#it’s not often but. I do it every now n again

[sacredsorceress]

Mocha / Bob Reynolds

PAIRING: bob reynolds x cafe owner!reader SUMMARY: yelena decides to make it her mission to set up bob with her close friend. WORD COUNT: 2.6k A/N: not beta read, and named mocha after my favorite coffee! I am also realising I struggle with meet cutes so next fic is probably an established relationship whew. hope you enjoy!! WARNINGS: just insecurities, a beef mention of bob's drug-fueled past and fluff

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・bob masterlist・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

“Get dressed, Bob.”

Yelena tossed a pair of jeans and a sweater into Bob’s lap before placing her hands on her hip.

Confusion twisted his face.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Bob asked.

Truly there wouldn’t be anything wrong with what Bob was wearing if he hadn’t already been wearing it for three days straight.

In the months since… the incident… as they all now referred to it, Bob had made significant progress. He had stayed sober, gained a healthy amount of weight back, and worked on his mental health to a degree that even John had to admit that he was impressed by it. However, all this progress had been made inside the Avengers Tower.

Not that Yelena didn’t enjoying being around Bob, but she’d like to wonder where he was for once instead of being able to turn her head and see him curled up in his book nook every single time, without fail. At times she wondered if his skin had merged with the fabric of the seat.

“You are not going out like that.” She said matter-of-factly. “And you are starting to smell.”

Bob placed his book to the side and pulled himself up to look at Yelena.

“Going… out?” He asked.

“Yes, we are going out.” She said with a huff. “I cannot watch you sit on this floor all day again. So get dressed… and do not forget the deodorant.”

Yelena left without another word, leaving Bob to his own devices. Lifting up his arm and taking a sniff, he cringed and shuffled towards the bathroom toting the clothes Yelena had given him in hand.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

"Where are we going?"

Bob stumbled after Yelena as she effortlessly weaved her way through the busy Manhattan street. It was 5:30 pm and it seemed that all of New York were leaving their offices, on a mission to get home which, to Bob's understanding, seemed to all be in the opposite direction from where he was heading. With rushed apologies and too many elbows in his ribs for his liking, Bob had begun to miss the comfort of the tower.

"For coffee." Yelena replied without looking at him.

"Coffee?" He asked, glancing at sun setting between high rises. "Isn't it.. isn't it a little late?"

"Never too late for coffee, Bob." She said, rounding a corner. "Besides, it is quieter at night."

Bob bumped into Yelena's back as she slowed her pace.

"Here!"

Yelena opened her arms towards the café in front of her. A warm glow poured out through its windows and onto the sidewalk as if it wanted to sneak up their ankles and pull them through the doors. Through the glass, Bob could catch a few people doing work on their laptops or catching up with friends, lounging on the couches or curled up in the booths alike. What truly caught his eye, though, were the filled bookcases that covered every square inch of the walls.

Yelena, observing his fascination, smiled.

"I knew you'd like it." She said, grabbing his arm. "Now come."

In an almost cartoonish fashion, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee beans reached Bob's nose the second he stepped inside and carried him to the counter.

The barista's face lit up at the sight of them and Bob felt himself grow warm under her gaze. Her smile, warm and inviting- not like the polite ones Bob often got thrown by underpaid workers to evade the scrutiny of their boss- made him brush his tussled hair from his face.

"Lena!" You laughed, leaning against the counter. "Fancy seeing you here. Want your usual?"

Lena? Bob thought. Did she know you?

Bob glanced from Yelena to you.

"D-do you guys know each other?" He laughed awkwardly.

The blonde raised her eyebrow.

"Are you surprised that I have friends, Bob?" Yelena asked pointedly.

"N- no!" Bob said, shaking his head and crossing his arms. "I was just wondering-"

Then you piped in: "Oh are you Bob?" You asked, your gaze falling on him. "I've heard so much about you. It's so nice to meet you!"

God, he thought, it's hot in here.

You were pretty and kind- the first confirmed by his eyesight and accompanying heart rate and the second, by your friendship with Yelena.

If there was one thing that Bob was not used to, it was receiving warm attention from strangers. With a past riddled with crime and self-seclusion, he couldn't remember the last time someone had actually been happy to meet him. Even his current team had been mildly annoyed by his presence the first time they met.

But you had heard about him. That couldn't be good, right?

Bob pulled at the neck of his sweater and smiled.

"That's me." He answered timidly. "I'm sorry, Yelena's never mentioned you-"

Waving her hand in his face to cut him off, Yelena turned towards you.

"I'll have my usual." She said before turning to Bob. "What do you want?"

Suddenly it occurred to Bob that they were at a coffee shop. Hyper-aware of your gaze, Bob shoved his hands in his pockets to stop himself from nervously fiddling with them.

"Oh I- I've never had coffee." He said.

He said it in the most innocent way in the world, so much so that you couldn't even find it in yourself to make fun of him for it. If anything, you wished you had super speed to be able to fly out the doors, get ingredients for whatever Bob did like to drink, and whip it up in seconds so you'd never have to see him disappointed.

Yelena however, did not share the same sentiment.

"You are embarrassing me." She whispered.

Seeing the shame in his eyes, you cut in.

"I can surprise you if you want?" You offered. "I'll just come bring it to your table when it's done."

Pretty and kind.

"Y-yeah," He smiled. "That sounds nice."

With their orders sorted, Yelena wrapped her hand around Bob's arm and pulled him to a nearby table. Nestled in an alcove between bookshelves, Bob settled into his chair and glanced around him.

"This place is nice." He observed, peeking over the side of the bookshelf to catch a glimpse of you at the counter.

Yelena, following his eye-line, smiled.

"Good." She said, crossing her legs. "Because we will be staying here until you ask her out."

And there it is: why Yelena actually asked him to come out.

He should've known by her attitude- how she demanded he get dressed, how she weaved through passerbys without a second glance, how she stopped him from fumbling over himself in front of you... she was on a mission.

Bob would have been lying if he said he wasn't attracted to you. In the past, he had barely experienced attraction- his attention consumed more by illicit substances and how to get them rather than the affection of a woman. But he knew by the warmth that creeped up his neck and onto his cheeks and the way his heart seemingly flipped in his chest when you spoke to him that you had him.

However, that didn't mean that he could have you.

"Yeah- Wait." Bob said, tearing his eyes from you to look at Yelena. "W-what. I'm not- I can't... I don't know her."

"No," she said, folding her hands. "But I do. You two will make cute couple."

She said it as if it were simple. As if she could flip a switch and make him the perfect boyfriend.

"But-"

As if on cue, you strode over to the table with a tray in hand.

"One flat white for Lena," You said gifting the mug into her waiting hands. "And for Bob, a mocha: decaffeinated. I figured you might want to be able to sleep tonight."

You said the last part with a wink as you gently placed the mug down in front of him.

The warm drink sat in an orange mug with a foam heart on top and although he was sure you did them for everybody, Bob's insides felt like mush all the same. He couldn't remember the last time he had something that didn't come from a drive-thru window.

"And I know you didn't ask," you said, placing down another plate. "but I also brought over a chocolate donut to go with the coffee. I thought you might like it."

If Bob didn't know any better, he would have thought you were nervous because once the tray was free of any beverage, you tucked it behind your back and shifted on your feet as if you were finding any excuse to stay.

"Oh this looks really good," Bob groaned.

Careful to not burn himself, Bob gingerly brought the mug to his lips. The drink, filled with notes of chocolate that overpowered any bitterness of coffee while maintaining the taste, warmed him to his core. Feeling the temperature of the drink spread throughout his body, Bob sank into his seat and moaned.

A real, actual moan in front of the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.

It was only once he opened his eyes that he realized they had ever been closed in the first place.

"I think he likes it." Yelena chuckled.

Feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, he cleared his throat.

"S-sorry." He apologized, "it's really good."

The weight of your gaze bared heavily on him as he avoided your eyes, too afraid to feel the judgement they no doubt held at his reaction.

Instead you smiled.

"Nothing to be sorry about, Bob." You assured him. "That's the best compliment I've ever received."

A silence hung in the air then as the three of you stood at an impasse. The radio flicked between songs as it did, leaving the rhythmic clicking of a keyboard across the room the only escape from becoming intimately familiar with each other's breathing.

Yelena glanced between the two of you. She rolled her eyes and kicked Bob underneath the table.

"Ow!" Bob yelped. "What was that-"

"Didn't you have a question you wanted to ask her, Bob?"

Fuck, now you were really looking at him.

You were like the sun. As tempted as he was to stare at you, his eyes darted anywhere but your face as if it would hurt him just to look.

"Uh, um yeah..." Bob said nervously, "I wanted to... I was going to ask..."

You eagerly leaned forward.

"Yeah, Bob?"

Bob could listen to you say his name forever. A once held insecurity, dissipated like cotton candy in water.

He cleared his throat.

"Uh- what kind of milk did you use?" Bob said, drumming his fingers on the table. "Because I'm uh... lactose intolerant."

The end of the sentence dragged on awkwardly and although he was internally beating himself up for embarrassing himself in front of you, he was clouded by how much more humiliating it would have been to ask you out in front of Yelena.

Any hope you had in you that he would ask you something more personal faded as you physically deflated.

"Oh uh, oat."

Yelena thought she could kill him. She really could.

"Well uh," You said. "Enjoy."

And with that, you were gone.

The second you were out of earshot, Yelena leaned over the table.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I- I don't know!" Bob whisper-shouted back. "It just came out-"

"That you are lactose intolerant?" She argued. "You are suppose to ask her out and instead, you tell her you have tummy problems!"

Bob slammed his face into the table and groaned.

"You put me on the spot-"

"Because she was looking at you with the heart eyes!"

That picked Bob's head up.

"N-no. You're just saying that." He argued. "She doesn't like me"

Yelena rolled her eyes and jammed her pointer finger into the table.

"Listen to me, Bob." She said. "I know my friend. She likes you, okay? So we will sit here until you ask her out."

"But-"

"No buts!" She shouted, flicking her hand. "You will ask her. Now, I will enjoy my coffee before it gets cold."

And that's how Bob and Yelena ended up sitting in the coffee shop until close.

It wasn't that he didn't try, because he did. After a hype up session with Yelena he would stroll up to the counter with the intention of asking you on a date, but the second you smiled at him, he psyched himself out and just ordered another coffee instead.

As minutes turned to hours and the patrons began to file out of the cafe, you, Bob and Yelena were the only ones left- unless you counted the elephant in the room.

"Hey so," You said saddling up to the table. "I'm gonna start closing up. Don't worry about the bill or anything, I put it on Yelena's tab. Just head out when you're ready."

You hesitated.

"Oh, and it was nice to meet you, Bob."

Yet, as you turned to leave, you felt a clammy hand wrap around your wrist, holding you back.

Your eyes trailed from the hand up to Bob's face where his cheeks had been painted red. As if his lips had been sewn shut, he said nothing, but instead longingly gazed up at you, taken aback by your features so close.

"Oh for God's sake." Yelena said slamming her hand on the table.

Bob yanked his hand from your touch as you your attentions ricocheted towards Yelena.

"Lena-"

"I cannot keep watching this." She said, gesturing towards Bob. Her eyebrows had knitted together and a sigh escaped her lips. "Y/n, will you go on a date with Bob? Please? I cannot do the puppy dog eyes any longer."

If there was ever a moment Bob wanted to crawl into his own skin and let the Void consume him, it was right then.

Yelena meant well, he knows she does, but no matter how much she thought she knew her friend, what Yelena was not aware of was the clinical aversion that women seemed to have to him. The most Bob would be lucky enough to receive was a platonic fondness, never the affections of a woman so pretty and kind and warm and-

"I'd love to."

Pulling himself out of his own self-pity, Bob's mouth flew open.

"Y-yeah?"

You smiled at him.

"Yeah," You said with a laugh. "I thought you'd never ask."

Were you sure you didn't put caffeine in his coffee? Because Bob felt the sudden urge to throw himself out of his seat and run around the coffee shop.

Instead, he settled on handing you his phone to let you type your number in and allowing Yelena to usher him out of the coffee shop- him longingly looking over his shoulder at you until he physically couldn't anymore.

With a renewed pep in his step, Bob pulled out his phone and smiled.

Bob: Hi, this is Bob :)

Bob: From the coffee shop.

Bob: Yelena's friend.

Bob: I'm not really lactose intolerant, you're just really pretty. :)

And although Yelena couldn't see what he was typing on his phone, seeing the content smile that painted his face was more than enough for one to reach across her own- rolling her eyes fondly at the idea of her two friends in love and a mission, accomplished.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・inbox・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

[sh4nksslvt]

Greetings! May I request Luffy x reader who used to be so nonchalant and reserved but after the timeskip, reader can't help but secretly stare and admire luffys muscles especially in wano when luffy was in prison and reader got caught up in the mess. Reader is basically simping and blushing as they stared, sometimes wishing to be held by luffy because of it.

Steel and Sunlight

You were always the calm one—until two years passed and Luffy's muscles became a problem.

LUFFY X GN!READER | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, ooc(?), simping!reader, comfort a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe n akward word count: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

You used to be the composed one.

Cool. Calm. Unbothered.

Whether it was Luffy announcing a war with the World Government over lunch or Zoro getting lost on the same ship, you never flinched. Your reactions were measured, your tone even. If Robin was “mysterious” and Zoro was “stoic,” you were “unshakably chill.” That was your brand.

Then the timeskip happened.

And now? Now you had a problem. A tall, tan, infuriatingly ripped problem.

It started the moment you saw him again on Sabaody. You didn’t expect much to change—maybe a new scar, some new techniques, a slightly deeper voice. What you didn’t expect was the muscle. Luffy, the rubber goofball you once had to stop from putting forks in outlets, had come back with biceps that could casually snap chains and pecs that flexed when he so much as breathed.

You were not okay.

But you could deal with it. You were good at hiding things. Two years of control didn’t break that easily.

Until Wano.

Wano was chaos, but it was beautiful. You had joined up with the group that infiltrated the Flower Capital, your identity masked in stolen rags. Everything went relatively smoothly—until Luffy punched kaido who is untouchable, got caught, and thrown into a prison camp.

Naturally, you dove headfirst into the mess to follow him. You told yourself it was strategic. You told yourself someone had to watch his back.

But let’s be honest: you saw those chains, those muscles bulging under the sun, the sweat glistening down his chest—and your brain went static.

You were absolutely, one-hundred percent, down bad.

“Hey,” Luffy’s voice snapped you out of your trance.

You blinked, realizing you’d been staring again. Not just staring—mouth slightly open, red-faced, nearly-drooling staring.

“H-Huh? Yeah?” you coughed, rubbing your face like it might wipe away the blush.

Luffy looked at you curiously, a big chunk of dango sticking out of his mouth. “You okay? Your face is all red.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, turning away so fast you nearly tripped over a bucket.

He caught your arm—easily, with that damn veiny forearm—and steadied you like it was nothing.

“Whoa SHISHISHI,” he laughed, bright and unbothered. “You really okay?”

You nodded quickly, but your heart was screaming: No. I’m not. You touched me and now I’m going to die.

You spent your prison days doing everything you could to seem normal. You focused on the plan, helped stir rebellion among the prisoners, and tried to ignore the fact that Luffy kept lifting entire stone slabs shirtless.

Sometimes you stole glances. Okay—often.

One day, you caught him mid-training, shirt half-off, sweat gleaming under the sunlight filtering through the bars. He was laughing with Hyogoro, his muscles flexing with every movement, and you just stood there behind a crate, watching like a total creep.

I want to be held by those arms, you thought—and then smacked yourself so hard the guy next to you flinched.

You made a promise to yourself: no more ogling. You were a samurai of dignity. Or something.

That promise lasted six hours.

“You’ve been acting weird,” Luffy said bluntly one morning, tossing a dango at you. “Weird-weird. Not your usual chill-weird.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, biting into the dango like it owed you money.

“You stare a lot,” he added, unbothered as always. “Especially when I’m working out.”

You choked. He patted your back, grinning. “See? shishishi! that’s what I mean.”

You didn’t know what was worse—that he noticed, or that he was cool about it.

Things got worse the next day, when Queen decided to throw another death game. You were chained up next to Luffy, side by side in the cold prison dirt.

He was still shirtless, breathing hard from the fight, and glowing in the sunlight.

He turned to you, his voice low for once. “You okay?”

“I’m��” You met his eyes, your chest tight. The sunlight painted across his collarbone. You were way too close. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” His voice dropped even more. “You look… kinda sad.”

You didn’t mean to say it. Really, you didn’t.

But you mumbled, “Just wish I could lean on you for a bit.”

There was a pause.

Then Luffy, ever literal, opened his arm and said, “...Okay.”

You froze. Blinked. Was he serious?

“You said you wanna lean on me, right?” he said with a smile. “Go ahead.”

“…I didn’t mean—” You swallowed. “Okay.”

You leaned in.

His skin was warm. His arm settled around you. He smelled like sweat, dango, and something distinctly him—earthy and light.

You didn’t move for a long time.

And neither did he.

After that, something changed.

Luffy started hovering a little more. Sitting closer. Sometimes his shoulder would bump yours “accidentally.” He started sparring shirtless on purpose, claiming it was “hot” (it wasn’t). One night, he even offered you his lap when there wasn’t enough room on the floor.

You refused.

Then agreed 30 seconds later.

He grinned the whole time, like he knew something.

Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore.

It was a quiet moment in the prison yard. Most of the guards were asleep. Luffy was practicing his haki again, his back turned, muscles flexing as he struck the stone.

“Luffy,” you said, heart in your throat.

He stopped. Turned, face open. “Yeah?”

You didn’t know how to say it, not without sounding like an idiot. So you just blurted:

“You look really good.”

There was a beat of silence.

Luffy tilted his head. “Good?”

“Like—” You threw your hands up. “Muscles. Strong. Attractive. I don’t know, okay? You got buff and now I can’t think straight.”

He blinked.

You buried your face in your hands. “I’ve been staring for weeks and I’m sorry I’m weird and probably creepy and—”

“Cool,” Luffy said simply.

You peeked out between your fingers. “What?”

“I think you look good too,” he said. “Your punches are stronger. And I like your face.”

Your heart stopped.

“You—what?”

He walked over. “Wanna lean on me again?”

You stared. “You’re impossible.”

He grinned wider. “But strong, right?”

You laughed despite yourself. “Yeah. Strong.”

You leaned into him again, this time with your arms around his waist. He held you like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Later, when you were all free and celebrating under the cherry blossoms, Luffy came up behind you, wrapped his arms around your waist, and nuzzled into your neck.

“You’re still staring,” he teased.

You blushed. “So? You’re still showing off.”

“Maybe,” he said, pressing his face into your shoulder. “I like when you look.”

You were so screwed.

But maybe being hopelessly into your captain wasn’t so bad after all.

[luvcozy]

Bringing the Admiral's Lunch 🍜

Request :- Nope

Warnings :- Fluff and cuteness from the boys, Akainu doesn't want to show that he's greatful, Fujitora being the wholesome man that he is T°T, Kizaru is just smitten, Garp being Garp, Aokiji being Aokiji, Bonus character ;)

Plot :- What better way than to visit your partner than to bring them a special lunch you made!

A/N :- Before ANYONE says anything about Green Bull, I have yet to meet him, I'm in Wano but still in the rising climax of it!! (I adore Sasaki to no end oml)

»»------------------------------------------------►

Akainu

🌋 For starters- yes he's appreciative of you bringing lunch for him, the thing is- he's a grouchy to showing it

🌋 Keeping work and home wildly separated due to how he carries himself at each place, though jokes are shared that he's just as stuck up at home as he is at work

🌋 However you, his loving partner, would say otherwise to his behavior

🌋 Now what exactly had u brought him? A delicious bento that was carefully put together of his favorites along with some interesting shaped rice balls!

🌋 Receiving the meal from you was him being unbelievably stiff, he was at least able to mutter out a thank you, be it sounding begrudgingly-

🌋 The rice balls- they were in the shape of a hound dogs! A play on his code name, adorable and delectable all in one

🌋 The only problem he had with it was when he was trying to eat, alone and in peace, Kizaru had seen the cutesy lunch and wasn't leaving him alone

🌋 Was sure to tell you about the whole ordeal and to let him know next time when you decide to drop by with such a lunch

🌋 If it upsets you he won't really say sorry, but he will invite you to have lunch with him, IF- you promise to not make his lunches so cutesy again

🌋 You don't keep it, he takes lunch one day and next thing you know right in front of Sengoku he sees the same dog rice balls and so does his boss (he never lives it down now)

Kizaru

✨ He's so lax about the whole idea itself, you bringing him lunch? How sweet of you~

✨ He me as someone who isn't really picky about what you bring or pack him, plus you get really excited when you do so, how could he deny you?~

✨ Loves when you come in to see him and bring both yours and his lunch with you

✨ Happily just starts cooing about how you're so sweet to him, pulls you into his lap if he's sat at his desk so you can eat with him

✨ Your hearing his hum of delight every so often, he loves your cooking, if you can't cook he still eats it just to see your happy face

✨ Anytime you bring him lunch you're eating it in either his office, outside at the docks or training grounds, or on a balcony

✨ You theme his lunch? How adorable of you, opening his bento you made while you talk about your day, a languid smile crosses his face

✨ Monkey shaped rice balls, the amount of detail you put into them almost makes him almost not want to eat them

✨ Tries to share the lunch you made him with you even when you have your own, if he sees something he likes he'll ask for a bit and let you pick out of his if you see something you wanna eat too

✨ Y'all feed each other your lunch half the time, along with eating both of each other's lunches, its both your lunches, not just one

Aokiji

🧊 Your walking with Koby, chatting about how your days are when you finally find Aokiji in a lounge room

🧊 He's asleep, per usual, thanking Koby as he heads off to leave you with the ice admiral, thankfully waking him wasn't bad this time

🧊 He's sleepily staring at you while wondering when and how long you've been here, takes forever to sit up, but once he does he's a bit more awake at least

🧊 It was nice to see him while at work, Sengoku was nice about it too, striking up some conversation with you at times

🧊 Aokiji is typically busy, so being able to sit and have lunch with him was a treat in itself, especially with his sleepy voice to add to it

🧊 Eats anything you give him, he doesn't complain about food often, to focused on just eating what ever delectable is in front of him

🧊 Well met with his lunch being themed around penguins, the rice balls were quite the sight and quite the munch too

🧊 Thanking you before, during, and after he eats, he likes his cold foods, but you bringing him his lunch with hot soba? He's keening for the rest of the day

🧊 Is sure to smother you after he eats, his arm around your waist waiting for you to finish yourself before you dragged onto his chest

🧊 He splays out on the couch that seemed to small for him, you nestled into his side, not moving from his grasp as he lazily runs his hand up and down your back, it was a great nap to say the least

Fujitora

☄️ The most damn adorable admiral there is, he's so sweet and kind

☄️ It's hard to not want to help him, he's skilled in his years of being blind, but it's just the both of you not wanting to say no to the other

☄️ Bringing him lunch is always a fun experience, he's shook every time you do, even if he can hear your distinct footsteps it still gets him

☄️ He loves noodles, so instead of making a lunch based around him? You put some elbow grease into making homemade ramen or soba for him

☄️ They say when you loose one sense your others heighten, it's very true for Issho, I mean he can comfortably walk around your flat without his stick sword

☄️ You prep the night before, while making dinner you take a little longer so you can get things ready for tomorrow morning, even slightly avoiding Issho's questions on what you up too

☄️ The work and wait is worth it, meeting him suddenly on his walk, (you had to bribe Kizaru to help you with Sakazuki to even have lunch) he's surprised that your met with his blinded eyes staring back at you as you tell him you brought lunch to enjoy together

☄️ You sit outside under a nice shaded area as you hand the bowl to him and set your own, watching him carefully with a smile as he ate

☄️ God he loves you, bringing him his favorite dish? OH- you made his favorite food? He's smitten, praising you with almost every bite he takes

☄️ Landing a kiss on your forehead with practiced ease, he thanks you tremendously for the meal and promises to return the favor 10 times over, what a big sweetheart he is 💜

Garp

🐶 His sweet sweet partner, how you've tolerated him for so long over the years was beyond most that worked with Garp

🐶 Not to mention how you deal with his appetite, he eats like a bottomless pit, something him and his grandkids all seemed to share

🐶 Being well versed in this over the years, you've had the experience to know that if your bringing him lunch, it's going to be a lot and portioned heartily

🐶 Food is a way to his heart that's for sure, adores your cooking and makes you try what he's eating even if you already have, he just needs you to know how much he enjoys it

🐶 Honey laced buns and bee themed beef rice balls with a massive side of other foods, he has a big smile while he crushes you in a hug and a thank you kiss to your temple

🐶 He's not opposed to sharing the food, but it's rather you that tells him to eat his fill, he does every time, not a thing left behind in his monstrous appetites wake

🐶 Brings the dishes home and does them and any others you used that haven't been washed yet, gotta return the favor somehow with the amazing food you make him

🐶 Your joined by Sengoku when you do bring Garp lunch, the two being friends after all, sometimes you bring him one or feeding into his rice cracker addiction

🐶 Your both typically sat in the dinning hall or his office, he's not really picky about where he eats, but he wants to sit down at some point, so having set places to go to make that a shorter wait

🐶 He returns the favor, brings you lunch at times or invites you out to lunch that he covers the price of, thankfully- the bill runs high normally, but this time it wasn't coming out for your pocket

Bonus

Smoker

🌪️ Another difficult man to take lunch too

🌪️ He's actually very grateful when you bring him lunch, he enjoys it, he doesn't enjoy having his men witness his softness with you

🌪️ Smokers day is typically boring as is, he's surrounded by dunces and constantly keeping an eye on Tashigi's clumsy butt, it takes more of a mental toll than a physical one

🌪️ It's a nice surprise at times when he finds out in his office, food set out on the table while you greet him in

🌪️ Opens both his windows if it's nice out so that he can at least keep one of his cigars lit if he still doesn't have an appetite yet

🌪️ When he does have his appetite hit him, he's putting his cigar out whilst talking to you, unaware of the whole little theme you put into your lunches

🌪️ Sits next to you, planting a kiss to your cheek and a soft thank you meeting your ears before he starts to eat

🌪️ About 2 bites in he finally noticed how the rice balls you made are shaped like Clouds, the more he thought about it was the moment he let an amused snort leaves him

🌪️ Your poking at him and laughing while trying to get him to admit that he enjoyed the spin you took on the lunch

🌪️ Just when you think you've got him, his smile clear and his own challenged look, Tashigi walks in and stumbles upon sight... You're not allowed to bring him lunch for awhile after that

═══════════•°• 💜 •°•═══════════

Till next time, Cozy over and out!~

Tags :- @opheliasadventures1

[marauroon]

hiii i saw that u were asking for reqs and i loved reading ur best frenemies fic with remus, i was wondering if you would be open to writing about that dynamic more. like maybe they're in the same friend group so they're in close proximity but they can't stand one each other and maybe the reader got stood up or something and remus is there or really whatever you want. Anyways thank you for your work, i really enjoy it

── .⏾ 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲. (𝐫.𝐥𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧)

you didn’t even really invite him, but the fact he didn’t show up still put a damper on your mood. remus thinks it’s killing the whole room’s vibe.

remus lupin x frenemy!reader | 1.2k | h/c? | masterlist.

a/n | went back to the og og ship for this one, shout out to blackinnon

There’s something aggravating about someone who’s simultaneously the smartest in the room and also the most infuriating. Sure, maybe he’s handsome in a very I-read-sad-poetry-by-lantern-light way, but that only really makes it worse.

And, unfortunately, thanks to Marlene’s thing with Sirius (on again, off again, like the world’s most emotionally exhausting lumos charm), you are now in proximity to said infuriating boy far more often than you’d like to be.

It’s become a balancing act, really—sitting at the Three Broomsticks with your best friends on one side and the Marauders on the other, trying not to glare directly at Remus every time he says something clever. You think you’ve managed rather well. Mostly. Until now.

Because today, of all days, your maybe-date didn’t show.

You’re not even sure you’d call it a date. You’ve been talking with Michael Rossiter in Herbology for a couple of weeks, mostly about plants but sometimes—when he was feeling cheeky—about music or Quidditch or the way you looked when you were annoyed with your mandrake.

He wasn’t brilliant, but he had nice eyes and a decent laugh and said, when you told him you were going to Hogsmeade with your friends, “Maybe I’ll see you there then.”

You'd smiled. Told yourself not to get too giddy. And yet, here you are. Giddy, then deflated.

The booth you’re all crammed into is loud—Marlene is practically on Sirius’s lap, Mary and Dorcas are exchanging knowing looks, and James is loudly arguing with Peter over the latest Wimbourne Wasps game. And Remus—Remus is directly opposite you, because of course he is, because of course Sirius just had to say, “Oi, Moony, let the ladies have the bench side, be a gentleman,” and Remus just smirked and obliged, sliding in across you like he belonged there.

You’ve been waiting. Watching the door. Laughing too loudly at Mary’s jokes. Pretending to sip butterbeer just to keep your hands busy. And when Michael doesn’t show—when it becomes obvious he’s not going to—you shrink a bit. Quiet. Withdrawn.

And Remus notices.

Of course he does.

"You know, for someone who supposedly convinced a boy to change his Hogsmeade plans just for her,” he drawls, not even looking up from his drink, “you’re doing a marvellous impression of someone who’s just been stood up.”

You don’t answer. You don’t even look at him. You just keep your eyes fixed on the window, watching the steam fog up the panes.

Remus pauses.

Usually, this is the part where you snap something back—about his sad little jumpers or the way he chews the ends of quills like a stressed-out academic or how he’s basically a walking dissertation on how not to relax. But you don’t. You sit still, hands clenched in your lap.

The silence between you grows taut.

Remus frowns. He nudges you with his foot under the table—annoying. Like a brother, if your brother was your intellectual rival and also kind of handsome in a way you wish you didn’t notice.

“Oi,” he says, quieter now. “What’s wrong?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, still not looking at him. “You wouldn’t get it. And I don’t want you to.”

That gives him pause. He turns toward you fully now, leaning on one elbow. “Alright, that’s a bit harsh.”

You shrug.

Then he sighs, long-suffering and dramatic. “Who was it? The boy. No, don’t tell me— Rossiter?”

You glance at him, surprised. “How did you—?”

“Everyone saw you flirting over flobberworms in class last week,” he says, deadpan. “He told Sirius he was thinking about asking you out. Got all red-faced about it, too. It was tragic.”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. “Merlin.”

“He’s a right sod, you know.”

You lift your head just enough to glare. “That your professional opinion?”

Remus shrugs, grinning slightly. “My personal one. But it’s backed by a great deal of observational research.”

You huff. “You don’t even know him.”

“I know him better than you do,” Remus says, slumping back into the booth. “Do you know his mum still buys his underwear?”

You blink.

“I’m serious. Thomas the Tank Engine ones. We saw them last year when someone hit him with a jelly-legs jinx and his trousers fell down on the Quidditch pitch. Looked ridiculous.”

You can’t help it—you snort. It’s brief, but it’s real.

Remus perks up like a cat that’s just caught movement under a curtain. “And I once caught him picking his nose.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re making this up.”

“I wish,” he says, grimacing. “We were in the library and he was just mining. Like he thought no one could see him. It was vile.”

You giggle. You actually giggle.

Remus looks triumphant. “And they say I’m the wild animal.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re awful.”

“Only to those who deserve it.” He pauses, then adds, more gently, “You really thought he was coming?”

You nod, shoulders drooping. “I mean… he said maybe. He was sort of flirty about it. I thought—” You cut yourself off. “Doesn’t matter.”

Remus doesn’t say anything at first. He leans his head back against the booth, watching you. “I hate that you’re sad,” he says eventually. “You’re annoying when you’re sad. It’s harder to make fun of you.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile’s still there. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know.” He nudges your arm again. “Still sucks, though.”

The warmth in your chest surprises you. You look at him again, properly this time, and there’s a softness in his eyes that doesn’t match the usual sardonic glint.

It’s disarming.

You blink, glance away. “Thanks, I guess.”

He grins. “Don’t get all emotional on me. I might have to start being nice to you regularly and that’s not good for my image.”

“Oh, the tragedy,” you say dryly.

“Unimaginable.”

Sirius leans over suddenly, draping an arm across Remus’s shoulders and nearly spilling his drink. “Oi, Moony, you pulling or pining?”

Remus doesn’t even flinch. “Trying to comfort someone after being disappointed by the tragic shallowness of her romantic prospects, actually. Something you’d know nothing about.”

Sirius pouts. “Rude.”

Marlene snorts. “Let her be. She got stood up, she’s rightfully upset,”

Sirius frowns. “Who stands you up?”

You wave him off. “Doesn’t matter.”

But Remus answers anyway. “Michael Rossiter.”

Sirius sits back like he’s been slapped. “Rossiter? No. That absolute knob?”

“You see?” Remus says, gesturing. “It’s not just me.”

“Bloody hell,” Sirius mutters. “Should’ve hexed him when I had the chance.”

“You did hex him,” Remus points out.

“Not enough, apparently.”

[pensthoughts]

Soooooooo……… you know the song Casual by Chappell Roan? That but Van x cheerleader!reader, like, the song is so…yum. Like, you see it? You see it? Like, r telling the cheer team that Van and them are just friends who fuck. And Van is upset about it. Call me crazy but…I see it.

casual | v.p

a/n: love love love this idea! i love casual and chappell so this was suuper fun to write pairing: van palmer x cheerleader!reader summary: you’re the cheerleader with a secret. van’s the goalie who picks you up after practice — but at school, you don’t talk. you said it was casual. but now it’s new year’s, and nothing feels casual anymore. word count: 4.2k

pretty.

popular.

cheerleader.

that's what you were to everyone in wiskayok high. glossed lips, good posture, knees always bandaged from stunts. people knew your name before they knew your voice. you smiled in yearbook photos, waved at homecoming, kissed boys at parties when it was easy.

and when wasn't it easy?

when things got confusing and hot and sharp around the edges?

you found van palmer behind the bleachers.

it was after cheer practice—late, golden hour bleeding into dusk. you'd stayed behind to work on a basket toss, and your ride had flaked. the field was quiet now, the lot nearly empty, except for one figure leaning against a beat-up honda like the had nowhere better to be.

van palmer.

she spotted you from across the grass, thumb flicking her car keys around like she was just killing time.

"you guys practicing a secret routine or something?" she called out.

you glanced up, squinting into the fading sun. "we stayed late. coach thinks if we don't stick the basket toss this week, she'll die or something."

van smirked, crossing a few steps closer. "dramatic. how very cheerleader of her."

you rolled your eyes but couldn't help the little smile tugging at your lips. "like your coach doesn't yell every time you don't make a save."

"he does. i just tune it out."

you nodded toward the bleachers. "you waiting for someone?"

she gave a vague shrug. "was. don't think they're showing."

you glanced toward the empty lot, then back at her. "guess we're both stranded."

van spun her keys once around her finger. "where do you live?"

you hesitated. shifting your gym bag higher on your shoulder. van wasn't your friend—not really. she played socker with some of your friends. you sat with jackie and lottie and shauna at lunch. you did cheer. she played soccer. your circles touched, but only lightly.

she raised an eyebrow. "not asking for your social security number. just—i can give you a ride, if you want."

you hesitated, shifting your gym bag higher on your shoulder. van wasn’t your friend—not really. she played soccer with some of your friends. you sat with jackie, lottie, and shauna at lunch. you did cheer. she played soccer. your circles touched, but only lightly

"fine."

she unlocked the passenger door with a satisfying clunk. inside, the car spelled like gum and pine tree air freshener, with a faint trace of something smokier beneath it.

you didn't talk much on the way. she kept one hand on the wheel, the other draped casually over her thigh. you tried not to stare at her wrist—the freckles there, the faint soccer tan, the leather bracelet she always wore like it meant something.

when she pulled up to your house, neither of you said thank you. you just got out. and the next afternoon, when you were leaving practice again, she was already parked in the same spot, engine running.

van started driving you home more often.

never planned. never promised. she just started showing up, like it was normal. like it was routine. and every time, there was more tension in the air—thick and stupid and impossible to ignore. like something pressing in from all sides, begging to be broken.

some afternoons she'd lean over and grab your leftover gatorade and drink from the same bottle like it didn't mean anything. sometimes you'd bump hands when reaching for the radio. and once—once—she tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear and then made a joke to cover it up, but her fingers lingered.

then came the night your parents weren't home.

you mentioned it offhand in the car—"my mom's working late. my dad's out of town again." you weren't even thinking about it when you said it.

but when she pulled into your street and parked, you didn't get out.

you turned to her, heart kicking.

"you wanna come in?"

van looked at you.

then she killed the engine and followed you inside.

it wasn't planned. you weren't even sure what you thought would happen—maybe hang out, maybe watch a movie, maybe let the tension float between you until it finally fizzled out.

but the second the door shut behind her, everything snapped.

you kissed her first.

you told yourself it was just curiosity. just something to do because you were alone and she looked at you like that. but it wasn't gentle, or shy. it was teeth and breath and hands tugging at clothes that hadn't even hit the floor yet.

her back hit the hallway wall. yours hit your bedroom door. she made a noise in her throat when you pulled her hoodie off and touched her like you'd been thinking about it for weeks; because you had. and van—god, van kissed like she was trying to win something. she groaned your name like it wasn't supposed to mean anything, and still made it sound like it did.

she left just before midnight.

neither of you said much. just a look. just the sound of her sneakers on the porch as she jogged back to the car, hoodie half-zipped, lipstick smears from your mouth.

but it didn't stop there.

it happened again. in her car, parked behind the movie theater with the windows fogged and your skirt pushed up. in your basement, quiet and messy and fast, while your mom was upstairs making dinner. even in your bedroom once—maybe twice—both of you pretending it didn't mean anything.

but at school?

you didn't talk.

you didn't have classes together. she sat with the other soccer girls, and you sat with jackie and shauna and lottie, like always. maybe you'd catch her eye in the hallway. maybe she'd glance at your cheer uniform and smirk. but you never stopped to say hi. never let anyone see.

because you weren't together.

not really.

you were just two girls who hooked up when no one was looking.

and now it was december—right before winter break—and the air in the wiskayok high locker room was full of static.

the fluorescent lights buzzed above as the sound of metal lockers slamming echoed around you. it smelled like hairspray, sweat, and vanilla body lotion. the cheer team was in your usual corner, half zipped jackets, blue and yellow ribbons everywhere as you changed into your uniform for the basketball game.

your skirt was hanging on the hook. you were in your sports bra, fixing your hair in the foggy mirror above the sink, when some soccer girls walked in—cleats in hand, shin guard under their arms, all laughing about something someone said in the hallway.

van was with them.

she was late, windblown, cheeks pink from the cold. her yellowjackets soccer hoodie was damp around the shoulder like she'd run through flurries. her hair was tucked messily into a ponytail. she looked like she hadn't even tried today. still looked good.

you didn't look up.

but you felt her.

she passed behind you, close enough that her sleeve brushed your back. no hellp. no smirk. just... nothing. like you were anyone.

your chest tightened.

jackie was sitting on the bench behind you, lacing up her cleats, her practice jersey already on under her warm-up jacket. she barely looked up. "took you long enough," she said.

van dropped her duffel with a loud thump and kicked it into place. "had to get my bag from my car. almost froze my ass off walking here."

jackie snorted. "tragic."

lottie was adjusting her ponytail beside her, one eye on the mirror. "better late than cut."

"coach won't cut me," van said. "i'm his favorite."

mari groaned. "he literally screamed at you last week."

"still his favorite," van said under her breath, like it meant something. her voice was even, easy. her shoulders relaxed. but she didn't look at you. not once.

you go back to your corner to grab your cheer skirt and tug it on, keeping your eyes down. you told yourself it didn't matter. you told youself it was easier this way. you told yourself it wasn't supposed to hurt.

the zipper sticks halfway up, and you pretend it's just the fabric, not your hands shaking.

"are you going straight to the gym?" shauna asks, tugging on her hoodie as she walks over to you. "for the basketball thing?"

you nod once. "yeah."

jackie scrunches her nose, twisting her braid over one shoulder. "that sounds like hell. all that school spirit and flourescent lighting."

you fake a laugh. "better than running drills in the cold."

shauna shrugs. "debatable."

jackie's digging in her bag now, unearthing a crushed granola bar. she plops down on the bench beside you. "you've been kinda...i don't know. different lately."

you freeze. "okay?"

jackie lifts a brow, like she's not convinved. "like, all dreamy and weird. distracted."

shauna leans back against the locker, arms crossed. "you keep staying at the field even when you don't have to."

you glance between them. "is this, like, an intervention?"

jackie snorts. "only if it's about a girl."

and that's when lottie, quiet until now, chimes in. "or van."

the silence that follows is immediate and brutal. you don't move.

"what?" jackie blinks.

"jesus," shauna murmurs.

you try to focus on tying your sneakers. your heart is pounding. the floor feels too far away.

"wait, van as in our van?" jackie's voice is rising, almost laughing. "van palmer?"

you don't answer.

shauna's starting at you. "are you...like...dating her?"

you force yourself to sit up straight. to smile like it's no big deal. like the air doesn't feel thinner now.

"we're just friends," you say, pulling your hair tighter. "who fuck. occasionally."

jackie lets out a noise—half gasp, half laugh—and drops her ball. "oh my god."

shauna's eyes are wide, and lottie just raises her eyebrows like yep, saw that coming.

you cross your legs. smooth your skirt. try to keep your voice casual. "it's not that serious."

"you're hooking up with van palmer," jackie repeats, slow like she's testing out the taste of it.

"yeah."

"since when?"

you shrug. "couple weeks."

"holy shit," shauna says under her breath. "i thought you, like, hated each other. anything but this."

you glance at her. "we don't."

"but you've barely said anything about it," jackie says, still in disbelief. "you and van. that's like... oil and water."

you're about to say something snarky, something that'll make them drop it—but then lottie tilts her head.

"is the the reason you've been acting weird?"

and then—

a water bottle clatters to the floor behind you.

your heart drops.

you turn.

van's there. leaning against the lockers a few rows down. hoodie unzipped, jaw set so tight it could snap.

you don't know how long she's been that close. you don't know what she heard. but the way she's looking at you: it's not a mystery.

you open your mouth, but she pushes off the locker and walks out without a word.

and this time, you don't chase her.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

the sky outside your window is already going dark, that cold winter blue that only shows up on the last day of the year. snow dusts the sidewalk like powdered sugar, and your room smells like hairspray and lotion and the faintest hint of your mom's perfume from when she dropped your laundry off earlier.

the house is quiet except for the faint hum of the radio and the occaisonal creak of the vents. jackie's gonna be outside in jeff's car in five minutes, probably honking if you're not done. you still haven't decided if you want to see her tonight. not jackie.

her.

you're learning into the mirror over your dresser, lip liner in one hand, the other braced against the wood. music's playing low on the radio—something breathy and sad and too slow for tonight—and the lamplight turns everything gold.

you blot your lips. press them together. try not to look at your own eyes in the glass.

it's stupid. you know it's stupid. you're fine.

you're fine.

you put the cap back on and reach for mascara. your lashes are alredy done, but you redo them anyway, carefully, slowly, anything to keep your hands busy. anything to stop thinking.

because you told yourself it didn't matter. told yourself it was easier this way. told yourself it wasn't supposed to hurt.

but you still remember her mouth.

her hands under your skirt in her car, knee pressed between your thighs while the windows fogged and your breath hitched in her ear. that night after cheer regionals—parked behind the library, your pom-poms in the backseat, her jersey still on from practice. her whisper low and wicked, saying, "you gonna let me make you late again?"

you remember the heat of her breath, the way her fingers curcles just right, how she laughed when you swore. the kind of laugh that you felt in your chest for days after.

you curl your lashes. blink the memory away.

there's a knock, and then your mom doesn't wait—just pushes the door open like she always does. "are you almost—oh. sorry, sweetheart, didn't know you were still getting ready."

you don't turn around. just keep working on your makeup like nothing happened. "it's okay."

she lingers. "so, jeff's driving you and jackie?"

you nod. "yeah. first to shauna's, then he's driving us to the party. we want to be able to drink."

your mom raises an eyebrow, but let's it go. you're a senior. she was your age in the '70's. she gets it more than she lets on.

she crosses the room to grab something from your still-packed suitcase, but then pauses.

"that redhead girl—" she says casually, like she's just remembering. "the one who used to come over a lot."

your body stills.

"she hasn't been around lately. everything okay?"

you reach for your perfume. "yeah. we just haven't been hanging out."

your mom's voice is thoughtful, innocent. "i was going to invite her to the family house with us after christmas. thought it might be fun. bonfires, snowmobiles. but then i realized i hadn't seen her since, i don't know...before midterms?"

you try not to breathe too deep.

"oh," you say, light. dismissive. "nothing happened."

she doesn't say anything for a second. just watches you in the mirror."

"well, if you do see her tonight, tell her the offer still stands for presidents weekend. i liked her."

you nod, picking lint off your skirt.

i liked her too, you don't say.

your mom leaves.

you spritz perfume on your wrists and smooth your hiar down one more time before heading downstairs. jackie's already honking from jeff's car, signaling for you to hurry up.

you slipped out the front door before your mom could ask anything else, coat half zipped, sleepover bag slung over your shoulder. snow crunched under your boots as you jogged down the walk. jeff's car was idling at the curb, headlights cutting through the dusk.

jackie rolled the window down. "you take longer than i do."

you climbed into the back, breath fogging the glass. "i was putting on eyeliner, not lying about it for twenty minutes."

she scoffed and turned forward again. jeff glanced at you in the mirror, but didn't say anything.

the heat blasted from the vents, warm against your bare legs. outside, the houses blurred past—christmas lights still up, wreaths sagging, that in-between holidy lull where everything felt a little hollowed out.

"so," jackie said, twisting in her seat just enough to look at you, "is van coming tonight?"

your stomach flipped. "no idea."

"she was at tai's last thing i heard," jeff offered casually. "bringing jell-o shots or something."

you stared out the window. "that's...festive."

jackie raised an eyebrow. "you guys still...?"

"still what?"

she blinked. "i don't know. do whatever it is you're not doing."

jeff coughed pointedly, eyes still on the road. "should i be here for this?"

"no," you and jackie said at the same time."

she turned back around with a little smirk, biting her nail. "i was just asking."

you didn't answer.

the rest of the drive passed in low music and even lower tension. you caught your reflection in the window—mascara perfect, lipstick still sharp. you looked exactly how you were supposed to.

but you didn't feel likt it.

not when van might be there. not when your mom had said redhead like it meant something. not when the silence in your chest had started to ache. jeff pulled into shauna's driveway and threw the car in park. "you girls want help with your bags?"

jackie was already grabbing hers. "we're good."

you slid out behind her, the night colder than you remembered.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

shauna's bedroom was already a mess—curling irons still hot on the floor, clothes thrown over her desk chair, a few discarded lipsticks rolling dangerousy close to the edge of her nightstand. music played low from her little stereo, a mixtape humming through fuzzy speakers, and the air smelled like hairspray and peach schnapps.

you were sitting cross-legged on her bed in your top and skirt, drink sweating in your hand. jackie was in front of the mirror, blotting her lip gloss like she hasn't already done it three times. shauna had taken over the floor, her back against the dresser, painting her toenails a dark plum and trying not to smudge them as she reached for another wine cooler.

"okay," jackie said, turning from the mirror dramatically, "be honest. on a scale from one to, like, prom night, how hot do i look?"

"prom night hasn’t happened yet," you said, smirking behind the rim of your drink.

"exactly," she shot back, striking a pose. “i'm setting the bar.”

"jeff is gonna combust," shauna muttered, shaking her head. “he’s been sick for three days and still insisted on driving us.”

jackie flopped onto the bed beside you. “because he’s obsessed with me.”

you snorted. “or he just didn’t want you drunk behind the wheel again.”

shauna giggled. “remember homecoming?”

“barely,” jackie said, raising her bottle like a toast. “which means i had a great time.”

you leaned back against the pillows, letting their voices swirl around you, light and easy. but your stomach twisted every time someone mentioned the party, every time the clock ticked forward. midnight was coming, and van would be there.

you hadn’t seen her since christmas eve.

and you still hadn’t stopped thinking about the way she looked in your bedroom light, her hands in your hair, her voice low in the dark.

shauna stretched, kicking jackie’s leg. “one more drink before we go?”

“obviously,” jackie said, already halfway to the closet where she’d hidden the extras.

you stayed put. tipping your head back. trying to calm the jitter in your chest.

tonight wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

but your heart didn’t seem to know that.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

the party was already hot by the time you got there.

some junior's house — a kid you didn’t even know — but someone’s older brother had a fake id and a sound system, so it didn’t matter. there were strings of lights tangled along the ceiling, a makeshift bar in the kitchen, someone smoking out the window, and music loud enough to vibrate through your ribs. the carpet was sticky and your heels already hurt, but you looked good. you knew you did.

it was warm inside your chest — from the drinks, from the attention, from jackie’s laugh in your ear — and you were floating a little, smile lazy, lips glossed, sipping something pink you didn’t even remember grabbing.

that was when you saw her.

van.

leaning against the hallway wall with one foot kicked up, solo cup dangling from her fingers, hair half-curled like she hadn’t meant to try but had anyway. her t-shirt clinging to her collarbones, and her eyes on you.

your stomach flipped.

you looked away too fast. pretended you didn’t notice. pretended you weren’t already drifting toward her with every drink, every minute. you danced with jackie. laughed with shauna. let some guy from the wrestling team tell you you were the hottest girl in the room. but your eyes kept flicking back.

and she didn’t look away.

not once.

eventually, you had no choice. you slipped out of the living room — through the crowd, down the hall — into the kitchen, the only place with decent lighting and fewer people, and of course, thirty seconds later, you heard the door swing behind you.

van.

she didn’t say anything at first. just leaned against the counter across from you, arms crossed.

you took another sip, too fast, too much. it burned.

“you look good,” she said, voice low.

you scoffed. “you’re drunk.”

“so are you.”

you shrugged, leaned back against the fridge. “not that drunk.”

silence stretched between you. it was sharp. familiar.

“you haven’t answered my last two notes,” she said finally, a little quieter.

“i’ve been busy,” you lied.

“you only talk to me when it’s dark,” she said. “when no one’s around. when no one can see.”

you set your cup down too hard. “you knew what this was.”

she flinched. “don’t do that.”

“do what, van?”

“don’t say it like it didn’t mean anything.”

you laughed once, cold. “it didn’t.”

she looked like you’d slapped her.

you pushed off the fridge, stepping past her — needing air, needing to be anywhere else — but she caught your wrist.

her hand was warm. familiar. you hated how much you wanted her to pull you closer.

“don’t walk away,” she said. “you always walk away.”

you turned, faced her. your breath shallow.

“you came to my house,” you said. “you let my mom make you hot chocolate. you picked me up from practice in the rain. and you knew what this was.”

“you keep saying that,” van said, voice cracking. “but i don’t think you know what this is.”

you stared at her, heart pounding. the countdown had started in the other room — ten, nine, eight…

“this was supposed to be casual,” you whispered.

“i know,” she said. “but it wasn’t.”

seven, six…

“i told everyone we were just friends who fuck,” you said. “because it’s easier than saying i think about you all the time. because it’s easier than saying you ruined me.”

her mouth parted.

five…

“then don’t say it,” she whispered. “say something else. say what you mean.”

four…

you didn’t know who moved first.

maybe it was you. maybe it was her.

but her hands were on your face, your waist, your hips, and your lips crashed into hers like the end of the world, like this was the last time, like it wasn’t casual, like it never had been.

three, two, one—

the crowd in the other room roared.

you didn’t even hear them.

you don’t even mean to open the door — not really. but your hand’s behind you, fumbling for balance, and suddenly it gives way.

a bathroom. dark. cold tile on your calves. you’re drunk. she’s drunk. neither of you care.

you pull her inside anyway.

van kicks the door shut behind her and grabs you by the hips like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. her mouth finds yours again — messier this time, like she doesn’t need to hold back anymore. the kiss is all teeth and tongue and the soft sound you make when her hands slide under your top.

“still casual?” she mumbles against your neck.

you laugh, breath hitching. “shut up.”

her hands settle on your waist, thumbs pressing in like punctuation marks.

“you said it first,” van whispers.

you tilt your head back against the door, eyes fluttering shut. “i didn’t mean it.”

“i know.”

you look at her. really look at her — flushed and sweaty from the party, curls wild, lip gloss smeared on her mouth (your lip gloss). you reach out and brush a strand of hair from her cheek.

“i don’t know what this is,” you whisper. “but i don’t want it to be nothing.”

van swallows. “then it’s not.”

for a second, it’s quiet. just you and her, breathing in the dark.

then you laugh again — soft, shaky. “we’re idiots.”

she grins. “speak for yourself. i’m a genius.”

“oh yeah?”

van kisses you again — slower this time, less like a dare and more like a promise. her hand cups the back of your neck. you lean into it.

outside, the music shifts. louder. someone’s yelling. someone’s crying. the party’s still spinning without you.

you pull back, forehead pressed to hers.

“we should go back out,” you say.

van raises an eyebrow. “why? so you can pretend you don’t know me again?”

you roll your eyes, nudge her shoulder. “no. so i can kiss you in front of everyone this time.”

van blinks. smirks. “you’re not gonna.”

“you sure?”

you reach for the door.

she grabs your hand.

“wait.”

you glance back.

van’s smile drops. her voice softens.

“i liked it better when it wasn’t casual.”

your chest squeezes.

you squeeze her hand.

“then let’s not do casual anymore.”

she kisses you again — one last time, quick and certain — then opens the door, light flooding in around her.

the party’s still going. still loud. still waiting.

but van doesn’t let go of your hand.

and you don’t let go either.

💌 taglist: @callsignwidow, @freakyjorker, @imlike-so-gaydude, @yellowjacketsslvt69, @moonwateraura, @gracynparsons, @casualclamturkey, @crainalley0227, @auroraseddie, @brielease

[mattslilies]

I Quit - C.S.

"you've GOT to be cheating!" or... the one where you and chris have game night, but chris' winning streak is suspiciously long. warnings: none! word count: 654

game nights with chris were a regular occurrence in your household. you and chris had been living together for about a year now, and it was very often that a deck of cards or a board would be spread out on your coffee table, playful banter coursing through the room.

your favorite nights were the ones where your friends could be there, matt and nick would join as well, and it made for the most lively experience.

however, most of your friends were busy tonight, and you were going to head to bed after finishing cleaning up dinner, until you saw chris open the card drawer and grab a deck, a wide smile on his face.

"wanna play? we haven't had a game night in a bit."

you rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face told him that you were down. you moved to sit, taking the deck from him and beginning to shuffle.

that was two hours ago, and you were about to lose your mind.

"there is no way you won again!"

chris had a smile bigger than the cheshire cat's, reaching to grab the cards that you had thrown down in frustration.

"oh, but i did. i'm killing it tonight!"

unfortunately, he was.

you'd played so many games. go fish, war, slapjack, and even catch twenty-one. chris had won almost every round of all of them, and you were about at your wits end. he was normally pretty good at cards, but you very rarely got absolutely swept like tonight.

you'd moved on to rummy, desperate for a win. you'd grown up playing it, and you knew that you had a better chance at crushing him if you raised the score you were playing to.

however, this didn't go the way that you expected to. chris won the first three hands, totaling his points to a near value of three hundred, almost winning the game.

"you have got to be cheating!"

chris laughed, totaling your points for the hand and beginning to shuffle and re-deal.

"i'm not cheating, baby, the cards are just running in my favor tonight."

you crossed your arms, glaring at the cards as if that would make them change how they were falling.

"bullshit. you've got something up your sleeve."

chris shook his head, laughter shining in his eyes, as he dealt.

"cmon, babe, last hand, and then you can quit, yeah?"

you sighed, picking up the cards, and hoping your luck had changed.

and it had.

chris had dealt you nearly the best cards of the deck, and the first one you drew almost completed your hand. however, you decided to wait, knowing that the likelihood of chris going out so quickly was low.

your efforts paid off, as the next three draws of cards were exactly the ones you needed, and you threw your hand down in triumph.

"YES! finally, oh my god."

chris smiled, no malice in his gaze whatsoever. instead, he had a spark in his eye, the one he always had when he was up to something.

"what?? why are you looking at me like that?"

he slowly tilted his hand towards you, displaying his cards.

your jaw hit the ground.

he had a perfect hand. he had been holding a perfect hand. three sevens, three twos, and a nine that lined up with his six-seven-eight sequence that he had played a few moments ago.

"you could've won."

"i know."

"you could've gone out and won. instead you set yourself back thirty points."

"i know."

you stared at him as it hit you.

"you let me win?!"

he laughed, cleaning up the cards.

"i did. don't get angry, baby, they were not falling in your favor tonight. it's okay, you'll get me next week, yeah?"

you rolled your eyes, standing up, but chris knew you weren't actually angry.

"i will. winner's prize is doing the dishes from dinner."

"fair enough."

a/n: this ending was kinda ass but i didn't know how else to wrap it up

taglist <3

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[iboozi]

CALL ME YOURS pt 4

Genre: black cat! (Ish) reader / golden retriever! Jeongguk, reader is a bookstore owner, jk is just him, strangers to friends to lovers?

Summary: In which you call him yours.

Part : 4/4

w/c : 3.5k

A/N: Wow, I finally reached the last part!! So crazy that I made my first ever mini series. There is more to come!! Thank you to everyone who interacted with me from the start, even though I’m just starting out. I’m so appreciative of you! Don’t be stranger :) I’d love to interact with you guys, so my asks and dms are open. See you in the next story!

-Zoobi out 🪩

m.list, intro, part one, part two, part three

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

Four.

Growing up, you were always told that if you couldn’t run away from your problems, then you simply weren’t running fast enough. For the past month you had been jogging, even fast walking. All due to the fact that you had finally felt safe enough to slow down and catch your breath, because in some foolish way, you believed that someone else would catch up to your problems and pull them back for you. In some way you ended up relying on Jeongguk, and by doing so, your issues had their fist wrapped tightly around your collar, dragging your limp body back to the ground. 

The shop had never been so quiet. 

Even before Jeongguk’s appearance in your life, there would be a little hum that accompanied you on your late evenings. The fan would be on, or the windows on, and even the occasional voices of a passer-by. 

But with Jeongguk’s departure, the noises seemed to have ceased altogether. It’s like the shop knew something- someone was missing. The pink beanbag knew it, the way that Jeongguk’s imprint was still lingered there, the table in the corner knew it, the chairs positioned so meticulously that one was always slightly pivoted to face the other. Even the door knew it. For some reason, it started creaking when it was opened- another issue that you had yet to deal with. 

But you couldn’t. 

For three days you had been wallowing in despair after Jeongguk had walked out. Three days where you constantly paced the floor. Three days of half-drunken coffees that just didn’t taste the same. And three days of jumping at the slightest hint of someone entering the shop. 

You found that you glanced at the door, more often than you wanted to admit. You wanted to hear the creaking door and the loud thud of boots that would announce the presence of the wearer so quickly. You wanted to hear Jeongguk’s laugh, see his smile and feel the softness of his hands. You just wanted him back. 

You couldn’t even allow yourself the pleasure of music anymore. Because Jeongguk had curated the very playlist that you would put on every night. The playlist that you had ended up dancing to with him- just because. He always insisted on you playing the same songs every time he was around, and you begrudgingly accepted even though you claimed they gave a ‘sad’ vibe to the store. 

He told you it gave authenticity. 

“No one wants a pop song blaring while they try to choose a book – it makes them feel rushed,” he responded to your complaints. 

Now you would take his complaints any day over the silence.

You forgot how lonely it was before him. 

Even the photo that led to this moment couldn’t offer you the comfort it once did. It sat on your desk, partly hidden under a stack of books. Clearly you hadn’t learnt from last time, since you were going around hiding it in books again, but the damage had already been done- it couldn’t get worse.

In all honesty, you hadn’t been able to put it away. Maybe it was the guilt that kept you from hiding it. Could’ve been the longing you felt. Most definitely wasn’t because you had the sense that you owed it – and maybe Jeongguk as well – more than silence and a shut door. 

But it had taken you so long to forget the picture. It used to be part of your daily routine. Stared at it every morning. Kept it in your pocket all day. Stared at it in between shifts. Occasionally kept it in the back of your phone case. Stared at it before bed every night, before clutching it to your chest to the relieve the pain. It never went- the pain- instead, it ravaged a hole deeper into your heart, that the best way to leave it behind was to lose it. 

And you had thought that you lost it, truly. Lost a bit of yourself on the way, but it was better than feeling the pain. It was going fine until Jeongguk picked it up from the floor and pain had hit you like rocks. Not in one go, but bit by bit, where the hurt would magnify and worsen overtime. 

The bell rang. 

You looked up hastily, hope blooming in your heart, but it quickly dampened upon realising it wasn’t Jeongguk at the door. It was, Namjoon though.

You frowned upon seeing him – he wasn’t usually here on a Sunday. And he seemed to be missing his usual company, Seokjin. 

You watched as he walked over to you, coffee in hand and leaned on the desk.

“Hey kid,”

You gaped at him, and his choice of words. It had been so long since he had actually talked to you. 

“Not exactly a kid anymore,”

He laughed at this, an opened mouth, hearty laugh. 

“I forget sometimes. It’s been so long,”

You couldn’t help but smile along- he seemed to have that effect on people. 

“Where’s your buddy?”

“Who?” you asked, even though you knew exactly which buddy be was referring to.

He gave you a knowing look and simply smiled, small dimples popping out as he rested his elbows down in front of you. 

“I know you had a little falling out. And it might’ve been due to what I said to him,”

Your smile faded at his words.

Right. 

Jeongguk knew you were damaged goods, and you knew he knew. But rather than talking it out with him, you pushed him away. It’s what you were best at. 

Namjoon’s voice shook you out of your daze, “The anniversary’s coming up.”

All you could do was nod. It was hard around this time of year. But you always did it alone. It was harder now, knowing you could’ve gone through it with someone else, but there was nothing to do now. 

You looked up, meeting Namjoon’s soft gaze. He studied you, before looking around the shop. 

His eyes landed on the half hidden photo you had stashed under the books. He reached for it- eyes glancing up at yours for an okay- and pulled it out. 

Namjoon sniffed as he looked at the photo. 

“I miss him y’know,”

You fidgeted with the hem of your top, 

“Me too. All the time.”

An outsider would have no idea who the pair of you were talking about. One look at the photo would leave them thinking that you were talking about the younger you. But if anyone looked closer, the arm around your shoulders would give all the answers.

 More specifically the ring on the pinkie of the said person, the same one that now rested on your thumb. It was slightly loose, so there was some thread wrapped around the underside to keep it from sliding off, but anybody would be able to tell it was the exact same. 

“He’d be proud of you,” Namjoon whispered softly, fingers caressing the edge of the picture.

You scoffed at this. No chance. If anything, he’d be disappointed.

“No way.”

Namjoon sighed. He set down the photo and grabbed your hand,

“He would be. He always was. Told me every day- he never stopped talking about you,”

You paused slightly,

“He did?”

“Every. Day. It was always something new as well. Oh, she started a book club. Or it was how you passed your test with flying colours. He even bragged about you punching a guy,”

You sniffled softly,

“I never knew,”

Namjoon brushed his thumb over yours,

“Yeah, because he didn’t want you to see him soft. He just wanted to be the tough older brother.”

Tears welled up in your eyes at his sentence. ‘He never had to be’, you thought to yourself. You just wanted him to be around you all the time.

 You were selfish when it came to him. Always bothered him when he was with his friends, telling him to be home on time. Always asking for some of his food when you weren’t full enough, and always asking for a hug when you needed one, just because you liked the comfort of his arms. 

Even when he got sick, he obliged to your every request. More often than not, he would come home late at night, after working tiring shifts, just so the two of you could eat a hot meal together. You always offered to get a job so he could rest, but he never let you. Banged on and on about you finishing school, and earning a degree, which was ironic because he didn’t- he dropped out entirely just so he could support you two. 

And the young you, just didn’t understand. Why was he always working? Why wasn’t he going to his treatments? You’d shout and shout at him, and he would always just ruffle your hair and ask for a hug. Would always say that it looked like you needed one, but deep down it was him that needed it. The shaking of his hands, and the rattling of his lungs gave it away every time, but you kept silent because after all, what could you do?

It was only one morning that you had realised how seriously ill he was. You’d woken up, shivering in the breeze from the open window, when you had realised his breathing was shallow. Very shallow. 

You panicked and grabbed his phone, dialling the first number you saw. And ten minutes later, came the frantic knocking on your front door. You hastily opened it, to find a heavily breathing Namjoon, who pushed past you to where your brother lay. 

He leant down to check his pulse. And when he found the faint beating, he cursed and quickly picked your brother over your shoulder. 

The journey to the hospital had been a blur. You didn’t even know if your cried, or what you said to Namjoon. Just held on tightly to your brother’s hand, which paled by the minute. Even rested you head against his knee, in hopes that it would wake him up, because you knew that was his ticklish spot, and he’d push your head away whenever you attempted to attack him. 

Only when you had finally reached the hospital and the nurses had him set up in a bed amongst other patients, had you finally breathed.

This was before they started interrogating you about why he hadn’t been coming for his regular check-ups or was still waiting for treatment. 

That was the one thing your brother always did. He shielded you. Whether it was from your parents, or the teachers, he wouldn’t let you know what really happened. His fatal flaw, as everyone knew it, was you. Of course you had been the only one not to know, because once again - your brother was your shield. You only got the best parts of him. 

Only when Namjoon had stepped in to defend your unknowing, had you realised that you were just so naïve. Naïve to think that your brother could get better. Naïve to think that you wouldn’t be left alone in this world. And naïve to think that you could manage on your own. 

It was a crushing realisation, each second making it land tenfold harder, when your brother passed in the spring.

 It was a cruel play from God, who knew your brother’s favourite season was when the cherry blossoms bloomed. Your brother claimed it was winter part two, just slightly warmer and with prettier colours. 

But this spring was different. The winter air seemed to flow harshly into April, and the cold seeped into the petals, making them grey and dull to the eye. Maybe it was the loss of your brother that emphasised the lack of colour in your life, but your wounds were too fresh, that the pain prevented you from dwelling on anything but him. 

You never saw Namjoon after that day. Not until he walked into the shop four years later, one hand tightly clasping a sprig of cherry blossoms. It was like the past had been knocked into you, and you pretended not to recognise him. Not when the branch was left in the chair he sat in and not when he showed up weekly, either alone, or with Seokjin. 

It was like he was watching over you for your brother. You appreciated that he never tried sparking a conversation up with you, but here he was, your hand in his as he stood opposite you, face to face for the first time in aeons. 

“I just wanted him to be okay,”

Namjoon smiled at that. It was a sombre smile, filled with sadness that mirrored yours before saying,

“And he wanted you to be okay.”

Your breath hitched. 

And the dam burst. 

Years of emotions that you had closed off, because you deemed yourself as weak, flooded through. You had always turned a blind eye to your grief, just to protect yourself and to survive from the unbearable parting. You knew that that turning that blind eye, the passing time or other things never helped you overcome the sadness. But someone did. 

Jeongguk. 

For the first time, you had felt whole. For the first time you let yourself be. Just be. And he was patient in the way you existed with him. Never pushed. Never turned on you. Never left. He never did the one thing you feared people would. 

And in return?

You shoved him away and hid yourself in the smallest corner of your mind, only to feel more pathetic than before. He made you, you. The you that your brother knew. The you that you liked. 

You looked up at Namjoon, tears streaming down your face and stuttered out,

“I need to go.”

Namjoon nodded, letting go of your hand.

“You’re allowed to let people stay. Even the good ones. Especially the good ones,”

A laugh bubbled up in your throat. 

Your vision may have been blurred with tears, but your mind was the clearest it had been since Jeongguk had left. 

Your mind was racing with what Namjoon had said to you. It still echoed in the confines of your brain as you stood outside Jeongguk’s apartment, palms sweating against your bags straps and your breath shaking unevenly. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

The only reason you even knew where to go was because Jeongguk had left you a little note a few weeks ago, when you turned down an invite from him to have dinner at his apartment. 

Once again, he hadn’t forced you to go, and just left a small piece of paper with his address and building password in case you had changed your mind. 

How could he have been so thoughtful, even when your walls were sky high? How had he managed to peek over and knock it down, when there was still more to get past?

Jeongguk had opened up parts of you that other people failed to even brush through. 

And like the kind-hearted person he was, he opened the door to let you in again and again, as the key was always in your hand. 

Even now, the door swung open and there stood Jeongguk. Hair tousled. Eyes widening like he hadn’t expected you – as if  he was dreaming.

Hope flickered in his eyes, before he masked it with a clear of his throat.

“Hey,” you said, voice barely an octave above a whisper. 

He blinked slowly, “Hey.”

Silence creeped up. But it was nothing like the one in the shop. This one felt softer... more forgiving. 

It was like he was already telling you that it was okay. But you couldn’t let it stay the way it was. Not with so many things left unsaid. 

“I came to-” you started, then stopped. “I came to say I’m sorry. For shutting you out. For not letting you in.”

Jeongguk didn’t say anything. Just listened and waited. 

You didn’t let your eyes stray from his as you dug around in your bag and pulled out a small object – your camera. 

“I developed this.” You handed the photo you had taken of him a few weeks ago. It was the one you had taken of him in front of the fairy lights. His hair was messy, mouth half open in complaint and eyes wide in surprise – perfect. 

Jeongguk stared down at it, delicately brushing his thumb over the edge. 

“I don’t take photos of people. Never found the fascination. No one except you… and my brother.” You rambled quietly

Jeongguk’s thumb froze.

He looked up at you, eyebrows drawn together, silently asking you to go on. 

You brought out the cursed photo and showed it to Jeongguk once more. 

“My brother… and me.”

Jeongguk analysed the photo, and his eyes paused on one detail. Glanced up at you, then down to your hand, where your ring resided. 

He reached out and gently grasped your hand. You didn’t have to go further in detail. He already knew what you were implying to him. His special skill, one may say. 

Jeongguk opened his mouth, but you quickly interrupted, “I only take photos of people that mean something to me,”

His gaze softened. “You mean something to me.”

The weight of his words landed on your heart. No bumps. No turbulence. Just clarity. They didn’t scare you. They cracked a part of you open.

“I’ve never been good at talking,” you admitted. “I thought it would be better to pretend that everything was fine, that I lost the true purpose. Letting someone see me. But I want you to-so bad Jeongguk. I want you to see me. Everything.”

Jeongguk stepped outside, close enough for you to feel his breath curling around you- forming your own little bubble. 

“I’ve always seen you,” he whispered. “Just waited for you to notice.”

You smiled softly up at him. Reached your hand out to cup his jaw. Tangled your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and leaned forwards to capture his lips in yours. 

There was no initial rush in the kiss. It was soft, like delicate vines hanging over you two. But as your fingers brushed through his hair, you pulled him closer to you. 

Jeongguk responded with a slight urgency, hand slipping to the small of your back, tenderly pulling you closer to him. His lips were gentle, but as the seconds passed, his hand reached up for your jaw with a growing hunger that you had yet to acknowledge. 

You heart fluttered in your chest as your breaths mingled, slow and steady, and faster as the kiss transcended a mere connection – it was everything you and Jeongguk had been holding back from each other, everything you had been waiting for.  

You deepened the kiss ever so slightly, tilting your head to fit your mouths together in perfect harmony. Jeongguk’s hand shifted, and cradled the back of your head, thumb brushing the top of your ear. You shivered at the feeling and broke apart from Jeongguk, a small giggle leaving your mouth.

As you caught your breaths, Jeongguk rested his forehead against your – albeit slightly at an awkward angle, considering he was taller than you, but his fingers lingered at your nape and gently tugged you back for one more kiss, a sweet press against you lips that said everything you hadn’t yet spoken. 

Jeongguk laughed at your shocked expression, and just pulled you into his apartment.

“Come inside then,”

You followed, heart skipping with delight as you focused on your surroundings. 

His space was warm and cozy but cluttered in a way that felt like him. Like home. 

There were books on the floor, a specific one stacked right at the top and looked heavily tabbed- much more than you had last seen it. 

You looked over at Jeongguk, who had seemed to notice what you had been gazing at, and stood with his hands by his side, blushing furiously.

You laughed at his cute expression and gestured for him to sit on the couch with you. 

Jeongguk bounded over like a little puppy and sidled up next to you, ignoring all notions of  personal space and leaned towards you. 

“I think Call me your name is my favourite book as well.”

You scrunched your nose, “Copycat.”

He scrunched his back at you and shrugged. Leaned onto the back rest and threw an arm over your shoulder.

“So, are you gonna call me yours?”

You feigned confusion, trying to stop your laughter as you watched Jeoggunk’s grin fall.

“I thought you already were?”

Jeongguk’s elated grin, was enough to confirm that you had made the right choice. It would take time, but you would let Jeongguk in. 

The space between you closed. Carefully and quietly, but closed, nonetheless. 

Because, letting someone in didn’t mean you had to fling the door open all at once. Sometimes, it meant unlocking it, cracking it open ever so slightly, and trusting that they’d step through gently. 

And Jeongguk did. 

End

[kingbrat]

cry it out. — a. cody

tags: subby!pope cody, dom-ish!reader, gn reader, edging (pope!receiving), finger fucking (pope!receiving), age gap (reader is 27-30 while pope is early forties)

notes: my first offering to the pope cody tag 🙇🏻‍♂️ 1) i was going to wait until tomorrow to post this but i got too excited about actually writing something and finishing it for once so i'm posting it now. 2) this started bc of pope wearing black nitrile/latex or whatever gloves. then once i finished writing, i realized i only mention the gloves twice. i think this was just an excuse to write subby pope idk LMAO.

other: no physical descriptions of reader given. no use of y/n. second person POV used. not beta'd. wrote this on my phone and finished editing it on my puter.

no capitalization is a stylistic choice.

summary: pope needs a release. you offer one. word count: 690

pope rarely - if ever - askes for a release.

more often, you were the one who recognized the signs that he needed one. more tension held in his shoulders – if that was even possible, a stronger set to his brows. he was also more prone to just...zoning out. staring off into nothing as if his brain just wouldn't shut off.

you know how to shut it off.

like now, for example.

a pair of black nitrile gloves slipped onto your hands, now shiny and slicked up with lube. one hand wraps around pope's cock, stroking him at an agonizingly slow pace as your other hand is currently working two fingers inside of pope.

you've brought him to the edge thrice already, dangerously close to a fourth time as pope lets out a ragged breath when you curl your fingers just right and rub up against his prostate.

"you'll tell me when you're close again, yeah?" you ask sweetly, leaning over pope so you can press your lips to the corner of his mouth; a grin crossing your lips as the faintest whine bubbles up into pope's throat.

"ye-yeah. fuck, yeah, i'll tell you," he rasps, his eyes closed as his fingers curl into the soft sheets on your bed.

"good boy,"

the praise earns you a moan from the man underneath you, causing your grin to widen as you pick up the pace of both your hands. within moments of picking up the pace, pope's hips shift as his heels dig into the bed. "close," he warns.

you push him dangerously closer to that edge before you pull your hands away, watching the way his chest heaves and a sound somewhere between a sob and a moan breaks past his lips. you take a moment to watch him, head tipped to the side as his eyes meet yours.

there they are.

the unshed tears.

that's what you'd been looking for. the beginning of the release.

once his breathing evens out once more, you lean down once more to give him a proper kiss. as you do, your hands begin their work once more and you easily swallow the whine that pope releases. "such a good boy for me, hm?" you mumble, your forehead pressed to his, watching as a tear escapes pope's eye and slips down into his hair line.

"yeah," he gasps into the space between the two of you.

your hand shifts, angling your two fingers and curling them so that your hitting pope's prostate on every thrust; timing each thrust with every upstroke on pope's cock.

pope's head swims, a few more tears escaping his eyes as the pleasure overwhelms him. he's fast approaching that edge again, fingers curling into and pulling at the bedsheets as jolts of pleasure zing down into his abdomen. the muscles jump and twitch and a pleasured sob leaves him as your thumb swipes over the head of his cock.

"close," he warns, eyes squeezing shut as he waits for the inevitable halt of pleasure.

you hum in acknowledgement, doing nothing more than quickening your pace just a touch. "look at me, andrew," you murmur, waiting for him to follow the request. when he does, you grin. "you can come, baby. been so good for me, hm? think you deserve it now."

it doesn't take long for pope to cum with a guttural moan, eyes rolling back as his head drops back into the pillows. he cums hard, his cum –whatever does hit his stomach – mixing with the lube on your gloves and adding to the slickness as you work him through his climax; only stopping once he weakly bats your hand away.

you slip the gloves off, tossing them into the trash bin next to the nightstand while you give pope a moment to return to his body. once you've tossed them, you turn back to pope. you run your hands along his chest, playfully tweaking one of his nipples and giggling softly at the soft noise he makes.

"let's get you cleaned up. think a nice hot shower'll help you sleep."

"give me five to regain the use of my legs."

[dark-swan-baby]

Nsfw George Clark

a= Aftercare (what they're like after sex): George is very good with aftercare he's really sweet he always cleans you up he runs you a nice warm shower and washes your hair

b= body part (their favorite of theirs and their partner):  he loves his beard the man takes care of it 24/7 now his favourite thing about you is your hands he loves kissing them like a true gentleman

c=cum (anything to do with cum): loves cumming on your back idk he seems like a backshots guy 😭

e=experience (how experienced are they): I mean hello look at the man he's like a Greek god but yes he definitely has experience he's not a total man whore (not that we slut shame away) but yeah he definitely knows what he's doing

d=dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs): in highschool or what ever they call the teenage school places I'm from Australia idk if it's different but yeah in highschool he fucked you in one of his mates beds

f=favorite position: he gives off doggy vibes but secretly loves reverse cowgirl

g= goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): he's pretty serious he knows what he wants and how you want it but when the two of you have drunk sex it's a giggling mess

h= hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) : he's well groomed George seems like the type to be super super hygienic

i= intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect...) : he's very romantic whispering sweet words in your ears telling you how much he loves you true gentleman

j= jack off (masturbation headcanon: he doesn't jack off to much because he has you but loves to have a good wank every now and again

k= kink (one or more of their kinks) : dirty talk and bondage seems the type

l= location (favorite places to do the do) : The shower

m= motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) : when you get jealous from all his fan girls and guys he finds it hot

n= no (something they wouldn't do, turn-offs) : Pegging

o= oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) : man is sooo good at giving but lovessss receiving he's a bit of both tbh

p= pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) : slow and rough

q= quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) : prefers sex so he can take his time showering you with love

r= risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) : surprisingly not really he's just doesn't really get it

s= stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last...) : four rounds on a good day but usually one or two

t=  toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) : yes on you no on him he likes making you whine

u= unfair (how much they like to tease) : very he probably does a lot of foreplay and jokes to piss you off

v= volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make) :he grunts and sometimes moans

w= wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) : your safe word is bananas I don't know why just is has been since the two of you started dating

x= x-ray (let's see what's going on in those pants, picture or words) : thicker than it is long I would say 6 inches

y= yearning (how high is their sex drive?) : pretty high sex drive not constantly craving it but pretty much

z= zzz (... how quickly they fall asleep afterward) : he'll check up on you then will pass out snoring

I'm so so Sorry this came so late I've had like massive writers block not that I have much writing skills lol - also not proofread I hope you enjoyed this one :)

[devnmon]

intelligence arouses

sam drake x f!reader

Summary: You’ve recently graduated from college, and while out celebrating with your friends, Sam finds himself in need of showing you just how proud he is.

warnings: semi-public sex, risk of getting caught, dirty talk, sexting, nipple play, fingering, piv, cumming inside

a/n: my first finished fic since the semester ended. go me! hope the very dead uncharted fandom likes this one bc it came from the bottom of my very horny for sam drake soul. mwah

wc: 2.1k

Another degree down, another celebration with your closest friends. 

You sat in a local tavern with Sam, Elena and Nate, out for the night to get dinner and spend some quality time together after so long being focused on your studies and internship. 

Sam sat next to you, while the table was scattered with drinks and appetizers you’d all been munching on. He’d been praising you non-stop and telling you how proud he is of you; he couldn’t stop bragging to his little brother about how smart you are and how much he adores you. 

In fact, he hasn’t stopped all evening. 

His hand rested on your thigh, rubbing his thumb across your soft skin every so often. Whispering in your ear how proud he is of you with his nicotine breath and stubble on your cheek. 

Congratulations, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.

God, you’re so smart. It makes me crazy about you. 

Just a few minutes later when you thought he was going to pounce on you right in front of everyone, he got up to use the bathroom. Not even a full five minutes went by before you felt your phone buzz in your lap. Sam rarely ever texts you, but when he does, it’s either an emergency, or he’s up to something. 

[You know you’re so attractive when you show me how smart you are baby…] was the first one you read, smiling before placing your phone down to re-engage with the conversation. 

You didn’t even get half a sentence out before it buzzed again. 

[Do you know how hot you are? God, you turn me on so bad…]

Hopefully the blush on your cheeks wasn’t noticeable when you glanced down to read the message. 

“Who’s blowing up your phone like that?” Nathan asked, chuckling a bit as he took a sip of his drink. 

“Oh, um… just everyone, you know… saying congrats.” 

It wasn’t a full lie. Your phone had been going off nonstop all day but was only now blowing up because of your boyfriend. 

Another message, this time it was a picture. 

[Got me all worked up, babe.] [View attachment]

What Sam sent you made your knees weak; it was a picture of the tent in his pants, his hand dirtily placed over it. 

Your throat ran dry, staring at it and disconnecting from whatever your friends had been talking about. 

Multiple messages came in after that one before you could process anything. 

[Wanna whisper how proud I am of you into your ear while my fingers are inside you.]

[You’d have to stay quiet though. Do you think you could manage that? I’d take you right here in this bathroom if you could.] 

[Pull your hair and make you cum on my cock. Fuck, I need you. Feels so good when I’m inside you. Come to me right now baby...] 

Your thoughts clouded with visions of Sam taking you in the restaurant bathroom, his hand over your mouth as he thrusted up into you. 

“Hey, you alright?” Elena asked. 

“Huh? What- oh, yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine. Um, just- excuse me for one minute. Gonna use the bathroom.” 

You stood up quickly and tried not to let your knees buckle from how turned on you were. 

Hoping no one else saw how flushed you were, you found yourself standing outside the bathrooms impatiently waiting for Sam to text you back. Next thing you knew, you were being pulled by the arm into the family restroom and shoved up against the wall. 

“Come here often?” Sam grumbled in your ear, clearly high off the way you turned him on. His hands were already on your waist, greedily sliding down your midriff. He could tell by how warm your skin was that you were experiencing the same arousal he was. 

“Only when you sext me from the bathroom…” Your nails raked across the expanse of his chest and shrugged his jacket off his shoulders. 

Sam wasted no time and shoved his hand down into your underwear to find you soaking wet, unable to help himself with how good you look. 

“Y’know I’m so proud of you? So damn proud it makes me hard. Anyone ever told you that? Pride looks amazing on you.” His hand not down your pants held your waist, softly pressing circles into your skin with his thumb and kissing your neck. 

You spent the whole day glowing, unable to do anything else other than just beam sunshine wherever you went. God, he was a dropout and you went and got another degree. You were so, so out of his league (he thinks) but you loved and adored him anyway. 

Listened to him ramble on about pirates and the adventures he’s taken with Nate in complete detail because you love the sound of his voice. Stayed up late with him when he was trying to debunk something before he went off on another trip, when all you wanted to do was sleep the night away with him. Now you were here, having accomplished one of the biggest things in your life with him by your side. He was so grateful for your companionship. 

“My intelligence arouses you? What a compliment.” Even when Sam was turning you on, he always managed to be a flirt and a sweetheart at the same time. 

“Of course it does. What, you’ve never been told that before?” 

His fingers swirled around your clit, easily done by the amount of slick painting your now ruined underwear. 

“No…” you whimpered, attempting to stay quiet and swallowing down another moan. 

The outline of his hardened length was enough of a distraction, and next thing you knew he was pulling down both your pants and underwear in one fell swoop. 

“Well, I do. It’s insanely hot.” Sam bit his lip at the sight of you, still unknowing how he got to be with someone so perfect and smart as you when all the knowledge he’s got was from books and internet research. Meanwhile you put in the money and time to study and pass all your exams with flying colors. He admired you so much for that. 

Soon as he saw the wet spot in your panties, Sam’s cock throbbed and suddenly needed to be released from the confines of his jeans. After undoing his belt and freeing himself, his mouth latched onto yours again. His length on your torso was warm and all you wanted to feel in that moment was it dragging across your walls and kissing the spot inside you to make you see stars. 

When his lips start to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck to leave a mark, you raked a hand through his hair and pulled him off. 

“As much as I love you, you can’t make a mess of my neck right now. We’re in public…” 

Sam gave you a look and pulled your low cut shirt down. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t leave my mark on these pretty things, hm?” He left a kiss between the valley of your breasts and pulled them out of your bra. The cool air of the bathroom hardened your nipples even more so than they already were. Especially when Sam started licking one of them and playing with the other, sucking his lips into the plush here and there to leave little purple bruises. 

“Mmm… feels so good, baby.” You praised, raking your nails through his brown hair. 

He hummed into your skin and continued until he couldn’t take not being inside you anymore. 

“So wet for me, bet I could just slide right into you, hm?” 

“Please…” 

“Please what?” His snark would be the end of you. Sam took his cock in his hand, inching closer to what he knew was wet and warm and begging to be filled by him. 

“Fuck me, please Sam…” 

“Such a sweetheart when you’re begging for me. How could I say no? But, you’ll have to try and be quiet, wouldn’t want any eavesdroppers now would we?” 

Shaking your head, his fingers were at your clit again and his tip at your entrance. 

“Good girl.” Sam kissed you again, entering you slowly while swirling his fingers on your clit, successfully making your legs weak with every inch. 

Upon bottoming out inside you, the sting of him stretching your walls was only a short discomfort compared to the pleasure he would finally bring you. 

“Shit, oh baby you feel so good every time…” He praised, beginning to shallowly thrust up into you. It wasn’t enough though, you needed it hard and fast if you were to get away with your little excursion in the bathroom. 

“Faster… mmmh shit…” you whine, attempting to whisper but failing horribly. 

“Shh, baby. Gonna make sure you stay quiet n’ fuck you real good. Don’t worry… just feel good for me.” You melted under his touch already, the slick covering his cock a clear indicator of your arousal. 

Sam left a kiss on your cheek before pulling all the way out and thrusting back up into you, relishing in how nicely he filled you to the brim. You gasped in the moment from how gratifying it was to have him inside you again. For Sam to not be able to keep it in his pants was one thing, it was entirely another for him to do this with you. 

Overwhelmed with his length dragging against your walls, your head fell onto his shoulder, silently begging him to pick up his pace with the sounds you were making. He did as you asked, your warmth inviting him to lose himself from how fucking nice you felt. Before you knew it, his pace picked up, your tits bouncing with every thrust. 

“Been thinkin’ about fucking you like this ever since we left the ceremony. God, you’re beautiful.: Sam grumbled against your ear, panting in time with his movements. 

Words escaped you as you attempted to hold back another whimper, but he was quick to muffle your sounds with the palm of his hand. 

“Ah ah, those pretty little moans are just for me. Wouldn’t want anyone else to be privy to how fuckin’ hot you sound when you’re like this. Especially not by the people outside, hm?” 

You nodded, breathing heavily against him. Sam’s other hand gripped your waist, allowing you to slide one of yours down between where you met to rub your clit. 

Even with his hand over your mouth, he couldn’t stop his vulgar mouth. With every line he was testing you, making sure you knew people would hear if you were whining too loud because of him. It was egging him on to see you in such a state, your brain turning off with every word. 

This pussy of yours– fuck –always so perfect. You take me so well, doll.

God, you make me insane in this little outfit you’re wearin’. Gonna- mm- take so many pictures of you in it when we get back home… right before I take it off. 

Would’ve taken you on that damn table if I could’a… in front of everyone… bet you’d like that wouldn’t you? For all those people to see how good I fuck you? 

Your free hand gripped his wrist, pulling it away from your mouth to whisper, “I’m close, baby… Gonna–” 

“Cum for me, c’mon, let it all go. My girl…” Sam growled in response, hips still kissing yours with every thrust. 

You were sent over the edge not a moment later, body spasming and clenching on his cock. His cock throbbed harder as he kept moving inside you, ready to spill. 

With a groan and several curses, Sam collapses over your body, his arms pressing against the tile wall of the bathroom. 

Heartbeats pounding, you caught your breath and wiped the sweat off your forehead. As Sam pulled out, you felt your legs turn to jelly, and he caught you right before you slid down the wall. 

“That good, huh?” 

“Like it is every time with you.” 

“Yeah, that was pretty damn amazing.” He reached up to smooth your hair and fix your clothes before he did the same, redressing himself. 

“You’re pretty damn amazing.” You leaned in to kiss him again. 

“Speak for yourself, miss I-have-two-degrees.” 

“Hm, guess you’re right.” you giggled, fixing Sam’s jacket. 

“Can’t wait to fuck you properly later.” 

“Well then, let's wrap this evening up.” 

You just hoped Nate and Elena were clueless to what the both of you had done. Thinking about it for the rest of the night proved difficult, because all you wanted to do was get in bed with Sam and stay there until the morning. 

tags: @whiskeyskin @aegis-7

[ii-meeple-confessions]

the brainrot is strong but the writers block is stronger so i’m just reading through the mephone wiki page😭

-blue anon

.

[vv-ispy]

Not that there's no issues with how Sailor Neptune and Uranus are written bc there are, yet their ruthlessness in the S arc is less about how they're mean as individual people (which.....fair they kinda are but that's besides this point) but rather a conflicting ideology between the inner senshi who value all life and each individual person, vs Uranus/Neptune who're about the greater good. S is about 'would you sacrifice one life to save the world' where the inner senshi is a resounding 'no absolutely not' and Uranus/Neptune is 'yes. without question'

This.....probably runs into some problems in an anime where the answer is The Power of Love and the third solution of 'love' exists, it makes them come off as antagonistic for no reason when Sailor Moon's whole thing 'I can solve this with love and understanding, always + I can reset the world' buuuuut UraNep aren't completely wrong in the end of S if Sailor Moon's powers aren't a given — the result of sparing Hotaru is shown and said result is the whole city died, and they only undied bc of Sailor Moon's reset

Anyway huge misconception to say that UraNep only cares about each other — though given how they're only nice to each other and mean to the inner senshi it's a fair assumption, but no they're just on the extreme side of The Greater Good, The Mission. Yes they're willing to kill innocent people to get the talismans, but those 'innocent people' included themselves given that Uranus' response to seeing Neptune holding a talisman is to shoot herself too (was there an element of 'don't leave me alone in this world' involved? Yeah. But she also had a whole speech about how it turned out they in fact held the talisman + the prior episodes 'The Mission' talk so). In fact, in their eyes they're not 'innocent' at all, that very episode contains the famous hands scene where Haruka worries her hands are solied by the mission, she doesn't like that she has to kill innocents even if it is for The World. And the two also already had an ideological discussion in the backstory episode of Haruka going 'so you don't care how many innocent people die in the process of defeating the enemy?' Michiru 'That's right. I don't' then admitting actually it haunts her deeply and the fact that Haruka is now gonna be a casualty hurts even more but she has to put it aside for the greater good of saving the rest of the world. Her dreams of becoming a violinist or wishes of Haruka not following her path don't matter when the fate of the world is on the line. UraNep will sacrifice themselves/those closest to them for the greater good of the world, not the other way around

(And yeah yeah there's that scene where some posessed guy claims that a certain container contains the soul of evil and smashing it will doom the world and when he questions why Michiru did it to save Haruka she responds with 'Don't you know? A world without Haruka isn't worth living in' but that's a joke! A bluff! She knew the guy was lying about the evil in the jar bc she tells Haruka right after not to be fooled and what the actual source of the posession is.)

[sucrose-soymilk]

hadn’t really regressed in a While and i didn’t realize how much i missed/dareisay needed it until i had the free time and ability to do so over the last few days and i have to say. i’m feeling a bit better

[systemofshadow]

any other systems / collectives / etc have alters / facets / headmates / etc who come out literally Just to do a bit. like the commitment to the bit is what they're here for

[humanjarvis]

nurse for a day

synopsis: who knew a sick doctor could be such a handful? 

tags: stubborn zayne who hates being sick, reader takes care of him anyway, sleepy delirious zayne, fluff fluff fluff, humor(?), suggestive for .5 seconds word count: 2k 

a/n: i personally think i ate with this one 

It was quiet. Too quiet. 

As you slink through the seemingly empty house, ducking into shadows like you’re on a stealth mission, you really wish your boyfriend weren’t so damn stubborn. 

On your earlier phone call, Zayne had tried admirably hard to mask the nasally tone in his voice—to pretend like his frequent coughs were simply him “clearing his throat.” But you knew better.

He doesn’t get sick often—what with knowing exactly how to prevent it, and all—but when he does, he detests it for several reasons. The most pressing one, at the moment? You love when Zayne is sick.

Not because you think he deserves it, not because you want to see him suffer, but because you get to play nurse. After so many days being taken care of and scolded by the best doctor in Linkon, you finally get to return the favor. 

Except Zayne isn’t particularly…appreciative of the favor. You’re a very strict nurse, he’s frowned at you several times before. You tell him over and over again that you only want him to feel better, but that doesn’t stop him from holing up in a bunker every time he comes down with something. It’s the only time he avoids you. 

And now, he’s hiding from you. In his own home. 

You know he’s here. When you arrived, his freshly washed car was sparkling in the driveway, a full mug of jasmine tea was still steaming on the kitchen countertop, and various office supplies were left scattered across the coffee table. As if he’d heard you coming and frantically abandoned ship. 

You’d searched the usual spots: his empty bedroom, so pristine it looked like a hotel cleaning crew had stopped by; the walk-in closet, to make sure he hadn’t disguised himself among the hangers; and his study, where there’d been nothing but heaps of paperwork threatening the desk’s structural integrity. 

He’s being extra sneaky this time, you scoff to yourself as you tiptoe around upstairs. Room after room, and no endearingly, adorably, annoyingly stubborn doctor inside. 

But then, pressing your ear to the laundry room door, you hear it. 

The unmistakable crinkle of a candy wrapper.

You’ve never felt so lucky that Zayne reserves his self-control for you and not sweets. 

With a deep breath and a crack of your knuckles, you jiggle the doorknob slightly before bursting into the room. The man inside, hunched over the floor next to a tissue box, jumps at the sudden noise before freezing in place. And then, slowly, shyly, he spins to face you with the wide eyes and stuffed cheeks of a disgruntled hamster. 

Zayne has spent enough time with you to know what the unimpressed look on your face means: Explain yourself. 

“I don’t remember you knocking,” he sniffles curtly, unable to hide the way his stuffy nose constricts his throat. The rosy blush on his cheeks is the only indication of his guilt. 

“I don’t remember signing up to date an escape artist,” you shoot back, satisfied with his resulting wince. “What are you doing all the way in here? Was the space under the desk in your study not suitable this time?” 

“Just wanted a—”sniff—“change of scenery,” he jokes lamely, gesturing to the sleek washer and dryer towering over him. 

Sighing, you crouch down in front of him, taking in the wall of chocolate wrappers barricading him in. “Is the idea of me taking care of you really that bad? I’m just trying to help.” 

“That’s exactly it,” he says dryly. “You always help more than what’s needed.” 

At that, your eyes narrow into slits sharp enough to cut through bone. His bones, if he’s not careful. “Excuse me?” 

“I mean,” he clears his throat, grimacing at the dull burn in his sinuses, “You always help me exactly how I need it, and more.” 

“That’s what I thought you said. Now, come downstairs so I can give you the medicine you need, Dr. Zayne. And hand over the candy.” 

It was no secret that Zayne loved sweet things. The confiscated tub of chocolates sitting on the counter was evidence enough. 

But as you look down at his frowning face, cup of chemically red liquid in hand, you can’t help but wonder if it’s because Zayne loves sweet things that he hates taking medicine. 

Once he’d finally trudged into the kitchen, you’d sat him down on a barstool before fishing the dreaded bottle out of the cabinet. “Why not a lozenge instead?” he’d asked. “One of the citrus ones.” 

You hadn’t fallen for his trap, of course. But as he eyes you like he’ll make a break for it any second now, a weary part of you wishes you had. 

“You know,” you lean in conspiratorially, “they say if you plug your nose, you won’t taste it as much.” 

“Illness doesn’t make me a fool,” he mutters bitterly. “I, more than anyone, know how fruitless that trick often is. It doesn’t even work on the kids in the pediatric ward anymore.” 

“And why would a 27-year-old man need the same encouragement as sick children, I wonder?” you crack slyly. 

Zayne looks away, taking a sudden interest in the floor tiles. 

Snorting, you double-check the dosage in the medicine cup and hold it out to him. He regards it with abject misery, his big, hazel eyes staring up at you pleadingly, and you feel a crack in your resolve.

“Fine,” you grumble, pivoting to raid the pantry behind you. Retrieving the most acceptable pastry you can find—there are about 7 different options—you set the blueberry muffin on the island in front of him. 

At the peace offering, those hazel eyes light up slightly, driving out some of the pallor on his face. With a deep breath, Zayne grunts softly before downing the liquid like a shot, shuddering at the aftertaste. Eyes closed in a lasting grimace, he reaches blindly for the muffin before you push it into his grasp, and he sighs in contentment when he bites into it.

Running a hand through his dark hair, you can’t help but grin fondly. 

If only the pediatric ward could see him now. 

After Zayne recovered from the horrors of modern medicine, he’d sullenly asked for more tea, since the batch he’d made earlier was cold now. Pinching his cheek, you’d sent him to sulk on the living room couch so you could keep an eye on him. Which had worked, for several minutes. You’d gathered the ingredients, and he’d flipped blankly through a journal, intermittent sniffles reassuring you of his presence. 

But as you gawk at the abandoned sofa, you realize he must have ducked you while your back was turned. 

Yep. Definitely an escape artist.

With a frustrated growl, you hurriedly plunk the tea bag in and listen for signs of movement. Hearing the faint clicks of a keyboard, you stomp up the stairs to his study, not caring if the drink in hand sloshes over the rim of his favorite penguin mug. Serves him right.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you snap, setting the cup on his desk to put your hands on your hips.

“Working,” he answers with an innocent upturn of his lips. 

“I mean,” you clarify, “what do you think you’re doing when you should be resting?”

Too distracted to keep typing, Zayne switches his attention to the stack of papers before him. “I feel much better already,” he lies flatly, breaking eye contact when yours bore into his. 

As an incredulous laugh escapes you, you throw your hands up in exasperation. “What would you say to one of your patients if they tried to work through an illness?” 

“I’d say that as a medical professional, I only have the jurisdiction to advise them on the best course of treatment. Once out of hospital care, it’s up to them to exercise judgment and decide if they’re able to work or not. Like I’m doing now,” he retorts, and you almost commend his ability to bullshit such a polished answer.

“Right, of course,” you entertain him sweetly. “So is that why you just scrawled your signature through the bottom of that confidentiality agreement?”

With sluggish alarm, Zayne jerks his head down to survey the damage, and sure enough, his swooping penmanship has rendered the contract illegible.

“How could I have missed the signature line?” he whispers, face aghast with disbelief. “I…I don’t even know what…”

“I do,” you sing triumphantly, walking around to haul him up from his armchair. “I know exactly what’s wrong.” 

The main reason Zayne hates being sick isn’t the symptoms. It isn’t the unneeded pity, the inopportune sick days, or even the insidious slide of what tastes like poison down his throat.  

No. Unfortunately, for your stubborn snowman of a boyfriend, the main reason Zayne hates being sick is simply of his nature: cold medicine makes him terribly drowsy. 

Its heightened effect on him is just like his alcohol intolerance—something in his genes just can’t handle outside influences. 

So as you lead him back to rest on the sofa, laying his head across your lap, it becomes clear you’re now dealing with an oversized koala. 

“You smell nice. I think. I can’t really smell anything,” he murmurs into your navel, tickling your skin with his rhythmic deep breaths. 

“Mm. You smell nice too, under the medicine scent. Like jasmine tea.”

As you gently massage his scalp, he burrows into your stomach, lifting his head up seconds later as if remembering something. 

“Did you d’something different with your hair today? Looks nice,” he slurs, blinking at you with sleep-laced eyes. 

“Yep!” Nope. “Thank you for noticing, Zaynie. So observant even when you’re sick,” you coo, rubbing soothing circles into his back. 

With a delirious hum, he smiles softly at the praise before his gaze lands on your chest, rising and falling above him. “You’re very…warm,” he whispers, baby pink tongue wetting his lips. But just as he leans up to nuzzle into you, you stop him halfway. 

“Oh no, you don’t,” you chide, catching him by the scruff. “Not right now, at least.” 

A quiet sigh is his only resistance, and as he slumps back down, he brings a hand around your waist to leave a lingering kiss on your stomach. 

“Are you tired, Zayne?” you ask, cradling his head in your palms to meet his clouded gaze.

“Mm. I’d like to go to bed now.”

As you turn off the bedside lamp, preparing to leave Zayne in peace for the night, feverishly warm hands pull you down onto the mattress. Lying beside him, you flutter your eyes closed as he presses a tender kiss to your cheek. 

“Aren’t you worried about getting me sick?” you question, raising a brow in the moonlight. 

Chuckling, he shakes his head languidly. “Sinus infections aren’t contagious,” he yawns. “But even if they were, transmission would only give me the chance to look after you in return.”

“Are you sure? Someone once told me I’m too stern of a nurse. I’d hate to be the same way as a patient.” 

Zayne frowns contemplatively as he rests a hand on your hip. “Even though your methods are…involved,” he swallows, “I appreciate the consideration you’ve shown me today. Thank you for taking care of me.” 

“Approval from the illustrious Dr. Zayne,” you whisper, gently tapping his reddened nose. “I hope this means he won’t hide from me next time.” 

As he winces, you can almost see the events of this afternoon replaying in his mind. “If he can help it, there won’t be a next time. But yes, I won’t hide from you again. I truly do feel better with you here beside me.” 

“And you’ll feel even better with proper rest,” you remind him. “Sleep. I’ll stay right here until you do.”

Finally relenting, he turns on his side, holding you to him like a child with a teddy bear. 

And though he’s never believed in them before, when Zayne wakes the next morning, nose clear and fever broken, he thinks you might be a miracle worker. 

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Self-Aware!Sylus x Down-bad!Player

Sylus becoming aware he is a character in a game and now he’s aware of you as well. A modern day Romeo & Juliet story here …. A tragic love story A/N: Don’t fight me [Requested by: Anon]

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Self-Aware!Sylus who realizes he’s in a game when he can sense your energy on the other side of a phantom wall. He can hear you squealing when he calls you honey and you're radiating happiness when you send him random emojis.

Self-Aware!Sylus who finally sees you when he happens to be looking around during a photoshoot and sees your shocked face when he makes eye contact. He smirks and turns back to the in-game version of you. “Why are you out there?” You dropped your phone and stared at it in shock. Did Sylus just ….. talk to you? You muttered a low ‘Hello?’ but got no response. You brushed it off as you just being tired and on the game too long.

Self-Aware!Sylus who manages to create a keyboard in your chat so he can actually text you. You were so confused when you opened it and it allowed you to type without just pressing a prompt. You gave it a spin with a quick ‘Hey Sylus’ something simple. Of course the message was read immediately and he replied with a ‘Hello [your name]’ you stared at the screen in shock not knowing if this was a new update or if you were just going crazy.

Self-Aware!Sylus who chuckles when he sees you pouting because you didn’t get his card so when you close the app and lay down he gifts you the card himself. You opened the app and the first thing Sylus says to you is “I don’t like seeing you sad, check your memories I left a gift for you”. When you open your memories you see that you not only got his most recent card but all of his five star memories. “What's happening here?” “You’re smile is so captivating I just had to see it again”

Self-Aware!Sylus who opens the app randomly throughout the day so he can see you “I haven’t seen you all day what are you doing?” causing you to snatch your phone off the table because he always seems to catch you when you’re at work or around a group of people. “Sylus I'm at work I'll call you when I get off” he crosses his arms and seems to be pouting? “I don’t like how much you have to work I don’t see you as often” “Well not all of us are billionaires some of us work for said billionaires to make a living” “I wish I could take care of you….” “You and me both”

Self-Aware!Sylus who teases you when he wins a game of kitty cards or who uses his evol to get every stuffed animal for you when you get frustrated. “You sure do wear your heart on your sleeves sweetie”

Self-Aware!Sylus who stares directly at you when you’re doing a photoshoot with your in-game MC “Sylus focus on her so I can get the picture” “I want to focus on you though” “She is me” “…..she’s not”

Self-Aware!Sylus who tells you not to fall in love because he’s not real, but he falls head over heels in love with you anyway. From the late night conversations of you explaining your world to him and just talking about everything and nothing at the same time. He can’t help it one night when you’re up late on the phone as always he just has to ask “Do you love me?” you’re shocked by his question, but swiftly answer with a shy “Yea I do”

Sylus: I thought we agreed not to fall in love Y/N: I was already in love you just noticed late Sylus: I believe I fell harder You giggled as something somber settled in your chest. Y/N: We’ll never truly be together you know? Sylus: I know and yet I continue to long for you …. I wish I could kiss you Y/N: I wish you could too…..

Self-Aware!Zayne Self-Aware!Xavier Self-Aware!Rafayel Self-Aware!Caleb

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