#he usually has his arms crossed i realized

[solxamber]

"Let's Break Up" with: Vice-Housewardens + Ruggie

more hurt/comfort for the soul

Part 1 with Housewardens

Trey Clover

The words slip out in frustration, sharp and final.

"Let's break up."

The mug in Trey's hand shatters.

The crack of breaking porcelain jolts you, the sound cutting through the tense silence like a gunshot. Shards spill across the floor, tea splattering everywhere, but Trey doesn’t even flinch.

Before you can react, before you can take back what you didn’t mean, he’s there—crossing the space between you in an instant, his uninjured hand cupping your face, warm and trembling.

His chest rises and falls too fast, his breath unsteady. His eyes search yours desperately, raw emotion flickering in their depths. “Please,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Reconsider.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. His grip tightens, just enough to ground himself, just enough to keep you here, with him.

“Take it back,” he pleads, his forehead nearly pressing against yours. “Tell me you didn’t mean it.”

Your heart is racing, but all you can focus on is his other hand—the one that had been holding the mug. Blood is pooling in the creases of his palm, little crimson beads welling up where porcelain had cut into his skin.

You inhale sharply. “Trey, your hand—”

“I don’t care,” he says, and he means it. He would let it bleed if it meant keeping you here for another second. “Please.”

Something inside you cracks.

Your anger, your frustration—none of it matters when you see the way he’s looking at you. When you hear the break in his voice. When you realize how much he loves you, enough to throw away every bit of his usual calm, enough to bleed for you if it meant making you stay.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice tight with guilt. “I didn’t mean it. I—of course I didn’t mean it.”

His shoulders sag with relief, a shaky breath escaping him as he presses his forehead against yours. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your fingers curl around his wrist, pulling his injured hand between both of yours. “We need to take care of this.”

He exhales, his body finally catching up to the pain now that the panic has subsided. “Yeah,” he says, but instead of letting you go, he pulls you into his arms, wrapping you in a firm, desperate embrace.

“I’m sorry too,” he murmurs against your hair. “I didn’t mean for things to get like this. I should’ve listened more. I should’ve—” He swallows hard. “I’ll do better.”

You squeeze him back just as tightly, breathing in the scent of him, the warmth of him, the realness of him. “We both will.”

For a long moment, neither of you move, holding onto each other as if letting go would undo everything. Eventually, you tug him toward the sink, already fussing over his hand.

Trey watches you, still catching his breath, still feeling the lingering ghost of fear in his chest. But for now, you’re here. He's still yours.

And that’s all that matters.

Ruggie Bucchi

The words slip out before you can stop them.

“Let’s break up.”

Ruggie freezes.

For a second, there’s just silence—heavy, suffocating. Then he lets out a laugh, but it’s wrong. It’s forced, brittle, a sound that cracks at the edges.

“That’s a joke, right?” His voice is light, playful—too playful—but his hands reach for yours, gripping them tight. “Your sense of humor sucks.”

His fingers are trembling.

You feel something deep in your chest twist at the sight of him, trying so hard to brush it off, to act like you didn’t just rip the ground out from under him. His tail is stiff behind him, his ears twitching with every unsteady breath he takes.

You want to say something, to take it back, but the argument still lingers in the air between you—frustration, hurt feelings, words neither of you should have said.

He swallows hard, staring at you like he’s willing you to laugh, to say just kidding, to let him believe this isn’t real.

But you don’t.

And in that moment, something in him wavers. His ears droop, and his fingers tighten around yours like he’s scared you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold on.

His voice is smaller this time.

“…You didn’t mean that.”

You inhale shakily, stepping closer.

“No,” you whisper. “I didn’t.”

He exhales a shaky breath, and before you can say anything else, he’s pulling you into his arms, holding you so tightly it almost knocks the air from your lungs.

His face presses into your neck, his whole body going slack as if he’s only now realizing just how much those words had broken him. You can feel his breath against your skin, uneven, like he’s trying to keep it together, like he doesn’t want you to see how much it hurt.

You hold him just as tightly, one hand coming up to thread through his hair, the other rubbing circles into his back.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs against you. “I shouldn’t’ve—I didn’t mean—”

You shake your head, cutting him off gently. “Me too.”

His arms tighten around you.

For a long time, neither of you speak. He just holds you, pressed close, his tail weakly brushing against your hand in a silent plea—stay.

When he finally pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes are misty, his lip caught between his teeth.

“Don’t say that again.” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not even as a joke."

You cup his cheek, wiping away the dampness there with your thumb.

“I won’t.”

Ruggie exhales shakily, leans into your touch, and this time, when he lets out a breathy laugh, it’s real.

“…Guess we both suck at fighting, huh?”

You let out a weak chuckle, pressing your forehead against his.

“Yeah.”

And for now, that’s enough.

Jade Leech

The words slip out before you can stop them.

"Let’s break up."

Silence.

Jade just stares at you. The ever-present amusement in his eyes is gone, leaving them bare, unguarded in a way that makes your stomach twist. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t scoff, doesn’t even tilt his head in that condescending way he does when he’s about to say something cutting.

He just looks at you, frozen in place.

You don’t know what you expected—maybe anger, maybe something cruel and sharp to push you further away, to give you an excuse to slam the door behind you. Instead, there’s nothing. Just the way his eyes widen ever so slightly, like you’ve said something impossible.

Your chest feels tight, but you force yourself to turn away. You don’t get more than two steps before a hand grips your wrist—firm, but not forceful. You barely have time to react before he pulls you back, arms wrapping around you from behind, his face pressing into the crook of your neck.

"Don’t go."

It’s a whisper, but it shatters something inside you.

You tense, your breath catching in your throat. And then—you feel it. The faintest, almost imperceptible wetness against your skin.

Jade is crying.

A cold wave of fear crashes over you. You’ve never seen him cry before, never even imagined him capable of it. He’s always so composed, always in control, always one step ahead. But right now, he’s shaking.

Your frustration dissolves instantly, replaced by something heavier, something unbearable.

“I didn’t mean it,” you say, barely able to get the words out. “Jade, I didn’t mean it.”

His grip tightens around you, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. His breath is uneven, ragged in a way that makes your heart ache.

You turn in his hold, reaching to cradle his face in your hands. His eyes are glassy, red-rimmed, his expression raw in a way you’ve never seen before. He looks lost.

“I—” His voice breaks, and he swallows hard, trying to compose himself. “I didn’t think… you would ever say that.”

You shake your head, your own eyes stinging. “I was angry. I didn’t mean it.”

For a moment, he just stares at you. Then, with a quiet, shaky exhale, he presses his forehead against yours.

“I pushed you too far,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

You close your eyes, fingers curling into his shirt. “And I let it get to me.”

Neither of you say anything after that. You just stand there, holding each other, breathing in the quiet between you. The storm of emotions still lingers, but it’s softer now, no longer a force trying to tear you apart.

Jade exhales slowly, his hands settling on your back, grounding himself. When he finally speaks again, his voice is steadier—but there’s still a fragility to it, something uncertain.

“Don’t do that again,” he whispers.

You nod, wiping a stray tear from his cheek with your thumb.

“I won’t,” you promise.

He doesn’t let go for a long, long time.

Jamil Viper

The words leave your lips before you can stop them. Sharp, impulsive, thrown like a dagger meant to wound.

“Let’s break up.”

The room falls into an unnatural silence.

Jamil stands frozen, his expression unreadable—no anger, no sadness, just… blank. It’s unsettling. You almost wish he’d lash out, argue, anything but this suffocating stillness.

Then, he laughs.

It’s soft, bitter—nothing like the amused chuckles you love hearing from him.

“…Okay,” he says.

Two syllables. Two syllables and he sounds so distant, so removed, like he’s already walking away from this, from you. Like it doesn’t matter.

But it does. It does, you can see it in the way his hands are clenched into fists at his sides, in the way his breath shudders ever so slightly, like he’s forcing himself to stay composed. Like he’s holding himself together by sheer will alone.

“If that’s how little this meant to you…” His voice is calm, even. A practiced neutrality. But you hear it—the smallest break, a splinter of something raw and aching beneath the surface. “Then fine.”

And he turns away.

And you see them.

The tears in his eyes.

He turns too late to hide them from you, but he still tries, tilting his head just enough that you almost don’t catch it. The effort, the control, the desperate attempt to maintain his composure even now.

Your stomach twists violently.

“Jamil.”

You reach for him without thinking, grabbing his wrist, tugging him back. His skin is warm beneath your touch, but his body is stiff, unyielding. He doesn’t move, doesn’t look at you.

You don’t let go.

“I didn’t mean it,” you breathe, voice shaking. You’re already shifting closer, hands moving from his wrist to his arm, to his shoulders, to his face, desperate to get him to look at you. “I didn’t mean it, I swear.”

His breath catches. He still won’t meet your eyes.

“You can’t just say things like that.” His voice cracks, and your heart breaks into pieces. “You can’t.”

The weight of what you’ve done crashes down on you. You had wanted to make him feel the frustration, the anger, the helplessness you’d felt in the heat of the argument. But not like this. Never like this.

His shoulders shake.

“Jamil…” Your hands cradle his face now, fingers trembling as you wipe at the tears streaking his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

For a moment, he stays frozen beneath your touch.

Then, with a shuddering breath, he moves.

His hands grasp at the fabric of your clothes, clutching onto you as if you might disappear if he doesn’t hold on tightly enough. The tension that’s held him rigid for so long crumbles, and he presses his forehead against your shoulder, his entire body trembling.

“I don’t want to fight,” he whispers. “I don’t—” A breath, uneven, desperate. “I don’t want to lose you.”

The sheer vulnerability in his voice threatens to unravel you.

“You won’t,” you swear, voice raw with emotion. “You won’t.”

He lets out something like a laugh, but it’s broken, strained, wet with the remnants of unshed tears.

Then, his legs give out beneath him, and you both sink to the floor, tangled together, arms wrapped around each other like lifelines.

Neither of you let go.

Rook Hunt

"Let's break up."

The words barely leave your lips before Rook is on you.

One second, he’s standing before you, the next, he’s grasping at your arms, pulling you close, desperate. His hands tremble as they cradle your face, and his voice—normally so composed, so theatrical in its beauty—is breaking apart at the seams.

"Non, mon amour, non, non, non—tu ne peux pas—please, don’t do this." His words spill out in frantic, overlapping murmurs, a tangled mix of languages, as if one language alone isn’t enough to hold the depth of his despair. His breath is uneven, his hold almost frantic. "Je t’en supplie, tell me this is but a cruel jest. Tell me you do not mean it!"

You’ve never seen Rook like this before.

You've seen Rook in many states—amused, playful, reverent, even solemn—but never like this. Never so utterly shattered. His eyes, always gleaming with some unreadable mystery, are bare now, stripped of all their usual playfulness. He looks at you like a man standing at the gallows, waiting for the final blow.

His hands tighten around you, as though afraid you might slip through his fingers. "I will fix it, I swear it! Whatever it is, however I have failed you, tell me, je t'en prie! Let me make amends!" His voice hitches, and when you finally dare to meet his gaze, your breath catches.

His eyes—so often gleaming with mirth, with mischief—are glossy with unshed tears.

Your heart clenches. "Rook—"

His hands cradle your cheeks, thumbs brushing over your skin with a reverence that makes your chest ache. "I love you, mon cœur. I love you more than words can weave, more than poetry can hold." His voice breaks—an unsteady breath, barely a whisper—"Ne me quitte pas."

You reach up, pressing your hands over his, steadying them. "Rook, stop."

He freezes, breath caught in his throat, as if waiting for a verdict that will decide his fate.

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I didn’t mean it.”

For a moment, neither of you move.

Then, a sharp inhale—a breath of air after near drowning—and suddenly, he’s crushing you against him, arms winding around you with near bruising force.

"Mon dieu," he breathes, his face buried in your shoulder. "Merci, merci, merci—" His grip tightens, as if he still can’t quite believe it, like he needs to feel every inch of you to be sure you’re still here.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper against him, voice thick with emotion.

"Non, mon amour, I'm sorry." He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, shaking his head, remorse etched deep into every line of his face. “I have hurt you, haven’t I? Tell me how, tell me where, and I shall do better, I promise.”

You nod, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. "Then we’ll both do better."

A breathless laugh escapes him, half relief, half lingering disbelief. And then he's pulling you close again, arms firm around you, his lips pressing against your temple, your hair, your hands—anywhere he can reach as if to assure himself you won’t slip away.

And you let him, because neither of you are willing to let go.

Lilia Vanrouge

"Let's break up."

At first, Lilia laughs.

It’s soft, breathy—almost amused. “Oh, that’s quite the joke,” he chuckles, his usual teasing lilt in place. “You nearly had me for a second.”

You don’t respond. You just look at him, expression unreadable, arms crossed, waiting.

His smile twitches, just barely, but you catch it. His amusement fades as realization sinks in, and something shifts in his eyes.

“…Oh.”

The room feels quieter now, despite the argument that had sparked this in the first place. He tilts his head, as if examining you from another angle will make this not real. Then, slowly, he reaches for you, his movements careful in a way that is deeply uncharacteristic of him. His fingers hover near your face, uncertain, hesitant—like he’s waiting for you to flinch, waiting for you to pull away.

"Come now," he says, softer now, a touch strained. "Don't do this. You don't mean it."

Your lips press into a thin line. You’re still frustrated, still convinced you have a point, but the sight of him—his sharp, knowing eyes turning glassy, the slight tremor in his breath—makes something uneasy settle in your chest.

"Lilia," you say, but you don’t get to finish.

Because he pulls you in.

His grip isn’t suffocating, but it’s desperate. One hand cradles the back of your head while the other clings to your waist, firm and pleading. His breathing is uneven, his usually composed demeanor cracking at the edges.

"I—" He stops, swallows, tries again. "I am sorry. I never meant to make you feel like this." His voice is quiet now, almost fragile. "If you truly wish to leave, I won’t stop you. But please, tell me—tell me this was only spoken in anger."

You exhale, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders, feeling the tension in them. His heartbeat is rapid against your own, and for the first time since knowing him, you think he’s the one who might fall apart first.

"It was," you say at last, barely steady. "I didn’t mean it."

Lilia lets out a breath that shakes, just slightly, before pulling you in impossibly closer. His fingers curl against you, grip tightening for a fraction of a second before he steadies himself.

He exhales a weak laugh against your skin, a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You mustn’t be so cruel to this old heart of mine,” he murmurs, his voice uneven with something too raw to name. “One day, you’ll be the death of me.”

His hold lingers—just a little longer than necessary—before he pulls back, just enough to look you in the eyes. There’s something softer in his gaze now, something fragile and achingly sincere.

"Promise me," he says, and though his voice is gentle, it leaves no room for refusal. "Never again."

You huff softly. "Alright."

Lilia presses his forehead to yours, exhaling slowly. “And I’m sorry for pushing you to that point.” His voice is quieter now, reverent. “I love you.”

You nod, your grip tightening around him. “I love you too.”

Lilia hums, gently swaying as he holds you. “Then let’s stay like this a little longer, hm?”

And you do. You stay, wrapped in his arms, letting the warmth of his embrace soothe the lingering ache.

Masterlist

[devdozes]

LMAOOO NEVER THOUGHT ABT PHAINON AND FLAME REAVER BEING TWINS ITS SOO GOOODD do you have more food about them, pretty please?

PHAINON AND FLAMEREAVER TWINS HEADCANON TIMEE

phainon x reader x flamereaver bro thats crazy

🌙 FLAMEREAVER!!-

-He does not care about anyone else but you. He’s cold, uninterested, and side-eyes everyone like they’re beneath him—unless it’s you.

-People thought he didn’t know how to smile until they saw him literally melt whenever you so much as acknowledge his existence.

-If you hug him? Congratulations, he stops functioning.

You: “Flame Reaver, you’re warm.” Him: I will never wash this hoodie again.

-He always acts nonchalant, but the second Phainon does something cute like holding your hand, Flame Reaver does it immediately after but 10x more intense.

Phainon ruffles your hair? Flame Reaver straight-up picks you up bridal style and refuses to put you down.

Phainon leans on your shoulder? Flame Reaver buries his face in your neck.

-Obsessively observant. If you mention off-handedly that you like a certain snack, expect him to casually pull it out of his bag and hand it to you. ("Hn. You like it, right?")

-Pretends to be mysterious but is actually a massive baby when it comes to you. You once ignored him as a joke, and he sulked in the corner, refusing to make eye contact for an hour. -Acts so cold and unbothered, but the second you leave, his entire mood drops like a crashed stock market.

-The exact type of person to sit in the corner in silence, arms crossed, looking deep in thought— but in reality, he’s just replaying every interaction with you in his head. -Secretly follows your schedule and knows where you usually are. If you’re late or missing, he casually (not casual at all) checks the area where you usually hang out. -Phantom limb syndrome but with you.

-“Something’s missing… Oh. It’s (Name).” -If someone mentions your name, his entire focus snaps to them like a cat hearing a can of tuna open. -Would never admit it, but if you don’t show up for school one day, he’s literally in a bad mood the entire day and glares at everyone like it’s their fault.

-Buys you things without asking. Just silently hands you gifts like it’s normal.

-“Here.” (Casually gives you a ridiculously expensive necklace.) -“Why?” -“Because.” (No further explanation.)

-Carries your bags for you.

-No exceptions. You once tried to carry them yourself, and he literally took them from your hands and stared at you until you gave up.

-If you so much as glance at something for 0.2 seconds, he’s already getting it for you.

“You looked at that for too long. It’s yours now.”

-Prepares things before you even realize you need them.

-You forgot your jacket? He already has one ready. -You’re craving something? He already bought it. You’re tired? He physically drags you somewhere to sit.

☀️ PHAINON!!-

-A ray of sunshine, a ball of energy, but still so down bad for you it’s hilarious.

-Whines if you don’t give him attention for more than five minutes. Literally follows you around like a puppy.

-“Where are you going? Can I come? No? Then, I’ll wait for you right here—don’t take too long!”

-Gets jealous of Flame Reaver but in a “No fair!!” way instead of an intense way.

"Why does he get to sit next to you? I called dibs first!!"

-Super affectionate and has no concept of personal space with you. Will casually put his head on your lap, throw an arm around your shoulder, or pull you into bear hugs without thinking.

-Once tripped while walking and grabbed your hand to steady himself—never let go.

-Loves showing off in front of you. Sports? Academics? He’s suddenly the best at it if you’re watching.

-Cracks terrible jokes just to see you smile. If you ever laugh at them, expect him to grin for hours like an idiot.

-Unlike Flame Reaver, who simmers in quiet obsession, Phainon is loud and proud about liking you.

“(Name) is literally the best person in the world, I’m so lucky to be their best friend! I mean— -Physically cannot sit still. He pouts, sighs dramatically, and acts like you’re gone forever even if you’re just five minutes late. “I am dying. My heart is broken. Oh wait—hold on—(Name) texted me!!”

-Checks his phone every two seconds but pretends he’s not looking. -Catches himself doing it, sighs, and throws his phone onto the table like he’s in a drama.

-Literally complains to everyone about how you’re not there. “Ughhh, I’m so bored. This sucks. (Name) isn’t here.”

-If you don’t answer a text, he texts again.

Text 1: “Hey!!” Text 2 (5 mins later): “What’s up?” Text 3 (10 mins later): “Hello?? You’re not dead, right???” Text 4 (15 mins later): “I miss you. Come back.”

-Unintentionally third-wheels himself into other people’s conversations but makes it everyone’s problem that you’re not there.

Friend: “Hey, Phainon, wanna—” Phainon: “I miss (Reader) :(”

-Loves taking you out and spoiling you with fun experiences.

-“Ohhh, you’ve never been there before? Let’s go! Right now!” -“Wanna try that new café? My treat!”

-Buys you plushies. A concerning amount.

“Look, it reminded me of you!” (Says this every single time.) Your room is slowly turning into a plushie kingdom.

-If he ever sees you even slightly stressed, he immediately drags you away to relax.

“Nope. We’re taking a break. Come on, let’s go get ice cream.”

THE SILLIES AUGHURJFHJIOEAR

[munv]

𝗜𝗠𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗜𝗡 𝗘𝗦𝗖𝗔𝗧𝗦𝗬

• In which, you had died and reincarnated into Blue Lock as the Itoshi Siblings elder sibling, How will your journey in this new life treat you? What goals will it lead you to?

• P10

• please @ me or dm me if you want to be on a taglist for the series!!

It was only a couple of years since the birth of your little brother Rin, he was a fussy little boy but it’s not like much could be done. He was a baby afterall. You find it a bit odd though. For the past few days ever since Rin has been added to your family circle, Sae has been hibernating in your room. Which just so happened to be your current predicament.

"nee-san, where's the charger?" he was on the beanbag near your window with a iPad in his hand.

"to your left." you muttered without sparing him a second glance. You questioned him earlier as to why he decided to set camp inside your room. But he just said that he wanted an "escape". Whatever that meant.

You doubt he's going through his emo phase so early.

Ever since your parents have been busy with the baby Sae took it upon himself to sleep in your room. You get that he's not the most social, and took hella time for him to warm up to you despite being his older sister. But what harm could a baby possibly cause to him?

"[n/n] dear! come downstairs please!" Your mothers voice called out. You let out a sigh before making your way downstairs. Closing the door behind you, since you've come to learn that Sae gets pissed off and berates you for not closing the door.

Downstairs, you came face to face with your mother who was dressed up. "are you going somewhere?" You questioned. “Ah, there you are! And sae aswell!”

Oh God, him?

Behind was the little boy peeking from the top of the staircase. Turning your attention back to your mother, the baby was your fathers hands. "We need to go out since you know your aunt needs help with certain things!" she smiled.

No doubt it was family drama again, you sweatdropped. Arms crossed, "are you implying.." Your father gave you an apologetic smile, bouncing Rin slightly. "we know how you don't really like being disturbed in your alone time, but we'll be counting on you, our little [n/n]!" Usually, if they were to leave you alone with Sae, they would imply that they would just be back soon , surely they were shitting you though. I mean, they wouldn't leave you alone with the both of them.. It wasn't long of much more advice and explaining with a bit of tears (props to your mother crying about her "babies" being left all alone with no one to protect them) 

"Alright dear! oh, and dont forge-!" you door was shut before she could get another word in. You could slightly hear complaints and loud laughter beyond the door before the sound of a car starting vibrated against your ears. Letting out a sigh you let your head rest against the door before turning around to face the impending doom that was laid down for you. 

"alright..we're going to have some rules" you say to the two tealed boys looking back at you. 

Rin giggled happily, clapping his hands while Sae blankly stared at you, "what a bother.." he rolled his eyes 

At first when you had to take care of your two younger brothers, you considered the fact that maybe, just maybe you would get that slim chance that they wouldnt go crazy like they were one von dread strong. Holy shit were you wrong, and the worst part? They took less than an hour to prove you wrong. That was the biggest ego bruise so far.

You only began to realize you were the farthest cry from right when Sae and Rin went silent for way too long for comfort. You were set up in your room relaxing, no headphones in this time, just for the sake of being responsible and being there when you need to be. Just you, the sound of pen meeting paper, and occasional typing. But maybe it was a tad too quiet. 

It's not like you welcome the noise or anything. Just concerned that there isnt as much as you thought there'd be. The sun was still out since your parents opted to leave pretty early this morning. The open window allowed sun the shine through onto the work stretched out before you. 

With a stretch you raised your arms above your head with a content sigh. "maybe I should go check on them..by grace they would be asleep by now." chair scraping against the wooden floor, you rose from your corner with ease. "alright! I'll go see how they're doin-...." 

BAM

It was quick, but a precise execution. The soccer ball whirled in through your open window and straight into the room. If only you had been quick enough to evade it, one millisecond even couldve saved you. If only..

Holy shit, its getting darker? Did you sit up too fast? Is this an assault? No, it was your damn soccer ball. You could tell. 

Just then, pattering rang out throughout the house and loud screams "NEE-SAN!!" "oh damn, it really connected"

"NEE-SAN DON'T DIE PLEASE!" one voice cried out "Is she dead," another paused before continuing "yet?" 

"NII-SAN!" the higher one cried out "what? it's a honest question..oh. Its blood. She might be dying Rin." "NOOOOOOOO!!" he wailed

'what a brat' was the last thought before you drifted off to sleep. 

                            ITOSHI OMAKE                                                                 

"[name], dear, can you sit up? I cant have you lying down with such a nosebleed" currently your mother was aiding you on the living room couch with a towel, benadryl, and some water. "Okaasan?" "yes, dear?" 

"I'm going to smite your eldest son." a dark aura surrounded your body as you stared at your little brother with malice. He had some nerve drinking kombucha right about now as he stared right at something he caused. "and then nii-san went whoosh and bam!!". Rin explained to his dad with what seemed to be imitations of sae's prior showcase. He was holding miko in his hands as she purred at the affections. "it seems we have a bunch of soccer geniuses" your father chuckled. 

sae gave you a blank look before continuing, "will you finally stop being shallow and play soccer with me now?" he asked, taking another sip. 

"oh it is SO ON you little brat"

"If I knew hitting you square in the face with a soccer ball was all it took, I wouldve done it earlier, nee-san" he mocked

"[n/n]! please stay still, you're bleeding again!" your mother gasped "You.Me.Outside.Now. I'm not taking insults from the underdeveloped"

"would that make you old?" 

Was this brat taunting you into playing with him? He's lucky its working. 

"Outside." you glared, standing up from your supposed death bed on the family couch. 

"Ok" he seemed pleased, a little too please. He offered a small smug smirk before quickly going blank once again. "I saw that." 

"saw what my ever so beloved elder sister?" 

"I'm going to punch you" 

"Ohh! Fight!" Rin encouraged with a bright smile. Your father sweated at the sparks flying between you and sae. "Rin, where did you learn that?" 

"from you!"

[kaiyunsim]

if i say i love you —

pairing : ot6!bnd x staff m!reader

summary : six boys, one you, and an unspoken competition that absolutely no one admits to. somehow, you’re still completely oblivious.

warnings : fluff, not poly, each boy fighting over one another to get to you, kinda cliché

a/n : sorry anon if it’s not what you imagined :( i tried to get it out sooner but my head empty.

queueing : if i say i love you - boynextdoor, but i like you - boynextdoor, russian roulette - red velvet

[requested]

— wc : 6.0k — not proof read —

you don’t think much of it at first.

working with boynextdoor is easy, at least compared to some of the other groups you’ve worked with. they’re fun, loud but not in a bad way, and they make your job more entertaining than stressful.

jaehyun is a bit of a mess, but he listens when you talk and tries to be helpful. sungho is sharp. he catches onto things quickly and has a habit of teasing you whenever he gets the chance. riwoo is cool, the kind of guy who doesn’t need to say much to make you feel like he’s paying attention. woonhak is chaos personified, always keeping you on your toes. taesan is effortlessly charming, the kind of guy who knows exactly what he’s doing when he flirts. and leehan… leehan mostly stays in the background, at least at first.

but then things start to shift.

it’s subtle, in the beginning.

jaehyun starts lingering more, standing beside you even when there’s no real reason for him to be there. he’s not the smoothest about it either. one time, you catch him fixing his hair in the reflection of a camera lens before turning to you like he didn’t just spend the last minute making sure he looked good.

“what do you think?” he asks, gesturing vaguely at himself.

you raise an eyebrow. “about what?”

he falters. “just… in general.”

sungho, who’s been watching from the side, snorts. “that was terrible.”

jaehyun groans, rubbing the back of his neck. you laugh, shaking your head before moving on to check the schedule. behind you, sungho pats jaehyun’s shoulder like he’s both proud and disappointed.

then there’s riwoo. he doesn’t say much, but you notice the way he’s always nearby. he’s good at making himself seem casual, like he just happens to be where you are. when you’re going over schedules, he leans over your shoulder, humming in acknowledgment whenever you say something. when you adjust a mic pack on one of the members, he’s right there, watching with quiet focus.

“you okay?” you ask him once, catching him staring.

he blinks, then nods. “just watching.”

woonhak, on the other hand, isn’t subtle at all.

he’s the type to cling, throwing an arm around your shoulders or dramatically leaning against you like he’s exhausted. he finds ways to drag you into whatever chaos he’s creating, whether it’s an impromptu dance-off or a dumb bet against one of the others.

“if i win, you have to buy me food,” he declares one day, challenging sungho to some ridiculous game.

“and if you lose?” you ask, arms crossed.

he grins. “then you have to buy me food.”

“that’s not how bets work.”

“it is now.”

taesan, though. taesan is different.

he’s smooth, casual in the way he flirts. it’s never too much, just enough to make you wonder if he’s being serious.

“you always take such good care of us,” he says one day, voice lower than usual. “you’re making it hard not to fall for you.”

you roll your eyes, pushing his shoulder. “get back to rehearsal, pretty boy.”

he winks before jogging off, and you pretend not to notice the way your ears feel warm.

leehan is the hardest to read.

at first, he doesn’t really do anything. he stays in the background, observing more than he interacts. but you start noticing things. how he pays attention to what you say, how he picks up on small details about you that even you don’t realize you’ve shared.

one day, you’re standing by the monitors, watching the members run through their performance. leehan steps up beside you, hands in his pockets.

“you’ve been busy today,” he says.

you shrug. “it’s work.”

he nods but doesn’t say anything else. still, he stays next to you until the song ends.

it all builds up gradually, until you start to feel like something is… off.

you don’t realize you’ve become the center of some unspoken competition until one day, when they’re all gathered in the same room, the tension finally bubbles over.

“you’ve been hogging him all day,” sungho points out, arms crossed as he looks at jaehyun.

“what? no i haven’t!” jaehyun protests, looking guilty.

“you kind of have,” woonhak chimes in. “not very smoothly, either.”

jaehyun glares. “like you’re any better?”

riwoo, leaning against the wall, sighs. “this is stupid.”

“you’re only saying that because you’ve been pulling the ‘silent and mysterious’ card,” taesan retorts.

leehan just watches, expression unreadable.

you, meanwhile, stand in the middle of it all, blinking. “what is going on?”

the room falls silent.

they all look at you, then at each other.

and then, as if realizing at the same time that they’ve just exposed themselves, they all start talking at once.

“nothing—”

“they started it—”

“it’s not what it looks like—”

you cross your arms. “really? because it kind of looks like you’re all fighting over something.”

more silence.

finally, woonhak, ever the wildcard, sighs dramatically. “fine. we might be… competing a little.”

you blink. “competing? for what?”

the room goes dead silent.

jaehyun scratches his head, sungho looks away, riwoo suddenly finds the floor interesting, taesan just smirks like he’s in on a joke you’re not, and leehan just smirks like the oddball he is.

you look between them, waiting for an answer. when none comes, you huff. “whatever. you guys are weird.”

sungho snickers. “and you’re slow.”

you frown. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“nothing,” jaehyun blurts out, a little too quickly.

you narrow your eyes at them but decide it’s not worth the headache. turning on your heel, you wave them off. “i don’t get paid enough for this.”

as you walk away, you can hear them whispering behind you.

definitely weird.

—

you don’t think much of it when jaehyun asks if you want to grab food.

it’s after a long day, and you’re usually with the members anyway, so it doesn’t feel out of the ordinary. besides, you’re hungry, and jaehyun’s easy to be around, even if he’s kind of a mess half the time.

“there’s this place near the dorms,” he says, practically bouncing as you walk out together. “i swear, best tteokbokki i’ve ever had.”

you raise an eyebrow. “you say that about every place.”

“okay, but this time i mean it.”

jaehyun has this energy about him. excitable, a little all over the place, but never in a way that’s overwhelming. it’s actually kind of nice. you’re used to being the staff member, the one who has to be responsible, keep things in check. but with jaehyun, it’s easy to just relax.

you get to the restaurant, and it’s small but cozy, the kind of place you know he’s been to a lot.

“i got this,” he says confidently, grabbing the menu. “order whatever you want.”

you glance at him, amused. “jaehyun, you don’t have to—”

“nah, i insist,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “my treat.”

you sigh, but you don’t argue. he looks way too proud of himself, like he just won some grand prize.

the two of you chat while waiting for the food, and you have to admit. jaehyun’s fun. he’s got this dumb sense of humor that somehow always lands, and he doesn’t mind laughing at himself, which makes conversations easy.

everything is going fine. until, of course, jaehyun is jaehyun.

he gestures a little too enthusiastically while talking about some game he’s been obsessed with, and before you can react, his elbow knocks over his drink.

straight onto his lap.

“oh, come on,” he groans, jumping up as ice cubes scatter everywhere.

you try not to laugh. you really do. but the way he stands there, arms slightly raised like he has no idea what to do, makes it impossible.

“dude,” you snort, shaking your head. “how do you even function daily?”

“poorly,” he admits, grabbing a handful of napkins and dabbing at his soaked jeans. “very poorly.”

you take pity on him and help, handing over more napkins while he mutters about how he’s never trusting himself with drinks again.

when the food arrives, he finally sits back down, slightly damp but mostly unbothered. “okay. we forget that ever happened.”

“sure,” you say, still amused.

despite the disaster, the rest of the meal is nice. jaehyun’s easy to talk to, and before you know it, you’ve been sitting there for over an hour, laughing and chatting like you’ve known each other forever.

and that’s the thing about him. he might be clumsy, but there’s something about the way he talks, the way he is, that makes it impossible to feel uncomfortable.

when you finish eating, you both step outside, stretching a little after sitting for so long. the air is cooler now, but it feels nice after being inside for so long.

“see?” jaehyun says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “great tteokbokki.”

you nod. “i’ll give you that.”

he grins, clearly pleased.

and then—

“yo,” a voice calls from nearby.

you both turn to see riwoo leaning against a streetlamp, looking effortlessly cool like he just happened to be there.

except you’re pretty sure he didn’t just happen to be there.

jaehyun narrows his eyes. “what are you doing here?”

riwoo shrugs. “just walking.”

“right,” jaehyun deadpans. “because you love walking around alone at night for no reason.”

you glance between them, confused. “wait, do you guys live around here?”

“we do,” jaehyun says, still eyeing riwoo suspiciously.

riwoo, on the other hand, looks completely unfazed. “you heading back?”

before you can answer, jaehyun speaks up. “yeah, we were—”

“cool,” riwoo interrupts. “i’ll walk with you.”

jaehyun’s eye twitches.

you don’t notice, though, because you’re already nodding. “sure.”

and just like that, your quiet walk back turns into a not-so-quiet one, with riwoo now in the mix.

jaehyun tries to reclaim the conversation, bringing up some random story, but riwoo effortlessly slides in with his usual coolness, making you laugh at the dry comments he sneaks in.

jaehyun glares. riwoo smirks.

you? completely oblivious.

by the time you reach the building, jaehyun looks like he wants to throw something at riwoo’s head.

“anyway,” jaehyun says loudly, stepping in front of you. “we should do this again sometime.”

before you can reply, riwoo cuts in smoothly. “actually, you’re free tomorrow, right?”

jaehyun’s jaw drops. “excuse me?”

riwoo ignores him, looking at you. “there’s this cool place i think you’d like. want to check it out?”

you blink. “uh, sure?”

jaehyun throws his hands in the air. “unbelievable.”

riwoo just pats his shoulder before turning back to you. “i’ll text you.”

and with that, he walks off, leaving jaehyun standing there, fuming.

“did that just happen?” jaehyun asks, staring after him.

you shrug. “i guess?”

jaehyun groans, rubbing his face. “i hate him.”

you laugh, patting his arm. “come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

“you don’t get it,” he grumbles.

he doesn’t explain what he means, though. and you don’t press, still completely unaware of the chaos unfolding around you.

but jaehyun?

jaehyun knows.

and now, thanks to riwoo, the competition just got a whole lot harder.

—

it isn’t until the next evening that you realize you never actually asked where you were going with riwoo.

you check your phone, scrolling up to his last message. riwoo: meet me at the park near the dorms. 7pm.

simple. direct. nothing flashy. it fits him.

when you get there, riwoo’s already waiting, hands in his pockets, his usual unreadable expression in place.

“hey,” he greets casually.

“hey,” you reply, falling into step beside him as he starts walking.

it’s quiet for a moment, but it doesn’t feel awkward. riwoo isn’t the type to fill silence just for the sake of it, and for some reason, you don’t feel the need to either.

the park is peaceful at this hour, the sky fading into soft hues of orange and pink. the sounds of distant chatter mix with the rustling leaves, and you find yourself relaxing, the weight of the day lifting without you even noticing.

“you come here often?” you ask eventually.

riwoo nods. “it’s nice.”

simple. but you get what he means.

he leads you toward a quieter area, where a small walking path winds around a pond. as you follow the curve of the trail, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls something out.

“here.”

you blink as he hands you a small keychain. it’s nothing extravagant—just a tiny charm shaped like a game controller. but when you take a closer look, you recognize it.

“wait… this is from that arcade, isn’t it?” you ask, surprised.

he nods. “you mentioned liking the claw machines there last time we went. figured you should have one of the prizes.”

you stare at the keychain, turning it over in your palm. it’s such a small thing, but the fact that he remembered…

“you won this?” you ask, looking up.

riwoo just shrugs. “took a few tries.”

you huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “dude. you could’ve just bought one.”

he hums, glancing ahead. “not the same.”

and just like that, something shifts.

you’re not sure what, exactly, but there’s a warmth in your chest that wasn’t there before. riwoo doesn’t make a big deal out of things, but that almost makes them feel more real, like he wouldn’t have gone through the trouble unless he actually meant it.

you slide the keychain into your pocket, feeling its small weight against your fingers.

“thanks,” you say, voice softer than before.

he just nods, like it’s nothing.

but the comfortable silence between you says otherwise.

as the two of you continue walking, conversation comes naturally. it’s not forced, not something either of you are trying too hard for. it just flows, an easy back-and-forth that feels like you’ve been doing this for years.

you talk about random things. music, places you want to visit, the weirdest things you’ve seen in convenience stores at 3am. riwoo’s humor is dry but sharp, slipping in casually between sentences, and you find yourself laughing more than you expected to.

at some point, you stop by a bench, sitting for a while just to enjoy the evening air.

you lean back, stretching your arms. “this is nice.”

riwoo hums in agreement, gaze fixed on the water.

and for a moment, that’s enough.

no pressure to fill the silence. no expectation to keep the conversation going. just existing, side by side.

you don’t realize how much time has passed until—

“there you are.”

you both turn at the voice, only to see taesan strolling toward you, hands in his hoodie pockets, looking way too pleased with himself.

riwoo exhales, slow and measured. “really?”

“what?” taesan says innocently, plopping down on the bench beside you. “just happened to be in the area.”

you snort. “why does it feel like you guys keep happening to be in the area?”

“coincidence,” taesan grins.

riwoo, unimpressed, stares at him. “go away.”

“nah,” taesan replies easily, leaning against the backrest. “this seems fun.”

you shake your head, amused, while riwoo just closes his eyes like he’s contemplating his life choices.

taesan tilts his head at you. “so, what were you guys talking about?”

“nothing,” riwoo mutters.

taesan gasps dramatically. “nothing? wow. sounds so fun.”

riwoo shoots him a deadpan look. “it was.”

you laugh, watching the exchange. taesan is obviously messing with riwoo, and riwoo, while exasperated, doesn’t actually seem mad, just annoyed in that quiet way he gets when things don’t go his way.

“well, since i’m here,” taesan says, stretching, “might as well walk you back.”

riwoo looks seconds away from strangling him.

you, completely oblivious to the underlying battle, just nod. “sure, why not.”

and with that, your quiet night out with riwoo comes to an abrupt, taesan-shaped end.

—

“you like 90s music?”

taesan’s voice comes through the phone casually, but there’s something in his tone that makes you feel like this is leading somewhere.

“yeah,” you answer, leaning back against your couch. “why?”

“got some tracks you might like,” he says smoothly. “wanna listen?”

you pause. “right now?”

“yep.”

“...is this your way of asking me to hang out?”

“maybe,” taesan replies, amused. “but hey, you did say yes, so.”

you shake your head but find yourself grinning. “where?”

“studio.”

he doesn’t give you much time to overthink it. within twenty minutes, you find yourself walking into a dimly lit practice room, the faint hum of a speaker already playing something in the background. taesan is sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, looking perfectly at ease.

he glances up when you enter, smirking. “didn’t think you’d actually show.”

“why? were you hoping i wouldn’t?” you tease, dropping into the chair across from him.

taesan chuckles. “nah. just means i must be more convincing than i thought.”

he leans over to the speaker, adjusting the volume before letting the song play in full. the familiar sound of a 90s r&b track filters through the room, smooth and rich. you nod along, already vibing with it.

“okay,” you admit. “good pick.”

taesan grins. “knew you’d like it.”

he doesn’t sit back down immediately. instead, he moves closer, leaning against the table between you, close enough that you can catch the faint scent of his cologne.

“this one’s good too,” he says, scrolling through his playlist before pressing play.

a new song starts, the kind with slow beats and lyrics that sound way too suggestive when paired with taesan’s current expression. he doesn’t say anything about it, just watches you with a knowing smile, like he’s waiting for you to notice.

you clear your throat. “you, uh—got a theme going on here?”

“maybe,” he muses, tilting his head. “what? too much for you?”

you scoff, crossing your arms. “please. you’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

his grin widens. “oh? that a challenge?”

you don’t answer, but you don’t look away either. which is a mistake, because taesan takes that as an invitation to up his game.

he moves around the table and sits next to you, close enough that your knees almost touch.

“so,” he says, resting his chin on his palm, “what’s your type?”

you blink. “what?”

“your type,” he repeats, tone light. “y’know. romantically.”

you roll your eyes. “why do you care?”

“just curious.” he shrugs. “humor me.”

you sigh, pretending to think. “okay, fine. i guess… someone who’s funny. easy to talk to. good taste in music doesn’t hurt either.”

taesan hums. “interesting.”

you narrow your eyes. “what?”

he just grins. “nah. just sounds like you’re describing me.”

you knew he was leading up to something, but hearing him say it so bluntly still makes you pause.

he laughs at your expression, nudging your shoulder. “c’mon, that was a good one.”

“was it?” you mutter, shaking your head.

he leans back, stretching his arms above his head. “you’re cute when you get flustered, y’know.”

you freeze for half a second before scoffing. “i’m not flustered.”

“mmm,” taesan hums like he doesn’t believe you.

he switches to another song, one with a slower, lazier beat, and taps his fingers against his thigh to the rhythm.

“alright,” he says. “your turn. what’s my type?”

you raise a brow. “shouldn’t you know that?”

“sure,” he grins. “but i wanna hear your guess.”

you hesitate, eyeing him. “uh. someone confident?”

“mmhmm,” he nods, waiting.

“someone who can keep up with your flirting without getting flustered.”

he snickers. “so not you, then?”

you groan. “you’re insufferable.”

he laughs, tilting his head. “you love it.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t deny it.

by the time you check your phone, an hour has passed without you even realizing.

“damn,” you mutter. “didn’t think we’d be here this long.”

taesan smirks. “time flies when you’re having fun.”

before you can retort, the door swings open.

“whoa, cozy.”

you turn just in time to see woonhak standing in the doorway, looking way too smug.

taesan exhales through his nose. “...really?”

“what?” woonhak grins. “i was literally looking for you.”

“convenient timing,” taesan mutters.

woonhak ignores him, turning to you. “hey, you busy? ‘cause i have a way more fun idea.”

taesan tuts, shaking his head. “and you just had to interrupt now, huh?”

woonhak shrugs, looking completely unbothered. “what can i say? perfect timing.”

you laugh, glancing between them. whatever this is, it’s definitely not just a coincidence.

but you don’t think much of it. after all, your friends have always been chaotic.

right?

“you’re coming with me,” woonhak announces, grabbing your wrist before you can react.

you blink. “huh? where—”

“no time for questions,” he says, dragging you forward with a wide grin. “just trust me.”

you don’t get a chance to argue. one second, you’re standing outside the practice room after parting ways with taesan, and the next, you’re practically jogging to keep up with woonhak’s excited strides.

“seriously,” you huff, “what is this about?”

woonhak finally slows down when you reach the main hallway. he spins on his heel to face you, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“photo booth,” he declares.

you stare at him. “...photo booth?”

he nods. “yep. the one down the street.”

you raise a brow. “why?”

“because,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “i need cool pics, and you’re the only person fun enough to take them with.”

you huff out a laugh. “that’s a weird compliment, but okay.”

woonhak beams. “i am kind of a compliment expert.”

he tugs you toward the exit before you can overthink it. something about his energy makes it impossible to say no. his enthusiasm is genuine, infectious in a way that makes you want to go along with whatever ridiculous plan he’s cooked up.

so, despite the randomness of it all, you find yourself stepping into the tiny photo booth with him not even fifteen minutes later.

“okay, okay,” woonhak says, leaning closer as he scans the screen. “which filter? vintage? cartoon? ooh, or the one that makes us look like shiny porcelain dolls?”

you snort. “definitely not that one.”

“boo. no fun,” he teases, but he selects the vintage filter anyway.

the countdown begins.

“quick, first pose!”

without thinking, you throw up a peace sign. woonhak, of course, leans in dramatically, pointing at you like you’re the most interesting person in the world.

the camera flashes.

“next one, do something dumb,” he says.

you both make exaggerated, ridiculous faces. flash.

“now a cool one.”

he throws an arm around your shoulders and tilts his chin up, giving the camera his best model smolder. you just try to look less awkward. flash.

by the time the last picture is taken, you’re both grinning like idiots, slightly out of breath from how hard you’ve been laughing.

“these are perfect,” woonhak declares as the printed photos slide out from the machine.

you shake your head. “they’re ridiculous.”

“perfectly ridiculous,” he corrects, waving them around so the ink can dry.

you glance at the photos, smiling despite yourself. “okay, yeah. they’re kinda fun.”

woonhak gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. “was that amusement i just heard? from you?”

you roll your eyes, but he just laughs, nudging you playfully.

the two of you step out of the booth woonhak drags you around, not realizing how big the area woonhak took you to was. and that’s when you realize just how much time has passed.

“wait,” you frown, checking your phone. “we’ve been here for two hours?”

woonhak grins. “time flies when you’re having fun.”

“that’s what taesan said,” you mutter.

“ugh, don’t compare me to him.” woonhak pouts. “i’m way more fun.”

you chuckle. “alright, sure.”

he hums, pleased, then carefully tears the photo strip in half and hands you a piece.

“souvenir,” he says.

you take it, feeling oddly touched. “thanks.”

“duh,” he says, nudging your shoulder again.

just as you’re about to say something else, a voice calls out—

“yo, what are you guys up to?”

you turn to see sungho approaching, hands casually in his pockets but eyes flicking between you and woonhak with obvious curiosity.

woonhak tuts. “oh, great. here comes the fun police.”

sungho raises a brow. “fun police? dude, you kidnapped him.”

“for a great cause.”

sungho chuckles, then turns to you. “seriously though, you free? i was gonna grab something to eat—thought you might wanna come.”

woonhak groans dramatically. “unbelievable. you really couldn’t wait five more minutes?”

sungho just smirks. “nope.”

you blink between them, still not fully catching onto whatever silent competition is happening here.

but hey, free food.

“alright,” you say. “let’s go.”

woonhak throws his arms up. “betrayal!”

you laugh, already walking away with sungho. woonhak’s over-the-top whining fades into the background as you head toward your next (unknowingly competitive) hangout.

—

sungho doesn’t rush you.

he doesn’t drag you off like woonhak or flirt like taesan. he doesn’t plan an elaborate excuse to get you alone, nor does he try to impress you with anything grand. instead, he simply walks beside you, keeping an easy pace as you leave the area near the photo booth.

��you okay?” he asks after a while.

you glance at him, a little confused. “yeah? why wouldn’t i be?”

he shrugs. “just making sure. woonhak has a lot of energy.”

you chuckle at that. “yeah, he does.”

sungho hums in agreement. for a moment, there’s only the sound of your footsteps as you walk.

normally, silence like this would feel awkward, like you need to fill the space with words just to make sure the conversation doesn’t die. but with sungho, it doesn’t feel that way at all. his presence is steady, comfortable. there’s no pressure to keep talking, no expectation for you to entertain him.

it’s... nice.

“so,” he says eventually, “where do you wanna eat?”

you think for a second. “hmm. something simple, maybe? i’m not too picky.”

“same,” he nods. “there’s a good place around the corner. nothing fancy, but the food’s solid.”

“sounds good.”

sungho doesn’t lead the way. he walks with you. side by side.

when you get to the restaurant, he holds the door open for you without making a big deal out of it. he doesn’t comment on what you order, doesn’t try to one-up you or tease you like some of the others might. instead, he just listens.

you don’t even realize how much you’re talking at first. maybe it’s because he isn’t pushing for anything, but before long, you find yourself rambling, about random things, small frustrations, the little annoyances of your day. you talk about something funny that happened earlier, about how you got lost trying to find a meeting room, about how taesan’s music taste is stuck in the 90s.

sungho listens to it all. really listens.

he doesn’t just nod along absentmindedly or wait for his turn to speak. he responds thoughtfully, asks questions that show he’s paying attention. he laughs at the right moments, shakes his head when you tell him something dumb that happened.

and when you run out of things to say, he doesn’t fill the quiet with unnecessary words. he just lets it be.

you exhale, leaning back in your seat. “you’re easy to talk to.”

sungho smiles, small but genuine. “that’s a good thing, right?”

“yeah,” you admit. “it is.”

he rests his chin on his hand. “well, you’re easy to listen to.”

you huff out a laugh. “that supposed to be a compliment?”

“mhm.”

you shake your head, but your lips twitch.

the food arrives, and the two of you eat without any rush. conversation flows naturally, never forced, never awkward. the longer you sit with him, the more you realize how rare that is. how rare it is to just exist with someone like this, without feeling like you have to perform or keep up with them.

sungho doesn’t try to be anything more than himself. and because of that, you don’t feel like you have to be anything more than yourself either.

it’s... different. in a good way.

you’re still processing that when the door to the restaurant swings open and someone walks in.

“there you are.”

you blink up at the new arrival.

leehan.

he looks from you to sungho, then back again, raising an eyebrow like he’s caught something interesting.

sungho barely reacts, just pops a fry into his mouth. “what’s up?”

leehan’s gaze lingers on you. “just wondering where he disappeared to.”

you frown. “i didn’t disappear.”

he shrugs. “you kinda did.”

sungho smirks slightly. “jealous?”

leehan scoffs. “not at all.” then, he turns to you. “you done eating?”

you glance at your plate. you’re mostly finished. “uh... yeah, pretty much.”

“cool. come with me.”

you blink. “what? where?”

“just trust me,” he says.

sungho exhales through his nose, amused. “guess that’s my cue to let you go.”

you feel a little bad leaving him so soon, but leehan is already waiting.

“thanks for this,” you say to sungho. “seriously.”

he nods, something knowing in his expression. “anytime.”

and with that, leehan ushers you out, his interruption marking the start of whatever he has planned next.

—

leehan doesn’t say much when he leads you out of the restaurant.

you exhale, stretching your arms. “so where are we going?”

“somewhere quiet,” leehan says simply.

he doesn’t elaborate, but you don’t push for details. there’s something about the way he moves. calm, deliberate, that makes you trust him without question.

your legs are already tired from the long day, but you don’t complain. it’s been one thing after another lately, bouncing between schedules, helping with whatever needs to be done, keeping up with the members’ energy. the thought of somewhere quiet is actually kind of nice.

leehan seems to notice.

at some point, without a word, he reaches over and takes the bag from your shoulder, the one weighed down with equipment, heavier than it should be after carrying it around all day.

“huh?” you blink, startled. “you don’t have to—”

“just give it to me,” he says, not unkindly.

you hesitate for a second, but then you let him.

the relief in your muscles is instant. you hadn’t realized just how much strain the bag was putting on your shoulder until the weight was gone.

“thanks,” you mumble.

leehan doesn’t respond, just keeps walking like it’s nothing.

you fall into step with him, and soon enough, you recognize the route, the way to the dorms.

“wait, we’re going to your place?”

he nods.

“uh. am i even allowed?”

“you are now.”

you huff a quiet laugh. “guess i can’t argue with that.”

when you arrive, the dorm is surprisingly empty.

“everyone’s still out,” leehan explains as he sets your bag down near the door.

you glance around. “so, what now?”

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he walks over to a small tank near the window.

it takes you a second to register what you’re looking at. but then it clicks.

of course.

“checking on your fish?” you ask, amused.

leehan hums in confirmation.

you step closer, watching as he taps the glass lightly, eyes scanning over the water like he’s making sure everything is in perfect balance. everyone knows leehan likes fish. he’s known for it.

but you’ve never actually seen him with them before.

there’s a quiet fondness in the way he does it, gentle, careful.

“they look good,” you say.

“they are.”

“you always talk about them, but this is my first time actually seeing them.” you glance at him. “i get it now.”

he raises an eyebrow. “get what?”

you nod toward the tank. “why you like them so much. they’re… calming.”

he watches them for a second before nodding. “they are.”

you both stand there, just looking at them for a while. the fish move in slow, effortless patterns, gliding through the water without a care. it’s oddly soothing to watch.

and then—

“you should take better care of yourself.”

you blink. “what?”

leehan finally looks at you. “you don’t even notice when you’re exhausted, do you?”

his words catch you off guard. “i—” you pause, about to deny it, but... you can’t.

because he’s right.

you don’t notice. not really. you just keep going, keep working, keep up with everything, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. and no one’s ever really pointed it out before. not like this.

leehan doesn’t press you for a response. he just turns back to the fish tank, letting the statement hang in the air.

but something about it sticks with you.

you should take better care of yourself.

it’s such a simple thing to say, but coming from leehan, it carries weight. because he’s not the type to throw words around without meaning them.

you swallow. “i’ll try.”

he nods, like that’s enough. like he trusts that you will.

the moment lingers between you, quiet but full.

and then—

the door bursts open.

“we’re back!”

suddenly, the dorm is filled with voices (jaehyun, sungho, riwoo, taesan, woonhak) talking over each other as they pile in.

jaehyun stops mid-step. “wait. why is he here?”

“why wouldn’t he be?” leehan says evenly.

taesan raises an eyebrow. “hold on. how long have you two been alone?”

“does it matter?”

woonhak dramatically gasps. “you didn’t steal him away, did you?”

sungho shakes his head with a small smile. “figures, leehan would play the long game.”

riwoo just eyes you quietly, like he’s assessing the situation.

you blink at all of them. “uh. hi?”

the tension in the room is almost comical.

and suddenly, you get the distinct feeling that this whole situation, whatever this is, is far from over.

it starts small.

jaehyun practically shoves you into the best seat at the table when you all go out to eat.

"here, sit here. good view, best lighting," he says, pulling out the chair with too much enthusiasm, nearly knocking it over in the process.

before you can even thank him, riwoo silently slides a drink in front of you.

"your favorite," he says, as if he had it ready before you even sat down.

"oh—thanks?" you blink, but before you can take a sip, taesan leans in with a smirk.

"wait, wait," he says, plucking the glass from your hand. "let me taste-test it first." he takes an exaggerated sip, licking his lips. "yeah, that's safe for you."

"what—" you stare at him, baffled, but then woonhak slides in from nowhere.

"whoa, whoa, hold up," he grins. "you're making him drink already? shouldn't we feed him first?" and just like that, he's piling food onto your plate like an overly doting grandma.

"guys," you laugh, half overwhelmed, half amused. "you don’t have to—"

"eat," sungho says simply, nodding toward the plate. "we're not letting you work on an empty stomach."

you blink at him, confused, but then leehan casually pushes a napkin toward you.

"they're messy," he says, nodding toward the rest of them.

"i'm—what is happening?" you finally ask, looking around the table.

no one answers.

they all just eye each other.

silently.

like some sort of standoff.

…okay, weird.

but whatever, you’re hungry. so you just shake your head and start eating, blissfully unaware of the chaos about to unfold.

at some point, you stop trying to keep up with whatever this is and just start laughing.

"okay," you say, shaking your head. "i don’t know what’s going on, but you guys are acting so weird tonight."

they all freeze.

"weird? what do you mean weird?" jaehyun asks, far too quickly.

"we're not weird," woonhak protests.

"you're the weird one," taesan adds, for no reason.

sungho sighs.

leehan just crosses his arms.

you look at all of them. the tension. the silent glares. the way they're obviously trying to one-up each other at every turn.

…

nah.

there’s no way.

"you know what?" you grin. "instead of competing or whatever this is—why don’t we just enjoy the night together?"

they all pause.

"together?" jaehyun repeats.

"as in… no competition?" riwoo asks, skeptical.

you raise an eyebrow. "was there a competition?"

silence.

taesan clears his throat. "no. obviously not."

"yeah, no competition," woonhak says way too fast.

"never," jaehyun insists.

sungho sighs again.

leehan shakes his head.

you just smile.

whatever this is, you’re not gonna overthink it.

because right now, you're just here to have fun.

with all of them.

end of story.

…

(or at least, that’s what you think.)

—

tysm for reading :>

bnd taglist : @bxnedo

perm taglist : @s0shroe @minoouz @the0p @mon2sunjinsuver

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Fault Lines Ch. 2

request: wanted to know if you could write something where the reader is a ex-winter solider (just like bucky, but maybe she doesn't lose her arm) and how she struggles to accept Joaquin. An overall angst to fluff.

pairing: joaquin torres x ex-super soldier!f!reader

contents: canon typical violence, illusions to abuse and torture, ptsd and other mental illness, enemies to lovers, angst

wc: 1,383

an: this series is based off of this request here! this is definitely a slow burn/fluff if you squint type beat so just bear with me <3

fault lines masterlist

The safe house is quiet, save for the low hum of the overhead light and the occasional rustle of movement from Joaquin as he leans against the wall opposite of you. He knows better than to box you in—that’d only make you more restless than you already are.

Post-meal and shower, you sit on his cot, arms crossed, gaze fixed somewhere past him like you’re already planning your exit. The space smells of antiseptic and metal despite the warm paint and comforting art. Someone had tried to make this as home-y as they could and failed.  

He doesn’t doubt that you are.  And you are. You’re on edge, always hypervigilant for the worst. That the two men in front of you that promise to stand on decency and honor are liars just like everyone else you’ve ever encountered. 

There’s only one door and a few windows, but you had immediately noticed the door under the rug in the bathroom. Its doable.

Sam’s outside, making calls, searching for loopholes to clean up the mess you’ve already made. That leaves Joaquin with what he does best—talking. But tonight, that skill is failing him.

Something about you is making the words sticky in his throat, unable to flow as usual. He doesn’t know what to say to you to make you understand, to make you change. Though he’s not really sure that’s his goal given what you’ve suffered.

“You look like you wanna be anywhere but here,” he observes, arms mirroring yours.

“What a shocking observation, baby bird,” you mutter, voice steeped in sarcasm.

Joaquin exhales through his nose, tilting his head. “Ok, ouch. But let’s be real—you could’ve run already. Hell, you could’ve fought harder. So why are you still here?”

Your fingers curl in your lap, like the truth will slink into your hands if you don’t force it out; it isn’t something you're ready to touch. You flex them once before stilling. “Just because I’m here doesn’t mean I trust you,” you say eventually, voice quieter, more measured.

“Fair.” Joaquin watches you, gaze steady. He hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you unless he has too– he chalks it up to your dangerous capabilities and nothing more. “No one’s asking you to, querida. But you want something. You can tell me what that is, I won’t use it against you.”

Something stirs at his pet name, something you thought was dead and rotted. Its easy to shove it back down in the wake of what you see is a lie. He would use it against you, that’s what everyone does. If he didn’t then Sam would. You know the game. 

You let out a breath, eyes meeting his. “You’re after Hydra and so am I. But I don’t trust that you’ll actually do what needs to be done. In fact, I know you won’t.”

Joaquin frowns. He knows what you mean but asks anyway, “And what’s that?”

“You tell me,” you challenge. “You really think you’re gonna dismantle them by playing by the rules? By arresting a few low-level pricks and calling it a day? Hydra isn’t just an organization—it’s a disease. One that’s smart enough to outmaneuver every cure. You cut off a limb, and another grows back.” Your voice lowers, darkens. “I go for the heart.”

Joaquin studies you. The shadowy certainty in your tone. The way your hands have curled into fists, nails pinching into your skin before you even realize it. He should be alarmed, maybe even afraid of you and what you can do with those hands. But mostly? He just feels tired for you and all the baggage you have to carry. He wishes there were more he could do more for you, but he knows the oath he’s taken. His values, his morals—they won’t be compromised.

“I get it,” he says, voice softer now. “You think we’re a waste of time. That we’re too soft.”

“You are,” you say, like it’s obvious and with no remorse. “Your Captain? He’s trying to lead a world that doesn’t even know what to do with itself. One that hardly wants him. He’s gotta play politics. Me? I don’t have to play anything. I owe nothing to no one but myself.”

Joaquin shakes his head. “That’s not a life. That’s a war you never get to leave. That darkness won’t let you go.”

Your jaw tightens, and you look away. You don’t deny it.

For the first time since bringing you in, Joaquin feels like he has something solid to work with. You know that your past is controlling you but you won’t let it go. With their help, you could finally be free. He lets you sit with his words, grabbing a water from the mini-fridge before settling across from you on Sam’s bunk.

Silently, he offers it. Begrudgingly, you take it, careful not to touch him.

“Look, I know what it’s like to be made into something you didn’t ask for,” he says. “To be trained to survive, not to live. And I know that once you start thinking like that, it’s almost impossible to stop.”

Your fingers tighten around the bottle, the plastic nearly giving out under the pressure. The sound brings you back to the present and you loosen your grip letting the bottle fall to the ground. Joaquin says nothing, letting you be.  When your eyes meet again, he can see that you recognize that. That you believe him when he says that he understands. You let it fade away as quickly as it appeared.

Joaquin presses forward anyway. “You don’t trust us? Fine. But what if we can help? What if we can end this without you burning yourself out trying to do it alone?”

You shake your head. “God, baby bird, you don’t fucking get it.”

“Then make me fucking get it,” Joaquin challenges, matching your energy. He hopes that in doing so you'll level with him.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The space between you is heavy with something unspoken, pressing down on your chest. Your breath is too sharp, and his is too shallow, like being stuck in each other's gaze has sucked all the air out of the room before either of you could even think. You exhale sharply, pulling back, re-centering yourself just as another presence fills the doorway.

"There's a name," you mutter, almost reluctant. "One of the last remaining heads of Hydra. He’s been running a black ops division off-grid. And if you think what was done to your precious boy was bad, what they’re doing is worse."

Joaquin barely has time to process before your gaze flicks past him, landing on Sam, now standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

The two men exchange a look. “How do we know you’re not leading us into a trap?” Sam asks.

You scoff. “I’m not like them and you thinking I would walk you into a trap is like them. If you don’t believe me, I can happily do this on my own. And I wouldn’t have either of you slowing me down.”

Sam meets Joaquin’s gaze again; its pleading, laced with the idea of giving you a chance. A long beat of silent communication passes between them.

Sam rolls his eyes, exhaling reluctantly. He knows what its like to be an advocate, the one who’s seeing more than others. He’ll let Joaquin take his chance on you. “You’re lucky he likes you,” he mutters, jerking his chin toward Joaquin before turning back toward the door. “We’re wheels up in an hour. Try not to make me regret this.”

Joaquin looks back at you, and you could swear that you see some warmth in his cheeks. “That makes two of us.” He barely catches it—the slight quirk at the corner of your mouth. It’s smug, not quite a smirk, but it’s something. An attempt at humor. He softens again, seeing the effects of what Hydra put you through.

What had they done to you where you can’t even smile? Laugh? See yourself as more than just their pawn? The thought makes him sad, yes, but it also makes him angry. You deserve better than that.

“Three of us.” You shake your head, pushing to your feet. You’re tired of being cooped up. “Guess we’ll see.”

let me know if you'd like to be on the sfw joaquin torres taglist!

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes , @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9, @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath1998, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @jaebugzz, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69, @moonymeloncholymoney, @mischiefmanaged71, @something-random-idk, @dualinstinct, @alevanswrites, @articel1967

> ch. 3

[prettywritergirl2]

A helping hand

˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆ mdni 18+ ˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆

pairing: Dr!Gregory House x f!reader (patient)

contents / warnings: cheating (but the guy sucks so it's not that bad), smut (fingering, oral (m!recieving)), teasing, nicknames

word count: 1.5k

a/n: call me mrs house cuz he lives inside me

You lay next to your boyfriend, looking at the ceiling, disappointed once again. He was asleep next to you, exhausted after 10 minutes of mediocre sex.

You nudge him in an attempt to wake him up, and he rolls over to look at you.

"Babe, can we go again? I didn't cum." You pout at him.

He groans and rubs his eyes. "Huh?"

You sigh and sit up against the headboard. "I don't know, maybe it's an issue on my end, but I didn't."

"All my past girlfriends were quicker, I think you should get that checked. Maybe it's like an orgasm disorder or something."

"I think we should just try again, maybe change something about the foreplay–"

He grunts before rolling back over to his side. "It's definitely not me, just go to the doctor, baby."

Dr!Gregory House walks up to the receptionist of the clinic. "4:23PM, Doctor House checks in, write that down." He looks around the waiting room, brows furrowed in annoyance. It's filled with crying babies, people with weird rashes, loud coughs, and other strange issues. But then he notices you.

You look nervous, eyes scanning the other patients. There is a stack of magazines on a stool next to you, but you don't seem to notice them. You're bouncing your leg, an anxious tic, with the other crossed over it.

He walks over to you, the annoyance still clear on his face, but it's combined with something else now. Maybe interest?

"See me in exam room one." His tone is stern, and he immediately walks away. You hurry to catch up with him, which you do quite quickly, and you sit down on the table in the middle of the room.

He leans against a cabinet, and immediately trains his eyes on you.

"What's your issue?" His tone is almost sarcastic.

You stay quiet for a moment, gaze focused on the floor.

"It's clearly not any of the usual problems. There's nothing disgusting coming out of you, and you don't look like you're in pain." When you look up at him, but continue to say nothing, he adds "So what are you, mute?"

You give him an irritated look.

"No."

"Oh, she speaks!" His sarcasm is clear now. You wonder how he still has his job.

"I haven't been having... orgasms." It comes out as a whisper, almost.

"Find a boyfriend, case solved." He turns to walk away, but you speak up.

"I do– I mean, I have one. That's the issue." He stops to look back at you.

"And you're sure it's not his fault?"

"When I asked him about it, he said none of his exes had that kind of issue."

He looks puzzled for a moment, and you're expecting another mean comment. Instead, he says "It could be anorgasmia. We'll run some tests. How scared are you of needles?"

You confirm you aren't, and he wraps an elastic band around your arm. Now that he's so close, you notice the color of his eyes, how the muscles of his jaw tense in concentration, and you realize you find him almost... attractive?

He puts a bandaid around your arm and takes a step back.

"Right, that's it. We'll have the results on Wednesday, you can come in then. Let me know if anything changes." With that, he's gone, and your heart rate is up by just a bit.

Dr!Gregory House walks into the exam room. You'd been waiting for about 10 minutes when you heard the door open. He throws a stack of papers onto a nearby desk.

"Your boyfriend is a piece of shit." He sighs and looks at you.

"What do you mean?" You tilt your head in confusion. "Don't talk about him like that."

"You don't have anorgasmia. In fact, you're perfectly healthy. He, however, is selfish and rude."

"Are you sure? It could be something else–"

He walks over to the table you're sitting on, and looks down at you. Your lips are slightly parted, and your skirt had ridden up your thighs when you were trying to hop onto the table earlier.

"Open your legs."

"What?! No. You're insane, and I have a boyfriend."

"Fine, let him keep leaving you desperate while you do everything for him. Good day." He begins walking away, but you grab his sleeve and turn him back around. It was an impulsive decision, and you kind of regret it now, but it's too late to back out of it, right?

"Fine." You slightly part your legs, and he doesn't waste any time pulling your panties to the side. "And I'm not desperate." Your last word is cut off by a loud moan.

"Yeah, I can see that." He rubs circles on your clit and you can't stop the whines you let out. Finally, he slips two fingers inside you and you feel like you're going to explode.

Pleads and curses fall from your lips as he continues to finger you before you finally have your first orgasm in months.

Your legs shake and your cunt tightens around his fingers. Maybe he was right about you being desperate.

"See? He was the problem." He says as you catch your breath.

"Thank you." You breathe out. He smiles in response, just barely. It looks like he hasn't done it in years.

"There's many ways to show gratitude." He groans out, and you notice the bulge in his pants.

"Oh, I'm so sorry–" You get off the table and take a step closer to him.

"Don't worry, I was joking. You're free to go." His voice comes out strained.

"No, please, I want to." You look up at him and he sighs.

He doesn't have to say another word, you're already on your knees pulling down the zipper of his pants. You stroke his cock through his boxers, and his hips twitch in response.

"Who's desperate now, hm?" You tease, but your laughter is short-lived because he takes his cock out of his underwear and pushes it right past your parted lips.

"Still you, love." He holds your hair back, holding it tightly, and he pushes your head down, his tip touching the back of your throat. He quickly finds a rythm that allows you to catch your breath between thrusts. Your mouth finally accomodates to his size and you put your tongue in action, licking the base of his cock.

He moans loudly, and it encourages you to keep going. The sound of his voice sends shivers down your spine and turns you on all over again.

The pleasant sounds of his groans are suddenly cut off by an unpleasant ringtone which you recognize as yours.

Dr!Gregory House picks up your phone, looks at it for a moment, and averts his gaze back to you.

"Oliver. That's your boyfriend, I assume?" You look up through teary eyes, and his cock leaves your mouth with a pop.

"Yeah." Feelings of guilt and anxiety build in your gut.

"Answer him then." It's not a question. It's not even a request.

"Wait, I can't–"

"Sure you can. Explain that you're leaving him for someone who actually makes you cum. Oh, and make sure you're still sucking me off when you talk to him."

"How am I supposed to do that?" You're cut off once again by the way he pulls your hair, and that's when the phone stops ringing.

"Baby, where are you? I'm getting worried." Your boyfriend's voice is full of concern, but you don't really have it in you to care anymore.

"I'm, uhh, just at the clinic." Your words come out muffled, and it doesn't take long for Oliver to catch on.

"What the fuck!? You're fucking him now? You fucking slut–"

Dr!Gregory House whose moans had previously served as background noise to the phone call, cuts him off before he can keep insulting you.

"I think you have an orgasm-faking ex to get back to. Have a good day, sir." With that, he ends the call.

It doesn't take long before he cums, hard. His moans get louder, and his grip on your hair tightens. The cold-hearted doctor is completely losing his composure, and it's encouragment enough for you to keep going.

"Yes, baby, fuck, just like that–" And he's done. His hips twitch once again as he releases in your mouth.

You swallow and lick your lips before standing up again.

"Fuck, if you keep looking at me like that we'll stay in here all night." You smile in response, seemingly innocent, and he adds "The cleaning staff will hear us. Go home."

Dr!Gregory House zips his pants back up as you collect your things. He looks at you, gaze fixed on your ass when you bend over to look for your purse.

"Maybe you should visit for another check-up next week, anorgasmia can be deadly."

You chuckle and hand him a card with your name and number handwritten in a curly font.

"I'll make sure I do that. Thank you, Doctor."

You wink before leaving the room, and you swear he groans quietly as he watches you leave.

@cinnamongrl2006 my beautiful irl bestie who helped me write this ily lets have a threesome with house <3

[xislyns]

Hello! I absolutely loved the Benn Beckman HC'S you wrote! 🩷 could you do the same thing for Marco please? Thank you so much 💗💗💗

ofc dear!! (i actually rlly enjoy making hcs)

MARCO THE PHEONIX

op masterlist : 𐙚🧸ྀི || ⋆·˚ ༘ ASK STATUS IN DESC

FALLING FOR YOU

Marco isn’t someone who falls in love at first sight. it creeps up on him slowly, One day, he just knows, and there’s no turning back from there.

the moment He realizes , is when he catches himself watching you more often than necessary, memorizing your little habits.

He tries to act nonchalant about it, but his crewmates definitely notice. especially the teasing from Thatch , it is relentless.

When he confessed to you, it was a casual but tender moment, maybe a simple “Yoi, I think I like ya.” No dramatic speeches, just a quiet statement that you belong together.

LOVE WITH HIM

Marco isn’t the type to fall in love quickly. it takes time for him to open up, but once he does, he’s incredibly loyal and dependable.

He has a quiet but undeniable way of making you feel special , Marco loves teasing you, but it’s always gentle and never crosses the line. He enjoys seeing your reactions, especially when you get flustered and confused, he thinks you're adorable.

HIS AFFECTION

Marco is all about small but meaningful gestures, tucking a stray strand behind your ear, carrying things for you without asking, or placing his jacket over your shoulders when you’re cold.

His phoenix abilities come in handy when you’re hurt or sick. He’ll gently place his warm hands over your injuries to soothe the pain, always with a soft and genuine smile.

He’s not one to be overly verbal about his feelings, but his actions always speak louder than his words. He’ll silently fix something you’ve been struggling with or surprise you with little things he knows you love.

DAY TO DAY

He has a bad habit of overworking himself, so you have to physically drag him away from his responsibilities to make him rest.

Despite his laidback demeanor, Marco is extremely observant. He always knows when something is bothering you, even before you say anything to him

He enjoys watching sunsets with you. Something about the sky turning orange and gold reminds him of freedom, and sharing it with you makes it even better.

LOVE LANGUAGE?

Marco isn’t overly clingy, but he shows love through subtle gestures. perhaps a cup of tea ready for you when you wake up, a blanket draped over you when you fall asleep on deck.

He rarely calls you by your name when you’re alone. It’s always “love” or "Dear.”

He loves playing with your hair not even on purpose, his fingers just find their way there when he’s lost in thought.

He doesn’t need words to express his love. The way he looks at you, steady and full of quiet devotion, says more than anything he could say out loud

PROTECTIVE NATURE

Marco isnt the type to suffocate you with his protectiveness, but if he senses real danger, he won’t hesitate to step in.

He’s calm, but if someone hurts you, there’s no mercy for them. his usual laziness vanishes, and he becomes cold, calculating, and deadly

If you’re injured, he goes full doctor mode, patching you up while scolding you in a relaxed tone "maybe try not gettin’ slashed next time, Yoi.”

He trusts your strength but hates seeing you hurt. so if he sees you push yourself too hard, he’ll carry you away without a word, ignoring any protests you make

Jealousy ?

Marco is a confident person, so he doesn’t get jealous easily. But if someone flirts with you, he’ll casually wrap an arm around your waist, smirking as he makes eye contact with the other person. making it clear, youre his.

If you tease him about being jealous, he’ll just raise an eyebrow. “ why would I be? You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

[sugarcherrybomb]

Hey guys,

Thank you for the likes on the last post, and I hope that you enjoy this little piece as the beginning or intro to my version of a female OC for Biker!Ghost. I'm already working on a masc. and non-b. one, but that might take a while.

Sorry for the wait, but please enjoy. (Special thank you for @cafekitsune 's amazing dividers!!)

Thinking about Biker!Ghost who lives and breathes motorcycles outside of military life. He's an operator first, of course, but he's also a man of many hobbies.

I can picture him having old motorcycles from the 80s or 90s that he resurrects with careful and diligent fingers in his little garage outside the city. He works on them, but usually not to keep them. He sells them or gives them away to friends and only keeps rarer ones for himself. This man has somehow found, revived and hidden away a 1972 Kawasaki H2 Mach IV, a Yamaha Virago and a 1994 Triumph Speed Triple; absolute classics like him.

I can also see him owning a gorgeous 1000cc all-black Kawasaki (either a ZX-10R or a 1100SX SE) to let out all his pent-up frustration on the road. The roar of his bike through the exhaust, the pull on the handlebars from the power of the throttle, the heat between his legs from the engine; driving helps to ease his mind. Despite an affinity for older bikes, a modern motorcycle is better for his commute back and forth from his base to his garage, and it definitely helps him blow off steam in the wind.

Now, despite his experience taking apart and bringing old bikes back from the dead, he is not a mechanic, much to his dismay. This man exudes an air of 'I can do it myself', so having to admit defeat against one of his older motorcycles doesn't sit right with him. It's even less so when he has to bring it in to his mechanic friend, another fellow vet, for half the price he'd normally pay. He's forced to sit there, leaning against his friend's truck with his arms crossed over his chest, angrily glaring at the machinery his friend is repairing. It almost feels like he's willing the bike not to get fixed easily just to prove a point. Sadly, his friend tells him he's found the problem and will leave the shop in an hour.

He mumbles as he leans over the older bike, while his friend walks away to grab some spare tools. That's when he notices your pretty little self walking in. It's not late, so the sun is still coming in the open garage door and the light hits your cream-yellow sundress. Your attire is understandable; it's scorching hot outside in the summer evening, but to Ghost, it's like you wore it on purpose. You're dressed in his favorite colour for God's sake [you didn't know that, but that's not the point]. He may not be religious, but in that moment, when he sees you, something deep within him realizes that he can never look at someone the same way he looks at you.

I know that it doesn't say much yet about the OC, and that's actually in my next post (coming soon). I kind of wanted to just gush about Ghost for a bit in my alternate universe of him, but I promise to deliver more if you like it.

I promise to give you guys more if you enjoy this, and please forgive my writing. I'm still figuring things out. (> _ < )

[cyanrendipity]

I just love it when he stands there

[screampied]

❛ NEVER WANNA LOSE ME. ❜ t. fushiguro

☆ sum. for the hell of it, you let your roommate toji hit just once and he’s never been the same. what starts as a usual lazy smoke sesh turns into him wanting more than just to get high—he wants you.

wc. 6.4k

warnings. fem! reader, college au, toji & reader are in early twenties, vırgin toji, pússy drunk toji, mentions of pre-substance consumption, impact play, fıngering, squırting, praise, he finishes quick, dry humping, ōral (f! receiving), size kink, talking him through it, spıt.

he’s never had a girl like you in his life.

with toji—he doesn’t do women. well he does, but not in that literal sense. he puts up a front whenever around his boys. little do they know he doesn’t know the first thing about a woman. he has little to no game, he’s a fake. a loser. but all of that changes until he meets you. you’re his roommate and the only person he can really stand. to toji, you were someone he could ramble to, someone to get high with and make fun of cheesy romcoms together. . like now.

“you always insist we watch this shit,” he huffs, leaned back against the couch. he’s got his legs raised over the sofa as he bores his stoic eyes into the screen. squinting at the cheesy subtitles on display, he takes another puff. “dunno why y’er so scared of watchin’ alien. now that’s a movie.”

“toji that’s boring,” you murmur, snuggling up close to him. he never really minded, it was always like this. he’s got a broad arm thrown over the back edge of the sofa as you’re leaned up against him. the both of you were blitzed, feeling a wave of euphoria surge through the both of you. the closer you got to him, the more you smelled him. god, that cologne—he practically pours it all over his body and it’s always so strong. toji could feel your head rubbing up against his wrinkled tank top before he glances down at you. “. . . your taste in movies suck.”

as you trail off your words, it’s a deadly awkward pause between the two of you as he just stares deep into your eyes. you wonder why he’s so quiet all of a sudden, why he’s just got that blank expression. but toji cups your chin, using a bare thumb to swipe against the inner crevice of your mouth. “tch. messy girl.”

oh.

you blink thrice once his thumb swiftly moves against the corner of your lip. it’s a subtle moment that’s seems way more intimate than it should of.

the dorm room grows substantially quiet and the only sounds that could be heard were the main characters of the movies talking in the background.

you never leave your locked gaze on toji and he gently rubs a finger near your lip. “you had leftover ice cream on your lip,” he utters, and you see his eyes flicker toward your mouth. so pretty, he thinks to himself. the way they curve and twist as you switch facial expressions. he’s sitting up now, taking in your face and could almost feel you lean into his touch. almost. a lump gets caught in the throat before he clears his throat, glancing away. “i— uh, sorry. that was stupid.”

you look at toji and his body language is different from how it usually was. he’s got a downcast pout, slouching back against the leather made sofa. cute, he’s blushing. you notice the way both temples of his cheeks burn and heat up and you raise a brow, scooting up close toward him. “it wasn’t stupid,” you utter, grabbing the remote and turning it on mute. with his burly arms crossed, he slowly stares back at you with a perplexed look. “toji. do you wanna kiss me?”

“what?” he blurts out a bit louder than he intended. could you read his mind?

he felt himself get hotter and not just his cheeks.

toji looks into your eyes, biting his tongue once he realizes you probably caught him staring at your glossy plump lips. he did want to kiss you. he wanted to kiss you so bad—he just didn’t know how to initiate, he didn’t want to just flat out kiss you or anything. darkened brows of his tweak into a relaxed furrow before he sighs. “y- yeah,” he gruffly murmurs, the steady pulses of his heartbeat growing faster.

“you could have said so,” you tease, leaning up close and wrapping your arms around him. he’s glancing at you, both of you had half-lidded eyes, pupils dilating full of sparkles and lust. toji awkwardly sets his hands aside once you straddle yourself on his lap. the thin fabric of his basketball shorts tickle against the undersides of your thighs before you plop down.

it’s so quiet, you scrape a thumb behind his soft undercut before leaning up close.

toji’s mind was going crazy. he was about to kiss you. he was about to finally kiss you. but there was just one problem.

he didn’t know how.

just as your lips were on the brink of planting themselves onto his, he whispers against you.

“w- wait.”

you pause, glancing at him. “hm?”

“i— um,” he looks away, that same reddened tint painting over his face once more. it’s so cute, out of the few years on campus you’ve grown to know this guy, you don’t think you’ve seen him in such a state. an embarrassed state. jade green eyes flicker everywhere around the room but towards you and he sighs. “i’ve never . . kissed before.”

a smile marinates against your features as you stroke a thumb near the scar that runs down the right side of his lips. “oh,” you hum, and he almost glares at you but remembers you’re literally sitting on his lap. toji holds back a groan, the addicting friction of your body hovering over him makes him start to imagine lewd things. he couldn’t help it, and the taunting stare you gave him only made things worse. “that’s okay, just follow my lead,” and the two of you lock eyes again. toji gives you a subtle nod before feeling you drag his hands toward your hips. “just hold my hips ‘n close your eyes, it’s okay.”

he doesn’t know if it’s because of the fact that he’s stoned out of his mind but you’re just so pretty.

you were feeling the mild after effects too, your eyelids felt heavy the further you leaned into him. toji’s big open palms cling onto your waist as you finally close the distance, pressing your lips onto his.

from first contact, he tastes sweet.

his lashes flutter close as he lets you control, gently moving your tongue against his. it was cute how awkward he was, toji didn’t know what to do. you heard him groan the moment you playfully suck against his tongue. every few seconds, he’d hear the sounds wet smacking coming from each mouth—how a bit of saliva would start to dribble down the side of his lips.

fuck, he tilts his head back, parting his uneven lips a bit further for you.

toji tastes minty, his hands find themselves roaming lower down your body as you teasingly grind more against him. he grunts, feeling you continuously meet against his bricked up friend.

he was hard—you knew that. it was poking at you underneath your shorts. a smile stretches on your lips as you deepen the hot steamy kiss, hearing the faint sounds of teeth clashing. he’s so hot, literally and physically. toji feels like he was sweating bullets when he really wasn’t.

he’s had countless dreams of this, of you.

the two of you would always get high together and chill, binging countless movies until the two of you knocked out. but now, it was different. you were making out with each other. it took you by surprise that he’s never kissed anyone—you sort of thought otherwise, especially with how he acts around other girls. of course, that’s all you really see. but behind closed doors, perhaps your roommate’s more different than you thought.

the passionate kiss accelerates further the moment you feel toji’s big hands creep near your ass. his fingers tug near the protected fabric of your shorts, desperate for them to come off. your repetitive swaying against his lap was damn near torture. he groans, finally pulling away from your lips to watch those glossy strings depart from each mouth.

“fuck,” he grunts hoarsely, his eyes darting back toward your sheeny lips. he’s already had a taste of you and he wanted more.

toji holds you firmly in place before leaning into the crook of your neck, pressing a soft kiss near your collarbone. “i- i want more,” he grouses, the tint in his shorts only growing larger. you felt it, all of it. with the way your hips playfully rubbed against the loose clothing — you were only fueling the fire. toji’s voice got a bit lower with its pitch and it was attractive with how needy was.

like he was desperately craving for this moment to happen.

he really was though.

you could see the look in his eyes - he’s hungry.

call it a little crush or whatever but he’s had his eyes on you for a while. toji was horrible whenever it came to feelings, terrible.

he didn’t think much of it, the two of you were just roommates who’d occasionally get blitzed together every blue moon. unless it was something else.

“it’s okay,” your breath hitch as you feel his soft lips assault near your neck.

he was gentle, coating invisible markings that stick against your skin like glue. your head slowly leans back as he starts to softly suck against your skin, keen edges of teeth tenderly tickling against your exposed flesh.

you were so sweet, it just wasn’t fair.

toji’s hands remain attached to your hips before he makes you lie back. you land backward with a little cute oof, glancing up at him as your back lightly hits against the cushioned furniture. “someone’s getting eager.”

“s- shut up,” he kisses his teeth, taking a good view at your body. so pretty, two words that he’s gonna forever keep repeating to describe you. toji couldn’t believe its taken him this long to get to this point.

truth be told, he was pretty shy. but now that you’re all sprawled and laid back, something ignited in him. he slowly spreads your legs with one hand, using a thumb to tug against the flimsy string of your shorts. you watch him intently, growing quiet — the room only fills up with noises of his soft feral pants. he peeps the little anklet that wraps around your ankle before he starts to pull off your shorts. “m- may i?”

“go ‘head.” you murmur, smiling at how he stops untying your shorts just to hear your permission.

your sweet words telling him to go forward, it’s all he needed to continue. callused fingertips pull down your shorts all the way until he’s met with your laced panties. god, he’s feeling a lump get caught in his throat. the way your panties stick against your thighs, how gorgeous the lace looked decorating against your skin, he couldn’t stop staring. .

toji inches his head down, going between your thighs. his hair - it was unkempt, he outgrew his hair within these past few weeks. it was cute, a few black strands of his reach near his shoulders.

he was really slow,

he’s pacing himself because he wants to savor this moment and your beauty. but to be honest, he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. toji brings a awkward kiss toward the center part of your panties, watching you shudder. “mhm,” a low gruff comes out of him before he looks up at you. “was that good?”

“y- yeah, toji,” you swallow thickly, a hand of your own finding its way into his tangled sable tresses. he looks at you, finding your combing fingers digging through his scalp somewhat relaxing. he’s ogling at you like he’s waiting for you to say something else and you giggle. “right, you probably haven’t eaten a girl out either.”

“shut up,” he grimaces, bathing in his own cringe.

it’s almost adorable. it was adorable. he leans into your touch, staring at your slick dribbling pussy. he’s so close, you could almost peep his mouth watering. “just . . tell me what else ‘ta do, please.”

your face softens at his desperation. toji’s bottom lip pokes out a bit and you inhale, ruffling his hair a bit.

“okay, just start slow. ‘s no rush. start near my thighs ‘n give it a few kisses” and right at your words, he begins to give your thighs sweet individual kisses. he’s fast, you almost let off a moan before sitting up. “good, good, like that,” and his eyelashes close, making sure to give everywhere—even the secret secluded crevices of your thighs all types of attention. your skin was lukewarm, and each time it goes against his skin he only wants more. he hears your body fall back, the sofa screeching a wail from the sudden weight. “n- now um, kiss around here.”

toji pauses, watching as you spread yourself open for him with two fingers. with enticed driven eyes, he watches as you play with yourself to show him what to do next. your finger points near a soft pulsing area—your vulva, you wanted him to kiss right there. it’s shiny, drooling down with your own slick and he only imagined what it tasted like.

what you tasted like.

he doesn’t say anything—instead, he lets his mouth do the talking.

toji’s watched more than enough vulgar videos on pussy eating to know which exact methods to do.

but still, this was real life and nothing was exaggerated. your sweet whimpers and moans were very much real. he starts by kissing around and near your vulva - slow sloppy kisses that make your thighs twitch and your toes curl. he then begins to stimulate your clit with his tongue, swirling it around gently and you moan.

“fuuuck. . jus like that toji,” you breathe, digging your teeth into your lip.

he was already a quick learner, despite having no experience with practically anything.

with one trembling finger, you lift up his chin and he leans into your touch once more. “eyes up here baby,”

‘. . baby,’

his dick immediately twitches from that simple pet name. viridescent eyes of pure emerald stare into yours before you push him just a bit closer into your soddened cunt. “flatten out your tongue a bit. ‘s okay to spit on it a little.”

his ears perk up a bit at your words. “spit on it?”

“yeah,” you run a few more fingers in his hair, delving them into his soft scalp. “make it wet.”

“fine,” toji mumbles, and as his tongue’s moving upwards against your slobbering entrance. he gathers a decent wad of saliva before he spits right on your pussy. a slick ‘ptui’ sound slithers from his lips once he does so—you’re already wet but doing so, it gets you even wetter. a bit of cobwebby lustrous strands cling onto his lips as he watches his mess trickle down onto your folds. he groans, watching the cute pulse happen right between your legs.

so sloppy,

he adores the sloshing squelches your pussy makes at the simple gesture. toji’s never tasted anything so sweet before. “ugh, good. like that,” you moan. as you’re praising him, you then start to feel the quiver in your legs quicken. toji stretches his long tongue even further inside of you—pointing his tongue in a certain direction as his head leisurely sways itself side to side. as you’re telling him exactly how to eat you out, he starts to suck. you whine, feeling his pursing lips clamp around your twitching muscle. it’s so good,

his slurps were so nasty and he groans from your noises alone. as he’s eating you out—he can’t help but jerk his hips into the sofa, getting off to your pleasure. panting, you drag his head up by the hair so he could look at you again. “ ‘s okay, toji. y- you can use a finger or two also.”

“ ‘kay,” he grumps, and he feels your eyes boring into him. specially, you were mainly fixating on his hands. his veiny rough looking hands. you found yourself staring at toji’s hands a lot. they were so big, so wide, thick fat fingers. .

maybe you thought about having them wrapped around your neck, shoved down your throat, buried deep inside your-

your short fantasm and lewd thoughts get cut off the second he sinks a single digit inside—his middle finger. you whimper, slumping back against the sofa as his tongue still flicks against your cunt.

“fuuuck,” you chew on your words, your candied whines only grow more elongated as he seeps deeper inside of you. you take his finger in freely, it’s a perfect fit. with a brief ‘pop’ he’s inside and he feels you trying to clamp ‘n squeeze around his finger. toji’s kissing against your cunt again, shaping his crooked lips into ‘o’ before nibbling near your clit. “oh my goddd.” you gasp, feeling the pressure amongst you increase. his tongue was warm—but with the mixture of his finger, you started to feel your thigh haphazardly bounce. he was still lacking in some areas but you didn’t mind teaching him how to improve.

slowly, he brings another finger inside and now your cunt’s trying to squeeze down two of him. your brows curl up in rapture whilst his tongue happily roams all around you. he’s lapping up his saliva, slurping yours, and spitting right back on it all over again.

“so fuckin’ good,” he groans against your damp folds, causing vibrations just from his mouth. hot pants of breath aerate against your skin. you were getting close, your body started to get more and more unsteady. as your back arches, you yank on his hair a bit. “ow,” he looks up at you with a snarl, but he has a sheepish grin. with toji’s thick twin fingers plummeting in and out of you, he bites down near the edge of your pulled to the side panties. “am i doin’ good, princess?”

“y- yeah, ‘m gonna cum,” you whimper in a shaky tone, swiftly dragging his head back and forth.

toji’s plump glossed lips smear all around your cunt and you moan. he’s so messy and his chin being smothered with your slick. it’s running down, and he’s quite literally drowning in pussy.

your pussy.

the points of his ears twitch at your words though once he comes to the sheer realization—you were about to finish. as you’re getting closer, your grip against his hair tightens. “suck harder toji, ‘s okay. use your tongue, baby.”

with open ears and a open mouth, he listens, closing his eyes once more as his swollen lips latch around your entrance. you bite your lip, feeling his scar brush up against your cunt and it tickles.

so soaked, his fingers continue to insert in and out of you and you’re a nothing but a whiny mess.

your moans bounce through the thin walls of the spacey dorm before he kisses your clit. “make a mess on my mouth,” he almost pleads, a slight tremor in his voice. toji’s so into it that he doesn’t he notice he’s still humping the sofa. he’s humping the pillow propped directly underneath him to be exact. sloppy feral thrusts—his boner was almost painful and he needed more. he felt embarrassed, getting off to your pleasure. your sounds only made him grind harder though, and he groans once you’re literally tugging his head back and forth against you. “c’mon, give it pretty.”

his hoarse voice had you drenched even more, you feel the sharp pang of nirvana jolt through every artery and vessel stored inside your legs before it happens. you came, you’re teetering against his face as your hips buck into his mouth. he’s met with a sweet taste in his mouth.

a taste from you.

it lingers on his tongue as he merrily laps it up, drinking you until you’re all clean according to his mouth. your eyes were murky and doe eyed—you were holding in a breath you didn’t even know you were keeping in. as your chest deflates, you let off a loud ear shrilling climax and toji snickers. so cute, you were a mess. he was an ever bigger mess since his jaw was rightfully locked and sore, precious slick smoothly cascading down his smooth chin like it was a stream.

“fuck,” you huff out, wisping a few crumped fingers through his hair. your hold on his thin strands lessen as you lean back completely dumbfounded.

“did i do good?” toji utters in a raspy tone, lapping a few remnants of your honeyed juices near your outer folds. he slides his fingers out of you only to lick them clean, right before your very eyes.

panting, you nod. “yeah, y- yeah, you did good,” and you watch as shifts, closing the gap between you both. toji sits up from between your legs, and he starts the kiss this time.

your hooded eyes collapse for a moment, closing before you return the sloppy kiss. you moan, relishing at the obscene taste of yourself that now lives on his tongue. it’s sweet, your tongue curls its way around his before he sneaks a hand down between your thighs. you whimper in his mouth, feeling his broad hand give your cunt a big squeeze. you twitched right in his palm and he groans. your noises only made him want you ten times more.

with loud smacks of lips smacking against each other, you make your way on top of toji again. he’s looking at you—panting just like you were. his arched brows compress together as he grabs your hips in place. “you’re so hot,” he exhales, immediately regretting saying that out loud. he sees the slight bashful expression form on your face before you pull on his grey shorts. “y- y’er gonna ride me?”

“yeah,” you mutter, playing with the hem of his boxers. your thumb glissades against it, so soft. it sticks out above his shorts that were merely halfway on. “can i?”

toji nods. “uh huh,” and the fucking boner he had.

you felt it earlier but you knew he was suffering. each second you spent on his lap, the worse it became. it was up until you successfully removed his shorts and you started to grind your hips against his hardened bulge. “s- shit,” he curses, his head immediately throwing itself back. you’re playing with him—swaying up and down his procreated shaft. toji clenched his jaw, a hand of his squeezing the right cheek of your ass. “fuck, ‘s not fair. y’ said you were gonna ride me.”

“i am riding you, toji,” you hum, still a bit shaken up from your most recent orgasmic release. toji narrows his eyes at you and you toss your arms over his shoulders. “see?”

“tch. y’er bein’ unfair, princess.” he scowls at you.

toji’s got your hips in his hands as he’s lazily sat back. his hair was even more ruffled and messed up from your hands yanking and pulling on it. a few black strands run down his almond shaped eyes, shielding his vision a bit. as you proceed to move and jitter your hips around him, you then feel a sudden damp spot.

toji freezes - you freeze.

right near the poking center part of his boxers, it’s a spot where his boner lies that’s dampening up the piece of clothing rather quickly.

with furrowed brow, you glance down—pausing your jerking movements before eyeing toji. “toji. did you just . . . cum?”

suddenly, he grows mute, fuck.

he did—you figured he was sensitive but you didn’t think it was this much. his lips twitch and he’s trying to suppress a moan, it’s adorable. toji wasn’t so used to such contact, he thought he’d last a maybe one round or two, but he wasn’t even inside yet.

his jaw tightens and you spot his veins pulsing out through his skin. you stare at the now grey wet patch that sticks onto his half on boxers.

“oh, toji,” you softly smile, feeling him abruptly bury his face into your neck. he’s still groaning. you hold him, feeling him shiver a bit at your touch—you weren’t used to seeing this side to him, ever. “it’s okay,” you coo, and he’s practically whimpering into your neck. his gruff voice made you pulse and it only got louder. “it happens,” and you feel the stickiness start to bedaub against your fully exposed clit. with a timid expression, you tug in the hem of his boxers. “do you still wanna-”

“please,” he finally speaks again, his voice cracking.

toji’s eyes meets yours again and he’s just longing to feel you from the inside. despite his pussy drunken state, he was so desperate. your teasing only made him ten times more feral. cringing at his own self, his eye twitches. clearing his throat, he helps you pull down his boxers. “eh, i mean yeah. ride me.”

you block your tongue down your throat to refrain from giggling before his cock finally springs out.

it’s thick with a bunch of girth to support it. you can’t help but openly gawk a bit. you figured he’d be a packer but damn. you could literally equate his shaft to the size of a beer can. multiple veins ran down the sides and his base was even fatter than his actual size entirely—not to mention, it’s so pretty.

toji’s angry mushroom tip was glistening with sweltering fresh cum. he’s made quite the mess from that you could see already. he’s got a pink tip with an even more pink cockhead.

his heavy base, it’s swollen and had a tannish pigment color his entire dick. you lick your lips, preparing to align yourself and he grunts.

“s- slow baby,” he murmurs, gently burying his fingertips into both sides of your hips. you give him a nod, leaning up close to his face. you could hear the crack in his voice again before a husky groan rip out his throat. you’re so close to his face that you can’t help but pepper a few kisses near his crooked uneven lips. “fuck, fuck me.

as you’re lowering yourself down on his cock, you let off a moan - and so does he.

toji’s eyelids grow more heavy as he feels himself disappearing into your welcoming sloppy cunt. as toji’s barreling his fat dick inside, he squeezes your ass, feeling your walls swallow and suck him in entirely.

you were so soaked—so soaked, clamping down on him effortlessly and you were barely even moving. toji groans, finding his teeth tucking their ways into the left part of your neck as he holds you close.

“my god,” he hisses, continuing to bury his weighty cock into your slippery cunt.

you were so loud, especially right between your legs. every few seconds you’d be filling the room with wet squelches, pops and pops of pleasurable whines coming straight from your sweet cunt. it’s a feeling he’s never felt.

this felt a lot better than pathetically stroking himself off with the help of some off brand lotion as a substitute. he cringes at the thought because he was finally feeling the real thing. “fuck, ‘s fuckin’ warm, princess. you feel so good inside.”

“yeah?” you pant, and you’re almost all the way in before you grind your hips just a bit forward.

toji’s so thickly built that it takes your body a few seconds to acclimatize. you could feel the bulky tip of his cock extend straight through your spongey walls and it felt so good.

too good.

you could almost drool, that’s how good it felt—

he had staggering jaw-dropping inches that easily stretched you out like your cunt was simply elastic. it had you yearning for more. you lick near his chin where a few dripping droplets of slick run down before you kiss the curvature of his perfectly chiseled jaw. “ ‘m gonna start movin’ okay, toji?”

“okay.” he intakes a single breath, tracing the heart shaped parts of your ass with his fingers.

raspy pants bellow out from his vocal cords in such a rough raw way before he hears the squish.

your ass plops down on his lap and your hips start to create haste. toji grinds his teeth together the minute you start to rut further into him—his head slowly falling back. his eyes were barely open and yet he’s still finding the strength to look at you, look at your pretty face as you’re fucking him stupid.

his mouth slowly opens but no words come out. instead, sweet moans of your name leave his lips and it makes your ears twitch.

toji’s fully in and you feel every inch of him.

you’re bouncing on his dick until your ass was hitting near the hilt, the swollen base of his shaft felt so full and he’s chewing back sharp breaths that try to leave his packed full lungs. his high shortly leaves him with a slight pussy drunken grin and it’s so attractive—

the way his crimson glossed lips appeared all lopsided and droopy, twisting nto a sheepish smile. you spot two visible dimples on both sides of cheeks poking out from his lazy feral half-grin. you even found it hot how every so often he’d flick his tongue near the scar that slopes down the right side of his mouth.

“fuck me,” he repeats, using both hands to make you bounce harder.

skin against skin, both bodies press and squish against each other, and rocking in rhythm and lustful harmony. both of you felt so hot.

scorchingly hot, his heat radiates off of you and you lean into his warm.

it was so hot that you felt like you were gonna melt right on his lap—being turned into nothing but a puddled mess.

you whine, feeling his reddened tip start to thrash against your most sweetest spots.

thwack after abrupt thwack, it was tender at first but now it started to become more sloppy, more sloppy and rude. his mushroom tip swirls around your gripping, coating your insides while leaving blissful french kisses so good that your toes curl up again. “f- fuck, ‘s good, makin’ me feel—”

and his words get interrupted once you stop his sentence for another kiss. “mmph,” he jolts back, speedily returning the sultry embrace.

he could never get enough of your taste, that was for certain. your honed hips continue to buck forward into him as he’s fighting dominance for your tongue—you reel into him continuously as your thighs start to feel a twinge of convulsions.

toji’s balmy breath collides against yours as you slowly pry open your mouth, swapping strings of saliva and lapping up the few remnants of spit that dribble down past the cracks of his lips. “ngh, baby,” he whines between kisses, and his voice softens a bit. it’s not its usual cocky tone. it’s more affectionate,

more tender.

toji can’t keep his hands off of you. as he’s breathlessly speaking between kisses—a whisper of murmurs, he starts to spank your ass. smack after smack, you moan once his palm swats against you, encouraging your hips to go faster.

he quickly gets addicted to the reacting recoil. it was just the way your facial expressions twist from each smack and your little gasps at the brief stings that live near the centers of your rear.

“harder toji,” you whimper, digging your knees more into his thighs. with how fast you were bouncing on his cock, you were already in a trance. a trance you never wanted to get out of.

“tch,” he scoffs, giving your ass another spank. then one turns into two, then three.

he likes the way the fat of your ass collides against his palm. it’s enticing—he stares at you before biting near your chin. it’s more of a playful nibble. dark pools of eyes meet yours and you spot them through your peripherals. you moan at his touch before he feels you push him further back against the sofa. toji looks at you, falling back before you take the wheel. “fuck, gonna make me cum?”

and you don’t give him a reply. he prefers it that way. your hips end up speaking for you and as you rock against him quicker, the sofa cries out a plethora of squeals at the pressures of weight pounding onto it. “yeah you fuckin’ are,” he groans, pulling at the right cheek of your ass.

toji’s still very sensitive from before, but with the way you’re moving and how good your ass throws itself around him, he knew he was about to get ten times more sensitive. he just knew you were gonna milk him, ring him draw. fuck, the thought of being drained by your sweet cunt left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. not only that, but toji felt himself salivating the more he imagined himself finishing because of you.

he lowly grunts, munching down on his lip as the core muscles in his washboard abs tighten and flex underneath his tank top. your cunt constricts around his shaft every single time—ravaging your swollen needy walls became something he never wanted to stop doing.

you were so warm, his cock reached very specific areas that made you whimper out his name over and over on repeat as if it was some sort of exaggerated mantra.

“tojiiiii,” you whine, feelings of lust foiling at your brain. with the constant tingling sensations of his dick stretching through you—you gasp everytime, hearing the lewd shakiness linger underneath your voice. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum too.”

“c- cum with me, pretty girl,” he pants, clammy hands of his pawing at your waist.

your body and the way it moved against him in such maddened rhythm had him entirely dumbfounded. his brows arch as he leans back, adam’s apple still bobbing all in his throat. toji’s cock continues to jut his dick way into your drooling pussy before you let off a looooong three second mewl full of concluding elation.

it lasts a long time, the feeling you felt as you’re losing yourself on your roommate’s lap—yet this time, your eyes widen once your thighs clench together before collapsing.

you’re dexterously sucking him in well before your climax comes again—but as you’re trying to focus on your breathing, you feel yourself spraying all over his weighty cock. sappy sweet juices pour down his base as your mouth cutely forms into a circular shape of surprise.

“ffuckk,” you curse, your voice pitching as you pulse all around him. your chaste clit swerves against him as you’re finally coming undone. it’s so much, you left a pool of a mess right on his lap and he was just luxuriating in your sweet filth.

but before toji cums, his bottom lip quivers—beads of perspiration sliding down the sides of his face. “can i- can i finish inside?”

with a numb cock-drunken expression, you give him a nod. “y- yeah, go ahead,” and you look into his eyes, whispering into his ear. “c’mon toji, ‘s okay. give it to me. you can make a mess in me too.”

toji hoarsely groans at your words, holding onto you tight. “fuck, keep talkin’ to me,” he makes you bounce harder on his cock, his muscles clenching at such sensations. “think ‘m gonna cum jus from your words, princess.”

“good boy. f- fuck, toji cum in me,” you teasingly lick near his earlobe.

he grunts at your playfulness—his cock reaching its very limit. he’s so full, his jaw feels heavy before you kiss his cheek. “wan’ you to cum in me. don’t miss, baby. that’s it, h- hold my hips like that, mhm.”

toji holds back a whine as you’re preparing to milk him for all he’s got—he hiccups briefly before it spurts out all at once. it’s much more intense from before. as if on que, toji finished a few seconds later. but once he finishes again, this time it’s not as quick as last time.

he shoots into you raw and it’s literally as if his life changed right before his eyes.

toji’s feeling your hips momentarily swerve and stutter in swift arcs before he’s dumping such a sloppy goopy load into your pussy. slimy stringy ropes trickle into you all at once, shooting right into your empty womb. it’s so much of a load that some of it spills past your saturated folds and down his base.

“s- shit,” he looks down, glancing down at his bushy happy trail through his low hazed peripherals. you’re running a finger down the thin stretchy fabric of his tank top as you ride him, toying at his curly minuscule hairs with your fingertips.

toji came a lot. saying he came a lot was a understatement, he came a ton. such ropes oozed out of you and it was such a pretty sight. for sure—it a lot more than last time, it spills so much that it creates a creamy milky ring around his base. with the both of you now cumming in torrent, you can feel him shaking violently underneath you. the warmth of your walls was something he never knew he needed more.

toji’s mouth grows dry as he reclines back against the sofa. the movie was well over, black credits of dozens of random names blurred on the screen and all.

you both grow quiet. your head presses against his chest— feeling a few strands of chest hair tickle against your cheek. his heart was racing, and it was all because of you.

you didn’t want to move, he didn’t want to move, because then his cum would leak out of you. toji liked the feeling of having you plugged full, your thighs—specially near the crevices and insides were all sticky and wholly coated with his velvety hot spurts of cum.

“f- fuck,” you murmur in an almost whisper, feeling one of his hands slide back toward your ass. toji’s matching your irregular heaving pants before he feels you trying to get up. “toji, let’s—”

“stay,” he cuts you off, and he’s got the most neediest expression. his voice was whiny, he swallows—more breathy pants leaving from him before he buries his face in your chest. verdant droopy eyes give you a long stare before he hugs you, strong broad arms wrapping around you. “i- i want more,” he shivers in your embrace.

you sit up and you thought he was leaning in for a kiss—but instead, he licks your bottom lip. “i don’t wanna jus get high with you anymore, i just want you. i fuckin’ need you, girl,” and you can almost see hearts in his eyes. yeah, he was whipped.

toji cups your face, his voice shaky and he brings your hand up to his lips, kissing the back of your palm.

“please. one more round, baby. i love-” and he cuts himself off, his eyes widening before he backtracks, his pout growing. “i need you.”

[mostly-imagines]

Guard Dog vol.I

jason todd x fem!reader

aka don’t fuck with jason’s girlfriend

4 in 1 blurbs

vol. II

warnings: mildly creepy guys, standard protective bf methods

Jason’s good at shutting people up very quickly. You’d almost call it a talent.

He shuts you up with a kiss when you get stuck in a rant, or with a hug to calm your worried rambles.

And when you’re in an incorrigibly teasing mood, he’ll throw you over his shoulder and carry you back to your bedroom to really shut you up.

With other people though, he has…different methods.

You sit atop your kitchen counter, trading lazy kisses in between giggles with your boyfriend. He stands in front of you, hands massaging your thighs as he leans in for another. You happily oblige.

You break off the exchange to lay a series of sweet kisses on that spot under his jaw.

His head tilts back, letting out a groan so low you nearly miss it. “Sweetheart…” he warns.

“Sorry…” you resign with a sheepish smile.

A knock at the door bursts you out of your shared reverie. You press a kiss to his knuckles and hop down to start setting the table.

Jason gets the door, greeting the pizza guy with a nod as you shuffle around the kitchen. The delivery guy hands him a receipt, asking for a signature.

Jason uses the door as a surface to sign, giving the delivery guy an apt view into your apartment, where he sees you getting out plates in the kitchen. More noticeably, he sees you in your boyfriend's shirt, which rides up just a little bit when you stand up on your toes to reach the top cabinet. The lift of the shirt exposes the bottom of your underwear, though it falls back into place again just as quickly.

Now, lucky for this guy, Jason’s facing the door and does not see him checking you out in your own home. Unlucky for this guy, he has wildly misread the vibe of your relationship. Or at least your boyfriend.

“Man, how do you get anything done around here?” He jests.

Jason looks up at him, and the pizza man’s eyes tear away from your legs to meet his hard gaze. It does not take him long to realize his mistake.

“Try again.” Jason behests, arms crossed in front of him.

The pizza boy’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head, stuttering. “I—uh, I said have a good night.”

“Mhm.” He grumbles.

The pizza guy hands Jason the box with shaky hands and scuttles back down the hallway.

Thankfully, you didn’t seem to notice the exchange, but even so, your boyfriend still glowers down the hallway after him.

“Jay?”

His attention snaps back to you, demeanor changing instantly. “Yeah, baby?”

You’re sitting in your usual spot at the table, his chair empty and waiting just around the corner from you.

“Come sit.” You say, with eyes that might as well be hearts.

He gives a reassuring nod and kicks the door shut behind him.

You and Jason are sitting on the floor in his old room at the manor, your legs thrown over his. You lean up against his bed, asking him about posters on the walls and trinkets on the shelves.

His knee is propped up and your arm dangles across it, his hand in yours. He plays with your fingers and periodically leans forward to leave a kiss on them.

You’d just woken up less than an hour ago after spending the night post-gala, and it’s a peaceful, if not unusually quiet morning.

Dick shouts your name from another room, audibly booking it towards you. Yeah. That’s more like what Jason remembers.

He grumbles some annoyances, dropping his head against your intertwined hands.

Dick bursts into the room, clearly incredibly excited.

“What’s up, Dick?” You ask, calm as ever. Jason lets an unseen smile creep up, head still down.

Dick’s practically jumping up and down, “You gotta see the shit that Tim just found in the cave!” His face drops as he directs his gaze to Jason, “You’re not invited.”

“Thank God.”

Dick ignores him and grabs your wrist, yanking you up from the floor. This is one place where he differs from Jason—he’s not always quite so aware of his own strength.

His grip doesn’t hurt really, but it’s firm enough that you imagine there’ll be bruise marks there later.

“Hey.” Jason calls out, nodding his head to where Dick is holding your arm. “Ease up.”

Dick follows his gaze and immediately loosens his hold, apologizing to you before pulling you along once again (this time much more gentle).

You grin at Jason as he tugs you out the door, him returning it with an endeared smile as he watches you go.

Fuck he loves you.

Jason had a decent break from his night job for once, and was happy to let you drag him out to a bar for a little date. You’d been linked at the hip for most of the night, his hands maintaining their ever present home on your waist with yours rested on his thighs as you told him about your hectic day.

He’d usually prefer to stay in bed with you for as long as possible when he gets time off, but you’d looked so excited asking him to go out with you—he never stood a chance.

You look up into the mirror as you wash your hands, a strand of hair falling into your face as you do. You push it back behind your ear and smile to yourself, recalling the several times Jason had wordlessly done the same throughout the night as you rambled.

You make your way back to the bar, smile immediate on your face when you see your boyfriend. It gets replaced rather quickly though, when a man slides in front of you, cutting off your view of him.

“Hey there.”

You have to take a step back because of how close he decided to stand to you. He looks sober (enough) but wildly overconfident in whatevers about to happen.

"Let me buy you a drink, pretty thing."

Jason calls you pretty thing sometimes. It makes the blood rush to your cheeks and an inescapable smile creep up on your lips. When this guy says it, it makes you literally frown.

"Oh no, I'm okay, my—"

"You seem like a dirty martini kinda girl." He expertly ignores you, clearly trying and failing to make some kind of innuendo there.

Jason's sitting back against the bar, watching the interaction carefully. You still can’t see him, but he’s close and you can rest comfortable knowing he’s looking out for you.

With that reassurance, you don’t play this out quite as carefully as you would if you were alone.

"Look, I don't want a drink from you, thanks."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say to him because his face contorts quickly to mock-disgust that you figure is really just embarrassment.

“Hey, don’t be a bitch just ‘cause—”

You try to sidestep around him, thoroughly done with this interaction, but he grabs your upper arm harshly, pulling you to an abrupt stop.

Jason stands up real quick, yanking the guy backwards by his collar before you can even process what's happening.

Now, you know that Jason is an objectively intimidating guy. There's not many people that will come face to face with that absolute unit of a man and still decide to keep on trying him. However, you tend to forget that when you're so used to your gentle giant that only ever speaks to you kindly and touches you softly.

But his intimidating status becomes very apparent when the guy spins around, looks up at Jason, and immediately takes four steps back. He actually almost bumps into you in the process, not doing anything to tame Jason’s acute distaste for this man.

"Listen to me—back the fuck off before you get hurt."

“She—”

“I don’t give a fuck. Leave.”

The guy hesitates.

“Now.” Jason adjusts his posture to stand at his staggering full height, clearly with no qualms about putting him back in his place.

That does it for him, the man stumbllng away with half-committed mumbles of “whatever” or “something something lame anyway.”

Jason watches him until he walks out the door, before turning back to you.

He delicately takes your upper arm in his hand, pulling your sleeve up to search for bruising. But as harshly as he had grabbed you, it didn’t have the time to cause a bruise before Jason intervened.

“What’d he say to you?” Jason asks, brow furrowed as he inspects your arm.

“Nothing very interesting.” He looks at you mildly.

You smile and comb his hair back from his forehead, “Don’t worry about him. I’m good.”

He lets your arm go, and exchanges it for holding the back of your head, planting a kiss on your forehead.

You take his other hand and guide him back to your seats.

“Besides,” You look over his shoulder and let out a little shocked gasp. “Guess who just walked in.”

He gives you a questioning look before his face slacks, eyes widening in realization.

“No…” And you smile so brightly it almost makes up for what's coming his way.

You redirect your smile over his shoulder and give a wave to the door. Jason swigs down the rest of his drink, hand finding your waist once again.

“Jaybird!”

Jason’s still exhausted from patrol last night but he’d insisted on going with you to the bar to meet your friends. You’d tried to convince him that it was okay to stay in and rest tonight, you’d be fine. But it was a losing battle.

You suspect it has something to do with him not liking when you go out in Gotham at night, especially when you’re drinking.

So he hangs out in the background of the buzz, with you sat in front of him, in between his legs.

You’re talking it up with Roy, who’s been making jokes about how Jason’s “moody ass” tricked you, “the ray of sunshine” into this relationship somehow.

You laugh, taking a sip of your drink. “Right, ‘cause you and Kori were in love at first sight.”

"Oh, fuck off." Roy jeers.

He doesn't say it with the cadence of a joke, but it is.

You know he's joking, he knows he's joking.

Jason, who very well may have been tuned out of the conversation up to that point, does not seem to know he's joking—or he doesn't care.

You don't need to look behind you to know that your boyfriend is in defensive mode, though the look of regret mixed with amusement on Roy's face gives a solid hint.

You hold your hand out to block Jason his path as he moves forward. He lets you stop him, though you're certain he could get past you without so much as blinking, no problem.

"Right. My bad, forgot your guard dog was here. Don't fuck off." Roy backtracks, hands up in front of him.

Jason just rolls his eyes, slouching back down. You reach behind you for his hand, giving it two squeezes. You know he’s tired, so much so that he almost punched his best friend for making a typical joke.

“Five more minutes, okay?” You say softly over your shoulder.

He nods at you blearily, and ducks his head down to rest on your back. You adjust your posture a little bit to make it more comfortable for him and continue on talking, his hand still in yours.

If he hadn’t fallen asleep so quickly, five minutes would’ve been five minutes, but instead it became something more like fifty.

He goes through patches where sleep isn’t always so welcoming, a phase he’s been in for the past couple of weeks. You’d been waking up to find the bed half empty, your boyfriend resigned to doing research on cases in an attempt to at least be productive while he’s awake.

You can’t protect him in the same ways that he protects you—you’re not a fighter or necessarily “intimidating.” But you can protect him like this, in these little ways. Letting him nap on you, making him close the case files and rest with you, holding his hand throughout the night so that when he inevitably has nightmares, he knows immediately that you’re still with him. That he’s safe.

So if he can get some much needed sleep while only costing you a stiff back tomorrow, you’ll happily take that deal as many times as he needs.

vol. II

[inseobts]

Unintentional couple behaviour

you two acts like a loving couple all the time, so what happens when someone points it out?

characters: zoro, sanji, law, ace and sabo

words count: around 0.8k - 1.3k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:

You do a lot of things for Zoro without thinking.

You wake him up when it’s time to eat. You stop him from training too much. You make sure he doesn’t get lost whenever the crew visits a new island.

It’s normal for you. Someone has to do it.

But one day, the others start teasing you about it.

It happens at lunch. You are eating with the crew when Usopp laughs and nudges your arm.

“Hey, aren’t you gonna get your boyfriend?”

You blink. “What?”

Sanji, cleaning his hands with a towel, nods toward the deck “That moss-brained idiot. You always bring him to meals. It’s like a little routine between you two now. Like a couple…”

“We’re not—” You nearly choke on your drink “We’re not a couple!”

Usopp grins “Then why do you always take so much care of him?”

“Because he’s stupid and forgets to eat!” you say, standing up “I’ll go get him, but not because of whatever weird ideas you guys have.”

You walk away while they laugh behind you.

You find Zoro exactly where you expect, napping against the ship’s railing, his swords next to him.

You roll your eyes and shake his shoulder “Oi, wake up. Lunch is ready.”

Nothing.

You shake him harder “Zoro. If you don’t get up, I’ll eat your food.”

He grumbles and waves his hand, like he’s trying to swat away a fly.

Sighing, you do what you always do. You grab his wrist and pull him up with both hands. He lets you. He always does, like it’s natural.

Zoro blinks at you, still half-asleep “Huh. You again.”

“Yeah, me again,” you say “Come eat before Sanji ‘forgets’ to save you anything.”

You’re still holding his wrist, making sure he doesn’t fall back asleep. That’s when you notice Nami and Robin watching from across the deck, smiling.

“What?” you ask, feeling awkward.

Nami smirks “You two are cute.”

Your face heats up “We’re not—he’s not—we’re not together!”

Robin chuckles “You do take care of him a lot.”

Zoro frowns, confused “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” you mutterl “Come eat.”

You let go of his wrist too fast and walk away, ignoring the warm feeling in your chest.

You think it’s over, but now you notice things.

Zoro always sits next to you at meals, even when there are other seats. You always save food for him without realizing. And during fights, he always protects you first, like it’s a habit.

And, worst of all, people keep pointing it out.

“y/n,” Chopper asks one day, tilting his head “Are you and Zoro dating?”

You almost trip “What?! No!”

“Oh...” He looks confused “But you act like it”

You groan “Not you too”

After that, you can’t stop thinking about it.

The next time you wake Zoro up, your fingers stay on his wrist a second too long. The next time he pulls you behind him in a fight, your heart beats faster.

And then one evening, when you catch him watching you with a thoughtful look, you realize you might be in trouble.

That night, Zoro speaks first.

“Oi”

You look up from your seat on the deck “What?”

He leans against the railing, arms crossed “Does it bother you?”

You frown “Does what bother me?”

“What people are saying” His eyes stay on you “About us.”

You swallow “Why? Does it bother you?”

He doesn’t answer right away “No” his voice is quieter than usual.

Your stomach flips and you look at the ocean “I mean… it’s just dumb teasing, right?”

Zoro doesn’t reply. Instead, he watches you for a long time. Then, finally, he smirks.

“Doesn’t really matter what they say” he says, voice calm but sure “I’d still stick with you either way.”

Your breath catches and suddenly, your heart won’t let you ignore this anymore.

For the next days you try to brush off what the crew said.

You really do, but it’s impossible to ignore when Zoro keeps acting the same way.

Like when you’re on lookout duty together, and he hands you his jacket without a word.

Or when you spar with him, and he pulls his hits just enough so you don’t get hurt.

Or when you fall asleep on the Sunny’s deck, and you wake up covered with a blanket, one you know you didn’t grab.

And every time it happens, you catch the crew watching. Smirking.

It’s driving you insane.

One afternoon, you finally decide to do something about it.

You find Zoro by the training room, lifting weights. His shirt is half undone, sweat glistening on his skin, but you shove that thought aside.

You cross your arms “Hey, Zoro.”

He grunts in acknowledgment, not stopping his reps.

You hesitate “…Why do you treat me differently?”

He finally sets the weight down, wiping his face with a towel “What?”

“You heard me...” You shift uncomfortably “You do things for me that you don’t do for anyone else.”

Zoro leans back against the wall, looking at you like you just asked a stupid question “So?”

“So?” You huff “That means something, doesn’t it?”

He shrugs “I guess.”

You blink “That’s it? You guess?”

Zoro sighs, scratching his head “Look, I don’t really think about it. I just—” He pauses, then shrugs again “I want to.”

Your heart skips a beat “…What?”

“I want to do those things for you,” he says simply “it’s not a big deal”

You stare at him “Not a... Zoro, are you serious?”

He frowns “What, you don’t like it?”

“That’s not the point!” Your face feels hot “You don’t do this for Nami or Robin or anyone else!”

Zoro looks at you, unimpressed “Yeah. Because it’s you.”

You freeze.

The way he says it, so blunt, so obvious, it makes your stomach flip.

He isn’t flustered. He isn’t overthinking it. He’s just stating a fact.

“…Oh.”

Zoro crosses his arms, watching you carefully “Is that a problem?”

You swallow “No. It’s just…”

It’s everything. It’s him always being there, always looking out for you, always treating you like someone important.

It’s a realization you should have had ages ago.

You let out a breathless laugh “I’m an idiot.”

Zoro raises an eyebrow “Well, yeah.”

You smack his arm. He smirks.

But when your hand lingers just a little too long, he doesn’t pull away.

And suddenly, you both understand... this isn’t just a habit.

It never was.

Ever since that conversation in the training room, things between you and Zoro have… shifted, but not in a bad way.

He still trains for hours. Still naps in random spots. Still bickers with Sanji.

But now, when you sit beside him, his arm naturally rests along the back of your chair.

Now, when you fight, he doesn’t just watch your back, he makes sure you’re never out of reach.

Now, when you look at him for a second too long, he looks right back.

Like he’s waiting.

Like he’s giving you the choice.

One evening, you find him on the Sunny’s deck, looking out at the ocean.

“…Can’t sleep?” he asks.

You shake your head, stepping closer “Thinking too much.”

Zoro smirks “Dangerous habit...”

You huff a laugh but don’t argue.

Instead, you stand beside him, silent for a moment before you finally ask...

“Do you regret telling me?”

Zoro frowns “Telling you what?”

“That you… actually treat me differently. That you want to.”

His jaw tightens slightly “No.”

Your heart does something strange “Good.”

You don’t give yourself time to hesitate.

Before doubt can creep in, you grab him and pull him down.

Zoro freezes.

For half a second, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe.

Then a quiet growl rumbles from his chest, and his hand cups the back of your neck as he kisses you back.

It’s firm. Solid. Like he’s been holding back for too long and refuses to anymore.

When you finally break apart, Zoro leans his forehead against yours, exhaling through his nose.

“…Finally” he mutters.

You grin “You were waiting for me?”

“Wasn’t gonna rush you” His fingers brush your jaw “You get there when you get there.”

You hum, leaning into him “And now?”

Zoro smirks “Now, you’re stuck with me.”

You kiss him again, just to make sure he knows you wouldn’t want it any other way.

── .✦ Vinsmoke Sanji:

Sanji has always been a flirt. That’s just how he is.

He calls Nami and Robin “my love” and “my dear”. He spins around the kitchen whenever they compliment him. He offers to carry their bags when the crew goes shopping.

But when it comes to you, it’s different.

It starts when the crew is eating dinner together.

“Sanji, can you pass the salt?” you ask.

Instead of handing you the salt shaker, Sanji grabs it, twists off the lid, and sprinkles just the right amount onto your plate.

You blink “Uh. Thanks?”

“Of course, my dear” he says smoothly. Then, as if nothing happened, he turns back to his own plate.

You think nothing of it... until you notice the way the others are watching.

Usopp raises an eyebrow “Did he just season your food for you?”

“Yeah?” You shrug “What's new about it? He's a chef and he’s just being nice.”

Luffy grins “He doesn’t do that for anyone else.”

“That’s not true,” you argue “Sanji treats everyone like this.”

Nami hums “Not exactly like this. If we wanted more salt he would start a lecture about how it would ruin his masterpiece.”

Before you can ask what she means, Sanji stands up to grab dessert. He places a plate in front of you first. It’s your favorite.

The crew stares.

You stare too “Sanji…”

He smiles “What? I made extra for you.”

Usopp coughs “Yeah. Okay. Totally normal.”

Robin chuckles behind her hand.

You shake your head and go back to eating. It’s nothing. Sanji is just being Sanji.

…Right?

But then, you start noticing other things.

When you’re cold, Sanji drapes his jacket over your shoulders without you asking.

When you need something from a high shelf, Sanji wordlessly reaches up and hands it to you.

When you’re about to trip, his hand is always there to steady you.

And every time, every single time, he does it so naturally that you don’t even think about it.

Until one day, Franky whistles and says, “You two sure act like a couple.”

You nearly drop the drink in your hands “What?!”

Sanji, who was stirring a pot at the stove, pauses.

Franky leans against the counter, grinning “You two do all that coupley stuff. He gives you the best food, takes care of you, treats you differently from everyone else—”

“That’s not true,” you say quickly “Sanji’s like this with everyone.”

Franky snorts “Nah. He does flirt with everyone. But this?” He gestures between you and Sanji “This is different.”

You glance at Sanji. He’s staring into the pot, silent.

Your face feels hot now “You guys are reading too much into things.”

“Sure we are...” Franky says, smirking. Then he leaves.

The kitchen is quiet now. You swallow and turn to Sanji.

“…Is it true?”

He looks at you. His usual confident smile is gone. Instead, there’s something softer in his eyes.

“I don’t know” he says “is it?”

Your heartbeat quickens.

Suddenly, every touch, every sweet gesture, it all feels different.

Maybe it wasn’t just a habit.

Maybe it was something else all along.

After all this the teasing has only gotten worse.

Ever since Nami and Usopp pointed out how Sanji treats you, they will not let it go.

“Here comes Sanji’s beloveeeed~” Usopp sings when you walk into the kitchen.

“I should start charging you for all the extra food Sanji makes only for you” Nami smirks.

Even Luffy, who usually doesn’t care about these things, grins at Sanji one afternoon and says “Oi, cook, when are you gonna marry y/n?”

Sanji chokes on his cigarette so hard he has to brace himself on the counter.

You groan and drag a hand down your face.

But what really drives you insane?

Sanji never denies it.

He stutters, blushes, waves his hands, but he never says “That’s not true.”

Because it is true.

And it’s starting to drive you crazy.

You try to ignore it. But then you start noticing things, even the smallest ones.

Sanji never lets you carry anything heavy.

He always pours you tea first, even before Nami and Robin.

He adjusts your chair at dinner like it’s second nature.

And the worst part? He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

But you do.

And now, every time he gives you that look—the one that’s soft, full of admiration, like you hung the damn sun in the sky—your heart stumbles over itself.

This has to stop.

Or something has to change.

It happens one evening after dinner.

You’re in the kitchen, helping Sanji clean up. He hums as he washes the dishes, sleeves rolled up, golden hair falling over his forehead.

You watch him for a second, then take a deep breath.

“Sanji.”

He glances at you, smiling “Yes, my love?”

You grip the counter “Why do you act like we’re together?”

Sanji freezes.

The faucet keeps running. The kitchen is warm with the smell of spices. But Sanji is frozen.

Slowly, he turns his head toward you “…P-Pardon?”

You cross your arms “You treat me differently. Even the crew notices. You never do this stuff for anyone else.”

Sanji swallows hard “I—”

“You never deny it,” you press “and honestly? I’m tired of waiting for you to finally say something.”

Sanji stares at you like you’ve just flipped his entire world upside down.

His hands shake. His lips part like he wants to speak, but nothing comes out.

“…Sanji.” Your voice softens “Do you want this to be real?”

A shuddering breath leaves him. He looks at you, eyes wide, vulnerable.

“More than anything...” he whispers.

Your heartbeat stutters.

That’s it. That’s all you need to hear.

You step forward, grab the front of his shirt, and kiss him.

Sanji malfunctions.

His entire body locks up, like his brain has completely short-circuited.

For a solid two seconds, he does not move.

Then a noise escapes him, something between a whimper and a desperate sigh, and his hands come up to cup your face, pulling you closer.

The kiss is warm, overwhelming, but soft, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he holds on too tight.

When you finally pull away, he’s redder than his own suit.

“…M-Mon amour,” he breathes, voice shaking “You...you actually...”

You smirk “Took us long enough, cook.”

Sanji makes a strangled sound and immediately buries his face in your shoulder, arms wrapped tight around you.

Outside, the crew is losing their minds.

“TOLD YOU!” Usopp shouts.

“I WON THE BET!” Nami cheers.

“Oi, Sanji, you alive in there?” Zoro snickers.

Sanji doesn’t answer. He’s too busy melting against you, whispering sweet nothings into your skin.

And honestly?

You think you’ll let him.

── .✦ Trafalgar D. Law:

Law is not the kind of person who likes physical contact. He doesn’t let most people touch him. He keeps his distance, always standing at the edge of conversations with his arms crossed. If someone bumps into him, they get a glare.

But for some reason, you are different.

It starts when Bepo hands you a coat one evening.

“Here,” he says, tail flicking “you left this in the lounge.”

You blink at it. It’s black, long, and definitely not yours.

“This isn’t mine” you say, confused.

Bepo tilts his head “Oh. But you always wear the captain’s coat, so I thought it was yours now...”

You freeze.

“Wait. What?”

Shachi walks by and hears the conversation. He grins “Yeah, you totally do. Every time you’re cold, you steal his coat.”

Penguin nods “And Law never complains.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Try to remember.

…Okay, maybe you have borrowed Law’s coat a few times. But that’s just because it’s warm! And because it’s there! And because...

Oh no.

Your stomach twists “I... I do not...”

“Sure you don’t...” Shachi teases “What’s next? Calling him ‘dear’?”

You groan and shove the coat at Bepo before walking away.

But now, you can’t stop thinking about it.

After this, you start noticing other things. Like how Law always lets you into his personal space.

How you can tug his hat down over his eyes without him pushing you away.

How he casually rests his hand on your shoulder when he stands next to you.

One day, you trip over a loose crate. Before you even hit the ground, a familiar blue glow surrounds you... Law’s Room.

In an instant, you’re back on your feet, completely unharmed.

The Heart Pirates snicker.

“Captain didn’t even think” Penguin whispers.

“He never uses Room for anyone else’s clumsiness” Shachi adds.

You glare at them “I heard that.”

They just smirk.

Law doesn’t say anything. He just sighs and keeps walking, like saving you without thinking is the most natural thing in the world.

Your heart does something weird. You ignore it.

Later, you sit on a crate, arms crossed. Law stands next to you, reading a medical book.

You glance at him “Your crew keeps calling me ‘Captain’s partner.’”

He doesn’t look up “So?”

“So, why?”

He flips a page “Probably because you act like one.”

Your brain short-circuits.

You stare “Excuse me?”

Law finally looks at you, raising an eyebrow “You’re always in my quarters, you steal my coat, and you act like you belong next to me. They’re not wrong.”

Your face burns “I... You let me do all that!”

He smirks “I know.”

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

Because suddenly, you realize... he has let you. And he still is.

Ever since Bepo and the others pointed out how Law treats you differently, it’s been impossible to ignore.

The extra care during missions. The way he always stands just a little closer than necessary. The way he lets you touch him, his arm, his shoulder, even his hand, when no one else would dare.

But what really gives him away?

The way his ears burn red every time you get too close.

And yet he never says anything.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was running an experiment to see how long he could keep this up before you lost your mind.

So tonight you’re calling him out.

You find him in his quarters, buried in medical books.

“Hey, Law.” You lean against the desk, arms crossed “Can I ask you something?”

His eyes flick up “What?”

You tilt your head “Do you like me?”

Law chokes.

Not just a little cough... he full-on chokes on air, slamming his book shut as if that’ll somehow save him.

“What—?!” He coughs into his fist “Where the hell did that come from?”

You raise an eyebrow “You tell me.”

Law scowls, shifting uncomfortably “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Oh? Am I?” You step closer.

He stiffens “What are you...?”

You place your hands on the arms of his chair and lean in, caging him in.

His breath hitches.

Oh. Oh.

He is not prepared for this.

“Law,” you murmur, watching his face closely “you never let anyone touch you, but you let me.”

His jaw clenches “That doesn’t—”

“You always make sure I rest. You check my injuries before anyone else’s.”

“Because you’re reckless—”

“And...” you lean even closer “your ears are red right now.”

Law swallows.

You smirk “So, wanna try again?”

For a long moment, he just stares at you, lips parted, golden eyes darting between yours.

Then, in a last-ditch effort, he growls... “You’re annoying.”

You hum “Maybe.”

And then you kiss him.

Law goes still.

For the first time since you’ve known him, he is completely speechless.

But then a quiet sound escapes him, and his hand suddenly grips your wrist, holding you there.

You almost pull back, unsure, until his other hand slides around the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, and he kisses you back.

It’s hesitant at first, but when you don’t pull away, something shifts.

The kiss deepens, his grip tightens, and the heat radiating off of him is enough to make you dizzy.

When you finally part, Law exhales sharply, pressing his forehead against yours.

“…You’re gonna be a problem” he mutters, voice rough.

You grin “Yeah?”

His fingers tighten in your hair “Yeah.”

And then, despite everything, he kisses you again.

Because for once in his life he’s done running.

── .✦ Portgas D. Ace:

Ace is naturally affectionate.

He throws an arm around people’s shoulders, laughs loudly, and grins like the world is a joke he’s in on. He’s warm but also because he makes people feel welcome.

So it’s not weird that he touches you a lot.

Right?

It starts when Marco sits down next to you, smirking.

“You and Ace finally together, yoi?”

You look at him confused “what do you mean?”

“A couple… are you two a couple?”

You almost drop your drink “What? No!”

Marco raises an eyebrow “You sure? He always saves you a seat at meals. Always gives you his food if you ask. Always keeps an eye on you during fights.”

You roll your eyes “That doesn’t mean anything. He’s just like that.”

“Not with everyone” Marco takes a sip of his drink “Just you.”

You open your mouth to argue, but then you don’t know what to say, because now, you’re thinking about it.

The next time Ace sits beside you at dinner, you notice how he slides his plate a little closer to yours, letting you steal his food.

The next time the crew docks at an island, you notice how he instinctively waits for you before walking off together.

The next time you’re about to trip, you don’t even get the chance to fall, Ace grabs your wrist and steadies you like it’s second nature.

And maybe it is second nature.

“Careful, Ace,” one of the division commanders teases “If you keep acting like that, y/n might actually think you’re in love.”

Ace laughs, scratching the back of his head “Yeah, yeah.”

You laugh too. Because it’s just a joke… Right?

One night, you sit together on the deck, watching the ocean.

You fidget for a second before saying “The crew keeps calling us a couple”

Ace hums “Yeah?”

You glance at him “Why do you think that is?”

He leans back, arms behind his head, and grins “Probably because we act like one.”

You choke on your own breath “Excuse me?!”

Ace tilts his head “I mean, we do everything together. You always take my food, and I always let you. You always pull me out of trouble, and I always let you. Feels natural, doesn’t it?”

Your brain short-circuits.

Because now that you think about it... yeah, it does feel natural.

“…Ace,” you say slowly “Are we...?”

He looks at you, amusement flickering in his eyes “What do you think?”

Your stomach flips.

Because suddenly, you’re not sure where the habit ends and the feelings begin.

After this, Ace keeps flirting with you all the time.

It’s just who he is.

Winks across the deck. Throwing an arm around your shoulders. Calling you hot stuff like it’s your actual name.

You’re used to it.

But after the teasing from Marco and Thatch, after realizing that Ace treats you differently, you start to wonder.

Is he just playing around? Or is there something real underneath?

There’s only one way to find out.

The perfect opportunity comes one afternoon, when Ace flops down next to you on the Moby Dick’s deck, grinning.

“Hey,” he drawls, resting an arm behind his head “Miss me?”

You smirk “I saw you literally two hours ago.”

“That’s two hours too long.” He winks “Bet you were thinking about me the whole time.”

You hum, tilting your head “You really think that, huh?”

Ace chuckles “C’mon, you love me.”

You raise an eyebrow “Prove it.”

He blinks “Huh?”

You shift, leaning closer with a sly smile “You say all this stuff, Ace. You flirt, you tease... but are you actually serious?”

For the first time, he hesitates.

Just for a second, but it’s enough.

“…Of course I am,” he says, but his usual confidence isn’t all there.

You smirk “Then show me.”

Before he can react, you grab his hat, his precious hat, and plop it onto your own head.

Ace short-circuits.

“Oi! That’s...!” He reaches for it instinctively but stops mid-motion, staring at you.

You tilt the brim with a smirk “What? You said you liked me, right?”

Ace swallows “Y-Yeah?”

“Then just take it back.”

You expect him to snatch it back playfully.

What you don’t expect is for Ace to grin, eyes flickering with mischief, and suddenly tackle you onto the deck.

You yelp as he hovers over you, forearms braced on either side of your head.

The crew whoops in the background, but neither of you pay them any attention.

Ace smirks down at you “You think you’re funny, huh?”

You grin “A little.”

Ace shakes his head, chuckling, but then his expression softens.

He reaches up, tilts the hat back just enough to see your face properly.

And then without thinking he leans down and kisses you.

It’s grinning into the kiss kind of playful. It’s warm and teasing but full of something deeper.

And when he pulls back, face way too close, he murmurs “Now you gotta prove it.”

Your heart races.

You don’t back down. Instead, you tug him down by his necklace and kiss him again.

This time, Ace melts.

When you finally break apart, Ace huffs out a breathless laugh.

“Well,” he grins “Guess you do love me.”

You roll your eyes “Shut up.”

But you don’t stop him when he kisses you one more time.

Because, honestly?

He’s right.

── .✦ Sabo:

Sabo is easy to be around.

He’s kind, smart, and always ready to listen. He laughs at your jokes, never forgets your favorite things, and somehow always knows when you need him.

So it’s no surprise that you spend a lot of time together.

But apparently, the way you act around him is a little… suspicious.

It starts when you’re walking through the Revolutionary Army base with Koala.

“So,” she says casually “when are you and Sabo going to make it official?”

You nearly trip over your own feet “What?!”

Koala grins “Come on, don’t play dumb. You two already act like a couple.”

You scoff “No, we don’t.”

She raises an eyebrow “Oh really? Who’s the first person Sabo looks for when he gets back from a mission?”

“…Me.”

“Who’s the only person he lets borrow his gloves?”

“…Me.”

“And who’s the only one he lets fall asleep on his shoulder without complaining?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Because—oh.

Oh.

Koala smirks “See what I mean?”

You shake your head “That doesn’t mean anything. We’re just close.”

She shrugs “If you say so.”

But now, you can’t stop thinking about it. You start noticing things, like how Sabo always finds a reason to sit next to you during meals, or how he reaches out to fix your collar or tuck your hair behind your ear like it’s normal, or how he always makes sure you have a blanket when you fall asleep at your desk, even though no one else gets that treatment.

And the worst part?

Now that you’re paying attention, everyone else is too.

“I swear, it’s like they’re married” one soldier mutters.

“They finish each other’s sentences” another whispers.

“Bet they don’t even realize” someone else chuckles.

You groan and drop your head onto the table.

Sabo, sitting beside you, blinks “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing” you mumble.

He frowns, then wordlessly slides his drink toward you.

You stare at it “…Did you just give me your drink?”

He shrugs “You like it more than I do.”

You glance around. Several soldiers are watching now, smirking.

Slowly, you push the drink back to him.

Sabo looks confused “You don’t want it?”

Your face burns “Nope. I’m fine.”

He tilts his head, then shrugs and takes a sip.

The others snicker.

You sigh.

Later that night, you sit beside him on the rooftop, watching the stars.

“Sabo,” you say carefully “do we… act like a couple?”

He hums “Why?”

“People keep saying we do.”

Sabo leans back on his hands, thinking. Then he smiles “I guess I can see why.”

Your heart skips a beat “You can?”

“Well, we’re always together,” he says easily “I trust you more than anyone. You take care of me, I take care of you. Feels normal.”

You stare at him “That’s… kind of a couple thing, don’t you think?”

Sabo looks at you for a long moment. Then he smirks.

“Well,” he says, voice teasing but gentle “do you want it to be?”

Your breath catches.

And suddenly, the answer seems obvious.

Sabo has always been easy to be around.

You never have to force a conversation. Never have to second-guess his presence.

He’s just there, a steady warmth beside you, the hand that always steadies your back when you walk through the Revolutionary camp, the person you find yourself naturally leaning against when you’re tired.

And the thing is?

He never pulls away.

Even now, sitting beside you near the fire after a long day, his arm rests lightly along the back of your seat. Close enough to feel, but not demanding.

It’s natural.

But tonight, something’s different.

There’s a quiet between you, not uncomfortable, but charged with something unsaid.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly your head is resting against his shoulder, and instead of shifting away, Sabo just exhales softly, tilting his head against yours.

You close your eyes, feeling the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“…I like this” you murmur, barely thinking.

Sabo hums “Me too” A pause. Then... “I always have.”

Your heart stutters.

Slowly, you lift your head, turning just enough to meet his gaze.

His expression is calm, too calm, like he’s waiting for you to understand something he’s known for a long time.

And you do.

Because of course it was always him.

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

Instead, you reach up, gently tracing your fingers along his jaw.

Sabo closes his eyes briefly at the touch before opening them again, watching you with something unreadable, something deep.

Then, without hesitation, he leans in.

The kiss is slow, certain.

It’s not rushed, not desperate because this was never a question.

It was always going to be this.

When you part, Sabo lingers, his forehead resting against yours.

His hand finds yours, fingers lacing together easily.

“…Feels like we should’ve done that a long time ago” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours.

You smile “Maybe. But I think we got here at the right time.”

Sabo chuckles softly, squeezing your hand “Yeah. I think so too.”

And when he kisses you again, it feels like something that was simply meant to be.

[kateschi]

between bites and blushes

synopsis: class 1-a speculates about your secret relationship. as the teasing continues, a small slip reveals the truth, leaving everyone stunned—and katsuki annoyed.

pairing: bakugou katsuki x f!reader

class 1-a buzzes with speculation as you sit among your classmates in the common room, a warm lunch spread out before you.

whispers ripple through the table, each voice eager to share their theories about your love life. you smile, pretending not to notice the heightened interest.

“who do you think y/n is dating?” kirishima asks, leaning forward with a bright smile. “I mean, she’s been acting kind of secretive lately.”

“yeah, and she never talks about him,” kaminari adds, his eyes wide with curiosity. “it’s gotta be someone from a different class, right?”

midoriya furrows his eyebrows. “maybe it’s someone in class 1-b? I’ve seen her talking to some of them during training.”

you chuckle softly to yourself. you’ve been keeping your relationship with katsuki under wraps, wanting to enjoy it without the pressure of everyone’s scrutiny.

as if sensing their curiosity, katsuki sits down beside you, his presence immediate and commanding. he slams his tray on the table, causing a small shake, and grabs his bowl of spicy ramen.

“what are you losers even yammering about?” he asks.

“oh, just talking about y/n’s mystery boyfriend!” kaminari blurts out, his grin mischievous. “you know, the one she’s too secretive to talk about!”

katsuki narrows his eyes, looking between you and kaminari, as if he’s weighing how much to care. you can’t help but smile at the situation.

“you guys should really focus on your training instead of my dating life,” you say lightly, enjoying the way katsuki shifts slightly in his seat, the faintest hint of annoyance crossing his features.

after a few minutes of banter, katsuki pushes his ramen aside to make room for dessert—an assortment of mochi he’d been saving.

you watch as kaminari, with his usual absent-mindedness, leans over to grab a spoonful of katsuki’s ramen while katsuki’s attention is diverted.

“hey, what are you doing?” you call out, but it’s too late.

kaminari shovels the food into his mouth, a blissful look on his face. the moment he registers what he’s just done, his eyes widen in horror. “uh, oh...”

katsuki whips around, his expression darkening as he realizes his precious ramen has been tampered with. “hey! what the hell did you just do?” he roars, a vein in his forehead twitching with irritation.

kaminari’s face pales. “I-I thought it was just a taste! it looked really good!”

“looks good? you think that gives you the right to just take my food?” katsuki yells, rising from his seat, quirk already sparking at his fingertips.

the common room goes silent, all eyes glued to the impending chaos. kirishima grabs kaminari’s arm, pulling him back instinctively. “dude, you might want to apologize before he goes off!”

kaminari stammers, “I-I’m sorry! it was an accident!”

katsuki marches over, and in a flurry of furious energy, he pushes kaminari back, delivering a quick, sharp punch to his shoulder. “next time, ask before you eat something that isn’t yours, you dumbass!”

the rest of the class watches in a mix of awe and nervousness as kaminari scrambles to defend himself, stumbling back to his seat, where he winces in exaggerated pain.

“man, you really care about your food, huh?” kirishima laughs nervously, though the humor is tinged with apprehension. “I wouldn’t want to be on your bad side!”

katsuki grumbles something unintelligible, his gaze shifting back to you. you can’t help but giggle at the absurdity of the situation.

days pass, and the class is still buzzing with excitement over kaminari’s mishap. speculation over your love life continues to swirl, but you remain tight-lipped, enjoying the mystery and the quiet joy of your relationship with katsuki.

then, one day, as you sit in the common room with katsuki, you eye his leftovers sitting on the coffee table. he’s absorbed in a training video, and you can’t resist the temptation.

you reach over and take a bite of his remaining ramen, savoring the rich flavors.

katsuki glances over. “y/n,” he warns.

you flash him a playful grin. “just having a little taste! you don’t mind, do you?”

his expression softens slightly, and he shakes his head. “if you’re hungry then just tell me, so I can make you more.”

you grin, warmth flooding through you at his casual offer. “aww, you’d do that?”

“of course! just don’t go stealing my food like some idiot,” he replies, crossing his arms, but there’s a softness in his tone that makes you smile.

just then, the rest of class 1-a filters into the room, their curious eyes darting between you and katsuki.

kaminari, still nursing his bruised pride, can’t help but speak up. “so, you’re not gonna beat her up for eating your food?” he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.

katsuki looks at him, utterly perplexed. “what kind of jackass beats up his girlfriend?” he retorts, his expression a mix of confusion and annoyance.

a heavy silence descends over the room, the weight of his words hanging in the air. your classmates exchange stunned glances, eyes wide with disbelief.

the realization hits them like a wave, each one processing the implication of katsuki's casual admission.

“oh, that’s why you’ve been in a good mood lately—” midoriya blurts out, his eyes going wide with understanding.

katsuki’s face flushes, and he instinctively pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as if to shield you from their astonished gazes.

“stay out of our business!” he yells, then he points at midoriya, “especially you!”

the room erupts into a flurry of shocked voices, each member of class 1-a grappling with the sudden revelation. uraraka’s mouth drops open in disbelief. “wait, you guys are actually together?!”

kirishima’s grin grows even wider, and he nudges katsuki’s arm playfully. “dude, that’s awesome! I didn’t see that coming!”

you can’t help but laugh at the chaos, your heart swelling with affection for katsuki. you think that that nobody is noticing that katsuki’s hands are crackling, and that his eyes are picking his targets.

you figure that you won’t tell them, since, hey, good chaos is healthy every once in a while.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[plutotheplum]

Blush Wine

zayne x fem!reader

summary: a pressing personal issue has you turning to zayne in desperation. he is a doctor, after all.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, kissing, masturbation, finger-sucking, vaginal fingering, oral sex, p in v, praise kink, confessions

wc: 5.5k

a/n: just a cutesy little idea i had ^^

also on ao3!

“There’s something wrong with me.”

Your words leave you in an exasperated sigh, head tipping back as you stare at the ceiling of Zayne’s office, feeling utterly exhausted.

Zayne hums and the creak of his chair has you looking over at him, brows furrowing when you see he’s already begun to stand, the eartips of his stethoscope in place as he moves towards you.

“Zayne?” you say, huffing out a breath when he presses the stethoscope to your chest, “Zayne, no- not like that.”

“A cold?” Zayne murmurs, gazing down at you scrutinizingly, “I told you to be careful in the rain.”

“What?” you sputter, shaking your head, “no. No, it’s nothing like that.” You squirm a little in your chair, cheeks flushing lightly with embarrassment. “It’s- It’s more personal .”

Zayne stares down at you blankly, draping his stethoscope around the back of his neck. Your fingers tap against the edge of his desk agitatedly and Zayne catches the nervous tic, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Personal?” he echoes, raising his brows.

You nod, biting your lip nervously as you sneak a glance up at him. Zayne stares back at you sternly, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I was going to see a gynecologist,” you blurt out, cheeks flushing further, “but- but you seemed like a better option.”

He tilts his head, leaning back against the edge of his desk.

“What exactly is the problem?”

“It’s embarrassing,” you mutter, casting your eyes downwards.

Zayne lets out a sigh, his finger coming out to tap against your forehead gently. “Tell me,” he coaxes, fingers brushing through your hair for a brief moment before pulling back. “It’s the only way I can help you.”

“I can’t-” you begin, nails digging into your palms. Your voice is a soft hiss when you speak again. “I can’t cum !”

Zayne’s grip on the edge of his desk falters when he hears your words, a choked sound masked as a cough leaving him. You peek up at him shyly when he clears his throat only to find that Zayne’s usual facade of cool indifference has returned.

“I see.”

The only sound for the next several minutes is the tick of the clock in Zayne’s office. You play with your fingers, already regretting your decision to come here.

“Is that it?” you ask finally, “you see ?”

“I’m thinking,” Zayne replies, his hand scrubbing over his face. “Why did I seem like the better option?”

“Because we’ve known each other for years, Zayne!” you say frustratedly, “I figured- figured you might have some valuable input, you know, as a doctor and- and a friend.”

“I see.”

You glare at him when he says those two words again.

“Have you tried clitoral stimulation?” 

You nearly choke on your spit when Zayne says that. He sounds so methodical, so disinterested that it almost annoys you again, but when Zayne stares at you expectantly you realize he’s only trying to help.

“Yes,” you mumble, picking at the loose strand of your sweater, “doesn’t work. I tried my fingers too, but I can never cum.”

Zayne hums thoughtfully, his gaze dragging over you before glancing off towards the clock.

“This Friday, I’m off.”

Your brows furrow, unsure what he meant by that.

“I don’t have work on Friday,” Zayne repeats, “neither do you. I’ll come over, examine you and see what I can do.”

“ What ?” you blurt out, “what do you mean examine me?”

“I have to see what’s wrong,” Zayne replies bluntly, shifting on his feet, “I can refer you to a gynecologist if you’d prefer that instead.”

Truthfully, you’d prefer neither. It doesn’t help that your mind conjures up the image of Zayne spreading your thighs apart, his focused gaze trained on you enough to send a rush of heat coursing through your body.

“It’s fine,” you say finally, standing up, “you can come over. I’ll- I’ll let you get back to work.”

Zayne nods, opening the door for you to leave. “Drive safe.”

You’re long gone when Zayne lets out a shaky exhale in the privacy of his office. He scrubs his hand over his face, his cheeks flushing as he remembers the way you had blurted out your problem . 

Zayne tugs at the knot of his tie, loosening it in an attempt to try and quell the sinful thoughts that were flooding his mind at that very moment.

You were going to be the death of him.

- 

You don’t know what to do with yourself when Friday rolls around.

It’s too hard to sit still, each of your actions jerky and agitated as your mind runs through the potential implications of this entire situation.

Zayne drops in around midday, the ring of your doorbell making you hesitate as your fingers curl around the doorknob. Maybe it wouldn’t be too late to lie and tell Zayne that everything was fine.

The doorbell rings again and you open the door tentatively, peering up at Zayne.

“This isn’t really necessary,” you begin but Zayne shakes his head, stepping inside your apartment before locking the door behind him.

Silence passes over you both and Zayne stares at you for a moment longer, his gaze dipping over you.

“You’ll need to show me,” he murmurs, his fingers loosening the tie around his neck.

“Show- show you?” you echo, cheeks beginning to flush with embarrassment, “Zayne, you can’t be serious.”

He hums, moving to sit down on your couch, his thighs spreading slightly as he gets comfortable. You look away, biting the inside of your cheek to prevent an indecent noise from spilling out when you see how good he looks.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” he asks bluntly.

“You’re being inconsiderate,” you retort, but his words seem to do the trick, making you move towards him.

You turn to sit down next to him, but Zayne’s fingers are curling around your hips, pulling you down onto his lap instead. A surprised squeak escapes you, body squirming as you try to move off of his lap. Zayne holds you in place, his chest pressing against your back, arms wrapping around your waist.

“Z- Zayne?” you yelp, voice pitching up.

“Show me.”

You turn your head incredulously to find that Zayne’s gaze has darkened, his eyes boring into yours intensely. 

“Do you do this with everyone?” you murmur, shaky fingers reaching down to pull your shorts down, leaving you only in a shirt and panties on Zayne’s lap.

“No,” he replies, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Only you.”

You spread your legs, your fingers slipping past the waistband of your panties to circle your clit.

“I- I feel as though you want this,” you whisper, tilting your head.

“I do,” Zayne confesses. “I have, for-” he lets out a long breath, watching the way your fingers move in your panties, “for years now.”

“Oh.” You let out a stuttery, little breath, heart soaring at his words. “So have I.”

Zayne hums, his lips brushing across your cheek fleetingly. His hand reaches out, stopping your movements, pulling your hand free from your panties.

“You should’ve said something sooner,” he says quietly, the pads of his fingers pressing against the fabric of your panties, rubbing gently. “Let me.”

You suck in a sharp breath, fingers digging into his forearm as he rubs a little more, his svelte fingers flexing against your clothed cunt. Zayne taps your hip after a moment and you lift your hips for him, letting him pull your panties down.

“You’re wet,” he murmurs, fingers gliding through your folds, “that’s good.”

“Stop talking like that,” you complain, hips tilting up into his touch.

“I’m simply examining you,” Zayne replies, but you can hear the hint of a smile in his voice, the playful brush of his nose against your cheek.

A soft gasp leaves you when his lithe fingers find your clit, circling the swollen bud.

“Good girl,” he whispers, his other hand creeping up your shirt to find your breasts, your nipples already hardened, “relax for me.”

You do as Zayne says, letting his fingers work against you, your eyes fluttering shut as he rubs your clit for you. Slick has begun to leak from you rapidly, a dull ache settling in your cunt as Zayne quickens his circling, his lips pressing against your neck.

“Inside,” you whisper needily, fingers wrapping around his wrist, “Zayne, I need your fingers inside .”

“No,” Zayne says sternly, squeezing at your breast as he strokes his fingers over your clit, petting the swollen bud, making your thighs twitch. “You’ll cum like this first and then you’ll cum on my fingers.”

You let out a frustrated whine, but the kiss Zayne lands to your cheek soothes your annoyance. He manages to pull more noises free from your lips with the way he rubs your clit, the press of his fingers growing harder when he sees your mouth drop open, head falling back against his shoulder.

“That’s it,” Zayne encourages, the fingers of his other hand pinching and rolling your nipple. “Just like that, love. Fall apart for me.”

A few more strokes over your clit is all it takes, a sharp gasp sounding as your orgasm rips through you, body shuddering on top of Zayne’s lap.

“Good girl,” he praises, fingers not letting up as he rubs your clit through the twitches racking through your body, “did so well, baby.”

You slump against his chest, panting softly, head lolling to the side to blink up at him dazedly.

“You fixed me,” you mumble, nose nudging against his when he lowers his head.

“Seemed a little too easy,” Zayne murmurs.

You roll your eyes and Zayne smiles, his hand turning your head to the side. His head dips and your eyes flutter shut when his lips press against yours for the first time. He kisses you softly, his fingers stroking through your folds again.

Zayne groans into your mouth, deepening the kiss, his tongue licking into your mouth. You whimper, hips rocking into his fingers, feeling the press of them against your aching cunt. He pulls back to press his lips to your jaw, trailing soft kisses along your skin, his breath hot.

He presses one finger inside of you, drawing a moan out of you. Another finger joins soon after and you’re mewling desperately, pressing his hand against your pussy, wanting to feel his fingers deeper.

“Pretty pussy’s tight, love,” Zayne whispers, pushing your shirt up to finally get a good look at your breasts. “ Fuck ,” he breathes out, groping at one your breasts greedily, “you’re beautiful.”

“Zayne,” you hiccup out his name, biting your lip when you feel how hard he is against your ass, “feels s’good.”

Your hips rock back, grinding against his clothed cock. Zayne grunts, his forehead pressing into your shoulder at the feel of you against his bulge.

You writhe when he fucks his fingers into you rapidly, back arching as you moan loudly, feeling the curl of his fingers inside of you.

“I like you,” he rasps, nosing into your cheek, unable to help himself from laying firm, hot kisses all over your cheek and jaw, nipping at your neck gently.

You open your mouth to respond, but Zayne feeds you his fingers instead, keeping you full. A drunken slur sounds from you and Zayne huffs out a low laugh, his thumb adding to the mix when he circles your clit as he thrusts his fingers in and out of your leaking cunt.

You suckle on his fingers, tongue swirling around them mindlessly, eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

“Needy,” Zayne says, slowing the pace of his fingers, drawing out the moment.

You squirm on his lap, hips rocking and rolling, trying to grind against his cock and hump his hand, desperate to cum. Zayne lets out a low moan when he feels the brush of your ass, his hand slipping from your mouth to grip your hip in an attempt to stop you.

“Please,” you gasp, “please, Zayne, wanna- ah - wanna cum!”

“Go ahead, love,” he murmurs, resuming his pace, his fingers fucking in and out of your sloppy pussy. “Cum on my fingers.”

Your eyes squeeze shut, teeth sinking into your lower lip. The tight coil in your stomach snaps when he curls his fingers inside of you again, his lips pressing against your ear in a low groan.

Zayne captures your lips in a kiss when you cum, his hand smoothing up and down your side soothingly as you shudder again, your soft cries muffled by his lips on yours.

“That’s it,” he whispers, kissing you gently, “good girl. Came so good, baby.”

You give him a hazy smile, turning on his lap, straddling him instead. Your arms wrap around his neck and Zayne sinks into the kiss, moaning into your mouth when you roll your hips, grinding your wet cunt all over his trousers.

Zayne moves you off of his lap before long, standing up, his hand pressing against his hard, clothed cock.

“Can I watch?” you breathe out, voice airy.

Zayne flushes, his cheeks and the tips of his ears covered in a pretty pink. You lick your lips when he rubs his hand over his bulge, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

“Please, Zayne?” you continue, voice softening further, “it’s- it’s only fair, right? You got to touch me and- and I just want to watch.”

“You’re infuriating,” he grits out, his eyes narrowing into a half-hearted glare.

You smile up at him when he steps closer, eyes dropping down to watch his lithe fingers undo the buckle of his belt. It falls to the floor, along with his pants and boxers and you swallow harshly when you see how hard his cock is.

It’s nice, like all the parts of Zayne, the black hair at the base of his cock trimmed neatly. You bite your lip, hands grasping at the armrest of the couch when you see how thick his cock is, the tip of it flushed a few shades darker than his cheeks.

“Is that what you want?” Zayne rasps, his hand wrapping around his cock, pumping it slowly, “hm? I didn’t think you were so filthy .”

“‘s not filthy,” you mumble, inching a little closer to his cock.

Your lips part, tongue lolling out, trying to taste the glob of pre-cum beading at the tip of Zayne’s cock. He grunts when he sees what you’re trying to do, shaking his head as the tips of his fingers press into your forehead, pushing your head away.

“No,” he says breathily, “you wanted to watch, so watch .”

A soft, frustrated whimper leaves you, a pout settling on your lips. It’s impossible to sit still with the dull ache of emptiness settling in your cunt again, thighs rubbing together needily as Zayne squeezes the head of his cock, more pre-cum leaking from the tip.

“Z- Zayne,” you whine, eyes half-lidded as you watch him stroke his cock, “Zayne, you’re so big.”

Zayne groans, his head tipping back in pleasure. You take your chance, reaching out to grab at his shirt, pushing it up a little to watch the flex of the muscles in his abdomen. It’s making you wet again, the feeling almost uncomfortable as slick drips from between your thighs.

You lean forward, landing a soft kiss to his hip. Zayne’s eyes flutter open, his gaze hazy as he stares down at you. You smile up at him sweetly and Zayne huffs out a breathy laugh, hardly able to believe the sight in front of him.

“Pretty,” he murmurs, his thumb reaching out to brush over your lower lip, “you’re so pretty.”

You hum, mouth opening for his thumb when he presses it in further, tongue swirling around the digit. He groans and your eyelids droop a little further, gaze dipping to find that his grip on his cock has tightened.

“Is this how you get off when you’re alone?” you whisper, words slurring around his thumb as he strokes it over the surface of your tongue.

Zayne nods, pumping his cock faster, his thighs twitching minutely.

“Do you think about me?” you whisper again, biting the tip of his thumb gently.

“Yes,” he groans, “ fuck- yes, all the time. You’re- hah- you’re all I can think about.” Zayne leans down and you rise up on your knees to meet him, lips pressing against his in a slow kiss. “It’s always you , love.”

Your heart stutters in your chest at his words, eyes lighting up at the little confession you’ve managed to draw out from the usually stoic man. 

His brows knit together as he strokes his cock, his lips finding yours again as he kisses you desperately, his hand cupping the back of your head to hold you in place.

“I- hah- I’m close,” Zayne grits out, his hips stuttering.

“Wanna watch you cum, Zayne,” you whisper, nipping his lower lip playfully.

He groans, body hunching over as he fucks his cock into his fist, letting out rasping pants.

“Open your mouth,” he murmurs, fingers stroking across your cheek, “wanted a taste, didn’t you?”

You nod eagerly and Zayne lets out a low moan, his hips jerking as he cums. You hold your tongue out, eyes shutting when you feel his cum splatter over your cheeks and tongue, a soft mewl slipping out of you at the heady taste.

You lick your lips, leaning forward to lap at the tip of his cock. A smile spreads across your face when Zayne shudders, his fingers spreading out across your scalp as he holds you in place, letting you suckle at his spent cock. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, thumb stroking across your cheek, “cleaning me up so well, baby.”

You hum, kissing the tip of his cock, mouth opening for his thumb when he feeds you a stray drop of cum. 

Zayne dips his head soon after, kissing you feverishly. He cups your cheeks, pulling you closer. You sigh into his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck, feeling his softening cock against your stomach.

“I like you,” you whisper against his lips, pecking them gently.

“I know,” Zayne murmurs, his hands petting at your sides, “I like you too.”

Your eyes flutter shut when he kisses your forehead, a contented hum leaving you when he kisses your cheek after. Zayne wraps his arms around your waist and you laugh when he hoists you up, legs wrapping around his waist.

“Bedroom?” you ask, fingers playing with the soft strands of his hair.

Zayne nods, one of his hands squeezing at your ass. You don’t make it very far when his pager sounds.

You pout when Zayne sets you down onto your feet, peeking over at his pager as he reads it.

“Urgent?”

“Seems like it,” Zayne murmurs, his brows furrowing slightly, “I have to go.”

Despite the urge to protest, the urge to make Zayne stay with you for longer, you can’t find it in yourself to voice your thoughts when you see the serious look on his face. Instead, you let him get dressed, helping him redo his tie. 

Zayne lowers his head, his fingers gripping your chin to tilt your head up so he can kiss you again. You melt into it, arms wrapping around his neck, lips working against his lazily.

“Thank you,” you say, kissing his cheek when his hands drop away from your waist, “for helping me out.”

Zayne’s eyes glimmer with mirth, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a half-smile.

“You’re welcome,” he says, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek, “just don’t go to anyone else if you have that problem again, okay?”

You pretend to consider his words, even though you know no one could ever replace the spot Zayne’s carved out in your heart.

“I mean it,” Zayne murmurs when you don’t respond. His body draws near, his thumb smoothing over your cheek. “I want you to only need me.”

His words curl around your heart, squeezing tight. Your mouth opens to respond, but your breath gets caught in your throat and Zayne lets out a soft chuckle when he sees how flustered he’s made you.

“You- you can’t just say that ,” you grumble, face pressing into his chest.

“Why not?” Zayne asks, his hand stroking your hair gently.

“Because!” you say exasperatedly, peering up at him, “you just can’t.”

Zayne smiles down at you, his lips pressing against your forehead. “Well, I did. Let me take care of you, hm? I’ve been doing it until now.”

You nod your assent, kissing his cheek before pushing him towards the door.

“Bye, Doctor Zayne.”

“Bye,” Zayne replies, his eyes roving over you, committing the image of you bare and dazed to mind. “Remember to rest. Eat when you can and drink plenty of wat-”

“Zayne!” you interrupt, pointing at his flashing pager again, “I know .”

Zayne sighs, stepping through the doorway to leave. He stares at you one more time, his voice creeping through the narrowing gap as he closes the door. “I’ll send you a text.”

-

So, Zayne solved your problem. 

But he had given you another problem in return. You couldn’t stop thinking about him or his fingers. Worst of all, the simple thought of it left you hazy, your mind fogging over whenever you remembered the feel of his fingers inside your cunt. 

The following week, you’d missed at least three good shots at the training facility leading to Jenna shooting you a strange look when she saw how off-target your shots were. A wane smile had graced your lips and you’d gone home in a daze.

It’s how you’ve ended up like this, squirming around in bed, hand shoved down into your sleep shorts, brows furrowed. All you could think about was Zayne and how much you missed him. 

A soft hiccup escapes you when you feel your impending orgasm fade, a frustrated noise leaving you. You grasp blindly for your phone, pressing it to your ear after calling him.

“Hello?” 

“Zayne,” you whine, fingers stroking over your clit, “Zayne, I need you.”

You can hear Zayne sucking in a sharp breath when he hears your whine, and the sound of his chair moving.

“I’ll be there.”

-

You’re opening the door when you hear the doorbell ring and Zayne stumbles back as you practically throw yourself at him, yanking him down by his tie to kiss him. 

It doesn’t take long for him to reciprocate, his hands sliding to the backs of your thighs as he picks you up. Zayne shuts the door with his foot, his lips working against yours eagerly.

“Again?” he asks, carrying you into your bedroom before setting you down gently.

You nod, pulling him down for another kiss, fingers working at his tie and the buttons of his shirt. “Doesn’t work if it’s not you.”

Zayne hums, pushing at your shoulders slightly to get you to lay down. You bite your lip when he sinks down onto his knees, arms pulling you towards the edge of the bed, your legs over his shoulders.

“I’ll take care of you,” Zayne affirms, pulling your shorts off.

He groans at the sight of your bare pussy, thumbs spreading apart your puffy folds. Your arousal clings to his fingers and the first brush of Zayne’s thumb against your clit has you seeing stars.

“Please,” you gasp out, moaning softly when Zayne’s hot breath hits your pussy, “want your mouth, Zayne.”

“You have it, love.”

Zayne squeezes your hand, his tongue licking a stripe up your slick folds. You whine, thighs twitching at the sensation, your other hand sinking into his soft hair. He lets out a low noise at the taste, his face pressing between your thighs.

Your toes press into shoulders, hips bucking as Zayne’s tongue swirls through your folds. He makes a few measured sounds as he laves over your clit, sucking the swollen bud into his mouth every so often.

“Taste good, baby,” Zayne murmurs, pulling back to press wet, sloppy kisses onto your inner thighs. “Such a pretty pussy,” he breathes, his cheek resting against your thigh as he stares at the pitiful clench of your cunt around nothing.

“Stop- stop teasing me,” you whimper, back arching and fingers fisting Zayne’s hair when he lands a few kisses to your clit.

Zayne grants your request, his mouth returning to your puffy pussy, lips suctioning around your clit. You mewl, eyes squeezing shut as you feel the press of his fingers inside of you, filling you up.

“Yes,” you begin to chant when he curls his fingers and begins to fuck them out of you, “ oh- yes, yes, please nghh- ”

Zayne slurps at your cunt, the lewd noise filling the air coupled with the sounds of his fingers thrusting in and out of your dripping pussy. You can hardly think straight, the pleasure so mind-numbing that your toes are curling and you’re tugging at Zayne’s hair roughly.

“W- wait,” you mumble dazedly, “Zayne- Zayne, want your cock.”

He peers up at you, his eyes never leaving yours as he laps at your pussy, drawing back before spitting on it.

“Thought you wanted my mouth?” he says, fingers still working in and out of you.

“Need you to fill me up,” you demand, trying to pull him up, “I want you inside of me.”

Zayne is stubborn like you, if not more, denying you as he buries his face back into your cunt, sucking and licking, drinking down your wetness like he’s been starved. 

“You’ve already cum on my fingers,” Zayne rasps, kissing your clit, “cum on my tongue, then you can have my cock, love.”

You glare down at him, not appreciating the subtle edging. Zayne smiles up at you, his mouth opening wider to lap at your cunt before sucking at your folds messily, his tongue swirling around your clit, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh briefly. 

A squeal leaves you when Zayne suddenly holds you in place as he roughly sucks at your clit, mouth suctioning relentlessly. Your body jerks, legs kicking out at the feeling, his fingers grazing the sensitive spot deep inside of you.

“Cum,” Zayne orders sternly, moving his fingers faster, “cum on my tongue like a good girl.”

That’s all it takes, your thighs squeezing tight around his head, back arching as you cum, shuddering gasps leaving you. Zayne hums into your cunt when your thighs loosen, licking over your sensitive cunt gently, his lips pressing against your clit in an affectionate kiss.

You lay there, limbs heavy, staring up at the ceiling hazily. The clink of Zayne’s belt draws you out of the trace post-orgasm, arms wrapping around his neck when he crawls over you, kissing you softly.

“Still want my cock?” he asks, brushing your hair away from your face.

“Mhm,” you nod, and it’s you pushing at his shoulders this time, making him lay down as you crawl up onto his lap, straddling his hips.

There’s pre-cum smeared across Zayne’s abdomen when you look down, his cock hard and thick, the tip flushed dark.

“All yours,” Zayne whispers, his thumb stroking over your lips and jaw when you begin to drag your cunt over his cock. “I’m all yours, baby.”

You smile down at him, nuzzling into his palm before turning your head to kiss his wrist.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Zayne replies, his hands grasping at your hips.

You lift them for him, rising up onto your knees. Zayne grasps the base of his cock, holding it for you, guiding you to sink down on him. Your mouth drops open in a silent moan when his cock presses into you, head falling forward when you feel how thick he is.

“Take what you want, love,” Zayne murmurs, “use me.”

A soft whine spills out of you, hands landing flat against his chest, your hips rolling. Zayne’s hand drifts, grabbing at the fat of your ass, moving you up and down on his cock.

You’re crying out his name desperately and Zayne groans, propping himself up on an elbow to pull you down, mouthing at your tits. He wraps his arms around your waist and you cup the back of his head, holding his head to your chest.

Zayne’s tongue swirls around your hardened nipple, the sensation of his teeth grazing and biting gently enough to send little twitches through your body.

“You’re- you’re so good,” you mewl, eyes fluttering shut while your nails dig into his broad shoulders. “I- fuck- I like you so much! Zayne- oh- hah- like you!”

Zayne moans in response, tongue flicking against your nipple until you tug at his head back using his hair, your lips crashing down onto his. It’s feverish and unrestrained, Zayne’s hands grasping at your waist, your hips and ass as though you might suddenly disappear.

“Ride me,” he urges, his breath fanning across your lips. “Ride me, my love.”

You nod, unable to stop yourself from kissing him again, widening the distance between your knees, setting a firmer base before you begin to rise and fall on his cock.

“ Shit- ” Zayne gasps, his head tipping back when he feels the clench of your pussy as you drag it up and down his cock.

The sounds of skin against skin fill your bedroom, both of you panting into each other’s mouths, Zayne’s brows knitting together as he stares up at you, his fingers flexing against your waist as though trying to hold back.

“I- I can’t- forgive me.”

Confusion flits across your face when you hear him. “Zayne?”

Zayne doesn’t respond, flipping you over onto your back; drawing a surprised squeak from you. You whimper when he kisses you roughly, his cock slipping out of you for a moment before Zayne pushes it back into you, his hips settling between your thighs.

Your arms wrap around his neck, Zayne’s face pressing into the crook of your neck as he ruts his hips into you with abandon. He tilts your hips up, driving his cock in with deep, rough thrusts, ripping every possible needy noise from your throat.

His back is covered in red welts with how you’ve been clawing down his skin, body writhing under his with every thrust he delivers. His balls are slapping against your ass, the sound making your cheeks flush, but you hold him closer, fingers tangled in his hair.

“Z- Zayne!” you hiccup, hardly able to form words, mouth hanging open with how he’s mouthing at your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. “Zayne, ‘m gonna cum!”

“You’re mine,” he hisses, shifting to peer down into your eyes, his hand coming to cup your jaw. “Only mine,” Zayne repeats, stealing a kiss from you, “all fucking mine.”

You nod rapidly in agreement, your thumb brushing over his lips before pushing into his mouth. A soft mewl leaves you when Zayne sucks, his tongue swirling around your thumb, his teeth biting gently.

“Cum,” Zayne slurs, his hips beginning to move unevenly, “cum for me, my love. Give it to me. Give everything to me.”

You seize under him, cunt clenching around Zayne’s cock and he moans deeply, trying to bury his cock as deep as possible inside of you. His cock twitches as he cums, thick ropes of his hot cum spilling into you, your cunt clenching around his cock weakly.

Zayne nuzzles into the crook of your neck and you let out a content hum, hands smoothing down over his broad back when he slumps over you.

“I can’t feel my legs,” you mumble.

Zayne lets out a hoarse laugh, kissing your cheek before moving off of you, laying down beside you instead.

He tugs you into his side, his warm palm moving down the side of your waist, caressing your hip soothingly as he kisses your temple. You sigh, moving closer to him, pressing into his side, eyes slipping shut as he squeezes your thighs slowly, relieving the dull ache that’s settled into your muscles.

“You’re beautiful,” Zayne whispers, cupping your cheek, tilting your head to look into your eyes when they blink open. 

A light flush covers your cheeks, a shy smile spreading across your face as you lean in, pecking his lips sweetly.

“You’re wonderful, Zayne.”

“Such high praise,” he murmurs, nose nuzzling against yours affectionately, “am I really so deserving?”

You roll your eyes, poking his chest in response before sitting up.

“Where are you going?” Zayne grumbles, his arms wrapping around your waist and tugging you back into his chest.

“I have to clean up,” you whine, eyes slipping shut when Zayne squeezes your breast.

You bare your neck to him a little more when he begins to plant soft kisses here and there, his hands petting over your spent body. A quiet moan spills from you when he kisses the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin when he speaks.

“Not so fast, love. We have to make up for lost time.”

[pucksandpower]

Looking Up

Max Verstappen x tall!Reader

Summary: despite being Dutch, Max isn’t exactly surrounded by many particularly tall people — Formula 1, after all, is one of the few sports where height can be a disadvantage — so maybe he shouldn’t be surprised when a strikingly tall beauty queen catches his eye and refuses to leave his thoughts

Based on this request

Max drags his feet through the paddock, the sun glaring down in waves that seem to radiate off every surface. His Red Bull PR officer, Gemma, walks two paces ahead of him, clipboard in hand, her voice relentless.

“… and it’s a fantastic opportunity for engagement, Max. She has millions of followers, the Miss Universe Netherlands title — it’s a dream crossover. Positive PR for both of you. You’ve seen her photos, right? She’s stunning-”

“I don’t care,” Max cuts in, irritation dripping from his voice. He pulls at the neck of his race suit, already sick of the day, and now they’re parading him around like a puppet. “I don’t need a gimmick.”

Gemma ignores him. “It’s not a gimmick. This is strategic. A guest with her profile draws attention to you. To the team. Think of it as-”

Max stops walking, forcing Gemma to halt and turn back. “I already get enough attention,” he mutters, folding his arms.

She raises an eyebrow. “Yes, but not all attention is good attention. Just try, Max. Be charming. Be … approachable for once.”

He groans but resumes walking, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Charming,” he mutters under his breath. “Sure.”

They turn the corner into the Red Bull hospitality area, the usual mix of engineers, staff, and guests milling around. Max’s eyes are already scanning for the nearest exit when Gemma stops abruptly.

“There she is,” she whispers, nodding toward the seating area.

Max follows her gaze — and stops dead in his tracks.

You’re sitting at one of the tables, long legs crossed gracefully, an effortless posture that radiates confidence. The light catches on your hair, making it shimmer. You glance up, and your eyes meet his.

Max’s mouth snaps shut mid-complaint.

“Max!” Gemma hisses, but he doesn’t move.

You stand up, impossibly tall in your heels, the hem of your dress brushing against your thighs as you extend a hand toward him. Max blinks, his brain tripping over itself.

“Hi,” you say, your voice smooth, warm, unhurried. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m-”

“You’re, uh-” Max’s voice cracks. He clears his throat, willing himself to act normal. “I know who you are.”

You smile, a touch amused. “And you are Max Verstappen. Right?”

“Uh, yeah,” he manages, shifting awkwardly. Your hand is still extended, so he reaches out to shake it. Your grip is firm, your hand soft against his calloused one.

“Pleasure,” you say, tilting your head slightly. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Same,” Max blurts, though he hasn’t. Well, not much anyway. His mind scrambles for something else to say, but all he can focus on is how tall you are — how he has to tilt his head up slightly to maintain eye contact. And the heels. The heels are making it worse.

“Max?” Gemma prods, her voice sharp in his ear.

He jerks his hand back, realizing he’s been holding yours a beat too long. “Right, uh, welcome. To … the paddock.”

You laugh softly, a sound that feels like it cuts through the noise of the entire paddock. “Thank you. Everyone’s been very kind so far.”

Max swallows hard, his eyes darting to your legs, your dress, and then back to your face. He knows he’s staring too long.

“So,” you continue, filling the silence he’s left hanging, “are you excited for the weekend?”

“Yeah. I mean, sure.” He rubs the back of his neck, feeling his face heat up. “It’s … racing. That’s what I do.”

You laugh again, and Max swears his brain short-circuits. “That’s what you do,” you repeat. “Good to know you’re consistent.”

Gemma clears her throat loudly. “Max, why don’t you show her around? Make her feel at home.”

Max shoots her a glare. “I’m sure she doesn’t need me to-”

“I’d love that,” you interrupt, smiling at him. “If you don’t mind.”

He freezes, his excuses dying on his tongue. “Uh … sure. Yeah. I can do that.”

You step closer, and Max’s breath catches. “Lead the way,” you say.

He’s acutely aware of the way everyone’s watching as he starts walking, you falling into step beside him. His PR officer gives him a pointed look before disappearing into the crowd.

“So,” you say, your voice light, “is this how it always is? Chaos, cameras, and all?”

“Pretty much.” Max glances at you, trying not to trip over his words — or his feet. “It’s, uh … normal.”

“You make it look easy,” you say, and he catches the genuine note in your voice.

He laughs, short and awkward. “Not as easy as you make the whole pageant thing look.”

Your smile widens, and he immediately regrets how stupid that sounded.

“Thank you,” you say, your tone teasing. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was,” he insists quickly. “Definitely was.”

You keep walking, asking questions about the team, the cars, the track. Max answers them, though his usual confidence is nowhere to be found. Every time you laugh or nod, he feels his brain falter.

“You’re taller than I expected,” he blurts out at one point, then immediately regrets it.

You stop, turning to look at him. “Taller?”

He stammers, waving his hands. “I mean, not in a bad way. Just … I didn’t realize.”

You glance down at your heels and back up at him. “It’s the shoes,” you say, but your grin tells him you know exactly what you’re doing.

“Right. Shoes,” Max mutters, his face burning. He clasps his hands in front of his groin, trying to hide the very visible reaction his body is having to … all of this.

You don’t seem to notice — or maybe you do, and you’re kind enough not to mention it. Instead, you keep walking, asking another question about the weekend’s schedule.

Max answers automatically, but his mind is elsewhere. He’s never felt like this — off balance, awkward, like he’s two steps behind and doesn’t know how to catch up.

As you reach the edge of the hospitality area, you stop and turn to face him fully. “Thanks for showing me around,” you say, your voice softening.

Max shoves his hands into his pockets, looking anywhere but at you. “No problem,” he mumbles.

You tilt your head, studying him for a moment. “You’re not as scary as they say.”

He looks up, startled. “Scary?”

“Yeah.” You smile again, and it feels like a punch to his chest. “People talk. But you’re … normal. Almost sweet.”

Max doesn’t know whether to laugh or crawl into a hole. “Sweet,” he repeats, deadpan.

“Almost,” you tease, stepping back. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” he says, watching as you walk away, heels clicking against the floor.

It’s only when you’re out of sight that Max exhales, running a hand through his hair. His heart is pounding, his thoughts a mess.

Gemma reappears, smirking. “See? Not so bad.”

Max glares at her. “Shut up.”

***

The sun blazes high over Mykonos, the air thick with salt and the faint thrum of music from a nearby DJ booth. The exclusive beach club is buzzing with energy — groups of friends lounging on cushioned chairs, waiters ferrying trays of cocktails, and the occasional splash of laughter from the turquoise water.

Max leans back on his chair, sunglasses perched on his nose, a cold drink in hand. Lando’s perched on the chair next to him, scrolling through his phone, while Martin Garrix, their mutual friend and the reason they’re here, chats animatedly with someone by the bar.

“Tonight’s going to be wild,” Lando says, nudging Max’s arm. “Martin’s set at Cavo Paradiso? Epic. You ready?”

Max shrugs. “Sure. It’s just a party.”

“Just a party?” Lando scoffs. “It’s the party. You’re lucky to even get in.”

Max rolls his eyes, half-listening. The heat makes him drowsy, and the rhythmic sound of waves is almost enough to lull him into a nap. Almost — until something catches his eye.

A woman, her long limbs moving gracefully through the water, emerges onto the sand, droplets glinting like diamonds on her skin.

It’s you.

Max freezes, his drink hovering mid-air.

You walk toward a cluster of lounge chairs, your friends laughing and talking around you. One of them — a petite brunette — stands on her tiptoes, trying to reach a bathing suit cover-up that’s hanging from an umbrella. She jumps, stretching her arms, but the fabric remains just out of reach.

“Short girl problems,” Lando mutters, following Max’s gaze.

Max doesn’t respond. He’s too busy watching you stroll over, your laughter mingling with the sea breeze. You reach up without effort, your long fingers plucking the cover-up from the umbrella.

“Here,” you say, handing it to your friend, who thanks you with an exaggerated bow.

You laugh again, and Max feels a familiar heat creeping up his neck — and lower.

“Uh oh,” Lando says, his tone teasing.

“What?” Max snaps, glancing at him.

Lando’s eyes drop pointedly to Max’s swim briefs, where the outline of his very obvious arousal is already visible.

“Oh, man,” Lando says, grinning. “You’ve got a situation.”

“Shut up,” Max mutters, crossing his arms over his lap in a futile attempt to hide the problem.

But Lando’s not letting it go. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you actually — because of that?” He gestures toward you, who is now tying your hair back into a loose bun, oblivious to the chaos you’re causing.

“It’s not-” Max starts, but before he can finish, Martin strolls over, a fresh drink in hand.

“What’s going on?” Martin asks, looking between them.

“Max has a problem,” Lando says, his grin widening.

“What problem?”

“This one.” Lando points directly at Max’s lap.

Max’s jaw drops. “Lando!”

Martin looks down, then bursts out laughing. “Oh, no. Max, really?”

“Stop it,” Max hisses, his face burning. He adjusts his position, but it’s no use. The snug fit of his swim briefs makes everything painfully obvious.

Lando’s laughing so hard he nearly falls off his chair. “This is gold. I’m never letting you live this down.”

“Will you two shut up-”

“Problem solved,” Martin interrupts, his voice dropping into a mock-serious tone. “We’ll just get you a bigger towel. Or a cold shower. Or-”

He doesn’t get to finish because your voice cuts through the conversation like a knife.

“Is everything okay over here?”

Max’s stomach plummets.

You’re standing a few feet away, one hand on your hip, the other holding a glass of something bright and citrusy. Your impossibly long legs seem to stretch on forever, and the sunlight makes your skin glow.

Lando and Martin exchange a glance before dissolving into more laughter.

Max wants to die.

You tilt your head, your gaze dropping briefly — too briefly — to his lap. A slow, knowing smile spreads across your face.

“Is that a banana in your shorts,” you ask, your tone teasing, “or are you just excited to see me?”

Max’s mouth opens, then closes. His brain has officially checked out.

Lando is wheezing, clutching his sides. Martin’s not much better, his laughter loud enough to draw a few curious stares from nearby tables.

“I, uh-” Max stammers, every coherent thought fleeing his mind.

You take a step closer, setting your drink down on the table. “Relax,” you say, your voice low enough that only he can hear. “I’m just teasing.”

Max swallows hard, his gaze fixed on your face. You’re even more beautiful up close, and it’s doing nothing to help his situation.

“Uh … thanks?” He manages, the word coming out like a question.

You laugh softly, and the sound sends a shiver down his spine. “For what?”

“I don’t … I don’t know,” he admits, running a hand through his hair.

Your smile softens. “Don’t be so tense, Max. It’s a beach. Everyone’s here to relax.”

“Yeah. Right. Relax.” He shifts awkwardly, wishing he could sink into the sand and disappear.

You glance over at Lando and Martin, who are still trying — and failing — to stifle their laughter. “Are these your friends?”

“Unfortunately,” Max mutters, shooting them a glare.

“They’re fun,” you say, your tone neutral but your eyes sparkling with amusement.

“They’re idiots,” Max corrects.

You shrug, picking up your drink. “Sometimes idiots are the best company.”

“Not these two,” Max mutters under his breath, which only makes you laugh again.

“Well,” you say, taking a step back, “I’ll leave you to your … situation.” You give him one last lingering look before turning and sauntering back to your friends.

Max watches you go, his heart pounding in his chest.

Lando wipes tears from his eyes. “That was the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Shut up,” Max mutters, throwing a towel at him.

Martin grins. “You’ve got it bad, mate.”

Max groans, leaning back in his chair and covering his face with his hands. “I hate both of you.”

But even as they continue to tease him, he can’t stop glancing in your direction. And when you catch his eye and smile, he knows he’s in trouble.

***

Monaco bustles with its usual mix of tourists, luxury cars, and locals navigating narrow streets. Max walks along Rue Grimaldi, a paper bag from the pet store swinging at his side. Inside are bags of treats for Jimmy and Sassy, who are definitely more spoiled than they have any right being. He’s dressed low-key: a plain t-shirt, jeans, and sunglasses, blending into the crowd as much as someone like him can in a town where everyone knows his name.

The walk back to his apartment is uneventful — until it isn’t.

He sees you first out of the corner of his eye, a flash of long legs and vibrant fabric catching his attention. He stops in his tracks, his brain taking a moment to catch up.

You’re standing in front of a brightly painted wall, posing effortlessly as a photographer circles you, snapping shot after shot. A team of stylists, assistants, and what Max assumes is a creative director hover nearby, adjusting lights and offering directions.

It’s undeniably you.

Max exhales, staring like an idiot. Once is chance, twice is coincidence, but three times? That’s a pattern. And this time, he’s not letting the moment slip by.

He squares his shoulders, hyping himself up. You’ve won four world championships, he tells himself. You’ve faced wheel-to-wheel battles at 300 kilometers per hour. You can do this.

He takes a deep breath, straightens his posture, and marches toward the photoshoot.

The moment he steps into the circle of activity, the entire team freezes. The photographer lowers his camera, the stylists stop mid-conversation, and all eyes turn to him.

You look up, startled, and your gaze meets his.

“Hi,” Max says, suddenly acutely aware of how everyone is staring. His confidence wavers, but he pushes through. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

The photographer blinks. “Uh, we’re in the middle of a shoot-”

“It’s okay,” you say, holding up a hand to stop him. You step toward Max, your heels clicking softly against the pavement. “What’s up?”

Now that you’re standing in front of him, Max’s brain short-circuits. You’re even more striking up close, the sunlight catching on your skin, your outfit perfectly tailored to highlight every line of your frame.

“I, uh …” He glances around, suddenly aware of the audience. He clears his throat, his voice steadying. “I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight.”

You blink, surprised. “Dinner?”

“Yeah,” Max says quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I mean, I’ve seen you a couple of times now, and I figured it’s not just … random, you know? So I thought — why not? Dinner. Tonight.”

You tilt your head, a slow smile spreading across your face. “You interrupted a photoshoot to ask me out?”

“Yes.” He hesitates, then adds, “Was that a bad idea?”

The creative director mutters something under his breath, and Max hears someone else stifle a laugh. He feels the tips of his ears burn, but he refuses to back down.

You glance back at your team, who are all watching with varying degrees of amusement and disbelief. Then you look at Max again, your smile softening.

“What time?” You ask.

Max blinks. “What?”

“What time should I be ready?”

“Oh.” Relief floods his face. “Uh, seven? I can pick you up at your hotel.”

You nod, clearly entertained by his flustered state. “I’m staying at the Hôtel de Paris. Does that work?”

“Perfect,” Max says quickly, ignoring the murmurs from your team.

“Great,” you say, stepping closer. You lean down slightly — because of course you’re taller than him — and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

When you pull back, there’s a faint smudge of lipstick on his skin. “See you at seven, Max,” you say, your voice teasing.

He nods, unable to form a coherent response. You turn back to your team, who are all pretending not to stare, and resume your pose in front of the camera.

Max walks away in a daze, the paper bag swinging at his side. He touches his cheek where your lips brushed, his mind replaying the moment over and over.

By the time he makes it back to his apartment, he’s smiling so widely that even the cats look suspicious.

***

Max pulls up to the Hôtel de Paris in his Aston Martin Valkyrie, the car’s sleek design gleaming under the soft glow of Monaco’s streetlights. He knows it’s over the top, but if there’s ever a time to make an impression, it’s now. The low hum of the engine draws a few curious glances from passersby, and Max shifts in his seat, checking the dashboard clock.

6:50 PM.

He’s early. Not by much, but enough to take a deep breath and give himself a mental pep talk.

“She said yes,” he mutters to himself, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “You can handle this. You’ve faced down Lewis Hamilton in a championship battle. This is dinner.”

At exactly 7:00 PM, the hotel doors glide open, and there you are.

Max’s hand freezes on the steering wheel as he watches you descend the steps. You’re wearing a sleek, floor-length dress that shimmers faintly in the light, paired with towering heels that make your legs seem impossibly long. Your hair is styled perfectly, and you move with the effortless grace of someone who knows how to command attention.

His throat dries. Wow.

By the time you reach the car, Max is already out of the driver’s seat, jogging around to meet you. “You look — wow.”

“Thank you,” you say, smiling warmly. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

Max glances down at his tailored suit, a rare choice for him outside of mandatory galas, and tugs at the collar. “Figured I should try.”

You laugh softly, and the sound sends a flutter through his chest.

He opens the passenger door and instinctively places his hand on the edge of the roof, subtly cushioning the space so you don’t bump your head as you fold into the car. The move is smooth, almost second nature, but he catches the slight lift of your brow and the amused curve of your lips as you settle in.

“Chivalry isn’t dead, I see,” you tease as he closes the door.

By the time he rounds the car and slips back into the driver’s seat, his ears are burning. “Figured I’d give it a shot tonight.”

The Valkyrie roars to life, and you glance around the car’s interior, visibly impressed. “This is … something.”

“Just a car,” Max says, trying to sound casual.

You shoot him a knowing look. “A very subtle one, I see.”

He chuckles, pulling out onto the road. “What can I say? Monaco brings it out of me.”

The drive is short, but Max is hyper-aware of every moment — your laughter as he navigates the narrow streets, the way your dress catches the light when you turn to look at him, and the soft sound of your voice as you ask him about his day.

When you arrive at Le Louis XV, one of Monaco’s most exclusive restaurants, Max pulls up to the valet. The grandeur of the restaurant is impossible to ignore, its gilded facade shimmering under the night sky.

“Wow,” you say, leaning slightly to take in the view. “You really went all out.”

“I figured you deserved more than takeout,” Max replies, his tone light but his heart racing.

He steps out, handing the keys to the valet, and once again circles the car to open your door. This time, he offers his hand to help you out, and when you take it, his palm is warm and steady.

“Thank you,” you say, your smile soft but genuine.

The moment you’re both standing, it’s impossible not to notice the height difference. Max isn’t short — he knows that — but next to you, especially in those heels, he feels positively average. For a split second, he wonders if it bothers you.

But then you loop your arm through his as the valet takes the car, and the thought dissolves.

The two of you walk toward the entrance, and Max is acutely aware of the growing crowd around you. Fans have gathered, some holding their phones up to record or snap pictures.

“Max! Max, over here!” Someone calls.

He doesn’t flinch, used to the attention, but when he glances at you, he notices your calm expression. If you’re fazed by the cameras or the whispers, you don’t show it.

“You get used to this?” You ask under your breath, tilting your head toward the crowd.

“Kind of,” he admits, keeping his pace steady. “Does it bother you?”

“Not really,” you say, your tone amused. “But I think they’re more interested in you than me.”

He glances at you, his gaze sweeping up to meet your eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

At the door, the maître d’ greets you warmly, escorting the two of you to a private table near the back of the restaurant. The room is elegantly decorated, the ambiance intimate yet luxurious. A soft glow from crystal chandeliers bathes the space in golden light, and the quiet hum of conversation adds to the atmosphere.

Max pulls out your chair before sitting across from you, trying not to overthink every movement.

“This place is beautiful,” you say, looking around.

“Glad you like it,” Max says, reaching for the menu. “The food is incredible.”

A sommelier approaches, recommending a bottle of wine, and the conversation flows naturally as the first course arrives.

“You’ve been here before?” You ask, raising a brow as you take a sip of wine.

“Once or twice,” Max admits. “Usually for team stuff. Not exactly a regular spot for me.”

“So this is a special occasion?”

He hesitates, meeting your gaze. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

The corners of your lips lift, and Max feels the tension in his chest ease slightly.

As the meal progresses, the conversation deepens. You ask him about racing, and he asks you about pageantry, genuinely curious about your career and the places it’s taken you.

“What’s the hardest part of it?” Max asks, leaning forward slightly.

“Probably the constant travel,” you say, swirling your wine. “It’s amazing to see the world, but it’s exhausting sometimes. You must get that, though.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “The travel’s a lot. But I guess it makes the quiet moments at home more meaningful.”

“Home is Monaco?”

“Mostly now. Though I spend more time at the track than anywhere else.”

You nod, studying him. “Do you ever wish you had more time to yourself?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “Sometimes. But I love what I do. It’s worth it.”

There’s a pause, comfortable and filled with mutual understanding.

“And you?” He asks, his voice softer. “Do you ever wish for something different?”

You smile, but there’s a hint of wistfulness in your expression. “Sometimes. But I think we all do, no matter how much we love what we have.”

Max nods, his gaze lingering on you.

By the time dessert arrives, the tension has completely melted away, replaced by an easy camaraderie. You tease him about his driving habits, and he counters with stories of other drivers’ antics.

As the evening winds down, Max finds himself reluctant for it to end. He can’t stop glancing at you, at the way you seem completely at ease, despite the crowd of fans still waiting outside.

When the check comes, Max reaches for it without hesitation.

“Chivalry again?” You ask, arching a brow.

He grins. “I’m on a roll tonight.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine. I’ll allow it.”

Max leans back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you. “So, was it worth it?”

“Was what worth it?”

“Interrupting your photoshoot.”

You smile, resting your chin on your hand. “I think so. But I guess that depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’re planning to ask me out again.”

Max feels his chest tighten, his pulse quickening. “I was thinking about it,” he admits, his voice low.

“Good,” you say, your smile widening. “Because I’d say yes.”

***

The paddock buzzes with its usual pre-race energy: the hum of machinery, the chatter of teams, and the occasional roar of a nearby engine. But today, Max isn’t thinking about the upcoming race, his strategy, or even his car. No, today his focus is entirely on you.

You’re walking beside him, effortlessly chic in an AlphaTauri knit dress paired with stilettos that highlight your impossibly long legs. The team had sent you the gear ahead of time, but you’ve somehow managed to make it look runway-ready.

Max steals a glance at you as you navigate the chaos of the paddock with ease. You greet every camera pointed your way with a polite smile, and even the hardened mechanics pause to give you a second look. Max can’t help the small, smug grin tugging at his lips.

“Having fun?” He asks, leaning slightly toward you.

You look at him with a raised brow. “Are you asking me or the twenty people currently taking our picture?”

He laughs, brushing a hand over his face as if it could hide the grin. “Both, I guess.”

“Definitely more fun than the first time,” you tease. “I don’t think you’ve complained once today.”

“Because you’re here,” Max says simply, shrugging.

The honesty of his answer catches you off guard, and for a moment, you just look at him, your expression softening.

“Come on,” he says, clearing his throat and grabbing your hand. “I want you to meet some people.”

Max doesn’t miss the way heads turn as he guides you through the paddock, his hand securely wrapped around yours. He’s used to being the center of attention here, but today it’s different. The whispers and double takes aren’t about him — they’re about you. And if he’s honest, he loves it.

As they approach the Ferrari motorhome, Charles Leclerc steps out, chatting with one of his engineers. His conversation halts the second he spots you.

“Charles!” Max calls, waving him over.

Charles smiles, walking up to the two of you. “Hey, Max. And-” He pauses, his eyes drifting up as he takes in your height. His grin widens. “-and you must be the famous girlfriend.”

You laugh, offering your hand. “I suppose I must be.”

Charles takes your hand, shaking it warmly. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve been hearing about you nonstop.”

“Oh, really?” You ask, shooting Max a playful look. “Nonstop, huh?”

Max rolls his eyes. “Don’t start.”

Charles chuckles, his gaze flicking between the two of you. “I have to say, you’re even taller than I expected.”

“Thanks, I think?” You say, laughing.

Max grins, clearly enjoying the sight of Charles craning his neck to meet your gaze. For once, the usually confident Monegasque driver seems slightly flustered, and Max files the moment away as one of his new favorite memories.

As they part ways with Charles, you nudge Max gently with your elbow. “Are you introducing me to people just to see them react to my height?”

“Maybe,” he admits, his eyes sparkling. “It’s fun.”

You shake your head, laughing, but let him lead you further down the paddock.

Then, as you near the motorhome, you spot Yuki Tsunoda walking toward you, his petite frame standing out among the crowd.

“Yuki!” Max calls out, and Yuki looks up, his face breaking into a grin.

“Max!” Yuki replies, jogging over. His gaze shifts to you, and his steps slow slightly. “Oh, hi.”

“Yuki,” Max begins, his tone dripping with barely contained amusement. “This is my girlfriend.”

Yuki’s eyes widen as he looks up — way up — to meet your gaze. He blinks, his mouth slightly open, before glancing back at Max.

“She’s … tall,” Yuki says bluntly, his expression both amazed and confused.

You laugh, offering your hand. “Hi, I’m-”

“Yuki,” Max interrupts, clearly enjoying himself. “Why don’t you stand next to her for a second?”

Yuki looks at Max, then at you, and then back at Max. “Why?”

“Just humor me,” Max says, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

Yuki sighs but steps closer to you. The height difference is … staggering. Yuki barely reaches your shoulder, even without your heels, and when you smile down at him, he looks like he’s reconsidering every decision that brought him here.

Max takes one look at the two of you and doubles over laughing.

“Max!” You exclaim, though you’re laughing too.

“It’s not fair,” Yuki says, crossing his arms but grinning despite himself. “Why do you always have to make me look short?”

“You do that all by yourself, mate,” Max manages between laughs.

Yuki looks up at you again, shaking his head. “How do you put up with him?”

“It’s a challenge,” you say, your tone light.

Yuki snorts. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

Max steps back in, his grin still firmly in place. “Thanks, Yuki. That was everything I hoped for.”

Yuki rolls his eyes but can’t help grinning. “Yeah, yeah. You owe me for this.”

Eventually, the shorter driver waves goodbye and heads off, leaving you and Max to continue toward the motorhome.

“That was cruel,” you say, though you’re smiling.

“That was perfect,” Max corrects, his grin wide. “I’ve been waiting for that moment since the second I realized how tall you are.”

“You’re terrible,” you say, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

“Terribly lucky,” he replies, his voice softening slightly.

You glance at him, your expression shifting from amused to affectionate. “You really don’t mind the height difference, do you?”

Max stops walking and turns to face you, his expression serious. “Why would I mind? You’re gorgeous, and I love that people notice when we walk into a room. It’s like … I get to show you off, and they get to see what I already know — that you’re amazing.”

His honesty catches you off guard, and for a moment, you just stare at him, your heart swelling.

“Max,” you start, but he cuts you off with a shrug and a playful smile.

“Besides,” he says, leaning in slightly, “I think it’s hot.”

You burst out laughing, and Max joins in, his arm sliding around your waist as the two of you continue toward the motorhome, drawing every eye in the paddock.

***

Five Years Later

The hospital room is warm and quiet, save for the occasional soft coo of the newborn nestled against Max’s bare chest. The baby boy, barely a few hours old, rests peacefully, his tiny fists curled against Max’s skin. Max sits in a reclined chair, his head tilted back and eyes half-closed, utterly absorbed in the weight of his son and the moment itself.

In the bed next to him, you stir, your head turning toward the two of them. The exhaustion of labor still lingers in your features, but there’s a gentle smile on your lips as you take in the sight of Max cradling your son.

“Are you comfortable over there?” You ask, your voice soft but teasing.

Max’s eyes flicker open, and he glances at you with a faint grin. “More comfortable than you, I think,” he murmurs.

You chuckle lightly, wincing as you shift in the bed. “I don’t know. He looks pretty cozy to me.”

Max looks down at the baby, his expression softening. “He’s perfect.”

“He is,” you agree, your gaze lingering on the two of them.

The door creaks open suddenly, startling both of you. Max’s head snaps up, and his body stiffens when he sees who’s stepping into the room.

His father.

“Max,” Jos says, his voice gruff and clipped. He doesn’t wait for an invitation, stepping further into the room, his eyes scanning the scene.

“What are you doing here?” Max’s voice is low, measured, but there’s a sharp edge to it as he shifts in his chair, pulling his son closer.

“I came to see my grandson,” Jos replies curtly, his gaze settling on the baby. There’s no warmth in his tone, no trace of the pride or joy one might expect from a grandfather.

Max stands abruptly, careful not to jostle the baby. He moves toward the door, positioning himself between Jos and the rest of the room. “Now’s not a good time.”

Jos ignores him, his eyes narrowing as he takes a step closer. “Looks like he’s going to take after his mother,” Jos remarks, his tone disdainful. “With those long legs, he’ll be too tall for single-seaters. Not exactly ideal for racing, is it?”

The air in the room shifts instantly. Max’s jaw tightens, and a flicker of anger flashes across his face. His arms instinctively tighten around his son as if shielding him from the words.

“Get out,” Max says, his voice dangerously calm.

Jos scoffs, crossing his arms. “I’m just saying. If you’re hoping for another Verstappen on the track, you might want to manage your expectations.”

“Stop.” Max’s voice is sharper now, cutting through the tension. He glances at you, his expression softening briefly before returning to Jos. “I mean it. Get out.”

But Jos doesn’t move. “You know I’m right. Height matters in racing. You’ve seen it yourself. It’s not about love or coddling, Max. It’s about preparation, discipline-”

“Enough!” Max’s voice rises, and the baby stirs slightly in his arms. He immediately takes a deep breath, rocking gently to soothe the infant before continuing, his tone quieter but no less firm. “I won’t let you do this. Not to my kids.”

Jos raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “Do what?”

“Turn them into something they’re not,” Max says, his eyes blazing. “Make them feel like they’re only worth something if they win. If they race. If they’re … perfect.”

Jos frowns, but Max presses on.

“If either of my kids wants to race, I’ll give them every opportunity. I’ll teach them, support them, and make sure they have everything they need — whether they’re five feet tall or six and a half. But if they don’t want to race, if they want to do something completely different, that won’t make me love them any less.”

There’s a beat of silence, heavy and charged.

Max shifts his son in his arms, his voice softening but remaining resolute. “I’m not you, Dad. And I never will be.”

Jos’ mouth opens slightly as if to argue, but whatever words he was planning to say seem to falter. He looks at Max, at the baby, then back at Max, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something almost like understanding in his eyes.

Almost.

But Jos says nothing, his jaw tightening as he turns and walks out of the room without another word.

The door clicks shut behind him, and the tension dissipates like a released breath.

Max exhales shakily, lowering himself back into the chair. He looks at you, his eyes apologetic.

“Sorry about that,” he murmurs.

You shake your head, your voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to apologize. You did the right thing.”

He nods, looking down at his son, who has settled back into a peaceful sleep. “I just …” His voice catches, and he clears his throat. “I don’t ever want him — or her — to feel like they’re not enough. Not for me.”

You smile gently, reaching out to rest a hand on his arm. “They won’t. Not with you as their dad.”

Max’s lips quirk into a small, grateful smile. He leans down, pressing a tender kiss to the top of his son’s head. “He’s not going anywhere near a kart until he’s ready. If he even wants to.”

“Good,” you say, your tone teasing now. “Because I think Mariska has already claimed the first shot at it.”

Max laughs softly, shaking his head. “She’s three.”

“And already faster than you in her Little Tikes Cozy Coupe,” you counter, grinning.

Max chuckles. “She’s going to be trouble.”

“Good trouble,” you say.

He looks back at you, his expression softening again. “Yeah. The best kind.”

As the room settles into a calm silence once more, Max leans back in his chair, his son still resting against him, and he allows himself to soak in the moment — a moment of peace, love, and the quiet certainty that he’ll never repeat the mistakes of the past.

***

Seven Years Later

The karting track buzzes with energy — engines revving, parents-turned-mechanics making last-minute adjustments, and young drivers darting around in full racing gear. Among them is Mariska, standing tall in her dark blue suit with “Verstappen” emblazoned across the back. At ten years old, she’s already a striking presence, her confidence tempered by the nerves of a child shouldering a big name.

Max watches from the sidelines, his arms crossed, a proud but protective look on his face. He’s been here countless times before, both as a driver and as a father. He knows this world, knows the pressure and the teasing that can come with standing out. And Mariska, with her long limbs and sharp mind, stands out in every way.

You’re beside him, your hand brushing against his. “She’s got this,” you say softly, your eyes never leaving your daughter.

“She does,” Max agrees, though the tightness in his jaw betrays his worry.

The race begins, and Mariska takes off like a bullet. Her natural talent is undeniable, her lines clean and her determination fierce. But the other kids aren’t just racing her — they’re ganging up, cutting her off in corners, and one boy even leans too aggressively, nudging her kart as they pass.

Max tenses, his fingers curling into fists. “That little-”

“Max,” you warn gently, placing a calming hand on his arm.

“She’s fine,” you add, your voice steady. “She can handle them.”

And she does. On the next lap, Mariska out-brakes the boy who had bumped her, overtaking him with a sharp precision that leaves him scrambling. A few laps later, she claims third place, her kart crossing the finish line with a triumphant roar.

The moment the race ends, Max strides toward the pit lane, his eyes scanning for Mariska. He finds her climbing out of her kart, her helmet tucked under her arm. A group of boys stands nearby, whispering and snickering.

“You’re too tall for this,” one of them says loud enough for her to hear. “Shouldn’t you be playing basketball or something?”

Mariska freezes, her posture stiffening.

“Yeah,” another chimes in. “You’ll never fit in a real car anyway.”

Max’s jaw clenches, and he’s ready to storm over, but Mariska surprises him. She turns to the boys, her expression calm but fierce.

“At least I don’t need dirty tricks to keep up,” she says coolly, her voice steady.

The boys’ smirks falter, and they shuffle awkwardly before walking away, muttering under their breaths.

Max approaches, his heart swelling with pride. “Hey, Mari.”

She turns to him, her face still set in a determined line, but her eyes betray a flicker of uncertainty.

“You okay?” Max kneels down to her level, his hands resting on his knees.

“Yeah,” she says after a pause.

He tilts his head, studying her. “You sure? Because you were amazing out there. Third place is a big deal.”

Mariska shrugs, her gaze dropping to her helmet. “They’re just … they’re always saying stuff, you know? About how I’m too tall. That I’ll never fit in a car.”

Max’s heart aches at the vulnerability in her voice. He reaches out, gently lifting her chin so she looks at him.

“Do you think Mama is pretty?” He asks softly.

Mariska blinks, startled by the question. “What?”

“Mama,” Max repeats, his tone light but serious. “Do you think she’s pretty?”

Mariska’s face scrunches in confusion, but she nods. “Of course I do. Mama’s the prettiest girl in the world.”

Max smiles. “I think so too.”

Mariska tilts her head, still unsure where this is going.

“You know,” Max continues, “you got your height from Mama. And she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. So, what does that make you?”

Mariska stares at him, her brows furrowing. “I don’t know.”

Max leans closer, his voice steady and full of warmth. “It makes you beautiful too, Mari. You’re tall because you’re strong, and you’re special, just like Mama. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel small because of that.”

Mariska’s lips tremble slightly, and she nods, a small smile breaking through.

“And for the record,” Max adds, a mischievous glint in his eye, “if you keep driving like that, those boys are going to have a lot more to say. But it won’t be about your height — it’ll be about how you’re faster than all of them.”

Mariska giggles, her confidence returning. “I was faster than them, wasn’t I?”

“You were,” Max says, his pride unmistakable.

You walk over then, crouching down beside them. “What’s going on here?”

“Papa says I’m beautiful like you,” Mariska says, her voice filled with a newfound certainty.

You smile, your hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “That’s because you are, schatje.”

Max watches the two of you, his heart full as he pulls Mariska into a hug.

“Now,” he says, pulling back with a grin, “what do you say we go celebrate? Ice cream from that little place down the road.”

Mariska cheers, her earlier doubts forgotten, and the three of you walk off together, leaving the track and its pettiness behind.

Max knows there will be more challenges ahead — more races, more comments, more moments of doubt. But he also knows his daughter is strong, just like her mother. And with a family like yours, there’s nothing she can’t face.

[pomegranate-theater]

ᯓ★ a shoulder to lean on… / Mydei, Anaxa, Phainon, Jing Yuan, Dr. Ratio, Aventurine

These lovely men take care of you on your period.

contents: reader has an ability to have period but there’s no further depiction of them / fluff with comfort / mentions of vomiting / cramps / the whole period shebang / established relationship

Yes this is me coping after 3.1 quest because I had to spill double tears due to my period mood.

MYDEI

Despite what someone might think, Mydei wasn’t clueless when it came to topics of menstruation. He learned plenty enough when having lectures, listening to children who were troubled by the new changes in their bodies they found embarrassing and scary, and he listened to you eagerly too.

When he has returned home, feeling pent up after another stressful conversation with his people, he was surprised to see the home stay dark. He didn’t remember you telling him you were going somewhere, so with a caution just in case, he checked each corner of the house, until… he came across you lying in bed with no lights on, buried under the covers with your eyes closed.

He assumed you were simply taking a nap, that’s why he turned around to leave, about to close the door to not wake you up. But your voice sounding strained called out to him, “Mydei, you’re back.”

He looked at you, a small frown appearing on his face. “Sorry, did I wake you up? And… is there something wrong?” He approached the bed you were lying on, and sat down on the edge. As if expecting fever, he checked your forehead — your body wasn’t hot but you at least felt warmer than usual.

You sighed, knowing there’s no reason to play tough. Mydei might have preferred when people acted strong, but this one you knew he wouldn’t judge you for. “No, I wasn’t asleep. I’m… on my period, so I don’t feel the best.”

“Oh,” he muttered under his breath, and nodding in understanding.

He then stood up from bed. “Stay here. I’ll bring you some herbs, and… I’ll bake you something you like.”

Mydei tried to make you a lighter version of pastry; something to not irritate your stomach with is heaviness or oiliness.

After returning and letting you drink the brew, he was (nonchalantly) anticipating for your reaction to the desert he gave you after.

His heart fluttered and he felt pride when you complimented his work. “Wow, it’s really good, Mydei!”

Anything to make you feel better.

ANAXA

You were late for your meeting with him. There was no response from you that would grant him an explanation of why would you not appear, rather rude sounding when his time was precious; especially as a scholar.

However, he also realized you weren’t a type of person who’d be late on a regular basis and for reasons as bad time management or laziness, hence he was theorizing your possible arguments to why you were not here.

Giving you a benefit of doubt, he decided to visit your house in search of seeing if something has stopped you. You two didn’t live together yet, so he couldn’t keep his eye on you.

He looked a bit surprised when you opened the door and looked rather sick, now aware you weren’t being rude… though he still would have wished for a notification first, so he could both know and advice you.

“You look dreadful,” he didn’t spare you bluntness, but that was reality. You indeed looked unwell; which didn’t mean he was judging you.

“I’m sorry, I have forgot about our date. I don’t feel too well…” you croaked out.

Anaxa just sighed. “I understand. Come on, let’s get inside first, then we can talk.”

With an arm around your waist, he helped you return to your bed. Standing over you, his arms crossed, he asked, “So, what has been ailing you?”

You looked at him with a weary expression. “It’s my menstruation. I feel rather… tired, and my muscles are sore.”

He nodded in understanding. “And did you try anything yet?”

“Well, I took a hot bath, but—”

“You shouldn’t. Hot baths are likely to intensify bleeding, which can be risky,” he interrupted you with a firm tone — not to scold you, but to make sure you remember this for future reference in order to avoid hurting yourself.

You winced at his tone, but nodded, understanding he must be right and not cocky. “I wasn’t aware. So, what else can I do? I’ve tried different things, but I feel same bad.”

Anaxa pondered for a moment, before he was heading out. “I’ll be quick. Don’t move anywhere from your spot.”

When he has returned, he occupied your kitchen to create a little concoction with ingredients he bought.

When he fed you it back in bedroom, he almost laughed at the sour expression on your face as a result of the taste; but stifled it for your sake. To be honest, even he was a bit scared of making you mad.

“You’re doing good,” he praised. Soon, he was letting your head rest on his lap, as he allowed you to doze off with a comforting touch on your face.

PHAINON

Upon receiving a concerning text message “I’m bleeding, can you come over”, you managed to get Phainon in a state of high panic. Soon, he was bursting through the door of your shared house, calling out for you. “My love, are you okay?”

He was suddenly confused when he saw your confusion when he entered your bedroom as if there was fire going on; with you looking rather okay. “Wait, is nothing going on? Didn’t you ask me for help?” The dumbfounded expression of his was hilarious, but you were dumbfounded yourself.

“In a way? I mean, I’ve texted you that I’m on my period and if you could come over to comfort me?” you said, looking at him with uncertainty. Why was he acting this way?

“But you said you’re bleeding—oh.” He suddenly realized what you meant by bleeding. “You meant to say, that bleeding. I didn’t grasp the context…”

He groaned when you laughed at him. “Yeah, yeah, silly me…”

“Wait, but that’s no good either, is it?” He suddenly sounded worried again. He heard all kind of stories what period could bring… and he didn’t like any of them. You shouldn’t have to go through this every month.

“I promise it’s not this bad, this time. I just wanted to snuggle a little, I’m feeling a little vulnerable today…” you said with reassurance.

His eyes softened, and he had to ask for the last time, “Are you sure? Do you need anything?”

“I’m sure. I only need you.” He almost blushed, with the way he kept your hold over his heart with such confession. “Why you…” he scoffed playfully.

Soon, he was holding you in his arms… still occasionally asking you if you need anything, ready to make sure it happens.

JING YUAN

Something was wrong with you today. Any other day of the calendar, it’s been Jing Yuan always waking up later than you — the trophy of being the biggest sleepyhead was his. Yet today, when he woke up, you were still asleep. Being quite confused by the notion, he decided to let you sleep more if you apparently needed it, and moved to the kitchen to take advantage of extra time and prepare you breakfast.

When you appeared behind him around half an hour later, he was ready to tease you and laugh at your messy state — all grumpy, groggy and barely happy — until he saw your posture. You were unable to stand straight, holding onto your abdomen.

He set down his utensils and walked towards you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Do you feel unwell, dear?” he asked, his voice calm as he never liked panicking right away — there was usually a solution for him, and he spread the calmness onto you, letting you know you’re safe.

You managed to only nod. And he was no stranger to your sudden decrease in wellbeing each months, so he had a good idea of what’s going on with you. He needn’t to ask why you’re like this. “Where does it hurt?” he stroked the top of your head, smiling a bit at you.

“My lower back…”

He gently lifted you up. “In that case, before we get to breakfast, I’ll give you a good massage.”

He placed you back in bed, and settling down next to you on your shared space, he started to firmly but not painfully knead your flesh, in hope of removing that pesky discomfort — as there was no way he’d let you suffer or be a neglectful partner who wouldn’t take care of you when you’re sick.

“Does it feel better, darling?” he asked gently, and you groaned in relief when he used his big hands hard enough on the sore spot.

“Yes, Jing Yuan… it’s working.” He kissed your neck affirmatively when you said that.

Once you fell asleep again, he let you, deciding a breakfast can wait a bit more.

DR. RATIO

You felt rather bad to be waking up Veritas in the middle of the night, but with the awful pain ruling between your hipbones, you couldn’t take it anymore.

Shaking his shoulders and hushing his name, you finally got a response.

“What… can I inquire why are you waking me up at 3am, love?” Veritas asked. Thankfully, his voice didn’t sound mad; just a bit annoyed, having perfected his schedule to accumulate the best amount of energy for the next day with sleep.

You stroked his purple hair, as in apology, and with that he realized it couldn’t have been a reason selfish for you to suddenly be waking him up. “I’m sorry for waking you up, Veritas… I wanted to ask you where is that stronger painkiller you have, because…”

Before you could finish your sentence, he was already sitting up, a conclusion appearing in his mind even with a sleep deprivation. The obvious pain in your voice was rather concerning too. “I see, it’s your menstruation. Perhaps you do need pain relief; however, I wouldn’t want to give you such a strong medicine for something that can be resolved a different way…” he mused. “Do you have any other symptoms, dear?” He grabbed your hand to hold, and noticed your tremble.

“Um… I feel a bit nauseous, too.”

Soon, he was feeding you a light meal and peppermint tea; before he helped you lower yourself down to the floor yoga mat.

“Before you think of needing possibly risky pain management, let’s try stretching.”

You didn’t know how he did this (or rather it was no surprise with his knowledge), but a few minutes of helping you bend your body in different ways actually soothed your cramps a lot.

And Veritas — while he didn’t like the fact his sleep was ruined, he knew in times like this he could take this change of plans.

AVENTURINE

Throwing up your dinner and barely standing on your feet obviously wasn’t a way to spend your day.

Even more difficult when dealing with it on your own. To make it even worse if it wasn’t bad already, you ran out of your products you’d use during your period.

Deciding to rely on your boyfriend for help in getting what you needed, unable to leave the house in the first place, you got yourself texting him “hey, can you pick up my usual period stuff on your way home? thank you.”

The response you got was short but reassuring - “I’ve got you 👍”.

To your surprise, “help” has arrived at your house in a matter of few minutes. You were forced to open the door for a man delivering goods for you, an opulence of them.

It must have been Aventurine to order these for you, so you shouldn’t wait hours for relief, except… he really has spoiled you — it wasn’t just sanitary items, but some (expensive) snacks, heating pads, painkillers, some hydrating liquids and flowers.

You felt dumb of not thinking of ordering things through apps yourself, a technology so common today, but you were excused with your state in the end. Aventurine set you up with more than your foggy brain would have managed of thinking about anyway.

You were set for hours, being able to cope better until his arrival home, and the flowers were lovely.

When he saw you all small on the couch, curled up and buried under heated blanket, he had to annoy you a little with some whining. “Oh no, my baby…” he sounded so pitiful on purpose, before he was sitting down next to you and clinging to you as if it was him in discomfort.

He chuckled when noticing your grumpy expression. “Sorry, sorry.” He raised his hand defensively. “I just wanted to make your mood better. Was the delivery helpful?”

“Yes… thank you, Aventurine. I feel much better now.” He smiled when you smiled. Relief filled him, as he’s been constantly reminded he won’t be always there for you with the way his work kept him busy.

After staring at the screen of the show you were watching for a moment, he finally asked? “So… what exactly is going on with you?”

When you mentioned your symptoms, he frowned. While some period symptoms were to be expected, make them too intense and there’s a chance of a bigger health condition in your body. “Well, that’s no good. I don’t think it’s normal to be feeling this way on your period…”

With his phone whipped out, he was already setting up an appointment with the most renowned doctor in the city.