#for an impromptu drawing session

[cupiare]

i might finally get my wish of running an art club this is not a drill ‼️‼️‼️

[alpacacare-archive]

success

[revelingrexan]

"...not very clever!"

and then Alastor cusses for the first time in the show :D

[lizzybeanbutt]

Catching up with perpetua, having a fuunn time with it. Contemplating streaming some character design explorations sometime soon.

[archivegyu]

masterlist

the softest silence

“anyways, don’t be a stranger” (scott street)

There's a photo in a silver frame on Seungcheol's desk.

It's not particularly striking, no grand event captured, no posed smiles. Just a snapshot from a summer long gone. Three people squeezed into the frame: you, with a sunflower tucked behind your ear, laughing so hard your eyes are nearly closed, the petals casting delicate shadows across your cheekbone. Jeonghan, cheeks puffed in mock offense, his arm flung over your shoulder, fingers barely grazing the fabric of your sleeve like he's afraid to hold too tight. And Seungcheol, in the middle, caught mid-laugh, head thrown back, eyes crinkled, like the sound had startled even him. A moment of pure, unguarded joy frozen in time.

It's a photo no one meant to take. A moment no one meant to keep. And yet, it sits there, dustless, untouched. As if time itself had decided it should stay. The silver frame catching the morning light that filters through the half-drawn blinds of his office, creating a small constellation of reflections against the wall.

You still remember that day. Not because of the picture, but because of the way the sun hit Jeonghan's hair when he turned to call your name, golden light threading through strands that seemed to absorb the warmth itself. Because of the way Seungcheol looked at the both of you when you weren't looking, eyes soft and wondering, like he couldn't quite believe the three of you had found each other in this vast, indifferent universe. Because you didn't know, then, that it would be the beginning of something beautiful.

And quietly, quietly tragic.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You met Jeonghan when you were fifteen, on a Tuesday that had started like any other. Gray skies threatening rain, the weight of textbooks in your arms, the familiar knot of anxiety that came with being the new face in the hallway. The classroom smelled of chalk dust and floor polish, and you'd chosen a seat by the window, hoping the cloudy light might make you less visible somehow.

He was the first person to talk to you in your new school, sliding into the empty desk beside yours with the casual confidence of someone who had never doubted his welcome anywhere. Sitting next to you in math class and offering half of his chocolate chip cookie like it was some kind of peace treaty, breaking it with careful fingers that somehow knew exactly where to snap it for equal parts.

"Fresh-baked this morning," he'd said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "My mom's secret recipe. Well, not actually secret. She got it off the back of the chocolate chip bag, but we pretend it's a family heirloom."

The cookie was still warm, slightly gooey in the center. You'd taken it hesitantly, not quite understanding the easy way he'd decided to include you.

He never really gave you a choice. He just started existing in your life, like a bookmark slipped between pages. There one day and never gone after, marking something important without drawing attention to itself.

"I'm Yoon Jeonghan," he'd said with a grin that seemed to know something you didn't. "And you're my best friend now. Sorry, I don't make the rules."

You had laughed, not knowing how true it would become. Not understanding that some people come into your life with the quiet certainty of seasons changing. Inevitable, necessary, transformative.

Jeonghan was relentless in his affection. He called you at midnight just to tell you dumb jokes that he'd clearly rehearsed, his voice going slightly higher when he reached the punchline. He left sticky notes in your locker with bad puns and little doodles, stick figures with exaggerated features that somehow always looked like the teachers he was mocking. He dragged you into his chaos without warning. Impromptu trips to the convenience store during lunch, elaborate pranks on classmates that never crossed into cruelty, study sessions that devolved into philosophical debates about which cereal mascot would win in a fight.

But he also knew when to be still. He was there when your mom got sick, when the hospital visits became routine and the smell of antiseptic clung to your clothes even after washing. When you missed three weeks of school, he brought you handwritten notes. His messy scrawl somehow more comforting than the typed assignments other classmates had sent. When you needed someone to sit beside you in silence and just be there, he would arrive with a bag of your favorite snacks and a deck of cards, never pushing you to talk, never making you feel like your silence was a burden.

He never asked for anything in return. Never made you feel indebted for the way he held your world together when it threatened to come apart. It was just what friends did, he'd say, as if everyone had the capacity for the brand of loyalty he offered so effortlessly.

And then, two years later, he introduced you to Seungcheol.

It was at a house party Jeonghan had forced you to attend—his words, not yours. The living room was too warm, bodies pressed together in the limited space, music loud enough to feel in your chest but not quite loud enough to drown out the anxiety of social interaction. You were standing awkwardly by the snack table, calculating how much longer you needed to stay before you could politely leave, when he dragged someone over, his hand firm around the wrist of a boy you'd never seen before.

"This is Seungcheol," he said proudly, the way one might present a particularly impressive science project. "He's the only person I know who's more responsible than me. So naturally, I think he should take care of you when I'm not around."

The boy, Seungcheol, had looked momentarily embarrassed, a flush rising from his neck to his cheeks. But then he'd laughed softly, the sound barely audible over the thrum of the bass, and extended his hand. His fingers were slightly calloused, warm against your palm.

"It's nice to meet you," he said, his voice deeper than you'd expected, resonant in a way that made you want to hear more of it. "Jeonghan talks about you all the time. I was starting to think you might be imaginary."

You hadn't expected to fall for him. Not really. But there was something about the way he listened when you spoke, head slightly tilted, eyes never wandering from your face, as if every word you said deserved his complete attention. Something about the way he remembered the little things you said in passing. How you mentioned offhandedly that you loved tteokbokki from that one street vendor near the station, only to have him appear at your door weeks later with a container of it after you'd had a particularly rough day. Something about the way he stood slightly behind you in crowded spaces, quietly protective, never overbearing. A presence that said: I am here if you need me, but I trust you to navigate your own way.

He was the kind of safe that didn't feel suffocating. A quiet strength that reminded you of old trees, roots deep and branches steady even in the strongest winds.

But you were Jeonghan's best friend. And Seungcheol was Jeonghan's.

So you stayed quiet.

So did he.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The three of you became something of a unit. A trinity that others in your social circle recognized and accepted without question: where one went, the others followed, like planets locked in each other's gravitational pull.

Seungcheol drove the both of you home after late-night hangouts, always stopping for convenience store ramen. The fluorescent lights would cast strange shadows on your faces as you huddled around the small table outside, steam rising from your bowls, the night air cool against your skin. Jeonghan would sing badly in the passenger seat while you and Seungcheol harmonized just to annoy him, the three of you laughing until your ribs ached when he'd dramatically cover his ears and threaten to walk home.

Sometimes, Mingyu and Seokmin would tag along, stuffing themselves into the backseat, yelling over each other about snacks and playlists. Mingyu always insisting they needed more protein, Seokmin arguing just as passionately for sweeter options. The car would feel smaller then, warmer with the press of shoulders and knees, the windows fogging slightly with collective breath and laughter.

There were sleepovers where you all ended up on the floor of Jeonghan's apartment. A mess of blankets and pillows in the living room, the television casting blue light over your tired faces as you talked until sunrise. Seungcheol on one side of you, Jeonghan on the other, both too warm, too close, too familiar. Their breathing eventually evening out into sleep while you remained awake, hyperaware of every point of contact: Seungcheol's arm brushing yours, Jeonghan's head somehow ending up on your shoulder. And in those moments, you'd lie awake and wonder what it meant that your heart beat differently for each of them. A steady, warm rhythm for Seungcheol that felt like coming home; a quicksilver flutter for Jeonghan that felt like chasing something you couldn't quite name.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

One night, during your final year of high school, the three of you ended up on the roof of Jeonghan's apartment building. It was autumn, the air crisp but not yet biting, and you'd brought blankets to wrap around yourselves as you looked up at the few stars visible through the city's light pollution.

"We should make a pact," Jeonghan had said suddenly, his voice soft in the darkness. "That no matter where we end up after graduation, we'll always find our way back to each other."

Seungcheol had chuckled, the sound warm in the cool night. "You make it sound like we're going to war, not college."

"Same thing," Jeonghan had replied, bumping his shoulder against Seungcheol's. "People change. They find new friends, new priorities. I just don't want..."

He'd trailed off, and you'd turned to look at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. His profile was sharp against the night sky, eyes reflecting the distant city lights.

"Want what?" you'd prompted gently.

He'd shrugged, a forced casualness that didn't quite mask the tension in his shoulders. "I don't want to lose this. Us."

Seungcheol had reached over then, his hand finding Jeonghan's in the dark, squeezing once. "You won't."

You'd watched their hands, the easy comfort they offered each other, and felt something twist in your chest—not jealousy, exactly, but a sense of being witness to something intimate and unspoken.

"Promise?" Jeonghan had asked, looking not at you but at Seungcheol, his voice barely audible over the distant sounds of traffic.

Seungcheol had nodded, his expression serious in the half-light. "Promise."

You'd reached over then, placing your hand over theirs, completing the circle. "We promise," you'd said, speaking for all three of you, not yet understanding the complexity of what you were vowing to preserve.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Years passed. High school faded into college. The texture of your friendship changed with distance and time. No longer the constant presence in each other's daily lives, but something that had to be maintained with intention, with effort. You drifted, came back together, drifted again like tides. But you always found your way back: birthdays, holidays, lazy Sundays that turned into movie marathons in whoever's apartment was cleanest that week.

And always, always, Jeonghan teasing.

"Still single?" he'd ask with a smirk, nudging Seungcheol as you all sat around a table at your favorite barbecue place, the smell of grilling meat and sizzling garlic filling the air between you.

"Still annoying?" Seungcheol would fire back, expertly flipping the meat without looking away from Jeonghan's challenging grin.

And you'd roll your eyes, but part of you ached, because they felt like puzzle pieces you'd never quite fit between. Their friendship had a shorthand, a history that predated you. Sometimes you'd catch them exchanging glances that seemed to contain entire conversations, and you'd wonder what it was like to know someone so completely, to be known that way in return.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

But one spring, it shifted.

Jeonghan got busy.

New job at a design agency that required late nights and early mornings, new apartment across the city that made spontaneous visits less practical, less time for the comfortable routine the three of you had established. His absence created a space, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, you and Seungcheol began to fill it with something new.

You and Seungcheol started spending more time together, just the two of you. It wasn't planned, not consciously. He helped you move into your new place, carrying boxes up three flights of stairs without complaint, assembling furniture with patient precision long after you'd given up on deciphering the instructions. You helped him pick out a birthday gift for Jeonghan, wandering through stores for hours until you found a vintage film camera that made Seungcheol's eyes light up with recognition

"He's been talking about this model for months," he'd said, his excitement infectious.

You had dinner. Once. A casual thing after settling into your new place, too tired to go home but too hungry to sleep. A small restaurant with mismatched chairs and dim lighting, where Seungcheol ordered for both of you because you were too exhausted to make decisions, and somehow he got exactly what you would have chosen for yourself.

Then again. This time planned, deliberate, a text from Seungcheol asking if you wanted to try that new place that had opened near your apartment, the one with the fusion menu everyone was talking about. You'd said yes without hesitation, ignoring the flutter in your stomach as you changed outfits three times before he arrived.

And then… again. Each time the conversation flowing more easily, the silences more comfortable, the moments of accidental touch lingering just a beat longer than necessary.

And one day, under the soft golden haze of dusk, Seungcheol kissed you.

It wasn't planned. You were walking back from a late afternoon movie, the streets bathed in that magical hour when the sun seems to paint everything in honeyed light. You had made a dumb joke about the film's predictable ending, and he laughed, really laughed, the way he used to back in high school. Uninhibited and genuine, and something cracked open between you. He stopped walking, turned to face you, his expression shifting into something serious and tender and terrified all at once.

He looked at you like he had been holding his breath for years.

"I shouldn't have waited this long," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, one hand coming up to cup your face, thumb brushing softly across your cheekbone.

You never asked what that meant. Whether he was referring to weeks of dancing around each other or years of quiet longing. You just kissed him back, standing in the middle of the sidewalk as the world continued around you, strangers passing by, oblivious to the way your universe had just realigned itself.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The relationship was slow and quiet and gentle. There were no fireworks, no chaos. None of the dramatic declarations of love you'd seen in movies or read in books. Just small things: coffee in the morning made exactly how you liked it, hand squeezes in public that said "I'm here" without words, late-night walks with no destination, just the comfort of shared silence and understanding.

It felt inevitable, like something that had been waiting patiently in the wings of your life, ready to step forward when the time was right.

The rest of your friends found out quickly. You swore Soonyoung had been waiting for it, the way his eyes widened in exaggerated shock before his face split into a knowing grin when you and Seungcheol showed up to a group dinner holding hands.

"Took you long enough," he said, grinning as he pulled out a chair for you. "I've had a bet going with Seokmin since second year of university."

You'd blushed, but Seungcheol had just laughed, his arm secure around your waist, a quiet pride in the way he stood beside you, as if finally allowed to show something he'd hidden for too long.

Even Jeonghan smiled, teasing as ever when you told him. Though you noticed he'd been the last to know, an unusual oversight that neither you nor Seungcheol had acknowledged.

"Guess I was your cupid, huh?" he'd said, raising his glass in a mock toast, lounging across from you in the café where you'd arranged to meet, his hair longer now, tied back loosely at the nape of his neck. "I always knew you two were weirdly in sync."

But sometimes, you'd catch him watching. Just for a second, expression unreadable, a flicker of something in his eyes before he'd blink and it would vanish, replaced by his usual mischievous glint.

You chalked it up to nostalgia. To the natural melancholy of seeing childhood friendships evolve, reshape themselves around new dynamics. To the bittersweet recognition that things would never be quite the same again.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Two years into your relationship with Seungcheol, you found yourself alone with Jeonghan for the first time in months. He'd been traveling for work—Tokyo, Seoul, New York—his social media a blur of skylines and coffee shops in different cities. But he was home now, just for a week, and had invited you over to see his new photographs.

His apartment was exactly as you'd expected: organized chaos, walls covered in prints and postcards, surfaces cluttered with books and camera equipment. It smelled like him. Sandalwood and coffee and something slightly citrusy that you'd never been able to identify.

"So," he said, pouring you a glass of wine as you settled onto his couch, "when's the wedding?"

You nearly choked on your first sip. "What?"

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Come on. You've been together for what, two years now? That's practically married in Seungcheol-time. He's never dated anyone longer than six months before you."

You set your glass down carefully, studying Jeonghan's face. "We haven't really talked about it," you said truthfully. "We're good where we are."

Jeonghan hummed noncommittally, taking a long sip of his own wine. "He'll ask, you know. He's been saving for a ring since last Christmas."

Your heart skipped. "How do you know that?"

He shrugged, a casual gesture that didn't quite match the intensity of his gaze. "He tells me things. Some things, anyway."

There was something in his tone, not bitter, but not entirely at peace either. A complexity you couldn't quite untangle.

"Are you okay with it?" you asked suddenly, surprising yourself with the question. "With us, I mean."

Jeonghan looked at you then, really looked at you, his eyes searching yours for something you couldn't name. For a moment, you thought you saw a flash of raw emotion. Pain or longing or something in between. Before his expression settled into a gentle smile.

"I want you both to be happy," he said simply. "And you make each other happy. So yes, I'm okay with it."

He raised his glass, tapping it lightly against yours. "To the people I love most in this world finding each other," he said, his voice steady but soft, like a confession.

You clinked your glass against his, a weight lifting from shoulders you hadn't realized were tense. "Thank you," you said, meaning it more than he could know.

"Just promise me one thing," he added, setting his glass down and leaning forward slightly.

"Anything."

"Don't make me wear one of those awful groomsmen suits. I look terrible in pastels."

You laughed, the tension broken, and the conversation moved on. But later, as you were leaving, Jeonghan hugged you tighter than usual, his face buried briefly in your shoulder.

"Take care of him," he whispered, so quietly you almost missed it. "He deserves someone who sees all of him."

Before you could ask what he meant, he'd pulled away, his familiar grin back in place as he waved you off.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The wedding was in early spring, under cherry blossoms that scattered pale petals like snow whenever the breeze stirred.

A day soaked in sunlight and soft winds. The sky bloomed like watercolor: pinks, golds, and a gentle blue that looked like it had been painted just for the two of you. The venue was simple. An outdoor garden with rows of white chairs and an arch twined with flowers and greenery. Nothing extravagant, nothing that called for attention. Just like your love: quiet, steady, true.

Jeonghan stood beside Seungcheol before the ceremony, both in tailored suits that made them look older, more serious than you were used to seeing them. Through the partially open door of the preparation room, you caught glimpses of them: Jeonghan adjusting Seungcheol's tie with practiced fingers, their heads bent close in conversation, a moment of intimacy that made you pause, not wanting to intrude.

"You're shaking," Jeonghan said, his tone light as he smoothed the fabric of Seungcheol's lapel, fingers lingering just a moment too long.

Seungcheol exhaled, a shaky breath that betrayed his nerves. "You think I'm doing the right thing?"

There was a beat of silence—just long enough for something unspoken to pass between them, a current you could feel even from where you stood, unseen.

Jeonghan paused. Smiled. A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes but tried valiantly nonetheless. "You're doing the only thing that's ever made sense to you." he said, voice steady despite the slight tension in his shoulders.

He meant it. God, he meant it. The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, even as something in his expression flickered. A shadow passing too quickly to identify, gone before it could fully form.

You stepped away then, not wanting to witness more of a moment that wasn't meant for you. Your wedding coordinator found you minutes later, ushering you into position for your entrance, fussing with the train of your dress, the placement of flowers in your hair.

You walked down the aisle, and the world held its breath.

Seungcheol looked at you like you were the only thing he'd ever waited for, his eyes bright with unshed tears, his smile trembling slightly at the edges. Jeonghan stood to the side, hands in front of him, heart beating slow and loud in his chest, you couldn't hear it, of course, but somehow you knew, could see it in the careful way he held himself, as if afraid to disturb the air around him.

He watched your vows. Watched Seungcheol tear up when you called him your safest place, your harbor in every storm. Watched as you slipped rings onto each other's fingers, promises made tangible in precious metal.

He laughed with the crowd when the officiant made a gentle joke. Toasted with the rest of them at the reception, glass raised high, smile fixed firmly in place.

And when it was his turn to speak, he stepped forward, raised his glass, and said:

"To the people who taught me what real love looks like. Not just the loud kind, but the quiet kind. The kind that doesn't ask for anything back."

His voice was steady, but something in it made the room fall silent, everyone leaning in slightly, drawn by the raw emotion barely contained in his measured words.

He looked at Seungcheol then, eyes soft in a way that made your breath catch.

"And to the ones who stay… no matter how much it hurts."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Most of the guests smiled, moved by what they perceived as a poetic tribute to marriage's endurance through difficulties. You smiled too, touched by his eloquence, by the depth of feeling in his toast.

Seungcheol's smile faltered for just a second. A barely perceptible crack in his joyful composure, a flash of something like recognition crossing his features before he recovered, raising his glass in acknowledgment.

No one noticed.

Except Jeonghan.

Who had seen everything, always.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Years later. The seasons had softened. Summer easing into autumn, passions settling into comfortable routines.

Your house has grown quieter. The parties less frequent, the messes smaller. You and Seungcheol had fallen into the gentle rhythm of long-term love. The kind of relationship where you could read each other's moods in the set of shoulders, the pace of breathing. Love settled differently after a few years, less like fire, more like gravity. Comfortable, warm. Something that didn't need to be named every day to be known.

You still had Jeonghan over sometimes. Not as often as before. He traveled more now—Tokyo with its neon glow that he captured in stunning night photography, Berlin where he claimed the coffee was better than anywhere else, sometimes just vanished for weeks at a time to go "find himself" in cities that didn't ask questions. But he always came back. Always found his way to your door with gifts from distant places and stories that seemed half-true at best.

This time, he brought orange wine and a new camera, sleek and vintage, another addition to his growing collection. Said he missed your cooking, though you both knew he was the better chef among the three of you. It was his way of saying he missed you, missed this, the comfort of familiar faces and shared history.

The rest of the boys came too, a reunion that filled your home with noise and laughter after months of relative quiet. Minghao and Mingyu yelling over the charcoal in the backyard, arguing about the proper way to grill meat as if their lives depended on it. Soonyoung trying to teach your dog a dance move, the poor animal looking thoroughly confused as he demonstrated what he swore was the next viral TikTok trend. Seungkwan and Hansol screaming in protest as Chan suggested yet another bizarre drinking game he'd learned from his coworkers. It was chaos. It was comfort. It was everything you'd always wanted to keep; This family you'd built, piece by piece, person by person.

You were inside plating dessert, a cake that had taken you hours to perfect, layers of chocolate and cream that you hoped would impress even Mingyu, who had become something of a food snob since starting culinary school. The kitchen was warm from the oven, the open window letting in the sounds of laughter from the backyard.

Jeonghan came in, slipping past the others and settling onto the kitchen counter with a quiet sigh. He looked tired, you noticed, not the kind of tired that came from a long day, but the bone-deep exhaustion that accumulated over years. Still beautiful, still quick to smile, but there was a heaviness to him that hadn't been there in your younger days.

Seungcheol stood at the sink, rinsing glasses, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, forearms wet with soapy water. "You still collect film cameras?" he asked, glancing at the one slung around Jeonghan's neck, the strap worn and fraying slightly from constant use.

Jeonghan nodded, spinning it in his hands, fingers tracing the familiar contours. "They're the only way I remember things right," he said, a note of wistfulness in his voice.

Seungcheol chuckled, the sound low and warm in the quiet kitchen. "You? Forget? Mr. 'I still remember what everyone wore to the first day of high school'?"

Jeonghan smiled. Not quite sad. Not quite anything. An expression that existed in the spaces between defined emotions. "Sometimes the things you remember aren't the ones you want to."

That gave Seungcheol pause. His hands stilled in the soapy water, a glass held motionless as he turned to look at Jeonghan, something unspoken passing between them.

The conversation moved on. You returned from the dining room, handed Jeonghan a slice of cake. He teased you about the uneven icing, the slight tilt of the top layer. You smacked his arm playfully, defending your creation. Everything was normal.

But something about that moment, those words, stuck. A splinter too small to remove but large enough to feel with every movement.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It wasn't until much later that Seungcheol understood.

The evening was winding down. Mingyu and Seokmin had volunteered to drive the more inebriated members of the group home. Joshua and Jeonghan were deep in conversation on the back porch, their voices a soft murmur carried occasionally through the open window. You were showing Hansol and Seungkwan the renovations you'd made to the guest bedroom, their enthusiastic commentary echoing down the hallway.

Seungcheol was in the garage, rummaging through old boxes, trying to find the extra bulbs for the patio lights that had mysteriously stopped working halfway through the evening. The garage was cluttered. Not messy, but full of the accumulated possessions of a life built together: holiday decorations, camping equipment used once a year, tools that Seungcheol insisted were essential despite your never having seen him use them.

The evening sun had already started dipping low, casting gold through the open doorway. Dust floated in the beams as he pushed aside old photo frames and tangled extension cords, the air thick with the scent of cardboard and faintly musty fabric.

Then he saw it. An old, worn photo album, tucked under a pile of forgotten board games. The cover was faded blue fabric, corners frayed from years of handling. He recognized it instantly. Jeonghan had made it years ago, back when the three of you were still inseparable, your lives woven tightly into each other's days. A graduation gift, he'd called it, though it had arrived months after the ceremony.

Seungcheol sat on the step leading up to the house, flipping it open with careful fingers. The binding creaked slightly, pages stiff from disuse.

Page after page, his smile grew: beach trips with sunburnt cheeks and wind-tangled hair, ice cream dripping down wrists in the summer heat. Movie nights on the couch, all of you piled together under blankets, faces illuminated by the blue glow of the television. Jeonghan's questionable bleached phase that had lasted exactly three weeks before he'd admitted defeat and returned to his natural color. Birthdays, holidays, ordinary Tuesday afternoons that had somehow warranted documentation.

A history, not just of events, but of feeling. Of belonging.

And near the back, tucked into the spine, was a single polaroid. Slightly faded, edges curling. Not inserted into the album proper but hidden, as if meant to be found only by someone who knew where to look.

Just Jeonghan and Seungcheol. Sitting on a rooftop; the one from Jeonghan's old apartment, the city sprawled out below them, lights beginning to flicker on as dusk settled. The photo wasn't posed. Just a moment caught by someone passing by, you, probably, though Seungcheol couldn't remember the specific occasion. He was laughing at something off-camera, head tilted back, eyes nearly closed in genuine mirth.

Jeonghan wasn't looking at the camera.

He was looking at him.

Looking at Seungcheol with an expression so raw, so unguarded, that it felt almost intrusive to see it now, years later, preserved in chemical and paper.

And in that stillness, something lodged in Seungcheol's chest. A realization that had perhaps always been there, dormant, waiting to be acknowledged.

Because it wasn't how you looked at Seungcheol. It wasn't how Jeonghan looked at you. It was how Jeonghan looked at him.

The quiet admiration. The ache tucked carefully into the curve of his smile. That same expression Seungcheol wore the first time he realized he loved you.

Everything shifted.

Memories he hadn't questioned suddenly glowed in new light. The way Jeonghan lingered after game nights, finding reasons to stay just a little longer when everyone else had gone. The way he stood beside Seungcheol during your wedding with his hands too still and eyes too calm, a perfect best man except for the slight tremor in his voice during his toast. The trips abroad that always coincided with your anniversaries, the gifts that were always exactly what Seungcheol needed but had never mentioned wanting.

It had never been about you. It was never about you. It was always him.

"Found the bulbs!" your voice called from behind, pulling Seungcheol out of it. You stepped into the garage, brushing your hands on your shorts. "Finally. They were in the kitchen drawer with the batteries, which makes absolutely no sense, but there they are."

You saw the album in his lap. And then the photo, still held between his fingers. "Oh," you murmured, crouching beside him, your shoulder warm against his. "That's from the old rooftop place, right? The one near the station. Before they turned it into those expensive apartments."

He nodded slowly, fingers still touching the edge of the photo, as if afraid it might disappear if he let go.

You looked at him, then back at the picture. A quiet beat passed. Then you reached out, taking the photo from his hand.

"I'll ask Jeonghan if he remembers this," you said gently, perceiving but not acknowledging the shift in your husband's demeanor. "He's upstairs, I think. Said something about borrowing a book from the office."

You didn't wait for an answer. Just leaned over, pressed a soft kiss to his temple, and headed back inside, leaving him with the album and the weight of understanding.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Later that night, the house was quiet.

The others had long gone home, the remnants of a loud evening now settled into silence. Empty plates still scattered across the kitchen counter, half-empty bottles of wine waiting to be corked, the lingering scent of charcoal and laughter hanging in the air. The living room, hours earlier filled with boisterous voices and overlapping stories, now stood in hushed reverence to the night. You had gone to bed after handing Jeonghan the photo, your footsteps fading up the stairs, leaving behind a trail of soft goodnights.

Seungcheol found himself wandering through the quiet house, turning off forgotten lamps, straightening cushions, his mind racing with revelations he couldn't quite process. Each object he touched seemed weighted with new meaning; the mugs Jeonghan always used when he visited, the blanket he'd gifted them three Christmases ago, the collection of polaroids magnetized to the refrigerator. Years of friendship suddenly illuminated by a different light.

He paused when he spotted movement on the balcony through the glass door. A silhouette against the city lights.

Jeonghan was there.

He always lingered.

Cross-legged in the deck chair, beer in hand, gaze unfocused on the skyline. The soft hush of traffic below mingled with distant sirens and the occasional laughter from a neighboring balcony. A breeze smelling faintly of summer rain. The kind of night that hummed with what's left unsaid. His hair, longer now than it had been in their youth, swayed gently, catching moonlight in silver strands.

Seungcheol slid the door open, the sound causing Jeonghan to tilt his head slightly, acknowledging his presence without turning.

"You're still here," Seungcheol said, his voice barely rising above the ambient sounds of the night.

Jeonghan didn't look over. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd steal the view a little longer." He took a slow sip from his bottle, his fingers wrapped around it with familiar ease. "Besides, the city looks different from this side of town. Prettier somehow."

Seungcheol sat across from him, the wicker chair creaking under his weight. Silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable, just full, like a book with too many pages to read in one sitting.

Then Jeonghan spoke, voice quieter than usual, almost lost in the night breeze. "She showed it to me. The photo."

Seungcheol's chest tightened, a familiar ache now seen through new understanding. He watched Jeonghan's profile, searching for signs he might have missed all these years. "I found it earlier," he said, because there was no point pretending. "Didn't remember it until I saw it again."

Jeonghan let out a breath that seemed to carry years. "Neither did I. Funny how time makes you forget the things you thought you'd carry forever." He traced the rim of the bottle absently, eyes still fixed on some distant point in the cityscape. "And then suddenly, there it is again. Like it never left."

Seungcheol hesitated, words forming and dissolving on his tongue before he finally spoke. "The way you looked at me in it…"

Jeonghan finally turned to him. And for the first time in years, he didn't hide behind teasing smiles or deflecting jokes. His eyes, usually bright with mischief, now held only quiet resignation. "I know."

The words hung there between them, suspended in the balcony air. No denial. No dodge. Just the truth, quiet and steady as a heartbeat.

Seungcheol looked down, his fingers curling against his knees, memories reshuffling themselves in his mind. Every late-night conversation. Every lingering glance. Every time Jeonghan had stepped back, stepped aside, stepped away.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" he asked, the question barely audible above the distant traffic.

"Because you loved her," Jeonghan said simply, his smile small but genuine. "And she loves you. And I wasn't going to be the reason something good broke." He looked back out at the city, the lights reflecting in his eyes. "Some things are worth protecting, even from yourself."

Seungcheol swallowed thickly, his throat tight with words he couldn't form. "You should've told me."

"And what would that have changed?" Jeonghan asked, with the gentlest smile, no trace of bitterness in his voice. "Would you have chosen differently?"

He didn't ask it accusingly. He wasn't trying to wound.

Just… wondering.

Seungcheol didn't answer. The night air filled with possibilities never explored, paths never taken, words never spoken.

Because maybe he wouldn't have.

Maybe he still would've found his way to you.

Maybe Jeonghan still would've stayed by his side, all the same.

"I meant it" Jeonghan said suddenly, softer now, eyes tracing the skyline with practiced care. "When I introduced you two. I thought you'd be good together. And I was right." He paused, taking another sip of his beer, his throat working as he swallowed. "You balance each other. Always have."

He turned then, meeting Seungcheol's gaze with the kind of directness they hadn't shared in years. "You're happy, right? With her?"

Seungcheol nodded slowly, the truth coming easily despite the complexity of the moment. "I am."

Jeonghan smiled, and this time it reached his eyes; warm, genuine, and tinged with something that looked almost like relief. "Then that's all I ever wanted."

He stood then, stretching his arms like he wasn't carrying a lifetime between his ribs, like the conversation hadn't exposed something both of them had spent years carefully avoiding. "I'll crash on the couch. Early flight tomorrow," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Milan this time. Fashion week. Lots of pretentious people." He laughed softly, almost to himself.

Seungcheol didn't stop him.

Didn't ask him to stay.

But as Jeonghan reached the door, he spoke once more, his voice steady. "Hannie."

Jeonghan paused, hand on the door handle, but didn't turn around.

"Thank you," Seungcheol said simply. For what, he didn't specify. For stepping aside, for keeping the secret, for remaining their friend despite everything, for all the years of quiet sacrifice.

Jeonghan's shoulders tensed briefly before relaxing. Without turning, he nodded once and slipped back inside, leaving Seungcheol alone with the night and all its unspoken truths.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

That night, Seungcheol climbed into bed beside you. You stirred faintly, curling closer in the darkness, your hand brushing his chest in your sleep, fingers instinctively seeking the familiar warmth of him. The sheets rustled softly as he settled, your breathing a gentle rhythm against the quiet of the night.

He stared at the ceiling, watching shadows from passing cars slide across it like silent ghosts.

He thought of Jeonghan.

Alone on the couch.

A photo in his pocket.

A thousand miles behind his smile.

And he did nothing.

Said nothing.

Because you didn't know.

And Jeonghan… Jeonghan would never let you know.

He closed his eyes, listening to the soft cadence of your breathing, feeling the gentle weight of your arm across his middle. In the darkness, he allowed himself to imagine, just for a moment, a different path.

One where he had seen, had known, had understood the look in Jeonghan's eyes years ago.

But the thought dissolved as quickly as it formed. Because here, in this bed, in this life, with you. This was his choice. This was his love. And even knowing what he now knew, he wouldn't change it.

So he pressed a kiss to your forehead and let sleep find him, certain in the knowledge that tomorrow, Jeonghan would be gone again. Off to another city, another adventure, but that he would always return. Because that was the promise they had made without words: to stay, to remain, to preserve this fragile, beautiful thing they had built together, even if it meant carrying quiet heartaches no one else could see.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

So the next time they saw each other, everything appeared the same.

The inside jokes flowing easily between them. The playful teasing about Jeonghan's latest hair color and Seungcheol's growing collection of dad jokes. The way Seungcheol passed Jeonghan his drink without needing to ask, already knowing exactly how he liked it. Two ice cubes, a splash more than the usual pour. The comfortable silence as they sat side by side on the porch swing, watching the neighborhood children chase fireflies across the lawn.

To anyone watching; to you, to their friends, to the world.

Nothing had changed.

But in the moments between laughter, something in their eyes lingered. Just for a breath. A silent acknowledgment, a shared secret held carefully between them like something precious and fragile.

Not regret.

Just memory.

And perhaps, in those quiet moments, a different kind of love than either had expected. One built not on possession or fulfillment, but on the quiet dignity of knowing and being known, of choosing to remain despite everything left unsaid.

Because sometimes, love lives quietly. Between heartbeats, across the years, woven into all the words they never found the courage to say. And sometimes, the softest silence speaks the loudest truth of all.

[peaxchydreams]

late night art

late at night in the 1-A dorm common room, izuku and y/n bond over an impromptu art session. while izuku doodles all might in funny scenarios, y/n secretly sketches a portrait of him.

----

the common room of the 1-A dorms was quiet, the moonlight spilling through the large windows and casting a soft glow on the scattered art supplies on the coffee table. most of the class was already asleep, but y/n and izuku sat side by side on the floor, surrounded by sketch pads, pencils, and a few stray markers.

izuku was hunched over his paper, biting his lip in concentration as he carefully shaded what looked like a small doodle of all might holding a cat. “i’m not really good at this,” he mumbled, glancing sideways at y/n. “but it’s kind of fun.”

y/n peeked over at his work, a grin tugging at their lips. “you’re doing fine, midoriya. that’s adorable. all might with a cat, though?”

izuku flushed, his pencil pausing mid-stroke. “i-i just thought… it’d be cute. like, maybe he had a pet when he was younger or something.”

“that’s actually really sweet,” y/n said, shaking their head as they turned back to their own drawing. they’d been sketching a quick portrait of izuku without telling him, trying to capture the way he always looked so determined, even while doing something as simple as art.

after a few minutes of silence, izuku tilted his head toward them, curiosity getting the better of him. “what are you drawing?” he asked, leaning closer to peek. jis eyes widened when he saw the lines of his own face staring back at him.

“is that… me?” he asked, his cheeks flushing pink.

y/n paused, caught in the act, before shrugging nonchalantly. “yeah. you’ve been sitting still for so long, it was easy to use you as a reference.”

izuku blinked, his gaze shifting between the sketch and y/n’s face. “it’s… amazing. you make me look way cooler than i really am.”

y/n rolled their eyes, a soft laugh escaping them. “you’re plenty cool, midoriya. you just don’t see it.”

they fell into a comfortable silence again, occasionally breaking it with quiet comments about each other’s work. by the end of the night, y/n had a series of quick sketches of izuku, while he proudly showed off a little collection of all might doodles with increasingly ridiculous scenarios, like all might in a chef’s hat or balancing a stack of books.

as the sky outside began to lighten with the first hints of dawn, y/n tore a page from their sketch pad a detailed portrait of izuku with his focused expression and handed it to him.

“here,” they said, pressing it into his hands. “keep it. a reminder of how amazing you are, even when you don’t feel like it.”

izuku stared at the drawing, his expression softening into a shy, grateful smile. “thank you, y/n. this means a lot.”

with that, they gathered up their supplies, sharing quiet goodbyes as they headed back to their rooms. as y/n crawled into bed, they couldn’t help but smile, knowing they’d shared a moment that was just theirs, etched into the stillness of the night.

[puck-luck]

might i request a chai latte with whipped cream for jack hughes please? (sub jack trope pretty please!)

feeling a little feral over this one. had to end it where i did before i turned into a whole animal.

You have to give it to him– retroactively speaking, Jack has been such a good boy. You wanted to see how far you could push him today and he hasn’t broken yet. 

He’s slinged up, one arm already out of commission. You’d been generous when you decided to leave Jack’s other arm free, often opting for tying it out of the way since he’s so prone to trying to take more than he deserves. Its place is on your thigh, crossed over your body and keeping your legs securely over his lap. 

You’re both fully clothed, joggers and a sweatshirt on Jack since the straps of the sling bother his bare skin, whereas you’re in some booty shorts and a big t-shirt. You’re in the early stages of this, planning to make Jack beg for everything more he needs. His day of edging starts with begging for a kiss.

Your cold fingers have already dipped below his waistband. They’re warming up against the soft, often hidden skin of his abdomen and Jack has relaxed visibly because of their proximity to his cock. He has absolute certainty that you’ll touch him when it’s the proper time. It’s taken a while for Jack to accept that you know what’s best here, that you’re the one who will think through every action, motion, or play. Now that he has, he’s utter putty in your hands.

There’s a hand in his hair, scratching his scalp and playing with his brown waves. He’s breathing steadily, steadily enough that an outsider might think that he’s asleep, but you can tell he isn’t. While his hand remains on your thigh, it has started to mirror your touch. 

You’d be lying if you said the gentle caress wasn’t tempting you to start doing more, but you hold steadfast.

Whenever you stop moving your hand in his hair, Jack nudges you with his head like a cat. He wants you to keep moving and eventually, he’s pulled you close enough that your body is cradled into his side. It’s the perfect set-up, with Jack designing his own infuriating trap to fall into, given that all you have to do to kiss him is tilt your chin up.

You lift your head enough that your lips brush his, a fleeting pass, just enough for Jack to know that it wasn’t the wind interrupting this impromptu cuddle session. Sometimes he just needs you close, especially when he’s freshly injured, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t get to have fun with you as well. He needs both in his life. It’s a little twisted, but you want to keep him in this liminal space for as long as you can before he bursts. You love when Jack whines. You love when he needs more. At the same time, you love when Jack is soft like this.

The softness is reflected in his hazy, sleepy eyes when his pretty lashes flutter open and he looks at you. His drunken need for you shines in the curve of his bottom lip, dropping slightly in reaction to your kiss. He looks like he wants to say something, but his tongue is heavy in his mouth, so he settles for looking at you instead.

Drawing a beg from him might be harder than you think, but you’re persistent. You bide your time. You wait for him to relax into your touch again, sliding your hand over his waist as you twirl a strand of hair around your finger. It’s then that you slot your lips with his and give him a taste of something more real.

When you pull away, his head follows yours. His eyes are still closed, lips pursed and head tilted to the side, feeling the phantom touch you left behind. 

His eyes open with a bit more alertness behind them this time. Jack looks at you and licks his bottom lip. His fingers are twitching on your thigh, pads of his digits pressing into your bare skin in an effort to either steel himself or encourage you to come even closer.

Your hand beneath his sweatshirt passes his ribcage and your thumb swipes over his nipple. 

Jack straightens slightly, breathing through his mouth. You ghost your lips over his again, the space between your mouths teeming with wrought energy, but you don’t close it. When Jack attempts to, you shift back.

The first time, he’s confused. 

The second, his eyebrows furrow. 

By the third, he’s full-on frowning and trying to chase you down. 

You remove your hand from beneath his sweatshirt and place your dainty, manicured hand on Jack’s neck. Your thumb is on one side of his Adam’s apple, three fingers on the other, pinkie resting on his clavicle. You tilt your head to the side and watch Jack freeze, feel his throat bob under your fingertips. 

The haze in his eyes is back and his gaze is locked on your lips. As it should be. 

[cipherstarling]

Love Language Headcanons [Stanford Pines x Reader]

I stayed up til 3 am thinking about this man. I will be finding a way to integrate these HCs in To Sonder

Ford loved you so reverently, so deeply that it often left you speechless. This man thrives off acts of service and he loves showering you with gifts. 

*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──✧*

💙 He wasn't clueless to your affections, but he does have trouble comprehending why you liked him back. 

💙 He looks forward to the way your eyes would brighten when you see him. It’s like seeing a comet fly in the night sky, rare and reserved only for him.

💙 Your cheeks would turn an adorable rosy color because of him, and he doesn’t really understand why at first. He does NOT know how much of a catch he is, damn.

💙 He thinks of you whenever he finds a pink flower out in the wild. Whenever the skies turn pink on a hot summer afternoon, it’s you who occupies his mind. 

💙 He'd leave you dried flowers in your favorite spots in the shack. At first, you chalked it up to his forgetfulness. He tends to leave unfinished notes and contraptions all around the house.

💙 Whenever you'd bring his supposedly unfinished projects back to him, he merely smiles at you and tells you to keep them. 

💙 Eventually, you had enough flowers to fill an album. He'd be really happy if you collected them and stored them carefully.

💙 Stanford's talents weren't limited to science and invention- he was also an artist.

💙 Admittedly, he does sketch you- a lot. Some of these drawings do slip out of his journals or he simply forgets to put them away- they'll fall out of his pocket. 

💙 He will wake you up at 4 in the morning to show you a goddamn cryptid- or anomaly, as he refers to it- he plucked off the forest floor from one of his excursions.

💙 It would be something marvelous and beautiful. He sometimes forgets people need sleep, though eventually, he'll learn to wait til next morning to show you pictures or take you where he found the new creature. 

💙 He'll make you trinkets!

💙 He can't really sit still for too long. So whenever you tell him to relax and lock him out of the lab and his study, he'll have an impromptu arts and crafts session. 

💙 He's made you a tiny terrarium filled with pretty, bioluminescent moss.

💙 He made you a locket! What's so special about it? Well, it may look normal but he engraved it himself with his homemade laser! He nearly lost a few fingers in the process, but hey, he reasoned that had an extra two if it did happen!,

💙 He gave you things that had the color spectrum only shrimps could see. 

💙 Sometimes, you'll catch him staring at a blue flower he kept on his desk. A dreamy, wistful expression rested on his face before a huff resembling a laugh would escape him.

💙 One day, he'll tell you that he could see one of those special colors the human eye can't quite comprehend. One day, he'll tell you about the being who named an impossible color after him, the closest he's ever been to having a love letter written to him by an equally impossible being. 

💙 This man is so unbelievably touch starved, that he'll never initiate physical contact. You may have to take the lead on this one. 

💙 Or maybe, he wouldn't even realize he initiated contact until after it happened. 

💙 Maybe that invisible wall Ford built around himself would crumble one rainy day. 

💙 You'd be shivering. His Ma raised a gentleman, so he gives you his coat. He holds a small umbrella over you- he didn't really account for being out in the forest with someone else today. So he leans it over your side, making sure you're dry and soaking his shirt to keep you mostly warm.

💙 He frowned at the way you rubbed your hands together and shook under the weather. 

💙 He cups a warm hand around your smaller ones. He reassures you you're almost back home as he rubbed smooth, calming circles over the back of your hand.

💙 But in a blink, he'll realize how close he got. He turns into an absolute tomato and starts stuttering. You giggle as he pulls his hand away and shoves them deep into his pocket. 

💙 You keep your hand over his, gently guiding the umbrella so that it covers him too. The poor man's gonna catch a cold at this rate.

💙 Eventually, he'll learn to be more forward and show you more affection.

💙 He'll intentionally stand as close to you as he can, hoping you'd hug him or hold his hand. 

💙 He'll melt if you reach out and adjust his glasses for him. Leaning his face into the palm of your hand while fixing you with the softest look ever. 

💙 Out of the blue, he'd sometimes catch you off guard and hug you from behind. He forgets how quiet his footsteps are, after years of learning to sneak around skittish creatures for his work.

💙 Even when he's distracted by note taking and reading, he'll grope around blindly for your hand. Resting it around yours as he mumbled and crunched numbers for his latest invention. 

💙 At night, he definitely is a big spoon. The man's a furnace, and if you're cold, he'll actually enjoy that. It balances him out. Insert nerdy scientific joke about how opposites attract, here!

💙 More to come~

[yestrday]

hihi! may i suggest the 2nd years’ reaction to a teasing but easily flustered darling? they’re like a mix of a hiyakasudere (teasedere) and a dandere. long story short, it’s kinda like “oooo you want to kiss me so bad aha” to “WAIT WHY ARE YOU GETTING SO CLOSE” kinda thingy + don’t forget to take care of yourself! don’t forget to drink water and get some rest! :)

hoooly shit this has been in my drafts for so long and i finally had a sudden spark of inspiration to finally finish it. i'm so sorry anon you've waited a terribly long time

now, for the moments where your yandere harem is not-so-yandere and relatively normal-looking

you might like: yan! academy genshin second years

you thought that you'd get to share a nice lunch with your dear friend albedo after he invited you to a nice secluded spot for the both of you to spend lunch together. the food was definitely nice— this is albedo we're talking about after all— but you couldn't help but find yourself pouting. all he had been doing all lunch was sketch away at his papers.

hmph. you think. shouldn't he give me a bit of his attention?

hoping to sneak some sort of reaction out of him, you inch closer to his drawings. he’s never had a problem with you looking at his unfinished work and yet his strong but gentle hand reach out and firmly root you to your position. “don’t move,” he mutters. and then a long period of silence follows, but this time his eyes study every inch of your face and body.

"don't you think you're starin' at me a bit too much?" you croon, flashing one of your mischievous grins at the ever stoic student with the hope of alleviating some of the awkardness you feel. "someone might think you have a crush on me.”

“maybe i do,” he hums. “what about it?” it’s so nonchalant that it’d pass through anyone’s ears as a joke, but you’re so hyper-aware of everything right now that the blush starts rising to your cheeks, gaping at him with an open mouth.

“wh– what?!” you hate how squeaky your voice is.

“oh nothing,” he resumes back to his sketching before he gives you a glance over and smirks at you. “don’t you think you’re blushing too much? someone might think you have a crush on me.”

“a– albedo!”

no one knows how xiao lets you get away with how overly touchy you are. you’re not exactly what they’d imagine to be hanging around xiao. you smile too much, flirt and tease with people, and you drag the boy around to places almost embarassing to be seen at. but xiao follows anyway. one moment he’ll go: “hmph. and why should i?” but when you pout and just whine about going with another boy, he’s immediately latching onto your arm.

you’re aware of how differently xiao treats you and to be honest, you’re a little bit smug. you like to exert your power over him time to time. pushing a little too close or trailing your fingers up his surprisingly toned muscles just to tease him.

“you’re shameful,” he’d huff and look away, but you’re delighted at how his porcelain face turns into a bright cherry shade and continue teasing him anyway.

xiao is aware of this power you have over him, but he doesn’t stop you. he likes this warm and fluttery feeling you overwhelm him with. still, it’d be nice if he could change the tables for a moment and make you stutter and blush instead.

this musing of his is shelved away in his mind until an impromptu study date comes up. poring over your textbooks for the upcoming quiz, you snack away on some nuts to help you concentrate. when xiao looks up, he sees some crumbs on you’re too focused to notice. absentmindedly, he reaches over the table and slides a finger to wipe away the crumbs. you take this the wrong.

“wh- what are you doing?!” you squeak, face blaring red. “we’re studying, you know!”

he hushes you. “hold still.”

he brings the finger to his mouth and licks up the food, confused at your shock and embarassment but no questioning it. he sits back down and resumes his studies while you spend the rest of the session covering your face with a book and fanning your face. xiao remains ever oblivious as he focuses on passing the test, unaware that his wish has already been granted.

kazuha takes your flirtatious advances seriously, because well, romance and love must be taken seriously. somewhere in the back of his mind he can sense that you’re just joking... still, let kazuha delude himself for a tiny bit.

all flirty remarks of yours are responded with sincere and genuine exclamations of love which has you blushing and running away with every encounter with him. you don’t even know why you bother anymore, but perhaps it’s the urge to see the ever so calm and serene kazuha lose his composure because of you.

it’s for the sake of blushy kazuha! you pump yourself up before pushing open the classroom doors. the boy idles by the window sill, away from the chatter of your classmates. your presence immediately has him perking up and smiling at you from across the room. you take a deep breath and close your eyes.

be still, be confident. you’re gonna get him today! 

“hi kazu~” you grin, sauntering over to him with brimming confidence. “your most favorite person is here!” you open your mouth, planning to pour out another set of cheesy pick-up lines and compliments, but kazuha reacts quicker.

“indeed, you are here right now,” he says in nigh reverence. he takes a stray lock from your hair and twirls it around his finger. “i’ve missed you over the weekend, you know?” he kisses it and smiles at you. the morning sun lights his face aglow, and the wind brushing past the window makes his hair flutter along with your heart. “oh, [your name]? you’re redder than a maple leaf.”

steam puffs out of your ears at being called out, and you stumble back, glaring at him. “i-i’ll get you one day, kazu! i swear i will!” and when you make a tactical retreat, kazuha only laughs to himself before fondly kissing the finger that held your lock of hair so tenderly.

you honestly thought that thoma would be the easily flustered type, but he's really not. it's always the same reaction out of him: you flirt, he stops, stares, and his lips crack into a brilliant yet amused smile. your charms, that have flawlessly worked on both me and women, are received like an elder brother witnessing their sibling's antics.

it makes your blood boil! really! the audacity of this guy to just shrug off your remarks when you're already growing desperate to get a reaction out of him! you up your charisma, bat your lashes more, but no, nada! it makes you a bit insecure��� juuuust a little. is your allure starting to wane?

you're sulkily poking at your lunchbox, too caught up with your little dilemma to actually eat. thoma notices from across you, and his brows pinch together in concern as he regards your expression.

"is everything okay, [your name]?" he asks softly, placing a gentle hand on yours to let you know he's there. "you don't seem to have an appetite today. is the lunchbox i made not up to your liking?"

you might be sulking, but archon forbid you make thoma think his cooking wasn't up to standard! you frantically shake your head, before settling down and letting out a sigh.

"thoma~" you let out a whine, grasping his hand on yours with both of yours. you pout as prettily as you can, letting the lips you meticulously glossed this morning do their job, bat your lashes, and doing everything and anything you can in your power to turn it up a hundred times more. "be honest with me. do you find me pretty at all?"

his eyes widen at the question. "o– of course, i do, [your name]! there's no one in this school who doesn't find you attractive." something dark flickers in his eyes for a moment as he mutters lowly. "believe me."

that shadow disappears as soon as it comes, and squeezes your hands reassuringly. "more than just being attractive, i like you for who you are." his soft green eyes crease downward in a fond look, and you think your heart is racing a hundred miles per second. "i'm here with you, aren't i?"

you do your utmost best to respond, but your tongue fails you. your brain has short-circuited, and you can barely hear anything than the pounding of your heart and the muffled worried calls of your name. you slump in your seat, steam coming out of your brain and dizzy from the heartburn. you are defeated at your game.

there are advantages and disadvantages to flirting with the scaramouche. when you shoot him one of your teasing remarks or sidle a bit too close to his side, the people around you look at you like you're crazy.

and you are. you're crazy obsessed with his reactions, how sardonic and dry-humor they are but so cute and feisty. so what if his glares keep getting scarier and scarier, if his lips curl up in a sneer whenever he sees you. you don't waste a single moment in trying to get a reaction out of him!

"hey, scara~♪" your head pops out from the corner while he's busy with his locker, and glances at you before resuming with his work. "you're as cute as ever as always!"

"and i can see that you still insist on being annoying," he says plainly, before slamming his locker shut and fixing you with his signature dirty glare. "when will you stop bothering me, or do i have to put up with your nonsense until graduation?"

"only if you'll have me~"

"idiot," he scoffs. "to be disturbing me like this day in and day out. you have some nerve, [last name]. are you really that keen on breaking my peace? or—" he studies your face carefully, before a smug smile breaks out on his lips. "are you really that obsessed with me?"

your mind blanks out at the sudden accusation and you can feel the heat rising in your face. "o–obsessed with you? don't be absurd! i– you– you're not the only one, you know! don't get too full of yourself." your face reddens further as his smirk only grows, and you stomp your foot childishly. "believe me!"

"tut, tut, [last name]. you won't get further in this society if you wear your hearts on a sleeve like that. but don't worry." he lifts your chin up with a slender finger, and as much as that knowing grin of his is humiliating, you can't help but appreciate how alluring the expression is on him. "since you're so obsessed with me, i don't mind letting a commoner like you live under my care when the time calls for it."

[sixflame438]

Again and Again

Synopsis - Its your first fansign event and you receive unwanted comments. Your girlfriend comforts you backstage but then your members catch you in a moment.

Pairing - Hong Eunchae x 6th lsfm!reader

Tags - Angst, fluff, rude “fans”, secret and established relationship, kinda iffy tbh, possible errors, kissing, a lil bit of swearing at the end

A/N - [Request] Lowkey Eunchae oppa agenda, lets pretend lsfm didnt have any fansign events before antifragile era mk? There is a prequel fic that happens before the events of this one, its short and more fluffier than this one imo [Part 1]

Wordcount - 2890

You loved being an idol. You loved singing, you loved dancing, you loved making people happy through what you did and you most definitely loved meeting you fans. But not this. This was not what you signed up for. Youd guess it was probably the 6th person thats done this today.

Each time was the same. They would get to the seat in front of yours , give you a judgy look filled with disgust and proceed to berate you and tell you how worthless you are compared to your members and that the group would be better off without you. And of course, that hurt. The first 2 times were easy to brush off but with it happening again and again? Well, you were only so strong.

Some would do it quietly as to not draw attention to themselves but some didnt even care enough to do so, yelling like dads with beers by the bbq. Security would come drag them away but this didnt matter much as you were last on the table, theyd have to leave anyway.

As the timer rang for the next rotation, you subtly called over your manager, signalling for a timeout. Luckily she was a sweet kind lady who quickly noticed the tears pooling in your eyes. With the nod of approval you silently got up and left for your break room, not wanting anyone to notice your discomfort or waterworks. As intended nobody did, except for one.

It was funny, you and her were on the opposite ends of the table. How she managed to notice and kazuha (who was next to you but didnt realise until you were gone) wouldve baffled you but you were too in your head to care.

Muffled noises were all you could hear as the world around you became muted. You could barely make out the event coordinator telling your group to have an impromptu photo session with the fans and the same fans screaming in excitement.

Being an idol was all you had ever wanted. You loved singing, you loved dancing and debuting in Le Sserafim was a dream come true. You were confident in your abilities and knew you always tried putting your all into every performance. But was it enough? What if the haters were right?

You were well aware of the comments circulating the internet, it was hard not to notice them. And although you didnt want to believe it, you could see why people thought what they did. Like just look at your groups lineup.

Huh Yunjin, a professionally trained opera singer and amazing song writer and producer as shown when “Raise Y_our Glass” was released to celebrate your groups 100th day and Kazuha Nakamura, a professional ballet dancer of 15 years before joining the group, who even trained at a national ballet academy.

If those two werent already cool enough you also had Kim Chaewon and Sakura Miyawaki in your group too, both beloved and popular members of the former popular girl group Iz*one. Not to mention how Sakura was basically Japans sweetheart, everyone and their parents knew about her. Your members had past merits and achievements with proof to show for but you? You were just you.

You who debuted in only 18 months. But was that enough? You were good at dancing and singing, had a stunning face card and had great charisma but it all felt like an understatement when compared to your groupmates.

You would be a liar if you said that was everyone in your group though as in through your assigned break room walked the final member. Your favourite person in the whole wide world, the groups adorable maknae or lesser known as your beloved girlfriend.

You and Eunchae met as trainees under the same label. Being more reserved and barely speaking unless prompted made it hard to make any friends but what started as small nods of acknowledgement and morning greetings turned into quiet conversations during breaks.

Obviously Eunchae was the one to come up to you first and if you had to pick someone to talk to in amongst the group of strangers you were training with, you’d always pick her. Even before she came up to you, it was apparent that everyone wanted to befriend her.

Her cheerful sunshine demeanour naturally drew you in and it definitely helped that she was easy to talk to. Slowly over time your friendship grew and so did you. The two of you were inseparable and there was never a moment apart, everything was done together and it was just the way you liked it.

Every monthly evaluation, every critique, every failure. She helped you through your time as a trainee, constantly helping you use the feedback you received to improve on your skills. And of course you were there for Eunchae too, never failing to cheer her up after a hard day of training.

To anyone else you were just besties as the clinginess could easily be excused to how touchy Eunchae was with any and everyone. Wrong, but theyd never know that.

You genuinely believed that if it werent for Eunchaes radiant positivity, you would’ve never gotten through being a trainee and you wouldve never debuted together.

“Hey baby” she said cautiously as she approached, careful not to scare or overwhelm you any more.

You were curled up on the couch, arms around your legs, knees up to your face. Shaking and bawling with tears.

“Whats wrong sweetheart?” The only response was more crying.

Eunchae could feel her heart chipping away with every shake and choked out sob you let out. She had an idea about what had led you to this moment, she had seen the comments too.

They were nasty, downright diabolical things someone should never say to anyone. It was cruel, harmful and completely wrong. How people thought they could say things like this and have them backed up was something Eunchae would never understand.

“There were people hic calling me names and hic saying things about me and hic saying I dont belong in the group” you choked out painfully between each point. Eunchae couldn’t believe it. To post hateful comments online was one thing but to tell them to the idol herself? The audacity some people had.

The worst part was this was happening to you and only you. Maybe her other members had a few issues too but Eunchae had none. Everything was smooth sailing and perfect from her perspective so to know that you werent having the same crushed her.

“Theyre also saying that im worthless hic and that the groups better off hic without someone like me and hic and-“ You couldn’t even continue. The tears were blurring your vision and it was getting hard to speak so you just gave up trying. Exactly like the netizens wanted.

Eunchae had heard enough. Clearly there was more to be said but she didn’t want to know. You didnt deserve any of the atrocious comments. You didn’t deserve the threats and insults. And someone as sweet and kind as you didnt deserve the hate. It was unjustified.

You had long since dropped your legs when you started explaining and Eunchae took that opportunity to climb onto your lap, sitting up nice and close. Cradling your face with her hands, Eunchae used her thumbs to wipe away the running tears, drawing your attention away from your shoes and up to her face.

“Hey baby listen to me alright? The comments? Theyre wrong. All completely lies made up because theyre mad. Mad youre better than them in so many ways.”

“They cant help but be envious of you because well look at you. Youre talented, hardworking and absolutely jaw droppingly gorgeous. Are they the ones that preform on stage in front of thousands? No. Thats you. Do those scummy douchebags have thousands of fans worldwide supporting them? No. Thats you. And yes it is a group effort but you are playing your part. “

“You aren’t worthless or ugly or better off like they claim, youre more than they will ever be and you’ve already achieved more than they have. Plus who are they to say anything about you? Theyre probably lazy, unhygienic, haters who are single asf and have no bitches.”

“Dont ever let someone as unrelevant as that say anything about you alright? They know nothing about the effort you put into this and trust me, youre beautiful and funny girlfriend, when I say that you are just so amazing. No one can ever compare and im really proud to call you mine.”

“Sure maybe our unnies have already done things before that doesn’t mean we aren’t capable of doing those things too. Its my first time debuting too and this is the start of our journey, theres plenty of time to prove ourselves. If you ever feel lost again, remember that you’ve got me okay? And the unnies. And piona. There will always be people supporting you no matter what.”

“Chae…”

“Hush my baby its okay ive got you” she says as she wraps herself around you, running her hand through your hair to soothe and calm you down.

It was funny how different the roles were in your relationship. Even though you were older it was always as if Eunchae was your unnie instead, always caring and trying to take care of you. Of course you did the same for her too but she became a different person when it was just you two alone.

Despite internet thoughts Eunchae was quite mature, often sounding like Chaewon or Sakura at times. You guess its probably due to how close everyone was and how theyre the parental figures of the group. If Eunchae was the groups maknae, you were hers.

“Lets dry off the tears now yeah? They cover your eyes too much and i like them best when youre happy. You’re beautiful you know that?”

You did know, she told you almost everyday. But that didnt stop your heart from fluttering any differently. The warmth from your closeness and the comforting words had you smiling like a lovesick fool. Absolutely smitten or just stupid in love if you will.

“Yeah i do. Thanks pumpkin I really appreciate it” you say with a small smile. It wasnt as bright as it could be but it was a start.

Eunchae just nods with content, as if her life’s purpose had been fulfilled and she could now rest peacefully. Like a true oppa gentlemen she gracefully picks up your hand and delicately places a kiss on the back. Then your wrist, shoulder, cheek and awaiting lips.

They were feather light touches with that lingering tickly effect making you squirm a little.

“Chae stop kissing me” you whine with a pout but still giggling as you try to stop her from kissing you while you were still a mess.

“I cant help it, seeing you smile like that makes it hard not to” she says with a childish grin.

You cant help but giggle to yourself again. It was so innocent, so adorable and absolutely what you fell for in the first place.

Eunchae hooks her arms around your neck as she leans in again for a longer kiss, this time with more appreciation and pure admiration.

Hands holding Eunchae steady, you smile into the kiss, going with the motions. You would always love your girlfriend for everything she did. You loved her then, you love her now and there was nothing stopping you from loving her in the future either.

Your dreaming is cut short though when you hear a loud, high pitched shriek coming from across the room.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK”

Startled you look towards the now open door and the 4 figures standing in the entrance.

“YUNJIN”

“Youre gonna give us away idiot”

“Crap sorry”

“Too late dumbass”

You stared back at your members with wide eyes. Shocked was an understatement. How much did they see? In a hurry you tried to lift your girlfriend off your lap but she wouldnt budge, gripping onto you tighter like a koala. Eunchae wasnt phased. She didnt care you got caught, it was about time anyway.

“Hi Unnies” Eunchae says casually as if they didnt just walk in on something important.

“Care to tell us whats going on” your leader asks accusingly with raised eyebrows.

“Shitty people said some even more fucked up things to yn, so im cheering her up”

“Hong Eunchae language” Chaewon scolded angrily, clearly upset over something. Either that being the youngest swearing or the discovery that the second youngest was receiving hate comments.

“I dont care. They cant just go and make my Yn sad like that. She deserves nothing but happiness” the maknae replies resolute in her words.

“My yn?”

“How long?”

“Over a year” you say meekly, finally choosing to join the conversation

“WHATTTTTTT”

“WAIT THATS SO CUTE”

The simultaneous loud responses overwhelm you a little as you wince further into your seat.

“Are you guys not mad?”

“No why would we be?”

“I am, very.” Yunjin says with a faux stern face.

“Oh” is all you say as your heart drops, tensing and panicking on the inside.

“Oh no no im not actually mad im kidding”

Relief washes through as you let out a held gasp of air, head falling back onto the couch. Maybe if you hadnt had a meltdown just before you wouldve called her out on her tomfoolery.

“Why didnt you tell us earlier?” Questions the ballerina, her head tilting sideways as she always did when she was confused.

Sensing that you werent going to respond Eucnahe quickly chimed in. “Uhm we dont really have a good reason to be fair but we didnt know if you guys wouldve been okay with it and we just never got around to saying anything”

You could see some nods coming from the group but knowing your group you were bound to get pounced with more questions later.

“Unacceptable so you guys have been secretly dating this entire time and weve known nothing. Im being lied to by my own children” cries the group producer, her head now laying on kazuhas shoulder pretending to weep and cry.

“Yunjin unnie youre so dramatic”

Sakura, ever the timely person and mother of the group quickly draws attention to the matter at hand. “This has been quite the discovery but breaks ending in 5 mins we should probably go back out soon. You can all talk about it later”

“Dammit man. Urgh whatever when the singing is over i want answers and every detail you hear me?” Yunjin asserts pointing at you and Eunchae on the couch as she walks out.

Each member leaves the room and its when you hear them talking outside that you realise Chaewon didnt say much about you and Eunchae. Now you were back to being worried, mentally preparing yourself for an explosive outburst later when you got back to the dorms. Breaking you from your thoughts, Kazuha pokes her head around the door.

“You guys are really cute btw” she says with her signature smile, exuding calm and warmth before she went back on her way to the stage. Such a precious soul.

The comment helps to ease your worry but before you can keep thinking about it Eunchae places another kiss on lips.

“Hey dont worry about it, its just the members. They love us just the same with or without relationship.”

“Lets show the haters that no matter how much they talk it wont matter because which group are you in?”

You chuckle to yourself knowing whats coming before replying back to Eunchae like she was an army general.

“Le Sserafim!”

“And what are you?”

“An idiot sandwich!”

“No youre not! What are you?”

“Im fearless!”

“Haha thats my girl.” Eunchae replies as she gives your shoulder a nudge. Her bubbly personality (the one shown on screen) taking its place to lighten the mood.

“Can you give me a minute?”

Your girlfriend nods, removing herself from your lap and leaving to go wait by the door.

You use the time to collect yourself, quickly brushing your hair with your hands and touching up your make up with the supplies left from earlier. Taking one last glance at your reflection you leave, content with the way you were. You weren’t going to let a few bad comments get in the way of what could be an amazing day.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah lets go” You reply with a smile, as you link your arm with Eunchaes, walking down the hallway going towards the stage.

Its not possible to have everyone like you and you knew that. Not everyone was going to have the overwhelming support someone like Chaewon and Sakura had and there was always going to be fan favourites like Eunchae.

But you were content and grateful for what you had. A group of fantastic members, a supportive family, tons of loving fans (the true ot6 supporters) and of course your wonderful girlfriend.

You loved Eunchae and it was apparent why everyone loved Eunchae so much too. You were 1 of millions but it was you she chose. And you knew, at the bottom of your heart, that even if no one did, shed always choose you. Again and again.

[seoulzie]

daydreams & doodles

WHEREIN: huening mindlessly doodles on your arm pairing: college!hyuka x gn!reader genre: fluff warning: none (i think..)

the sun streamed through the classroom windows, casting warm patterns on the desks. you sat in the middle row, absently tapping your pen against your notebook. today’s lesson was a blur, the teacher’s voice a distant hum.

next to you, huening kai was equally disengaged, his focus not on the blackboard but on your arm.

you glanced at him, a small smile playing on your lips as he gently took your arm and started doodling. his concentration was adorable, his tongue slightly poking out as he drew tiny stars, hearts, and little animals. each stroke was light and delicate, the ink forming whimsical patterns on your skin.

“hey, what’s that supposed to be?” you whispered, trying to suppress a giggle.

huening looked up, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “it’s a surprise,” he whispered back, a grin spreading across his face.

as he continued, you found yourself watching him more than paying attention to the lesson. the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the slight curve of his lips as he enjoyed his impromptu art session – it was all endearing.

suddenly, the classroom fell silent. you snapped your head up to see the teacher standing directly in front of you both, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. huening froze, the marker still poised over your arm. the teacher’s stern gaze swept over the two of you, making your cheeks flush with heat.

“mr. huening,” the teacher said, her voice carrying a hint of amusement, “i don’t believe doodling on your classmate is part of the curriculum.”

a ripple of laughter spread through the classroom. huening kai’s face turned a deep shade of red, his eyes wide with embarrassment. he quickly pulled his hand away, trying to hide the marker behind his back.

“i’m sorry, mrs. lee,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

mrs. lee’s expression softened, and she sighed, shaking her head with a small smile. “just try to focus on the lesson, both of you,” she said, her tone gentle. “and maybe save the artwork for after class.”

as she walked away, the laughter died down, and the class resumed its usual rhythm. you looked over at huening, who was still blushing furiously, avoiding your gaze. you nudged him gently with your elbow.

“hey, it’s okay,” you said softly. “i like your doodles.”

he glanced at you, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “really?”

“really,” you assured him, holding up your arm to admire the little drawings. “they’re cute. just like you.”

he peeked at you, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "thanks," he mumbled. "sorry for getting you in trouble."

"it's fine, hyuka" you assured him. "besides, i kind of like being your canvas."

huening's blush deepened, but he couldn't help but chuckle. "maybe next time, i'll just stick to paper," he said, giving you a sheepish grin.

© 2024 seoulzie

[andy-15-07]

Hi! Could you please write an Aaron × director! girlfriend fiction, where they make together the movie 'A million little pieces'? Thanks!

Fragments of Us

pairing: Aaron Taylor Johnson x female!reader

word count:2892 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Aaron Taylor Johnson Masterlist

Aaron arrived on the bustling set early one crisp autumn morning, his mind already abuzz with ideas for their ambitious new project, A Million Little Pieces. The film was an intricate tapestry of human struggle and redemption, and every member of the team knew that this production was unlike anything they’d ever attempted before. As he stepped through the heavy set doors, he couldn’t help but notice the soft hum of creative energy in the air—and the one person whose presence immediately captured his attention was y/n.

Y/n wasn’t just any crew member; she was the director’s girlfriend, known for her keen eye for detail and an uncanny ability to smooth over production mishaps with a gentle laugh and a well-timed suggestion. Today, however, there was an added intensity in her gaze as she watched Aaron approach, her eyes flickering with a mixture of professional respect and something more private, something that neither of them had quite acknowledged until now.

“Good morning, Aaron,” she greeted warmly, extending her hand as they passed by a cluster of busy assistants. “I’ve been looking forward to discussing the scene breakdowns with you.”

Aaron accepted her hand with a charming smile. “Morning, y/n. I was hoping to catch up with you. I’ve got some new thoughts about the opening sequence—something raw and intimate that I think might really set the tone.”

They walked together toward a quieter corner of the set, where a makeshift lounge area had been arranged for impromptu brainstorming sessions. The chatter of the crew faded into the background as they settled into comfortable chairs, the soft murmur of distant conversations melding with the rustle of papers and the occasional clink of a coffee mug.

“So, tell me what you’ve been mulling over,” y/n said, leaning forward with genuine curiosity. “I know this film means a lot to you—and to all of us.”

Aaron’s eyes lit up as he began to speak. “I want the audience to feel every little fragment of the protagonist’s internal battle. Imagine a scene where the camera lingers on the smallest gestures—a trembling hand, a tear that almost falls, the barely perceptible tightening of the jaw—each shot speaking volumes without a word being uttered.”

Y/n nodded thoughtfully. “I love that idea. It’s like we’re piecing together a mosaic of emotions, each fragment contributing to the larger story.” Her voice was soft yet assured, and as she spoke, Aaron felt his heart rate quicken. There was an intimacy in the way she articulated her vision—a vulnerability paired with strength.

Aaron leaned in, lowering his voice slightly. “I’ve been thinking… maybe there’s a way for our characters to mirror each other’s struggles. Not in a literal sense, but in the way their lives intersect. It’s as if every moment is a tiny, almost imperceptible piece of something greater.”

Their conversation flowed seamlessly, punctuated by bursts of laughter and moments of silence filled with mutual understanding. Over the next hour, they pored over storyboards and scribbled notes on napkins, each dialogue exchange drawing them closer. At one point, y/n’s eyes met Aaron’s, and in that brief moment, a spark passed between them—an unspoken recognition of the emotional risk they were both taking by sharing these personal insights.

As the day wore on, the production schedule loomed large, and they found themselves pulled in different directions. Yet even in the midst of chaotic call sheets and last-minute adjustments, the two would steal moments to chat in quiet corridors or over quick coffee breaks.

Later that afternoon, while reviewing the day's footage in a small screening room, Aaron and y/n sat side by side. The tension of the editing room was palpable as they discussed the raw, unpolished scenes that now lay before them on the monitor.

“I noticed something in this take,” Aaron commented, pausing the footage with a click of the remote. “When I’m supposed to be breaking down emotionally, there’s this split-second when your expression in the background seems almost… reflective. Like you’re witnessing more than just the performance.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink as she met his gaze. “I—I suppose I was really absorbing the scene,” she admitted softly. “Sometimes, the emotions you evoke on set have a way of resonating with everyone present. It’s like I can’t help but feel every little piece of what you’re trying to convey.”

Aaron’s smile was gentle but laced with something more. “That’s exactly what I’m aiming for. Every little piece, every quiet moment—they all matter. It’s almost as if our own emotions are interwoven with the film’s story.”

Their dialogue was punctuated by pauses and shared smiles, each comment layering over the previous one until the conversation became less about the film and more about the subtle dance of their mutual admiration. But even as they delved deeper into their creative discussion, both were acutely aware of the ethical labyrinth they were navigating. Y/n was, after all, the director’s girlfriend—a fact that weighed heavily on both of them, even as their connection deepened.

A few days later, after a long day of shooting an emotionally charged scene in a rain-soaked alleyway, Aaron found y/n alone on the set. The rain had finally ceased, leaving behind a damp, reflective silence that matched the mood of the scene they’d just filmed.

“y/n,” Aaron began hesitantly, “I’ve been meaning to ask… how do you manage to keep your passion for the project so unwavering? I mean, with everything happening on and off set, it seems like you carry this calm determination that steadies us all.”

She smiled, though it was tinged with a hint of melancholy. “I think it’s because I believe in the story we’re telling, in every single little piece that builds it up. Sometimes, the world feels overwhelming, but then I remember that every fragment—every tear, every smile—has a purpose. It’s not just about making a movie; it’s about capturing something real.”

Aaron’s gaze softened as he listened to her. “I feel that too. It’s like… every time we connect on these ideas, I see a reflection of my own struggles and hopes. And somehow, in those moments, everything makes sense.”

Their eyes locked, and for a heartbeat the noisy world around them fell away. It was in that silence that the unspoken words began to form—a conversation not of ideas, but of emotions too profound to articulate in ordinary language.

Yet, even as the tension between them grew, both were mindful of the consequences. Aaron knew that crossing that line could hurt the director, someone he respected immensely, and y/n was painfully aware of her own conflicted loyalties. They decided then that they would let the film speak for itself, pouring their hearts into the work, hoping that the art might justify the complexity of their emotions.

Over the next several weeks, their collaboration deepened. They often found themselves working late into the night after the rest of the crew had left, their whispered conversations floating in the dim light of the editing bay. The film’s narrative began to mirror their own internal journey—fragile, tentative, and built on countless tiny moments of understanding.

One evening, as they reviewed a particularly intense sequence where Aaron’s character grappled with inner demons, y/n couldn’t hold back her thoughts any longer. “Aaron, do you ever feel like these moments we’re creating… they’re pieces of our own story? I mean, every subtle glance, every line of dialogue—it’s like we’re rewriting ourselves with every take.”

Aaron paused the scene, turning to her with a look of quiet intensity. “Every piece of art is a mirror, y/n. What we create on set, the emotions we channel, they’re not just for the audience—they’re for us, too. I see pieces of my own soul in these shots, and sometimes, I wonder if you see them too.”

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she responded, “I see them, Aaron. More than you know. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying—to see yourself so clearly reflected in someone else’s work. And yet, it feels like the most honest part of me.”

They sat there in the half-light, the boundaries of professional decorum blurring as their shared passion for the craft left them vulnerable. In the quiet hum of the projector, every word they exchanged was a confession, every shared look an admission of feelings they’d been hesitant to name.

In the following days, the production grew more frenetic as the deadline for shooting neared. The pressure mounted, and with it, the emotional stakes of the film. During a particularly chaotic afternoon, a scheduling mix-up had everyone on edge, and tempers began to flare. Amid the commotion, Aaron and y/n found themselves alone in a narrow corridor behind the set, seeking refuge from the storm.

“Why is everything so out of sync today?” y/n asked, her voice trembling with a mix of frustration and fatigue. “I can’t stand to see everyone so stressed.”

Aaron put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It’s just one of those days, y/n. We’ll get through this—piece by piece. You know, I’ve always admired how you keep your head clear even when everything’s falling apart.”

She laughed softly, a bittersweet sound in the tension-filled corridor. “Maybe it’s because I have someone who reminds me that even in chaos, there’s beauty. Someone who helps me see that every broken piece can eventually be mended.”

For a long moment, they simply stood there, the air thick with unspoken words. Finally, Aaron spoke, his voice low. “I know this might be too complicated to say right now, with everything in play, but I can’t help feeling that these moments—our moments—are too precious to let slip by unnoticed.”

Y/n looked up at him, conflicted eyes searching his face. “Aaron, you know how I feel about loyalty and commitment. I love what we’re creating here, and I respect the people we work with. But sometimes, I wonder if we’re risking too much of ourselves for a fleeting spark.”

He sighed, the weight of his own conflicted emotions evident in his tone. “I’m not asking for anything to be resolved overnight. I just… I need you to know that when I’m with you, it feels like I’m finally complete. It’s as if every piece of the puzzle is clicking into place, even if it scares me.”

The corridor fell silent again, their words hanging in the air like delicate shards of glass. It was a moment suspended between professional duty and personal desire—a moment where art and life intertwined in a way that defied simple categorization.

In the following days, as the production pressed on, both Aaron and y/n immersed themselves in the creative process. They spent long hours discussing not just the film’s technical aspects, but its soul. Every discussion about lighting, framing, or the pacing of a scene became an opportunity to explore their inner worlds.

One afternoon, while reviewing the final cut of a scene that had taken weeks to perfect, y/n couldn’t contain her excitement. “Aaron, listen to this: ‘In every shattered reflection, we find a thousand truths waiting to be discovered.’ Doesn’t that line just resonate with everything we’re trying to say?”

Aaron’s eyes twinkled with admiration. “It does. It’s like the film is speaking through you. Every line you help craft, every nuance you bring to the table—it’s all so vital. And it reminds me that our work here isn’t just about the story on screen; it’s about the journey we’re all on.”

Their dialogue, filled with creative insights and personal revelations, became the foundation of their collaboration. They argued over the best way to capture a particular emotion, then reconciled with laughter and renewed determination. Their bond, forged in the fires of creative passion, grew ever stronger with each passing day—even as the ethical dilemmas of their situation loomed in the background.

One night, after a long day of shooting an emotionally draining sequence in a dimly lit studio, Aaron and y/n found themselves alone again in the quiet of the editing room. The set was empty, the only light coming from the soft glow of the monitors and a single desk lamp. The intimacy of the space seemed to encourage honesty.

“y/n,” Aaron said softly, turning from the screen to face her, “do you ever wonder if all these little pieces—our conversations, our shared glances—are leading us somewhere we can’t go back from?”

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, the only sound was the quiet hum of the machines. “I do,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Every decision feels like it’s building towards something inevitable. And yet, I can’t help but feel that without these moments, without this risk, I’d be living a life that’s only half-lived.”

Aaron took a cautious step closer. “Sometimes, the risk is what makes it all worthwhile. We pour so much of ourselves into this project—into every piece of it—that to hold back would be like denying a part of who we are. I know it’s complicated, but when I’m here with you, it feels like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

The vulnerability in his voice broke through the last of her defenses. “Aaron, I—” she began, then paused as she searched his face for reassurance. “I’m scared. Scared of hurting others, of crossing lines that shouldn’t be crossed. But at the same time, I can’t deny that what we have, even if it’s just in these stolen moments, feels real.”

He reached out and gently cupped her cheek. “I understand, y/n. And I promise you, I never intended for any of this to cause pain. But I also believe that sometimes, life isn’t as black and white as we’d like it to be. We’re all made of millions of little pieces—fragile, imperfect, and infinitely valuable. And right now, every piece of me is drawn to you.”

Their conversation, rich with emotion and truth, marked a turning point. They knew that the path ahead would be fraught with complications, that the repercussions of their actions could ripple outwards, affecting those around them. And yet, in that quiet, shared moment, the intensity of their connection eclipsed every fear and every doubt.

In the final stretch of filming, as the set buzzed with the energy of completion, Aaron and y/n worked together with renewed passion. Their dialogues became the silent heartbeat of the production—a constant reminder that art was born out of risk, vulnerability, and the courage to embrace every little piece of one’s self.

On the last day of shooting, as the crew gathered for a final debrief in the nearly empty soundstage, Aaron and y/n found a moment to speak away from prying eyes and busy schedules. The air was thick with the bittersweet scent of accomplishment and the looming uncertainty of what lay ahead.

“y/n,” Aaron said, his voice steady despite the turbulent emotions swirling within him, “I want you to know that every day working on this film with you has been transformative. I can’t predict what the future holds, but I do know that this—us, this creative journey—has changed me forever.”

She offered him a soft, sad smile, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Aaron, I feel the same way. I don’t know how we’ll navigate everything from here, especially with the complications we face. But I also know that the pieces of this film, the pieces of our lives, have come together in a way that I never imagined.”

He stepped closer, his hand finding hers. “Maybe one day, when the world isn’t watching so closely, we can explore what all these little pieces mean beyond the screen. Until then, let’s keep creating, keep building something that transcends the boundaries that try to hold us back.”

In that moment, their whispered promises mingled with the fading light of the soundstage, a quiet vow to cherish every fragment of what they had built together. They understood that the work they had done on A Million Little Pieces was more than a film—it was a living testament to the power of vulnerability, the courage to confront one’s inner demons, and the beauty of finding connection in the most unexpected places.

As the crew began to pack up, and the echoes of their shared laughter and earnest conversations lingered in the empty corridors, Aaron and y/n exchanged one last look—a look that spoke of hope, regret, and the unyielding belief that every broken piece could eventually form something whole.

Walking out into the cool night air, they paused under a flickering streetlamp. The city around them buzzed with life, each passerby a collection of countless little stories, each a million little pieces of their own. And in that vast mosaic of existence, for one fleeting night, Aaron and y/n allowed themselves to simply be—two souls bound together by the magic of creation, daring to risk everything for a chance at truth.

“Goodnight, y/n,” Aaron murmured, his voice carrying both farewell and promise.

“Goodnight, Aaron,” she replied, her tone soft yet resolute. “And thank you—for showing me that even in a world of fragmented pieces, love can be the thread that ties it all together.”

In the silence that followed, amid the gentle hum of the city and the promise of new beginnings, every little piece of their intertwined journey shimmered with the possibility of a future they were brave enough to imagine.

[byhees]

casual affection.

엔하이픈 ・ female reader + word count 700 genre fluff established relationship warnings not proof-read kissing skinship — more

a/n. blank

heeseung

would help you dry your hair after a long day; it’d be the late hours of the night, and he’d stand by the edge of the bed, hairdryer in one hand, brush in another.

makes it a point to kiss you, on the lips, before you two part on your own ways in the early mornings; slips a little playful comment before seeing you off.

would often put an arm around your shoulder, lightly pulling you close to his side with a small smile that almost goes unnoticed.

regularly picks up your favourite snacks on the way home, to the point where the cashier at the convenience store recognises the usual.

jongseong

would learn the lyrics to your all-time favourite songs, so you two can sing them together as an impromptu karaoke session.

holds your hand in almost every situation, finding it comforting to intertwine fingers with you, hands moulding together like perfect puzzle pieces.

cooks two servings when making food, because he doesn’t want you to come home empty-stomached.

keeps an extra hoodie at the backseat of his car, because he knows of your habit of forgetting, and doesn’t want to see you cold on a chilly day.

jaeyun

would change the lyrics of a song, so that it says your name instead; finds your delayed reaction and realisation adorable.

leaves some of your favourite shirts of his aside, and comes up with silly excuses to let you keep them.

brushes stray strands of hair out of your face, and takes the opportunity to leave a peck on, either, your forehead or your lips.

always slips his heat pack in the pocket of your jacket, not wanting you to freeze in the particularly snowy weather.

sunghoon

would be your personal alarm, waking you up to prevent any oversleeping for important events; tells you you’re the most beautiful girl in the world, and ruffles your already tousled hair.

helps you put on a necklace; his hands leave feathery touches on your neck, and as he hooks the chain to the clasp, he has the cutest grin plastered on his face.

takes candid pictures of you when you’re in your element, and uses them as his lock screen.

would rub your back when you’re feeling down; additionally, he whispers sweet consolations and peppers your face with kisses.

seonwoo

would help you remove your makeup, and any large hair accessories, when you’re feeling tired from a long day; does so without any hesitation, despite being fatigued himself.

offers his shoulder for you to rest your head on; soft conversations as he gently caresses your palm, fiddling with your fingers.

draws a bath for you, and even prepares your favourite playlists.

gives you handmade gifts, even without a specific occasion; dedicates a good hour or two to folding origami pieces, and making cards.

jungwon

would send you heaps of pictures of his dog whenever you’re away, hoping that they’d serve as an energy boost for tiring days.

brings around a polaroid camera nearly everywhere he goes, because he loves snapping pictures of you; keeps his personal favourites at the back of his phone.

buys you flowers when you least expect it; always writes a short and sweet note with each ‘flower delivery’, something quirky like ‘if you were a flower, i would pick you, one thousand (and one) percent!’

a hand is always absentmindedly resting on your lower back, because he just likes being by your side.

riki

would tuck your blanket neatly around your body when it slides down, and press a kiss on your forehead, wishing you sweet dreams.

hypes you up for even the small things, and is there 24/7 to support you; movie marathons and late-night talks under the covers afterwards to hear how things went.

lightly bumps your shoulder whenever you say something funny; it soon escalates to chaotic, yet unified, cackling and wheezing (but it’s so oddly comforting).

buries his face into the crook of your neck when hugging.

taglist open! @halcyoni-ki @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @crxzs @g4m3girl @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah @sona-verse01 networks! @kflixnet @enhanet @k-labels

[cowgurrrl]

Okayyy bear with me, this for our OFTM! What about a celeb who meets actress!reader at some awards or something or they’ve worked together and the pictures turn out so gorgeous and he uploads it with some cheesy lovey dovey caption and it kinda sets Joel off with jealousy and a bigggg green eyed monster. It doesn’t help that Tommy, Ellie, and Sarah start pulling his leg in their fam group chat saying oh wow look at mom with him or something and y’know tommy would pull his leg more to get a reaction out of Joel. And Joel is just alternating between fighting for his life in the chat and fighting for his wife with actress!reader and just comedy and fluffiness????

(also I have one more inspo that I dreamt of sending you in the next one)

OOOOOHHHH LOVE THIS I haven’t played around with jealous joel in SUCH A LONG TIME also I know you weren’t necessary referring them but I immediately thought of Jessica Chastain and Oscar Isaac because I MEAN

ANYWAYS HERE WE GO

Wildflower & Barley

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Summary: this ask

Warnings: ✨multi-media✨, jealousy, life stuff, literally just them being the sweetest couple

You sigh as you read the text. Joel is normally very comfortable in your relationship, unshaken by the various actors and actresses who’ve played your love interests and partners on screen. He shrugs off silly press comments, sits through love scenes remarkably well, and even goes as far as congratulating your costar on a job well done. “Not that it’s hard to pretend to be in love with her,” he said when asked about it in a red carpet interview a few years ago. But, once in a blue moon, he gets jealous and a little insecure. You figure Spencer’s post didn’t help with the little green monster sitting on his shoulder the past few months. 

With all your littles in school now, you’re extremely busy. You’re constantly running around from baseball practices, PTA meetings, recitals, doctor’s appointments, birthday parties, and more. Not to mention making time for all the Miller-Hernandez-Caradonna-Pierce grandkids, Isaac, Cecilia, and JJ. Joel’s working on a new album and getting his record label up and running while you’re not only directing and co-producing a smaller film while acting in a different one and getting ready to go on a (limited) press tour. You and Joel haven’t had the most time to catch up, and it feels like you’re passing ships. It’s temporary. You know it is, but it doesn’t feel good to see your costars more than you get to see your husband. You’re almost positive Joel’s jealousy stems from that. 

“Hey, you ready to get back to it?” Your co-producer, Ava, asks, jolting you out of your thoughts, and you nod. 

“Let’s do it.” You say as you tuck your phone into your back pocket. The day goes relatively smoothly with only one broken prop and an impromptu refresher session with one of your actors and the armorer. You make it a point to end the day early so you can get home and talk to Joel before one of you can fall asleep on the couch (a bad habit you’ve both developed recently), and thank god you did. 

The second you open the door, you can smell the delicious dinner Joel is making in the kitchen and hear the music he’s blasting through the Alexa. “Mom!” Sammy yells as he and the girls run over in a flurry of overlapping stories and demands for hugs and kisses. Even though Sam is nine now and on the cusp of thinking he’s too cool for his parents, he’s still your little love bug. 

“Mommy, will you come draw with me?” Violet asks and you smile as you tuck a curl behind her ear.

“Of course, baby. Can I go say hi to Daddy first?” 

“Fine but hurry!” Violet whines, making you laugh. You hang up your purse by the front door and toe off your shoes, already feeling better with your heels off, and pad into the kitchen. Joel is wearing the apron you got him for Christmas last year that says “Caution: Hot Dad” and made the older girls groan in embarrassment. You laugh when you see it on him, and he quickly turns down the Bee Gees to hear you. 

“You’re home early.” He says as he leans down to peck your lips and wrap an arm around your waist. You chase his lips and kiss him again before pulling away to look at him.

“Wanted to catch you before bedtime,” you say, and he hums. “Plus, we’re making good time on production. We can afford to cut a little early.”

“Well, I‘m glad you did.” He says. You can hear the kids in the other room playing loudly and you know Violet is gonna burst in any moment and order you to draw with her so you savor the semi-private moment with him.

“Are we okay?” You ask quietly and he takes a deep breath. 

“We’re okay.” 

“It’s okay if we’re not.” 

“Baby,” he soothes, slipping a hand in your back pocket. “We’re okay, I promise. I just… had a moment.” 

“It’s fine to have a moment. I don’t want you to keep that from me just because we’re busy,” you say. “You don’t actually think I’d trade you in for someone else or whatever the fuck Tommy said, right?” He sighs and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“Just… please tell me this isn’t like a Mr. and Mrs. Smith thing.” He says. You would laugh if he didn’t seem as upset as he does just because of how bizarre the idea is. How could anyone ever compare to him? How could he even think that you’d leave him like that?

“This isn’t a Mr. and Mrs. Smith thing. Not even close to it. Spencer has been married to his wife longer than we’ve been married and they’re solid. I promise, he just posted that to get people excited about the movie.”

“You’re not wearing your ring in the picture.” He says. You pull the chain hiding under your collar out and show him.

“I was. You just couldn’t see it.” 

“How long have you had that?” 

“Since we got engaged. You’ve definitely seen it before.” You say, laughing a little at the surprised look on his face. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t know that’s why you wore it. I thought you got it as a wrap gift or somethin’.” He defends. It makes sense why he wouldn’t know. You only take the necklace off when it can’t be hidden under the costume, and even then, it’s normally tucked into your pocket or, at the very least, hidden safely in your trailer. It’s a part of your routine to put your ring back on at the end of a shooting day or between breaks to help you transition back into your real life, which means Joel only sees it after it’s returned to its rightful spot. Even the few times he’s been on set filming something with you, you’ve been so busy that he didn’t have time to notice it. 

“Good to know I can still surprise you all these years later,” you say. He only looks a little embarrassed when he reaches around you to turn off the stove. The kids are, thankfully, still occupied, and you take the opportunity before it can slip away. “Joel, I adore you. I am still as helplessly in love with you as I was when we were in New York for the first time. There isn’t anybody else for me, okay? It’s you. It’s always gonna be you. So you don’t need to worry about costars or living Brangelina or whatever because you are it for me.” He works at his jaw as he processes your words, and you wait. Joel’s mind has always been an elusive one, so you like watching his gears turn. 

“Okay,” he mumbles finally. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. You just have to tell me when you’re feeling this way,” you say, kissing his jaw. “Besides, if you’d said something earlier, I would’ve been able to tell you that you’re a much better kisser than Spencer.”

“I was just gettin’ over the post, and now I have to watch y’all kiss?!” He groans dramatically, and you laugh. 

“You’re the one who married an actor.” 

“And I’d do it again.” He says as he kisses you, crowding your space so you’re stuck between him and the counter. It’s broken between giggles and kitchen timers beeping but it isn’t until Violet tugs at your shirt do you fully break away from Joel.

“Mommy, you said you would come draw with me.” She pouts, and you immediately drop down to her level.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I did say that. Daddy just had a hard day so I was trying to cheer him up. I can come draw with you now.” You explain, and she gasps, looking between you and Joel.

“Daddy!” She exclaims, putting her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having a bad day?” 

“Because it’s not your job to fix Daddy’s day.” 

“But I want to! Can I give you a kiss?”

“I wanna give Daddy a kiss!” Sophia runs in, launching herself into Joel’s arms. He scoops both girls up and kiss his cheeks simultaneously, making you both laugh. 

“Thank you, girls. You always make me feel better.” He says, and they giggle.

“What about Mom?” Sam asks. He’s too big and too tall for you to pick him up anymore, but he snuggles perfectly under your arm and squeezes you tight. 

“You’re so sweet, honey. Thank you.” You say, kissing his head. 

“Are you better now?”

“So much better.” 

“Daddy, are you better?” Violet asks. Joel meets your eyes over the heads of the kids and smiles. It’s sweet and just for you, and you can’t help but smile back. 

“I’m perfect.”

[lumiambrose]

yoichi x reader, fluff, baking together :>

yoichi loves to cook with you. he's not a master chef, but he enjoys the process of making meals together, laughing over failed attempts and celebrating your successes. it's not just about the food, but the fun and bonding that comes with it. he especially loves baking desserts, decorating them together, and sharing the sweet treats while watching a movie.

the kitchen is filled with the sweet aroma of freshly baked goods, a delightful contrast to the flour and bits of dough scattered across the countertops. you and yoichi are in the middle of one of your impromptu cooking sessions, the kind that starts with a simple craving and evolves into a delightful, chaotic, mess.

yoichi, with his sleeves rolled up with flour sprinkled across his cheeks, is whisking together a mixture for frosting. He glances up, catching your amused expression, and grins. "hey, no laughing at the chef," he teases, flicking a bit of frosting in your direction.

you laugh, dodging the missile of frosting and grabbing a spoon for yourself to retaliate with a dollop of whipped cream. "oh, it's on!" you declare, and soon, the kitchen turns into a playful battleground, filled of your laughter.

eventually, the giggles subside, and you both return to decorating the cupcakes. yoichi hands you a piping bag filled with frosting, his eyes twinkling. "your turn," he says, watching as you carefully pipe delicate swirls onto the cupcakes.

with the cupcakes finally decorated, you step back to admire your handiwork. they’re not professional, but they’re beautiful in their own way, each one a memory of the precious moment shared.

"movie time?" yoichi suggests, already reaching for the tray of cupcakes. you nod eagerly, and together, you carry the treats to the living room.

settling onto the couch with the cupcakes within easy reach, you snuggle under a warm blanket. yoichi picks a light-hearted movie, something perfect for the mood, and presses play. as the movie begins, you each take a cupcake, savoring the sweet, fluffy texture. yoichi’s arm drapes over your shoulders, pulling you close, letting you lean into him, feeling the warmth and contentment radiating from his body.

throughout the movie, you share bites of the cupcakes, laughing and exchanging playful commentary. the room is filled with a cozy, comforting atmosphere, the simple joy of being together.

as the movie draws to a close and the last cupcake is finished, yoichi turns to you, his expression soft and affectionate. "i love these moments with you," he says quietly, his voice sincere.

you smile, your heart swelling with love. "me too," you reply, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

in the peaceful silence that follows, you cuddle closer, grateful for the love you two share. its in these peaceful moments, where you feel at most content and overjoyed. getting to cherish your life with each other, making every day special.

an: tbh im not a big fan of the ending but i was loosing my sanity. hope this wasn't too cringey

[macbethsymphony]

The Swordsman and the Blacksmith | Chapter 24

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Chapter wc: 7k

Chapter rating: NSFW

Content/Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fem!Reader, Enemies to lovers, SLOW slow burn, SMUT

Summary: Your skills as a blacksmith have made you desirable to both the government and pirates. You know you have to leave this island if you want to escape your fate, but that doesn't make the choice of leaving any easier. Roronoa Zoro is intrigued by your skills as a blacksmith. Your work is like nothing he's ever seen before. Unfortunately, you're hot-headed and he's rude and you both definitely hate each other.

Chapters [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22][23]

Masterlist

Slowly crossposting from AO3

Chapter 24: I'm Still Angry

On the first night, you’d drowned your thoughts in a haze of alcohol, seeking refuge in the oblivion it promised. On the second night, you’d danced with reckless abandon, losing yourself in the rhythmic pulse of the music until memories blurred into nothingness. And on the third night, exhaustion had claimed you, pulling you into a deep slumber that offered respite from the chaos of your mind… until the sound of music beckoned you to start the whole ritual once again.

Outside, the storm raged on, its fury unabated by the passage of time. But within the cozy confines of the tavern, the tempestuous winds and torrential rain faded into the background, drowned out by the lively chatter and infectious laughter of its patrons. In the warm glow of the lanterns, you found solace from the relentless onslaught of the elements and your thoughts. 

You hadn't returned to the ship in over a week, your stubbornness fueling your determination to stay away. The idiot could fall on Yokubari and fucking go to hell, for all you cared, or so you kept on telling yourself. During this time, Nami had visited the tavern on a few occasions, indulging in a drink or two while checking up on you. Initially, concern had etched lines of worry on her face, evident in the way she probed for details about what had transpired between you and the swordsman. But when you remained unwilling to talk, she had simply sighed in resignation, accepting your silence with a weary understanding. She assured you that they would come to fetch you before they set sail again.

"So, what's your poison tonight?" The question cut through the din of the tavern, drawing your attention back to the present moment. Leaning against the worn wood of the bar, you regarded the boy with a half-smile, appreciating his easy charm and friendly demeanor.

He had been a constant presence over the past few days, a willing partner in the impromptu dance sessions that had become a nightly ritual. Together, you had spun and laughed, losing yourselves in the music and the fleeting moments of joy it brought. He was flirty but not pushy, making him perfect for whatever you were trying to achieve with this temper tantrum of yours.

With a playful glint in his eyes, he awaited your response, his expression a curious blend of anticipation and amusement. "I think I'll stick to water tonight," you confessed with a chuckle, your voice tinged with a hint of ruefulness. "I'm still feeling the aftermath of those drinking games from last night."

The boy laughed lightly, a mischievous twinkle dancing in his gaze as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. His flirty attempt was clunky, unpracticed. "Water it is then," he murmured, his tone playful yet colored with a sliver of disappointment. "But don't think you can escape me that easily. We've got some dancing to do, remember?" 

You tossed your head back at his awkward charm, laughing heartily. Goodness, he never gave up. As you watched your dance partner come back with your drink, you noticed how he faltered in his step, how he blanched a little as he glanced over your shoulder. 

You didn’t even need to look to guess what had unsettled the boy so, but still you stared at the swordsman effectively looming over you.

Oh.

He was angry.

Your eyes traveled from his face to the swords at his side, landing on Yokubari, still strapped at his waist. You scowled, the blazing anger within you refueled at the sight. The urge to throttle him still unbelievably strong. Didn’t matter, two could play this game, your own fury not to be underestimated.

With a scoff, you turned away from him, dismissing his presence with a wave of your hand. “I don’t feel like talking to you, swordsman,” you said flatly, your voice dripping with disdain as you refused to give him any more of your attention.

You watched out of the corner of your eye as the boy, sensing the tension between you and Zoro, hesitated in his approach. His easy smile faltered, replaced by a nervous unease as he quickly retreated, eager to avoid becoming collateral damage in whatever confrontation was brewing between the two of you.

Smart boy. You’d do the same if you were in his place.

Sighing, you leaned against the bar, trying to catch the bartender’s attention with a practiced gesture. The need for an actual drink abruptly urgent. “You didn’t have to chase him away like that,” you admonished, your tone thick with irritation. “He was a perfectly fine dance partner.” 

Silence answered you as you heard the subtle shift of cloth and clink of swords behind you as he matched your movements.

When the bartender inevitably ignored you too, suddenly engrossed in polishing a glass, you turned to face him. “What do you want?” you snapped, your expression a mask of defiance, resolute to not let him ruin your night.

His frown deepened, his fingers wrapping around your wrist with a firm grip that bordered on possessive. “We’re going back to the ship,” he announced, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You paused there for an instant, eyes narrowing as you studied his features. “No,” you decided as you wrenched your hand free from his grasp and strode purposefully towards the dance floor, determined to assert your independence in the face of his domineering shit of an attitude.

You sensed Zoro's presence trailing behind you for a moment, his looming shadow casting a palpable weight in the midst of his annoyance, then not anymore. Ignoring his silent disapproval, you surrendered to the pulsating rhythm of the music, allowing it to guide your movements to the center of the crowd with instinctive grace. Drawn into the embrace of a stranger, you yielded to the seductive sway of the tune, granting the man’s touch to travel sensually along the curves of your body.

With each spin and turn, the stranger's hands ventured boldly, taunting the fabric of your shirt upwards to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of bare skin. He twirled you around, allowing your back to fall against his chest, as his fingers roamed in a slow, teasing display. 

On any other day, you would have slapped the inquisitive touch away but on this night the nerve of his exploration served the audacity of your actions. You met the swordsman’s stare with a lidded gaze. Was that fury you saw flashing in his eye? Jealousy? Possessiveness? Whatever it was that twisting up his pretty face, it felt like a victory. 

With a wicked grin, you yielded into the stranger's touch, inviting the tension to mount between you and the swordsman with each passing moment. You thrived on the satisfaction. The air hummed with unspoken defiance, a silent dare for Zoro to break his stoic façade.

The stranger's touch ventured further, his hand gliding from your stomach to your chest, his palm flat as he pressed against the fabric of your shirt before encircling your throat with a gentle yet possessive hold. Tilting your head back against his shoulder, you maintained eye contact with the swordsman, relishing the simmering intensity in his furious stare.

As the tension between you reached a crescendo, you observed with satisfaction as Zoro's hand tightened around the hilt of one of his swords, his knuckles whitening with the strength of his grip. The air crackled with anticipation, each heartbeat echoing the unspoken challenge that hung between you like a tautly drawn bowstring.

With a subtle shift in your stance, you silently dared Zoro to make a move. The stranger's touch remained a seductive invitation, a quiet provocation that dared the swordsman to act on his impulses.

And then, the tension shattered like glass.

With a swift, fluid motion, Zoro's hand inched away from the hilt of his sword, his steps carrying him across the crowded floor in a determined stride. Ignoring the curious glances of the tavern's patrons, he closed the distance between you with purpose, his gaze never leaving yours.

As he reached you, he grabbed your arm firmly but not roughly, pulling you away from the stranger's embrace with a possessiveness that left no room for argument. The stranger's hand fell from your throat, his expression a mix of surprise and resignation as he watched the swordsman stake his claim.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you shouted at him as you followed his lead.

Without a word, Zoro led you away from the pulsating rhythm of the dance floor, his grip tightening as he guided you through the maze of tables and chairs. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension, the weight of his silent declaration hanging heavily between you.

As you emerged into the cool night air, the storm still raging overhead, the wind tousled your hair, rain slowly drenching your clothes.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You shouted again, planting your feet down, obstinate anger filling you, refusing to budge.

Zoro’s expression remained flat; his jaw clenched in stubborn determination. “We’re going back to the ship,” he stated firmly.

You scoffed incredulously; the sound drowned out by the howling wind. “Like hell we are,” you retorted, your noncompliance unyielding. “I’m not going anywhere with you, swordsman.”

For a moment, the two of you stood locked in a silent standoff, the rain pouring down around you like a curtain of defiance. The tension crackled in the air, thick with unspoken words.

Fuck, he was stunning. You hated to admit it, but you’d missed him. Your eyes surveyed his face, taking in the scowl on his lips, the intensity of his gaze.

He moved with swift determination, pinning you against the slick brick wall. The freezing rain seeped through your already soaked clothes, but you paid it no mind amidst the brewing confrontation.

“What the fuck’s your problem?” you snapped, glaring up at him, defiance flashing in your stare.

“You’re infuriating,” he growled, leaning in close, his breath mingling with yours in the damp air.

“I’m still angry,” you declared, your brows furrowing with stubborn resolve.

“So am I,” he admitted, his hand traveling up to cradle the nape of your neck.

“You have no business being angry at me, swordsman,” you retorted, your tone sharp with wrath.

Despite the intensity of the storm raging around you, the charged atmosphere between you and Zoro crackled with an energy of its own. His grip tightened slightly, fingers tangling in your hair, his gaze boring into yours with a mixture of frustration and longing.

“You always make it so damn difficult,” he muttered, his voice low and tinged with exasperation.

“Me?” you scoffed, index pushing repeatedly into his chest painfully. “You're the one wh—”

But before you could finish your sentence, his lips crashed against yours in a fervent kiss, silencing your protest with a searing passion. At first, you froze, then you matched his intensity, finding yourself responding to his movements with an equal measure of neediness, your hands instinctively reaching up to tangle in his hair roughly as you pulled him closer.

His fingers traveled under your shirt, his touch scorching hot against the coolness of wet skin. You backed off searching for breath. Your eyes met his, the hunger in his gaze made your knees want to buckle a definite want settling in your core.

Fuck.

With a firm push, you disentangled yourself from his embrace, a flicker of confusion crossing his features before he yielded to your lead. As he took a step back, your hand found the hem of his sleeve, a determined look in your eyes as you started to move, dragging him through the winding maze of alleyways. Each turn was swift and decisive, your footsteps echoing against the forming puddles in the dips of the cobblestones as you navigated the labyrinthine paths with resolute haste, your destination clear in your mind.

Without a word, you pushed open the heavy wooden door of the hotel you’d been staying at, the warmth of the lobby enveloping you in a stark contrast to the coldness of the outside rain. The flickering glow of the lanterns cast dancing shadows upon the walls as you beelined to your room.

The swordsman hovered over you, placing soft kisses on your neck as you fumbled to unlock the door.

The lock clicked. You entered. In the sanctuary of your room, his hands grew bolder in their exploration, your shirt dragging dangerously high, the hem of your short skirt catching on your hips in a barely decent display.

“Shit,” you mewled, one of your hands finding purchase on the flat surface before you, nails digging in the wood as you tried to lock the door behind you. “Just let me lock the door,” you begged as he nipped at your neck, licked your ear.

He ignored your pleas, his body melting against yours, trapping you more firmly against him. His hand traveled against your thigh, traced the soft flesh near your core, his hips catching into yours. Your forehead met the wood of the door as the pads of his fingers found your soaked underwear, tracing light circles.

You moaned. Mind feeling empty as a wave of pleasure coursed through your veins.

He brought your hips tighter against his as his touch became rougher. He deftly pushed aside the drenched fabric, pads meeting your slick. Everything felt more intense all of a sudden, the embers of ecstasy unmuted as he explored relentlessly. 

His name passed your lips in a high whine. He moaned against your ear, hips unwillingly bucking into yours. Fuck. You could feel how hard he was.

The lock finally clicked. You turned around. His lips found yours immediately in a primal urgency. 

“The bed’s right there,” you mewled, your words breathy.

He kissed your jaw, down your neck. “Don’t care,” he said as one of his hands pushed up your shirt, your bra, fingers tracing the curve of your breast, pinching almost tenderly at your nipple.

“We should wash up first,” you protested meekly, your fists bunching in the wet fabric of his overcoat, movements contradicting your objections.

“Don’t care,” he repeated breath mingling with yours. He bit at your lower lip, tongue darting in, exploring, demanding. 

You obliged, hands discovering his chest, never settling in one place.

As you broke away for air, he leaned back, his hungry gaze meeting yours. He smirked, taking in the want in your eyes, your bruised lips, the flush on your cheeks. He backed off a step, eye roaming over your body, searing in the image before him in his mind, the way your skirt was hiked up, the way the wet fabric of your shirt clung to your skin as you leaned against the door.

“Fuck,” he groaned. You were the very picture of depravity.

He fell to his knees, pressed a kiss on the front of your underwear as his hands traced up along your outer thighs. As his fingers curled against the lace of your panties, he looked up at you, a soft pause as he searched your features for any hint of hesitation. 

The crystal-clear need etched on your face gave him all the confirmation he needed. He trailed the thin piece of fabric down. It caught for a moment on your knee-high boot as you lifted one leg to help him out. 

Before you could put your foot down, his hand wrapped under your knee, bringing your leg over his shoulder. He leaned his head on your inner thigh, cheek against soft flesh before placing slow kisses, tender bites as he made his way toward your heat.

Your hands found purchase in his hair, pulling painfully on the unruly locks, nails digging into his scalp, backing him away. He looked up at you, a groan escaping him at the sensation. There was clear satisfaction in his gaze.

“Look at you, witch,” his voice was gruff, tick with lust. 

It sent a shiver down your spine, a moan out your lips. You felt some of your slick drip on your thigh, cool against flushed skin. Heat spread across your face at the reaction of your body.

“I’m still angry,” you whispered as he started moving closer, one of his hands exploring up and down your outer thigh, the other dragging your skirt higher, before dipping down, fingers tracing your slit.

His grin broke into a smile as he brought them to his mouth, the light glistening on their wetness. He made a show of licking them clean. Tongue swirling, sucking against the digits before his lips came back to your inner thigh.

“I’m sorry, I was out of line,” he apologized dangerously close to your core, his breath teasing, your legs feeling less and less steady as seconds passed. “Forgive me.”

You whined his name, a hopelessly needy sound. 

Finally, finally, he met your heat, giving you no time to adjust to the relentless rhythm of his onslaught. His tongue pressed against your clit as he devoured you with the hunger of a man deprived of water, each lick and suck a desperate quenching of his thirst.

Your eyelids fluttered shut, the world feeling like a hazy dream in between the waves of pleasure threatening to drown you. Your fingers tightened in the unruly locks, nails digging into the flesh at his nape as your hips bucked unwittingly.

He moaned against you, the muffled sound sending electric shocks through you. His hold on your thigh increased, anchoring you solidly against his shoulder as his nails left crescent marks in the plush flesh. His other hand went to your core, lifting the hood of your clit slightly as he redoubled his efforts. 

Your eyes shot open at the sensation, breath catching in your throat. It was all too much, the pleasure cascading over your mind too sharp. One of your hands snapped away from his hair, clamping over your mouth, muffling the high-pitched scream that passed your lips. The back of your head hit the wood behind you loudly, the pain barely registering. 

Your gaze met his, you sensed the satisfied smirk gracing his lips more than you saw it. He moved away from your clit, exploring. His tongue darting in and out of you, his fingers taking on the bundle of nerves instead.

You were about to come, your vision starting to feel overexposed, everything swirling around you. You tried to warn him, your words incoherent.

He maintained his rhythm, allowing you to tip over the edge, white overflowing your senses.

He continued tirelessly, your thigh trembling against his shoulder. You attempted to pry him off, but he remained doggedly obstinate in his ministrations.

You bit down painfully on your palm as your mind wrestled to keep up with the overstimulation. Your breath hitched and struggled with every inhale and exhale. 

“Too much,” you begged, voice high, the sound muffled by your hand as a second orgasm coursed through you, tears threatening to flood your eyes.

He stopped then, waiting for your grip to loosen in his hair before coming back up. His chin was covered in your arousal. He pried your hand away from your mouth, pressing a soft kiss on the teeth marks etched in your skin before his lips found yours.

His movements were slow at first, allowing your mind to catch up. Then his tongue met yours in a forceful dance, the taste of your slick flooding your mouth.

Your knees buckled. Your fists bunched in his overcoat in an attempt to steady yourself but you still felt your back start to drag down against the door, your legs unable to keep you up.

His hands went behind your thighs, pulling you in his arms effortlessly. You melted in his chest, limbs uncooperative before he deposited you onto the bed.

As your back sank into the softness of the mattress, your eyes landed on the swordsman skillfully maneuvering one of your legs over his shoulder.

“Shoes,” you muttered as your gaze went to your boots. 

He grumbled a curse under his breath, bringing your other leg to his shoulder so both feet were next to one another. “Always so fucking demanding,” he complained, words barely audible as with one hand he tugged at the laces of your boots, the other going to your cunt, two fingers entering your heat.

The squelching sound of your arousal as he fingered you was obscene. Lazy whimpers escaped you as they easily slipped in and out, the hazy feeling in your mind delightful. He suddenly curled his fingers in a come-hither motion, eliciting a loud moan out of you, the promise of rapture starting to edge at your vision once more.

“Zoro,” you begged between moans, his name flowing out of your lips again and again, a deprived chant.

He finished loosening the laces of the first boot, taking it off roughly and throwing it back without care. You dimly heard it hit something but it barely reached the edge of your mind, your attention entirely focused on the shifts of his fingers.

The pad of his thumb met your clit gently, teasing as he started unlacing the second boot.

You bucked under his touch, walls fluttering against his fingers. 

His hand moved against the laces with sudden urgency, tugging harder and faster with each pull as he hurried through the process. 

The second boot joined the other. You whined in protest as he left your heat. He opened your legs, settling himself between them.

You pushed yourself to your elbows, then sitting as you took off your shirt, your bra. Your bodies almost touched in the position, your legs draped over his thighs, warmth radiating from your skin, melting into his own.  

You leaned back slightly, his gaze unabashedly took in the sight. His fingers skillfully unknotted the cords holding the swords at his side. There was a loud clang as they fell to the floor forgotten, his overcoat and stomach band following suit with urgency. 

His hands grazed up your thighs, nails digging in and sending shivers to your core. He leaned in, his lips hovering ever so close over yours.

Your hand palmed his hard-on through the fabric of his pants. You looked up at him, pupils blown in desire.

The moan that escaped him was pure lust, primal as his breath mixed with yours.

It stirred something in you. You ached to see him writhe under your touch, hear that moan again, make him whimper.

“Let me return the favor,” you demanded, fingers moving up and down, groping before inching towards the waistband of his pants.

His hand intercepted yours roughly. “Not today,” he kissed your jaw, down your throat. “Can’t wait,” he muttered after giving your nipple a flick with his tongue.

He pushed you down, your back meeting the mattress in a small bounce. You rolled your hips against his, your arousal leaving a wet spot on the front of his pants. You felt his canine graze your breast as he relished the feeling, followed by a soft bite and his tongue as he sucked and marked.

“Then just fuck me already, swordsman,” you demanded. 

He smirked against your skin. “So needy,” he remarked, pulling back, his hands departing from you as he undid his pants, his aching cock meeting your stomach.

He moved one of your legs expertly to his shoulder, fingers finding the scar near your ankle, tenderly tracing circles against it. Your other leg instinctively wrapped around his hip.

His gaze was filled with lust as he met yours. You felt the tip of his cock against your entrance. His lips went to the white line marking your skin in a soft kiss as he started sinking into you.

You whimpered as he dragged in further, the pace tortuously slow. Your fingers tangled in the sheets in ecstasy. The stretch was overwhelming, intoxicating.

“Fuck,” he moaned against your skin, biting down on the flesh above your ankle, leaving small red marks behind. “So fucking tight.”

You tried to roll your hips, take him in quicker but his hand stopped the movement, stilling you in a bruising hold.

By the time he was fully sheathed inside you, you were breathing hard, your walls already fluttering against him. He gave a tentative thrust, nails digging into the plushness of your hips before he dragged a hand to your lower stomach, increasing the pressure as he filled you oh so well.

He was so deep, it almost made your eyes roll. You could feel your breasts bounce with every slow thrust. For a moment you saw him admire the view but his gaze inevitably returned to your face as he relished each twitch of pleasure passing your features far more than anything else. 

There was a furrow on his brow as he searched for something, his hand moving your leg, opening you up, trying to find a certain angle. You let out a sharp cry as a particular thrust made you see stars.

“Zoro,” you whined, one of your hands extending towards him, “fuck,” he was just out of reach, you wanted to touch him so bad. You let your hand fall, instead joining his for an instant on your stomach.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He slid out to the tip and slammed back in, his pace increasing now that he had found what he was searching for.

Your hand fell back to the covers at the intensity of his movements, knuckles white as you gripped the sheets. His palm roamed up from your stomach, roughly groping as he leaned forward, nearly folding you in half, his breath mingling with yours suddenly. His fingers settled on your neck, then your jaw as he bit your lower lip, and kissed you hard. 

As he pulled back, his gaze blown with lust followed the strand of saliva connecting the two of you. “How long I’ve been wanting to do this?” he passed his thumb harshly on your reddened lips. “Just so you know, I’m only starting, witch.”

A smirk danced on your features at the boldness of his words, a chuckle escaping you, as though he wasn’t already fucking you senseless. You rolled your hips, meeting his rhythm. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, swordsman,” you retorted, the defiance in your stare igniting a spark in his eye, a challenge he was willing to see through.

In answer, his hand left your face, settled itself between your bodies, finding your clit in soft circles. Your back arched in pleasure, your hands flying to his arms, fingers looking for purchase. Incoherent swears passed your lips, your nails dug in, dragged along his arms. The pain mixing in with the pleasure earning you a loud groan on his part.  

You dimly caught the sound of the bed creak with each of his thrusts, the way the headboard slammed on the wall now and then, but you didn’t care, the ecstasy washing over you making you forget all sense of propriety.

Your words were incomprehensible as he brought you nearer and nearer to the edge. Closer to desperate pleas and wanton moans than coherent sentences. Your whole body tensed hard as you orgasmed, a soft flush spread across your chest. 

You heard him swear under his breath as your walls clenched around him but he didn’t stop as your mind struggled to come back. He suddenly turned you over, his thighs trapping yours. His hands found your hips, holding them up bruisingly. The moan you let out as he slid inside you again was so depraved that he almost came right there.

Your face dug in the covers, drool seeping in the fabric, nails digging hard in the soft weave. You heard threads snap as you writhed. He felt so deep. Your toes curled in pleasure. It was all too much, you were already so damned over sensitive.

“Shit, so good for me,” his hands palmed your ass roughly, velvety skin yielding under calloused fingers. His touch was domineering as it traveled along the curve of your back, pushing up your skirt, still bunched around your waist.

You felt a hand press between your shoulder blades, inch toward your neck, fingers tangling harshly in your locks for a fleeting moment. Then he grasped your arm, pulling you up easily, his arm snaking around you, his palm flat against your sweat covered skin as his hand moved up encircling your throat in a gentle yet possessive grip. Your hands instinctively settled on his forearm for support as you struggled to keep up.  

The sound of wet slapping skin, the squelch as he drilled into you intensified in the position. His hand traveled up almost tenderly, cupping your face, turning you to him. His lips captured yours lazily, one of your hands shifted away from his arm, navigating to his nape, fingers tangling in his unruly hair.

The hand on your hip roamed down, fingers finding your clit. You spasmed and begged at the blitz of sensations. Thighs trembling, there was nothing you could do but hang on for dear life, your nails digging painfully in his forearm, in his neck as his pace fastened.

Your name passed his lips. “One more for me,” he pleaded, hot breath mixing with yours before biting hard on your shoulder. 

“Please, Zoro, fuck,” you sobbed in pleasure as you felt your orgasm rapidly build up.

His hips stuttered, his rhythm broken by your pleas. “Where do you want me to cum?” the urgency in his voice was apparent as he breathed out the question.

“In-inside,” you begged over and over.

He groaned at that, the idea clearly pleasing to him. “Shit,” his thrusts were sloppy, his hold on your body harder. “So fucking perfect for me.”

With a particularly hard flick on your clit, your mind went blank, body hard then limp, entirely supported by the swordsman’s strength as rapture filled you.

He kissed and marked you almost painfully as you came down from your high, walls spasming sporadically around him. He swore emphatically, your name uttered between each curse, before emptying out inside you, his loud moans muffled against your skin.

His movements gradually slowed. He placed a fond kiss on your shoulder, and you whimpered as he pulled out of you, his seed dripping down your thigh. He lowered you gently on the bed, following you as he dropped himself next to you.

Lying there in the aftermath, a sense of weightlessness enveloped you, leaving your mind blissfully devoid of thought. His arm rested heavily on your stomach, the sensation of damp skin against damp skin a tactile reminder of the intimacy you had just shared. Gradually, he shifted, propping himself up on his elbow, his gaze fixed on you with a subtle smirk playing on his lips.

With a tenderness that caught you off guard, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before trailing along your jawline. You watched him, a puzzled furrow creasing your brow, as he rose from the bed with a quiet grunt, pulling up his pants, still pooled around his ankles, before disappearing into the adjacent bathroom.

"What are you doing?" you called after him, your voice hoarse with exhaustion.

"You said we should wash up," he grumbled in response, the sound of running water punctuating his words.

An amused snort escaped you. "Now? Really, Zoro?" You attempted to roll over, but your muscles felt weak, and you slumped back down in defeat.

From the corner of your eye, you saw him lean against the doorway, a faint smile playing on his features as he observed your futile attempt. 

"Having some trouble?" he said, his voice laced with satisfaction as he stalked to your side, the bed dipping under his weight as he settled himself between your legs. If you weren't so fucked out, the smugness in his tone might have elicited an eye roll, but instead, a small chuckle escaped your lips at his comment.

One of his hands went behind your knee, opening you up for him. The other went to your slit, a sharp hiss escaping your lips at the over sensitivity. His fingers traced the seed dripping out of you.

He swore under his breath, his gaze blown out as he met your eyes. 

“Don’t you dare,” you breathed out in a high-pitched whine, your hips arching away. “I’m too sensitive.”

His hand left your heat, slick fingers dragging up your thighs, bunching in the skirt still gathered at your waist.

He hummed in consideration, evidently wrestling with himself. "How do you take this off?" he asked, hovering uncertainly over the fabric of the waistband.

The smile that hit your lips was genuine as you looked at him. "The zipper's on the side, you moron," you replied, pointing lazily to the concealed closure.

He leaned down, planting a tender kiss on your lips as his fingers grasped the zipper tab and pulled it down. His touch lingered on your skin, the kiss deepening. His name escaped you in a soft warning, prompting him to pull back, his lips parting from yours as he guided the fabric off, gently lifting your hips.

Gathering you into his arms, he held you close. "What's with all the tenderness, swordsman?" you murmured, nuzzling your nose against his neck. "I thought you only knew direct approaches."

"Careful, witch," he said, his tone somehow serious as he teased, his hands squeezing plush flesh as he buried his face in your hair. "If you keep this up, I'm bringing you back to bed."

Before you could offer a witty response, he gracefully lowered you into the welcoming embrace of the bathwater. Instantly, warmth enveloped you, coaxing the tension from your weary muscles. With a contented sigh, you reclined against the edge of the tub, allowing the soothing heat to work its magic.

As you relaxed, your gaze drifted to Zoro, who was now bending down to unlace his boots. The soft glow of the bathroom accentuated the contours of his muscular arms, casting a mesmerizing play of light and shadow across his skin. You couldn’t help the smirk gracing your features as you looked at the red marks plaguing his chest, his biceps. In that moment, he was nothing short of stunning, having you trapped and entranced as he undid his pants, kicked them off along with his boots. 

“Scoot,” he demanded with a cock of his head, his earrings glinting in the movement.

You raised a brow at his tone but still you obliged, shifting over. The water rose around you as Zoro settled in behind you, his presence adding to the comforting embrace of the bath.

As he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest, you didn’t resist as you backed into his hold, savoring the feeling of safety and warmth that surrounded you. The steady rhythm of his breathing was a soothing lullaby, calming your mind for a flicker of an instant.

For a while, you simply reveled in the blissful stillness of the moment, the only sound the soft murmur of the water as his hand traced up and down your arm in a mindless pattern and the quiet exhales of contentment that escaped you. 

“About Yokubari,” you began, your voice barely a whisper, laden with uncertainty.

You felt him tense behind you, his fingers coming to a halt. His lips brushed against the skin near your ear, a delicate, repentant gesture. “I'm sorry,” he muttered, his apology scarcely audible over the pitter-patter of the rain against the rooftop.

You paused, grappling with the words on the tip of your tongue. “I won't deny that I'm still furious with you, Zoro,” you confessed, the admission hanging heavy in the air between you. “But it wasn’t all you. I was tired and scared, and I overreacted. I shouldn’t have left you alone with Yokubari like that, it was irresponsible on my part.”

There was a beat of silence, his lips trailing down your neck, over your shoulder, tracing the marks he’d left moments ago. His arms slid from the bath’s edge, sinking into the water and wrapping around your waist, pulling you tighter against him.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice grumbly and muffled against your skin. “You were right, I lost myself for an instant.”

You weren’t certain what it was you wanted to say, so you stayed quiet for a while. “Did you at least figure it out?” You asked eventually. 

One of his hands traveled up from your stomach tracing the curve of your breast, playing with your nipple absentmindedly. The other went to your thigh, grabbing the soft flesh, his thumb moving in light circles. You felt his teeth sink in your neck.

“I figured out what I needed to,” he muttered halfheartedly as he kissed the bite mark tenderly.

Your brow furrowed in confusion, trying to understand what he meant. You let your head fall on his chest as you looked up at him. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” You pressed, your voice tinged with apprehension.

Zoro's grip tightened around you, his expression conflicted as he struggled to find the right words. "I meant... I learned enough to control it, to keep it from consuming me," he explained, his tone imbued with a mixture of reluctance and determination. "But whether I've completely figured it out... I haven’t." He paused, his gaze searching yours before he continued. "I tried figuring it out on the day you left but I haven’t touched it since. It felt wrong to handle it without you there. I gave you my word. I should have kept it better."

His hand traveled up, wrapping around your throat for a moment before turning your head and placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“You’re an idiot, swordsman,” your breath mingled with his.

His lips curved into a wry smile against yours, his grip gentle yet possessive as he deepened the kiss, seeking solace and reassurance in the warmth of your embrace. You sank into him, the tension of the past few days melting away with each caress, each shared breath.

“I am,” he admitted. His touch left your face, going back to your breast with more purpose, his hand inched towards your heat once again, eliciting a soft moan from you.

“And you’re insatiable,” you complained in a whine, one of your hands flying to the bath’s edge to find purchase, the other settled on his leg at your side, nails digging hard.

His fingers met your core, opened you up, “I know,” he said with satisfaction dripping in his tone at the reaction of your body.

Bonus scene:

Roronoa Zoro found himself facing the consequences of his actions. The realization dawned on him that he had indeed messed up…bad. He hadn’t anticipated you staying away for so long—a thought that seemed absurd now as he reflected on it. With closed eyes, he furrowed his brow, attempting to will himself to sleep, though slumber had eluded him ever since you departed. His jaw clenched, the memory of the hurt in your eyes flickered behind his eyelids, haunting him relentlessly.

The abrupt slam of the door shattered the fragile peace of his solitude, and he fought the instinct to flinch, hoping to be left alone a moment more.

“Good, you’re awake,” Nami stated, her perceptive gaze cutting through his feigned slumber. “Follow me.”

He reluctantly cracked an eye open, a scowl of irritation etching his features. “I’m trying to sleep,” he grumbled, but the determined look in Nami’s stare made him concede defeat before the battle had even begun.

“Fine,” he muttered, begrudgingly rising to his feet.

His footsteps stopped in front of the establishment, the realization of what Nami was trying to achieve downing on him. Had he known that the navigator was going to drag him all the way to you, he would have undoubtedly put up more of a fight. He tried to turn away but her hand grabbed him hard, pulling him with her. 

“Don’t come back until you’ve made up,” Nami urged, shoving him through the doorway of the bar. “I don’t know what you did, but apologize.”

With a pat on the back, she left him standing there, her words echoing in his mind.

He sighed, shifting uncertainly in the entryway, his gaze surveying the small, cozy space. Inevitably, he spotted you, leaning against the bar, engaged in conversation with someone he couldn’t quite see, a soft smile gracing your lips.

If he were honest, he had had every intention of apologizing in that moment. However, as he watched the young man lean closer to you, an unfamiliar pang of jealousy stirred within him. Rationality reminded him that you didn’t belong to him; you were your own person. Yet, as he witnessed the intimacy of the gesture, heard the clear din of your laughter ring through the chatter of the room, his frustration boiled dangerously. The countless apologies he had rehearsed over the past few days evaporated from his mind as he stormed to your side.

You had willfully ignored him from the moment you noticed his presence, your fury towards him still evident in the fire of your eyes. He sensed his own annoyance doubling at his inability to know how to handle the situation.

Yet, as your angry gaze had met his, he felt a rush of emotions flood over him—a mixture of longing and regret.

Damn it.

In the soft glow of the lanterns, you looked breathtakingly beautiful, and he couldn't help but be drawn to you. He wanted nothing more than to pin you to that bar and kiss you dizzy. You snapped something at him, but he couldn't quite register the words amidst the whirlwind of unknown reactions coursing through him.

Before you could escape him again, he grasped your hand. A possessive hold that was unlike him.

“We’re going back to the ship,” He said, his voice feeling far away, as though it was someone else’s. Hell, even he realized how ridiculous he sounded when the words left his lips.

Fuck.

He didn’t even know how to get back to the ship. 

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