed the slight burn and the ache of being stretched around his hard length too much to complain.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, doll face, looking so fucking blissed out on my cock,” Lloyd said on a grunt, pulling out slightly and pushing in again, making you both moan. “I could get used to this—coming home to you and filling your cunt while your body clings to me, sucking me deeper.”

“Yes, yes, please, sir, I want that,” you babbled, the words falling from your lips and finding you did want it. You wanted Lloyd coming home to you every day, fucking you over the nearest surface and reminding you who you belonged to every night. “I want you filling me every day, fucking me, taking what’s yours.”

Lloyd chuckled, the sound deliciously sinful while he rocked into your body, fucking you against the wall of your apartment ruthlessly. All you could do was cling to him, your fingers curling in his hair, nails digging into the back of his neck while you held on for the ride.

“You want me to take what’s mine, sweet pea? Are you mine, sweet girl?” he teased mercilessly, fucking you even harder.

It was on the tip of your tongue to say yes, you were his, but then Lloyd changed the angle of his hips. The base of his cock rubbed meanly against your clit with every thrust and you cried out loudly, your back arching away from the wall and your hips bearing down on his cock as you barreled toward your release.

“Lloyd,” you gasped, barely able to get the words out, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Do it, cutie, cum for me,” Lloyd urged, fucking you in hard thrusts, pausing between each to grind against your clit “Be a good girl and show me you’re mine, honey pie—cum all over my cock.”

Between his commanding words and the relentless grinding of his hips, his cock buried to the hilt in your soaking wet pussy, it was too much. Your release crashed over you, making you scream in pleasure while you came on Lloyd’s cock, your inner walls clenching hard enough around him to make him grunt.

With a few more short, hard thrusts, Lloyd followed you over the edge, burying his face in your neck and muffling a loud groan against your skin as he spilled inside you. Your pussy squeezed every last drop of cum from his length, the two of you collapsing against the wall at your back as you caught your breath and rode out the aftershocks of your releases.

Once you recovered enough to move, the two of you stumbled down the hall toward your bedroom, taking a quick detour to the bathroom to clean up before tumbling into bed together. Lloyd had snagged his shirt from where he’d dropped in your living room and he pulled it over your head, swaddling you in his scent before pulling you close to cuddle.

Your boyfriend lay on his back, your body splayed across his chest, your ear pressed to his sternum while you listened to the steady beat of his heart. After a short time of enjoying each other’s presence, you raised your head, your eyes greedily raking over Lloyd’s handsome face while your fingers played idly with his mustache.

“Thank you for cutting your trip short,” you murmured softly, your eyes fixed on Lloyd’s mouth, watching the corners flicker with a smile. “I really didn’t expect you to that just for Valentine’s Day.”

“I did it for you, sweetheart,” Lloyd purred, his fingers closing around your wrist and bringing your fingers to his lips, pressing kisses to the pads of each one until you looked up into his eyes. His gaze was filled with so much affection, it made your breath catch in your throat. He murmured, “I love you.”

It was the first time either of you had said those words and you were surprised by the rush of emotion that flooded your heart when you heard them. Tears pricked at your eyes and you quickly dashed them away.

“I love you, too, Lloyd,” you murmured, pulling your hand away from his mouth so you could replace it with your lips. You kissed him hard, and he did the same, banding an arm around your lower back and cradling your head while he rolled on top of you.

When he started kissing down your neck, you tipped your head to the side and let out a delighted giggle at the way his mustache tickled your skin. You felt like you were bubbling with happiness, and you couldn’t help the words that came out of your mouth.

“So I guess I really did match you with your true love, didn’t I?” you teased playfully, enjoying the way Lloyd laughed against your skin, making your pulse pump harder through your body. “Another satisfied cupid customer,” you joked, your legs wrapping around Lloyd’s hips and squirming beneath his hardening cock.

“Oh I’m very satisfied,” Lloyd said, lifting up to capture your lips in another kiss. His hips rocked between your thighs, grinding his cock against your soft pussy, making both of you moan at the pleasurable slide of your bodies. “You can be my cupid anytime, sugar pie, as long as you’re the one I end up with.”

“Always,” you purred, clinging to Lloyd while he slid inside you again. Then he was stealing your breath with another kiss, fucking you in slow strokes, savoring your body and murmuring his love against your lips.

All told, it was the first of many happy Valentine’s Days with your boyfriend—and future husband—Lloyd Hansen.

sweethearts game masterlist

#lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen smut #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen au #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans characters #chris evans smut #witchywithwhiskey's sweethearts #witchywithwhiskeywork #lauratang

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h3nderyss · 5 months ago

Text

you as nct 127's 9th member (headcanons)

pairing: ot8 x fem!reader . . . masterlist . . . 127 part 2 dream ver wayv ver genre: fluff a/n: romantic headcanons for each member if you were the 9th member and only girl in 127! u can imagine if ur in a secret relationship or not!

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

taeyong

after long schedules he'd immediately check on you either irl or call/text to make sure you're okay, and his soft voice and concern literally making u melt.

he gets soso shy from ur compliments, usually laughs it off meanwhile it's stuck on replay in his head for the rest of the day..

he'd fix ur hair during photoshoots and pretends it's professionalism while his fingers linger a little longer..!

customizes some choreos so u guys are purposely together! he sometimes says it's "a pure coincidence"???

i feel like he'd bake cookies for u. then say the members helped. but it truly was all him.

during meetings he'd sometimes lose focus bc he's distracted by u!

during your alone times in the practice room, you'd find romantic and sweet notes taeyong had made hidden in your bag

i want to say he's the king of words of affirmation.

johnny

teaser. but as soon as u guys are alone, his teases get softer and more flirty.

DEF the type to pull a random cheesy ass pickup line out of the blue. "did it hurt? ... when u fell from heaven." (THOSE kinds)

purposely shows off his strength to u during practice, lifting heavy props as if it was nothing

if he notices u haven't drank water in a while during practice or before rehearsals or WHENEVER, he'd actually place a drink in ur hand and go "gotta keep my girl hydrated." JBJSJSBDS??

always insist on walking u home or offering to stay at his dorm if it's late. he wants u to be safe!

calls u late at night to yap sometimes, he loves to hear u laugh

pls steal his hoodie, he might act like he doesn't care but trust me, he loves it

always manages to find a way to sit next to u during interviews or flights

yuta

he just likes calling u "pretty girl" so casually? how dare he.

surprises u with small gifts! like a hairtie or hairpin, he loves when u do different things w ur hair

he'd stay close to u in group activities to ensure ur comfortable and feel included (my sweetie pie)

walking anywhere in public if there was a mob of fans, you will ALWAYS be in front of him. he needs to make sure ur safe at all times.

he'd compliment ur stage outfits. a lot. most of the time he can't hold back his smile!

he'd teach u japanese FOR SURE. if you suck at pronounciation, he's patient as hell, and find your mistakes actually cute.

loooooong hugs if ur feeling down/upset!!!!!

lowkey steal ur phone to take selfies of himself (idk??)

loves deep late-night convos abt life and dreams and allat, he'd throw in a little "you're part of my dreams too."

doyoung

always always always notices when ur feeling down, literally offers u ur fav snack or drink!

stays up late rehearsing with u, soft encouragement pushing u through.

but it's hard bc.. how could u not fall asleep to his angelic voice ?!

lovesss teaching u new things, always there to guide u through new songs and choreo, his hand brushing urs every now & then

becomes surprisingly shy when the members tease him for how much he cares abt u (hes so cute ☹️)

takes lots of candid photos! if ur not confident in yourself that day, he deletes the photos upon ur request

always saves a spot next to him reserved for YOU and ONLY YOU. lowkey subtly tho, he just wants u close tbh

ur the only one that can make him flustered when u compliment his singing voice bc it's just... special to him??

he'll literally insist on giving u his scarf or coat on chilly days, as long as ur warm it's enough for him!

jaehyun

he'd offer u his jacket even if it's freezing. he doesn't care.

literally the epitome of a gentleman?! holds the door open for u, walks on the sidewalk nearest to the road, and all that shizzle.

very often watches u quietly during practice, just gazes at u honestly

loves taking u out to places quiet and intimate and shares personal stories

gets jealous. but like SO subtly, he just becomes extra attentive if he sees any sort of human flirt with u.

he'd help with vocal practices but honestly, he just does it so u guys are in a private area tg. only u two.

jungwoo

loves making u laugh and smile

subtly touching ur hand in group activites, pretending it's unintentional

idk i feel like he's an emoji guy... expect emojis every time u text!

i feel like he'd always share food with u and offers u bites like it's so natural, yall do it a lot

if u have long hair, expect him to play with it often!

also gets flustered when the members tease him abt how much he likes you!!!!!

u guys would often have movie nights, being cuddled up tg under a blanket.

he'd start serenading u just out of the blue. bursting out a random love song and singing it!

mark

don't even get me started on how many songs/raps this man has made about you.

he'd perform some of them only for u but he's madly blushing during!

he'd ask for ur opinion on everything. he values ur thoughts sooo much

becomes so tongue-tied every compliment u give him, he actually can't function ?? mark.exe has stopped working. he'd be smiling like a loser

actually gets excited if ur paired tg for interviews and projects! his energy gets so high, it's like ur presence just gives him dopamine

he gets protective when you're overwhelmed, "let me handle this, okay?" ......heh...

he'd learn ur fav songs on the guitar and play them when ur around to see ur reaction.

i think he'd be a kissy guy. he just loves giving & receiving kisses.

haechan

oh he'd flirt with u even in front of the members

pretends to steal ur food but ends up giving u the last bite

he'd poke u every now and then, laughing at ur reaction every time

playfully try to hold ur hand in group photos, either discreetly or evidently

during karaoke nights he'd sooo dramatically sing love songs to u, he loves showing off his voice since it's one of ur absolute fav things about him

surprisingly gets serious when ur upset!

we all know how offline his insta is.. literally cobwebs forming.

but somehow he'd send you a memes late at night saying "this is us" .. is this man really as chronically offline as u thought?

he'd call u at night and just say "did u miss me yet?" this cheeky man..

gets jokingly jealous if u hang out with another member for so long, "hey, i'm your favourite, right?"

he'd make sure you're NEVER left out, he'll be hanging around with u a lot

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theonottsbxtch · 6 days ago

Text

BY THE WATER (MINE) | NH13

an: this is my first hockey fic and i forgot how much i loved writing about hockey players, anywhom this is apart of my 2k celly so enjoy a nico hischier fic - requested here.

wc: 3.4k

summary: she was just a uni student trying to outrun her past; nico was the rising rookie who never expected to fall. through late-night arguments, quiet mornings, and the ache of becoming, they built something neither of them had known they needed.

THE RESTURANT WAS HALF-EMPTY, the lull between dinner and late-night stragglers stretching into silence. She wiped down a table near the window, the hum of conversation from the bar blending into the low murmur of music overhead. Outside, rain misted against the glass, soft and unrelenting, coating the city in a dull sheen.

She had been here for six months now. Long enough to know which streets stayed busy after dark, which coffee shops opened earliest, which buses ran late. But not long enough to call it home. She wasn’t sure if she ever would.

The door swung open, letting in a gust of cold air and the low rumble of male voices. She glanced up out of habit, barely paying attention. Just another group of customers, another few hours to get through before she could go home, curl up under her duvet, and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Except one of them stood out.

He was tall, lean but built like an athlete, his dark jacket doing little to hide the broad set of his shoulders. His hair was damp from the rain, pushed back in a way that made it look like he hadn’t thought about it at all. And maybe he hadn’t, there was an ease to him, the kind that came with knowing exactly who he was.

She recognised him. Not because she followed hockey, but because in a city like this, it was impossible not to hear his name. Nico Hischier. The Swiss rookie making waves in the NHL, the kid who had come from across the world and slotted into the team like he had been there forever. She had heard the customers talking about him, seen his face on TV screens when the matches played in the background of the bar. But up close, he didn’t look like the headlines made him sound, unstoppable, relentless, a rising star.

He just looked… young.

Like he was still getting used to all of this. Like the noise around him hadn’t quite settled into something real yet.

His friends took a booth near the back, but he hesitated, glancing around like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to sit or leave. His gaze landed on her for half a second, just long enough for a flicker of something, recognition, curiosity, before he looked away.

She straightened, gripping the damp cloth in her hand a little too tightly. It wasn’t the first time someone like him had walked through these doors. An athlete, someone who had already found their place in the world while she was still trying to carve out hers

It was the first time she had felt like it might matter.

She took her time approaching the table, tucking her notepad into her apron as she wove between empty chairs. The restaurant had emptied out even more, leaving only a few late-night diners scattered across the room. His friends were talking, their voices low and easy, but he wasn’t joining in. Instead, he was looking out of the window, watching the rain streak against the glass.

When she reached them, she pulled out her notepad. Professional. Detached. Just another table.

“What can I get you?”

His attention snapped back to her. Up close, his eyes were sharper than she’d expected, brown, but not the bright, striking kind. Deeper, more thoughtful. He didn’t speak straight away, letting his friends order first. Only when they turned to him did he glance back at her, the faintest trace of hesitation before he finally said, “Just a coffee.”

His accent was there, but not heavy. A mix of European influences, soft around the edges.

She nodded, jotting it down before disappearing behind the bar. When she returned, balancing a tray of drinks, his friends had fallen back into conversation, laughing at something she hadn’t heard. He was still quiet, fingers tapping idly against the edge of the table.

When she placed the coffee in front of him, his eyes flicked up again. “Thanks.”

She hummed in response, turning to go—

“You don’t follow hockey.”

It wasn’t a question. She paused, surprised, before looking back. He was watching her properly now, head tilted slightly like he was trying to figure something out.

“No,” she admitted. “I don’t.”

His lips twitched. Not quite a smile. “Everyone in this city does.”

She lifted a shoulder, shifting her weight. “Guess I missed the memo.”

One of his friends called his name then, dragging his attention away. She used the moment to leave, returning to the counter where she could breathe again.

She had been right about him. He wasn’t like the others who walked in here, loud, arrogant, carrying themselves with the kind of swagger that came with knowing the whole city was watching.

He was something else. Something steadier, quieter.

And she wasn’t sure if that made him easier to ignore or more dangerous.

It became a habit.

He came in late after practice, sometimes alone, sometimes with teammates. Always sitting near the window, always ordering coffee. And somehow, without meaning to, she started sitting with him when her shift was slow, letting their conversations stretch longer each time.

He asked her about university, about the classes she hated and the ones she didn’t mind so much. She asked him about Switzerland, about what it was like to leave home behind. He never talked much about hockey, and she never asked.

One night, they walked out at the same time. The rain had stopped, but the streets still glistened under the glow of the streetlights. He fell into step beside her, hands shoved into his pockets, his body carrying the slightest stiffness, tired, maybe, after a game she hadn’t watched.

“Where are you headed?” he asked.

“Home.”

He nodded, like he had expected that. Then, after a pause “Come with me.”

She blinked. “Where?”

His gaze flicked ahead, towards the river that cut through the city. “Just for a bit.”

She should have said no. She always said no when someone asked her somewhere. But tonight, with the cold air crisp against her skin and the world stretched quiet around them, she found herself hesitating.

“Alright.”

And just like that, she followed.

They reached the water, leaning against the railing as the lights reflected in broken patterns across the surface. He exhaled, the sound barely audible, like he had been holding something in all night.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he admitted suddenly.

She turned to him. “The restaurant?”

His lips twitched again. That almost-smile. “No. Here. In this city. In this league.”

She frowned. “You don’t think you should be?”

A muscle in his jaw shifted, like he wasn’t used to saying these things out loud. “It happened too fast. One minute I was playing back home, the next I was here. People expect things now. Like I’m supposed to be…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Unstoppable?” she guessed.

He huffed out a quiet laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Something like that.”

She didn’t know much about hockey, but she understood pressure. Understood what it felt like to carry expectations that weren’t yours to begin with.

“Maybe you’re just meant to be here,” she said finally.

He looked at her then, properly, like he was trying to believe it.

She didn’t look away.

And when he shifted slightly closer, when his arm brushed hers against the railing, she let him.

The weeks blurred into something familiar.

She saw him more often now. Sometimes at the restaurant, sometimes outside of it. Late-night walks along the river became routine, conversations stretching into the early hours until she could barely keep her eyes open in lectures the next day. She told herself it was nothing, that he was just someone to pass the time with, that it wasn’t real.

But then there was the first time she saw his place.

She hadn’t meant to go. Hadn’t planned on it. But it had been late, and they had both been exhausted, and when he had mumbled, Just stay for a bit, she hadn’t found the strength to argue.

It was a flat in a high-rise, modern and minimal, the kind of place that had been picked for him rather than one he had chosen himself. There wasn’t much personality to it. No photos, no clutter. Just a few unpacked boxes in the corner, like he hadn’t fully decided if this was home yet.

“You’ve been here for months,” she had said, nodding towards them.

He had shrugged. “Don’t need much.”

And maybe that was why, weeks later, when she found a drawer of her things in his bedroom, a spare hoodie she had left behind, a book she had fallen asleep reading, a bottle of perfume she had forgotten, something inside her shifted.

She hadn’t been looking for permanence. But somehow, without meaning to, she had found traces of herself in his world.

And then, just as easily, reality seeped in.

They had nothing figured out.

She was still balancing shifts at the restaurant with essays she could barely focus on. He was everywhere. On the ice, in the media, caught up in a world that never seemed to slow down. There were mornings when he was gone before she woke up, nights when he came back too late to do anything but press a tired kiss to her forehead before collapsing into bed.

She tried not to let it get to her.

But there were moments when it was hard.

Like the night she waited for him after a game, standing outside the arena long after the final whistle had blown. She wasn’t sure why she had come. She never did, but something had pulled her there, a need to see him when he was at his best, when the rest of the world was watching too.

But when he finally emerged, surrounded by teammates and flashing cameras, he barely saw her.

He was smiling, laughing at something someone had said, moving through the crowd with the kind of confidence that came with belonging.

And she didn’t.

She turned before he could notice her, before she could let herself feel stupid for thinking he might have been looking for her too.

Later, when he showed up at her door, breathless and still in his post-game suit, she didn’t mention it.

But the doubt had settled. And it was only a matter of time before it broke through.

The fight came out of nowhere.

It had started with something small, something neither of them would remember in the morning. But then it spiralled, long-held frustrations spilling over, words sharper than they should have been.

"You don’t get it,” she snapped, arms folded tight across her chest. “You have everything. You’re living the dream while I’m—” She cut herself off, biting back the rest.

His expression darkened. “While you’re what?”

She hesitated, jaw tight.

He took a step closer. “You think this is easy for me? That I don’t worry about losing it all? That I don’t—” He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I never know if I’m doing the right thing.”

She swallowed. “Neither do I.”

Silence settled between them, thick and heavy.

Then, barely above a whisper. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

His face shuttered, something flickering in his eyes before he looked away.

She turned first, stepping back, reaching for the door. If she left now, she could pretend none of this had happened. Pretend it hadn’t hurt.

But then—

"Nico, just—" Her voice wavered.

He caught her wrist before she could move. Not tightly. Just enough to make her stop.

When she turned, his expression had softened, the frustration slipping into something more raw. More desperate.

“I don’t want this to be a mistake,” he said.

Her breath caught.

His fingers loosened, but he didn’t let go completely. “Do you?”

She should have walked away.

She didn’t.

The door clicked shut behind her, but she barely heard it over the pounding in her chest.

She needed to leave.

Needed to get out before she said something she couldn’t take back, before she let herself believe that this, them, wasn’t already falling apart.

Then, before she could doubt herself once more. She pulled away from him and opened the door once more. Men like him never went chasing after women like her, she’ll go and cry, he’ll sit there and find another girl. Wasn’t that what she’d spent her whole life witnessing.

The city was cold, the air sharp against her skin as she walked blindly down the pavement. It was late enough that the streets were nearly empty, just the occasional car passing by, headlights slicing through the dark. She focused on the sound of her own footsteps, on the rhythmic scuff of her trainers against the wet concrete.

She didn’t hear him coming.

Didn’t realise he had followed until his voice cut through the quiet.

“Wait.”

She froze.

He was breathless when he reached her, like he had run the whole way. He hadn’t even grabbed a coat, standing there in just his hoodie and joggers, his hair still a mess from where he had run his hands through it.

“What are you doing?” she asked, voice tight.

He stared at her like she had said something ridiculous. “Coming after you.”

She swallowed, turning away, but he stepped forward, cutting off her retreat.

“I love you.”

The words landed like a punch. She sucked in a sharp breath, her heart stumbling over itself.

He didn’t waver. Didn’t try to soften it. Just stood there, steady and unshaken, his hands curled into fists like he was willing to fight for this.

“I love you,” he said again, quieter this time. “And I don’t care how messy this gets, I don’t care if we have nothing figured out. I just—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I need you to know that.”

She closed her eyes. “Nico—”

“No,” he cut in, stepping closer. “You think I have everything, but I don’t. Not without you.”

Her throat tightened.

“I don’t know what I’m doing half the time,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I’m making the right choices, or if any of this will last. But you? Us? That’s the one thing I’m sure of.”

The fight drained out of her all at once, her shoulders slumping.

And before she could second-guess herself, she reached for him.

His arms wrapped around her instantly, like he had been waiting for it, holding her tight enough that she could feel the rapid thud of his heart against hers.

She didn’t know how long they stood there, tangled up in each other, letting the city move around them.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look at her properly. “Come back inside.”

She hesitated. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she was scared. Scared that history would repeat itself, that love would always be something temporary. Liek her parents.

But when he laced their fingers together, warm and certain, she let him lead her back.

They sat on the floor of his flat, backs against the sofa, knees brushing.

Neither of them spoke for a while, the only sound the occasional drip of rain against the window.

Then, quietly, “My parents never got it right.”

Nico turned to her.

She stared ahead, picking at the hem of her sleeve. “They loved each other, I think. But they were never happy. They fought, left, came back. Over and over.” She swallowed. “I used to think love was just… something that slipped away. Something you couldn’t hold onto, no matter how hard you tried.”

Nico didn’t say anything, just reached for her hand, threading their fingers together.

She finally looked at him, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want us to be like them.”

He squeezed her hand. “We won’t be.”

She let out a shaky breath. “How do you know?”

“Because I love you,” he said simply. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

It should have scared her. Should have sent her running like it always had.

But with him, his steady hands, his steady heart, it didn’t feel like a risk.

It felt like something she could trust.

And when he leaned in, pressing the softest kiss to her temple, she let herself believe it.

She didn’t fall asleep that night.

Instead, they lay there side by side on the living room floor, his hoodie pulled around her shoulders, the weight of his arm draped across her waist like it was where it belonged.

It wasn’t glamorous. The flat still smelt faintly of take-away and damp rain, and her back ached from the hardwood. But there was something in the way he held her, like she was the one thing keeping him grounded, like this, the quiet, the closeness, was more important than anything else.

And for once, she let herself believe it could last.

The years didn’t pass without challenge, but they passed with meaning.

She graduated with a degree she had almost walked away from. The same week, Nico flew out to meet her, forgetting his media duties, having dropped everything just to be there in the front row, blurry-eyed and grinning like a boy who’d never been prouder of anything in his life.

They moved out of the flat six months later.

It had been time. Too many memories lingered there. Late-night fights, quiet make-ups, growing pains neither of them had known how to navigate. They found a smaller place in a quieter part of the city, where the windows let in warm morning light and the neighbours didn’t slam doors at 3AM.

She found work she loved. Something steady. Something hers. The kind of job that made her feel like she had finally stepped into her own life, not just existed on the edge of someone else’s.

And Nico?

He kept playing.

His name grew louder, his face on more screens, his jersey worn by kids who had never even heard of Swiss hockey before he arrived. He got that ‘C’ on his jersey like he’d dreamed as a boy. But no matter how far his world stretched, she remained the centre of it.

His grounding point. His girl.

There were days when he came home bruised and battered, eyes shadowed by exhaustion, shoulders heavy with pressure. She never asked him to explain it. She just curled into his side on the sofa, let his head drop to her lap, and ran her fingers through his hair until the tension melted away.

And when things felt too big. When the noise of the world threatened to drown him, he would whisper, Don’t let go, and she never did.

The proposal wasn’t a grand gesture.

There was no flash, no spotlight. Just the two of them, as it had always been.

It was autumn, the trees along the river burning gold, the same river they had walked beside that first night. He took her hand as they wandered beneath the leaves, the air crisp and the sky bleeding soft pinks into the horizon.

He was nervous. She could tell by the way he kept clearing his throat, fingers fidgeting slightly in his pocket.

She stopped, smiling faintly. “You alright?”

He nodded, then paused. “No.”

She raised an eyebrow. “No?”

He looked at her then, properly.

“You changed everything,” he said. “I came here thinking I had to prove something. That I needed to be someone I wasn’t ready to be. And then I met you. And suddenly, nothing else mattered.”

She felt her heart stutter.

“You’ve been my beginning,” he said, voice low, steady. “And I want you to be my always.”

And then, slowly, he pulled the ring from his coat pocket. Simple. Elegant. Her.

She didn’t cry. Not right away.

She laughed, because of course he’d be the one to say something that would undo her completely while standing in trainers and a hoodie that smelled faintly of his aftershave.

Then, she said yes.

Of course she did.

Because they hadn’t become her parents.

They had become them.

And when he slipped the ring onto her finger, she whispered something only he could hear, something about how he had been hers since that first cup of coffee, since that first moment he’d looked at her like he saw past everything she had tried to hide.

He kissed her like he remembered every second of it.

Because he had.

Because they were home.

the end.

taglist: @hzstry8 @isaadore

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literaryvein-reblogs · 1 month ago

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How to Dress your Character

A Guide to Dress Codes

When attending an event, it's essential to understand the dress code—and know when to bend the rules.

White tie: White tie is a formal dress code typically reserved for galas and state dinners. For men, swap your black tie dinner jacket for a single-breasted tailcoat and a wing-collar white shirt with mother of pearl shirt studs. You'll also need a white bowtie and a white vest. If you want to go ultra-traditional, you can lace up your black patent leather shoes with black ribbon. For women, it's time to break out the floor-length ball gown and long gloves.

Black tie: Black tie is a formal dress code common for formal evening events. Traditional black tie for men entails a single- or double-breasted dinner jacket and matching trousers worn with a pleated white dress shirt with a turndown-collar. It's generally fine to veer slightly from the black tuxedo: More creative black tie options include midnight blue tuxedos and white dinner jackets. Finish the look with cufflinks, a black bow tie, a white pocket square, black patent leather shoes, and black dress socks. Cummerbunds (waist coverings) and vests are optional—just don't wear them together. The black tie dress code for women is a little more flexible: You'll want a knee-length to floor-length evening dress. Accessorize with heels or flat dress shoes, a clutch, and minimal jewelry.

Black tie optional: When an invitation says "black tie optional," the expectation is that you'll either wear black-tie attire or something similar but a little more relaxed—like a dark suit or elegant cocktail dress.

Cocktail attire: Cocktail attire, also known as semi-formal attire, is the style of clothing you'll wear to evening events like fundraisers and weddings. Cocktail dress code involves casual suits and dress shirts for men. Stick to wool suits in dark colors in winter; for summertime and outdoor cocktail events, you can wear a light-colored suit in a breathable material like seersucker or linen. Oxfords, loafers, and brogues are acceptable footwear choices. A cocktail dress is fancier than a sundress but more casual than an evening gown. When in doubt, go for the classic little black dress. Not wearing a dress? Go for a dark suit or dressy separates.

Business casual: Business casual doesn’t necessarily mean casual—what it actually means is that you don’t have to wear a suit and tie. Business casual workwear usually includes a collared shirt (button-up or polo shirt) or sweater on top, and dress pants, khakis, chinos, or a pencil skirt on the bottom. You may also wish to add a blazer or sport coat, but you don’t necessarily need a custom-tailored suit jacket. Shoes should be closed-toe and professional, whether you choose boots, heels, flats, loafers, mules, or oxfords.

Dressy casual: Dressy casual, also known as “smart casual,” is an upgraded version of casualwear, generally more suited to job interviews, client meetings, and casual nighttime events. For a dressy casual dress code, break out trendier pieces, like jumpsuits, blazers, and high-end footwear. Instead of T-shirts, opt for button-downs and blouses.

Casual: Casual attire is the least restrictive dress code, but this doesn’t mean you should dress quite as casually as you would at home. Jeans and T-shirts in solid colors are okay, but stay away from graphic tees, flip-flops, and anything ripped or stained. Depending on the season, you may want to wear full-coverage shorts or a casual sundress. Casual dress codes are typical for low-key and outdoor events.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

#dress code #fashion #writing notes #character development #writeblr #literature #writers on tumblr #writing reference #dark academia #spilled ink #writing prompt #creative writing #writing inspiration #light academia #writing ideas #simeon solomon #writing resources

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thursdaysgrrl · 1 month ago

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i bet on losing dogs \ vi x reader

pairing: vi x fem!reader

word count: 4k

summary: you bet on a losing dog and subsequently fall in love

warning: strangers to lovers arc, no actual nsfw but reader has a thing for boobs (girl same), lowkey getting flashed by said boobs and nm else. very fluffy and angsty tbh! + happy ending

a/n: just want to note that reader has a semi-established backstory. shouldn't affect reading experience <3

♬⋆.˚ "i bet on losing dogs" by mitski

vi had been a fighter for as long as she could remember. but when caitlyn left, she didn’t have any of that fire left. every night, she’d get into fights. the sound of spectators chanting was intoxicating. the taste of blood in her mouth almost as addicting as the shimmer she’d replaced cait with. but every night, she would be knocked down, walking down the damp streets of the undercity searching for an alley to call home. you were curious.

you always placed your bets on the same person. vi’d begun to be known as the “dog of the ring”, always kicked but forever returning. and you bet on her every single time. yet she never noticed; she’d fight, she’d come out bloody and bruised, she’d find some comfort in the bar’s never-ending supply of alcohol and it’s customer’s endless supply of shimmer, and then she’d disappear. you’d made it a point of yours to go to the same bar, to dance when your favorite songs came on. one time you anonymously paid for her tab. but never, not once, did vi look at you. she was too lost in her own world. you’d heard the rumors, of course. the undercity’s finest brought to her knees by piltover’s most praised enforcer. and then left by her. part of you wanted vi because of that; she really was a losing dog. you had a soft spot for strays.

you’d stumbled into the bar’s grimy bathroom, slightly dizzy from drinking… something. you weren’t actually sure what. you made a mental note to be more careful next time. annoyed and ready to throw up, you banged on the bathroom door. you were about ready to kick it down when you saw who walked out. vi. you were ready to say something, before your stomach decided to take the lead and… oops.

“dude, the fuck?” vi grimaced, trying to wipe your vomit off of the front of her shirt. “oh my god, i’m—i’m so sorry!” you try to wipe the chunky substance from vi’s chest, concerned, before blushing and moving your hand away. vi smirks. “hey, i know you. you come here all the time, don’t you?” wait, vi noticed? “i… yeah, i do. you’re, i mean, you’re vi, right?” real smooth. vi smiled at you more sincerely this time. “ah, so we are aquainted. and you are… ?” you introduce yourself, offering your hand to shake. she takes it. her hands are calloused and rough and disarmingly warm. the tingles in your fingers linger even after you pull away. “how about i make it up to you? drinks on me?” vi considers you for a moment. then agrees. the two of you walk back into the bar, vi zipping up her leather jacket to avoid getting stared at. after ordering your respective drinks, you each take a seat at the bar, knees touching slightly.

“you don’t fight, do you?” vi asks, taking in your appearance. you don’t, admittedly, look like a fighter. “n-no. just appreciate the sport, is all,” you stammer. a more accurate response would be just appreciate watching you play the sport. vi chuckles, seemingly considering the accuracy of your words. “i admit that i’ve seen it as more of a money maker these days.” “oh yeah?” “especially given the fact fight rings are getting more and more tight… they don’t let just anyone compete. i got my ass kicked earlier but a goddamn professional.” you notice the cut under her eye, a bruise blooming on her cheek. you resist the urge to reach out and touch it. “are you not a professional?” vi chuckles bitterly, but not unkindly. takes a swig of her drink. “no way. i’m here to get the bills paid.” “what are you, then?” your question is abstract and catches vi off guard. mostly because she’d been asking herself the same thing for months. “well. people ‘round her call me the ‘dog of the ring’.” “and you agree?” you tilt your head, leaning your elbow on the table. “i’m whatever gets the most people to bet on me.” you hold up your ticket with vi’s name on it. you bet on her. you always did. vi’s lips part slightly in surprise. “well. i’m sorry you lost your money tonight.” your response slips out before you can help yourself. “oh, i didn’t bet on you because i wanted to win.”

and that’s how you got here, sitting in your apartment, you tending to the scrape on her eyebrow with a warm towel. it’d turned out that you two had more in common than you’d previously thought. vi was tough, but there was also something so intimately human about her. you liked it.

vi winced as you pressed the cloth soaked in disinfectant into her wound, and you murmur an apology. “you don’t have to do this, y’know,” vi says through gritted teeth. your voice is calmer, soft in comparison to hers. “i know. i want to.” your pet dog—another stray—lazily nipped at vi’s ankles, curious about a new visitor. “that’s dog” you explain. this makes vi crack a smile. “wow. very creative name.” “i know,” you grin, feigning pride. vi can’t help but think that you have the best smile she’s ever seen. it’s softer than cait’s ever was. “in my defense, i didn’t want to give him something else in case his owners came looking for him.” you add, more quietly: “i don’t think he has anyone else, though.” vi privately thinks, just like me.

you place a bandaid over vi’s brow, rubbing ointment on her cut before looking down at the blood-soaked wraps on her hands. “want me to give you clean ones?” “you’re quite prepared, nurse lady,” vi muses affectionately. that makes you smile, too. “you never know when the dog of the ring is gonna crash your place.” you get up from your bed to get the necessary materials to re-wrap vi’s bandages, before sitting back down across from her. you carefully unwrap the bloodied bandages, lips tightning at vi’s bloody and bruised knuckles before you begin wrapping them up in clean gauze. vi’s taken aback by how tender your touch is; she hasn’t been cared for like this in… god knows how long.

once you finish, you stand back up, putting away everything you used to clean her up. vi watches you, wordlessly taking in your apartment. it’s small, one room with an open layout of a mattress, couch and countertop with kitchen island. but it’s cozy, and much better than the alleys she’s been staying in. your voice breaks the silence. “where do you stay?” vi pauses, before deciding to be truthful. “everywhere. sometimes nowhere, depending where'll take me in.” “this could be your where, if you want.” your words catch even you by surprise. “wait, really?” vi gauges your response, suspecting a cruel joke, but she finds none. only sincerity. “sure. you can take my bed. and before you argue, you’re the one who’s recovering. i have a couch for a reason.” vi stands up, walking towards you. “thank you. that’s really nice of you.” you turn around, leaning against the kitchen island. “yeah, sure. in case you didn’t notice, i have a thing for strays.” you motion to dog. vi chuckles, stopping in front of you “heh, yeah, i got that.” you pause for a moment, enjoying the proximity before pushing off the counter and going into your closet to grab some blankets and pillows. you assemble them on your couch where you’ll be sleeping.

“do you need clothes?” vi looks down at her dirt-stained clothes. and dirt-stained skin and… come to think of it, what’s the last time she washed her hair? “could i use your shower, actually?” she asks. “sure thing.” you lead her over to your bathroom, teaching her how to turn on the shower and regulate temperature. she nods gratefully, thanking you for the set of pajamas you laid out for her. you leave her to sort herself out, humming in the kitchen as you make a midnight snack for the two of you. reveling in how well the evening has turned out.

vi comes out looking like a completely different person. with the black paint gone from her face and black hair dye gone—you realise, laughing inside, that she must have used some really shitty dye, and make a mental note to pick up a better one for her—she looks softer. her natural hair is pink, and you realize just how captivating her eyes are. a steel blue that you know you’ll be seeing in your dreams from now on. but it’s how she looks in your clothing that really takes your breath away—oversized band t-shirt and boxers. apparently she ran hot and didn’t care for the flannel pajama pants you’d so conveniently set out. you observe through her shirt that she must have nipple piercings from the way they poke through. seems fitting for her whole image, ear and lip piercings only adding to her look. “hey,” you smile.

a few minutes later, you’re eating toast at the table, laughing about something or other. it’s strange how easy it is to talk to her, and vi feels the same way. she’s not used to people extending such kindness towards her, especially not pretty girls like you. she inwardly revels in how she smells like your body wash—cinnamon and vanilla. how comforting to live like you. dog whines at your feet, begging for some toast, which you scold vi for providing. there’s no bite in your words, though. you just like having someone to find annoying.

your house has been empty since your ex-girlfriend left. you didn’t think you would survive her absence; there were times it felt like the quiet of your apartment was more suffocating than your arguments ever were. maybe that’s why you took such a focus on vi: you needed somewhere to begin, something to care about. someone.

after changing into your own pajamas and giving vi a toothbrush (you especially enjoy your toothpaste that night, knowing it’s what she’ll taste like until the morning), you snuggle into your blanket pile on your couch, vi doing the same in your bed. despite her protests, you’d insisted she take it—at least until she recovered. or, you inwardly muse, you began sharing it.

───────────────୨ৎ───────────────

you wake up to the sound of dog scratching at the door. he wants to go for a walk, you realize, feeling guilty. you stretch, gently sliding out of bed as you pad across the wooden floors. you look at vi for an instant, and she’s—oh.

apparently vi had gotten even hotter in the night and decided to just… casually take her shirt off. yeah, that’s fine. you’re not at all turned on by the fact she’s sleeping on her stomach right now, breasts perked up. or the fact she does, in fact, have nipple piercings. look away! you force yourself to avert your gaze, certain she’ll wake up any moment and catch you staring. why’d i let her crash, again?

you quickly change into a sleeveless and cropped black compression tank-top, black cargo pants and combat boots. you know that you look hot in that top, but try to lie to yourself and pretend you just felt like wearing it for… no reason. you quietly open the door after putting dog on his leash, silently communicating to vi that you’ll be back soon. and praying she’ll be there when you return.

to your relief, vi is. you’d put her clothes in the wash last night, and she’s since changed back into them. ah, oh well. you smile at her; she’s standing in your kitchen making eggs. who knew vi could cook? “hey, where were you?” vi asks, flipping an omelette. you hold up the leash. “taking dog for a walk.” vi nods in understanding, grabbing a plate. “so… you found your way around here pretty quickly,” you observe, motioning to how comfortable she already seems to be in your kitchen. vi cracks an egg in the pan. and cracks a smile. “yeah, i, uh… wanted to be useful.” “well, that’s nice of you.” part of you wants to come up behind her and wrap your arms around her waist, but you repress the urge as she sets your omelette, topped with melted cheese and tomatoes, on the kitchen counter. “dude, this looks great!” and you’re right. if you could cook like this, you’d definitely be about 10 pounds fatter. vi beams at your praise: “why thank you. i’m glad you like it.”

vi watches you eat with a strange satisfaction. you’re smiling because of her. licking your lips because of her. your outfit doesn’t go unnoticed, either—she appreciates how your shirt hugs your body. which may be what gives her the confidence to say, “i hope you didn’t mind me sleeping shirtless, by the way.” you turn red. you hadn’t expected either of you to bring it up. “oh, uh, no problem!” your voice comes out much too squeaky for your own liking. “because, y’know, if it makes you uncomfortable, i could always put one on… “ “no!” you interject. “i mean—no, that’s fine. i don’t mind.” vi grins. “okay, princess.”

vi’s words echo through your head all day. she’d headed off to the ring hours ago, but you were still in your apartment, lost in thought. princess. her fucking grin. it’s these thoughts that fuel a painting—you swear you don’t get up for hours on end—of vi laying in bed, asleep and shirtless, light streaming through from somewhere off the canvas. you’d painted her a bit like an angel, hair hitting the pillow like a halo framing her head. you blush at your work, but are also satisfied. from just memory, it’s pretty impressive. you’ve been painting for as long as you can remember. your mother was an artist. your father was MIA for most of your childhood. but drawing was always your safe space. and, you realize, through the painting, you’d let vi into it.

───────────────୨ৎ───────────────

vi returns late at night. you’d made dinner that had long grown cold. “hey, princess, sorry, matches took longer than expected… “ she takes you in, sitting at the table in the dark, apron over a little dress. she walks over, kneeling in front of you and taking your hands in hers. “i’m really sorry.” “ts’fine,” you murmur, meeting her gaze, your eyes soft. “was just worried about you.” vi thinks for a moment, before standing up. “we can heat this up, right?” she asks, motioning to the food you’d so caringly set out. she takes turns putting each item in the microwave, you watching her silently until she sits across from you at the table, food now warm. “this looks great.” that makes you crack a smile, and you enjoy a wordless dinner, though not uncomfortable. finally, you ask, “did you win your matches?” “yeah. all because a pretty girl patched me up beforehand.” vi grins as pink tinges your cheeks. the same color as her hair. “oh, by the way, i picked up some black hair dye for you. this one should survive wash day, though.” you set a bottle of hair-dye on the table, but vi’s eyes don’t leave you. “wow, maybe i’m the princess here.”

───────────────୨ৎ───────────────

over the next few weeks, the two of you settle into a steady rhythm. vi makes breakfast. you make dinner, though you’d started serving it a bit later into the night. you wake up earlier than her to appreciate her body, she goes to bed later because she likes watching you sleep. you take turns walking dog. she goes to the ring during the day, you paint or go to the shops to sell your creations. in such a short span of time you’d become comfortable around each other, an odd little family. but you can’t deny the flutter in your stomach when she smiles at you, the blush that creeps into your cheeks when you tend to her wounds, just another excuse to touch her.

tuesday 7:13am

yesterday, i helped vi dye her hair black. god, it was a mess! got dye all over the floor and i swear my bathroom hasn’t smelled the same since… it was fun, though. it felt very… i don’t know. domestic. she got dye on her nose and i rubbed it off. why’s she so cute? you know what, i’m gonna go walk dog now. clear my head. hopefully clear those thoughts, too.

friday 9:40am

why am i up so late, you may ask? because last night vi was showering at 1 freaking am. either way, the sound woke me up and i had trouble falling back asleep. even though i bought her her own body wash—one that smells a bit more, i dunno, manly—she’s still using mine. i don’t know what to make of that. it’s a waste of money, that’s for sure.

saturday 8:46am

we kissed! oh my god, it was wonderful. she came home one night all bruised (as per usual. it’s starting to bug me, tbh) and i was just putting some ointment on her cheek and… and she kissed me. just leaned forward and did it. needless to say, i had to redress her wounds afterwards. haha, i’m so funny.

diary, i think i’m in love.

also, unrelated, but we started sleeping in the same bed. or related?

───────────────୨ৎ─────────────

vi thinks she might be happier than she’s ever been. happier than she was with caitlyn. happier than she was when her life’s mission was reuniting with jinx. much happier than she was fighting with no reason to win. now she fights her hardest every night because she doesn’t want you to worry, doesn’t want you to think she can’t hold her own. god, she’s so pretty. it’s become a reoccurring thought in her mind. from when you wake up in her arms, hair messy and eyes blurry with sleep, to when you’re sitting at your desk with paint on your fingers, too focused to notice vi staring. you're pretty when you wear that tank-top or dress under an apron or even nothing at all. she’s more content than she’s felt in a long, long time

vi’s so in love.

───────────────୨ৎ───────────────

“you’re late.” your voice comes out harder than you want it to. more edged. but you can’t help it; vi’s been less punctual lately, coming home late into the night with bruises and scratches all over her skin. even your kisses don’t help as much as they used to. “i’m sorry, princess.” vi closes the door behind her, reaching for you as you stand, arms wrapped around yourself, next to the door she’d just entered through. you pull away. “you always say that. but when’re you gonna stop?” you look up, arms uncrossing, a new fire in your voice. “when’re you gonna leave that shithole and get a real job? stop wasting your potential in stupid little fights?” vi falters. for the most part, you were a calm person. but this was a side of you even she was unfamiliar with. colder. “s-stupid fights? those stupid fights make us money!” so she reverts to the only defense she knows—anger. “much more money than your drawings ever made us.” “i thought you—i thought you liked my art.” your face says it all. vi knows she fucked up. “wait, princess, I didn’t mean it like that—“ “whatever. i don’t want to talk to you right now.” you swat away vi’s extended hand, storming into the bathroom and locking the door.

vi waits for you to come out. you don’t.

it’s late, 3 in the morning, you’d guess, when you come out. your eyes are red and puffy from crying, and though you know vi’s likely mirror yours you can’t bring yourself to care. or maybe you are trying to pretend you don’t. vi’s sleeping on the couch, a fact that pains your heart—your traitorous heart which you quickly scold—and the bed feels cold to the touch without her beside you.

i’m sorry, princess. that’s the thought that fills vi’s dreams. when she wakes, you’re still asleep. she wants to climb into bed with you, wrap you in her arms and rock you back and forth until everything’s okay again, but she knows she shouldn’t. has no right to. she simply watches the steady rhythm of your breathing, trying to time hers with yours. she does this until she has to go back to the ring.

vi being gone when you wake is in instant reminder of your anger towards her. your first thought is that she’s gone. gone for good. and then you remember that’s not how it works, you remember, despite everything, she’s not your ex and you’re not caitlyn. though you curse your words, you have to admit their sentiment was true, even if they were expressed incorrectly. vi’s job does stress you out. you thought once you gave her a place to stay she’d find her place in the world. but she wouldn’t leave that filthy fight ring despite how much you pleaded with her to please be sensible. it’s not that you don’t trust her, as she’d accused you of when you first brought the topic up. it’s that you don’t trust anyone else.

so you go to the bar. the bar where you and vi first met. the bar where you invited her over. and once she arrived at your house, she never really left. you, once again, regret accepting a mystery drink, and as you stumble into the bathroom, banging on the door, you get a sense of deja vu. the nauseous feeling in your stomach. the bright—too-bright—lights, the person standing in front of you as they open the door.

“princess? princess, please don’t go.” vi grabs your hand as if she expects you to run away from her. instead, do the next best thing: you vomit.

───────────────୨ৎ───────────────

“well, that’s a… full circle moment right there,” vi jokes, taking her shirt off and handing it to you as you begin scrubbing the sick off of it in your kitchen sink. she sits at the table. her voice becoming quiet when you’re unresponsive. “hey, princess, could we please make up?” you take pity on her. your gaze feels like the first sign of spring at the end of winter as you turn to face her. “vi, i was serious. i don’t like you fighting there. i don’t like you fighting, period. and i get it—i get that it’s a part of your identity. i don’t want to take that from you. i just—i just don’t want you to be taken from me.” vi stands up before she herself registers it, in two strides wrapping you in her arms. “pl-please put a shirt on,” you hiccup into her bare chest. “i will. just let me get this out first, okay?” vi inhales, as if ready to make a big speech. “i love you. and i get that, much like part of loving me is loving how i fight, part of loving you is loving how much you care. so we can compromise, yeah? i’ve been thinking, i mean, i’ve actually been thinking of this for a while now, that i could start my own academy. teach people to fight. a teacher, not a fighter.” you look up into her eyes. “really? you’d do that? you’d sacrifice that for me?” vi tousles your hair. “it’s not sacrifice. it’s love.”

“oh, i’m so kissing you after i brush my teeth.”

epilogue──

“hey, v?” you readjust your head on her chest so you can look up at her, your bodies tangled in sheets and bathed in morning light from the window. vi tangles her fingers with yours, absentmindedly rubbing your smooth knuckles with her calloused thumb. “what’s up, princess?” “you ever think about getting hitched?” vi sits up instantly, you grumbling as you fight to stay on her body. “what, like, married?” “yeah,” you say, your voice more nervous now. “you asking me to marry you, princess?” vi wraps her arms around you, planting kisses all over your face, messy and wet and so full of love. “haha, stop!” you protest, your face scrunching in a smile as you pull away, breathless and giggling, nestling your head into the crook of her neck. “your stupid hair’s tickling me.” you sigh, content. “hey, don’t speak that way to your wife.”

───────────────୨ৎ───────────────

#ᝰ.ᐟback at it again!#✿.ᐟ.ᐟis it hot in here?#guys give her some love she took agesss #special thanks to @kamaluhkhan for the formatting inspo #this is my first time posting a fic and i rlly needed help lols ₍^. .^₎⟆#vi x reader #vi arcane x reader #arcane #wlw #lesbian #mitski

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goldenecho · 4 months ago

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race-to-spac3 · 5 months ago

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Steb x Avian! Reader

Headcanons for an Avian! Reader (technically Vastaya? idk)

Content: Gn Reader, Reader’s an enforcer, like 2 really lazy bird puns if you squint,

Pre-relationship:

From grand wings wide and long, to tiny ones that fold neatly against your back– clothes compatible with them are far and few in between– much less the standardized uniform of the enforcers.

The time and effort it took to get a special request to custom tailor your shirt and jacket wasn’t worth the trouble, moreso considering being an enforcer wasn’t exactly something you cared too much about.

Though you had to admit it was a decent enough job so you decided to stick with it anyways, and luckily you did, otherwise you wouldn’t have met your favorite person.

You hardly fight the way your feather-tipped ears would perk up at the sight of him, not bothering to hide the toothy grin that overcomes your face as you bound over to greet him at the beginning of your shared patrols.

Since you didn't particularly put too much care in your stance as an enforcer, you tended to get into mischief often, and to your surprise– Steb was too– though you still don't get the sentiment considering his poise and respectability.

Something you two quickly find to appreciate about the other is yalls ability to turn your professionalism on and off like a switch, escaping the trouble of getting caught because of it. You two are quite the pair of clever rascals, your sly tricks flying over the heads of those none the wiser.

The bird and the fish, the sea and sky.

Whether your wings are colorful and intricate or monotone and basic doesn’t change how Steb will take any chance to get a good look at your feathers. His studying gaze matches your own that trails the streaks of dark cyan along his face.

While you weren’t exactly trained in any medical work, you proved to be perfect when needing a steady hand, well articulated and precise from having to learn how to navigate your sharp talons carefully.

So anytime he needs a second pair of hands, you’re the first person he asks. An honorary assistant, you like to jokingly call yourself, though he makes no effort to comment otherwise.

Sometimes when you’re on break and sitting next to each other you’ll splay your wings in a stretch, purposely flitting a few feathers to mess with his hair on the chance that his helmet is off.

He’ll scrunch his nose and flick your feathers out of the way in an equally playful manner.

While standing guard at a post, the moment it starts raining you’ll wordlessly unfurl your wing and use it as an umbrella for him, he’ll try to deny or stop you but you ignore him with persistence.

In an established relationship:

Mornings you have off are necessary lazy times.

Steb doesn’t have to admit how much he adores these times with you, you can tell by the way he’ll soothingly slide his nails across the keratin shaft of each feather, smoothing out all your plumage with such a gentleness it makes your heart soar.

Steb is oftentimes a busy man, preferring schedules and management to handle his daily life with the sole exception being you of course. Even when his attention is drawn elsewhere, he’ll notice that your wings have been a little neglected lately (not to say that they’re shabby no– far from it, it’s just that he has the eyes of a hawk)

Then when you least expect it, also being caught up in work, he'll pull you away from the stress, making you sit down at the edge of your bed and rest when you’re finally home, not letting you delve back into paperwork or the likes. ”Doctors orders” Steb signs, giving you his signature look that makes you slump in your place, half-heartedly defeated as you watch him settle beside you.

Steb opens his arms out invitingly, letting you tug him down and drape yourself across him. making sure you’re as comfortable as possible before he adjusts himself to be propped up against a pillow, giving him a clear view of your wings before he gets to work.

He’ll preen your wings with such tenderness, even if you insist that he doesn’t have to, Steb will shut you up with a series of light kisses, making you relent to his care.

A/N: throws this and runs away–

Very short I know, but I just wanted to get something out there cause I been neglecting my writing already

#steb arcane #steb #arcane season 2 #arcane #steb x reader #arcane x reader #i love avian charcters sm #i felt bad for not writing #ship name flying fish idk

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kusakabesimp · 4 months ago

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Kusakabe and Nanami - Suits and Ties

Did anyone suggest I analyze suits and ties for two of our JJK DILFs? No. But will I go into extensive detail about Kusakabe and Nanami's suits? Yes, I will.

TIE SELECTIONS AND KNOTS Kusakabe - Half-Windsor

The Half-Windsor is a practical, classic knot, perfect for someone like Kusakabe, who is adaptable and efficient. Professional without being overdone, the knot size fits well with a medium-sized collar (which is logical for his build) and pairs effortlessly with virtually any suit fabric. The look stays polished and put together, whether with the suit or the trenchcoat.

The color is a conscious choice. The darker shade of green follows traditional suiting conventions, where a bold accent piece complements a simple foundation like his white shirt and black suit. It allows Kusakabe to keep a professional look while adding a subtle touch of individuality.

Even the mechanics of the knot make sense for Kusakabe. It uses less length than a Full Windsor, and is ideal for a taller and broader body shape. For Kusakabe, this means he can comfortably wear a standard tie length (57–58 inches) instead of buying a bespoke or specialty tie (67–71 inches).

Nanami - Full Windsor

The Full Windsor is symmetrical and more formal than the Half-Windsor, which aligns with Nanami's structured, meticulous personality. While it's traditionally paired with wide collars, the fuller shape also works well with medium-sized collars (again, the best choice for a broad build). It pairs best with a heavier suit fabric like worsted wool, which is expensive but surprisingly durable.

Gege did the research -- this knot works best with patterned ties featuring a larger, spaced-out print. And men's suiting conventions actually recommend a golden yellow to complement a tan suit and blue shirt combination. Nanami is perfectly fine dropping $200 - $300 on a custom tie. This is the man out there fucking up curses while wearing a $5,000 Tag Heuer watch.

Since Nanami wraps a lot of fabric around his hand, the Full Windsor’s need for extra material makes perfect sense; it works best with longer ties. In terms of mechanics, the Full Windsor is also the easiest knot to undo, making it a practical choice in a fighting situation for Nanami, who doesn't waste time on anything.

JACKETS AND LAPELS Kusakabe - Black Jacket and Notched Lapels

The mid-notched lapel is a staple of classic suiting. (I'm including pictures of his trenchcoat as it has similar notching.) Though it’s not always visible in the manga, it is reasonable to assume that his single-breasted black suit includes a left chest pocket and boutonniere buttonhole — little details Kusakabe wouldn't overlook. His choice of a black suit is practical as always: stain-resistant (keeping the cursed spirit dry-cleaning bill in check) and low maintenance.

The mid-notched lapel is easily dressed up or down, mirroring Kusakabe’s ability to adapt without losing his sense of self. Every detail shows that he’s grounded in tradition but always prepared for the realities of the present.

Nanami - Tan Jacket and Peak Lapels

Nanami’s suit features sharp, angled peak lapels, which give it a more formal edge compared to the standard notch lapels. Like Kusakabe, he opts for a single-breasted design but with three buttons instead of two (we know he loves symmetry). This choice aligns with his look in the 2022 JJK Dolce & Gabbana collab, showing that the peaked collar is a style he favors, reflecting his appreciation for both luxury and craftsmanship.

His clothing, functional yet carefully selected, serves as an investment in both quality and precision. For Nanami, a polished image goes beyond appearance. It’s about the thoughtful, intentional choices he makes both professionally and personally.

Ultimately, Kusakabe and Nanami’s suits capture their personalities in different ways. Kusakabe’s style is about practicality and ease, with just enough polish to stay professional. On the other hand, Nanami goes for something sharp and more structured, with a high attention to detail. Each piece of their suits speak to the thoughtfulness behind their choices, reflecting the balance of simplicity and sophistication they each bring to their lives.

I DO NOT authorize use of this meta for other writing!

#kusakabesimp #jjk meta #look I know I'm crazy but tbh don't care #jujutsu kaisen meta #kusakabe atsuya #atsuya kusakabe #nanami kento #kento nanami #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk manga #jujutsu kaisen manga #kusakabe jjk #jjk kusakabe #jjk nanami #nanami jjk

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sansaaaaaagirl · 3 months ago

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BE MY BABY

Warnings: I actually did this for fun. I'm not a professional.

When I play the song, it's so that you open your fucking Spotify and vibrate like I did when I wrote it.

The bar buzzed with energy as another Saturday night stretched into early morning. It was 3:30 a.m., and the crowd hadn’t thinned much. You maneuvered effortlessly through the rush, pouring drinks and exchanging small talk with customers. Three years as a bartender in Monaco had taught you how to handle everything from impatient patrons to complicated cocktails. You loved the rhythm of it, the mix of chaos and artistry.

Yet tonight, as with every other night for the past seven months, your eyes drifted to a particular corner of the bar.

Charles Leclerc.

The name was one everyone in Monaco knew. A Formula 1 driver with Ferrari, he epitomized the glamour of the city’s elite. But his presence in this tucked-away, unassuming bar always puzzled you. Most of Monaco’s glitterati chose the flashy lounges along the waterfront. This place, hidden within a gallery and catering to locals, seemed out of character for someone like him.

Still, he came regularly, always polite, always composed. He usually sat with a small group of friends or occasionally alone, nursing a drink while observing the room. And though the two of you had exchanged only a handful of words, you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze often lingered on you.

"One Moscow Mule," his voice broke through your thoughts.

Snapping back to the present, you nodded, your hands moving with practiced ease as you prepared his drink. When you placed it in front of him, he looked at the glass for a moment, then up at you. His green eyes held yours just long enough to send a small shiver down your spine.

"Thanks," he said simply, his voice warm.

You offered a polite smile and turned to your next customer, determined not to overthink the exchange.

---

By the time your shift ended at 5 a.m., exhaustion had settled into your bones. The last patrons had trickled out, leaving behind an empty bar and the soft hum of the dishwasher. Following protocol, you exited through the back alley, welcoming the quiet streets after the night’s noise.

As you walked, the sound of footsteps behind you made your heart race. You turned quickly, ready to defend yourself, only to find Charles standing a few feet away.

"Jesus! You scared me!" you exclaimed, clutching your chest.

"Sorry," he said, though the amused curve of his lips suggested he wasn’t entirely repentant. "I couldn’t let you walk home alone."

"Are you drunk?" you asked, skepticism lacing your voice.

He chuckled softly. "Do I seem drunk?"

You narrowed your eyes, still unsure what to make of this unexpected encounter. "Why are you here?"

"Because I care," he said, his tone earnest. "It’s late, and it’s not safe for you to walk home alone."

"Monaco’s one of the safest places in the world," you replied. "And my apartment isn’t far."

"Still," he insisted, "let me walk you. Please."

There was something disarming about his sincerity, and though every instinct told you to say no, you found yourself nodding.

---

The walk was slow and quiet at first, the streets of Monaco bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. Charles walked beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

"So," he began, breaking the silence, "how did you end up working at that bar?"

You hesitated, unsure why you felt the need to share. "I moved here three years ago," you said eventually. "It was supposed to be temporary—a chance to start fresh after some… setbacks. But I ended up staying. The bar became a kind of home."

"Setbacks?" he prompted gently.

You glanced at him, debating how much to reveal. "Let’s just say life didn’t go as planned. I needed a change, and Monaco seemed like a good place to start over."

Charles nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I can understand that. People think my life is perfect, but… it’s not always easy."

"Really?" you asked, genuinely curious. "From the outside, it looks like you have it all."

He smiled faintly. "Appearances can be deceiving. The pressure, the expectations… sometimes it feels like I’m living for everyone else."

The vulnerability in his words surprised you. For the first time, he seemed less like the untouchable star and more like someone who understood struggle.

By the time you reached your building, the sky was beginning to lighten, streaks of pink and orange painting the horizon. You hesitated at the entrance, reluctant to end the conversation.

"Do you want to see the sunrise?" you asked on impulse.

Charles’s face lit up with a smile. "I’d like that."

---

The rooftop offered a stunning view of Monaco’s coastline, the first rays of sunlight glinting off the water. You sat side by side, knees drawn to your chest as the city woke around you.

"It’s beautiful," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Not as beautiful as this moment," Charles said softly.

You turned to find him watching you, his expression open and unguarded. Your breath hitched as he leaned closer, his hand brushing against yours.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice low.

You nodded, and he closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was tender and unhurried. The world seemed to fade, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the soft glow of the rising sun.

When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against yours, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Maybe I’ll have to come to your bar more often," he teased.

"Maybe you will," you replied, your cheeks flushing as the sun climbed higher, bathing Monaco—and your heart—in light.

---

Over the next few weeks, Charles became a more frequent visitor, not just to the bar but to your life. He’d sit at the counter, asking about your day, sharing stories from his races, and slowly weaving himself into your world.

What started as quiet companionship grew into something deeper—a connection built on late-night conversations, stolen moments, and a mutual understanding of what it meant to start over.

And as the days turned into months, you found that Monaco, once a place of escape, had become home in a way you never expected—because now, it wasn’t just a city. It was the place where you had found him.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x female oc #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 #fanfic #x reader #fluff #Spotify

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celestiaras · 2 months ago

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‧₊˚✧ ❛[ a shot of lust ]❜

ft. claude clawmark x f! reader — ttt, nijisanji en

╰₊✧ while testing out potions, you take an experimental sip gone wrong & your friend isn’t half as innocent as he seems┊2.2k words

contains: smut!! dom reader & sub claude┊slight dubcon, reader is mean but claude is into that, unintentional (high-key nonconsensual) drugging with an aphrodisiac, kinda unrequited feelings but requited lust, making out, marking & biting, slight masochist claude, spit as lube, degradation, unprotected piv on a chair (because you guys are nasty like that), implied multiple rounds

➤ author's note: oh my god, i’ve been starving you guys again, i’m so sorry, i’ve been hit full force with squid game brainrot. this isn’t my best work, but i’m slowly getting back into niji because it’s my first vtuber family and i miss them :(

potion-making is a refined art that is desirable to all with its effectiveness in battle or healing properties yet mastered by few with how dangerous or explosive results could be with something simple as an extra drop of dragon’s blood becoming fatal. personally, you’re willing to take the risk of the deadly consequences when it comes to elixirs of speed to slay your opponents before they could even blink.

for these very reasons, you study the craft under your fellow adventurer and close confidant claude clawmark. admittedly, he wasn’t your first choice regarding mentors with his messy workspace and questionable habits, but he was willing to teach you for free so you agreed. even victoria and kunai were unsure of your decision but figured that if anyone could handle the eccentric cleric, it would be you. even though this was something you took upon yourself to learn, you really didn’t like being cooped up in his shop all day while taking orders from customers and spending all day mixing strange components. you miss going out and looting dungeons with your guildmates, but learning through experience would certainly be worth it in the amount of gold you could save by making your own potions (people really pay for the expertise of a professional rather than the collected common loot dropped to make them).

the wooden table in the center of the room had a batch of roughly fifteen glass vials filled with strength potions for a customer, a finished half of the order while working on producing the other half of invisibility. you placed a sealed jar of fermented spider eyes on the table for your partner to brew and went to go grab some night vision potions for the base, but you noticed an odd bottle filled with a shimmering pink liquid that stood out among the batch of dully-colored royal blue potions on the self. it clearly wasn’t organized on the right shelf, but it didn’t have a label nor did its appearance match any of the others. “hey claude, do you remember what this is supposed to be?”

he turned his head to examine it for a second before continuing his work, “eh, i’m not actually sure. maybe you should test it out.”

oh yeah, another thing about potions is that if you aren’t sure what it is, you have to try it out yourself. there are tons of healing medicines all over the place in case someone got poisoned, so you drank it without hesitation like you’ve done plenty of times before. it tasted artificially of strawberries and cream, not an uncommon flavor to mask the usual strange medley of ingredients, but it left a weird aftertaste of bittersweetness on your tongue. you didn’t feel any different nor see any change looking in the mirror so perhaps it was simply a base potion that didn’t have any magic added yet, leaving you to go on with your day after placing the empty glass into the sink.

it didn’t hit you full-force as soon as you swallowed it, but the effects were slowly but surely taking hold of you. it started with you feeling warm, taking off your jacket and touching your face, wondering if there was a sudden change in room temperature for some reason. your breathing steadily became more labored even though you weren’t moving around much, trying to take deep breaths through your mouth in a futile attempt to clear your fogged mind and soaking a towel in water to pat away the perspiration beginning to form on your forehead.

were you ill and coming down with a fever? it didn’t feel like any virus you’ve ever had, felt more like… it was definitely from that unlabeled potion you drank earlier, but why would he leave such a thing lying around if it was really what you thought? this was really why you were warned to get a proper tutor instead of a cleric known for fumbling his belongings. the sun had begun to set and the shop would close in about fifteen minutes anyway, so you decided to wait it out even though it felt borderline unbearable. leaning back on the table, you think there must be an antidote or something somewhere to counter it, but you were interrupted before you could get up and look for it.

“are you okay? you look sick,” claude mentioned, taking off his tool belt equipped with various gadgets and moving away from his station to check in on you. “do you… need help with anything?” he took off his glove to gently press his hand against your forehead followed by your cheek to test your temperature, suddenly feeling conscious of his presence with the proximity and feeling his breath on your skin as he stared intently at your face.

you never paid too much attention to his looks, but you suddenly found yourself studying his appearance now that he was so much closer to you: his long opalescent locks that were neatly tied in a ponytail tossed over his shoulder, his sleepy eyes that shifted from magenta to aquamarine, how built he actually was with his broad shoulders that well defined his frame— was he always so handsome?

“hey… claude…” you felt like a living furnace with lit coals that were bursting at the seams, fire burning into desire at your core and could only be quenched by the man standing in front of you. vivi and kunai aren’t the best at keeping secrets (especially when it’s past midnight at a sleepover), you knew he had a crush on you or at the very least found you attractive. either way, he wouldn’t reject you at the moment unless he considers the friendship on the line, and you were willing to bet everything on that.

his eyes met yours, staring deeply into them while waiting for you to finish your sentence. the tension was so palpable that it could be cut with a knife and you sighed, closing your eyes and leaning forward to break it with a kiss. you couldn’t see his reaction, but he didn’t flinch nor did he pull back, instead reciprocating it once he seemed to process it.

it took some of the edge off, but you still felt insatiable and starved for more of him. slipping your hand to the back of his head and intertwining it with his hair, you deepened the kiss and began to dart your tongue out to ask him to part his lips. you had no way to know what he was really thinking, but he seemed to be understandably confused about the whole thing and yet he didn’t deny you or offer an ounce of resistance. he obediently followed your motions and let you take the lead, just how you liked it, even whimpering slightly when your tongue gently brushed against his and felt the cool titanium pierced through it.

oh, when you heard that sound escape his lips, something feral awakened within you. “fuck…” you placed your hands on her shoulder and swung him around, roughly shoving him down onto a nearby chair and splitting his legs apart with a knee in the middle while continuing to kiss him roughly. fiddling with the hem of his clothing, “is this okay?”

he blushed a deep red as if the gravity of the situation was only hitting him now that you were requesting for content, “y-yes! of course! totally!” he mentally cringed, his ass did not just say ‘totally’ when his crush of over a year was asking if it was okay to fuck him.

thankfully for him, you didn’t seem to mind in the least bit and fervently began to strip him of his clothing, pulling his black top over his arms and tossing it haphazardly on the floor. his strapping frame was even more evident with his bare chest exposed to you, pretty unblemished ivory skin that was just begging to get marked up and bruised. you were quick to leave one last kiss on his lips before lowering your head to suck on his neck, watching a dark purple-red hickey bloom on the spot. you repeated this process a few times before outright sinking your teeth into his tender flesh, finding yourself unable to refrain from behaving like a wild animal even though you were trying your hardest to hold yourself back.

meanwhile, claude felt like he was dreaming and was almost light-headed by your touch. he allowed you to use his body as you pleased, like a doll for you to play with and abuse. the pain didn’t even register as such to him, feeling more like ecstasy shooting through his veins wherever your mouth found itself as his eyes rolled back like the pathetic fool he was.

“fuck, i feel like i’m going crazy,” you groaned, adjusting your position to sit on his lap and pulling back his pristine white pants to reveal his leaking cock before holding out your palm. “spit.” he complied, taking a moment to gather saliva in his mouth before spitting a clear glob into your open hand which you smeared all over his dick to act as makeshift lube.

the heat was really beginning to get to you like the wrath of a thousand suns, prickling at your skin and causing you to pause your actions to remove your own clothing. you didn’t notice until you were fully nude the way he was staring at you like he had just witnessed the unfiltered beauty of a goddess for the first time. maybe if it was another day under different circumstances, you would have felt soft at his obvious affection and admiration towards you, but unfortunately, you were feeling nothing but irritation due to the effects of the drug.

you extended an arm to push him back so he was sitting properly against the chair instead of slouching, moving to straddle him and finally, finally, lined up his angry red tip with your entrance before sinking into it. claude gasped as he buried his face into your chest, unable to rut into you as he so desired with your purposefully straining your weight on him.

despite not being able to think straight, your dominance over him was made clear as you set your own pace, ignoring the strain beginning to form in your thighs as you worked your way up and down his length. his size was perfect, not too difficult to take, and also able to hit all of the right spots.

despite not being allowed to put in any work, claude’s heart was hammering in his chest like he was running a marathon with strands of hair sticking to his face thanks to the beads of sweat that formed on his forehead. he struggled to find a place to put his hands with your hips moving too fast for him to grip and the little groan you would let out in the precipice of pleasure and disdain each time he tried to touch you elsewhere led to him simply gripping the sides of the wooden chair he was seated on, basically hold on for dear life while chasing an orgasm to snap you out it.

“you did this on purpose, didn’t you, you little freak?”

“h-huh?”

“you wanted me to drink that potion, didn’t you? so that you would get fucked like a whore, just how desperate are you?”

he opened his mouth to deny the accusation but found himself unable to and let out a pathetic whimper instead. how could he deny it when it was completely true? he didn’t think you would actually drink it, only planted it on the table and allowed for chance to take the reins, but he didn’t think anything was actually going to happen.

still, there wasn’t a single ounce of regret in his body, even if you were being a little mean to him. he didn’t mind how your sharp words cut into him, it made him dizzy if anything.

you began to slow down as the ache of constant bouncing was catching up to you, moving your hand to circle your clit and crying out when you felt yourself unravel at the contact. feeling your velvety walls pulse around him had him following shortly after when you lifted yourself off of him, causing him to finish on your lower stomach in pretty white splatters.

both of you were exhausted at the exhibition of energy on top of the long day before this situation occurred, breathing heavily as you got off the chair in favor of leaning against the table with your shaky legs.

he couldn’t read your reaction, if the gravity of what just happened had sunk in yet or if you were still basking in the satisfaction of your climax. it made you glow in a way, making him dumbfounded and unable to meet your eyes. “i-i should go…” in a matter of minutes thanks to his stupidity, he just went from a good friend to a lowly slut in your eyes all because you were able to see right through him like glass.

however, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him back towards you, nude bodies pressed flushed against each other, kissing him fervently again with a slightly crazy edge to your actions. “yeah, no, you aren’t going anywhere. you started this mess, you’re going to help me out until the potion wears off or until we both pass out.”

#📜. her works #claude clawmark #claude clawmark x reader #claude clawmark smut #nijisanji #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji smut #nijisanji en #nijisanji en x reader #nijisanji en smut #ttt #ttt x reader #ttt smut

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fudgechocolatepuff · 6 months ago

Text

a lovebirds bloom! (pumpkin pie edition) pt.ii🍁

keigo t. x fem. reader | wholesome fluff :)

pt.i of a lovebirds bloom , pt.iii of a lovebirds bloom

sneak peek ➸ you bump into the winged hero again in the fall season by chance, but neither of you two mind.

word count : 2.6k

Brisk air flew over your face upon wiping the window for the -mpth time today.

Although you carefully scrubbed at the glass to rid it of any visible blemishes left from the busy workday, the window remained foggy, dewy droplets sticking from the outside and obscuring your view of the street beyond.

The sky above was nothing short of clear, the stars twinkled from above in contrast to the darkening of the blue sky, now a navy-black colour.

In response to the sudden draft drawn in from the decreasing temperatures outside, your fingers wrapped around the end-loops of your scarf and pulled, tightening its hold on your neck in hopes of trapping the heat there.

If only the small window tucked in the back would close all the way instead of inviting a day-lasting breeze to nip at the tips of every customer’s ears.

Aside from the chill air that bit at the tips of your fingers, you grew more satisfied looking over the decor that you were tasked to put up, just in time for the incoming autumn season.

No matter for what season you decorated for, the warm-toned paint of light cafè brown matched every occasion.

This time—since you were put in charge of the aesthetics of the shop—you made sure that the festivity of the harvest-halloween period would radiate more than the past years’ decorations, and draw in more customers!

Perhaps, if you tried hard enough, you could draw back the attention of the winged hero.

You shook your head to snap yourself out of that ridiculous fantasy.

Okay—sure, you missed the interaction exchanged between you and the hero, but you doubted he’d ever come back, let alone acknowledge the tension he’d left behind when he dashed through the doors that spring morning.

It was embarrassing! Being stuck up on a menacingly short conversation was not of your character, especially as it was confined in your professional workspace.

But you couldn’t deny, he teased and teased your little talk together, leading himself on to flirt and flatter you. Hell, you even let him enamor you, blushing at every comment he made about you.

“He was a hero though, of course he’d do a bit of romancing, that was his way of making talk with any woman around his age!” you reminded yourself, the pride that resided in your heart shrinking to embarrassment.

After letting yourself stare at the wall and ponder whether you should quit your job and start a new life in Europe, you continued your ritual of turning off each lamp scattered throughout the shop, appreciating the orange-ish glow it reflected onto the fresh stock of pumpkins and giving the space a homely fall ambience.

You retrieved your coat that hung on the teensy wooden rack, slipping it through your arms as the tired began to rush into your body.

Hanging your bag over your shoulder, you stepped toward the double doors, not before letting your nails glide past and tap against each of the candles, a subtle waft of vanilla-pumpkin flowing through your senses.

You snatched a candle to take home, just as a souvenir, you’d pay it back tomorrow.

Flipping over the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’, the bell of the door jingled as you walked out, with a bittersweet feeling now settling in your chest.

——————

With a swift movement, Hawks’ hands tugged at the collar of his jacket, the fluffy white trim heating his lower face the tiniest bit as he flew through the crisp air of the autumn night.

He groaned in annoyance, regretting his decision of leaving all his hot-pockets at home, his frown grimacing more at the feeling of his empty, cold pockets.

Hawks hated this time of weather. Not the merriment of outdoor activities, oh no—he loved the idea of pumpkin patches and apple picking.

It was the transition between summer and winter. The drastic decrease in temperatures after the steady 70s in the past weeks left the man shivering.

He wasn’t used to the dropping temperatures and neither was the rest of the civilians below, all bunched up in their coats and arms crossed tightly against their chests. This year brought quite the chilly autumn, maybe the coldest of them all.

“A cup of the hottest, frothiest and sweetest coffee would really hit the spot,” the hero thought, scanning over the masses of people, hopping his pupils over every few buildings in seek of refuge from the cool night and to be treated to a nice dessert-in-a-drink.

Just when his eyes lit up to the sight of a coffee shop that looked quiet enough to not be noticed, something else caught his eye rather quickly.

A lady dressed in a dark coat and a slightly brighter, but full and cozy scarf wrapped around her neck that held a peculiar yet chic pattern on the woven fabric.

She appeared to be running on an empty street—or… chasing something. Hawks looked ahead of the woman, to which he spotted a small cylinder container rolling downhill that the woman must’ve been trying to catch.

To this, Hawks laughed to himself softly, not to make fun of her, it just looked a little silly! The hero’s gloved hands cupped the outside of his mouth, where he huffed out to capture at least some tinge of warmth before descending onto the street of the escaping container.

If it had been some other instance where he wasn’t bored out of his mind and actually had to patrol an area, he would have just sent a feather on its dandy way to complete a small mishap like this one.

However, he had finally found an escape.

His boots landed on the smooth pavement with a quiet ‘tap’ at the end of the street as he crouched down to reach his hand out, catching what looked to be a candle just in time.

The woman who scurried down the road slowed her steps to catch her breath.

“It’s not every night where your own candles run away from you. This yours?” the winged hero held out his hand as he flicked his eyes to the woman.

But the cheeky smile instilled on his face suddenly dissipated into a wide-eyed stare, his question almost being cut off by his shock.

The bundled-up woman breathed in once again—finally able to breathe steadily—as she extended her own fingers to take back the candle, but tensed up as her pupils recalled the dark shade of the man’s gloves, and felt her shoulder blades freeze.

“Oh… you’re—“

“The flower shop girl,” Hawks remarked, a gentler smile blemishing his face, “the cute one who gave me the bouquet that Miruko adored.”

Despite the cold sitting in the air, the warmth still made its way onto your skin. Your voice shook nervously, trying to not make this situation as awkward as much as you could.

“It.. it was nothing really, just wanted to dedicate something for a hero I really admire.”

You shifted your hands to be clasped in front of you, just below your stomach as you spoke.

“Well, she really loved it. Seriously, if I had gone to another store I wouldn’t be called the ‘best feather flower fairy.’”

A laugh ran through from your chest as you imagined Miruko’s reaction to the “flower fairy” delivering her bouquet.

“I suppose you aren’t the kind of person to give her gifts like that.”

“Nah, not really. However, I just figured to get her something with a tad bit more of sentiment for her 25th,” he replied casually, still grasping the sweet scented candle in his hand.

“Oh, that’s so sweet! I bet she really got all emotional and recited an honoring speech dedicated to you, going on and on about you being so thoughtful.”

“If the speech was followed by a smack in the arm and a 2 minute-long cackle at me being so sappy, then yeah, I’d say she got a bit teary, almost gave me a hug, even.”

“I wonder how she’ll react next year.”

“Perhaps she’ll dedicate a memoir to me and buy me a bouncy house. A gift for a gift.”

Not many were able to joke with him like that. Of course, Hawks’ fans and acquaintances always felt ecstatic to chat with him, but there was no real talk—only jokes he’s heard millions of times before.

And he’d never want to offend them, but they were either quite boring, or too overwhelming.

Either way, they didn’t treat him as if he was any other person, just a man-doll that swooped by and teased or flirted those who wanted his attention.

With you, though, he could be sarcastic and not be looked at in a ‘were you joking?’ kind of way. He had almost forgotten what it was like to connect with another person on a deeper level.

No, this was a bit more sweeter, and he didn’t want to lose that.

Your delicate fingertips shooed hair out of your face as you looked onto the street, now completely drowned out by the darkness of the night, lit only by the orange-hued street lamps.

You didn’t even notice the lingering gaze the winged man held onto your face, glossing over your features hypnotically.

He stepped to your side and met with your eyes, “Hey, I know it’s getting a bit late, and you probably have work tomorrow. I just wanted to know if you’d wanna grab a quick bite with me. I saw a cafè down a couple’a blocks down.”

Although the fatigue in your body raged deep in your bones, you could endure it a bit longer for a nab of coffee.

——————

The walk to the cafè was fairly comfortable.

He noted to you that he even saw some pastries displayed on the window. A “sugar plum fairy” you called him, to which he grumbled at the reminder of the foolish name. What a baby.

You didn’t expect to be asked about the progress of the flower shop, but you gladly told him about the new pumpkins that came with a carving kit, how you’d probably snatch one for yourself to make a design.

“Wouldn’t a starry night be easier than a character like Hello Kitty? You’re quite the artistic type.”

“Shushh! I’ve always fantasized about a glowing hello kitty with a witch hat, don’t crush my dreams.”

“Poor little florist, wants to express all of her feelings through Hello Kitty! Don’t worry, sweets, I won’t do too much on you.”

“I’m glad you understand the severity of my fixation.”

“Heroes are always empaths, ya’know?”

“You not so much!”

In response, he side-eyed you and crossed his arms.

You shuffled your hands into the pockets of your coat, when a sudden thought slipped into your mind.

“Oh, by the way, my name’s (your name).”

“Hi, (name).”

——————

Upon arriving to the cafè, you felt like you could have fallen asleep on the leather-seated-booths that gave just the right of cushioning, but at this point you were starved for sugar.

Its style was a bit more foreign like—a banner next to the cashier framed the statement that read the inspiration came from Western Europe. The beauty and emptiness of the little shop just proved it to be a gem that you’d keep a secret forever.

Somehow, you found yourself matching Hawks’ vibe with the coziness of the café. Warm, golden, fuzzy.

You darted your eyes back down to the menu before Hawks could catch you staring at him, focusing on the ‘hot options’ category.

When you looked up to ask what he’d order, he was already staring you back, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“I saw that.” he taunted, a smug grin rested on his lips.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, the obvious humiliation present on your features, pursing your lips together with the intention of relieving your shame.

“It’s no problem, doll,” his assuring statement completely opposite of his teasing expression, “Do you know what you want?”

As if it was on cue, a waitress ambled her way over to your table, notepad in hand, not even batting an eye to the number two, “What would you guys like to order?”

“May I get a (hot drink of your choice), please?”

The waitress scribbled down your order and turned to the man across from you.

“Ah, can I have a hot white-mocha with an extra shot of caramel as well as a slice of pumpkin pie?”

“Alright, I’ll have those out for you two in a bit!”

You thanked her before she scurried on into the back, “It’s absolutely ludicrous that nobody else acknowledges the fact that you have a huge sweet tooth.”

“Sugar energizes my system more than caffeine, it’s just how I function.”

“Do you brush your teeth at night? Y’know, sugar can rot those pearly whites of yours.”

“Yes, mother, I brush my teeth every night,” he chuckled, adjusting the buckle of his watch.

“It can also give you a condition, don’t know if you’ve heard, but it’s called diabetes—“

“Yeesh, I didn’t know I’d come to this place just to be lectured about my tastes.”

“If it were anybody else, they’d say the exact same thing.”

“Oh, let me be.”

The two of you went silent after that, but in a comfortable moment of calm, engulfing the presence of each other and the faint chatter of the minimal customers that were also sat down in the cafè.

Hawks in that moment wondered if he twisted the crown of his watch back far enough, he could make this night last forever.

Before long, you’re both gulping down your hot beverages, a waterfall of heaven swirling in the brown paper cups in your hands.

After a short debate, the two of you decided that it was getting late, and you both had busy work days to deal with tomorrow, and so he took the pumpkin pie to-go and shared it with you on your walk to the train stop. It wasn’t rude courtesy if no one could see you two at the dead of night.

“How come you live a bit far from your flower shop?”

You chewed your piece of pie, both crust and filling, “I don’t know, honestly. I think after applying to all the jobs I had in mind, I drew little paper pieces from a hat to just decide and get it over with.”

“Decision making can be tough when it comes to jobs.”

“You get it,” crumbs of pie fell onto your coat as you responded with your mouth full.

The hero held the empty plate with sprinkles on crumbs left behind in his hand, and with your candle in the other as you two continued the walk, about 3 minutes away.

Stopping at the top of the stairs that descended down into the underground station, Hawks stopped you from going further.

“Look, I really enjoyed this little going out together, although it started out with me ending your game of tag with your candle.”

You huffed lightly looking back at the thought, a shy smile tugging at your face, “Yeah, I’m glad I bumped into you when I did.”

Placing the candle into your palms, he began to take a few steps back, and Hawks admitted to you, “I hope to see you soon, sweets, whenever time permits.”

You waved to him, “Thanks for the pie.”

He nodded his head and gave you a sweetly sick smile, before turning to walk away and prepare to fly off.

As much as you hated for this night to end, you could at least encourage him to come back to you.

“Come back to the shop soon!” you shouted from afar, hoping he would hear.

The winged hero turned his head, waving his hand and shouting back, “I will!” eventually flying away into the alluring night sky.

The next time you’d come back to this cafe, you promised to order pumpkin pie every time.

a/n: so sorry for not posting this sooner! i’ve been so caught up in my studies and i couldn’t find time to post! however i lovedd writing this and figured now would be the best time to publish this. i hope this makes up for my absence :) love you and happy october!!

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saebyeokbliss · 2 months ago

Text

JUST MEET ME AT THE APT.— K. SAE-BYEOK

CHAPTER TWO

synopsis: managing a rising rock band is already chaotic enough, but when you're stuck touring with four reckless musicians, things get even messier. between late-night facetime calls, teasing that feels a little too knowing, and a certain guitarist who might just be your biggest problem, keeping things professional is getting harder by the second. but hey, no one said the music industry was easy.

warnings: mutual pining, intense eye contact, teasing that borders on flirting (or maybe it is flirting), friends who refuse to mind their business, late-night facetime calls, secondhand embarrassment, slow burn that burns, emotional whiplash

playlist: spotify

"Why are you taking this so seriously?"

You groaned, leaning closer to the mirror as you adjusted your hair for what felt like the hundredth time. Behind you, Ji-Yeong was sprawled across the hotel bed, chin propped up on her hands, watching you with barely contained amusement.

"Because," you said, exasperated, "passport photos last for ten years. I don’t want to look like a mess every time I travel."

Se-Mi, sitting cross-legged on the floor scrolling through her phone, snorted. "Sweetheart, it's a passport photo. They alllook bad."

"Exactly," No-Eul added from her seat by the window. "No matter what you do, you'll end up looking like a criminal."

You turned around, glaring at them. "You guys are so unhelpful."

Ji-Yeong grinned. "We're just saying—you're acting like this is a glamour shot or something."

"It's not a glamour shot," you muttered, smoothing down your shirt. "I just want to look—presentable."

Se-Mi smirked, tilting her head. "Presentable or hot?"

You shot her a look. "Oh my God."

"Because," Ji-Yeong continued, grinning mischievously, "if you're trying to impress someone, you should just say so."

No-Eul, ever the quiet observer, finally looked up from her phone. "If she's trying to impress someone, wouldn't it be someone who actually sees her passport?"

Se-Mi gasped dramatically. "Ooooh. True. So, who are you trying to look good for at customs, huh?"

You grabbed a pillow and threw it at her.

She dodged, cackling. "A direct attack! She’s definitely hiding something."

"You're all insufferable," you grumbled, turning back to the mirror.

And then—

"I'll go with you."

You paused, blinking at your reflection before turning around.

Sae-Byeok, who had been silent for most of this conversation, was sitting at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, watching you casually.

Ji-Yeong and Se-Mi both immediately perked up at her words.

"Oh?" Ji-Yeong drawled, grinning.

Sae-Byeok shot her a warning glance. "Don't start."

Se-Mi wiggled her eyebrows. "Oh, we already started, babe."

You cleared your throat, trying not to feel weirdly warm all of a sudden. "You want to come with me?"

Sae-Byeok shrugged. "Why not? You’ll just stress yourself out if you go alone."

It was a simple, logical offer—one that shouldn’t have made your stomach flip.

But it did.

"Uh. Yeah, okay," you said, trying to sound normal. "That’d be nice."

Ji-Yeong nudged Se-Mi, both of them smirking like they were witnessing something far more interesting than a simple passport errand.

Sae-Byeok ignored them, standing up and grabbing her jacket. "Let’s go before you change your outfit again."

You huffed but followed her out the door, ignoring the not-so-quiet giggles that followed behind you.

The fluorescent lights in the small passport office buzzed faintly, casting a dull glow over the waiting area. You shifted anxiously in your seat, smoothing down your shirt for what had to be the tenth time.

Sae-Byeok, sitting beside you with her arms crossed, glanced at you and smirked. "You look fine."

You let out a dramatic sigh. "I don’t feel fine. What if the lighting is bad? What if I blink? What if—"

"You will blink at some point in your life," she deadpanned.

You shot her a look. "That’s not what I meant."

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "You’re overthinking this."

You groaned, leaning back in your chair. "I have to. This is a ten-year commitment. I can’t just—wing it."

Sae-Byeok gave you an unimpressed look. "You know it’s just a photo, right?"

"Just a photo?" You gasped dramatically. "Sae-Byeok, this is literally the difference between looking like a functioning human being or a sleep-deprived goblin every time I go through customs."

She snorted. "I think customs officers have worse things to worry about than whether you look cute in your passport."

You crossed your arms. "Easy for you to say. You always look effortlessly cool."

At that, her smirk faltered slightly—just for a second. But you caught it.

Before you could overthink that, the receptionist at the counter called your number.

"That’s me," you muttered, standing up. You hesitated for a second before glancing at Sae-Byeok. "You’ll wait?"

She rolled her eyes like the answer was obvious. "Yeah, go."

You nodded, taking a deep breath before heading toward the photo station.

The Dreaded Passport Photo

The photographer, an older woman who looked like she had seen far too many people stress over this process, gestured for you to sit on the stool in front of the plain white backdrop.

"Alright, sit up straight, look at the camera, and don’t smile," she instructed.

You adjusted yourself, trying to find the perfect balance between looking normal and not looking like a serial killer.

The photographer raised a skeptical brow. "Relax your shoulders."

You did.

"Now open your eyes a little more."

You tried.

"Not that much. You look surprised."

You exhaled through your nose, adjusting again.

"Okay, on three. One… two…"

Click.

You blinked. "Wait, was that—?"

"Alright, you’re done," the photographer said, already moving on to the next steps.

You sat there for a second, processing. "I—oh. Okay."

Sliding off the stool, you walked back to the waiting area, where Sae-Byeok was still lounging in her chair, scrolling through her phone.

She looked up as you approached. "How’d it go?"

You sighed. "I think I blacked out for a second."

She smirked. "You were in there for two minutes."

"Exactly!" you exclaimed, flopping down next to her. "It was so fast. What if I look weird? What if my hair was messed up?"

Sae-Byeok rolled her eyes but didn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. "You’ll survive."

Before you could launch into another round of panicked self-analysis, the receptionist called your name again. You went up to collect your new passport, flipping it open immediately to inspect the damage.

You stared at it.

Sae-Byeok leaned over slightly. "Well?"

You turned the passport toward her, pouting. "I look so awkward."

She took one glance at it, then smirked. "Yeah, a little."

You groaned, dropping your head onto the counter. "Kill me."

Sae-Byeok chuckled, nudging your arm. "Hey. At least now you can actually travel with us."

You lifted your head slightly. "That’s true…"

She nodded. "And don’t worry. If customs ever gives you trouble, just let Ji-Yeong do the talking. She’ll confuse them so much they’ll just let us through."

You laughed at that, shaking your head. "That’s probably true."

As you both walked out of the office, Sae-Byeok glanced at you. "For what it’s worth," she said casually, "I think you look fine."

You blinked, caught off guard.

Before you could say anything, she shoved her hands into her pockets and looked away, like she hadn’t just said something that made your heart skip a beat.

And just like that, the passport photo disaster didn’t seem so bad anymore.

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